ELEVEN
BARRY AND JILL STOOD IN THE COVERED
walkway by the puzzle lock, breathing the clean night
air. Beyond the high walls, the crickets and cicadas
hummed their ceaseless song, a soothing reminder
that there was still a sane world outside.
Jill's brush with disaster had left her light-headed
and somewhat nauseous, and Barry had gently led her
to the back door, suggesting that the fresh air would
do her good. He hadn't found Chris or Wesker,
though he seemed certain that they were still alive. He
brought her up to speed quickly, retracing his meandering
path through the house as Jill leaned against
the wall, still taking deep breaths of the warm air.
"... and when I heard the shots, I came running."
Barry rubbed absently at his short beard. He smiled
at her, a somewhat hesitant grin. "Lucky for you.
Another couple of seconds, you would've been a Jill
sandwich."
Jill smiled back gratefully, nodding, but noticed
that he seemed a little . . . strained, the humor forced.
Odd. She wouldn't have figured Barry as the type to
tense up in the face of danger.
Is it any wonder? We're trapped here, we can't find
the team, and this entire mansion is out to get us. Not
exactly a laugh-riot.
"I hope I can return the favor if you ever get in a
tight spot," she said softly. "Really. You saved my
life."
Barry looked away, flushing slightly. "Glad I could
help," he said gruffly. "Just be more careful. This
place is dangerous."
She nodded again, thinking of how close she'd
come to dying. She shivered slightly, then forced the
thoughts away; they needed to be concentrating on
Chris and Wesker. "So you do think they're still
alive?"
"Yeah. Besides the shell casings, there was a whole
trail of those ghouls in the other wing, all with clean
head shots; gotta be Chris - though I had to splatter a
couple more of 'em upstairs, so I figure he holed up
somewhere along the way."
Barry nodded toward the copper diagram set into
the wall. "So, was this star crest here already?"
Jill frowned, a little surprised at the abrupt change
of topic; Chris was one of Barry's closest friends.
"No. I found it in another room with a trap. This
place seems to be full of them. In fact, maybe we
should look for Wesker and Chris together - no telling
what they might've stumbled into, or what else
could happen to either of us."
Barry shook his head. "I don't know. I mean,
you're right, we should watch our step, but there are
a lot of rooms, and our first priority ought to be
securing an escape. If we split up, we can try to find
the rest of these crests, and look for Chris at the same
time. And Wesker."
Though his demeanor didn't change, Jill had the
sudden distinct impression that Barry was uncomfortable.
He had turned away to study the copper
diagram, but it almost seemed as if he was trying to
avoid eye contact.
"Besides," he said, "we know what we're up against
now. As long as we use a little common sense, we'll be
fine."
"Barry, are you okay? You seem-tired." It wasn't
the right word, but it was the only one that came to
Jill’s mind.
He sighed, finally looking at her. He did seem tired;
there were dark circles under his eyes, and his wide
shoulders were slumped.
"No, I'm alright. Just worried about Chris, you
know."
Jill nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that
there was more to it than that. Since he'd pulled her
out of the trap he'd been acting unusually subdued,
even nervous.
Paranoid much? This is Barry Burton you're talking
about, the backbone of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. - not
to mention, the man who just saved your life. What
could he possibly be hiding?
Jill knew she was probably being overly suspi-
Cious, but all the same, she decided to keep her
mouth shut about Trent's computer. After all she'd
been through, she wasn't feeling particularly trusting.
And it sounded like he already had a pretty good idea
of the mansion's layout, so it wasn't like he needed the
information.
That's it, keep rationalizing. Next thing, you'll be
suspecting Captain Wesker of planning this whole
thing.
Jill scoffed inwardly as she pushed herself away
from the wall and she and Barry walked slowly back
toward the house. Now that was paranoid.
They stopped as they reached the door, Jill taking a
few final lungfuls of the sweet air, letting it settle her
nerves. Barry had taken out his Colt Python and was
reloading the empty chambers, his expression grim.
"I thought I'd go back over to the east wing, see if I
can pick up Chris's trail," he said. "Why don't you
head upstairs and start looking for the other crests?
That way we can cover all of the rooms, work our way
back to the main hall."
Jill nodded and Barry opened the door, the rusty
hinges squealing in protest. A wave of cold swept past
them and Jill sighed, trying to prepare herself to face
another maze of frigid, shadowy halls, another series
of unopened doors and the secrets that lay behind
them.
"You're gonna do fine," Barry said smoothly, placing
a warm hand on her shoulder and gently ushering
her back inside. As soon as the door closed behind
them he lifted his hand in a casual salute, smiling.
"Good luck," he said, and before she could respond,
he turned and hurried away, weapon in hand.
With another creak of ancient metal, he slipped
through the double doors at the end of the hall and
was gone.
Jill stared after him, alone once again in the chilled,
stinking silence of the dim corridor. It wasn't her
imagination; Barry was keeping something from her.
But was it something she needed to worry about, or
was he just trying to protect her?
Maybe he found Chris or Wesker, dead, and didn't
want to tell me.
It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it would explain
his strange, hurried behavior. He obviously wanted
them to get out of the house as soon as possible, and
wanted her to stay on the west side. And the way he'd
fixated on the puzzle mechanism, seeming more concerned
with their exit than with Chris's or Wesker's
whereabouts. . .
She looked down at the two crumpled figures in the
hall, at the tacky, drying pools of red that surrounded
them. Maybe she was trying too hard to find a motive
that didn't exist. Maybe, like her, Barry was scared,
and sick of feeling like death could come at any time.
Maybe I should stop thinking about it and do my
job. Whether or not we find the others, he's right about
needing to get out. We have to get back to the city, let
people know what's out here.
Jill straightened her shoulders and walked to the
door that led to the stairwell, drawing her weapon.
She'd made it this far she could make it a little
farther, try to unravel the mystery that had taken the
lives of so many or die trying, her mind whispered softly.
Forest Speyer was dead. The laughing, Southern
good ol’ boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was
no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a
bloody, lifeless impostor slumped against a wall.
Chris stared down at the impostor, the distant
sounds of the night lost to a sudden gust of wind that
whipped around the eaves, moaning through the
railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly
sound, but Forest couldn't hear it; Forest would never
hear anything again.
Chris crouched down next to the still body, carefully
prying Forest's Beretta from beneath cool fingers.
He told himself he wouldn't look, but as he
reached for Forest's belt pack, he found his gaze fixed
on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo's eyes had
once been.
Jesus, what happened? What happened to you, man?
Forest's body was covered with wounds, most an
inch or two across and surrounded by raw, bloody
flesh - it was as if he'd been stabbed hundreds of
times with a dull knife, each vicious cut ripping away
chunks of skin and muscle. Part of his ribcage was
cruelly exposed, slivers of white showing beneath
tattered redness. His eyeless, streaming stare was the
crowning horror-like the killer hadn't been content
to take Forest's life, wanting his soul instead.
There were three clips for the Beretta in Forest's
pack. Chris shoved the magazines into a pocket and
quickly stood up, tearing his gaze from the mutilated
body. He looked out over the dark woods, breathing
deeply. His thoughts were jumbled and grasping,
trying to find an explanation and yet unable to hold
on to any coherent facts.
Once in the main hall, he'd decided to check all of
the doors to see which were unlocked and when
he'd seen the bloody hand print in the tiny upstairs
hall and heard the wailing cries of birds, he'd charged
in, ready to deal out some justice. . .
. . . crows. It sounded like crows, an entire flock . . .
or a murder, actually. Pack of dogs, kindle of kittens,
murder of crows . . .
He blinked, his tired mind focusing on the seemingly
random bit of trivia. Frowning, Chris crouched
back down next to Forest's ravaged body, studying the
jagged wounds closely. There were dozens of tiny
scratches amidst the more serious cuts, scratches set
into lined patterns.
Claws. Talons.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he heard a
restless flutter of wings. He turned slowly, still holding
Forest's Beretta in a hand that had suddenly gone
cold.
A sleek, monstrous bird was perched on the railing
not two feet away, watching him with bright black
eyes. Its smooth feathers gleamed dully against its
bloated body . . . and a ribbon of something red and
wet hung from its beak.
The bird tilted its head to the side and let out a
tremendous shriek, the streamer of Forest's flesh
droooine to the railing. From all around, the answering
cries of its gathered siblings flooded the night air.
There was a furious whisper of oversized wings as
dozens of dark, fluttering shapes swooped out from
beneath the eaves, screeching and clawing.
Chris ran, the image of Forest's bloody, terrible
eyes burned into his pounding thoughts as he lunged
for escape. He stumbled into the tiny hall and
slammed the door against the rising screams of the
birds, adrenaline pumping through his system in hot,
surging beats.
He took a deep breath, then another, and after a
moment, his heart slowed down to a more normal
pace. The shrieks of the crows gradually grew distant,
blown away on a softly moaning wind.
Jesus, how dumb can I get? Stupid, stupid.
He'd stormed out onto the deck looking for a
fight, looking to avenge the deaths of the other
S.T.A.R.S. and been shocked into stupidity by
what he'd found. If he hadn't let himself get so
freaked out by Forest's death, he would have made
the connection sooner between the birds and the
types of wounds and perhaps noticed the gathering
flesh-eaters that had watched him from the
shadows, looking for their next victim.
He headed for the door back to the main hall, angry
with himself for going into a situation unprepared. He
couldn't afford to keep making mistakes, to let his
attention wander from what was in front of him. This
wasn't some kind of a game, where he could push a
reset button if he missed a trick. People were dying,
his friends were dying - and if you don't pull your head out
of your ass and start being more careful,
you 're going to join them.
Another torn and lifeless body crumpled in a cold
hallway somewhere, another victim to the insanity of
this house.
Chris silenced the nagging whisper, taking a deep
breath as he stepped back into the high gallery of the
lobby and closed the door behind him. Beating himself
up was no more useful than charging blindly
around in a strange and dangerous environment,
looking for revenge. He had to concentrate on what
was important: the lost Alphas and Rebecca.
He walked toward the stairs, tucking Forest's weapon
into his waistband. At least Rebecca would be able
to defend herself.
"Chris."
Startled, he looked down to see the young
S.T.A.R.S. member at the base of the wide steps,
grinning up at him.
He jogged down the stairs, glad to see her in spite of
himself. "What happened? Is everything all right?"
Rebecca held up a silver key as he reached her, still
smiling widely. "I found something I thought you
could use."
He took the key, noting that the handle was etched
with a tiny shield before slipping it inside his vest.
Rebecca was beaming, her eyes flashing with excitement.
"After you left, I played the piano and this secret
door opened up in the wall. There was this gold
emblem inside, like a shield, and I switched it with
the one in the dining room and the grandfather
clock moved, and that key was behind it."
She broke off suddenly, her smile faltering as she
studied his face. "I'm sorry ... I know I shouldn't
have left, but I thought I could catch you before you
got too far ..."
"It's okay," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm just
surprised to see you. Here, I found you something a
little better than a can of insect repellent."
He handed her the Beretta, pulling out a couple of
clips to go with it. Rebecca took the gun, staring down
at it thoughtfully.
When she looked up at him again, her gaze was
serious and intense. "Who was it?"
Chris thought about lying, but saw that she wasn't
going to buy it and realized suddenly what it was
about her that made him feel so protective, that made
him want to shield her from the sad and sickening
truth.
Claire.
That was it; Rebecca reminded him of his little
sister, from her tomboy sarcasm and quick wit to the
way she wore her hair.
"Listen," she said quietly, "I know you feel responsible
for me, and I admit that I'm pretty new at this.
But I'm a member of this team, and sheltering me
from the facts could get me killed. So-who was it?"
Chris stared at her for a moment and then sighed.
She was right. "Forest. I found him outside, he'd been
pecked to death by crows. Kenneth's dead, too."
A sudden anguish passed across her eyes, but she
nodded firmly, keeping her gaze on his. "Okay. So
what do we do now?"
Chris couldn't help the slightest of smiles, trying to
remember if he'd ever been so young.
He motioned up the stairs, hoping that he wasn't
about to make another mistake. "I guess we try
another door."
Wesker didn't catch much of the conversation between
Barry and Jill, but after a muffled, "Good
luck," from Mr. Burton, he heard a door open and
close somewhere near by and a moment later, the
hollow thump of bootsteps against wood, followed by
another closing door. The hall outside was clear, his
team off on their mission to find the rest of the copper
crests.
Looks like I picked the right room to wait in.
He'd used the helmet key to lock himself into a
small study by the back door, the perfect place from
which to monitor the team's progress. Not only could
he hear them coming and going, he'd be able to get a
head start to the labs.
He held the heavy wind crest up to the light of the
desk lamp, grinning. It had been too easy, really. He'd
happened across the plaster statue on his way back
from talking to Barry, and remembered that it had a
secret compartment somewhere. Rather than waste
valuable time searching, he'd simply pushed the hideous
thing off the dining room balcony. It hadn't been
hiding one of the crests, but the sparkle of the blue
jewel amidst the rubble had been almost as good.
There was a room just off the dining hall that held a
statue of a tiger with one red eye and one blue, one of
the few mechanisms that he'd remembered from an
earlier visit. A quick visit to the statue had confirmed
his suspicions; both eyes had been missing, and when
he'd placed the gaudy blue jewel into its proper
socket, the tiger had turned to one side and presented
him with the crest. Just like that, he was one step
closer to completing his mission.
When the other three are in place, I'll wait until
they're off looking for the final piece and then slip right
out the door.
He considered going to check the diagram, but
decided against it. The house was big, but not that big,
and there was no need to expose himself to further
risk of being seen. Besides, they probably hadn't
managed to find any of the other crests yet. He'd
already had a close call when he'd gone downstairs to
retrieve the jewel, almost stepping directly into Chris
Redfield's path. Chris had found the rookie and the
two of them were blundering around, probably looking
for "clues."
Besides, this room is comfortable. Maybe I'll take a
nap while I wait for the rest of them to catch up.
He leaned back in the desk chair, pleased with
himself for all he'd accomplished so far. What could
have been a disaster was turning out quite nicely,
thanks to some quick thinking on his part. He had
already found one of the crests, he had Barry and Jill
working for him and he'd had the good fortune to
run into Ellen Smith while he'd been in the library.
Oops, scratch that. It's Doctor Ellen Smith, thank
you very much.
After fetching the wind crest, he'd gone to the
library to check the small side room that overlooked
the estate's heliport, the entrance concealed behind a
bookcase. A quick search had revealed nothing useful,
and he'd been about to check the back room when Dr.
Smith had shambled out to greet him.
He had tried to get a date with her ever since he'd
moved to Raccoon, drawn in by her long legs and
platinum blond hair; he'd always been partial to
blonds, particularly smart ones. Not only had she
repeatedly turned him down, she hadn't even tried to
be nice about it. When he'd called her Ellen, she'd
coolly informed him that she was his superior and a
doctor, and would be addressed as such. Ice queen,
through and through. If she hadn't been so damned
good-looking, he never would've bothered in the first
place.
But my, how your beauty has faded, Dr. Ellen. . .
Wesker closed his eyes, smiling, reliving the experience.
It had been the ratty strings of blond hair that
had given her away as she'd shuffled out from behind
a shelf, moaning and reaching for him. Her legs were
still long, but they'd lost a lot of their appeal - not to
mention a fair amount of skin.
"What lovely perfume you're wearing, Dr. Smith,"
he'd said. Then two shots to the head, and she'd gone
down in a spray of blood and bone. Wesker didn't like
to think of himself as a shallow man, but pulling the
trigger on that high-riding bitch had been wonderfully-
no, deeply-gratifying.
Like icing on a cake, a little bonus perk for taking
matters in hand. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll run into that
prick Sarton down in the labs. . .
After a few moments, Wesker stood up and
stretched, turning to scan some of the titles on the
bookshelf behind him. He was eager to get moving,
but it might take the S.T.A.R.S. awhile to find the rest
of the puzzle pieces and there was really nothing he
could do to hurry the process; he might as well keep
busy.
He frowned, struggling to make sense of the technical
titles. One of the books was called, Phagemids:
Alpha Complementation Vectors, the next one was,
cDNA Libraries and Electrophoresis Conditions.
Biochemistry texts and medical journals, terrific.
Maybe he'd get that nap in after all. Just reading the
titles was making him sleepy.
His gaze fell across a heavy-looking tome sitting by
itself on one of the lower shelves, bound in a fine red
leather. He picked it up, glad to see a title he could
read printed across the front, even one as stupid as,
Eagle of East, Wolf of West.
Wait - that's the same thing written on the fountain.
Wesker stared at the words, feeling his good mood
slipping away. It couldn't be, the researchers had gone
nuts but surely they wouldn't have locked down the
labs, there was no reason for it. He opened the book
almost frantically, praying that he was wrong
and let out a low moan of helpless rage at what
was tucked into the sham book's glued pages. A brass
medallion with an eagle engraved on it lay in the cut
away compartment - part of a key to yet another of
Spencer's insane locks.
It was like the punch line to a cruel joke. To get out
of the house, he had to find the crests. Once out in the
courtyard, he'd have to make his way through a
winding maze of tunnels that ended in a hidden
section of the garden - where there was an old stone
fountain that marked the entrance to the underground
labs. The fountain was one of Spencer's
fanciful creations, a marvel of engineering that could
be opened and closed to hide the facility underneath
- provided, of course, that you had the keys:
two medallions made out of brass, an eagle on one, a
wolf on the other.
Finding the eagle meant that the gate was closed.
And that meant that the wolf could be anywhere,
anywhere at all and that his chances of even getting
to the lab had just dropped down to somewhere near
zero.
Unable to control his fury, he snatched up the
medal and threw the book against the desk, knocking
the lamp over with a crash and plunging the room
into sudden blackness. There was no longer any point
in holding on to the wind crest; his perfect plan was
ruined. He'd have to give up his edge and hope that
one of the others would inadvertently stumble across
the wolf medal for him, secreted away somewhere on
the massive, sprawling estate.
Which means more risk, more searching and a
chance that one of them will reach the labs before I do.
Seething, Wesker stood in the dark silence with his
fists clenched, trying not to scream.
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