THIRTEEN
My dearest Alma,
I sit here trying to think of where to begin, of how to
explain in a few simple words all that's happened in my life
since we last spoke, and already I fail. I hope this letter finds
you well and whole, and that you will forgive the tangents of
my pen; this isn't easy for me. Even as I write, I can feel the
simplest of concepts slipping away, lost to feelings of despair
and confusion, but I have to tell you what's in my heart
before I can rest. Be patient, and accept that what I tell you
is the truth.
The entire story would take hours for me to tell you, and
time is short, so accept these things as fact: last month there
was an accident in the lab and the virus we were studying
escaped. All my colleagues who were infected are dead or
dying, and the nature of the disease is such that those still
living have lost their senses. This virus robs its victims of
their humanity, forcing them in their sickness to seek out
and destroy life. Even as I write these words, I can hear
them, pressing against my locked door like mindless,
hungry animals, crying out like lost souls.
There aren't words true enough, deep enough to describe
the sorrow and shame that I feel knowing that I had a hand
in their creation. I believe that they feel nothing now, no
fear or pain, but that they can't experience the horror of
what they've become doesn't free me of my terrible burden.
I am, in part, responsible for this nightmare that surrounds
me.
In spite of the guilt that is burned into my very being,
that will haunt my every breath, I might have tried to
survive, if only to see you again. But my best efforts only
delayed the inevitable; I am infected, and there is no cure
for what will follow - except to end my life before I lose the
only thing that separates me from them. My love for you.
Please understand. Please know that I'm sorry.
Martin Crackhorn
Jill sighed, laying the crumpled paper gently on the
desk. The creatures were victims of their own research.
It seemed she'd had the right idea about what
had happened in the mansion, though reading the
heartfelt letter put a serious damper on any pride she
might have taken from her deduction skills. After
placing the sun crest, she'd decided that the upstairs
office merited a closer look and with a little digging,
she'd found the final scrawled testament of Crackhorn,
tucked in a drawer.
Crackhorn, Martin Crackhorn - that was one of the
names on Trent's list. . .
Jill frowned, walking slowly back to the office door.
For some reason, Trent wanted the S.T.A.R.S. to
figure out what had happened at the mansion before
anyone else did, but with as much as he obviously
knew about it, why not just tell them outright? And
what did he stand to gain by telling them anything at
all?
She stepped through the office's small foyer and
back out into the hall, still frowning. Barry had been
acting strange before, and she needed to find out why.
Maybe she could get a straight answer if she just asked
him outright. . .
. . .or maybe not. Either way, it'll tell me something.
Jill stopped by the back stairs, taking a deep
breath and realized that something was different.
She looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out
what it was her senses were telling her.
It's warmer. Just a little, but it's definitely warmer.
And the air isn't quite as stale. . .
Like someone had opened a window. Or maybe a
door.
Jill turned and jogged down the stairs, suddenly
anxious to check the puzzle lock. Reaching the bottom
of the steps, she saw that the door connecting one
hall to the next was standing open. She could hear
crickets singing faintly, feel the fresh night air wafting
toward her through the frigid mustiness of the house.
She hurried to the darker corridor and hooked a
right, trying not to get her hopes up. Another sharp
right and she could see the door that led to the
covered walkway standing open.
Maybe that's all it is, it doesn't mean the puzzle's
solved.
Jill broke into a run, feeling the clean warmth of
summer air against her skin as she rounded the corner
in the stone path and let out a short, triumphant laugh as she saw
the four placed crests next to the open door. A warm
breeze was flowing through the room that the puzzle
had unlocked, a small storage shed for gardening
tools. The metal door on the wall opposite was
standing open, and Jill could see moonlight playing
across a brick wall just past the rusted hinges.
Barry had been right, the door led outside. They'd
be able to get help now, find a safe route through the
woods or at least signal.
But if Barry found the missing pieces, why didn't he
come looking for me?
Jill's grin faded as she stepped into the shed,
absently taking in the dusty boxes and barrels that
lined the gray stone walls. Barry had known where she
was, had suggested himself that she take the second
floor of the west wing. . .
So maybe it wasn 't Barry who opened the door.
True, it could've been Chris or Wesker or one of the
Bravos. If that was the case, she should probably go
back in and look for Barry.
Or investigate a little first, make sure it's worth the
effort.
It was a bit of a rationalization, but she had to
admit to herself that the thought of returning to the
mansion with a possible escape in front of her wasn't
all that enticing. She unholstered her Beretta and
walked toward the outer door, her decision made.
The first thing she noticed was the sound of rushing
water over the soft forest noises that filled the cooling
air, like a waterfall. The second and third were the
bodies of the two dogs that lay across the irregular
stone path, shot to death.
Pretty safe bet that one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this
way. . .
Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low
hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark
clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the
open space was a barred iron gate just past an island
of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by
the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The
gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that
direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal
gate a few feet high.
Stairs going down maybe?
Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate
in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the
mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than
the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while
attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that
direction.
There was a sudden sound of water splashing
wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and
ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse
of whatever was making the noise.
She reached the end of the stone path and leaned
over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by
the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate
opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open
courtyard, twenty feet below.
The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked
down and across the wide yard just in time to see a
shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd
heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that
cascaded down the west wall.
What the hell?
She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure
if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing
had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and
she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing thingswhich
meant that the rushing water concealed a secret
passage.
Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I
didn't get enough of that inside.
The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal
bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down
in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but
nothing happened. She'd have to get down another
way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got
farther away.
Unless. . .
Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset
square only three feet across and open on the side
facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but
descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in
a minute or less, using her back and legs to support
her weight.
As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in
preparation for the climb, a disturbing thought occurred
to her - if the person who'd gone through the
waterfall was one of the S.T.A.R.S., how had they
known that the passage was even there?
Good question, and not one she wanted to linger
over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate
open and carefully started down the shaft.
They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before
heading through the winding halls of the west wing
and finding the open back door.
They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper
and its four engraved crests.
Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had
taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried.
Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys
that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to
look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's
what he meant to do.
But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble,
how did the piece I gave him end up here?
He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was
giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it
from him, he could've placed it himself and then been
injured somehow ... the possibilities seemed endless,
and none of them good.
Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and
looked at Rebecca. "Whatever happened to Barry, we
should go ahead. This may be the only way off the
estate."
Rebecca smiled a little. "Fine by me. It just feels
good to get out of there, you know?"
"Yeah, no kidding," he said, with feeling. He hadn't
even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold,
oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left
it. The difference was truly amazing.
They walked through the tidy storage room and
stopped at the back door, both of them breathing
deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the
hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chewing
at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how
tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was
anything she needed to know, anything that would
help her if they were forced into a combat situation.
S.T.A.R.S. training covered all the basics, but shooting
at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from
the real thing.
He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of
wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off
with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in
upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying
desperately not to show it. The captain for the mission
had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an
extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled
him aside just before they went in, looked him up and
down, and given him the single best piece of advice
he'd ever received.
"Son," she'd said, "no matter what happens when
the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants."
It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the
statement so totally weird that he'd literally been
forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room
for it.
"What are you grinning about?"
Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow,
he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the
dangers they faced didn't shoot back. "Long story.
Come on, let's go."
They moved out into the calm night air, crickets
and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding
woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick
walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left.
Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the
mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a
lonely, faraway sound.
Speaking of dogs . . .
There were a couple of them sprawled out across
the stones, soft moonlight glistening against their wet,
sinewy bodies. Chris edged up to one of them and
crouched down, touching its flank. He quickly pulled
his hand back, scowling; the mutant dog was sticky
and warm, like it had been sheathed in a thick layer of
mucous.
He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants. "Hasn't
been dead long," he said quietly. "Less than an hour,
anyway."
There was a rusted iron gate just past some hedges
in front of them. Chris nodded at Rebecca and as they
walked toward it, the sound of rushing water increased
to a dull roar.
Chris pushed at the gate and it swung open on
violently squealing hinges, revealing a huge, cut stone
reservoir, easily the size of a couple of swimming
pools put together. Deep shadows draped and hung at
every side, caused by the seemingly solid walls of
murky green trees and lush vegetation that threatened
to break through the bordering rails.
They moved forward, stopping at the edge of the
massive pool. It was apparently in the slow process of
being drained, the turbulent noise caused by the
narrow flow of water through a raised gate on the east
side. There wasn't a complete path around the reservoir,
but Chris saw that there was a walkway bisecting
the pool itself, about five feet below water level. There
were bolted ladders at both sides, and the path had
obviously been submerged until quite recently, the
stones dark with dripping algae.
Chris studied the unusual setup for a moment,
wondering how anyone got across when it wasn't
being drained. Another mystery to add to the growing
list.
Without speaking, they climbed down and hurried
across, boots squelching against the slimy stones, a
clammy humidity enveloping them. Chris quickly
scaled the second ladder, reaching down to help
Rebecca up.
The heavily shaded path was littered with branches
and pine needles and appeared to border the east end
of the reservoir, passing over the open floodgate. They
started toward the forced waterfall and had only
gotten a few feet when it started to rain.
Plop. Plop, plop.
Chris frowned, an inner voice informing him coolly
that he shouldn't be able to hear raindrops over the
roar of the draining water. He looked up
and saw a twisted branch fall from the stretching
foliage hanging over the rail, a branch that hit the
stones and slid smoothly away -
- that's not a branch -
- and there were dozens of them already on the
ground, twisting across the dark stones, hissing and
writhing as they fell from the trees overhead.
He and Rebecca were surrounded by snakes.
"Oh, shit!"
Startled, Rebecca turned to look at Chris and felt
cold terror shoot through her, her heart squeezed in
its icy grip as she took in the path behind him. The
ground had come to life, black shapes coiling toward
their feet and dropping from above like living rain.
Rebecca started to raise her gun, realizing numbly
that there were too many even as Chris roughly
grabbed her arm.
"Run!"
They stumbled forward, Rebecca crying out involuntarily
as a thick, writhing body fell across her
shoulder, a touch of cool scales against her arm as it
slid heavily off and hit the stones.
The path zig-zagged and they ran through the
shifting shadows, heels crunching down on rubbery,
moving flesh, throwing them off balance. Snakes
darted forward to strike at their passing boots as they
ran over a steel grate, black, foaming water thundering
below, the sound of their boots hitting metal lost
to the liquid roar.
Ahead of them, the stones were clearer, but the
path also dropped off sharply, a small elevator platform
marking its end. There was no place left to go.
They crowded on to the tiny platform and Rebecca
snatched at the controls, her breath coming in panicked
gasps. Chris turned and fired repeatedly, the
shots blasting over the crash of water as Rebecca
found the operating button and slammed it down.
The platform shuddered and started to descend,
slipping down past rock walls toward a massive,
empty courtyard below. Rebecca turned, raising the
Beretta to help Chris and felt her jaw drop,
her throat locking at the gruesome scene.
There had to be hundreds of them,
the path almost completely hidden by the slithering
creatures, hissing and squirming in an alien frenzy as
they struck wildly at each other. By the time she
managed to unfreeze, the loathsome sight had risen
past eye level and was gone.
The ride seemed to last forever, both of them
staring up at the edge of the path they'd left behind,
tensely, breathlessly waiting for the bodies to start
falling. When the lift was within a few feet of the
bottom, they both jumped off, stumbling quickly
away from the wall.
They both leaned against the cool rock, gasping.
Rebecca took in the courtyard they'd escaped to in
between shuddering breaths, letting the sound of the
splashing waterfall soothe her nerves. It was a huge,
open space made out of brick and stone, the colors
washed out and hazy in the frail light. The water from
the reservoir above tumbled down into two stone
pools nearby, and there was a single gate across from
them.
And no snakes.
She took a final deep breath and blew it out, then
turned to Chris.
"Were you bit?"
He shook his head. "You?"
"No," she said. "Though if it's all the same to you,
I'd rather not go back that way. I'm more of a catperson,
really."
Chris stared at her for a moment and then grinned,
pushing away from the wall. "Funny, I would've
figured you for lab rats. I ..."
Beep-beep.
The radio!
Rebecca grabbed at the unit hooked to her belt, the
snakes suddenly forgotten. It was the sound she'd
been hoping to hear ever since they'd found Richard.
They were being hailed, maybe by searchers.
She thumbed the receiver and held the radio up so
they could both hear. Static crackled through the
tinny speaker along with the soft whine of a wavering
signal.
". . . this is Brad!. . . Alpha team . . . read? If. . .
can hear this..."
His voice disappeared in a burst of static. Rebecca
hit the transmit button and spoke quickly.
"Brad? Brad, come in!"
The signal was gone. They both listened for a
moment longer, but nothing else came through.
"He must have gotten out of range," Chris said. He
sighed, walking farther out into the open yard and
gazing up at the dark, overcast sky.
Rebecca clipped the silent radio back to her belt,
still feeling more hopeful than she had all night. The
pilot was out there somewhere, circling around and
looking for them. Now that they were clear of the
mansion, they'd be able to hear him signal.
Assuming he comes back.
Rebecca ignored the thought and walked over to
join Chris, who had found another tiny elevator
platform, tucked in the corner across from the waterfall.
A quick check showed it to be without power.
Chris turned toward the gate, slapping a fresh clip
into his Beretta. "Shall we see what's behind door
number one?"
It was a rhetorical question. Unless they wanted to
go back through the snakes, it was their only option.
Just the same, Rebecca smiled and nodded, wanting
to make sure he knew she was ready and hoping
desperately that if anything else happened, she would
be.
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