Disclaimer: Resident Evil and the characters associated with it belong to Capcom. Any supporting characters that make an appearance in this story that are not seen in the franchise belong entirely to me.
Chapter Four: En Pueblo
Sherry didn't stop running until she found a dirt path that broke off from the paved road. She bent forward with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Her right hand gripped the 9mm tightly, and then it occurred to her that she hadn't even checked to see if it was loaded. Sherry studied the weapon, still feeling insecure about having it in the first place. Having any weapon in her hand felt too reminiscent of Raccoon City.
But how else do you expect to protect yourself? Sherry's expression was grim as she pulled out the magazine. Its rectangular belly was full with ammunition. She didn't have much experience with guns, but Wesker had demonstrated to her the basics a while back, just in case of an emergency. She'd been grateful for the brief lesson; for the past six years she had subconsciously expected another viral outbreak to occur at any moment. It was an awful long time in which she had been looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows and strange sounds.
Sherry took a deep breath, slipping the magazine back into the handgun. "Okay. You can handle this," she told herself. "Just find the village."
She started down the path. It went mostly northward through trees and a denser part of the wood. The closeness of the trees made everything darker, and Sherry couldn't deny the sense of foreboding that came to her with every step she took forward. Then came a wooden bridge, wide enough to fit a car through. She stopped before it only to readjust the straps of the travel bag and the laptop case over her weary shoulders. It hadn't been easy to run with their combined weight.
There was something about the bridge that made her want to cross it as quickly as possible. She knew there was no reason to fear it, but thanks to past experiences, Sherry always expected a monster to jump out of every new area that provided cover for the creatures underneath her. Her sprint past the bridge brought her to a more open area, where the trees weren't so close to one another.
"Made it!" she exclaimed. There, at the end of the clearing was an old truck parked at a lone wooden house. A woman sat in a rocking chair on the porch, knitting, while a man stood off to the side of the house, chopping wood with an axe. Upon seeing Sherry approach, the woman called for the man. Within moments, she and her bearded counterpart stood at the porch, waving at Sherry.
She stopped just before the porches' steps, making sure to quickly hide the gun back in her bag so that she wouldn't frighten the man and woman. "Ayuda me, por favor," she pleaded. 'Help me, please.'
The man stepped forward, concern in his dark eyes. Both he and the woman were dressed in very plain clothing. Sherry supposed they were farmers, or people trapped in a different century. "¿Que pasa?" he asked, having already sensed that something was wrong.
Sherry's breathing was quick. "Fuimos atacados en el camino, y mi guia sé desaparecio." 'We were attacked on the road, and my guide disappeared.'
"¡Atacado!" the man exclaimed. He looked to the woman, who had covered her mouth in surprise. "¡Cómo el niño de Reyes!"
This has happened before? Sherry thought, looking at the man and woman (she assumed they were husband and wife) in shock. It was apalling enough that tourists were attacked, but children... The son of someone named Reyes... Suddenly, however, she was ushered into the house by the wife, and looking back, she saw the man pull the axe he had been using before out of a tree stump before quickly running back across the bridge.
The woman guided Sherry into a chair at a small table by a fireplace. While a bit old fashioned, it was a comfortable home. Quite suddenly, the woman took Sherry's bleeding hand and examined it with what looked to be a concerned, yet somehow angry expression. "Me llamo Maria," said the woman.
"Sher-," she began, but stopped herself from replying. Sherry Birkin doesn't exist in Spain. Time to pretend to be someone that I'm not. "Andrea," Sherry said with some hesitation, the name feeling uncomfortable on her tongue. She felt awkward sticking to her false identity, unsure if it was because she had never used a fake identity before, or because the situation might have changed after the attack.
What would Wesker want you to do? Sherry asked herself. Considering if Wesker was even alive, anyway. In spite of the number of years she had known him, he was still as mysterious as when she had first met him. She could never guess what he was thinking or what his intentions were, unless he voiced them to her, which was not very often. Still, she went searching for the village thinking he might have headed that way as well, so until she found him, Sherry decided that she would have no choice but to stick to imaginary persona that was Andrea Strait.
The woman, Maria, set a bowl of water on the table and dipped a small towel in it, squeeze-drying the cloth and then using it to clean the blood off of Sherry's palm. Sherry had managed to stop most of the bleeding, but there was still a stinging pain inside of her hand that she felt whenever she moved the limb in a specific way. She winced as the towel passed over the tiny, yet painful spot.
"¿Tienes algo adentro la mano?" Maria asked, and Sherry nodded, sure that a tiny piece of glass from the shattered windshield had lodged itself somewhere under her cut.
"¿Umm... vidrio?" Sherry slowly replied, for the moment forgetting what the word for glass was in spanish. She was grateful that Maria hadn't spoken in any regional dialect.
Maria stood to retrieve a pair of small tweezers and then began to search the cut with them. Sherry ground her teeth together and winced, looking away from the source of her stinging pain.
"You are American?" Maria inquired with a thick accent that rolled the r's in each word.
Sherry smiled sheepishly while she tried to avoid looking at Maria's work on her hand. "Am I that obvious?"
The other woman shrugged. "Your pronounciation is good," she admitted. "Your clothes look... eh... expensive."
Sherry stared down at her denim covered lap. She didn't consider her dark blue sweater and jeans anywhere near expensive, but she figured that department stores weren't frequent commodities in the rural parts of Asturias. Maria and her husband seemed more like humble farmers. "Oh. I guess they-," there was a sudden sting of pressure in her hand, but then she felt no pain at all.
"Ya," Maria announced, holding up the tweezers. In it's grip was a very tiny piece of crimson-stained glass. Sherry stared at the dark haired woman, surprised, while clutching her tender palm.
"Thank you," Sherry answered quietly. Maria waved dismissively and soaked the towel in the bowl again.
"A little thing like that," Maria said in her accent, "causing you so much trouble..."
It's always the smallest of things, Sherry thought to herself, her mind traveling back to a time when her worst moments in life had been caused by something so small, it couldn't be seen without a microscope. T-Virus. Seemed so long ago, but it's still fresh in my mind.
"Ahora we clean it," Maria declared, taking grasp of Sherry's hand again. The cold wet towel now felt soothing on her skin rather than painful.
"Where did your husband go?" Sherry questioned.
"To el pueblo to tell the people what has happened," she replied. "You see, two days ago, three of the children from the village disappeared and..."
Sherry gulpled as Maria took a stronger hold on her arm, her brown eyes looking more infuriated than remorseful. She expected the rest of the story would be troubling, and wasn't sure she could stand to hear it.
"...the only child to return was Carlos Reyes' son, but he died in his father's arms. He bled to death." Sherry's blue eyes were wide with a mixture of shock, outrage and disgust. "At first we thought it had been an animal, but..."
Sherry waited for her to continue, but Maria looked away towards the nearest window. The Spaniard woman clutched the towel tightly, squeezing water droplets onto the wooden floor. Her hand shook, the tanned knuckles slowly turning white.
After some moments of uncomfortable silence, Maria finished cleaning and helping Sherry bandage her small wound. For the next hour or so, Sherry contemplated her fear and confusion over a cup of coffee Maria prepared for her.
What a way to start celebrating your birthday, she thought glumly.
"Where were you traveling to, Andrea?" asked Maria from an unseen corner of the house where Sherry heard water running.
It took a moment for Sherry to respond, as she was still not accustomed to being addressed as Andrea. As odd as it was, it felt as though Maria had been speaking to another person and not to Sherry. "Cielo Lindo."
The water stopped running and Maria emerged into the room, drying her hands. "Bueno, you found it," the older woman replied with a soft chuckle.
Sherry looked around. "The village starts here?"
"No, no. Not exactly. Cielo Lindo is more like the area. Pueblo Lindo is the village, just a mile or so north."
"I was accepted for an internship at the Salazar excavation," Sherry explained.
Recognition flashed across Maria's face. "Ah, sí. There have been a few others; researchers hired by los castellanos. My husband has decided to work at the site as well. Salazar has promised the men good wages for their help."
"Well, that's good," Sherry answered. "I guess I'll-,"
She was interrupted by the sound of Maria's husband entering the house, the axe still in his hand. It made him look somewhat frightening, but fortunately, he announced, "Niña. Yo té accompanio en el camino."
"Jorgé will take you to the inn," Maria explained. "You will be safe there."
"Thank you so much," Sherry said as she stood to follow Maria's husband out of the house.
"Cuida té," Maria warned her.
"I will," Sherry promised.
Jorgé's truck seemed almost ancient, but it operated fine just the same. He carefully drove it north, across another bridge that made Sherry close her eyes until they finished crossing it. Not only did the structure seem fragile, the chasm of rushing water below promised certain death if the bridge were to ever collapse. The rest of the way was a path surrounded by dense trees and the occasional wooden shack where the villagers kept supplies, as Jorgé had explained to her.
Maria's husband did not speak much, but did he did promise her several times that he and the other men in the village would find the 'cabrónes' that murdered the children and attacked her. He was not bilingual like his wife, and spoke very fast in his native tongue at times, making it more of a challenge for Sherry to understand him. Sherry told him that she would be working in the excavation as well, but she lost him in the conversation when he rapidly explained mining as well as something about his grandfather once being a coal miner.
Fortunately, she didn't have to pretend to understand him for long. Jorgé stopped explaining to point out the village that was coming up shortly. Sherry had expected it to be small, but she was still surprised when she saw it. The small streets were nothing more than clearings of dirt that separated the old wooden buildings, while cows and chickens roamed them more than humans did. The few children that she did see playing outside were quickly ushered into their homes by paranoid and frightened mothers. Sherry glanced at the sky and noted that the time was nowhere near dusk or night.
"Are they that frightened?" Sherry asked quietly.
"¿Que?"
Sherry glanced at Jorgé and shook her head. "Nada. Estaba pensando."
Jorgé nodded and looked back at the road in front of him. He drove the truck across a large open gate and into another forested area. There was the occasional villager that ran by the truck with a crate over his shoulders, and once a woman carrying a goat back to the previous part of the village. There were a few barnhouses, and then after just a few more moments of driving came a more residential part of the village. There were no barnyard animals, and the houses looked newer than those she had seen previously. Jorgé parked in front of one of the largest houses, a two story building where Sherry could hear music escaping one of the opened windows – the gentle trill of a solo guitar.
"Pregunta por las Hermanas Bellas," Jorgé instructed her. "Isabel y Maribel."
Sherry opened the truck door and grabbed her travel bag and the lap top. The Bella Sisters, Isabel and Maribel. Got it. "Gracias por todo, señor," she thanked him before hopping out of the truck.
As Jorgé drove away in his ancient vehicle, Sherry pushed open the front doors to the Pueblo Lindo inn. The song playing from the guitar became significantly louder as she entered the building, and Sherry spotted it's player: a man who looked like the kind of Spanish person Hollywood would use in an action flick. He even wore cowboy boots and had his feet propped up on the table he was sitting at in the corner of the room while he strummed the guitar strings. He was the first person Sherry had seen in the village who did not look like a farmer.
There was nothing else in the room other than the guitar player, a bar, and a set of stairs leading up to what she guessed were the guest rooms. When the guitar player noticed her, he stopped the music.
"Señorita," he greeted with a charming smile as he pushed a piece of his chin-length black hair out of his face.
"Buenos dias," she said.
"The sisters are busy upstairs," he explained as he set the guitar aside, "but I can help you if you like."
Sherry sighed and shook her head tiredly. "Is my tourist look really that obvious?"
"Tourist look?" he questioned, as he looked her up and down. "I don't know what you mean."
"How else would you have known I speak English?" she questioned.
The man shrugged. "This is a little hotel of sorts, and like you, I am a guest."
"Oh," Sherry replied, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment.
"Me llamo Lu-,"
"LUIS!!!!"
Sherry jumped from the startling scream of rage that erupted from the second floor. A young woman came running down the stairs with a shoe in her hand, and the man Sherry had been speaking to yelped and jumped out of the way as the woman's shoe came flying his way. It knocked a bottle of liquor from the bar and Sherry winced as the glass crashed all over the floor.
"Maribel!" he shrieked. "Calm down!"
"How dare you tell that cabrón Miguel that I was available!" The rest of the words that came from the woman's mouth were a torrent of curses and threats in Spanish that Sherry didn't even want to try to understand.
"I thought that you might be a good couple," was Luis' excuse.
Maribel answered with a string of 'no, no, no, no, no's' and other negatives, including a charming Spanish explanation of how she would sooner carve her face off with a chainsaw and feed it to a bear than go out with that cabrón Miguel.
"And you call yourself my cousin," Maribel finished in English. Sherry felt the color drain from her face as Maribel turned towards her, looking angrier than any person Sherry had ever seen. "Who are you?" she demanded.
"Umm…" Sherry timidly began.
"She's a guest!" Luis quickly replied.
Maribel frowned, but it did not seem to be an expression born from guilt or embarrassment. While Maribel was very pretty, Sherry's first impression of her was a lasting frightening one.
"Andrea Strait," Sherry quietly said.
"Ah," Maribel shortly replied. She directed no visible anger towards Sherry, but she did still seem to fume over Luis' mistake. "You need a room then."
Sherry nodded. "Yes, I'm actually here for the excavation-,"
"Sí, sí, the Salazars," Maribel interrupted her. "We have most of the rooms filled with researchers coming from Dios-sabes-donde."
Another woman, who identically resembled Maribel came down the stairs and said in a tired voice, "La aqua, loca."
Maribel rolled her eyes and answered, "Take care of it Isabel, I'm bringing in a guest."
Maribel's twin sighed and called out as she ascended the stairs, "It'll start getting cold soon, and if the guests leave because their bath water is killing them before the winter…"
"Entonces…" Maribel continued. "We still have some rooms left. Don't listen to my sister. You'll have heated water for bathing. We just have to call Guerra in to look at the boiler."
"Oh, that's fine," Sherry said. "Actually, I was wondering, since you mentioned you've had other researchers check in… did a man come in before me today?"
"Three," Maribel confessed, "including my so-called cousin who likes Madrid better than his family or hometown!"
Luis shrugged from the bar, where he helped himself to a drink. "Not much work here, prima."
"Well," Sherry continued, "were any of them tall with blond hair and dressed in a black suit?"
Maribel frowned. "Not that I know of."
"Oh, and," Sherry added, "he's probably wearing sunglasses."
The young woman seemed to think it over but then shook her head. "Sorry. No Americano with sunglasses. Is he a friend of yours?"
"He was my guide," Sherry explained, "and he disappeared when I woke up in the car crash."
Maribel's eyes widened. "Ay, Dios mio! You were the girl Jorgé came running here about! Attacked by those… those…."
"Cabrónes?" Sherry suggested.
Maribel clenched her fists. "No, no. Not strong enough of a word for them. I don't even have a vulgar enough word to describe los monstros that did that to Reyes' niño."
"And the other two children," Sherry reminded her. Maribel nodded and sat with a heavy and depressed sigh into the nearest chair. Sherry remembered the note and the talisman she found on the monk that was lying dead near the car and wondered if she should show it to Maribel, Luis, or her sister.
No, she decided. That'll only frighten them some more. She would ask for whoever had authority in the village and show it to that person instead. At least they would actually have the power to do something about it.
"Well," said Maribel, "I'll show you your room. Some of the men will go out tonight to inspect your car. I'm sure you left some things inside."
"Yeah," Sherry nodded. "Will they be all right?"
"Reyes owns a shotgun," Luis informed. "He mentioned he would be going with them."
"Sí," said Maribel. "Nothing to worry about. What you need is rest. We've never had a killing in this town before any of this, and we'll make sure it's the last."
Maribel ushered her up the stairs, and Sherry felt more weight on her shoulders as she carried the travel bag and the lap top case to the second floor. She didn't understand why she felt partly responsible for their grief.
Guilt by association, she tried to convince herself. Wesker's trying to bring back Umbrella, and he just happened to disappear near a town where some psychopaths are murdering children.
"Mi nombre es Luis Sera, by the way. If you need anything, señorita, I know I'll be happy to help you."
Sherry looked back at the man who sat back down at the table where she first saw him and smiled slightly as he returned to playing his guitar. "Thank you," she said, and Sherry would have liked to blush, but her worry that she might have walked into another nightmare kept the color from filling her cheeks.
Author's Note: Some Spanish to English translations:
"¡Atacado!" "¡Cómo el niño de Reyes!" - Attacked! Like Reyes' son!
"¿Tienes algo adentro la mano?" - You have something inside your hand?
Cielo Lindo/Pueblo Lindo - Cute Sky/Cute Village. Since RE4 didn't give the village a name, I felt it would be appropriate to include a little sense of irony.
"Cuida té." - Take care, or, be careful.
"Nada. Estaba pensando." - Nothing. I was thinking to myself.
"Dios-sabes-donde." - God-knows-where.
"Entonces." - More or less of a way to say, "Anyway..."
Prima - cousin.
