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Barry let out a low whistle, as Jill and Chris exchanged a worried look. David was studying her intently, his gaze cool and unreadable. All the same, she thought she knew what was going through his mind. He's wondering if this changes things. If I'll go with him to see this Caliban Cove facility, now that I know it's being run by people like Griffith. Rebecca looked away from David's intense scrutiny
and saw that the rest of her team was watching her, their faces tight with concern. Since that terrible night at the Spencer estate, they'd become like a family to her. She didn't want to leave, to risk never seeing them again…
… but David's right. Without the support of the
S. T.A.R.S., nowhere will be safe for any of us. And this would be my chance to contribute, to do what I'm good at…
She wanted to believe that it was the only reason, that she'd be going to fight the good fight, but she couldn't help the tiny shiver of excitement that ran through her at the thought of getting her hands on the T-Virus. It would be a golden opportunity to study the mutagen before anyone else, to categorize the effects and pick apart the virion right down to its smallest capsid. Rebecca took a deep breath and blew it out, her decision made. "I'll do it," she said. "When do we go?"
THREE
Jill felt her heart quicken at rebecca's words, a feeling that things were happening too fast and that they weren't prepared. Her decision seemed sudden, even though Jill really hadn't doubted that she'd volunteer; Rebecca was a lot stronger than she looked. She glanced around Barry's wide, open living room, discreetly noting the reactions of her teammates. Chris's face was strained, his mouth drawn as he stared absently at the map of Caliban Cove, while Barry walked across to one of the living room win– dows, staring out past the curtain and scowling at nothing in particular.
They're worried about her, and maybe they should be; Griffith sounds like a serious psycho… but would any of us have hesitated if we'd been asked to go? It just proved that Rebecca was as committed as they were, also no great surprise. Getting to know the young Bravo had been one of the only bright spots in the frustrating days since the mansion had burned. The girl had been unfailingly optimistic about their chances against Umbrella even after their suspension, and had worked tirelessly to keep all of their spirits up. She was brilliant, too and yet she never flaunted it, or came across as condescending when she was attempting to discuss aspects of the T-Virus with them.
Rebecca looked a bit distraught herself, glancing around at the three men in the room. Even David Trapp seemed vaguely uncomfortable with her deci– sion, probably because of Rebecca's youth. Men. She's young, she's cute, and she's undoubtedly smarter than all of us put together, but the young and cute part tends to make them overlook the rest. Jill caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. At Rebecca's age, Jill had been a professional thief, and a good one. She was worried about Rebecca, too, but only because she'd grown to care about her. The fact that she was a young woman wasn't a reason to underestimate her talents. Rebecca smiled back, and walked over to sit by her as David nodded hesitantly at his newest teammate.
"All right, then. Good. There's a plane leaving for Bangor at twenty-three hundred hours, with a con-necting flight to a field just outside of Exeter. I thought we could all go over a bit of strategy here, and then drop by your place on the way to the airfield so you can pack a few things."
Rebecca nodded, and after cracking a window open, Barry moved back to join them, leaning against one arm of the couch. He folded his arms across his massive chest and jerked his chin toward David. "You're the strategist," he said, not unkindly. "Why don't you start us off?"
The respect between the two men was obvious, making Jill like David all the more. In spite of Barry's screw ups in the Spencer fiasco, Jill had grown to trust him, something she didn't do easily and he seemed confident in David Trapp's skills. "I don't mean to take over," David said, "but I have a few thoughts on how we might approach this situation. I've known about the S.T.A.R.S.'s betrayal for several days now… though I thought we all might spend a few moments considering our course of action. I realize that this must come as quite a shock."
Jill picked up on the same thread of bitterness she'd noticed earlier, on the word "betrayal." The fact that the S.T.A.R.S. were in bed with Umbrella obviously wasn't sitting too well with Mr. Trapp…. probably not with Chris or Barry, either. Both of them have more time invested with the S. T.A.R.S. than me or Becca… Jill was disappointed and angry that the S.T.A.R.S. had sold out, but it wasn't going to be a factor in her decision to work at bringing Umbrella down. Her path had been determined on the day that the McGee sisters had been brutally murdered. The two little girls were the first innocent victims of the T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate and they had been her friends.
She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand. Without the S.T.A.R.S., their job was going to be a lot tougher. Not impossible, but she had to admit to herself that their chance of success had just dropped to somewhere near zero. It was a good thing she didn't mind being the underdog.
It doesn't matter anyway. Umbrella's going to pay for what they've done, one way or another…
Barry's gruff voice broke the quiet in the room, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe we should go to the press. Not local, but someone big, national." David sighed, shaking his head. "I thought of that. It's a good idea, but right now we don't have the proof to make anything stick." "Yeah, but at least Umbrella wouldn't move on us with everyone watching." "We couldn't count on that," Jill said. "If they got to the S.T.A.R.S., they could get to anyone. And without evidence… well, you gotta admit, the story's the kind of thing even the tabloids wouldn't buy."
There was a moment of sullen silence, as if her words reminded them all of how insane it sounded, how insane it would sound to anyone who hadn't experienced what they'd been through. A virus that accidentally turns people into zombies, being used to create unspeakable monsters as living weapons… invented and then covered up by a major corporation that hires mad scientists to experiment on human beings. All it needs is a Nazi war criminal with an atomic weapon, we'd have a best-seller on our hands…
"Well, what we were talking about before orga-nizing some of the other S.T.A.R.S.," Chris said. "I've got a few people in mind, some of the guys I trained with. And I know Barry's got a lot of con– tacts." David nodded agreement. "Yes, I think that should be a priority. My concern is how to get in touch with them. The branch offices may already be tapped, and we want to keep Umbrella from learning about our plans for as long as possible. Unfortunately, we won't have use of the S.T.A.R.S.'s resources for much longer." "Maybe we should look for a go-between," Jill said slowly. "Someone who doesn't have ties to the S.T.A.R.S" Chris grinned suddenly. "I know a guy from back in the Air Force who works for Jack Hamilton now, one of the section heads for the FBI-I don't know much about Hamilton, but Pete's about as honest as they come. And he owes me a favor." "Brilliant," David said. "Perhaps you could ask him to help you look into the local police as well. Once we have solid evidence from the Maine facility, we can go to your friend, instigate a federal investiga– tion."
It sounded good, but Jill found herself feeling frustrated by the talk. She wanted to act. Waiting for the S.T.A.R.S. to contact them had been bad enough; knowing that Rebecca was going to be risking her life while they waited idly by would be excruciating.
"You said you had some thoughts about what else we could do," she said. David nodded. "Yes, though once we involve the government, it may not come to anything quite so daring. I had been formulating a plan to infiltrate Umbrella headquarters, a risky proposition at best. It seems wisest to work on a smaller scale for now, but I do believe the three of you should drop out of sight, as soon as possible. I also think it would be prudent for you to see what you can uncover on Mr. Trent, though I have the distinct feeling that you won't come up with much, if anything."
He smiled a little, and having met Trent, Jill understood his doubts perfectly. Their strange bene– factor had struck her as a very careful man.
"I get the impression that we'll only find what he wants us to find," David continued, "but it is worth a look. And we'll need to arrange for a rendezvous site after we've…"
His soft, musical voice broke off suddenly as he tilted his head to one side, listening intently. Jill heard it in the same instant and felt her heart freeze in her chest. A rustling in the bushes outside the window that Barry had opened.
Umbrella!!! "Get down!" Jill shouted, and rolled off the couch, pulling Rebecca with her as the window shattered, the curtains blown aside in an explosive burst from an automatic rifle. David dove for the floor as bullets riddled the chair he'd been in, already grabbing for his weapon. Tufts of padding floated past his wide eyes as a smoking trail of holes tore across the wall, plaster and wood flying.
Bloody hell…
There was a split-second break in the onslaught, just long enough for them to hear the crash of glass breaking from the back of the house. "Barry, lights!" he shouted, but Barry was way ahead of him, the thunder of his Colt revolver drown– ing out the intermittent spray of the machine gun. Boom! Boom! The room went dark as Barry's rounds found their mark, glass raining down from above. Light still streamed into the darkness from the hall, and there was another hail of bullets from outside. Chris scrabbled on elbows and knees for the hall-way and in one smooth movement rolled onto his side and took out the additional lights. The living room was now completely black, and the bursts of automat– ic fire stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, David heard boots crunching on glass from back in the kitchen. The heavy steps paused, the intruder probably waiting for the window shooter to catch up and there will be more than two, covering the exits. Kitchen door, front porch, someone watching the windows… Another set of steps entered the kitchen, these hurried and shuffling, but they also stopped. The pair was waiting, either for more of their team or for the assembled S.T.A.R.S. to make a move. David's thoughts raced independently of him, reflexively con– sidering and rejecting theories and options at light-ning speed.
We get upstairs, pick them off one at a time– -unless they mean to torch the house– -so we run straight through them, out the back– -except they've got the firepower advantage, maybe spook eyes and we'd be moving targets, no contest…
All he knew for certain was that they couldn't stay where they were. There was no cover for when the thugs got tired of waiting. There was shuffling movement from the right as Barry's hulking shadow crouched toward him. Da– vid's eyes had adjusted enough to see Jill and Rebecca on the other side of the coffee table, both of them crouched and holding handguns. He couldn't make Chris out, but he was probably still by the hall. Barry's house was the last on the block, a wooded park just past. If they could slip out, get into the trees… The thought stuck; even a bad plan was better than none at all, and they didn't have time to work out alternatives. "Basement door?" David whispered. Barry's gruff voice was soft and strained. "Yeah." No good, it would be posted. They'd have to get out through the second floor. "We go through the park," he whispered quickly. "Jill, get to Chris and prepare to lay cover on my signal. Barry, Rebecca, as soon as we start, hit the
stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll follow. Ready? Go."
Jill was already moving around the couch, disap– pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase would be damaging. He crept toward the yawning blackness of the opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs. To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps. To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.
They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins the rest of the strike force should rush the front door…
David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they were dead. Away from the faint light from the win– dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low as possible. "Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly, no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of the corridor. On my mark… now!"
The three of them sprang into position, Chris and Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the count ticking.
… five… four…
Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was only a foot away from the door when someone kicked it open. Bam! His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the base.
…two…
He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit– ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and out of the line of fire. Their time was up.
David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a sound like an explosion behind him. The front door was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead by now. Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door, hoping he'd bought the S.T.A.R.S. enough time to escape.
Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're gone.
It was going to be close.
Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart
pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that
chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.
Come on, come on…
Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Jill was the first to reach the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a touch, Chris following close behind. Bam! Bam! The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a sweaty ghost.
"This way…"
Rebecca turned and ran for the window, David at her side. Jill had already gone and Chris was halfway out, Barry gripping one of his hands as he struggled to balance himself. Please God, let there be a mattress, a pile of leaves… BOOM! The crash of the front door flying open was fol– lowed by heavy footsteps and muffled male voices, angry and commanding. Chris disappeared through the window and then Barry was reaching for her, his mouth a grim line. She jammed her pistol back in its holster and stepped to the window. Barry's warm hand on her back, Rebecca crawled onto the sill and looked down. There were hedges against the side of the house, lush and thick and impossibly far below. She caught a glimpse of Jill, standing on the lawn, aiming her weapon toward the front of the house and Chris looking up at them, his face tight with strain:
–don't think just do it–
Rebecca slid out the window, Barry's strong fingers finding her hand. Her shoulder groaned as gravity did its work, Barry leaning out to give her less of a drop, her body suspended in mid-air. He let go and before she could feel real terror, she hit the bushes. There was small pain, twigs and branches scratching at her bare legs, and then Chris was pulling her out, lifting her easily from the twining hedges. "Take the back," he breathed, his attention already fixed back on the window. Rebecca snatched the revolver out as she stepped onto the lawn, turning to face the shadows that made up the backyard. To her left, a dark stand of trees stood maybe twenty meters away, silent and still.
Hurry, hurry…
There was a thundering rattle of bullets inside the house and a thrashing thump in the bushes to her right, but she didn't turn, intent on her assigned task. A movement, by the corner of the house. Rebecca didn't hesitate, sending two shots into the thickening of shadow, Barry's.38 jerking in her hands. The figure crumpled, falling forward just enough for her to see that she'd hit a man clutching a rifle and that he wasn't going to get up again.
–never shot anybody before– "Move!" Chris shouted, and Rebecca jerked her head around, saw Barry climb out of the bushes and stumble toward them. There was a shout from the window, followed by a burst from an automatic rifle. Rebecca actually felt the bullets hit the ground near her feet, tearing up chunks of overgrown lawn. Dirt pelted her legs.
Shit!
David and Jill fired back as they ran for the trees, Chris leading the way. The shooter either ducked or was shot; the dull clatter of the rifle fell silent. As they reached the first of the wooded shadows, Rebecca heard the wail of approaching sirens-followed closely by shouts and running steps across Barry's front porch. Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires. Rebecca stumbled through the brushy copse, dodg– ing between narrow, gnarled trunks, trying to keep the others in sight. The revolver felt too heavy in her slick grasp and her entire body seemed to be pounding, her legs shaking, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every-thing had happened so fast. She'd known they were in danger, that Umbrella wanted them out of the way, but knowing something wasn't the same as really believing it, as believing that violent strangers would break into Barry's home and try to take their lives…
… and I may have taken one of theirs instead. The thought that she might have killed some-one… she forced it away before it could take hold, concentrating on the pale shape of Chris's T-shirt ahead. Her conscience would have to wait until she had time to think it through. Ahead of them, the thick woods opened into a clearing, playground equipment gleaming dully in the pallid light. Chris slowed to a jog and then stopped where the line of trees ended, turning back to search the shadows for the rest of them. Rebecca caught up to him, Barry and Jill just behind her, all of them breathing heavily and looking as stunned and sober as Rebecca felt. "David, where's David?" Chris gasped, and as they all turned, straining to see past the dark, reaching branches, Rebecca saw one of the shadows to their left move. A stealthy, sliding movement.
"Look out!"
She dropped to the ground even as she yelled, fresh terror surging through her system… and the shadow fired at them, twice, the shots muted compared to the explosive thunder at the house. There was a third shot, louder, closer, and the shadow stumbled and fell, crashing against a tree before collapsing silently to the dirt. Except for the rising moan of sirens, the park was again still. Rebecca slowly raised her head, craning to look over her shoulder and saw David, standing, still pointing his Beretta at the fallen shooter. Jill and Chris were crouched next to her, both of them holding their weapons out, staring around them with wide, searching gazes… and on her other side, Barry was sprawled on the ground, his face pressed to the blanket of dried pine needles and long dead leaves. He wasn't moving.
FOUR
FIVE
and saw that the rest of her team was watching her, their faces tight with concern. Since that terrible night at the Spencer estate, they'd become like a family to her. She didn't want to leave, to risk never seeing them again…
… but David's right. Without the support of the
S. T.A.R.S., nowhere will be safe for any of us. And this would be my chance to contribute, to do what I'm good at…
She wanted to believe that it was the only reason, that she'd be going to fight the good fight, but she couldn't help the tiny shiver of excitement that ran through her at the thought of getting her hands on the T-Virus. It would be a golden opportunity to study the mutagen before anyone else, to categorize the effects and pick apart the virion right down to its smallest capsid. Rebecca took a deep breath and blew it out, her decision made. "I'll do it," she said. "When do we go?"
THREE
Jill felt her heart quicken at rebecca's words, a feeling that things were happening too fast and that they weren't prepared. Her decision seemed sudden, even though Jill really hadn't doubted that she'd volunteer; Rebecca was a lot stronger than she looked. She glanced around Barry's wide, open living room, discreetly noting the reactions of her teammates. Chris's face was strained, his mouth drawn as he stared absently at the map of Caliban Cove, while Barry walked across to one of the living room win– dows, staring out past the curtain and scowling at nothing in particular.
They're worried about her, and maybe they should be; Griffith sounds like a serious psycho… but would any of us have hesitated if we'd been asked to go? It just proved that Rebecca was as committed as they were, also no great surprise. Getting to know the young Bravo had been one of the only bright spots in the frustrating days since the mansion had burned. The girl had been unfailingly optimistic about their chances against Umbrella even after their suspension, and had worked tirelessly to keep all of their spirits up. She was brilliant, too and yet she never flaunted it, or came across as condescending when she was attempting to discuss aspects of the T-Virus with them.
Rebecca looked a bit distraught herself, glancing around at the three men in the room. Even David Trapp seemed vaguely uncomfortable with her deci– sion, probably because of Rebecca's youth. Men. She's young, she's cute, and she's undoubtedly smarter than all of us put together, but the young and cute part tends to make them overlook the rest. Jill caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. At Rebecca's age, Jill had been a professional thief, and a good one. She was worried about Rebecca, too, but only because she'd grown to care about her. The fact that she was a young woman wasn't a reason to underestimate her talents. Rebecca smiled back, and walked over to sit by her as David nodded hesitantly at his newest teammate.
"All right, then. Good. There's a plane leaving for Bangor at twenty-three hundred hours, with a con-necting flight to a field just outside of Exeter. I thought we could all go over a bit of strategy here, and then drop by your place on the way to the airfield so you can pack a few things."
Rebecca nodded, and after cracking a window open, Barry moved back to join them, leaning against one arm of the couch. He folded his arms across his massive chest and jerked his chin toward David. "You're the strategist," he said, not unkindly. "Why don't you start us off?"
The respect between the two men was obvious, making Jill like David all the more. In spite of Barry's screw ups in the Spencer fiasco, Jill had grown to trust him, something she didn't do easily and he seemed confident in David Trapp's skills. "I don't mean to take over," David said, "but I have a few thoughts on how we might approach this situation. I've known about the S.T.A.R.S.'s betrayal for several days now… though I thought we all might spend a few moments considering our course of action. I realize that this must come as quite a shock."
Jill picked up on the same thread of bitterness she'd noticed earlier, on the word "betrayal." The fact that the S.T.A.R.S. were in bed with Umbrella obviously wasn't sitting too well with Mr. Trapp…. probably not with Chris or Barry, either. Both of them have more time invested with the S. T.A.R.S. than me or Becca… Jill was disappointed and angry that the S.T.A.R.S. had sold out, but it wasn't going to be a factor in her decision to work at bringing Umbrella down. Her path had been determined on the day that the McGee sisters had been brutally murdered. The two little girls were the first innocent victims of the T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate and they had been her friends.
She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand. Without the S.T.A.R.S., their job was going to be a lot tougher. Not impossible, but she had to admit to herself that their chance of success had just dropped to somewhere near zero. It was a good thing she didn't mind being the underdog.
It doesn't matter anyway. Umbrella's going to pay for what they've done, one way or another…
Barry's gruff voice broke the quiet in the room, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe we should go to the press. Not local, but someone big, national." David sighed, shaking his head. "I thought of that. It's a good idea, but right now we don't have the proof to make anything stick." "Yeah, but at least Umbrella wouldn't move on us with everyone watching." "We couldn't count on that," Jill said. "If they got to the S.T.A.R.S., they could get to anyone. And without evidence… well, you gotta admit, the story's the kind of thing even the tabloids wouldn't buy."
There was a moment of sullen silence, as if her words reminded them all of how insane it sounded, how insane it would sound to anyone who hadn't experienced what they'd been through. A virus that accidentally turns people into zombies, being used to create unspeakable monsters as living weapons… invented and then covered up by a major corporation that hires mad scientists to experiment on human beings. All it needs is a Nazi war criminal with an atomic weapon, we'd have a best-seller on our hands…
"Well, what we were talking about before orga-nizing some of the other S.T.A.R.S.," Chris said. "I've got a few people in mind, some of the guys I trained with. And I know Barry's got a lot of con– tacts." David nodded agreement. "Yes, I think that should be a priority. My concern is how to get in touch with them. The branch offices may already be tapped, and we want to keep Umbrella from learning about our plans for as long as possible. Unfortunately, we won't have use of the S.T.A.R.S.'s resources for much longer." "Maybe we should look for a go-between," Jill said slowly. "Someone who doesn't have ties to the S.T.A.R.S" Chris grinned suddenly. "I know a guy from back in the Air Force who works for Jack Hamilton now, one of the section heads for the FBI-I don't know much about Hamilton, but Pete's about as honest as they come. And he owes me a favor." "Brilliant," David said. "Perhaps you could ask him to help you look into the local police as well. Once we have solid evidence from the Maine facility, we can go to your friend, instigate a federal investiga– tion."
It sounded good, but Jill found herself feeling frustrated by the talk. She wanted to act. Waiting for the S.T.A.R.S. to contact them had been bad enough; knowing that Rebecca was going to be risking her life while they waited idly by would be excruciating.
"You said you had some thoughts about what else we could do," she said. David nodded. "Yes, though once we involve the government, it may not come to anything quite so daring. I had been formulating a plan to infiltrate Umbrella headquarters, a risky proposition at best. It seems wisest to work on a smaller scale for now, but I do believe the three of you should drop out of sight, as soon as possible. I also think it would be prudent for you to see what you can uncover on Mr. Trent, though I have the distinct feeling that you won't come up with much, if anything."
He smiled a little, and having met Trent, Jill understood his doubts perfectly. Their strange bene– factor had struck her as a very careful man.
"I get the impression that we'll only find what he wants us to find," David continued, "but it is worth a look. And we'll need to arrange for a rendezvous site after we've…"
His soft, musical voice broke off suddenly as he tilted his head to one side, listening intently. Jill heard it in the same instant and felt her heart freeze in her chest. A rustling in the bushes outside the window that Barry had opened.
Umbrella!!! "Get down!" Jill shouted, and rolled off the couch, pulling Rebecca with her as the window shattered, the curtains blown aside in an explosive burst from an automatic rifle. David dove for the floor as bullets riddled the chair he'd been in, already grabbing for his weapon. Tufts of padding floated past his wide eyes as a smoking trail of holes tore across the wall, plaster and wood flying.
Bloody hell…
There was a split-second break in the onslaught, just long enough for them to hear the crash of glass breaking from the back of the house. "Barry, lights!" he shouted, but Barry was way ahead of him, the thunder of his Colt revolver drown– ing out the intermittent spray of the machine gun. Boom! Boom! The room went dark as Barry's rounds found their mark, glass raining down from above. Light still streamed into the darkness from the hall, and there was another hail of bullets from outside. Chris scrabbled on elbows and knees for the hall-way and in one smooth movement rolled onto his side and took out the additional lights. The living room was now completely black, and the bursts of automat– ic fire stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, David heard boots crunching on glass from back in the kitchen. The heavy steps paused, the intruder probably waiting for the window shooter to catch up and there will be more than two, covering the exits. Kitchen door, front porch, someone watching the windows… Another set of steps entered the kitchen, these hurried and shuffling, but they also stopped. The pair was waiting, either for more of their team or for the assembled S.T.A.R.S. to make a move. David's thoughts raced independently of him, reflexively con– sidering and rejecting theories and options at light-ning speed.
We get upstairs, pick them off one at a time– -unless they mean to torch the house– -so we run straight through them, out the back– -except they've got the firepower advantage, maybe spook eyes and we'd be moving targets, no contest…
All he knew for certain was that they couldn't stay where they were. There was no cover for when the thugs got tired of waiting. There was shuffling movement from the right as Barry's hulking shadow crouched toward him. Da– vid's eyes had adjusted enough to see Jill and Rebecca on the other side of the coffee table, both of them crouched and holding handguns. He couldn't make Chris out, but he was probably still by the hall. Barry's house was the last on the block, a wooded park just past. If they could slip out, get into the trees… The thought stuck; even a bad plan was better than none at all, and they didn't have time to work out alternatives. "Basement door?" David whispered. Barry's gruff voice was soft and strained. "Yeah." No good, it would be posted. They'd have to get out through the second floor. "We go through the park," he whispered quickly. "Jill, get to Chris and prepare to lay cover on my signal. Barry, Rebecca, as soon as we start, hit the
stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll follow. Ready? Go."
Jill was already moving around the couch, disap– pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase would be damaging. He crept toward the yawning blackness of the opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs. To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps. To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.
They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins the rest of the strike force should rush the front door…
David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they were dead. Away from the faint light from the win– dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low as possible. "Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly, no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of the corridor. On my mark… now!"
The three of them sprang into position, Chris and Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the count ticking.
… five… four…
Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was only a foot away from the door when someone kicked it open. Bam! His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the base.
…two…
He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit– ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and out of the line of fire. Their time was up.
David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a sound like an explosion behind him. The front door was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead by now. Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door, hoping he'd bought the S.T.A.R.S. enough time to escape.
Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're gone.
It was going to be close.
Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart
pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that
chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.
Come on, come on…
Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Jill was the first to reach the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a touch, Chris following close behind. Bam! Bam! The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a sweaty ghost.
"This way…"
Rebecca turned and ran for the window, David at her side. Jill had already gone and Chris was halfway out, Barry gripping one of his hands as he struggled to balance himself. Please God, let there be a mattress, a pile of leaves… BOOM! The crash of the front door flying open was fol– lowed by heavy footsteps and muffled male voices, angry and commanding. Chris disappeared through the window and then Barry was reaching for her, his mouth a grim line. She jammed her pistol back in its holster and stepped to the window. Barry's warm hand on her back, Rebecca crawled onto the sill and looked down. There were hedges against the side of the house, lush and thick and impossibly far below. She caught a glimpse of Jill, standing on the lawn, aiming her weapon toward the front of the house and Chris looking up at them, his face tight with strain:
–don't think just do it–
Rebecca slid out the window, Barry's strong fingers finding her hand. Her shoulder groaned as gravity did its work, Barry leaning out to give her less of a drop, her body suspended in mid-air. He let go and before she could feel real terror, she hit the bushes. There was small pain, twigs and branches scratching at her bare legs, and then Chris was pulling her out, lifting her easily from the twining hedges. "Take the back," he breathed, his attention already fixed back on the window. Rebecca snatched the revolver out as she stepped onto the lawn, turning to face the shadows that made up the backyard. To her left, a dark stand of trees stood maybe twenty meters away, silent and still.
Hurry, hurry…
There was a thundering rattle of bullets inside the house and a thrashing thump in the bushes to her right, but she didn't turn, intent on her assigned task. A movement, by the corner of the house. Rebecca didn't hesitate, sending two shots into the thickening of shadow, Barry's.38 jerking in her hands. The figure crumpled, falling forward just enough for her to see that she'd hit a man clutching a rifle and that he wasn't going to get up again.
–never shot anybody before– "Move!" Chris shouted, and Rebecca jerked her head around, saw Barry climb out of the bushes and stumble toward them. There was a shout from the window, followed by a burst from an automatic rifle. Rebecca actually felt the bullets hit the ground near her feet, tearing up chunks of overgrown lawn. Dirt pelted her legs.
Shit!
David and Jill fired back as they ran for the trees, Chris leading the way. The shooter either ducked or was shot; the dull clatter of the rifle fell silent. As they reached the first of the wooded shadows, Rebecca heard the wail of approaching sirens-followed closely by shouts and running steps across Barry's front porch. Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires. Rebecca stumbled through the brushy copse, dodg– ing between narrow, gnarled trunks, trying to keep the others in sight. The revolver felt too heavy in her slick grasp and her entire body seemed to be pounding, her legs shaking, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every-thing had happened so fast. She'd known they were in danger, that Umbrella wanted them out of the way, but knowing something wasn't the same as really believing it, as believing that violent strangers would break into Barry's home and try to take their lives…
… and I may have taken one of theirs instead. The thought that she might have killed some-one… she forced it away before it could take hold, concentrating on the pale shape of Chris's T-shirt ahead. Her conscience would have to wait until she had time to think it through. Ahead of them, the thick woods opened into a clearing, playground equipment gleaming dully in the pallid light. Chris slowed to a jog and then stopped where the line of trees ended, turning back to search the shadows for the rest of them. Rebecca caught up to him, Barry and Jill just behind her, all of them breathing heavily and looking as stunned and sober as Rebecca felt. "David, where's David?" Chris gasped, and as they all turned, straining to see past the dark, reaching branches, Rebecca saw one of the shadows to their left move. A stealthy, sliding movement.
"Look out!"
She dropped to the ground even as she yelled, fresh terror surging through her system… and the shadow fired at them, twice, the shots muted compared to the explosive thunder at the house. There was a third shot, louder, closer, and the shadow stumbled and fell, crashing against a tree before collapsing silently to the dirt. Except for the rising moan of sirens, the park was again still. Rebecca slowly raised her head, craning to look over her shoulder and saw David, standing, still pointing his Beretta at the fallen shooter. Jill and Chris were crouched next to her, both of them holding their weapons out, staring around them with wide, searching gazes… and on her other side, Barry was sprawled on the ground, his face pressed to the blanket of dried pine needles and long dead leaves. He wasn't moving.
FOUR
There was darkness for an indeterminate time, silent and complete and then there were voices, drawing him up through the black depths of his limbo, voices that his floating mind couldn't identify at first. From somewhere far away, he heard sirens.
he's been hit oh my God see if it's clear wait I can 't find the wound help me-Barry? Barry, can "Barry, can you hear me?"
Rebecca. Barry opened his eyes and then closed them immediately, wincing as the throbbing pain wrapped around his skull. There was another pain in his left arm, sharp and insistent but not as complete as the ache in his head. He'd had acquaintance with both kinds of pain before.
Got shot, met up with a tree… or some asshole with a baseball bat.
He tried opening his eyes again as small hands moved across his chest, lightly searching. It took hima second to focus on the worried faces looming over him, Jill and Chris and a frightened-looking Rebecca, her fingers probing his shirt for the wound. The sirens had fallen mercifully silent, though he could hear the cop cars pulling up his street, their powerfully revving engines echoing through the wooded park. "Left bicep," he mumbled, and started to sit up. The dark woods wavered unsteadily, and then Rebecca was gently pushing him back down. "Don't move," she said firmly. "Just lay there a second, okay? Chris, give me your shirt."But Umbrella…" Barry started. "It's clear," David said, kneeling next to the others. "Be still."
Rebecca lifted his arm carefully, looking at both sides. Barry flexed his arm slightly and scowled at the burst of pain, but could tell it wasn't bad; the bone was still intact. "Right out the deltoid," Rebecca said. "Looks like you're gonna have to lay off the weights for awhile."
Her tone was light, but he could see the concern in her gaze as she studied his face. She started wrapping Chris's T-shirt tightly around his arm, watching himintently. "You've got a nasty bump on your temple," she said. "How do you feel?"Though his head was still pounding, the pain had subsided to ache status. He felt light-headed and a little nauseous, but he still knew his own name and what day of the week it was; if it was a concussion, he wasn't impressed.
I've had worse hangovers… "Pretty much like shit," he said, "but I'm okay. I must've hit a tree on the way down."
As she finished the makeshift bandage, he sat up again, this time with better results. They had to get moving before the cops decided to search the woods, but where could they go? It seemed unlikely that Umbrella would attack twice in one night, but it wasn't a theory worth testing. None of their homes would be safe. At least his family was out of harm's way visiting Kathy's parents in Florida. The thought that they could have just as easily been at home, his girls playing in their rooms when the shooting had started. He staggered unsteadily to his feet, finding strength in the rage that he'd lived with since that night at the estate. Wesker had threatened Kathy and the girls to force Barry's cooperation in Umbrella's coverup, using him to get to the underground laboratories. Barry's guilt had blossomed into fury in the days since, an anger that transcended any he'd ever known. "Bastards," Barry snarled. "Goddamn Umbrella bastards."
The others stood up with him, Chris's bare chest pale in the faint light, all of them seeming relieved that he wasn't badly hurt, except for David, who looked as unhappy as Barry had ever seen him. His shoulders sagged from some unknown burden and when he spoke, he wouldn't meet Barry's gaze. "The man who shot you," David said. He held up a nine-millimeter with a suppressor attached, blood spattered across the barrel. "I killed him. I… Barry, it's Jay Shannon."
Barry stared at him. He heard the words, but was unable to accept them. It wasn't possible.
"No. You didn't get a good look, it's too dark…"
David turned and walked through the trees, leading them to the body of the shooter. Barry stumbled after him, his head suddenly aching from more than just smacking it on a tree trunk. It can't be Shannon, there's no way, David's rattled from the attack, that's all, he made a mistake…… except David didn't rattle under fire, he never had, and he didn't make mistakes that easily. Barrygrit his teeth against the pain and followed, for once hoping that his friend was wrong. The man had collapsed on his back or David had rolled him over. Either way, he stared up at them with lifeless eyes, a random pine needle stuck to one of the glazed orbs. The semi-jacketed round from David's Beretta had punched a hole directly over his heart; it had been a lucky shot. Looking down at the shooter'sashen face, Barry felt his own heart turn to stone.
Jesus, Shannon, why? Why this? "Who is he?" Jill asked softly. Barry stared down at the dead man, Unable to answer. David's reply seemed hollow, toneless.
"Captain Jay Shannon of the Oklahoma City
S.T.A.R.S. Barry and I trained with him."
Barry found his voice, still looking at Jay's still
face. "I called him last week, when I called David. He was worried about us, said he'd keep an eye out for Umbrella…"… and we shot the shit for another couple of minutes, catching up, telling old stories. I told him I'd send pictures of the kids, and he said that he had to get off the phone, that he wanted to talk but he had a meeting…
Umbrella must have already got to him, and the realization was cold and brutal and suddenly, horri– bly complete. Umbrella may have been behind the attack, but the S.T.A.R.S. had carried it out. Barry's home had been blown to hell by people they knew, and he'd been shot by a man he'd thought was a friend. The solemn quiet was broken by the barking of dogs, faint through the shadowy trees. From the number and location, it sounded like the RPD K-9 unit had just reached his house. Barry looked away from the corpse, his thoughts returning to the imme– diate situation. They had to move. "Where can we go?" David asked quickly. "Is there somewhere Umbrella wouldn't think to look, a cabin, an empty building… someplace we can get to on foot?" Brad! "Chickenheart's lease isn't up for a couple of months," Barry said. "His place is empty. And it's less than a mile from here." David nodded briskly. "Let's go." Barry turned toward the park's playground, leading the others across the moonlit clearing. There was a small trail that let out two blocks away, hopefully far enough away from the action that the cops wouldn't follow. Barry had walked through the park a million times, his wife at his side, his children dancing at their feet.
… my home. This is my home, and it won't ever be the same again.
As they ran through the warm, peaceful night, Barry felt the hole in his arm start to bleed again. He clapped his right hand over the sticky dressing with– out slowing, letting the pain fuel his determination as they tore through the scrubby trees and headed for Brad's house.
No more. No more of this. My girls aren't going to grow up in a world where this can happen, not if I have any say in it.
So much had already happened, and this was only the beginning of their fight. There were still people working with the S.T.A.R.S. he trusted, that they could count on, and he wasn't going to be caught off his guard twice. The next time Umbrella came knock– ing, maybe they wouldn't have to run. And if Rebecca and David could pull off the Maine operation, they'd have what they needed to take the company down, once and for all. Umbrella had messed with the wrong people. Barry planned on being there when they figured that out. Jill picked the lock expertly, using a bent safety pin and one of Rebecca's earrings to open the door to the small cottage. Rebecca had swept Barry off to the medicine cabinet, while Chris went searching for a shirt. David and Jill checked the small house thor– oughly, David's satisfaction growing with each pass– ing moment. He couldn't have imagined a better hideout, and it was comforting to know that Barry and the two Alphas would have a safe spot to work from. The two– bedroom home shared a backyard with a security– conscious family; bright lights snapped on when Da– vid opened the back door, flooding the small lawn brilliantly and from the sight of the neighbor's side, they definitely had a rather large dog somewhere on the premises. There were houses close on either side of the rental, and the front window looked out on an open schoolyard just across the street. There would be no cover for an approaching team. The house was furnished simply, if untidily; it was obvious that the occupant had fled in a panic. Person-al items and books were strewn randomly across the rooms, as if Vickers had been unable to decide what to take in his hurry to flee Raccoon City.
With what happened tonight, I can't say I blame him for running…
Mr. Vickers had obviously been in the wrong line of work, but that didn't necessarily make him a coward. Risking one's life on a day-to-day basis wasn't for Everyone and considering the recent developments, it was wisest for someone like Vickers to remove himself from the situation. They could have used the help, but from what little Barry had told him, the Alpha pilot wasn't someone they wanted to work with. Even if he didn't get himself killed, he'd lost the trust of his teammates, and nothing could be worse when it came to crisis situations. David sat in the dark, cramped living room on a rather hideous green couch, collecting his exhausted thoughts as Jill dug through the kitchen. He'd found a blank pad of paper and a pen, and had already scribbled down the names and home numbers of his team and various contacts, as well as Brad's phone number to take with him. He gazed blankly around the shadowed room, fighting off the adrenaline slump that so often followed battle. He didn't want to forget anything important, any detail that needed to be discussed before he and Rebecca left. If they wanted to make their plane, Barry, Jill, and Chris would have to deal with the aftermath of the attack on their own.
The S.T.A.R.S., Trent's poem, objectives and contacts.
It was hard to focus after such a draining experi-ence, and it didn't help matters that he'd been tired to begin with. He hadn't slept well in days, and thinking of all that lay ahead of them only made concentration harder. Rebecca's information about Dr. Griffith was disconcerting, to say the least, and though he was no less determined to carry out the Caliban Cove opera– tion, it was just one more concern to add to a seemingly endless list. Chris walked into the room wearing a faded blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and fell into a chair across from David, his face hidden in shadow. After a moment, he leaned forward, enough light filtering through the closed blinds so that David could see his expression. The younger man's gaze was tired, thoughtful and apologetic.
"Look, David… the last couple of weeks have been rough on all of us, you know? Waiting to see what Umbrella was gonna do, the suspension, feeling like our friends died for nothing…" Chris stopped himself, then started again. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot earlier, and I'm glad you're on our side. I shouldn't have been such an asshole about it."
David was surprised and impressed by the sincerity behind the words; when he was in his twenties, he would've rather had his fingernails pulled out than display any emotion, except anger of course. He'd had no trouble expressing anger. Yet another legacy from dear old Dad…
"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for," David said softly. "Your concerns are more than justified. I-I've been under a bit of strain myself, and I didn't mean to come across as domineering. The S.T.A.R.S. are, that is, they mean a lot to me, and I want us… I want for them to be whole again…"
Jill walked in from the kitchen, saving David from continuing with his fumbling speech. Much to his relief, Chris seemed to understand; he met David's gaze evenly, nodding, as if to say that the air had been cleared between them. David sighed inwardly, won– dering if he'd ever be able to overcome his awkward– ness with expressing emotions. He'd done a lot of thinking since Barry had first called, about himself and his almost obsessive anger over the S.T.A.R.S. betrayal and had come to the unsettling realization that he wasn't happy with the way his life was turning out. He'd thrown himself into his career in an effort to avoid dealing with a dysfunc– tional childhood, something he'd always known, but now, facing Umbrella and the treachery of an organi– zation that he considered his family, he'd been forced to really think about the implications of his choice. It had made him an excellent soldier, but he didn't have any close friends or attachments… and having his "family" taken away had come as a cruel wake up to the fact that he had based his life on running from human contact.
Brilliant for me to have figured it out this late in the game. I suppose I should thank Umbrella for that much; if they don't kill me, they'll at least have managed to send me into therapy.
Jill had brought out a pitcher of water and several mismatched glasses which she passed around as Barry and Rebecca joined them. Barry wore a clean bandage on his arm and seemed pale in the dim light, certainly shaken by their discovery of Captain Shannon. David felt bad about killing Shannon, though he'd recon– ciled himself long ago to the realities of combat; in a war, people died. The captain had made his choice, and it had been the wrong one. They drank in silence, the four Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. (ex-S.T.A.R.S., he reminded himself) pensive and somber, perhaps aware of the ticking clock. He and Rebecca would have to leave in a few moments. There was a convenience store a block away where they could telephone for a cab. David wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but the truth was the truth: they were going on a dangerous mis– sion, and there were no guarantees that any of them would survive to meet again.
"Have you thought about what you'll tell the local police?" David asked finally. Barry shrugged. "We won't have to lie much, any– way. The three of us were at my place, a buncha guys broke in and tried to shoot us. We ran." "Irons will probably try to play it off as a botched burglary," Chris sneered. "If he's in this as deep as I think he is, he won't want to call attention to anything Umbrella's doing." "Just be careful not to mention actually seeing any bodies," David said. "They may have had time to clean up. And you should say that you were chased
into the park. It would explain your leaving the scene, as well as Captain Shannon's body…"Barry smiled tiredly. "We'll handle it. And I'm going to make some calls first thing tomorrow, get us some backup. You just worry about your end, okay?"
David nodded and stood up, as did Chris. David shook hands all around and then turned to Rebecca, uncomfortably aware that he was taking her from her teammates and trusted friends. The girl looked at the others in turn with a thoughtful expression and then grinned suddenly, an unaffected and purely wicked smile.
"Sure you guys can hold down the fort for a couple of days? I hate to think of you flailing around all directionless while me and David go clean up this Umbrella thing." "We'll try to limp along without you," Chris shot back, smiling. "Won't be easy, what with you having the brain and all…" Rebecca punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll send you a postcard with instructions." She nodded at Barry. "Take care of your arm. Keep it clean and dry, and if you spike a fever or get dizzy, get to a doctor ASAP." Barry smiled. "Yes, ma'am." Jill embraced her lightly. "Give 'em hell, Becca." Rebecca nodded. "You, too. Good luck with Irons." She turned to David, still smiling. "Shall we?" They walked to the front door together, David wondering at the girl's easy demeanor. They'd just barely survived a serious attack, carried out by people who'd probably trained her, and she was leaving with a man she hardly knew to embark on a life– threatening mission. She was either putting on an act or was amazingly optimistic and if she was faking the casual bravado, she deserved an award. He watched her carefully as they stepped out into the small, unkempt yard of Brad Vickers's house, and saw her smile fade, quickly replaced by a look of vague sadness and beyond that, the same kind of focused intensity that she'd had when she'd told them about Dr. Griffith and his research. Whatever she was thinking, he could see in that look that she was perfectly aware of the risks, but that she refused to be cowed by them. The perfect definition of bravery… David was satisfied with his decision to enlist Rebecca Chambers for the operation. She was smart, professional, and committed, as superior in her field of study as the rest of his team members were in theirs. He could only hope that their combined skills would be enough to get them in and out of Caliban Cove in one piece, bringing with them proof of Umbrella's experiments, an objective that would lead to the ruin of the company that had corrupted the S.T.A.R.S., and perhaps let him sleep peacefully again. David nodded, and the two of them set off to make the call.
After rereading the information on Caliban Cove, Rebecca folded the papers and carefully tucked them into the overnight bag under David's seat. He'd bought three bags at the airport, one for the weapons, currently in cargo, the others to carry on so they wouldn't attract attention. Rebecca wished they'd thought to buy some snacks while they were at it. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and the packet of nuts she'd swallowed after takeoff wasn't cutting it. She reached up to switch off the reading light and then settled back in her seat, trying to let the smooth hum of the 747 engines lull her into a doze. Most of the other passengers on the half-full plane were asleep; the dim "night" lights and the steady drone of the engines had already worked for David. But even as drained as she felt by the evening's events, she gave up the effort after a minute or two. There was too much to think about, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep without at least sorting through some of it.
I feel like I'm dreaming already anyway; this is just another weird tangent, a subplot that came out of left field…
In the past three months, she'd graduated college, gone through S.T.A.R.S. Bravo training, and moved to her first apartment in a new city-only to end up one of the five survivors of a man-made disaster involving biological weapons and a corporate con-spiracy. In the past three hours, her life had taken yet another totally unexpected turn. She thought about what she'd wished for earlier, a chance to get out of Raccoon City and study the T-Virus; the irony of the situation wasn't lost on her, but she wasn't so sure she liked the circumstances. She rolled her head to the side and looked at David, crashed out in the window seat, dark circles of ex-haustion beneath his closed lids. After briefly filling her in on a few details about the cove and outlining their schedule for the next day, he'd told her to try and take a nap ("have a lie down" had been his exact words) and then promptly taken his own advice-not falling asleep so much as lapsing into an instant coma.
He even sleeps efficiently, no tossing or turning…
Like he willed himself to get as much rest as possible in the time allowed. He struck her as an extremely competent and intelligent man, if something of a loner, for as cool as he was under pressure, he seemed to freeze with small talk, leading her to wonder what kind of life he'd had. She was impressed with how quickly he'd come up with a plan to get them out of Barry's house, and was glad that he was leading the operation to Caliban Cove-though it was hard to think of him as a captain. He didn't really project authority, and didn't seem to want to, practically insisting that she call him David. Even when he'd stepped into a leadership role during the attack, it hadn't felt like he was giving them orders so much as offering instruction.
Maybe it's just the accent. Everything he says sounds polite…
He frowned in his sleep, his eyes flickering through uneasy dreams. After a few seconds, he let out a soft, child-like moan of distress. Rebecca briefly consid– ered waking him up, but already he seemed to have got past whatever troubled him, his brow smoothing. Suddenly feeling like she was invading his privacy, Rebecca looked away.
Dreaming about the attack, maybe. About having to kill someone he knew…
She wondered if she'd be haunted by the image of the man she'd shot, the shadowy figure that had crumpled to the ground next to Barry's house. She was still waiting for the guilt to hit her and thinking about it, she was surprised to find that her mind wasn't racing to rationalize the matter. She'd shot somebody, he could very well be dead and all she felt was relief that she'd stopped him from killing her or anyone else on the team. Rebecca closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool, pressurized air hissing through the cabin. She could smell the musky odor of dried sweat on her skin, and decided that taking a shower was first priority when they hit the hotel. David didn't want to risk going back to his house on the off chance that someone on the strike force had recognized him, so they were going to grab a couple of rooms near the airport somewhere after they changed planes. The operation briefing was set for noon at the home of one of the other three team members, an Alpha forensics expert named Karen Driver. David had mentioned that Karen could probably lend her some clean clothes, though he'd actually blushed while saying it.
He was a quirky one, all right…
… and after the briefing, we get our equipment and go in, just like that.
The thought knotted her stomach and sent a chill through her, telling her the real reason she wasn't able to sleep. Only two weeks after the Umbrella night– mare in Raccoon City, she was facing the same nightmare again. At least this time, she had some idea of what they'd be getting themselves into, and the plan was to get out of the facility without ever facing the T-Virus creatures, but the memory of Umbrel– la's Tyrant monster was still fresh in her mind, the massive, patchwork body and killing claw of the thing they'd seen on the estate. And the thought of what someone like Nicolas Griffith might have come up with using the virus… Rebecca decided that she'd thought enough, she had to get some sleep. She cleared her mind as best she could and focused on her breathing, slowing it down, counting backward in her mind from one hundred. The meditation technique had never failed her before, though she didn't think it would work this time…
… ninety-nine, ninety-eight, Dr. Griffith, David, S.T.A.R.S., Caliban…
Before she reached ninety, she was deeply asleep, dreaming of moving shadows that no light had cast.
he's been hit oh my God see if it's clear wait I can 't find the wound help me-Barry? Barry, can "Barry, can you hear me?"
Rebecca. Barry opened his eyes and then closed them immediately, wincing as the throbbing pain wrapped around his skull. There was another pain in his left arm, sharp and insistent but not as complete as the ache in his head. He'd had acquaintance with both kinds of pain before.
Got shot, met up with a tree… or some asshole with a baseball bat.
He tried opening his eyes again as small hands moved across his chest, lightly searching. It took hima second to focus on the worried faces looming over him, Jill and Chris and a frightened-looking Rebecca, her fingers probing his shirt for the wound. The sirens had fallen mercifully silent, though he could hear the cop cars pulling up his street, their powerfully revving engines echoing through the wooded park. "Left bicep," he mumbled, and started to sit up. The dark woods wavered unsteadily, and then Rebecca was gently pushing him back down. "Don't move," she said firmly. "Just lay there a second, okay? Chris, give me your shirt."But Umbrella…" Barry started. "It's clear," David said, kneeling next to the others. "Be still."
Rebecca lifted his arm carefully, looking at both sides. Barry flexed his arm slightly and scowled at the burst of pain, but could tell it wasn't bad; the bone was still intact. "Right out the deltoid," Rebecca said. "Looks like you're gonna have to lay off the weights for awhile."
Her tone was light, but he could see the concern in her gaze as she studied his face. She started wrapping Chris's T-shirt tightly around his arm, watching himintently. "You've got a nasty bump on your temple," she said. "How do you feel?"Though his head was still pounding, the pain had subsided to ache status. He felt light-headed and a little nauseous, but he still knew his own name and what day of the week it was; if it was a concussion, he wasn't impressed.
I've had worse hangovers… "Pretty much like shit," he said, "but I'm okay. I must've hit a tree on the way down."
As she finished the makeshift bandage, he sat up again, this time with better results. They had to get moving before the cops decided to search the woods, but where could they go? It seemed unlikely that Umbrella would attack twice in one night, but it wasn't a theory worth testing. None of their homes would be safe. At least his family was out of harm's way visiting Kathy's parents in Florida. The thought that they could have just as easily been at home, his girls playing in their rooms when the shooting had started. He staggered unsteadily to his feet, finding strength in the rage that he'd lived with since that night at the estate. Wesker had threatened Kathy and the girls to force Barry's cooperation in Umbrella's coverup, using him to get to the underground laboratories. Barry's guilt had blossomed into fury in the days since, an anger that transcended any he'd ever known. "Bastards," Barry snarled. "Goddamn Umbrella bastards."
The others stood up with him, Chris's bare chest pale in the faint light, all of them seeming relieved that he wasn't badly hurt, except for David, who looked as unhappy as Barry had ever seen him. His shoulders sagged from some unknown burden and when he spoke, he wouldn't meet Barry's gaze. "The man who shot you," David said. He held up a nine-millimeter with a suppressor attached, blood spattered across the barrel. "I killed him. I… Barry, it's Jay Shannon."
Barry stared at him. He heard the words, but was unable to accept them. It wasn't possible.
"No. You didn't get a good look, it's too dark…"
David turned and walked through the trees, leading them to the body of the shooter. Barry stumbled after him, his head suddenly aching from more than just smacking it on a tree trunk. It can't be Shannon, there's no way, David's rattled from the attack, that's all, he made a mistake…… except David didn't rattle under fire, he never had, and he didn't make mistakes that easily. Barrygrit his teeth against the pain and followed, for once hoping that his friend was wrong. The man had collapsed on his back or David had rolled him over. Either way, he stared up at them with lifeless eyes, a random pine needle stuck to one of the glazed orbs. The semi-jacketed round from David's Beretta had punched a hole directly over his heart; it had been a lucky shot. Looking down at the shooter'sashen face, Barry felt his own heart turn to stone.
Jesus, Shannon, why? Why this? "Who is he?" Jill asked softly. Barry stared down at the dead man, Unable to answer. David's reply seemed hollow, toneless.
"Captain Jay Shannon of the Oklahoma City
S.T.A.R.S. Barry and I trained with him."
Barry found his voice, still looking at Jay's still
face. "I called him last week, when I called David. He was worried about us, said he'd keep an eye out for Umbrella…"… and we shot the shit for another couple of minutes, catching up, telling old stories. I told him I'd send pictures of the kids, and he said that he had to get off the phone, that he wanted to talk but he had a meeting…
Umbrella must have already got to him, and the realization was cold and brutal and suddenly, horri– bly complete. Umbrella may have been behind the attack, but the S.T.A.R.S. had carried it out. Barry's home had been blown to hell by people they knew, and he'd been shot by a man he'd thought was a friend. The solemn quiet was broken by the barking of dogs, faint through the shadowy trees. From the number and location, it sounded like the RPD K-9 unit had just reached his house. Barry looked away from the corpse, his thoughts returning to the imme– diate situation. They had to move. "Where can we go?" David asked quickly. "Is there somewhere Umbrella wouldn't think to look, a cabin, an empty building… someplace we can get to on foot?" Brad! "Chickenheart's lease isn't up for a couple of months," Barry said. "His place is empty. And it's less than a mile from here." David nodded briskly. "Let's go." Barry turned toward the park's playground, leading the others across the moonlit clearing. There was a small trail that let out two blocks away, hopefully far enough away from the action that the cops wouldn't follow. Barry had walked through the park a million times, his wife at his side, his children dancing at their feet.
… my home. This is my home, and it won't ever be the same again.
As they ran through the warm, peaceful night, Barry felt the hole in his arm start to bleed again. He clapped his right hand over the sticky dressing with– out slowing, letting the pain fuel his determination as they tore through the scrubby trees and headed for Brad's house.
No more. No more of this. My girls aren't going to grow up in a world where this can happen, not if I have any say in it.
So much had already happened, and this was only the beginning of their fight. There were still people working with the S.T.A.R.S. he trusted, that they could count on, and he wasn't going to be caught off his guard twice. The next time Umbrella came knock– ing, maybe they wouldn't have to run. And if Rebecca and David could pull off the Maine operation, they'd have what they needed to take the company down, once and for all. Umbrella had messed with the wrong people. Barry planned on being there when they figured that out. Jill picked the lock expertly, using a bent safety pin and one of Rebecca's earrings to open the door to the small cottage. Rebecca had swept Barry off to the medicine cabinet, while Chris went searching for a shirt. David and Jill checked the small house thor– oughly, David's satisfaction growing with each pass– ing moment. He couldn't have imagined a better hideout, and it was comforting to know that Barry and the two Alphas would have a safe spot to work from. The two– bedroom home shared a backyard with a security– conscious family; bright lights snapped on when Da– vid opened the back door, flooding the small lawn brilliantly and from the sight of the neighbor's side, they definitely had a rather large dog somewhere on the premises. There were houses close on either side of the rental, and the front window looked out on an open schoolyard just across the street. There would be no cover for an approaching team. The house was furnished simply, if untidily; it was obvious that the occupant had fled in a panic. Person-al items and books were strewn randomly across the rooms, as if Vickers had been unable to decide what to take in his hurry to flee Raccoon City.
With what happened tonight, I can't say I blame him for running…
Mr. Vickers had obviously been in the wrong line of work, but that didn't necessarily make him a coward. Risking one's life on a day-to-day basis wasn't for Everyone and considering the recent developments, it was wisest for someone like Vickers to remove himself from the situation. They could have used the help, but from what little Barry had told him, the Alpha pilot wasn't someone they wanted to work with. Even if he didn't get himself killed, he'd lost the trust of his teammates, and nothing could be worse when it came to crisis situations. David sat in the dark, cramped living room on a rather hideous green couch, collecting his exhausted thoughts as Jill dug through the kitchen. He'd found a blank pad of paper and a pen, and had already scribbled down the names and home numbers of his team and various contacts, as well as Brad's phone number to take with him. He gazed blankly around the shadowed room, fighting off the adrenaline slump that so often followed battle. He didn't want to forget anything important, any detail that needed to be discussed before he and Rebecca left. If they wanted to make their plane, Barry, Jill, and Chris would have to deal with the aftermath of the attack on their own.
The S.T.A.R.S., Trent's poem, objectives and contacts.
It was hard to focus after such a draining experi-ence, and it didn't help matters that he'd been tired to begin with. He hadn't slept well in days, and thinking of all that lay ahead of them only made concentration harder. Rebecca's information about Dr. Griffith was disconcerting, to say the least, and though he was no less determined to carry out the Caliban Cove opera– tion, it was just one more concern to add to a seemingly endless list. Chris walked into the room wearing a faded blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and fell into a chair across from David, his face hidden in shadow. After a moment, he leaned forward, enough light filtering through the closed blinds so that David could see his expression. The younger man's gaze was tired, thoughtful and apologetic.
"Look, David… the last couple of weeks have been rough on all of us, you know? Waiting to see what Umbrella was gonna do, the suspension, feeling like our friends died for nothing…" Chris stopped himself, then started again. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot earlier, and I'm glad you're on our side. I shouldn't have been such an asshole about it."
David was surprised and impressed by the sincerity behind the words; when he was in his twenties, he would've rather had his fingernails pulled out than display any emotion, except anger of course. He'd had no trouble expressing anger. Yet another legacy from dear old Dad…
"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for," David said softly. "Your concerns are more than justified. I-I've been under a bit of strain myself, and I didn't mean to come across as domineering. The S.T.A.R.S. are, that is, they mean a lot to me, and I want us… I want for them to be whole again…"
Jill walked in from the kitchen, saving David from continuing with his fumbling speech. Much to his relief, Chris seemed to understand; he met David's gaze evenly, nodding, as if to say that the air had been cleared between them. David sighed inwardly, won– dering if he'd ever be able to overcome his awkward– ness with expressing emotions. He'd done a lot of thinking since Barry had first called, about himself and his almost obsessive anger over the S.T.A.R.S. betrayal and had come to the unsettling realization that he wasn't happy with the way his life was turning out. He'd thrown himself into his career in an effort to avoid dealing with a dysfunc– tional childhood, something he'd always known, but now, facing Umbrella and the treachery of an organi– zation that he considered his family, he'd been forced to really think about the implications of his choice. It had made him an excellent soldier, but he didn't have any close friends or attachments… and having his "family" taken away had come as a cruel wake up to the fact that he had based his life on running from human contact.
Brilliant for me to have figured it out this late in the game. I suppose I should thank Umbrella for that much; if they don't kill me, they'll at least have managed to send me into therapy.
Jill had brought out a pitcher of water and several mismatched glasses which she passed around as Barry and Rebecca joined them. Barry wore a clean bandage on his arm and seemed pale in the dim light, certainly shaken by their discovery of Captain Shannon. David felt bad about killing Shannon, though he'd recon– ciled himself long ago to the realities of combat; in a war, people died. The captain had made his choice, and it had been the wrong one. They drank in silence, the four Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. (ex-S.T.A.R.S., he reminded himself) pensive and somber, perhaps aware of the ticking clock. He and Rebecca would have to leave in a few moments. There was a convenience store a block away where they could telephone for a cab. David wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but the truth was the truth: they were going on a dangerous mis– sion, and there were no guarantees that any of them would survive to meet again.
"Have you thought about what you'll tell the local police?" David asked finally. Barry shrugged. "We won't have to lie much, any– way. The three of us were at my place, a buncha guys broke in and tried to shoot us. We ran." "Irons will probably try to play it off as a botched burglary," Chris sneered. "If he's in this as deep as I think he is, he won't want to call attention to anything Umbrella's doing." "Just be careful not to mention actually seeing any bodies," David said. "They may have had time to clean up. And you should say that you were chased
into the park. It would explain your leaving the scene, as well as Captain Shannon's body…"Barry smiled tiredly. "We'll handle it. And I'm going to make some calls first thing tomorrow, get us some backup. You just worry about your end, okay?"
David nodded and stood up, as did Chris. David shook hands all around and then turned to Rebecca, uncomfortably aware that he was taking her from her teammates and trusted friends. The girl looked at the others in turn with a thoughtful expression and then grinned suddenly, an unaffected and purely wicked smile.
"Sure you guys can hold down the fort for a couple of days? I hate to think of you flailing around all directionless while me and David go clean up this Umbrella thing." "We'll try to limp along without you," Chris shot back, smiling. "Won't be easy, what with you having the brain and all…" Rebecca punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll send you a postcard with instructions." She nodded at Barry. "Take care of your arm. Keep it clean and dry, and if you spike a fever or get dizzy, get to a doctor ASAP." Barry smiled. "Yes, ma'am." Jill embraced her lightly. "Give 'em hell, Becca." Rebecca nodded. "You, too. Good luck with Irons." She turned to David, still smiling. "Shall we?" They walked to the front door together, David wondering at the girl's easy demeanor. They'd just barely survived a serious attack, carried out by people who'd probably trained her, and she was leaving with a man she hardly knew to embark on a life– threatening mission. She was either putting on an act or was amazingly optimistic and if she was faking the casual bravado, she deserved an award. He watched her carefully as they stepped out into the small, unkempt yard of Brad Vickers's house, and saw her smile fade, quickly replaced by a look of vague sadness and beyond that, the same kind of focused intensity that she'd had when she'd told them about Dr. Griffith and his research. Whatever she was thinking, he could see in that look that she was perfectly aware of the risks, but that she refused to be cowed by them. The perfect definition of bravery… David was satisfied with his decision to enlist Rebecca Chambers for the operation. She was smart, professional, and committed, as superior in her field of study as the rest of his team members were in theirs. He could only hope that their combined skills would be enough to get them in and out of Caliban Cove in one piece, bringing with them proof of Umbrella's experiments, an objective that would lead to the ruin of the company that had corrupted the S.T.A.R.S., and perhaps let him sleep peacefully again. David nodded, and the two of them set off to make the call.
After rereading the information on Caliban Cove, Rebecca folded the papers and carefully tucked them into the overnight bag under David's seat. He'd bought three bags at the airport, one for the weapons, currently in cargo, the others to carry on so they wouldn't attract attention. Rebecca wished they'd thought to buy some snacks while they were at it. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and the packet of nuts she'd swallowed after takeoff wasn't cutting it. She reached up to switch off the reading light and then settled back in her seat, trying to let the smooth hum of the 747 engines lull her into a doze. Most of the other passengers on the half-full plane were asleep; the dim "night" lights and the steady drone of the engines had already worked for David. But even as drained as she felt by the evening's events, she gave up the effort after a minute or two. There was too much to think about, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep without at least sorting through some of it.
I feel like I'm dreaming already anyway; this is just another weird tangent, a subplot that came out of left field…
In the past three months, she'd graduated college, gone through S.T.A.R.S. Bravo training, and moved to her first apartment in a new city-only to end up one of the five survivors of a man-made disaster involving biological weapons and a corporate con-spiracy. In the past three hours, her life had taken yet another totally unexpected turn. She thought about what she'd wished for earlier, a chance to get out of Raccoon City and study the T-Virus; the irony of the situation wasn't lost on her, but she wasn't so sure she liked the circumstances. She rolled her head to the side and looked at David, crashed out in the window seat, dark circles of ex-haustion beneath his closed lids. After briefly filling her in on a few details about the cove and outlining their schedule for the next day, he'd told her to try and take a nap ("have a lie down" had been his exact words) and then promptly taken his own advice-not falling asleep so much as lapsing into an instant coma.
He even sleeps efficiently, no tossing or turning…
Like he willed himself to get as much rest as possible in the time allowed. He struck her as an extremely competent and intelligent man, if something of a loner, for as cool as he was under pressure, he seemed to freeze with small talk, leading her to wonder what kind of life he'd had. She was impressed with how quickly he'd come up with a plan to get them out of Barry's house, and was glad that he was leading the operation to Caliban Cove-though it was hard to think of him as a captain. He didn't really project authority, and didn't seem to want to, practically insisting that she call him David. Even when he'd stepped into a leadership role during the attack, it hadn't felt like he was giving them orders so much as offering instruction.
Maybe it's just the accent. Everything he says sounds polite…
He frowned in his sleep, his eyes flickering through uneasy dreams. After a few seconds, he let out a soft, child-like moan of distress. Rebecca briefly consid– ered waking him up, but already he seemed to have got past whatever troubled him, his brow smoothing. Suddenly feeling like she was invading his privacy, Rebecca looked away.
Dreaming about the attack, maybe. About having to kill someone he knew…
She wondered if she'd be haunted by the image of the man she'd shot, the shadowy figure that had crumpled to the ground next to Barry's house. She was still waiting for the guilt to hit her and thinking about it, she was surprised to find that her mind wasn't racing to rationalize the matter. She'd shot somebody, he could very well be dead and all she felt was relief that she'd stopped him from killing her or anyone else on the team. Rebecca closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the cool, pressurized air hissing through the cabin. She could smell the musky odor of dried sweat on her skin, and decided that taking a shower was first priority when they hit the hotel. David didn't want to risk going back to his house on the off chance that someone on the strike force had recognized him, so they were going to grab a couple of rooms near the airport somewhere after they changed planes. The operation briefing was set for noon at the home of one of the other three team members, an Alpha forensics expert named Karen Driver. David had mentioned that Karen could probably lend her some clean clothes, though he'd actually blushed while saying it.
He was a quirky one, all right…
… and after the briefing, we get our equipment and go in, just like that.
The thought knotted her stomach and sent a chill through her, telling her the real reason she wasn't able to sleep. Only two weeks after the Umbrella night– mare in Raccoon City, she was facing the same nightmare again. At least this time, she had some idea of what they'd be getting themselves into, and the plan was to get out of the facility without ever facing the T-Virus creatures, but the memory of Umbrel– la's Tyrant monster was still fresh in her mind, the massive, patchwork body and killing claw of the thing they'd seen on the estate. And the thought of what someone like Nicolas Griffith might have come up with using the virus… Rebecca decided that she'd thought enough, she had to get some sleep. She cleared her mind as best she could and focused on her breathing, slowing it down, counting backward in her mind from one hundred. The meditation technique had never failed her before, though she didn't think it would work this time…
… ninety-nine, ninety-eight, Dr. Griffith, David, S.T.A.R.S., Caliban…
Before she reached ninety, she was deeply asleep, dreaming of moving shadows that no light had cast.
FIVE
As he did most mornings since beginning the experiment, Nicolas Griffith sat on the open platform at the top of the lighthouse and watched the sun rise over the sea. It was an awesome spectacle, from beginning to end. First the black waves shading to gray as the sky lightened, the craggy rocks that lined his cove slowly taking form in the misty winds that swept off the water. As the radiant star peered over the side of the world, its first hesitant rays stained the ocean a deep azure blue, painting the pastel horizon with promises of renewal and a gentle, nurturing acceptance of all that it touched. It was a lie, of course. Within hours, the molten giant would beat mercilessly against the shore, against this half of the planet. Its early mildness was a deception, a pretended ignorance of the seeping radi-ation and withering heat that would follow…
… but no less spectacular for the lying. It can't be blamed for a lack of self-awareness, after all; it is what it is.
Griffith always watched until the sun cleared the curving horizon before getting on with his day. Al– though he appreciated the beauty of each glimmering dawn, it was the routine that appealed to him, not his, but that of the cosmos. Each sunrise was a statement of fact, speaking to an inevitable progres– sion of time… and a reminder that the world spun eternally through its galactic paces, oblivious to the dreams of the self-important beings that scurried across its surface.
… but no less spectacular for the lying. It can't be blamed for a lack of self-awareness, after all; it is what it is.
Griffith always watched until the sun cleared the curving horizon before getting on with his day. Al– though he appreciated the beauty of each glimmering dawn, it was the routine that appealed to him, not his, but that of the cosmos. Each sunrise was a statement of fact, speaking to an inevitable progres– sion of time… and a reminder that the world spun eternally through its galactic paces, oblivious to the dreams of the self-important beings that scurried across its surface.