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 him
a 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 him
intently.
"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. Barry
grit 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's
ashen 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, horribly
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 immediate
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 without
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 knocking,
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 thoroughly,
David's satisfaction growing with each passing
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 twobedroom
home shared a backyard with a securityconscious
family; bright lights snapped on when David
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. Personal
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 experience,
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 operation,
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, wondering
if he'd ever be able to overcome his awkwardness
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 dysfunctional
childhood, something he'd always known, but
now, facing Umbrella and the treachery of an organization
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 reconciled
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 mission,
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, anyway.
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 lifethreatening
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 conspiracy.
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 exhaustion
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 considered
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 nightmare
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 Umbrella'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.
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