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What if you were the only member of the S. T.A.R.S. who didn't accomplish jack-shit on this entire mission? Show some backbone.
Rebecca steeled herself against the consequences and stepped inside, looking around cautiously. If there was a threat here, she didn't see it. The plain stucco walls were the color of coffee with cream, offset by dark wood trim. The light in the small chamber was provided by a window into a tiny greenhouse on her right, a handful of dying plants behind the dirty glass. She moved closer to the pedestal at the back, noting that the stone bust on top was of Beethoven; she recognized the stern countenance and heavy brow of the Moonlight Sonata's composer. The pedestal itself boasted a thick gold emblem shaped like a shield or coat of arms, about the size of a dinner plate. Rebecca crouched down next to the simple pillar, gazing at the emblem. It looked solid and thick, with a vaguely royal design in a paler gold set across the top. It looked familiar; she'd seen the same design some– where else in the house.
In the dining room, over the fireplace! Yes, that was it, only the piece over the mantle was made out of wood, she was sure of it. She'd
noticed it while Chris was looking at the broken statue. Curious, she touched the emblem, tracing the pat– tern across the front-and then grasped the slightly raised edges with both hands and lifted. The heavy emblem came away easily, almost as if it didn't belong there and behind her the secret door rumbled down, sealing her inside. Without hesitating, she turned and placed the em– blem back in its hollow-and the section of wall rose again, sliding up smoothly on hidden tracks. Re– lieved, she stared down at the heavy gold emblem, thinking. Someone had rigged all this up in order to keep the medal hidden, so it had to be important-but how was she supposed to remove it? Did the one over the fireplace also reveal a secret passage? Or… is the one over the fireplace the same size? She couldn't be positive, but she thought it was– and she knew instinctively that it was the right answer. If she switched the two of them, using the wood emblem to keep the door open and placing the gold one over the mantle… Rebecca headed back into the room, smiling. Chris told her to stay put, but she wouldn't be gone more than a minute or two-and perhaps when he got back, she'd have something to show him, a real contribution toward solving the secrets of the man– sion. And proof that she wasn't so useless after all.
ELEVEN
TWELVE
Rebecca steeled herself against the consequences and stepped inside, looking around cautiously. If there was a threat here, she didn't see it. The plain stucco walls were the color of coffee with cream, offset by dark wood trim. The light in the small chamber was provided by a window into a tiny greenhouse on her right, a handful of dying plants behind the dirty glass. She moved closer to the pedestal at the back, noting that the stone bust on top was of Beethoven; she recognized the stern countenance and heavy brow of the Moonlight Sonata's composer. The pedestal itself boasted a thick gold emblem shaped like a shield or coat of arms, about the size of a dinner plate. Rebecca crouched down next to the simple pillar, gazing at the emblem. It looked solid and thick, with a vaguely royal design in a paler gold set across the top. It looked familiar; she'd seen the same design some– where else in the house.
In the dining room, over the fireplace! Yes, that was it, only the piece over the mantle was made out of wood, she was sure of it. She'd
noticed it while Chris was looking at the broken statue. Curious, she touched the emblem, tracing the pat– tern across the front-and then grasped the slightly raised edges with both hands and lifted. The heavy emblem came away easily, almost as if it didn't belong there and behind her the secret door rumbled down, sealing her inside. Without hesitating, she turned and placed the em– blem back in its hollow-and the section of wall rose again, sliding up smoothly on hidden tracks. Re– lieved, she stared down at the heavy gold emblem, thinking. Someone had rigged all this up in order to keep the medal hidden, so it had to be important-but how was she supposed to remove it? Did the one over the fireplace also reveal a secret passage? Or… is the one over the fireplace the same size? She couldn't be positive, but she thought it was– and she knew instinctively that it was the right answer. If she switched the two of them, using the wood emblem to keep the door open and placing the gold one over the mantle… Rebecca headed back into the room, smiling. Chris told her to stay put, but she wouldn't be gone more than a minute or two-and perhaps when he got back, she'd have something to show him, a real contribution toward solving the secrets of the man– sion. And proof that she wasn't so useless after all.
ELEVEN
BARRY AND JILL STOOD IN THE COVERED walkway by the puzzle lock, breathing the clean night air. Beyond the high walls, the crickets and cicadas hummed their ceaseless song, a soothing reminder that there was still a sane world outside. Jill's brush with disaster had left her light-headed and somewhat nauseous, and Barry had gently led her to the back door, suggesting that the fresh air would do her good. He hadn't found Chris or Wesker, though he seemed certain that they were still alive. He brought her up to speed quickly, retracing his mean– dering path through the house as Jill leaned against the wall, still taking deep breaths of the warm air.
"… and when I heard the shots, I came running."
Barry rubbed absently at his short beard. He smiled at her, a somewhat hesitant grin. "Lucky for you. Another couple of seconds, you would've been a Jill sandwich."
Jill smiled back gratefully, nodding, but noticed that he seemed a little… strained, the humor forced. Odd. She wouldn't have figured Barry as the type to tense up in the face of danger.
Is it any wonder? We're trapped here, we can't find the team, and this entire mansion is out to get us. Not exactly a laugh-riot. "I hope I can return the favor if you ever get in a tight spot," she said softly. "Really. You saved my life." Barry looked away, flushing slightly. "Glad I could help," he said gruffly. "Just be more careful. This place is dangerous."
She nodded again, thinking of how close she'd come to dying. She shivered slightly, then forced the thoughts away; they needed to be concentrating on Chris and Wesker. "So you do think they're still alive?" "Yeah. Besides the shell casings, there was a whole trail of those ghouls in the other wing, all with clean head shots; gotta be Chris – though I had to splatter a couple more of 'em upstairs, so I figure he holed up somewhere along the way."
Barry nodded toward the copper diagram set into the wall. "So, was this star crest here already?" Jill frowned, a little surprised at the abrupt change of topic; Chris was one of Barry's closest friends.
"No. I found it in another room with a trap. This place seems to be full of them. In fact, maybe we should look for Wesker and Chris together – no tell-ing what they might've stumbled into, or what else could happen to either of us." Barry shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, you're right, we should watch our step, but there are a lot of rooms, and our first priority ought to be securing an escape. If we split up, we can try to find the rest of these crests, and look for Chris at the same time. And Wesker."
Though his demeanor didn't change, Jill had the sudden distinct impression that Barry was uncom– fortable. He had turned away to study the copper diagram, but it almost seemed as if he was trying to avoid eye contact. "Besides," he said, "we know what we're up against now. As long as we use a little common sense, we'll be fine." "Barry, are you okay? You seem-tired." It wasn't the right word, but it was the only one that came to Jill’s mind. He sighed, finally looking at her. He did seem tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his wide shoulders were slumped.
"No, I'm alright. Just worried about Chris, you know."
Jill nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. Since he'd pulled her out of the trap he'd been acting unusually subdued, even nervous.
Paranoid much? This is Barry Burton you're talking about, the backbone of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. – not to mention, the man who just saved your life. What could he possibly be hiding?
Jill knew she was probably being overly suspi– Cious, but all the same, she decided to keep her mouth shut about Trent's computer. After all she'd been through, she wasn't feeling particularly trusting. And it sounded like he already had a pretty good idea of the mansion's layout, so it wasn't like he needed the information.
That's it, keep rationalizing. Next thing, you'll be suspecting Captain Wesker of planning this whole thing.
Jill scoffed inwardly as she pushed herself away from the wall and she and Barry walked slowly back toward the house. Now that was paranoid. They stopped as they reached the door, Jill taking a few final lungfuls of the sweet air, letting it settle her nerves. Barry had taken out his Colt Python and was reloading the empty chambers, his expression grim.
"I thought I'd go back over to the east wing, see if I can pick up Chris's trail," he said. "Why don't you head upstairs and start looking for the other crests? That way we can cover all of the rooms, work our way back to the main hall."
Jill nodded and Barry opened the door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. A wave of cold swept past them and Jill sighed, trying to prepare herself to face another maze of frigid, shadowy halls, another series of unopened doors and the secrets that lay behind them. "You're gonna do fine," Barry said smoothly, plac– ing a warm hand on her shoulder and gently ushering her back inside. As soon as the door closed behind them he lifted his hand in a casual salute, smiling. "Good luck," he said, and before she could re-spond, he turned and hurried away, weapon in hand. With another creak of ancient metal, he slipped through the double doors at the end of the hall and was gone. Jill stared after him, alone once again in the chilled, stinking silence of the dim corridor. It wasn't her imagination; Barry was keeping something from her.
But was it something she needed to worry about, or was he just trying to protect her?
Maybe he found Chris or Wesker, dead, and didn't want to tell me.
It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it would explain his strange, hurried behavior. He obviously wanted them to get out of the house as soon as possible, and wanted her to stay on the west side. And the way he'd fixated on the puzzle mechanism, seeming more con– cerned with their exit than with Chris's or Wesker's whereabouts… She looked down at the two crumpled figures in the hall, at the tacky, drying pools of red that surrounded them. Maybe she was trying too hard to find a motive that didn't exist. Maybe, like her, Barry was scared, and sick of feeling like death could come at any time.
Maybe I should stop thinking about it and do my job. Whether or not we find the others, he's right about needing to get out. We have to get back to the city, let people know what's out here.
Jill straightened her shoulders and walked to the door that led to the stairwell, drawing her weapon. She'd made it this far she could make it a little farther, try to unravel the mystery that had taken the lives of so many or die trying, her mind whispered softly.
Forest Speyer was dead. The laughing, Southern good ol’ boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a bloody, lifeless impostor slumped against a wall. Chris stared down at the impostor, the distant sounds of the night lost to a sudden gust of wind that whipped around the eaves, moaning through the railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly sound, but Forest couldn't hear it; Forest would never hear anything again. Chris crouched down next to the still body, care– fully prying Forest's Beretta from beneath cool fin– gers. He told himself he wouldn't look, but as he reached for Forest's belt pack, he found his gaze fixed on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo's eyes had once been.
Jesus, what happened? What happened to you, man?
Forest's body was covered with wounds, most an inch or two across and surrounded by raw, bloody flesh – it was as if he'd been stabbed hundreds of times with a dull knife, each vicious cut ripping away chunks of skin and muscle. Part of his ribcage was cruelly exposed, slivers of white showing beneath tattered redness. His eyeless, streaming stare was the crowning horror-like the killer hadn't been content to take Forest's life, wanting his soul instead. There were three clips for the Beretta in Forest's pack. Chris shoved the magazines into a pocket and quickly stood up, tearing his gaze from the mutilated body. He looked out over the dark woods, breathing deeply. His thoughts were jumbled and grasping, trying to find an explanation and yet unable to hold on to any coherent facts. Once in the main hall, he'd decided to check all of the doors to see which were unlocked and when he'd seen the bloody hand print in the tiny upstairs hall and heard the wailing cries of birds, he'd charged in, ready to deal out some justice…
… crows. It sounded like crows, an entire flock… or a murder, actually. Pack of dogs, kindle of kittens, murder of crows…
He blinked, his tired mind focusing on the seem– ingly random bit of trivia. Frowning, Chris crouched back down next to Forest's ravaged body, studying the jagged wounds closely. There were dozens of tiny scratches amidst the more serious cuts, scratches set into lined patterns.
Claws. Talons.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he heard a restless flutter of wings. He turned slowly, still holding Forest's Beretta in a hand that had suddenly gone cold. A sleek, monstrous bird was perched on the railing not two feet away, watching him with bright black eyes. Its smooth feathers gleamed dully against its bloated body… and a ribbon of something red and wet hung from its beak. The bird tilted its head to the side and let out a tremendous shriek, the streamer of Forest's flesh droooine to the railing. From all around, the answer– ing cries of its gathered siblings flooded the night air. There was a furious whisper of oversized wings as dozens of dark, fluttering shapes swooped out from beneath the eaves, screeching and clawing. Chris ran, the image of Forest's bloody, terrible eyes burned into his pounding thoughts as he lunged for escape. He stumbled into the tiny hall and slammed the door against the rising screams of the birds, adrenaline pumping through his system in hot, surging beats. He took a deep breath, then another, and after a moment, his heart slowed down to a more normal pace. The shrieks of the crows gradually grew distant, blown away on a softly moaning wind.
Jesus, how dumb can I get? Stupid, stupid.
He'd stormed out onto the deck looking for a fight, looking to avenge the deaths of the other
S.T.A.R.S. and been shocked into stupidity by what he'd found. If he hadn't let himself get so freaked out by Forest's death, he would have made the connection sooner between the birds and the types of wounds and perhaps noticed the gather– ing flesh-eaters that had watched him from the shadows, looking for their next victim. He headed for the door back to the main hall, angry with himself for going into a situation unprepared. He couldn't afford to keep making mistakes, to let his attention wander from what was in front of him. This wasn't some kind of a game, where he could push a reset button if he missed a trick. People were dying, his friends were dying – and if you don't pull your head out of your ass and start being more careful, you 're going to join them. Another torn and lifeless body crumpled in a cold hallway somewhere, another victim to the insanity of this house.
Chris silenced the nagging whisper, taking a deep breath as he stepped back into the high gallery of the lobby and closed the door behind him. Beating him-self up was no more useful than charging blindly around in a strange and dangerous environment, looking for revenge. He had to concentrate on what was important: the lost Alphas and Rebecca. He walked toward the stairs, tucking Forest's weap– on into his waistband. At least Rebecca would be able to defend herself.
"Chris."
Startled, he looked down to see the young
S.T.A.R.S. member at the base of the wide steps, grinning up at him. He jogged down the stairs, glad to see her in spite of himself. "What happened? Is everything all right?"Rebecca held up a silver key as he reached her, still smiling widely. "I found something I thought you could use."
He took the key, noting that the handle was etched with a tiny shield before slipping it inside his vest. Rebecca was beaming, her eyes flashing with excite– ment.
"After you left, I played the piano and this secret door opened up in the wall. There was this gold emblem inside, like a shield, and I switched it with the one in the dining room and the grandfather clock moved, and that key was behind it."
She broke off suddenly, her smile faltering as she studied his face. "I'm sorry… I know I shouldn't have left, but I thought I could catch you before you got too far…" "It's okay," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm just surprised to see you. Here, I found you something a little better than a can of insect repellent."
He handed her the Beretta, pulling out a couple of clips to go with it. Rebecca took the gun, staring down at it thoughtfully. When she looked up at him again, her gaze was serious and intense. "Who was it?" Chris thought about lying, but saw that she wasn't going to buy it and realized suddenly what it was about her that made him feel so protective, that made him want to shield her from the sad and sickening truth. Claire. That was it; Rebecca reminded him of his little sister, from her tomboy sarcasm and quick wit to the way she wore her hair. "Listen," she said quietly, "I know you feel respon-sible for me, and I admit that I'm pretty new at this. But I'm a member of this team, and sheltering me from the facts could get me killed. So-who was it?"
Chris stared at her for a moment and then sighed. She was right. "Forest. I found him outside, he'd been pecked to death by crows. Kenneth's dead, too."
A sudden anguish passed across her eyes, but she nodded firmly, keeping her gaze on his. "Okay. So what do we do now?"
Chris couldn't help the slightest of smiles, trying to remember if he'd ever been so young. He motioned up the stairs, hoping that he wasn't about to make another mistake. "I guess we try another door."
Wesker didn't catch much of the conversation be– tween Barry and Jill, but after a muffled, "Good luck," from Mr. Burton, he heard a door open and close somewhere near by and a moment later, the hollow thump of bootsteps against wood, followed by another closing door. The hall outside was clear, his team off on their mission to find the rest of the copper crests. Looks like I picked the right room to wait in. He'd used the helmet key to lock himself into a small study by the back door, the perfect place from which to monitor the team's progress. Not only could he hear them coming and going, he'd be able to get a head start to the labs. He held the heavy wind crest up to the light of the desk lamp, grinning. It had been too easy, really. He'd happened across the plaster statue on his way back from talking to Barry, and remembered that it had a secret compartment somewhere. Rather than waste valuable time searching, he'd simply pushed the hide– ous thing off the dining room balcony. It hadn't been hiding one of the crests, but the sparkle of the blue jewel amidst the rubble had been almost as good. There was a room just off the dining hall that held a statue of a tiger with one red eye and one blue, one of the few mechanisms that he'd remembered from an earlier visit. A quick visit to the statue had confirmed his suspicions; both eyes had been missing, and when he'd placed the gaudy blue jewel into its proper socket, the tiger had turned to one side and presented him with the crest. Just like that, he was one step closer to completing his mission.
When the other three are in place, I'll wait until they're off looking for the final piece and then slip right out the door.
He considered going to check the diagram, but decided against it. The house was big, but not that big, and there was no need to expose himself to further risk of being seen. Besides, they probably hadn't managed to find any of the other crests yet. He'd already had a close call when he'd gone downstairs to retrieve the jewel, almost stepping directly into Chris Redfield's path. Chris had found the rookie and the two of them were blundering around, probably look– ing for "clues." Besides, this room is comfortable. Maybe I'll take a nap while I wait for the rest of them to catch up. He leaned back in the desk chair, pleased with himself for all he'd accomplished so far. What could have been a disaster was turning out quite nicely, thanks to some quick thinking on his part. He had already found one of the crests, he had Barry and Jill working for him and he'd had the good fortune to run into Ellen Smith while he'd been in the library.
Oops, scratch that. It's Doctor Ellen Smith, thank you very much.
After fetching the wind crest, he'd gone to the library to check the small side room that overlooked the estate's heliport, the entrance concealed behind a bookcase. A quick search had revealed nothing useful, and he'd been about to check the back room when Dr. Smith had shambled out to greet him. He had tried to get a date with her ever since he'd moved to Raccoon, drawn in by her long legs and platinum blond hair; he'd always been partial to blonds, particularly smart ones. Not only had she repeatedly turned him down, she hadn't even tried to be nice about it. When he'd called her Ellen, she'd coolly informed him that she was his superior and a doctor, and would be addressed as such. Ice queen, through and through. If she hadn't been so damned good-looking, he never would've bothered in the first place.
But my, how your beauty has faded, Dr. Ellen…
Wesker closed his eyes, smiling, reliving the experi– ence. It had been the ratty strings of blond hair that had given her away as she'd shuffled out from behind a shelf, moaning and reaching for him. Her legs were still long, but they'd lost a lot of their appeal – not to mention a fair amount of skin.
"What lovely perfume you're wearing, Dr. Smith,"
he'd said. Then two shots to the head, and she'd gone down in a spray of blood and bone. Wesker didn't like to think of himself as a shallow man, but pulling the trigger on that high-riding bitch had been wonder-fully– no, deeply-gratifying. Like icing on a cake, a little bonus perk for taking matters in hand. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll run into that prick Sarton down in the labs… After a few moments, Wesker stood up and stretched, turning to scan some of the titles on the bookshelf behind him. He was eager to get moving, but it might take the S.T.A.R.S. awhile to find the rest of the puzzle pieces and there was really nothing he could do to hurry the process; he might as well keep busy. He frowned, struggling to make sense of the techni– cal titles. One of the books was called, Phagemids: Alpha Complementation Vectors, the next one was, cDNA Libraries and Electrophoresis Conditions. Biochemistry texts and medical journals, terrific. Maybe he'd get that nap in after all. Just reading the titles was making him sleepy. His gaze fell across a heavy-looking tome sitting by itself on one of the lower shelves, bound in a fine red leather. He picked it up, glad to see a title he could read printed across the front, even one as stupid as, Eagle of East, Wolf of West. Wait – that's the same thing written on the fountain. Wesker stared at the words, feeling his good mood slipping away. It couldn't be, the researchers had gone nuts but surely they wouldn't have locked down the labs, there was no reason for it. He opened the book almost frantically, praying that he was wrong and let out a low moan of helpless rage at what was tucked into the sham book's glued pages. A brass medallion with an eagle engraved on it lay in the cut away compartment – part of a key to yet another of Spencer's insane locks.
It was like the punch line to a cruel joke. To get out of the house, he had to find the crests. Once out in the courtyard, he'd have to make his way through a winding maze of tunnels that ended in a hidden section of the garden – where there was an old stone fountain that marked the entrance to the under– ground labs. The fountain was one of Spencer's fanciful creations, a marvel of engineering that could be opened and closed to hide the facility under– neath – provided, of course, that you had the keys: two medallions made out of brass, an eagle on one, a wolf on the other. Finding the eagle meant that the gate was closed. And that meant that the wolf could be anywhere, anywhere at all and that his chances of even getting to the lab had just dropped down to somewhere near zero. Unable to control his fury, he snatched up the medal and threw the book against the desk, knocking the lamp over with a crash and plunging the room into sudden blackness. There was no longer any point in holding on to the wind crest; his perfect plan was ruined. He'd have to give up his edge and hope that one of the others would inadvertently stumble across the wolf medal for him, secreted away somewhere on the massive, sprawling estate. Which means more risk, more searching and a chance that one of them will reach the labs before I do. Seething, Wesker stood in the dark silence with his fists clenched, trying not to scream.
"… and when I heard the shots, I came running."
Barry rubbed absently at his short beard. He smiled at her, a somewhat hesitant grin. "Lucky for you. Another couple of seconds, you would've been a Jill sandwich."
Jill smiled back gratefully, nodding, but noticed that he seemed a little… strained, the humor forced. Odd. She wouldn't have figured Barry as the type to tense up in the face of danger.
Is it any wonder? We're trapped here, we can't find the team, and this entire mansion is out to get us. Not exactly a laugh-riot. "I hope I can return the favor if you ever get in a tight spot," she said softly. "Really. You saved my life." Barry looked away, flushing slightly. "Glad I could help," he said gruffly. "Just be more careful. This place is dangerous."
She nodded again, thinking of how close she'd come to dying. She shivered slightly, then forced the thoughts away; they needed to be concentrating on Chris and Wesker. "So you do think they're still alive?" "Yeah. Besides the shell casings, there was a whole trail of those ghouls in the other wing, all with clean head shots; gotta be Chris – though I had to splatter a couple more of 'em upstairs, so I figure he holed up somewhere along the way."
Barry nodded toward the copper diagram set into the wall. "So, was this star crest here already?" Jill frowned, a little surprised at the abrupt change of topic; Chris was one of Barry's closest friends.
"No. I found it in another room with a trap. This place seems to be full of them. In fact, maybe we should look for Wesker and Chris together – no tell-ing what they might've stumbled into, or what else could happen to either of us." Barry shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, you're right, we should watch our step, but there are a lot of rooms, and our first priority ought to be securing an escape. If we split up, we can try to find the rest of these crests, and look for Chris at the same time. And Wesker."
Though his demeanor didn't change, Jill had the sudden distinct impression that Barry was uncom– fortable. He had turned away to study the copper diagram, but it almost seemed as if he was trying to avoid eye contact. "Besides," he said, "we know what we're up against now. As long as we use a little common sense, we'll be fine." "Barry, are you okay? You seem-tired." It wasn't the right word, but it was the only one that came to Jill’s mind. He sighed, finally looking at her. He did seem tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his wide shoulders were slumped.
"No, I'm alright. Just worried about Chris, you know."
Jill nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. Since he'd pulled her out of the trap he'd been acting unusually subdued, even nervous.
Paranoid much? This is Barry Burton you're talking about, the backbone of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. – not to mention, the man who just saved your life. What could he possibly be hiding?
Jill knew she was probably being overly suspi– Cious, but all the same, she decided to keep her mouth shut about Trent's computer. After all she'd been through, she wasn't feeling particularly trusting. And it sounded like he already had a pretty good idea of the mansion's layout, so it wasn't like he needed the information.
That's it, keep rationalizing. Next thing, you'll be suspecting Captain Wesker of planning this whole thing.
Jill scoffed inwardly as she pushed herself away from the wall and she and Barry walked slowly back toward the house. Now that was paranoid. They stopped as they reached the door, Jill taking a few final lungfuls of the sweet air, letting it settle her nerves. Barry had taken out his Colt Python and was reloading the empty chambers, his expression grim.
"I thought I'd go back over to the east wing, see if I can pick up Chris's trail," he said. "Why don't you head upstairs and start looking for the other crests? That way we can cover all of the rooms, work our way back to the main hall."
Jill nodded and Barry opened the door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. A wave of cold swept past them and Jill sighed, trying to prepare herself to face another maze of frigid, shadowy halls, another series of unopened doors and the secrets that lay behind them. "You're gonna do fine," Barry said smoothly, plac– ing a warm hand on her shoulder and gently ushering her back inside. As soon as the door closed behind them he lifted his hand in a casual salute, smiling. "Good luck," he said, and before she could re-spond, he turned and hurried away, weapon in hand. With another creak of ancient metal, he slipped through the double doors at the end of the hall and was gone. Jill stared after him, alone once again in the chilled, stinking silence of the dim corridor. It wasn't her imagination; Barry was keeping something from her.
But was it something she needed to worry about, or was he just trying to protect her?
Maybe he found Chris or Wesker, dead, and didn't want to tell me.
It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it would explain his strange, hurried behavior. He obviously wanted them to get out of the house as soon as possible, and wanted her to stay on the west side. And the way he'd fixated on the puzzle mechanism, seeming more con– cerned with their exit than with Chris's or Wesker's whereabouts… She looked down at the two crumpled figures in the hall, at the tacky, drying pools of red that surrounded them. Maybe she was trying too hard to find a motive that didn't exist. Maybe, like her, Barry was scared, and sick of feeling like death could come at any time.
Maybe I should stop thinking about it and do my job. Whether or not we find the others, he's right about needing to get out. We have to get back to the city, let people know what's out here.
Jill straightened her shoulders and walked to the door that led to the stairwell, drawing her weapon. She'd made it this far she could make it a little farther, try to unravel the mystery that had taken the lives of so many or die trying, her mind whispered softly.
Forest Speyer was dead. The laughing, Southern good ol’ boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a bloody, lifeless impostor slumped against a wall. Chris stared down at the impostor, the distant sounds of the night lost to a sudden gust of wind that whipped around the eaves, moaning through the railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly sound, but Forest couldn't hear it; Forest would never hear anything again. Chris crouched down next to the still body, care– fully prying Forest's Beretta from beneath cool fin– gers. He told himself he wouldn't look, but as he reached for Forest's belt pack, he found his gaze fixed on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo's eyes had once been.
Jesus, what happened? What happened to you, man?
Forest's body was covered with wounds, most an inch or two across and surrounded by raw, bloody flesh – it was as if he'd been stabbed hundreds of times with a dull knife, each vicious cut ripping away chunks of skin and muscle. Part of his ribcage was cruelly exposed, slivers of white showing beneath tattered redness. His eyeless, streaming stare was the crowning horror-like the killer hadn't been content to take Forest's life, wanting his soul instead. There were three clips for the Beretta in Forest's pack. Chris shoved the magazines into a pocket and quickly stood up, tearing his gaze from the mutilated body. He looked out over the dark woods, breathing deeply. His thoughts were jumbled and grasping, trying to find an explanation and yet unable to hold on to any coherent facts. Once in the main hall, he'd decided to check all of the doors to see which were unlocked and when he'd seen the bloody hand print in the tiny upstairs hall and heard the wailing cries of birds, he'd charged in, ready to deal out some justice…
… crows. It sounded like crows, an entire flock… or a murder, actually. Pack of dogs, kindle of kittens, murder of crows…
He blinked, his tired mind focusing on the seem– ingly random bit of trivia. Frowning, Chris crouched back down next to Forest's ravaged body, studying the jagged wounds closely. There were dozens of tiny scratches amidst the more serious cuts, scratches set into lined patterns.
Claws. Talons.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he heard a restless flutter of wings. He turned slowly, still holding Forest's Beretta in a hand that had suddenly gone cold. A sleek, monstrous bird was perched on the railing not two feet away, watching him with bright black eyes. Its smooth feathers gleamed dully against its bloated body… and a ribbon of something red and wet hung from its beak. The bird tilted its head to the side and let out a tremendous shriek, the streamer of Forest's flesh droooine to the railing. From all around, the answer– ing cries of its gathered siblings flooded the night air. There was a furious whisper of oversized wings as dozens of dark, fluttering shapes swooped out from beneath the eaves, screeching and clawing. Chris ran, the image of Forest's bloody, terrible eyes burned into his pounding thoughts as he lunged for escape. He stumbled into the tiny hall and slammed the door against the rising screams of the birds, adrenaline pumping through his system in hot, surging beats. He took a deep breath, then another, and after a moment, his heart slowed down to a more normal pace. The shrieks of the crows gradually grew distant, blown away on a softly moaning wind.
Jesus, how dumb can I get? Stupid, stupid.
He'd stormed out onto the deck looking for a fight, looking to avenge the deaths of the other
S.T.A.R.S. and been shocked into stupidity by what he'd found. If he hadn't let himself get so freaked out by Forest's death, he would have made the connection sooner between the birds and the types of wounds and perhaps noticed the gather– ing flesh-eaters that had watched him from the shadows, looking for their next victim. He headed for the door back to the main hall, angry with himself for going into a situation unprepared. He couldn't afford to keep making mistakes, to let his attention wander from what was in front of him. This wasn't some kind of a game, where he could push a reset button if he missed a trick. People were dying, his friends were dying – and if you don't pull your head out of your ass and start being more careful, you 're going to join them. Another torn and lifeless body crumpled in a cold hallway somewhere, another victim to the insanity of this house.
Chris silenced the nagging whisper, taking a deep breath as he stepped back into the high gallery of the lobby and closed the door behind him. Beating him-self up was no more useful than charging blindly around in a strange and dangerous environment, looking for revenge. He had to concentrate on what was important: the lost Alphas and Rebecca. He walked toward the stairs, tucking Forest's weap– on into his waistband. At least Rebecca would be able to defend herself.
"Chris."
Startled, he looked down to see the young
S.T.A.R.S. member at the base of the wide steps, grinning up at him. He jogged down the stairs, glad to see her in spite of himself. "What happened? Is everything all right?"Rebecca held up a silver key as he reached her, still smiling widely. "I found something I thought you could use."
He took the key, noting that the handle was etched with a tiny shield before slipping it inside his vest. Rebecca was beaming, her eyes flashing with excite– ment.
"After you left, I played the piano and this secret door opened up in the wall. There was this gold emblem inside, like a shield, and I switched it with the one in the dining room and the grandfather clock moved, and that key was behind it."
She broke off suddenly, her smile faltering as she studied his face. "I'm sorry… I know I shouldn't have left, but I thought I could catch you before you got too far…" "It's okay," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm just surprised to see you. Here, I found you something a little better than a can of insect repellent."
He handed her the Beretta, pulling out a couple of clips to go with it. Rebecca took the gun, staring down at it thoughtfully. When she looked up at him again, her gaze was serious and intense. "Who was it?" Chris thought about lying, but saw that she wasn't going to buy it and realized suddenly what it was about her that made him feel so protective, that made him want to shield her from the sad and sickening truth. Claire. That was it; Rebecca reminded him of his little sister, from her tomboy sarcasm and quick wit to the way she wore her hair. "Listen," she said quietly, "I know you feel respon-sible for me, and I admit that I'm pretty new at this. But I'm a member of this team, and sheltering me from the facts could get me killed. So-who was it?"
Chris stared at her for a moment and then sighed. She was right. "Forest. I found him outside, he'd been pecked to death by crows. Kenneth's dead, too."
A sudden anguish passed across her eyes, but she nodded firmly, keeping her gaze on his. "Okay. So what do we do now?"
Chris couldn't help the slightest of smiles, trying to remember if he'd ever been so young. He motioned up the stairs, hoping that he wasn't about to make another mistake. "I guess we try another door."
Wesker didn't catch much of the conversation be– tween Barry and Jill, but after a muffled, "Good luck," from Mr. Burton, he heard a door open and close somewhere near by and a moment later, the hollow thump of bootsteps against wood, followed by another closing door. The hall outside was clear, his team off on their mission to find the rest of the copper crests. Looks like I picked the right room to wait in. He'd used the helmet key to lock himself into a small study by the back door, the perfect place from which to monitor the team's progress. Not only could he hear them coming and going, he'd be able to get a head start to the labs. He held the heavy wind crest up to the light of the desk lamp, grinning. It had been too easy, really. He'd happened across the plaster statue on his way back from talking to Barry, and remembered that it had a secret compartment somewhere. Rather than waste valuable time searching, he'd simply pushed the hide– ous thing off the dining room balcony. It hadn't been hiding one of the crests, but the sparkle of the blue jewel amidst the rubble had been almost as good. There was a room just off the dining hall that held a statue of a tiger with one red eye and one blue, one of the few mechanisms that he'd remembered from an earlier visit. A quick visit to the statue had confirmed his suspicions; both eyes had been missing, and when he'd placed the gaudy blue jewel into its proper socket, the tiger had turned to one side and presented him with the crest. Just like that, he was one step closer to completing his mission.
When the other three are in place, I'll wait until they're off looking for the final piece and then slip right out the door.
He considered going to check the diagram, but decided against it. The house was big, but not that big, and there was no need to expose himself to further risk of being seen. Besides, they probably hadn't managed to find any of the other crests yet. He'd already had a close call when he'd gone downstairs to retrieve the jewel, almost stepping directly into Chris Redfield's path. Chris had found the rookie and the two of them were blundering around, probably look– ing for "clues." Besides, this room is comfortable. Maybe I'll take a nap while I wait for the rest of them to catch up. He leaned back in the desk chair, pleased with himself for all he'd accomplished so far. What could have been a disaster was turning out quite nicely, thanks to some quick thinking on his part. He had already found one of the crests, he had Barry and Jill working for him and he'd had the good fortune to run into Ellen Smith while he'd been in the library.
Oops, scratch that. It's Doctor Ellen Smith, thank you very much.
After fetching the wind crest, he'd gone to the library to check the small side room that overlooked the estate's heliport, the entrance concealed behind a bookcase. A quick search had revealed nothing useful, and he'd been about to check the back room when Dr. Smith had shambled out to greet him. He had tried to get a date with her ever since he'd moved to Raccoon, drawn in by her long legs and platinum blond hair; he'd always been partial to blonds, particularly smart ones. Not only had she repeatedly turned him down, she hadn't even tried to be nice about it. When he'd called her Ellen, she'd coolly informed him that she was his superior and a doctor, and would be addressed as such. Ice queen, through and through. If she hadn't been so damned good-looking, he never would've bothered in the first place.
But my, how your beauty has faded, Dr. Ellen…
Wesker closed his eyes, smiling, reliving the experi– ence. It had been the ratty strings of blond hair that had given her away as she'd shuffled out from behind a shelf, moaning and reaching for him. Her legs were still long, but they'd lost a lot of their appeal – not to mention a fair amount of skin.
"What lovely perfume you're wearing, Dr. Smith,"
he'd said. Then two shots to the head, and she'd gone down in a spray of blood and bone. Wesker didn't like to think of himself as a shallow man, but pulling the trigger on that high-riding bitch had been wonder-fully– no, deeply-gratifying. Like icing on a cake, a little bonus perk for taking matters in hand. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll run into that prick Sarton down in the labs… After a few moments, Wesker stood up and stretched, turning to scan some of the titles on the bookshelf behind him. He was eager to get moving, but it might take the S.T.A.R.S. awhile to find the rest of the puzzle pieces and there was really nothing he could do to hurry the process; he might as well keep busy. He frowned, struggling to make sense of the techni– cal titles. One of the books was called, Phagemids: Alpha Complementation Vectors, the next one was, cDNA Libraries and Electrophoresis Conditions. Biochemistry texts and medical journals, terrific. Maybe he'd get that nap in after all. Just reading the titles was making him sleepy. His gaze fell across a heavy-looking tome sitting by itself on one of the lower shelves, bound in a fine red leather. He picked it up, glad to see a title he could read printed across the front, even one as stupid as, Eagle of East, Wolf of West. Wait – that's the same thing written on the fountain. Wesker stared at the words, feeling his good mood slipping away. It couldn't be, the researchers had gone nuts but surely they wouldn't have locked down the labs, there was no reason for it. He opened the book almost frantically, praying that he was wrong and let out a low moan of helpless rage at what was tucked into the sham book's glued pages. A brass medallion with an eagle engraved on it lay in the cut away compartment – part of a key to yet another of Spencer's insane locks.
It was like the punch line to a cruel joke. To get out of the house, he had to find the crests. Once out in the courtyard, he'd have to make his way through a winding maze of tunnels that ended in a hidden section of the garden – where there was an old stone fountain that marked the entrance to the under– ground labs. The fountain was one of Spencer's fanciful creations, a marvel of engineering that could be opened and closed to hide the facility under– neath – provided, of course, that you had the keys: two medallions made out of brass, an eagle on one, a wolf on the other. Finding the eagle meant that the gate was closed. And that meant that the wolf could be anywhere, anywhere at all and that his chances of even getting to the lab had just dropped down to somewhere near zero. Unable to control his fury, he snatched up the medal and threw the book against the desk, knocking the lamp over with a crash and plunging the room into sudden blackness. There was no longer any point in holding on to the wind crest; his perfect plan was ruined. He'd have to give up his edge and hope that one of the others would inadvertently stumble across the wolf medal for him, secreted away somewhere on the massive, sprawling estate. Which means more risk, more searching and a chance that one of them will reach the labs before I do. Seething, Wesker stood in the dark silence with his fists clenched, trying not to scream.
TWELVE
JILL HEARD SOMETHING LIKE BREAKING glass and held perfectly still, listening. The acoustics of the mansion were strange, the long corridors and unusual floor plan making it hard to tell where sounds were coming from. Or if you even heard them at all… She sighed, taking a last look around the quiet, book-lined sitting room at the top of the stairs. She'd already checked the three other rooms along the gallery railing and found exactly nothing of interest: a sparse bedroom with two bunks, an office, and an unfinished den with a locked door and a fireplace inside. The only switches she'd found were light switches, though she had gotten excited over a rather sinister-looking black button on the wall of the office until she'd pushed it, and found that she'd managed to discover the drainage control for an empty fish tank in the corner.
She'd found some ammo for the Remington, she supposed she should be grateful for that – a dozen shells in a metal box underneath one of the bunks in the bedroom. But if there'd been any hidden crests, she'd missed them. Jill took out Trent's computer and checked the map, finding her position at the top of the stairs. Just past the sitting room's second door was a wide, U-shaped corridor that angled back around to the front hall balcony. The corridor also connected to two rooms, one a dead end and the other leading through several more. She put the computer away and drew her Beretta, taking a moment to clear her mind before stepping into the corridor. It wasn't easy. Between trying to figure out what had happened in the house to create monsters and her concerns for and about her team, her thoughts were distinctly messy. Should've looked closer at those papers… The office had been simple, a desk, a bookshelf, but there was a rack of lab coats by the door and the papers strewn across the desk had mostly been lists of numbers and letters. She knew just enough chemistry to know that she was looking at chemistry, so she didn't bother trying to read them, but since finding the papers, she had begun to think of the zombies as the result of a research accident. The mansion was too well maintained to have come from private money, and the fact that it had been kept a secret for so long suggested a cover up. She guessed that there was a couple of months worth of dust on almost every-thing – which coincided with the first attacks in Rac-coon. If the people in the house had been conducting some kind of an experiment and something had gone wrong… Something that transformed them into flesh-eating ghouls? That's a bit far-fetched…
But it made more sense than anything else she could come up with, although she'd keep her mind open to other possibilities. As to her concerns about the team – Barry was acting weird and Chris and Wesker were still missing; no new developments there. And there won't be any if you don't get going. Right. Jill put her musings on hold and stepped out into the hall. She noticed the smell before she actually saw the zombie farther down the corridor, crumpled to the floor. The small wall sconces cast an uneven glow over the body, reflecting off of dark red trim and tinting everything in the corridor a smoky crimson. She trained her weapon on the still body and heard a door closing somewhere close by.
Barry?
He'd said he was going to be in the mansion's other wing, but maybe he'd found something and had come looking for her… or maybe she was finally going to meet up with someone else from the team. Smiling at the thought she hurried down the gloomy hall, eager to see another familiar face. As she neared the corner, a fresh wave of decay washed over her and the fallen creature at her feet grabbed at her boot, clutching her ankle with surprising strength. Startled, Jill flailed her arms to keep her balance, crying out in disgust as the slobbering zombie inched its rotting face toward her boot. Its peeling, skeletal fingers scrabbled weakly at the thick leather, seeking a firmer grip and Jill instinctively brought her other boot down on the back of its head, the heavy treads sliding across the skull with a sickening wet sound. A wide piece of flaking scalp tore away, revealing glistening bone. The creature kept clawing at her, oblivious to pain. The second and third kicks hit the back of its neck and on the fourth, she felt as much as heard the dull snap of vertebrae giving out, crushed beneath her heel. The pale hands fluttered and with a choking, liquid sigh, the zombie settled to the musty carpet. Jill stepped over the limp body and ran around the corner, swallowing back bile. She was convinced that the pitiful creatures roaming the halls were victims somehow, just as much as Becky and Pris had been, and releasing them to death was a kindness, but they were also a menace, not to mention morbidly un– wholesome. She had to be more cautious. There was a door to her right, heavy wood overlaid with twining metal designs. There was a picture of armor over the key plate, but like the other doors she'd come across upstairs, it was unlocked. There was no one inside the well-lit room but she hesitated, suddenly reluctant to continue her search for whoever else was wandering the area. Two walls of the large chamber were lined with full suits of armor, eight to a side, and there was a small display case at the back – not to mention a large red switch set into the middle of the gray tiled floor. Another trap? Or a puzzle… Intrigued, she walked into the room and headed for the glass fronted display, the silent, lifeless guards seeming to watch her every move. There were a couple of mysterious grated holes in the floor, one on either side of the red switch, for ventilation per-haps and she felt her heart speed up a little, sud-denly sure that she had found another of the mansion's traps. A quick inspection of the dusty display case de– cided it for her; there wasn't any way that she could see to open it, the glass front a single thick piece. And something in one shadowy niche at the bottom glinted like dull copper. I'm supposed to push that button, thinking that it will open the case and then what? She had a sudden vivid image of the ventilation holes sealing off and the door locking itself, a death by slow suffocation in an airless tomb. The chamber could fill with water, or some kind of poisonous gas. She looked around the room, frowning, wondering if she should try to block the door open or if perhaps there was another switch hidden in one of the empty suits….. every riddle has more than one answer, Jilly, don't forget it.
Jill grinned suddenly. Why push the button at all? She crouched down next to the case and took a firm grip on the barrel of her handgun. With a single firm tap, the glass cracked, thin lines spidering away from the impact. She used the butt of the gun to knock out a thick chunk and reached carefully inside. She withdrew a hexagonal copper crest, engraved with an archaic smiling sun. She smiled back at it, pleased with her solution. Apparently some of the house's tricks could be worked around, provided she ignored a few rules of fair play. All the same, she found herself hurrying back to the door, not wanting to call it a win until she was clear of the solemn chamber. Stepping back into the blood-hued corridor, she stood for a moment, holding the crest as she weighed her options. She could continue to look for whoever had closed that door, or head back to the puzzle lock and place the crest. As much as she wanted to find her team, Barry had been right about needing to get out of the mansion. If any of the other S.T.A.R.S. were still alive, they'd surely also be looking for an escape. Her thoughtful gaze fell across the fetid, broken creature that she'd killed, lingering on the slowly spreading pool of dark fluids surrounding its scabby head and she realized suddenly that she desperately wanted to leave the house, to escape its tainted air and the pestilent creatures that stalked its cold and dusty halls. She wanted out, and as soon as was humanly possible.
Her decision made, Jill hurried back the way she'd come, gripping the heavy crest tightly. She'd already uncovered two of the pieces that the S.T.A.R.S. needed to escape the mansion. She didn't know what they'd be escaping to, but anything had to be better than what they would leave behind…
"Richard!" Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees next to the Bravo, feeling his throat for a pulse with one trembling hand. Chris stared mutely down at the torn body, already knowing that she wouldn't find a heartbeat; the gap– ing wound on Richard Aiken's right shoulder was drying, no fresh blood seeping through the mutilated tissue. He was dead. He watched Rebecca's slender hand slowly drop away from the Bravo's neck and then reach up to close his glazed, unseeing eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Chris felt sick over their discovery; the communica– tions expert had been a positive, sweet guy, and only twenty-three years old… He looked around the silent room, searching ran– domly for some clue as to how Richard had died. The room they'd entered just off the second-floor balcony was undecorated and empty. Except for Richard, there was nothing. Frowning, Chris took a few steps toward the room's second entrance and crouched down, brushing at the dark tile floor. There was a dried crust of blood in the shape of a boot heel between Richard's body and the plain wooden door ten feet away. He stared at the door thoughtfully, tightening his hold on the Beretta. Whatever killed him is on the other side, maybe waiting for more victims.
"Chris, take a look at this."
Rebecca was still kneeling by Richard, her gaze fixed on the bloody mass of his torn shoulder. Chris joined her, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The wound was ragged and messy, the flesh discolored by trauma. Strange, though, how it didn't seem very deep.
"See those purple lines, radiating out from the cuts? And the way the muscle has been punctured, here and here?" She pointed out two dark holes about six inches apart, each surrounded by skin that had turned an infected-looking red. Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at him.
"I think he was poisoned. It looks like a snake bite." Chris stared at her. "What snake gets that big?" She shook her head, standing. "Got me. Maybe it was something else. But that wound shouldn't have killed him, it would have taken hours for him to bleed out. I'm pretty sure he was poisoned."
Chris regarded her with new respect; she had a good eye for details and was handling herself remarkably well, considering. He searched Richard's body quickly, coming up with another full clip and a short-wave radio. He handed both to Rebecca, tucking Richard's empty Beretta into his waistband. He looked at the door again, then back at Rebecca.
"Whatever killed him might be back there." "Then we'll have to be careful," she said. Without another word, she walked to the door and stood there, waiting for him. I've gotta stop thinking of her as a kid. She's outlived most of the rest of her team already, she doesn't need me to patronize her or tell her to wait behind. He stepped up to the door and nodded at her. She turned the knob and pushed it open, both of them raising their weapons as they edged into a narrow hallway. Straight ahead were a few wood steps leading to a closed door. To their left, an offshoot of the hall, another door at the end. There was blood smeared on the walls bordering the steps, and Chris was suddenly certain that it was Richard's; his killer was behind that door. He motioned down the offshoot, speaking quietly.
"You take that room. You run into any trouble, come back here and wait. Check back in five minutes either way."
Rebecca nodded and moved down the narrow hall. Chris waited until she'd gone into the room before climbing the steps, his heart already thudding solidly against his ribs. The door was locked, but Chris saw that there was a tiny shield etched next to keyhole. Rebecca was turning out to be more useful than he could have possibly imagined. He took out the key she'd given him and unlocked the wide door, checking his Beretta before moving inside. It was a large attic, as plain and unassuming as the rest of the mansion was ornate. Wooden support beams extended from the floor to the sloping ceiling, and other than a few boxes and barrels against the walls, it was empty. Chris walked farther in, his guard up as he scanned for movement. At the other side of the long room was a partial wall, maybe four feet by nine, standing several feet from the back of the attic. It reminded him of a horse stall, and it was the only area that wasn't open to view. Chris moved toward it slowly, his boots against the wood floor sending hollow echoes through the cool air. He edged to the wall, training his Beretta over the top as he peered down, heart pounding. No snake, but there was a jagged hole near the floorboards between the two walls, a foot high and a couple across and a strange, acrid odor, musky, like the smell of some wild animal. Frowning at the scent, Chris started to back away and stopped, leaning in closer. There was a rounded piece of metal next to the hole, like a penny the size of a small fist. There was something engraved on it, a crescent shape. Chris walked around the side and into the stall, keeping a wary eye on the hole as he crouched down and picked up the metal piece. It was a six-sided disk of copper with a moon on it, a nice bit of craftsmanship. Inside the hole, a soft, sliding sound. Chris jumped back, targeting the opening as he moved. He backed up quickly until his shoulders brushed the attic wall, then started to edge away and a dark cylinder shot out of the opening, lightning fast. It was as big around as a dinner plate and it hit the wall inches from his right leg, wood crunching from the impact.
–oh shit that's a SNAKE-
Chris stumbled away as the giant reptile reared back, pulling more of its long, dusky body out of the wall. Hissing, it raised up, lifting its head as high as Chris's chest and exposing dripping fangs. Chris ran halfway across the room and spun, firing at the massive, diamond-shaped head. The snake let out a strange, hissing cry as a shot tore through one side of its gaping mouth, punching a hole through the tightly stretched skin. It dropped back to the floor and whipped itself toward him with a single waving push of its muscular body, at least twenty feet long. Chris fired again and a chunk of scaly flesh erupted from the snake's back, dark blood spewing from the wound. With another roaring hiss, the animal reared up in front of him, its head only inches away from Chris's gun, blood gushing from the hole in its mouth-
–Eyes. Get the eyes-
Chris pulled the trigger and the snake fell across him, knocking him to the floor, its body thrashing wildly. The tail slammed into one of the thick support beams hard enough to crack it as Chris struggled to free his pinned arms, to at least hurt it worse before he died and the cold, heavy body suddenly went limp, sagging bonelessly to the floor.
"Chris!" Rebecca rushed into the room, and stopped cold, staring at the monstrous reptile.
"Woah!"
His boot found one of the wooden supports and with a tremendous shove, Chris managed to wiggle out from beneath the thick body. Rebecca reached down to help him up, her eyes wide with awe. They stared down at the wound that had killed the Creature the black, liquid hole where its right eye had been, obliterated by a nine-millimeter slug. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. Chris nodded; a few bruised ribs maybe, but so what? He'd literally been inches from certain death, and all because he'd stopped to… He held up the copper crest, having to pry his clenched fingers from around the thick metal. He'd held onto it throughout the attack without even realizing it and looking at it now, he had a gut feeling that it was important somehow…
… maybe because you were almost snake-food for picking it up?
Rebecca took it from him, tracing a finger over the engraved moon. "You find anything?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head. "Table, couple of shelves… what's this for, anyway?"
Chris shrugged, looking back down at the bloodyhole where the snake's shining eye had been. He shuddered involuntarily, thinking of what would have happened if he'd missed that final shot.
"Maybe we'll figure it out somewhere along the way," he said quietly. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Rebecca handed the crest back to him and together they hurried out of the cold attic. As he closed the door behind them, Chris realized suddenly that al– though he'd never cared before, he now absolutely hated snakes.
Barry walked heavily up the stairs in the main hall, the knot of dread in the pit of his stomach tightening with each step. He'd been through every room he could open in the east wing and had come up empty-handed. The same horrible images played through his mind over and over as he trudged up the steps. Kathy and Moira and Poly Anne, terrified and suffering at the hands of strangers in their own home. Kathy knew the combination to the gun safe in the basement, but the chances of her making it down the stairs before someone could get in…
Barry reached the first landing and took a deep, shaky breath. Kathy wouldn't even think to run for the weapons if she heard someone breaking through one of the windows or doors. Her first priority would be to get to the girls, to make sure they were okay. If I don't turn up those crests soon, nothing will be okay.
He hadn't seen a phone or radio anywhere in the house. If Wesker couldn't get to that laboratory, how would he be able to contact the people at White Umbrella and call off the killers?
Barry reached the door on the upper landing that led into the west wing. His only hope was that either Jill or Wesker had managed to find the three missing pieces. He didn't know where Wesker was (although he had no doubts that the rat-bastard would turn up soon enough), but Jill would probably still be search– ing upstairs. They could split up the rooms she hadn't checked and at least rule out the least likely areas. If they couldn't uncover any more of the crests, he'd have to go back through the east wing and start ripping apart furniture. He opened the door that led into the red hallway, lost in thought and very nearly ran into Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers as they stepped out of the doorway on his right. Chris's face lit up with a broad, beaming grin.
"Barry!"
The younger man stepped forward and embraced him roughly, then backed up, still grinning. "Jesus, it's good to see you! I was starting to think that me and Rebecca were the last ones alive. Where are Jill and Wesker?"
Barry pasted a smile on as he fumbled for an acceptable answer, feeling almost sick with guilt. Lying to Jill hadn't been easy, but he'd known Chris for years…
–Kathy and the girls, dead-"Jill and I came after you, but all the doors in that hall were locked and when we got back to the lobby, the captain was gone. Since then, we've been looking for you two and trying to find a way out." Barry smiled more naturally. "It's good to see you, too. Both of you."
At least that much is true. "So Wesker just disappeared?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, uncomfortable. "Yeah. And we found Ken. One of those ghouls got to him."Chris sighed. "I saw. Forest and Richard are dead, too."
Barry felt a wave of sadness and swallowed thickly,
suddenly hating Wesker even more. The people Wesker worked for had done this and now they wanted to cover it all up, avoiding responsibility for their actions. And like it or not, I'm going to help them do it.
Barry took a deep breath and fixed an image of his wife and daughters in his mind's eye. "Jill found a back door, and we think it could be a way out – ex-cept its got this trick lock, like a puzzle, and we have to get all the pieces together to open it. There are these four metal crests, made out of copper. Jill got one already, and we think the rest are hidden through-out the mansion…"
He trailed off at Chris's sudden grin as Chris reached into his vest. "Something like this?"Barry stared at the crest that Chris had produced, feeling his heart speed up. "Yeah, that's one of them! Where'd you find it?" Rebecca spoke up, smiling shyly. "He had to fight a big snake for it – a really big snake. I think it may have been affected by the accident, though a cross-genus virus… those are pretty rare."
Barry reached for the crest as casually as he could manage, frowning. "Accident?"Chris nodded. "We found some information that suggests there's some kind of secret research facility here on the estate and that something they were working on got loose. A virus."One that can apparently infect mammals and reptiles," Rebecca added. "Not just different species, different families."
It's certainly infected mine, Barry thought bleakly. He let his frown deepen, feigning thoughtfulness as he struggled to come up with an excuse to get away. The captain wouldn't approach him unless he was alone, and he was desperate to get the copper piece into place, to prove that he was still on board, cooperating and that he'd convinced the rest of the team to help him look. He could feel the seconds ticking away, the metal growing warm beneath his sweating fingers. "We need to get the feds in on this," he said finally, "a full investigation, military support, quarantine of the area."
She'd found some ammo for the Remington, she supposed she should be grateful for that – a dozen shells in a metal box underneath one of the bunks in the bedroom. But if there'd been any hidden crests, she'd missed them. Jill took out Trent's computer and checked the map, finding her position at the top of the stairs. Just past the sitting room's second door was a wide, U-shaped corridor that angled back around to the front hall balcony. The corridor also connected to two rooms, one a dead end and the other leading through several more. She put the computer away and drew her Beretta, taking a moment to clear her mind before stepping into the corridor. It wasn't easy. Between trying to figure out what had happened in the house to create monsters and her concerns for and about her team, her thoughts were distinctly messy. Should've looked closer at those papers… The office had been simple, a desk, a bookshelf, but there was a rack of lab coats by the door and the papers strewn across the desk had mostly been lists of numbers and letters. She knew just enough chemistry to know that she was looking at chemistry, so she didn't bother trying to read them, but since finding the papers, she had begun to think of the zombies as the result of a research accident. The mansion was too well maintained to have come from private money, and the fact that it had been kept a secret for so long suggested a cover up. She guessed that there was a couple of months worth of dust on almost every-thing – which coincided with the first attacks in Rac-coon. If the people in the house had been conducting some kind of an experiment and something had gone wrong… Something that transformed them into flesh-eating ghouls? That's a bit far-fetched…
But it made more sense than anything else she could come up with, although she'd keep her mind open to other possibilities. As to her concerns about the team – Barry was acting weird and Chris and Wesker were still missing; no new developments there. And there won't be any if you don't get going. Right. Jill put her musings on hold and stepped out into the hall. She noticed the smell before she actually saw the zombie farther down the corridor, crumpled to the floor. The small wall sconces cast an uneven glow over the body, reflecting off of dark red trim and tinting everything in the corridor a smoky crimson. She trained her weapon on the still body and heard a door closing somewhere close by.
Barry?
He'd said he was going to be in the mansion's other wing, but maybe he'd found something and had come looking for her… or maybe she was finally going to meet up with someone else from the team. Smiling at the thought she hurried down the gloomy hall, eager to see another familiar face. As she neared the corner, a fresh wave of decay washed over her and the fallen creature at her feet grabbed at her boot, clutching her ankle with surprising strength. Startled, Jill flailed her arms to keep her balance, crying out in disgust as the slobbering zombie inched its rotting face toward her boot. Its peeling, skeletal fingers scrabbled weakly at the thick leather, seeking a firmer grip and Jill instinctively brought her other boot down on the back of its head, the heavy treads sliding across the skull with a sickening wet sound. A wide piece of flaking scalp tore away, revealing glistening bone. The creature kept clawing at her, oblivious to pain. The second and third kicks hit the back of its neck and on the fourth, she felt as much as heard the dull snap of vertebrae giving out, crushed beneath her heel. The pale hands fluttered and with a choking, liquid sigh, the zombie settled to the musty carpet. Jill stepped over the limp body and ran around the corner, swallowing back bile. She was convinced that the pitiful creatures roaming the halls were victims somehow, just as much as Becky and Pris had been, and releasing them to death was a kindness, but they were also a menace, not to mention morbidly un– wholesome. She had to be more cautious. There was a door to her right, heavy wood overlaid with twining metal designs. There was a picture of armor over the key plate, but like the other doors she'd come across upstairs, it was unlocked. There was no one inside the well-lit room but she hesitated, suddenly reluctant to continue her search for whoever else was wandering the area. Two walls of the large chamber were lined with full suits of armor, eight to a side, and there was a small display case at the back – not to mention a large red switch set into the middle of the gray tiled floor. Another trap? Or a puzzle… Intrigued, she walked into the room and headed for the glass fronted display, the silent, lifeless guards seeming to watch her every move. There were a couple of mysterious grated holes in the floor, one on either side of the red switch, for ventilation per-haps and she felt her heart speed up a little, sud-denly sure that she had found another of the mansion's traps. A quick inspection of the dusty display case de– cided it for her; there wasn't any way that she could see to open it, the glass front a single thick piece. And something in one shadowy niche at the bottom glinted like dull copper. I'm supposed to push that button, thinking that it will open the case and then what? She had a sudden vivid image of the ventilation holes sealing off and the door locking itself, a death by slow suffocation in an airless tomb. The chamber could fill with water, or some kind of poisonous gas. She looked around the room, frowning, wondering if she should try to block the door open or if perhaps there was another switch hidden in one of the empty suits….. every riddle has more than one answer, Jilly, don't forget it.
Jill grinned suddenly. Why push the button at all? She crouched down next to the case and took a firm grip on the barrel of her handgun. With a single firm tap, the glass cracked, thin lines spidering away from the impact. She used the butt of the gun to knock out a thick chunk and reached carefully inside. She withdrew a hexagonal copper crest, engraved with an archaic smiling sun. She smiled back at it, pleased with her solution. Apparently some of the house's tricks could be worked around, provided she ignored a few rules of fair play. All the same, she found herself hurrying back to the door, not wanting to call it a win until she was clear of the solemn chamber. Stepping back into the blood-hued corridor, she stood for a moment, holding the crest as she weighed her options. She could continue to look for whoever had closed that door, or head back to the puzzle lock and place the crest. As much as she wanted to find her team, Barry had been right about needing to get out of the mansion. If any of the other S.T.A.R.S. were still alive, they'd surely also be looking for an escape. Her thoughtful gaze fell across the fetid, broken creature that she'd killed, lingering on the slowly spreading pool of dark fluids surrounding its scabby head and she realized suddenly that she desperately wanted to leave the house, to escape its tainted air and the pestilent creatures that stalked its cold and dusty halls. She wanted out, and as soon as was humanly possible.
Her decision made, Jill hurried back the way she'd come, gripping the heavy crest tightly. She'd already uncovered two of the pieces that the S.T.A.R.S. needed to escape the mansion. She didn't know what they'd be escaping to, but anything had to be better than what they would leave behind…
"Richard!" Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees next to the Bravo, feeling his throat for a pulse with one trembling hand. Chris stared mutely down at the torn body, already knowing that she wouldn't find a heartbeat; the gap– ing wound on Richard Aiken's right shoulder was drying, no fresh blood seeping through the mutilated tissue. He was dead. He watched Rebecca's slender hand slowly drop away from the Bravo's neck and then reach up to close his glazed, unseeing eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Chris felt sick over their discovery; the communica– tions expert had been a positive, sweet guy, and only twenty-three years old… He looked around the silent room, searching ran– domly for some clue as to how Richard had died. The room they'd entered just off the second-floor balcony was undecorated and empty. Except for Richard, there was nothing. Frowning, Chris took a few steps toward the room's second entrance and crouched down, brushing at the dark tile floor. There was a dried crust of blood in the shape of a boot heel between Richard's body and the plain wooden door ten feet away. He stared at the door thoughtfully, tightening his hold on the Beretta. Whatever killed him is on the other side, maybe waiting for more victims.
"Chris, take a look at this."
Rebecca was still kneeling by Richard, her gaze fixed on the bloody mass of his torn shoulder. Chris joined her, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The wound was ragged and messy, the flesh discolored by trauma. Strange, though, how it didn't seem very deep.
"See those purple lines, radiating out from the cuts? And the way the muscle has been punctured, here and here?" She pointed out two dark holes about six inches apart, each surrounded by skin that had turned an infected-looking red. Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at him.
"I think he was poisoned. It looks like a snake bite." Chris stared at her. "What snake gets that big?" She shook her head, standing. "Got me. Maybe it was something else. But that wound shouldn't have killed him, it would have taken hours for him to bleed out. I'm pretty sure he was poisoned."
Chris regarded her with new respect; she had a good eye for details and was handling herself remarkably well, considering. He searched Richard's body quickly, coming up with another full clip and a short-wave radio. He handed both to Rebecca, tucking Richard's empty Beretta into his waistband. He looked at the door again, then back at Rebecca.
"Whatever killed him might be back there." "Then we'll have to be careful," she said. Without another word, she walked to the door and stood there, waiting for him. I've gotta stop thinking of her as a kid. She's outlived most of the rest of her team already, she doesn't need me to patronize her or tell her to wait behind. He stepped up to the door and nodded at her. She turned the knob and pushed it open, both of them raising their weapons as they edged into a narrow hallway. Straight ahead were a few wood steps leading to a closed door. To their left, an offshoot of the hall, another door at the end. There was blood smeared on the walls bordering the steps, and Chris was suddenly certain that it was Richard's; his killer was behind that door. He motioned down the offshoot, speaking quietly.
"You take that room. You run into any trouble, come back here and wait. Check back in five minutes either way."
Rebecca nodded and moved down the narrow hall. Chris waited until she'd gone into the room before climbing the steps, his heart already thudding solidly against his ribs. The door was locked, but Chris saw that there was a tiny shield etched next to keyhole. Rebecca was turning out to be more useful than he could have possibly imagined. He took out the key she'd given him and unlocked the wide door, checking his Beretta before moving inside. It was a large attic, as plain and unassuming as the rest of the mansion was ornate. Wooden support beams extended from the floor to the sloping ceiling, and other than a few boxes and barrels against the walls, it was empty. Chris walked farther in, his guard up as he scanned for movement. At the other side of the long room was a partial wall, maybe four feet by nine, standing several feet from the back of the attic. It reminded him of a horse stall, and it was the only area that wasn't open to view. Chris moved toward it slowly, his boots against the wood floor sending hollow echoes through the cool air. He edged to the wall, training his Beretta over the top as he peered down, heart pounding. No snake, but there was a jagged hole near the floorboards between the two walls, a foot high and a couple across and a strange, acrid odor, musky, like the smell of some wild animal. Frowning at the scent, Chris started to back away and stopped, leaning in closer. There was a rounded piece of metal next to the hole, like a penny the size of a small fist. There was something engraved on it, a crescent shape. Chris walked around the side and into the stall, keeping a wary eye on the hole as he crouched down and picked up the metal piece. It was a six-sided disk of copper with a moon on it, a nice bit of craftsmanship. Inside the hole, a soft, sliding sound. Chris jumped back, targeting the opening as he moved. He backed up quickly until his shoulders brushed the attic wall, then started to edge away and a dark cylinder shot out of the opening, lightning fast. It was as big around as a dinner plate and it hit the wall inches from his right leg, wood crunching from the impact.
–oh shit that's a SNAKE-
Chris stumbled away as the giant reptile reared back, pulling more of its long, dusky body out of the wall. Hissing, it raised up, lifting its head as high as Chris's chest and exposing dripping fangs. Chris ran halfway across the room and spun, firing at the massive, diamond-shaped head. The snake let out a strange, hissing cry as a shot tore through one side of its gaping mouth, punching a hole through the tightly stretched skin. It dropped back to the floor and whipped itself toward him with a single waving push of its muscular body, at least twenty feet long. Chris fired again and a chunk of scaly flesh erupted from the snake's back, dark blood spewing from the wound. With another roaring hiss, the animal reared up in front of him, its head only inches away from Chris's gun, blood gushing from the hole in its mouth-
–Eyes. Get the eyes-
Chris pulled the trigger and the snake fell across him, knocking him to the floor, its body thrashing wildly. The tail slammed into one of the thick support beams hard enough to crack it as Chris struggled to free his pinned arms, to at least hurt it worse before he died and the cold, heavy body suddenly went limp, sagging bonelessly to the floor.
"Chris!" Rebecca rushed into the room, and stopped cold, staring at the monstrous reptile.
"Woah!"
His boot found one of the wooden supports and with a tremendous shove, Chris managed to wiggle out from beneath the thick body. Rebecca reached down to help him up, her eyes wide with awe. They stared down at the wound that had killed the Creature the black, liquid hole where its right eye had been, obliterated by a nine-millimeter slug. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. Chris nodded; a few bruised ribs maybe, but so what? He'd literally been inches from certain death, and all because he'd stopped to… He held up the copper crest, having to pry his clenched fingers from around the thick metal. He'd held onto it throughout the attack without even realizing it and looking at it now, he had a gut feeling that it was important somehow…
… maybe because you were almost snake-food for picking it up?
Rebecca took it from him, tracing a finger over the engraved moon. "You find anything?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head. "Table, couple of shelves… what's this for, anyway?"
Chris shrugged, looking back down at the bloodyhole where the snake's shining eye had been. He shuddered involuntarily, thinking of what would have happened if he'd missed that final shot.
"Maybe we'll figure it out somewhere along the way," he said quietly. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Rebecca handed the crest back to him and together they hurried out of the cold attic. As he closed the door behind them, Chris realized suddenly that al– though he'd never cared before, he now absolutely hated snakes.
Barry walked heavily up the stairs in the main hall, the knot of dread in the pit of his stomach tightening with each step. He'd been through every room he could open in the east wing and had come up empty-handed. The same horrible images played through his mind over and over as he trudged up the steps. Kathy and Moira and Poly Anne, terrified and suffering at the hands of strangers in their own home. Kathy knew the combination to the gun safe in the basement, but the chances of her making it down the stairs before someone could get in…
Barry reached the first landing and took a deep, shaky breath. Kathy wouldn't even think to run for the weapons if she heard someone breaking through one of the windows or doors. Her first priority would be to get to the girls, to make sure they were okay. If I don't turn up those crests soon, nothing will be okay.
He hadn't seen a phone or radio anywhere in the house. If Wesker couldn't get to that laboratory, how would he be able to contact the people at White Umbrella and call off the killers?
Barry reached the door on the upper landing that led into the west wing. His only hope was that either Jill or Wesker had managed to find the three missing pieces. He didn't know where Wesker was (although he had no doubts that the rat-bastard would turn up soon enough), but Jill would probably still be search– ing upstairs. They could split up the rooms she hadn't checked and at least rule out the least likely areas. If they couldn't uncover any more of the crests, he'd have to go back through the east wing and start ripping apart furniture. He opened the door that led into the red hallway, lost in thought and very nearly ran into Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers as they stepped out of the doorway on his right. Chris's face lit up with a broad, beaming grin.
"Barry!"
The younger man stepped forward and embraced him roughly, then backed up, still grinning. "Jesus, it's good to see you! I was starting to think that me and Rebecca were the last ones alive. Where are Jill and Wesker?"
Barry pasted a smile on as he fumbled for an acceptable answer, feeling almost sick with guilt. Lying to Jill hadn't been easy, but he'd known Chris for years…
–Kathy and the girls, dead-"Jill and I came after you, but all the doors in that hall were locked and when we got back to the lobby, the captain was gone. Since then, we've been looking for you two and trying to find a way out." Barry smiled more naturally. "It's good to see you, too. Both of you."
At least that much is true. "So Wesker just disappeared?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, uncomfortable. "Yeah. And we found Ken. One of those ghouls got to him."Chris sighed. "I saw. Forest and Richard are dead, too."
Barry felt a wave of sadness and swallowed thickly,
suddenly hating Wesker even more. The people Wesker worked for had done this and now they wanted to cover it all up, avoiding responsibility for their actions. And like it or not, I'm going to help them do it.
Barry took a deep breath and fixed an image of his wife and daughters in his mind's eye. "Jill found a back door, and we think it could be a way out – ex-cept its got this trick lock, like a puzzle, and we have to get all the pieces together to open it. There are these four metal crests, made out of copper. Jill got one already, and we think the rest are hidden through-out the mansion…"
He trailed off at Chris's sudden grin as Chris reached into his vest. "Something like this?"Barry stared at the crest that Chris had produced, feeling his heart speed up. "Yeah, that's one of them! Where'd you find it?" Rebecca spoke up, smiling shyly. "He had to fight a big snake for it – a really big snake. I think it may have been affected by the accident, though a cross-genus virus… those are pretty rare."
Barry reached for the crest as casually as he could manage, frowning. "Accident?"Chris nodded. "We found some information that suggests there's some kind of secret research facility here on the estate and that something they were working on got loose. A virus."One that can apparently infect mammals and reptiles," Rebecca added. "Not just different species, different families."
It's certainly infected mine, Barry thought bleakly. He let his frown deepen, feigning thoughtfulness as he struggled to come up with an excuse to get away. The captain wouldn't approach him unless he was alone, and he was desperate to get the copper piece into place, to prove that he was still on board, cooperating and that he'd convinced the rest of the team to help him look. He could feel the seconds ticking away, the metal growing warm beneath his sweating fingers. "We need to get the feds in on this," he said finally, "a full investigation, military support, quarantine of the area."