by S. D. Perry
Chapter 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 suspiCious, 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 quickl
y 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 comfor
table. 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.