Chapter 1: Fight and Flight
December 28, 1998
Beneath a tangled canopy of branches, Barry Burton knelt beside overlapping tire treads on an old muddy road in the French countryside. He ran a palm over them to feel the soil without messing up the tracks too badly. The mud in the treads had hardened whereas the mud in their boot prints was soft and wet. Behind him Jill's friend, Carlos, was scanning the surrounding woods to their left while Jill kept her eyes on those to their right. Each was armed with an automatic weapon—a Glock 17C for Jill and a M1 Carbine for Carlos—which they swept back and forth in wide arcs as they searched the thick forest for anyone wearing the uniform of the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service.
Back before moving to Raccoon, Barry had belonged to a hunters' lodge in Pennsylvania and had become an adept at reading signs of an animal's presence—tracks, scat, bent and broken undergrowth and snags of fur—but it didn't seem to be doing him much good here. Not that he expected to find anything other than tire tracks this far from the hideout. Finally Barry rose and popped his back.
"What do you think?" Carlos asked as he continued his surveillance of the thick overgrowth.
"It's a little harder to track without scat," Barry said, wiping his hands on his pants. "But I'd say that these are at least a few days old. You two see anything?"
Jill shook her head. "All quiet over here."
Barry nodded. "Let's move on then. Stay as close to the tree line as possible. No point in walking right into an ambush." He scooped up their duffel bag, looped it over his shoulder and led them on down the muddy road, wincing as their boots squelched with every step they took.
After they started back on their trek Carlos slowed his pace, letting Barry gain a few yards. Stepping lightly and in great strides, he caught up to Jill and laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned and Carlos saw her face mingled with alarm and concern.
"What is it?" Her eyes darted to the woods to either side of their path.
"Walk with me for a minute. I've got a question."
"We need to keep up—"
"I know and we will, but I've been thinking. You remember what Barry told us on the way here?"
They began walking at a slower pace, keeping Barry in sight but lingering just out of his range of hearing (or at least Carlos hoped it was out of range of his ears).
"It was about how they found the hideout. You know, your paranoid friend Redfield wanting to find something out here in Dagobah rather than a nice quaint brothel."
"Yeah?" Jill asked in a guarded tone.
"Well, think about it: this place isn't exactly going to be on your gas station Rand-McNally roadmap, is it? I doubt if its even—"
"Look, I get it." Jill snarled. "The shack's just a bit out of the way."
"Shhh!" Carlos pressed a finger to his lips and nodded at Barry, who appeared unaware of their falling back.
"I'm sorry, Carlos. It's just my nerves getting to me. I keep expecting to see black-armored men pop out of nowhere. That and eight-and-a-half foot tall monstrosities in black leather. They did grow that thing in the facility not fifty miles from here."
He smiled, said "Don't sweat it," and was pleased to see Jill's grin. Then he remembered the rest of what he had to say and the smile faded quick as it came.
"Something wrong?"
Plenty of things Jilly.
"Anyway, I'm wondering how they managed to track us if Chris and the others kept such a low profile."
"They're Umbrella—"
"And they're the master of puppets and pulling the strings," Carlos said, quoting that Metallica song nearly to a T. "The betrayal would have to have come from within."
Jill stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Carlos.
"You're thinking that Barry—"
"I'm thinking about his track record. He betrayed the S.T.A.R.S. with only a madman's word that his family was under Umbrella's surveillance. And might I point out that you assumed I was going to mention Barry?"
"If Barry did go turncoat on us, then why'd he save us from the nukes in Raccoon?"
"Maybe whoever runs Umbrella gets off on the cat-and-mouse thing."
"Then they're idiots." Jill replied simply and started walking again.
And Mr. "Master of Unlocking" isn't? He took Albert's word without any proof. In my book that makes him a grade-A nimrod. Carlos caught up to Jill and kept pace with her, talking all the while
"Idiots that know how to con just about anybody. Hell, look at your own government. What have they done?"
Jill looked away.
"That's what I thought. They've done zip, nada, and zilch." Then Carlos ran his hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and let it out. "Look, I'm sorry Jill. It's just that if there's a chink in the chain, I'm thinking its Burton."
"So giving a d about your wife and kids makes you a liability?"
"If it compromises the safety of your teammates and by extension your objective, then si senorita."
Jill looked away from Carlos and several long minutes passed in total silence. Not once did she take her eyes from Barry. He saw her Adam's apple bob up and down a couple of times accompanied by audible gulps and stroke the side of her Glock with her trigger finger. Hesitantly, Carlos laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Jill, I'm sorry if I sounded a little harsh, but it's just been bugging me since he filled me in on the stuff with the Spencer Estate."
She nodded. "I expect your superiors at the training grounds in Russia added a healthy dose of paranoia to your basic training. If Barry really frightens you, then keep your eyes on him."
It seems we have a rare case of 'do as I do.'
As they neared the fork that would lead to the hideout, Barry found his thoughts wondering back to their arrival in France. Chris had seemed different. That much had been clear to Barry. The slight twitches, the excited gleam in his eye as Barry had opened the case containing "the calvary." The way he had run his hands over the cool steel of the guns…
He was like Moira on Christmas morning.
For a time Barry had convinced himself that he had been seeing things. That Chris was
ready to be done with this business so they could get on with their lives. Then Rebecca had come to him…
"Barry," she had said from the doorway. Barry turned from the pictures of his family he had been arranging on the lamp stand by the bed.
"Hey Becky (he smiled when he saw her nose wrinkle at being called "Becky"), what's up?"
"He's out there again mumbling to himself."
"And he's got the Beretta, right?"
Rebecca nodded.
"Have you ever been on a hunting trip, Rebecca?"
She shook her head. Barry didn't think so; she looked like the type that would rally with those gun control nut jobs. Which might be the only way Barry had thought darkly…
"It's the thrill of the hunt that's taken hold of Chris. It may be a little scary at first, but just wait until things heat up. You won't be sorry to have him fighting on your side."
"Sure." Rebecca shifted uncomfortably and shrugged. "It's just that I'd hate to see him go the way of Private Pyle."
Barry chuckled. "Just let me know if Chris gives it a name, all right?"
Rebecca smiled thinly. "Sure thing, Tim."
"Now go get some sleep. We'll have an early day tomorrow if Chris has his way."
A loud snap that seemed to echo throughout the forest brought Barry back to the present. He whipped around, gun at the ready to see Jill and Carlos lagging behind.
"Need a break?"
"We're fine," Jill said. "The side road should be right up here, isn't it?"
Barry nodded.
They rounded a bend in the path and came to a fork that shot off onto a completely grassy path leading to a tangled wall of branches and leaves turned brown and yellow-gold by autumn. Barry dropped to a knee and ran a hand over the grass, stopping when his palm passed over a smooth protrusion. With his thumb and index finger he plucked it from the soggy grassy floor and wiped it on his shirt. The mud and dirt came away to reveal the dulled and tarnished shell casing for an AK-47 round.
From behind him Carlos asked, "What is it?"
"They've been through here, though someone wasn't paying attention. This shell is still live. How's everyone on ammo?"
"We're both good. How about you?"
"Still full."
"You'd better let me lead us from here on. I know how these men think, and there's a good chance there's still a few hanging around."
"Sure, I—"
"And we better dump the rest of the ammo," Carlos added. "In the event that there's a sniper, that bag's a big red bull's eye."
"Good thinking," Barry said, "In fact—"
"Jill, behind me. Barry, cover us."
Well who died and made you captain?
With Carlos in the lead the three passed through the broken barrier of branches and brambles and into the sunlight-dappled forest. They hadn't even gone half a mile when Carlos hung a left and started leading them farther and farther until the path leading to the shack was hidden by waist-high weeds and thick, close-growing trees.
"What gives, Carlos?" Jill asked.
"Two things: First, if they're still there, we'd be marching to our deaths. Second, if you were a highly trained soldier with at least two to three years of experience, would you expect your quarry to cut a path around your location, or would you expect them to march up unassuming and ripe for the picking?"
Barry scratched his scraggly beard (God I need a decent trim) and thought it over. "Well," he finally said, "Given that there's always been that trail running to the shack, and that its well-traveled by Chris, they'd probably expect us to stick to the main path and hope to catch us unawares."
Jill nodded. "This late in the game, I doubt they're too worried about us. I mean, God Barry, look at what you, Chris, and Rebecca have been reduced to. Hiding in the woods like a pair of convicts…"
"So I guess that settles it, then?"
"You bet, Hector. Just be sure that our loop takes us on in a northwestern direction and we should find the shack just fine."
Carlos glared at him for a moment before digging out a compass and resuming their walk through the overgrown forest. They stepped lightly, careful not to snap any twigs or crackle any leaves underfoot. Eventually they came to a close-growing stand of trees; Carlos raised a hand for them to halt. Barry passed him the binoculars and waited for the new guy to make his amateur assessment. After a couple of minutes, Carlos lowered the binoculars and turned to the other two.
"Its all clear on the outside…but Umbrella's definitely been here."
"About what I expected," Barry said, speaking in hushed tones. "We ought to approach it from three separate directions. Jill, you come at it from an angle so that if the U.B.C.S. team is still waiting, they'll not see you from the window. Carlos, loop around and do the same. I'll approach at an angle from the front. We'll meet at the front door. If either of you two happens to catch sight of any Umbrella mercs as you pass under the windows, we go in screaming and firing."
Jill and Carlos nodded.
"Good, now let's move out."
So the three broke off, heading in their separate directions with their weapons at the ready and fingers poised over the triggers.
As Jill approached the old hideout at an angle to the shack's rear, a single thought kept repeating itself over and over: They're dead in its over they're dead its over and this thought was accompanied by the recurring image of Chris and Rebecca's bodies lying on the floor in a big puddle of blood like two pieces of human Swiss cheese.
Get a grip on yourself. You've been tense as a roll of twine since that mishap in Hicksville, Louisiana. Now's not the time.
Pressed against the side of the shack, Jill listened for any sounds from within. Anything at all. A cough, a light tap of a man trying to get a defective flashlight to work. Yet she heard nothing and proceeded onward. Ten feet before the window she dropped to a crouch and right after coming to the window lowered herself again, but not before she saw the movement from the living room: a gray-human shaped form bent over inspecting something. Her heart beat quickened and her ears had began to throb in time to the beat. Coming around, she saw Carlos and Barry crouched and waiting. Carlos looked eager to get inside while Barry seemed anxious.
Maybe he's feeling guilty
F off. Barry's our friend. It was Wesker that made him betray us.
He had no proof—
He's our friend! End of discu—
"You okay Jill?" Barry asked noting the angry look on her face. He cracked and grin and added, "To my knowledge I haven't done anything to piss you off yet."
Jill forced a smile. "No, just a little nervous. I saw someone—a gray suited man—through the window."
"How many?" Carlos asked.
"All I saw was one—"
"Did he see you?"
"No, he was looking at something."
Checking to be sure they were both dead before moving on,Jill thought grimly.
"All right then," Barry said. He approached the door and tested the handle to find it locked, then turned back to Jill and Carlos. "Remember the plan?"
They both nodded.
"Good. On three. One…two…three."
Barry suddenly rose and delivered a well-placed kick; the impact of his boot on the door seemed to echo through the still and quiet woods like a sudden peal of thunder. The door flew inward and they rushed in screaming at the top of their lungs. Jill, in her firing stance, whipped her Glock around in a firing stance looking for the gray man (or men) and after a while their battle-cries had died in their throats. The room was empty but had clearly been the scene of a battle. Barry tapped Carlos on the shoulder and motioned to the kitchen/breakfast nook. He pointed Jill toward the hallway. He went to the couch and quietly as he could turned it over to use it as a makeshift shield.
Jill approached the doorway leading into the hall slowly, taking in the wreckage as she went: an overturned writing desk broken in two, a coffee table filled with bullet holes lay on its side, and what looked like the aftermath of the explosion of a cheap black-and-white television set. She pressed herself against the wall beside the hall door and almost immediately heard the clomp-clomp of heavy boots on the bare wood floor. She tensed and assumed the shooter's position as best she could while remaining against the wall. The door
creaked open and as she heard Barry's gruff voice ("Put em up soldier!"), there was a clatter and she saw a semi-automatic weapon slide across the floor. The weapon's owner stepped forward: he wore a dark gray jumpsuit with forest green Kevlar armor and had dark brown hair with deep blue eyes.
"Easy, Mister Burton. I'm not who you think I am."
Jill nudged the door shut and jammed the barrel of the Glock into the small of the man's back where the Kevlar armor ended.
"Then who are you and where are they?"
"I was getting to that. I have some identification in the breast pocket if you'd just let me—"
"Keep them raised," Carlos said, leaving the darkness of the kitchen with his gun trained on the man's head. Jill had to give him credit; despite the fact that he was facing down a Carbine and a Smith & Wesson .45 with a Glock digging into his back, the man hadn't broke out into a sweat and didn't seem to have the jitters. From the man's breast pocket, Carlos pulled out a leather wallet and flipped it open. His eyes scanned the contents then he snapped it shut and tossed it to Barry, keeping his Carbine trained on the man.
"Okay then Mr. Walker," Carlos said as Barry looked over the man's identification, "we're going to give you a chance to talk."
"I'll tell you everything, but we have to get out of here immediately!"
Suddenly the silence was shattered by the rapid tat-tat-tat-tat-tat of the Umbrella mercs' automatic SMG's and the thundering blasts of their own weapons. A moment later they were jerked back and stumbled into the hallway as the living room went up in a burst of red and orange.
As Jill ran along she glanced back to see Barry and Carlos following and noted that Barry's right arm was laced with red streaks of blood like a candy cane while Carlos was walking along with a limp in his left leg. She fell back and laid his arm across her shoulders, doing her best to match the fast stride of the man named Walker.
"They need medical attention!"
But Walker seemed not to hear her, perhaps his ears were still ringing from the firefight; Jill's certainly were. At the end of the hall they turned and came to what appeared to be a dead end, the only other room being Chris's bedroom.
"In here!" Walker ushered them into the bedroom and pulled another grenade, squinting into the smoke that was now seeping into the hallway. At the sight of a few more vague outlines slowly but surely approaching, he pulled the pin and tossed it before following Jill and the others into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him and dragged the
nearby dresser over so that it blocked the door. There was a loud bwoosh! and a wave of sweltering heat.
"Walker, they need medical attention!" Jill shouted, louder this time, over the loud crackle of flames just outside the door.
"And they'll get it," the man said as he crossed the room and knocked the glass out of the window with his elbow. He wiped away the remaining shards around the edges with a gloved hand and waved Jill over. "I need you to help me lift your Mexican friend out and over. Carlos, once you get outside, head east. There'll be more men in gray waiting."
Carlos nodded and made it out the window with only a couple of winces, followed by Jill. As Barry was hopping out the door started banging against the dresser and by the time he made it out the door flew open, knocking the dresser aside. As they began steaming in Walker waved his Heckler & Koch in wide arcs until it was empty. He pulled another grenade, yanked the pin and threw it underhand. It bounced off the door frame and into the hall; by the time it went off he was out the window and following the three weary and bloodied travelers into the thick forest.