ONE
REBECCA CHAMBERS RODE HER MOUNTAIN
bike through the dark, winding streets of the Cider
district, the late summer moon swelling in the warm,
clear night sky overhead. Although it was relatively
early, the suburban streets were deserted, the citywide
curfew still in effect; no one under eighteen was
supposed to be out after dusk until the murderers
were caught and put safely behind bars. It had been a
tense and quiet summer in Raccoon City, at least on
the surface.
She glided past silent houses, the faint glow of
television sets spilling out across well-kept lawns, the
distant drone of crickets and an occasional barking
dog the only sounds in the air that whipped past her.
The uneasy citizens of Raccoon dwelled behind those
locked doors, waiting for the announcement that the
killers had been apprehended and that their city was
safe.
If they only knew...,
For just a moment, Rebecca envied them their
ignorance. She'd come to the rather disheartening
conclusion in the last couple of weeks that knowing
the truth wasn't all it was cracked up to be—particularly
when no one believed it.
It had been a long, merciless thirteen days since the
nightmare at the Spencer estate. The surviving
S.T.A.R.S. had escaped treachery and death just to
run up against a massive brick wall of scornful
disbelief when they'd tried to tell their tale. Jill, Chris,
Barry, and herself had been labeled drug addicts and
worse in the local papers, undoubtedly at Umbrella's
urging—and after their suspension, even the RPD
had refused to believe them. Now, with Umbrella
taking over the investigation of the fire, undoubtedly
getting rid of the last of the evidence ... it was as if
everywhere the S.T.A.R.S. turned, Umbrella had been
there first, greasing palms and covering tracks, making
it impossible to get anyone to listen to their story.
Not that it would have been that simple anyway. One
of the biggest, most respectable med research and
pharmaceutical companies in the world—not to mention
the primary source of income in Raccoon—conducting
bio-weapons research in a secret lab, creating
experimental monsters— If I didn't know better, I’d
probably think I was crazy, too.
At least the absolute worst was over. With the lab
destroyed, the attacks on Raccoon had stopped—and
though the people responsible hadn't been held accountable
yet, she figured it was only a matter of time.
Umbrella was experimenting with dangerous stuff,
and wouldn't be able to hide it from a S.T.A.R.S.
investigation. She and the others just had to watch
their backs until the home office sent backup.
Speaking of—ouch ...
The pancake holster was poking into her ribcage.
Rebecca adjusted it through the thin cotton of her
shirt, hoping that after tonight she wouldn't have to
carry the weapon anymore—a snub-nosed .38 revolver
from Barry's collection. She couldn't speak for the
others, but she hadn't had a decent night's sleep since
they'd escaped the Spencer estate, and walking
around armed all of the time wasn't her idea of safe.
Sighing inwardly, she took a left on Foster and
pedaled through the shadows toward Barry's house,
reminding herself that he'd probably called the meeting
because he'd heard from the home office with
orders. He would only say that there had been a
"development" and to show up ASAP—and though
she was trying not to let her imagination run away
with her, she couldn't help the steady pulse of excitement
that had knotted her stomach since he'd called.
Maybe they'll fly its to New York to brief the investigation
team, or even to Europe for when they storm
Umbrella's headquarters...
Wherever they were sent, it had to be better than
staying in Raccoon. The strain of looking over their
shoulders had been getting to all of them. Chris
seemed to think that Umbrella was waiting until the
public eye was off the S.T.A.R.S. before making their
move, though it was only a theory—and not exactly
the most reassuring thought to fall asleep by. Chickenheart
Vickers had skipped out of town after only two
days, unable to take the pressure—and although Jill,
Chris, and Barry had condemned Brad's cowardice,
Rebecca was starting to wonder if maybe the Alpha
pilot didn't have the right idea. It wasn't that she
wanted Umbrella to walk, there was no question that
their experiments were morally reprehensible and
certainly illegal—but until the S.T.A.R.S. sent help,
staying in Raccoon City was dangerous.
Not after tonight; just a little bit longer, and this will
all be over. No more guns, no more locked doors—no
more worrying about what Umbrella will do to us for
knowing the truth.
When they'd first made the report, their superiors
in New York had told them to stay put. Assistant
Director Kurtz himself had promised to do some
investigating and get back to them—but it had been
eleven days, and still no word. She had no intention of
running away as Brad had done, but she'd come to
hate the feeling of that holster, the weight of the
deadly steel against her side every waking moment of
every day. She was supposed to be a chemist, for
chrissake...
And once the reinforcements come, maybe they'll
move me to one of the labs, let me study the virus.
Technically I'm still a Bravo; there's no way they'd
want me on the front lines...
There was no question that it would be the best use
of her talents. The others were experienced soldiers,
but Rebecca had only been with the S.T.A.R.S. for
five weeks. Her first mission had been the one to
Raccoon Forest that had wiped out over half the team
and clued the rest of them in to Umbrella's secret.
Since then, she'd spent a lot of time brushing up on
the molecular architecture of viruses, trying to determine
the T-Virus replication strategy. The S.T.A.R.S.
didn't need field medics right now, they needed
scientists ... and if she'd learned anything from the
Spencer estate disaster, it was that she belonged in a
lab. She'd held her own that night, but she also knew
that working with the T-Virus was the greatest contribution
she could make toward stopping Umbrella.
And you may as well face it, her mind whispered,
you're fascinated by it. The chance to study an unclassified
emerging mutagen, to find out what makes it
tick—that's what makes you tick.
Yeah, well, there was no shame in enjoying her
work. She'd joined the S.T.A.R.S. in hopes of just
such an opportunity—and with any luck, after tonight's
meeting she would be packing a bag and
getting the hell out of Raccoon City, heading into a
new phase of her life as a S.T.A.R.S. biochemist.
She pulled to a stop at the end of the block in front
of a huge, two-story remodeled Victorian painted a
pale yellow, checking all around for anything suspicious
before getting off her bike. The Burtons lived
next to a sprawling suburban park, heavy with trees.
Even a few weeks ago, she might have wandered
through the silent park, enjoying the balmy summer
night, looking at the stars; now it was just one more
dark place for someone to hide. Shivering slightly in
spite of the warm, humid air, she hurried up the front
walk.
Dragging her bike onto the porch, she wiped sweat
from the back of her neck and checked her watch.
She'd made excellent time, only twenty minutes since
Barry's call. Rebecca leaned the bicycle against the
railing, praying that he had good news.
Before she could knock, Barry opened the door,
dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his heavily muscled
body filling the door's frame. Barry lifted weights.
With a vengeance.
He smiled and stood back to let her inside, taking a
quick look out at the quiet street before following her
into the front hall. His Colt Python was tucked into a
hip holster, making him look like an overgrown
cowboy.
"You saw anybody?" he asked lightly.
She shook her head. "No. I took back streets, too."
Barry nodded, and though he was still smiling a
little, she could see the haunted look in his eyes, the
look he'd had ever since their narrow escape. She
wished she could tell him that nobody blamed him,
but knew it wouldn't make a difference; Barry still
held himself responsible for a lot of what had happened
at the estate that night. He looked as though he
was losing weight, too, though she figured that had
more to do with him missing his wife and kids; he'd
sent them out of town immediately following the
incident, terrified for their safety.
Just one more way that Umbrella has damaged our
lives...
He led her through the spacious hallway past the
stairs, the walls decorated with framed drawings in
crayon that his daughters had made. The Burton
house was rambling and spacious, filled with the
scuffed and well-worn furnishings that epitomized
family.
"Chris and Jill should be here any time. You want
some coffee?"
He seemed tense, scruffing nervously at his short
red beard.
"No, thanks. Maybe some water."
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead and introduce yourself, I'll
be back in a minute." He hurried off to the kitchen
before she could ask him if anything was wrong.
Introduce myself? What's going on?
She walked through the hall's arched opening into
the cluttered, comfortable living room and stopped, a
little startled to see a strange man sitting in one of the
recliners. He stood up as she entered the room,
smiling—but she could see by the way his dark gaze
narrowed slightly that he was sizing her up.
Even a few weeks ago, the careful scrutiny would
have made her horribly self-conscious. She was the
youngest S.T.A.R.S. member ever to be accepted for
active duty, and knew that she looked it—but if
anything positive had come from the incident at the
Umbrella lab, it was that she no longer cared much
about things like social embarrassment. Facing down
a house full of monsters tended to put things in
perspective that way. Besides which, being stared at
had gotten pretty routine since then.
She gazed back at him impassively, studying him in
return. Jeans, a nice shirt, running shoes. He also
wore a hip holster with a nine-millimeter Beretta, the
S.T.A.R.S. standard-issue sidearm. He was tall, maybe
a full foot over her five-foot three-inch frame, but
slender, with a physique like a swimmer's. He was
almost movie-star handsome, a high, weathered brow
and finely chiseled features, short, dark hair and a
piercing gaze that sparkled with intelligence.
"You must be Rebecca Chambers," he said. He had
a British accent, his words clipped and somehow
polished. "You're the biochemist, is that right?"
Rebecca nodded. "Working on it. And you are . . ."
He smiled wider, shaking his head. "Forgive my
manners, please. I hadn't expected . . . that is, I..."
He stepped around Barry's low coffee table and
extended his hand, flushing slightly. "I'm David
Trapp, with the S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch in Maine,"
he said.
Rebecca felt cool relief wash over her, the
S.T.A.R.S. had sent help instead of calling, fine by
her. She shook his hand, stifling a grin, knowing that
her appearance had thrown him. Nobody expected an
eighteen-year-old scientist, and while she'd gotten
used to the surprised looks, she still took a kind of
mischievous pleasure at catching people off guard.
"So, are you like the scout or something?" she
asked.
Mr. Trapp frowned. "Sorry?"
"For the investigation—are there other teams already
here, or did you come to check things out first,
get the dirt on Umbrella . . ."
She trailed off as he shook his head slowly, almost
sadly, his dark eyes glittering with an emotion she
couldn't read.
It came out in his voice, heavy with frustrated
anger—and as the words sank in, Rebecca felt her
knees go watery with a sudden anxious dread.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Chambers. I
have reason to believe that Umbrella has gotten to key
members of the S.T.A.R.S., either by bribery or
blackmail. There is no investigation—and no one else
is coming."
A look of confused terror passed through the girl's
light brown eyes and just as quickly was gone. She
took a deep breath and blew it out.
"Are you sure? I mean, did Umbrella try to get to
you, or ... are you positive?"
David shook his head. "I'm not absolutely certain,
no—but I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. . . concerned
about it."
It was a bit of an understatement, but David still
wasn't past the shock of seeing how young she was,
and felt an almost instinctive desire not to alarm her
any further. Barry had mentioned that she was something
of a child genius, but he hadn't really expected a
child. The biochemist wore high tops and cut-off
denim shorts rolled at the knee, topped by a shapeless
black T-shirt.
Get past it; this child may be the only scientist we
have left.
The thought rekindled the anger that had been
burning in David's gut for the past few days. The
story that had been unfolding since Barry's call wasn't
a pretty one, filled with treachery and lies—and the
fact that the S.T.A.R.S., his S.T.A.R.S., were involved
. . .
Barry walked into the room with a glass of water
and Rebecca took it from him gratefully, swallowing
half of it in one gulp.
Barry shot him a glance and then turned his attention
to Rebecca. "He told you, huh?"
The girl nodded. "Do Jill and Chris know?"
"Not yet. That's why I called," Barry said. "Look,
no point in going through this twice. We should wait
for them to show up before we get into specifics."
"Agreed," David said. He generally found that first
impressions were the most telling, and if they were
going to be working together, he wanted to get a feel
for the girl's character.
The three of them sat, and Barry started to tell
Rebecca how he and David had met back in
S.T.A.R.S. training when they were both much younger
men. Barry told a good story, even if it was only to
kill time. David listened with half an ear as Barry
related an anecdote about their graduation night,
involving a rather humorless drill sergeant and several
rubber snakes. The girl was relaxing, even enjoying
the story of their childish prank—
—seventeen years ago. She would have been celebrating
her first birthday.
Still, she had put her questions on hold at Barry's
request, even though David knew she had to be
anxious about what he'd told her. The ability to
retrain one's focus so quickly was an admirable trait,
one that he'd never fully mastered.
He'd been able to think of little else since his own
call to the S.T.A.R.S. AD. David's devotion to the
organization had made the apparent betrayal all the
more bitter, like a bad taste in his mouth that
wouldn't go away. The S.T.A.R.S. had been David's
life for almost twenty years, had given him all the
things he'd lacked growing up—a sense of self-worth,
a sense of purpose and integrity.
And just like that, the lives of dedicated men and
women, my life and life's work simply tossed aside as if
it meant nothing. How much did that cost? How much
did Umbrella have to pay to buy the S.T.A.R.S.'s
honor?
David shook the anger, focusing his attention on
Rebecca. If all he'd learned was true, time was short
and their resources were now severely limited. His
motivations weren't as important right now as hers.
He could tell by the way she held herself that she
wasn't the shy or submissive type, and she was
obviously bright; her eyes fairly sparkled with it.
From what Barry had told him, she'd acted professionally
throughout the Spencer facility operation.
Her file suggested that she was more than qualified to
work with a chemical virus, assuming that she was as
good as the reports said—and assuming she has any desire
to put her life in further danger.
That was going to be the sticking point. She hadn't
been with the S.T.A.R.S. for very long, and knowing
that they'd sold their people out probably wasn't
going to overwhelm her with feelings of confidence for
the job ahead. It would be just as easy for her to step
out of the game now. For that matter, it would be the
intelligent choice for all of them.
There was a knock at the door, presumably the
other two Alphas. David's hand drifted down to the
butt of his nine-millimeter as Barry went to answer.
When he walked back in leading the S.T.A.R.S. team
members, David relaxed, then stood up to be formally
introduced.
"Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield—this is Captain
David Trapp, military strategist for the Maine
S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch."
Chris was the marksman, if David remembered
correctly, and Jill something of a covert B&E specialist.
Barry said that the pilot, Brad Vickers, had
skipped town shortly after the Spencer incident. No
great loss, from what he could gather; the man
sounded distinctly unreliable.
He shook hands with both of them and they all sat
down, Barry nodding toward him.
"David's an old comrade of mine. We worked
together on the same team for about two years, right
after boot camp. He showed up on my doorstep about
an hour ago with news, and I didn't think it could
wait. David?"
David cleared his throat, trying to focus on the
significant facts. After a pause, he began at the beginning.
"As you already know, six days ago, Barry placed
several calls to various S.T.A.R.S. branches to see if
any word had come from the home office about the
tragedy that occurred here. I received one of those
calls. It was the first I'd heard about it, and I've since
found out that the New York office hasn't contacted
anyone about your discovery. No warnings or memos.
Nothing has been issued to the S.T.A.R.S. regarding
the Umbrella Corporation."
Chris and Jill exchanged looks of concern.
"Maybe they're not done investigating," Chris said
slowly.
David shook his head. "I spoke to the assistant
director myself the day after Barry called. I didn't tell
him about the contact, only that I'd heard rumor of a
problem in Raccoon, and wanted to know if it had
any merit."
He looked at the assembled group and sighed
inwardly, feeling like he'd already gone over it a
thousand times.
Only in my mind, searching for another answer. . .
and there isn 't one.
"The AD wouldn't tell me anything outright," he
continued, "and he told me that I should remain quiet
about it until official word came down. What he would
say was that there had been a helicopter crash in
Raccoon City—and what he implied was that the
surviving S.T.A.R.S. were trying to lay blame on
Umbrella, angry over some sort of funding dispute."
"But that's not true!" Jill said. "We were investigating
the murders, and found..."
"Yes, Barry told me," David interrupted. "You
found that the murders were the result of a laboratory
accident. The T-Virus that Umbrella was experimenting
with was released somehow and it transformed
the researchers into mad killers."
"That's exactly what happened," Chris said. "I
know it sounds nuts, but we were there, we saw
them."
David nodded. "I believe you. I have to admit, I
was skeptical after speaking with Barry. As you say, it
sounds 'nuts'—but my call to New York and what's
happened since has changed all that. I've known
Barry for a long time, and I knew that he wouldn't be
looking to place blame for such an unfortunate incident
unless Umbrella was, in fact, responsible. He
even told me about his own unwilling involvement in
the attempted cover up."
"But if Tom Kurtz told you that there was no
conspiracy . . ." Chris said.
David sighed. "Yes. We have to assume that either
our own organization has been misled—or that, like
your Captain Wesker, members of the S.T.A.R.S. are
now working for Umbrella."
There was a moment of shocked silence as they
absorbed the information, and David could see anger
and confusion play across their faces. He knew how
they felt. It meant that the S.T.A.R.S. directors had
either been manipulated by Umbrella or corrupted by
them—and either way, the survivors of the Raccoon
team had been hung out to dry, left vulnerable to
whatever Umbrella might do.
God, if only I could believe that it was all a mistake.
"Three days ago, I picked up a tail on my way in to
work," he said softly. "I wasn't able to make them,
but I'm assuming that they're some of Umbrella's
people and that my call to New York was responsible."
"Have you tried to get hold of Palmieri?" Jill asked.
David nodded. The S.T.A.R.S. national commander
was the one man he knew was above taking bribes;
Marco Palmieri had been with the S.T.A.R.S. since
the very beginning. "I was informed by his secretary
that he's leading a classified operation in the Middle
East and won't be available for months—and word
has it that arrangements are being made for his
retirement while he's away."
"You think Umbrella's behind it?" Chris asked.
David shrugged. "Umbrella has made substantial
donations to the S.T.A.R.S. over the years, which
means they have the contacts. If they're trying to turn
the S.T.A.R.S. away from investigating them, getting
rid of Dr. Palmieri would be to their advantage."
David glanced around the room, trying to assess
their readiness for the rest of it. Barry's fists were
clenched, and he stared at them as if he'd never seen
them before. Jill and Rebecca both seemed lost in
thought, though he could see that they had accepted
his story as truth. It would save them time, at
least. . .
Chris stood up and started to pace, his youthful
features flushed with anger. "So basically, we've got
no credibility with the locals, no backup coming, and
we've been branded as liars by our own people. The
Umbrella investigation is dead and we're screwed,
does that pretty much sum it up?"
David could see that the anger wasn't directed at
him, just as the anger that he felt wasn't for the young
Alpha. The thought of what Umbrella had done, what
the S.T.A.R.S. were involved in—it made him sick
with rage, with feelings of helplessness that he hadn't
felt since his childhood.
Stop thinking of yourself. Tell them the rest.
David stood up and looked at Chris, though he
addressed all of them. He hadn't even had time to tell
Barry yet.
"Actually, there's more. It seems that there's another
Umbrella facility on the Maine coast, conducting
experiments with this virus of theirs—and just like
what happened here, they've lost control."
David turned to Rebecca, taking in her wide, horrified
gaze as he finished. "I'm taking a team in,
without S.T.A.R.S. authorization—and I want you to
come with us."
0 comments
Post a Comment