ResidentEvil-CalibanCove [Chapter: 06]

SIX

KAREN DRIVER WAS A TALL, LANKY WOMAN

in her early thirties, with short blond hair and a

serious, businesslike demeanor. Her small home was

spotlessly kept and almost antiseptically clean. The

clothes she'd picked out for Rebecca were utilitarian

and perfectly folded: a dark green T-shirt and crisp

matching pants, black cotton socks and underwear.

Even her bathroom seemed to reflect her personality;

the white walls were lined with shelves, each neatly

organized according to purpose.

Scratch a forensics scientist, find an obsessivecompulsive

..

Rebecca immediately felt guilty for thinking it.

Karen had been welcoming enough, even friendly in a

brusque way. Maybe she just hated clutter.

Rebecca sat on the edge of the toilet and cuffed the

overlong pants around her ankles, relieved to be out

of her old clothes and feeling surprisingly clearheaded

after a night of broken sleep. David had

rented a car at the airport, and in the early hours of

the morning, they'd found a cheap motel and staggered

into their separate rooms, Rebecca too exhausted

to do more than take off her shoes before

crawling into bed. She woke just before ten, took a

shower and had been waiting nervously when David

knocked at her door.

Rebecca heard the front door open and close, new

voices floating through the living room. She slipped

on her high tops and laced them quickly, feeling her

anxiety level jump a notch. The team was assembled.

They were that much closer to going in, and though

she'd thought of little else since waking up, the

realization continued to come as a kind of shock.

Umbrella's surprise attack on Barry's house already

seemed like it had happened in another lifetime,

though it had been only hours ago...

... and hours from now, this will all be over. It's

what's gonna happen in between that worries me.

David and his team weren't there, they didn't see the

dogs, the snakes, those unnatural creatures in the

tunnels... or Tyrant.

Rebecca shook the images away as she stood up,

scooping her dirty clothes off the floor and stufling

them into the empty bag that she'd carried on the

plane. There was no reason to assume that the Caliban

Cove facility would be the same, and worrying

about it wouldn't change anything. She paused in

front of the mirror, studying the tense features of the

young woman she saw there, and then walked to the

door.

She headed for the living room, past the sparkling

kitchen and around a corner in the hall. She heard

David's lilting voice, apparently summing up the

events of the night before.

"... said he'd ring some of the others first thing

this morning. Another of the team has a contact in the

FBI to use as a go-between and to initiate an investigation

when we have proof. They'll be waiting to hear

from us when we've completed today's operation ..."

He broke off as Rebecca walked into the room, and

all eyes turned to her. Karen had pulled a few extra

chairs into the room and sat in one of them next to a

low, glass topped coffee table. There were two men

sitting on the couch, across from where David stood.

David smiled at her as both men got up, stepping

forward to be introduced.

"Rebecca, this is Steve Lopez. Steve is our resident

computer genius and our best marksman ..."

Steve grinned, an aw-shucks smile that suited his

boyish features perfectly as he shook her hand, his

teeth white against his natural deep-tan coloring. He

had dark, quick eyes and black hair, and was only a

few inches taller than her.

Not much older, either...

His gaze was friendly and direct, and in spite of the

circumstances, Rebecca found herself wishing that

she'd at least run a brush through her hair before

coming out of the bathroom. Simply put, he was hot.

"... and this is John Andrews, our communications

specialist and field scout."

John's skin was a deep mahogany brown and he

didn't have a beard, but he reminded her of Barry

nonetheless. He was massively built, his six-foot

frame bulging with tightly packed muscle. He grinned

brightly at her, his smile dazzling white.

"This is Rebecca Chambers, biochemist and field

medic for the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S.," David said.

John let go of her hand, still smiling. "Biochemist?

Damn, how old are you?"

Rebecca smiled back, catching the glint of humor in

his eyes. "Eighteen. And three-quarters."

John laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle as he sat back

down. He glanced at Steve, then back at her.

"You better watch out for Lopez, then," he said,

then dropped his voice to a mock whisper. "He just

turned twenty-two. And he's single."

"Knock it off," Steve growled, his cheeks flushing.

He looked at her, shaking his head.

"You'll have to excuse John. He thinks he's got a

sense of humor and nobody can talk him out of it."

"Your mother thinks I'm funny," John shot back,

and before Steve could respond, David held up a

hand.

"That's enough," he said mildly. "We only have a

few hours to organize if we mean to do this today.

Let's get started, shall we?"

Steve and John's banter had been a welcome break

from her tension, making her feel like one of the team

almost instantly, but she was also glad to see the

serious, intent looks on all of their faces as they

turned their attention to David, watching him pull

out Trent's information and lay it on the table. It was

good to know that they were pros . . .

. . . but will it matter? her mind whispered softly.

The S.T.A.R.S. in Raccoon were professionals, too.

And even knowing the kind of research Umbrella's

been doing, will it make any difference at all? What if

the virus mutated and is still infectious? What if the

place is crawling with Tyrants . . . or something worse?

Rebecca had no answer for the insistent little whisper.

She focused on David instead, silently telling

herself that her anxieties wouldn't get in the way of

her doing her job. And that her second mission

wouldn't be her last.

For Rebecca's sake, David started the briefing as he

would have with an entirely new team. As bright as

she was, and with her previous experience at an

Umbrella facility, he didn't want her to hold back for

fear of speaking out of turn.

"Our objective is to get into the compound, collect

evidence on Umbrella and their research, and get out

again with as little trouble as possible. I'll go over

every step thoroughly, and if any of you have questions

or ideas about how to proceed, no matter how

trifling, I want to hear them. Understood?"

There were nods all around. David continued,

comfortable that his point was made.

"We've already discussed a few of the possibilities

as to what may have happened, and you've all read

the articles. I submit that we're dealing once again

with some kind of accident. Umbrella's put a lot of

effort into covering up the problem in Raccoon City,

and while we could assume that they've been abducting

or killing fishermen who've wandered across their

territory, it seems unlikely that they'd want to draw

that kind of attention to themselves."

"Why hasn't Umbrella sent anyone in to clean it

up?" John asked.

David shook his head. "Who's to say they haven't?

We may find that they've already cleared the site of

evidence - in which case, we group together with the

Raccoon people and our own contacts and start

over."

Again, everyone nodded. He didn't bother stating

the obvious, that the virus could still be contagious.

They all knew that it was a possibility, though he

planned to have Rebecca address the matter before

the briefing was through.

David looked down at the map and sighed inwardly

before moving on to the next point.

"Point of entry," he said. "If this were an open

assault, we could go in by helicopter or just hop the

fence. But if there are still people there and we trigger

an alarm, it's over before we even start. Since we

don't want to risk discovery, our best option is to go

in by boat. We can use one of the rafts from the tanker

operation last year."

Karen piped up, frowning slightly.

"Wouldn't they have an alarm for the pier?"

David touched the map, putting his finger just

below the notched line of the fence, south of the

compound. "Actually, I don't recommend using the

pier at all. If we go in here, go past the pier ..." He

traced upward, running the length of the cove. "... we

can get a look at the layout of the entire compound,

and hide the raft in one of the caves beneath the

lighthouse. According to what I read, there's a natural

path from the base of the cliff to the lighthouse itself.

If the path has been blocked, we'll backtrack and

come up with an alternative route."

"Won't the raft attract attention if anyone's outside

watching?" Rebecca asked.

David shook his head. The Exeter S.T.A.R.S. had

used the rafts the previous summer to approach an oil

tanker that had been hijacked by terrorists who had

threatened to spill the cargo unless their demands

were met. It had been a night operation.

"It's black, and has an underwater motor. If we go

in just past dusk, we should be invisible. The other

benefit to this approach is that if the facility looks

unhealthy, we can abort until a later time."

He waited as they thought it over, not wanting to

rush them. They were good soldiers, his team, but this

was a volunteer assignment. If any one of them had

serious doubts, it was better to address them now.

Besides which, he was open to other suggestions.

His gaze fell across Rebecca's youthful face, taking

in the steady willingness of a good S.T.A.R.S. operative

in the quick brown eyes, the thoughtful consideration

of his plan. He was beginning to like her, for

more than just her usefulness to the mission. There

was a kind of matter-of-fact openness about her that

appealed to him, particularly with all of his recent

turmoil over emotional awkwardness. She seemed

quite comfortable with herself ...

David pushed the thoughts aside, suddenly realizing

how much stress he'd been under, how tired he

continued to be; his focus was suffering for it.

Keep it together, man. This isn't the time to wander.

"On to specifics," he said. "Once we get inside, we

move in a staggered line through the compound,

sticking to shadows. John will take point with Karen

at his back, scouting the area for the lab and looking

for some idea as to what's happened. Steve and

Rebecca will follow, and I'll bring up the rear. When

we find the lab, we go in together. Rebecca will know

what to look for in terms of materials, and if they have

a computer system still running, Steve can get into the

files. The rest of us will provide cover. Once we

retrieve the information, we get back out the way we

came."

He picked up the poem that Trent had given him,

tapping it with his other hand. "One of Rebecca's

teammates has already had dealings with Mr. Trent.

She thinks that this might be relevant to what we need

to find, so I want all of you to take another look before

we go in. It may be important."

"So we can trust him?" Karen asked. "This Trent's

okay?"

David frowned, not sure how to answer. "It seems

that for whatever reason, he's on our side in all of this,

yes," he said slowly. "And Rebecca recognized one of

the names on the list as a man who has worked with

viruses before. The information looks solid." It

wasn't a straight answer, but it would have to do.

"Any idea on what the chances are that we'll

contract the virus?" Steve asked quietly.

David tilted his head toward Rebecca. "If you

could give us some insight about what we may see,

perhaps a bit of background ..."

She nodded, turning toward the rest of the team.

"I can't tell you exactly what we're dealing with. When

our team got kicked off the case, I lost access to the

tissue and saliva samples, so I didn't get to run any

tests. But from looking at the effects, it's pretty

obvious that the T-Virus is a mutagen, altering the

host's chromosome structure on a cellular level. It's

an interspecies infective, capable of amplifying in

plants, mammals, birds, reptiles, you name it. In

some creatures, it promotes incredible growth; in all

of them, violent behavior. From some of the reports

we came across at the estate, I can tell you that it

affects brain chemistry, at least in humans—inducing

something like a schizophrenic psychosis through

extremely high levels of D2 receptors. It also inhibits

pain. The human victims we came across hardly

reacted to gunshot wounds, and though they were

decaying physically, they didn't seem to feel it ..."

The young chemist paused, perhaps remembering.

She suddenly looked much older than her years. "The

spill at the estate looked like an airborne, but I don't

think that's its designed or preferred form. The scientists

were almost certainly injecting it in conjunction

with genetic experimentation. And since none of us

contracted it and it didn't spread, I don't think we

have to worry about breathing it in. "

"What we do have to watch for is contact with a

host, and I mean any contact, I can't stress that

enough, this thing is incredibly virulent once it

enters the bloodstream, and even a single drop of

blood from a host could hold hundreds of millions of

virus particles. We'd need a fully equipped hot suite

and a trained biohazard virologist to pin down its

replication strategy for certain, but direct contact of

any kind should be avoided at all costs. With any

luck, they'll have died by now ... or at least deteriorated

past mobility. The humans, anyway."

There was a moment of strained silence as they all

considered the implications of what she'd told them.

David could see that they were shaken, and felt a bit

shaken himself. Knowing that the virus was toxic

wasn't the same thing as actually hearing the specifics.

My God, what were those people thinking? How

could they live with themselves, deliberately infecting

anything with something like that?

On the tail of that thought, another occurred to

him: how would he live with himself if one of his team

contracted the virus? He'd led missions before in

which people under his command had been hurt

and twice, before he made captain, he'd been on

operations in which S.T.A.R.S. had been killed. But

taking a team into an area on his own initiative,

where a silent, terrible disease could infect them,

where they could die at the claws of some inhuman

monster...

... it would be on my head. This isn't an authorized

mission, the responsibility stops with me. Can I truly

ask them to do this?

"Well, it pretty much sounds like a shit job," John

said finally. "And if we wanna get there on time, we

better head out soon." He smiled at David, an uncharacteristically

subdued one but a smile all the

same. "You know me, I love a good fight. And

somebody's gotta stop these assholes from spreading

this stuff around, right?"

Steve and Karen were both nodding, their faces as

set and determined as John's, and even knowing what

they would encounter, Rebecca had made her decision

back in Raccoon. David felt a sudden rush of

emotion for all of them, a strange, uncomfortable mix

of pride and fear and warmth that he wasn't sure what

to do with.

After a few seconds of uncertain silence, he nodded

briskly, glancing at his watch. It would take them a

few hours to get to the launch site.

"Right," he said. "We'd best get to storage and load

up. We can go through the rest of it on our way."

As they stood to leave, David reminded himself

that they were doing this because it was necessary,

that each of them had made up their own mind to

participate in the dangerous operation. They knew

the risks. And he also knew that if anything went

wrong, that knowledge would be cold comfort indeed.

Karen sat in the back of the van and loaded clips,

the words of the mysterious message repeating

through her thoughts as she thumbed the ninemillimeter

rounds into each magazine.

. . . Ammon's message received/blue series/enter answer

for key/letters and numbers reverse/time rainbow/don't

count/blue to access.

She finished another clip and set it aside with the

others, absently wiping her oily fingers on the leg of

her pants before picking up the next. A welcome

breeze whispered through the muggy van, smelling of

salt and summer-warmed sea. They'd pulled off the

road south of the cove, finding a clear patch to set up

not a quarter mile from the water's edge. Outside, the

sun was setting, casting long shadows across the dusty

ground. The not-so-distant sound of soft waves

against the shore was soothing, a white noise background

to the low voices of the others as they worked.

Steve and David were propping the raft, while John

checked out the motor. Rebecca was assembling a

medical kit from the supplies they'd "borrowed" out

of the S.T.A.R.S. equipment warehouse.

... the letters and numbers... a code? Does it

relate to time? Does counting relate to the sum of the

lines, or to something else?

Her mind worked the riddle relentlessly, gnawing at

the words the way a dog worries a bone. What did it

mean? Were the lines connected to a single concept,

or did each represent a separate aspect of a bigger

puzzle? Had Ammon sent the message, and if he

worked for Umbrella, why?

She finished the last clip and reached for a waterproof

carryall, refocusing herself to the task at hand.

She knew that her thoughts would return to the

strange little poem as soon as she'd completed her

assigned detail. It was the way her mind worked; she

just couldn't relax when presented with an ambiguity.

There was always an answer, always, and finding it

was just a matter of concentration, of taking the right

steps in the right order.

The semi-automatics were cleaned and ready, laying

in a neat line next to the checked radio gear on the

floor of the van. They weren't taking any weapons

besides the S.T.A.R.S.-issued Berettas, David insisting

that they needed to travel light. Although Karen

agreed, she was sorry they wouldn't be bringing in the

assault rifles, which were equipped with night scopes.

After hearing more of the details about the zombielike

creatures on their ride, she didn't know how

comfortable she felt with just a handgun and a

halogen flashlight.

Admit it. You're worried about this one, and have

been since David broke the news. The facts are all out

of order, the pieces don't fit the way they're supposed

to.

It was ironic that the reasons compelling her to

crack this mystery were the same ones that made her

so uneasy: Trent, the S.T.A.R.S.'s apparent collusion

with Umbrella, the possibility of a biohazardous

incident in her home state. Who had been bribed?

What had happened at Caliban Cove? What would

they uncover? What did the poem mean?

Not enough data. Not yet.

She'd always prided herself on her lack of imagination,

on her ability to find the truth based on empirical

evidence rather than wild, unsubstantiated intuition.

It was the key to success in her field, and though

she was aware that she sometimes came across as

overly clinica - even cold - she accepted who she

was, embracing the kind of peace that was found in

knowing all of the facts. Whether it was examining

blood spray patterns or measuring angles on an entry

wound, there was a deep satisfaction for her in solving

puzzles, in finding out not only why, but how. The

unanswered questions about Caliban Cove were an

affront to her careful thought processes. They went

against her grain, smudging her very ordered sense of

reality - and she knew that she wouldn't find relief

until those questions were put to rest.

She was finished with the weapons. She should

check the utility belts again, make sure everything was

locked down and ready, and then see if David had

anything else for her to do...

Karen hesitated, feeling a trickle of warm sweat

slide down her back. No one was within sight of the

open back door, and she'd already double-checked

every flap and pocket on every belt. With a sudden

rush of something like guilt, she reached into her vest

pocket and pulled out her secret, comforted by the

familiar weight of it in her hand.

God, if the guys knew, I'd never hear the end of it.

It had been given to her by her father, a remnant

from his service in WWII and one of the few items she

had to remember him by—an ancient anti-personnel

shrapnel grenade, called a pineapple because of its

crosshatched exterior. Carrying it was one of her few

unpractical idiosyncrasies, one that made her feel a

little silly. She'd worked hard to present herself as a

thoroughly rational, intelligent woman, not prone to

emotional sentimentality and in most respects, that

was true. But the grenade was her rabbit's foot, and

she never went on a mission without it. Besides, she

had half convinced herself that it might come in

handy one day. . .

Yeah, keep telling yourself that. The S.T.A.R.S. have

digitized anti-personnel grenades with timers, even

flash-bangs with computer chips. The pin on this relic

probably couldn't be wrenched out with pliers ...

"Karen, do you need any help?"

Startled, Karen looked up and into Rebecca's earnest

young features, the girl leaning into the back of

the van. Her quick gaze fell to the grenade, her eyes

lighting up with sudden curiosity.

"I thought we weren't taking any explosives . . . hey,

is that a pineapple grenade? I've never actually

seen one. Is it live?"

Karen quickly looked around, afraid that one of the

team had overheard, then grinned sheepishly at the

young biochemist, embarrassed by her own embarrassment.

It's not like I got caught masturbating, for chrissake;

she doesn 't know me, why the hell would she care if I'm

superstitious?

"Shh! They'll hear us. Come here a sec," she said,

and Rebecca obediently crawled into the van, a conspiratorial

half-smile blooming on her face. In spite of

herself, Karen was absurdly pleased by the young

biochemist's discovery. In the seven years she'd been

with the S.T.A.R.S., no one had ever found out. And

she'd taken an instant liking to the girl.

"It is a pineapple, and we're not taking explosives

in. You can't tell anyone, okay? I carry it for good

luck."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "You carry a live

grenade around for luck?"

Karen nodded, looking at her seriously. "Yes, and if

John or Steve found out, they'd ride me ragged. I

know it's dumb, but it's kind of a secret."

"I don't think it's dumb. My friend Jill has a lucky

hat. . ." Rebecca reached up and touched her headband,

a tied red bandana beneath mousy bangs.

". . . and I've been wearing this for a couple of weeks

practically. I was wearing it when we went into the

Spencer facility."

Her young face clouded slightly, and then she was

smiling again, her light brown gaze direct and sincere.

"I won't say a word."

Karen decided that she definitely liked her. She

tucked the grenade back in her vest, nodding at the

girl. "I appreciate that. So, are we ready out there?"

Tiny lines of nervous strain appeared on Rebecca's

face. "Yeah, pretty much. John wants to run another

check with the headsets, but other than that, everything's

done."

Karen nodded again, wishing she could say something

to ease the girl's fear. There wasn't anything to

say. Rebecca had dealt with Umbrella before, and any

words that Karen might mouth would be hollow ones,

might even seem patronizing. She felt some anxiety

herself, she'd be a fool not to, but fear wasn't a state

that she wore often or well. As with most missions,

the overriding feeling she experienced was anticipation,

a kind of cerebral hunger for the truth.

"Go ahead and hand out the weapons, I'll get the

rest," Karen said finally. She could at least give her

something to do.

Rebecca helped her unload the equipment as the

sun dipped lower in the heavy summer sky. The winds

off the water grew cooler and the first pale stars

shimmered into view over the Atlantic.

As twilight crept in, they moved down to the water

in an uneasy silence, loading their weapons, stretching,

staring out at the black waters that eddied and

swirled with secrets of their own.

When the last of the daylight melted off the horizon,

they were as ready as they were going to get. As

John and David slipped the raft into the lapping

darkness, Karen slipped on a black watchcap and

patted the heavy lump inside her vest for luck, telling

herself that she wouldn't need it.

The truth was waiting. It was time to find out what

was really going on.