Chapter 9: Discarded Shield

(MAT)

There was someone knocking on his door. Mat's first thought wasn't particularly coherent. He managed to wonder what was going on with his second. The knocking continued as he made his way to the door, more and more confused when he saw that it was still dark outside.

"This had better be-Chris!" he exclaimed, blinking at the STARS marksman. "What are you doing here," he paused, glancing at his microwave, "at five in the morning?"

"My flight leaves at six" he replied. "Can I come in?"

Mat shrugged. "Uh…sure?"

Chris stepped in, looking around at Mat's apartment. "Nice place."

Mat shrugged. It was small, but he didn't really mind. He ate in the living room and he slept in the only other room. There wasn't much furniture; just a ratty couch. He had his N64 and a few books. He didn't really mind.

"You wanna sit down?" he offered.

Chris shook his head. "No, I can't stay long. I just wanted to let you know I'm taking off. It's just gonna be you and Jill in Raccoon City. Barry's taking his family out too; I don't know where they're going."

"Where are you going?" Mat asked, wishing he were a bit more awake. Something important was happening, and he was having a hard time focusing.

"Europe" Chris replied. He didn't look like he wanted to give more, but added "I made contact with an anti-Umbrella group. We're gonna meet, and see what happens after that. At some point, I might bring you and Jill in. If you're interested."
Mat nodded. "Count me in. This people need to be taken down."
Chris smiled. "Glad to hear it. We'll hold off on that, though. I need to know something else. Do you have a weapon? I know they took your handgun and the P90, but do you have anything else?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Captain Enrico gave me his magnum before he-the last time I saw him. "

Chris looked at him, a little confused. "Magnum? You mean the .45? That's not a magnum. It doesn't pack much more punch than your Browning. But you held onto it?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Chris didn't answer. "Do you keep it loaded?"

Mat shook his head. "No, I don't have a reason to keep ACP at the house. I've got about a hundred-fifty nine-mil, and twice that in five-seven, but nothing for the mag-the .45."

"Well, I suggest you get your hands on a couple magazines worth."

"Why?"

Chris sighed. "Barry has people watching his house. It's why he's moving his family out. He thinks they're with Umbrella, and he's concerned they might be interested in doing more than observation."

Mat nodded. "Okay. I'll look into that. Did you tell Jill and Rebecca?"

Chris shrugged. "Jill has a concealed carry permit for her Samurai Edge, and I've never seen her without it. As for Rebecca…I haven't talked to her since that night at Emmy's."

"Well, it's a good thing you came to see me, then, isn't it?" Mat asked, rhetorical in his irritation. "I can tell her, since none of you seem capable of contacting her."

Now it was Chris's turn to get angry. "Do you think we haven't tried? She wasn't returning our calls."

Now Mat was confused. "Huh. I wonder why."

Chris shrugged. "Well, you can ask her when you see her. If you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch."

Mat looked at him in confusion. "You can't fly to Europe from Colorado…"

"No" said Chris, somewhat impatiently. "But I can fly to St. Luis, and from there to England."

"Ah" said Mat; it made a bit more sense now. "Well, enjoy your…flights."
Chris laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. Eighteen hours. What fun."

He didn't have much to do most of the day. It was Saturday, a day he normally would have worked…this suspension was driving him insane.

He tried messing around with Quake. He wasn't much of a gamer; usually he played with other people, not by himself, but it was something to do.

He mowed down wave after wave of incredibly stupid AI, blasting them out of his way with a fully automatic nail gun. He brute-forced his way through the first few levels, his mind sinking into the rather flat graphics.

Then he found himself in a small, darkly brown room, a large spinning tube in front of him. He edged the thumb stick forward, collecting the grenade launcher, then rounded a corner…and froze.

Standing there, swaying lazily from side to side, were three vaguely defined yet unmistakable forms. Mat froze, his face going white, as he remembered.

A badly mauled hunter slowly staggering toward him.

Two slimy men in riot gear leveling MP5s at Rebecca, Coen, and himself.

The bloody MP eating poor Kevin's body.

Forest Speyer rushing forward, mouth open wide.

Mat came back to himself, shuddering. On the TV, his point of view was now trained on the ceiling. A message scrolled across the screen.

PLAYER JOINS THE ZOMBIES

Mat respawned, then saved his game. The word NECROPOLIS appeared on his save file.

"I think that's enough of that for one day" he muttered to himself. He looked over at the clock. He'd managed to kill about two hours. That left him with…

"Too much free time" he muttered, flipping the power switch on his N64, then shutting off the TV. There wasn't anything good on, anyway.

He missed work. Really, really unhealthily missed it. His grandpa was always telling him how idleness was next to laziness, but up to now he'd never believed it. He needed something important, or at least useful, to do.

Then he remembered what Chris had told him. He changed clothes, pulled on his only non-RPD jacket, then headed out.

There weren't many places in his neighborhood where he could buy ammunition. Eventually he found one; a small, corner pawn shop called Dan's.

The man behind the counter of Dan's, possibly Dan himself, was the personification of his store: a short, pudgy, nondescript man with a somewhat seedy appearance and eyes that didn't seem to ever be looking in the exact same direction twice.

"Welcome!" he called out when Mat walked inside, his surprisingly loud voice filling the small store.

Mat waved faintly, then hurried into the rows of nose-high shelves, his eyes scanning through the various boxes of ammunition. The boxes appeared to be color-coded: red for 9mm, a dark blue for .32. There were a few larger, metal boxes of 12-gauge shotgun shells, long containers of rifle bullets, and even two yellow boxes of .50 handgun ammo.

"Ah!" Mat said softly, finding a stack of small, red and black boxes at almost ankle-level. .45 ACP they read in large, important looking script. Mat collected two, then made his way back to the counter.

There were several racks hanging behind the counter, on which were mounted all manner of guns. Mat everything from Micro Uzis to MP5s to the rather ludicrous PS90, the civilian variant of his SMG, complete with its ridiculously long barrel. He thought the semi-auto version looked like Pinocchio.

Hanging with the submachine guns were a pair of modified .22 M-16s, a Stoeger Uplander over/under shotgun, and what looked to Mat like an honest-to-God Barret .50 anti materiel rifle.

"What are ya buyin'?" the shopkeeper asked the little man behind the counter. Mat laid out the two boxes of handgun ammo. "Ah!" he said, ringing them up on a small, old fashioned cash register. The price popped up on the small screen; not a digital display, but actual plastic characters that popped up like extremely flat prairie dogs.

Mat fished out his wallet, handing over several bills, then collecting his change. The shopkeeper chuckled, making the bills disappear rather than putting them into the register. He did pull Mat's change out of it, though, handing over a dollar twenty-five. "Thank you" he said, his voice the thick growl of a smoker.

Mat hurried away, out the door. The guy gave him the creeps.

"Come back anytime!" he heard the shopkeeper call out after him. He had no intention of doing so.

He got home and counted out his purchase. He had one hundred rounds ACP…and a single, seven round magazine. He recharged that, then locked back the slide on the M1911 and loaded a final round directly into the chamber. That gave him eight shots for the handgun, which was…not great, but better than nothing. He missed his Browning. The 9mm had twice the capacity, and was much easier to shoot. The Colt might not have been a magnum, but it sure kicked like one. He could see why the Army didn't use it anymore.

He put the M1911 back in his closet, next to Rain's knife, slid the ACP rounds into his dresser, next to his other bullets, then fixed lunch for himself. He managed to lunch into an hour and half, mostly because he turned on the TV and ate very slowly, but he still found himself with a couple hours to kill before he was supposed to meet Rebecca.

He was out of ideas at that point, and bored beyond belief. He was also tired of staring at the four walls of his apartment. With a last, somewhat irritated look around, he headed back out.

(REBECCA)

Rebecca was enjoying her suspension, or at least as much as someone in her position could. She had more time for herself. She spent most of it reading, more often than not from her Bible, something she felt guilty for not finding the time for before. She'd also taken up jogging. Her asthma attack in the mansion, while timely, had convinced her she needed to be in better shape. A couple, or maybe more than a couple, circuits around her block took care of that for her.

A few people said hello to her as she passed. She replied in kind now; when she'd first started, she hadn't had the extra air for something as trivial as talking.

September was colder this year than she remembered it being. Of course, it could just have been that she hadn't been living here last fall, and she hadn't yet experienced the mountain winters. She suspected she was going to be in for a fun time. She'd stopped wearing shorts when she ran; now she had on a pair of grey sweat pants she almost managed to disappear into. The locals all wore shorts and t-shirts still, and acted as if fifty degrees Fahrenheit wasn't all that cold. Rebecca, used to climes farther west than Colorado, didn't agree.

There were lots of people out today. It was the weekend, she realized after she saw several school age children playing basketball on a vacant lot. They ran around in shorts and loose jerseys, the girls' shorts making Rebecca's legs cold just looking at them.

She rounded the corner, then paused, checking her pulse. Her heart was pumping fast enough she had a hard time counting individual beats, so she decided to slow down a little and walk. She checked her watch. It wasn't like she didn't have time…

She rounded a corner, glancing down at her watch again. She'd wait another five minutes, then start back up again.

She looked up, immediately noticing that someone was watching her. A taller man, almost six feet, with broad shoulders and dark, messy hair. He wore an ill-fitting suit, a rather absurd looking hat shoved down on his head. He was standing at the edge of an alley, as if he'd been on his way out of it when he saw her. The minute he realized he was being watched, he backed into the shadows.

No, it can't be. Rebecca hurried after him, brushing past a pair of more leisurely commuters as she hurried after the man in the suit. "Wait!" she shouted, dashing into the alley after him. "Stop!"

When he saw her following, he quickened his pace, breaking into a full on run down the alley. But Rebecca was in better shape than she was used to, and surprised herself when she managed to keep pace, slowly gaining on him.

She managed to keep pace…for about thirty seconds. Then, the past two hours of walking and running suddenly hit her, and she staggered to a stop, breathing heavily.

"Wait!" she called out again, her voice hoarse and breathless. "Please, wait!" she took a deep breath, watching as the man dashed across the street, rounded a corner, and was lost from sight. "Please" she said softly. "Billy…"

It was him. It had to be. It was the only reason she could think of for someone to run when she called out. Clearly, he didn't want her to see her; clearly, he hadn't expected to blunder his way into her.

She stood there, chest and shoulders heaving as she tried to correct her breathing, tried to get it back under control. It was then that she realized just how tired she was. She turned around, ready to go back to her apartment, take a shower, and sleep for about five years…only to find herself face to face with Mat Dawson.

"I thought that was you" he said, then paused, leaning forward a little. "Are you okay?"

No the honest part of her mind wanted her to say. I just saw a friend, only to have him run off on me. I'm extremely tired. And I'm not very eager about talking to you right now.

Some of that must've shown on her face. "You don't look too happy to see me" Mat said.

"I've just been…running for the past few hours. I'm really wiped."

"Oh" Mat said, in a tone of voice that said he didn't buy it for a moment, but also wasn't going to call her on it. "Well, how've you been?"

"Uh, listen, I'm all nasty and sweaty. I want to go home and change. Why don't we talk then?"

Mat nodded. "Okay." He looked at her expectantly.

"You can wait over there" she said, gesturing toward an open air café. "You can buy something to drink while you wait. It's really hot out here."

Mat looked at her like she was insane. "Are you kidding? It's freezing out here. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped at him.

Mat blinked in astonishment. "Um…Okay then. See you in a few."

He turned to go. Rebecca realized she shouldn't have yelled at him. She wanted to call out to him, wanted to apologize. ..but didn't. Instead, she headed back to her apartment. She felt guilty every step of the way.

She got out of her sweaty clothes, took a shower, then put on a t-shirt. She was finding she hated running when it was cold. If she dressed enough to be warm when she walked, she felt like a wooly mammoth when she actually got up to speed. Conversely, if she wore normal exercise clothes, as she had today, then she got to walk home with bare arms, the sweat on her body cooling her down to the point of discomfort. She'd been overheated from all her running; now she felt like she'd just climbed out a swimming pool, then stepped into the freezer.

She could dress more warmly now, though. Her hair was wet, but she'd just have to deal with that. She didn't want to make Mat wait any longer than she had to. Bite the bullet her dad always said.

"Better get this over with" she muttered, heading back out.

Mat was sitting where she'd left him. He had a clear plastic cup of something in front of him, which he sipped at to occasionally, plainly so as not to give the rather irritated waitress an opportunity to kick him out of the outdoor dining area. He looked up when he saw Rebecca coming.

"Do you want to talk here, or-?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No, but, I can wait until you-" She paused when Mat shotgunned down the last of whatever he'd ordered. "Okay then."

They walked for a few minutes, not saying anything.

"You look different" he said, after a moment.

Rebecca had let her hair grow out some. Now it was at her shoulders. Other than that, though, she didn't think she'd changed much. Mat, on the other hand…

Clearly, he hadn't been doing much since she saw him last. He'd gained a little bit of weight, which even his dark colored t-shirt and jacket couldn't quite cover up. He'd also apparently not gotten a hair cut since they'd been suspended. He also hadn't shaved. He'd grown a small amount of facial hair when they were stuck in the forest. A month later, and…he was still sporting a rather small mustache. It didn't look especially good on him. "You…too" she said weakly.

Mat turned to face her. "Okay. What's this all about? Why'd you want to meet me?"

"I-uh-" Rebecca's voice trailed off.

"Is it about why you haven't been talking to the other STARS?" Mat asked. "We've all been worried about you. People are watching Barry's house, and…I was afraid something had happened to you."

"I'm okay" Rebecca said immediately, a little touched. Everyone's been thinking of you, but you haven't got the guts to talk to any of them.

"Are you sure?" Mat asked a little nervously. Clearly, he expected her to blow up at him. When she didn't, he actually looked a little surprised.

"Chris left for Europe this morning" he said, after a moment of silence. "He made contact with an anti-Umbrella group there. Barry's taking his family and getting out of Dodge as well. Brad is…I don't really know what he's doing. That leaves you, me, and Jill here in Raccoon City. I figured the three of us should get together at some point and figure out what our next move should be."

"I…I don't think we should make a next move" Rebecca said quietly.

Mat looked at her in confusion. "What are you saying? Have you forgotten what they did? What happened to Richard and Edward? To Enrico? What almost happened to you and me? They've gotta be stopped."

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I found this on a bulletin board inside the RPD building. This is a slap in the face. They're recruiting right under our noses! They're just gonna try again, and this time…" Mat paused, lowering his voice when he realized people were watching them. "This time, we won't be so lucky. "

Rebecca looked down at the Umbrella recruitment poster, then back at Mat. She could see the expectation in his eyes, the hope. She knew what she had to do next, but it was going to be hard, harder even than leaving Billy behind in the Forest. Slowly, sadly, she pulled a small, flat piece of metal out of the front pocket of her jeans. Without a word, she handed it to Mat.

Mat looked down at it, then back up at Rebecca. "What are you doing?" he asked, shock, hurt, and sorrow mingling in his voice. But he asked her back.

Rebecca had already turned and was walking away.