Chapter Three
Jill felt her heart quicken at rebecca's words, a feeling that things were happening too fast and that they weren't prepared. Her decision seemed sudden, even though Jill really hadn't doubted that she'd volunteer; Rebecca was a lot stronger than she looked. She glanced around Barry's wide, open living room, discreetly noting the reactions of her teammates. Chris's face was strained, his mouth drawn as he stared absently at the map of Caliban Cove, while Barry walked across to one of the living room win- dows, staring out past the curtain and scowling at nothing in particular.
They're worried about her, and maybe they should be; Griffith sounds like a serious psycho. . . but would any of us have hesitated if we'd been asked to go? It just proved that Rebecca was as committed as they were, also no great surprise. Getting to know the young Bravo had been one of the only bright spots in the frustrating days since the mansion had burned. The girl had been unfailingly optimistic about their chances against Umbrella even after their suspension, and had worked tirelessly to keep all of their spirits up. She was brilliant, too and yet she never flaunted it, or came across as condescending when she was attempting to discuss aspects of the T-Virus with them.
Rebecca looked a bit distraught herself, glancing around at the three men in the room. Even David Trapp seemed vaguely uncomfortable with her deci- sion, probably because of Rebecca's youth. Men. She's young, she's cute, and she's undoubtedly smarter than all of us put together, but the young and cute part tends to make them overlook the rest. Jill caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. At Rebecca's age, Jill had been a professional thief, and a good one. She was worried about Rebecca, too, but only because she'd grown to care about her. The fact that she was a young woman wasn't a reason to underestimate her talents. Rebecca smiled back, and walked over to sit by her as David nodded hesitantly at his newest teammate.
"All right, then. Good. There's a plane leaving for Bangor at twenty-three hundred hours, with a con-necting flight to a field just outside of Exeter. I thought we could all go over a bit of strategy here, and then drop by your place on the way to the airfield so you can pack a few things. "
Rebecca nodded, and after cracking a window open, Barry moved back to join them, leaning against one arm of the couch. He folded his arms across his massive chest and jerked his chin toward David. "You're the strategist," he said, not unkindly. "Why don't you start us off?"
The respect between the two men was obvious, making Jill like David all the more. In spite of Barry's screw ups in the Spencer fiasco, Jill had grown to trust him, something she didn't do easily and he seemed confident in David Trapp's skills. "I don't mean to take over," David said, "but I have a few thoughts on how we might approach this situation. I've known about the S. T. A. R. S. 's betrayal for several days now. . . though I thought we all might spend a few moments considering our course of action. I realize that this must come as quite a shock. "
Jill picked up on the same thread of bitterness she'd noticed earlier, on the word "betrayal. " The fact that the S. T. A. R. S. were in bed with Umbrella obviously wasn't sitting too well with Mr. Trapp. . . . probably not with Chris or Barry, either. Both of them have more time invested with the S. T. A. R. S. than me or Becca. . . Jill was disappointed and angry that the S. T. A. R. S. had sold out, but it wasn't going to be a factor in her decision to work at bringing Umbrella down. Her path had been determined on the day that the McGee sisters had been brutally murdered. The two little girls were the first innocent victims of the T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate and they had been her friends.
She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand. Without the S. T. A. R. S. , their job was going to be a lot tougher. Not impossible, but she had to admit to herself that their chance of success had just dropped to somewhere near zero. It was a good thing she didn't mind being the underdog.
It doesn't matter anyway. Umbrella's going to pay for what they've done, one way or another. . .
Barry's gruff voice broke the quiet in the room, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe we should go to the press. Not local, but someone big, national. " David sighed, shaking his head. "I thought of that. It's a good idea, but right now we don't have the proof to make anything stick. " "Yeah, but at least Umbrella wouldn't move on us with everyone watching. " "We couldn't count on that," Jill said. "If they got to the S. T. A. R. S. , they could get to anyone. And without evidence. . . well, you gotta admit, the story's the kind of thing even the tabloids wouldn't buy. "
There was a moment of sullen silence, as if her words reminded them all of how insane it sounded, how insane it would sound to anyone who hadn't experienced what they'd been through. A virus that accidentally turns people into zombies, being used to create unspeakable monsters as living weapons. . . invented and then covered up by a major corporation that hires mad scientists to experiment on human beings. All it needs is a Nazi war criminal with an atomic weapon, we'd have a best-seller on our hands. . .
"Well, what we were talking about before orga-nizing some of the other S. T. A. R. S. ," Chris said. "I've got a few people in mind, some of the guys I trained with. And I know Barry's got a lot of con- tacts. " David nodded agreement. "Yes, I think that should be a priority. My concern is how to get in touch with them. The branch offices may already be tapped, and we want to keep Umbrella from learning about our plans for as long as possible. Unfortunately, we won't have use of the S. T. A. R. S. 's resources for much longer. " "Maybe we should look for a go-between," Jill said slowly. "Someone who doesn't have ties to the S. T. A. R. S" Chris grinned suddenly. "I know a guy from back in the Air Force who works for Jack Hamilton now, one of the section heads for the FBI-I don't know much about Hamilton, but Pete's about as honest as they come. And he owes me a favor. " "Brilliant," David said. "Perhaps you could ask him to help you look into the local police as well. Once we have solid evidence from the Maine facility, we can go to your friend, instigate a federal investiga- tion. "
It sounded good, but Jill found herself feeling frustrated by the talk. She wanted to act. Waiting for the S. T. A. R. S. to contact them had been bad enough; knowing that Rebecca was going to be risking her life while they waited idly by would be excruciating.
"You said you had some thoughts about what else we could do," she said. David nodded. "Yes, though once we involve the government, it may not come to anything quite so daring. I had been formulating a plan to infiltrate Umbrella headquarters, a risky proposition at best. It seems wisest to work on a smaller scale for now, but I do believe the three of you should drop out of sight, as soon as possible. I also think it would be prudent for you to see what you can uncover on Mr. Trent, though I have the distinct feeling that you won't come up with much, if anything. "
He smiled a little, and having met Trent, Jill understood his doubts perfectly. Their strange bene- factor had struck her as a very careful man.
"I get the impression that we'll only find what he wants us to find," David continued, "but it is worth a look. And we'll need to arrange for a rendezvous site after we've. . . "
His soft, musical voice broke off suddenly as he tilted his head to one side, listening intently. Jill heard it in the same instant and felt her heart freeze in her chest. A rustling in the bushes outside the window that Barry had opened.
Umbrella!!! "Get down!" Jill shouted, and rolled off the couch, pulling Rebecca with her as the window shattered, the curtains blown aside in an explosive burst from an automatic rifle. David dove for the floor as bullets riddled the chair he'd been in, already grabbing for his weapon. Tufts of padding floated past his wide eyes as a smoking trail of holes tore across the wall, plaster and wood flying.
Bloody hell. . .
There was a split-second break in the onslaught, just long enough for them to hear the crash of glass breaking from the back of the house. "Barry, lights!" he shouted, but Barry was way ahead of him, the thunder of his Colt revolver drown- ing out the intermittent spray of the machine gun. Boom! Boom! The ro
om went dark as Barry's rounds found their mark, glass raining down from above. Light still streamed into the darkness from the hall, and there was another hail of bullets from outside. Chris scrabbled on elbows and knees for the hall-way and in one smooth movement rolled onto his side and took out the additional lights. The living room was now completely black, and the bursts of automat- ic fire stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, David heard boots crunching on glass from back in the kitchen. The heavy steps paused, the intruder probably waiting for the window shooter to catch up and there will be more than two, covering the exits. Kitchen door, front porch, someone watching the windows. . . Another set of steps entered the kitchen, these hurried and shuffling, but they also stopped. The pair was waiting, either for more of their team or for the assembled S. T. A. R. S. to make a move. David's thoughts raced independently of him, reflexively con- sidering and rejecting theories and options at light-ning speed.
We get upstairs, pick them off one at a time- -unless they mean to torch the house- -so we run straight through them, out the back- -except they've got the firepower advantage, maybe spook eyes and we'd be moving targets, no contest. . .
All he knew for certain was that they couldn't stay where they were. There was no cover for when the thugs got tired of waiting. There was shuffling movement from the right as Barry's hulking shadow crouched toward him. Da- vid's eyes had adjusted enough to see Jill and Rebecca on the other side of the coffee table, both of them crouched and holding handguns. He couldn't make Chris out, but he was probably still by the hall. Barry's house was the last on the block, a wooded park just past. If they could slip out, get into the trees. . . The thought stuck; even a bad plan was better than none at all, and they didn't have time to work out alternatives. "Basement door?" David whispered. Barry's gruff voice was soft and strained. "Yeah. " No good, it would be posted. They'd have to get out through the second floor. "We go through the park," he whispered quickly. "Jill, get to Chris and prepare to lay cover on my signal. Barry, Rebecca, as soon as we start, hit the stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll follow. Ready? Go. "
Jill was already moving around the couch, disap- pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase would be damaging. He crept toward the yawning blackness of the opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs. To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps. To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.
They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins the rest of the strike force should rush the front door. . .
David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they were dead. Away from the faint light from the win- dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low as possible. "Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly, no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of the corridor. On my mark. . . now!"
The three of them sprang into position, Chris and Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the count ticking. five. . . four. . . Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was only a foot away from the door when someone kicked it open. Bam! His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the base.
. . . two. . .
He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit- ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and out of the line of fire. Their time was up.
David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a sound like an explosion behind him. The front door was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead by now. Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door, hoping he'd bought the S. T. A. R. S. enough time to escape.
Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're gone.
It was going to be close.
Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.
Come on, come on. . .
Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Jill was the first to reach the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a touch, Chris following close behind. Bam! Bam! The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a sweaty ghost.
"This way. . . "
Rebecca turned and ran for the window, David at her side. Jill had already gone and Chris was halfway out, Barry gripping one of his hands as he struggled to balance himself. Please God, let there be a mattress, a pile of leaves. . . BOOM! The crash of the front door flying open was fol- lowed by heavy footsteps and muffled male voices, angry and commanding. Chris disappeared through the window and then Barry was reaching for her, his mouth a grim line. She jammed her pistol back in its holster and stepped to the window. Barry's warm hand on her back, Rebecca crawled onto the sill and looked down. There were hedges against the side of the house, lush and thick and impossibly far below. She caught a glimpse of Jill, standing on the lawn, aiming her weapon toward the front of the house and Chris looking up at them, his face tight with strain:
-don't think just do it-
Rebecca slid out the window, Barry's strong fingers finding her hand. Her shoulder groaned as gravity did its work, Barry leaning out to give her less of a drop, her body suspended in mid-air. He let go and before she could feel real terror, she hit the bushes. There was small pain, twigs and branches scratching at her bare legs, and then Chris was pulling her out, lifting her easily from the twining hedges. "Take the back," he breathed, his attention already fixed back on the window. Rebecca snatched the revolver out as she stepped onto the lawn, turning to face the shadows that made up the backyard. To her left, a dark stand of trees stood maybe twenty meters away, silent and still.
Hurry, hurry. . .
There was a thundering rattle of bullets inside the house and a thrashing thump in the bushes to her right, but she didn't turn, intent on her assigned task. A movement, by the corner of the house. Rebecca didn't hesitate, sending two shots into the thickening of shadow, Barry's. 38 jerking in her hands. The figure crumpled, falling forward just enough for her to see that she'd hit a man clutching a rifle and that he wasn't going to get up again.
-never shot anybody before-
"Move!" Chris shouted, and Rebecca jerked her head around, saw Barry climb out of the bushes and stumble toward them. There was a shout from the window, followed by a burst from an automatic rifle. Rebecca actually felt the bullets hit the ground near her feet, tearing up chunks of overgrown lawn. Dirt pelted her legs.
Shit!
David and Jill fired back as they ran for the trees, Chris leading the way. The shooter either ducked or was shot; the dull clatter of the rifle fell silent. As they reached the first of the wooded shadows, Rebecca heard the wail of approaching sirens-followed closely by shouts and running steps across Barry's front porch. Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires. Rebecca stumbled through the brushy copse, dod
g- ing between narrow, gnarled trunks, trying to keep the others in sight. The revolver felt too heavy in her slick grasp and her entire body seemed to be pounding, her legs shaking, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every-thing had happened so fast. She'd known they were in danger, that Umbrella wanted them out of the way, but knowing something wasn't the same as really believing it, as believing that violent strangers would break into Barry's home and try to take their lives. . . . . . and I may have taken one of theirs instead. The thought that she might have killed some-one. . . she forced it away before it could take hold, concentrating on the pale shape of Chris's T-shirt ahead. Her conscience would have to wait until she had time to think it through. Ahead of them, the thick woods opened into a clearing, playground equipment gleaming dully in the pallid light. Chris slowed to a jog and then stopped where the line of trees ended, turning back to search the shadows for the rest of them. Rebecca caught up to him, Barry and Jill just behind her, all of them breathing heavily and looking as stunned and sober as Rebecca felt. "David, where's David?" Chris gasped, and as they all turned, straining to see past the dark, reaching branches, Rebecca saw one of the shadows to their left move. A stealthy, sliding movement.
"Look out!"
She dropped to the ground even as she yelled, fresh terror surging through her system. . . and the shadow fired at them, twice, the shots muted compared to the explosive thunder at the house. There was a third shot, louder, closer, and the shadow stumbled and fell, crashing against a tree before collapsing silently to the dirt. Except for the rising moan of sirens, the park was again still. Rebecca slowly raised her head, craning to look over her shoulder and saw David, standing, still pointing his Beretta at the fallen shooter. Jill and Chris were crouched next to her, both of them holding their weapons out, staring around them with wide, searching gazes. . . and on her other side, Barry was sprawled on the ground, his face pressed to the blanket of dried pine needles and long dead leaves. He wasn't moving.