The man whom was once Lieutenant Billy Coen rocked gently from side to side on a threadbare hammock. The coconut trees to which the hammock was affixed provided shadowy relief from the harsh Mexican sun. A dry wind blew open the unbuttoned flaps of his Hawaiian shirt, drying up the thin layer of sweat that had collected on his muscled chest.
Today's just one of those days you're glad to be alive.
The former soldier thought as he sipped sangrita from a tall, cold glass. Such leisure was a far cry from the past seven years of his life. At eighteen, he had enlisted in the Marines. He worked his ass off, ascending the ranks because of his tenacity and obedience. He suffered through the long list of insults the drill sergeants had for his mother, agreed with them wholeheartedly.
When he made the Special Forces, he had never felt more accomplished, more capable of taking head-on whatever life had to throw at him.
Then, the slaughter in Africa. His trial and condemnation. In the blink of a twitching eye, he went from being an exalted soldier to a branded mass murderer on his way to his own execution. It didn't matter that he was innocent, that his only crime was to disobey a direct order-the survivors of the ill-fated Africa mission needed a scapegoat for their guilt.
But then, in Raccoon Forest, he received a blessing more thoroughly mixed than the drink in his hand.
En route the the Ragithon military base, a mysterious man had caused the MP transport jeep to crash, knocking out the guards and freeing their stunned but elated prisoner. Soon after, he had been drawn into a conspiracy of sadistic scientists, Frankenstenian creatures, and the pharmaceutical company that funded it all. He would have died that night-if not in the training facility, then in the Raccoon City bombing a month later-had it not been for a girl in army green…
Rebecca Chambers, I drink to you...
On the sun baked road not ten feet away was a ragged old Volkswagen, turning into the garage in which the ex-lieutenant worked. He sighed and pressed his drink to his temple, knowing what was to come.
"Hey, Van Damme, you got customer!"
He gritted his teeth at the heavily accented English. The owner of the garage was an insufferable dickhead, but he was letting him work under the table. For a man who was officially dead and on the run, he took the annoyance with a spoonful of salt.
Finishing his drink in an easy gulp, the man who was once Lieutenant Billy Coen jogged over to the customer in the unfortunate car-and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was in the driver's seat.
"Hey, old-timer," grinned Rebecca Chambers.
He stood there for a long moment, just staring at the girl who had given him his freedom. Then,
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, of all the things you could say…
"Flat tire," Rebecca said simply, leaning out of her window to point at the rear left wheel. He wanted to say something else, but decided that he should busy himself with the tire until he could think of something less anticlimactic to say.
While he fed the pump into the air intake, he stared at the young woman through the rear view mirror. She was smiling, no doubt enjoying how utterly off-guard she had caught him. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt about her visit. He had made his peace with the idea that he would never again get to see the only person who believed in his innocence, had even risked her life and career to ensure that he wouldn't have to sit on the electric chair.
Despite the underlying melancholy that he would never get to know her outside of an impossible, life threatening context, he had forced himself to be content with the emotional one-night stand.
And yet here she is. But why?
"You fill that tire anymore and the car will tip over," Rebecca's humored voice cut in through his reveries. He cut off the air stream and capped the nozzle. He walked over to the driver's side and leaned against the door. He looked away from her as he spoke.
"You're not here because of a flat, are you?"
The slightly irritating grin slipped from her face and a knot of apprehension formed in his gut.
"Is there somewhere we can talk?"
Seeing her had made him realize how badly he had wanted to talk to her again, if for nothing else than to check up on her. But he knew she wasn't here for a social call. You don't track a wanted convict all over Mexico just to shoot the shit. This wasn't about him. This was about Umbrella.
"I like your hair like that." Rebecca said, pointing to the spiked mess that replaced his once neck-length black hair. Rebecca's own hair was longer now, the mousy brown locks held back by a black elastic, her bangs swooping across her eyes. She looked much older now, her eyes ringed with darkness, a frown permanently etched into the corners of her mouth. Rebecca was still beautiful, but she was a woman haunted. They had that much in common, at least.
"Thanks," he pushed a beer across the table.
"No thanks, still not old enough." Rebecca blushed slightly.
"Please, middle-schoolers are tossing 'em back for lunch,"
Rebecca smiled a small smile. She slid the frosted bottle back and forth between her open hands, bit her bottom lip. She pressed a napkin against the bottle, then transferred the damp coolness to her neck. The ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead did nothing to stave off the afternoon heat, even inside the garage's lobby. "So why don't you tell me why you're really here, Officer Chambers?"
She looked up at him, their eyes locked for the first time since that night in the Arklay Mountains.
"Earlier this year, Leon Kennedy and Barry Burton-both anti-Umbrella operatives-found a little girl on a cruise liner that had been overrun by bio-organics. She survived because of an implant, one that allowed her to sense other virus-carriers. Umbrella sent in a retriever Tyrant to get her; they couldn't afford the loss of progress. Leon and Barry saved her, Lucia, and had the implant removed. She was an orphan, so they placed her with Sherry Birkin and her aunt.
"Sherry had been infected with the G Virus by her father, an Umbrella scientist, but she had been cured. Her DNA changed though. I ran a dozen chemical workups and they all gave me different results. Before I could figure it all out, somebody other than Umbrella took them."
"Look, I feel for the kids, I really do, but-"
"They're going to experiment on them!" Rebecca said with surprising vehemence. "They're going to take them apart to see how they work, and then they're going to turn them into monsters. If they succeed in slowing the amplification rate, they could infect a country's water supply and have thousands of ticking viral timebombs. It would be like Raccoon, but this time, a lot worse."
"But why do you need me? Don't you have those other anti-Umbrella guys?"
"We've already sent in Chris Redfield to do some reconnaissance, but he's requesting back up. He needs a four man team and some of us can't always rise to arms. But people like us-people off the grid-we could really do this, Billy."
Rebecca's doe eyes softened. Her small hand came across the table, reaching for his. "I can't do this without you, Billy,"
He pulled away before her fingers could twine with his. God, there was just so much to consider. The experience in the Arklay training facility had very nearly destroyed his mind. He wasn't about to jump headlong into another similar situation. But as Rebecca implied, the fate of the free world was up in the air and they needed all the hands they could get to catch it on its way down. And if he had been terrified, he didn't even want to consider the psychological damage inflicted upon the two young girls.
…And then there was anger. A stupid, egotistical anger that Rebecca came looking for muscle and not a-
A what? A date? You're going soft, ole Billy boy.
Billy. He hadn't referred to himself as that in two years, mentally training himself to adopt his new identity. But now that she was here, he was beginning to feel like that hopeful eighteen-years-old who had joined the Marines to help people. And wasn't that what Rebecca was offering him, an opportunity to save the world?
"On one condition,"
Rebecca looked at him curiously, then suspiciously. "You have to kiss me first." Billy smiled.
Rebecca opened her mouth in a show of indignation, then her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. It was Billy's turn to enjoy her reaction.
"You wouldn't save the world if I refused to kiss you?" Rebecca asked incredulously.
Billy leaned over the table, his grin spreading, dark eyes alight.
"Darlin', I'm looking for a real good kiss."
"You're insufferable!" Rebecca looked away and fiddled with something on her belt loop. She fished out a bottle cap opener and popped open the beer. She took a swig and made a face.
"You see what you do to me? You drive me to drink."
"Am I really that repulsive?"
"OK, I'll kiss you after the rescue. I can't trust you to keep your part of the bargain."
"What would your mother think if she knew you went around Mexico kissing convicts?"
Billy never though rage could be so…cute.
Rebecca stood and squared her shoulders.
"I'll be in the motel up the road. Whatever you decide, let me know tomorrow morning."
Rebecca turned on her heel and stepped into her rental, drove off without looking back.