Chapter 37: Aftermath
October 3, 1998
5:35 AM
Outskirts of Raccoon City
Darkness was slowly giving way to light. Overhead, the black velvet sky was receding to a gradual, subtle violet, the stars winking out one by one like candles beneath a snuffer. Far below the soft canopy of daybreak marched three weary warriors, Zeke and Eddie supporting Pierce's weight as they plodded along the main road, leaving the light of the burning city behind.
It's a funeral pyre for the dead now, the lieutenant mused, a fire to burn the corpses to ash and keep the disease that destroyed the flesh from spreading. It's a futile solution though. What will fire do to keep the infestation of corruption from boiling over again? What will it do to cure the infection of greed? Those two things are as much to blame for the death of Raccoon as the Tyrant Virus itself.
Damp pavement passed beneath the Ranger's boots with each step. The air was heavy with the crisp scent of autumn rain, flooding the senses with a heady feel of rejuvenation. The wind, fresh and incredibly pure, ruffled Zeke's sweat-slick hair, brushed his skin with its welcoming caress.
Had he ever noticed those things in such detail before? Had he ever allowed himself to be swept up in the cleansing embrace of nature or had he simply dismissed the rain and the wind and the sky as simple, mundane facets of a bland reality? Zeke could not remember for the past seemed beyond recall but he understand now the uncomplicated beauty in the world around him, the slight magic hiding behind a veil of the ordinary.
It was a wonder he had taken for granted all his life.
And I only had to go through Hell itself to realize it, he thought, to see all the things I ever foolishly believed would always be there – like Wes and Coop and Rachel. We're selfish that way, forever believing that there will be a tomorrow and always so surprised when it doesn't come for someone else.
There will be a tomorrow for me though, for me, Eddie and Ryan. We journeyed into the belly of the beast and made it out to the other side again. We survived three days in a nightmare but does that make us blessed or cursed?
Only time would provide an answer to that question though Zeke already possessed an inkling as to what it might be. He feared – not for himself but for Eddie and Ryan – that they were leaving the recesses of one horror only to enter another. This time the nightmare would be less physical but just as real: it would be the horror of madness, the flaying of a mind.
Once they reached civilization again, were given medical attention, debriefed and went through all the protocols assigned to those privileged enough to survive a disaster, then the aftermath of the Raccoon incident would truly be allowed to sink in, take hold. It would be a beast, clawing and gnashing at the fabric of their fragile sanity, it's snarls the screams of the dying and within its eyes would be reflected all those pale, gore-stained faces so filled with panic they seemed on the verge of bursting.
Those memories, of friends and strangers ripped apart by the demonic machinations of one company's hunger for dominance would carry weight with them. Such impossible weight.
That will come later though, Zeke decided as they struggled up the road, and if I break under that burden, so be it. My actions cost the lives of dozen of people and if the price of that failure is my sanity, well, that sounds like a fair trade to me.
Of course, he would still need to be around to bear that burden and Bosa's nuke would soon be on its way. The underground trolley had deposited the three survivors about five miles outside the city, leaving them in a ditch cleverly disguised by a cluster of hills on either side. Even so, there was no telling what the payload of the missile would be and thus no room for error when it came to estimating the minimum safe distance.
"Double-time it." Zeke mumbled, just loud enough to make his words audible.
What surprised the Ranger most was how…empty he felt, how strangely calm his mind was. Then again, maybe "surprise" was not the right word for Zeke had long ago given up on feeling anything but cold, distant and detached lest the weight of his guilt drive him under. No, he was not surprised merely…amused.
Amused that I can feel anything anymore. I've gone from fear to panic to hope to despair to betrayal and back again. My emotions should be all dried up by now. I should be a numb, wide-eyed quivering shell. We all should be.
But we're not.
We're still here, still breathing. Not whole but we're solid and given the circumstances, maybe that's more than we should have expected.
It won't last though – not for any of us. Not when the memories reach out to grab hold of our thoughts and the dreams come to terrorize us when we sleep. Not when the dead start to whisper, to scream in our ears.
Then we'll all break down. We'll weep and vomit and jibber nonsense. We'll plead with dead friends to forgive us, begging with them to trade places with us. All that grief will hit us from the shadows, a sledgehammer shattering us to the core of our souls.
Maybe we'll find the strength to pick up the pieces and maybe we won't. That's all there is to it. That's the price of surviving.
"Do you think any of those things could be out here – outside the city?" Eddie panted, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his free hand.
The medical kit on the train had contained a bottle of anti-septic, a few rolls of clean bandages and a couple bottles of water but the meager provisions had done little to restore the rookie cop or Ryan back to pictures of health. Eddie's wounds were shallower than those sustained by the sniper and were already beginning to scab over but Zeke was convinced that the only thing keeping the officer on his feet was force of will. As for Sergeant Pierce…blood was leaking through the gauze and cloth wrapped around his side, leaving a trail of fat crimson drops in his wake.
"From what Sam and Kathy said, I'd almost guarantee it." Zeke replied flatly. "They told me the barricades around the city had been totally overrun so there's nothing keeping them penned in anymore and Burke did mention something about the B.O.W.s wanting to reach areas out in the wilderness. Sounds to me like Raccoon City was a cage to most of those freaks and the only reason they stuck around so long was because it doubled as an all-you-can-eat buffet."
And we were just another item on the menu. Skip, Slugger, William – I left you all behind to become victims of that terrible hunger. In the end, you were nothing more than meat to your killers. No, not you, Skip, I gave you some mercy at least. I was your killer and you meant something to me. You were my friend.
Too bad neither of us knew then that all my friends wind up dead; because of me, because of my decisions. I kill them. Me.
"Just a meal in a can, huh?" Eddie snorted. "Is that all Umbrella's little experiment turned us into?"
That's right, Officer Gabbor, just a meal in a can: Just food to feed the wolves.
"Well, if those things are out here then they're probably aching for a snack." Eddie went on. "So, that begs the question can we handle 'em if they decide to come looking our way? How many rounds do you have left, LT?"
Zeke glanced at the M4 carried loosely in his left hand. "Three or four." He said. "You?"
"One." Eddie grimaced looking at the revolver in his hand. "I guess we better shoot straight, huh?"
Zeke nodded in reply then lurched as Ryan stumbled, falling into him. Both men grunted heavily as they pulled the sagging sniper upright, his head lolling about. A weak, wet cough escaped Pierce's lips.
"Can't…can't make it." Ryan gasped. His face was a lined, contorted picture of agony. Sweat formed a perpetual sheet over the sniper's white visage, the death mask of his features.
Not today, Pierce, I'm not letting you off that easy.
"Yes, you can, soldier." Zeke said, dragging the man forward with Eddie's assistance. "Get on your feet."
"No…I can't." Ryan insisted, unable to manage anything more than a whisper. "Too far gone now. Too far…and Bosa's nuke is going to hit soon. I'm slowing you two down. Leave me here. Just…tell my wife I'm sorry about – "
"You can tell her yourself, sergeant." Zeke growled fiercely. "When we get back. Together. Now stop moving your mouth and start moving your feet."
"I can't, lieutenant." He shook his head. "The pain. Hurts too much."
Anger, swift and pure rose in Zeke's heart. It was a frustrated fury, directed at the stupidity of his comrades. Why were they always so ready to be the ones left behind, the ones sacrificed. Why were they allowed to give up and he was forced to march on? He was beginning to grow sick of their nobility.
Sullivan, Cooper, Wes and now you too, eh Pierce? Fuck you all. Fuck you all, you selfish bastards.
Who the hell asked you to be heroes anyway? I hate heroes they always end up dead. That's all a hero is really – a dead man.
What makes their lives less valuable than mine? Why do they have to suffer the consequences for my mistakes? Why?
Gripping a handful of Ryan's hair, Zeke tightened his hold and turned the sniper's head so he was eye-to-eye with the man. "It hurts too much?" He snapped. "What are you – a Girl Guide or an Army Ranger? You want us to dump you here, on the roadside, so you can give up and die like some punk ass washout? Fine. Quit. I'll tell your wife and little girl that the reason I couldn't bring home their husband and father was because he'd rather washout than suck it up."
"I'm no…washout, sir." Ryan snarled, blood painting his teeth red.
"No?" The lieutenant challenged. "Then get back on your feet, sergeant."
Slowly, Ryan steadied himself then, sucking in a breath through stained teeth, planted his boots firmly on the pavement once more. He swayed but Zeke and Eddie held him up.
"Now take a step forward," Zeke ordered, "walk goddamn it."
With the two men supporting his weight, the sharpshooter took a tentative step. Then another and another. Finally, the trio was moving again, this time with Ryan walking along in synch.
Good work, sergeant, Zeke thought his anger cooling to be replaced by relief. You had me worried there for a second.
"You don't get to die, Pierce." Zeke told the other soldier. "Not here. Not until I give you the say-so. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now keep walking and maybe if we're lucky – " Eddie snorted at that, " – we'll come across a payphone and you can call home and tell the misses to expect you for suppertime."
Ryan smiled thinly. "Maria would appreciate that, sir, but I think I left all my change in my other pants."
"We'll find a quarter somewhere." Zeke shrugged.
"Maria?" Eddie inquired.
"My wife." Pierce explained. "When I'm on assignment…all she does is sit in front of the TV, scared half to death that my picture's going to pop up along with the details of my demise. I don't know what news has gotten out since we came in…but she's probably climbing the walls by now."
"Well," Eddie said, "we'll probably all be off to our interviews at Channel Five soon enough…or the nuthouse…either way I hope they give your sorry white ass a once over with a comb and a bar of soap. You look terrible, man."
"Good thing we're not on our way to the prom then…huh?" Pierce grinned.
It was the closest thing to humour Zeke had ever seen the man attempt. It was, perhaps, the first time he had ever seen the sniper flash a genuine smile. This time he was surprised.
Stirred from his thoughts by a sudden flare of light, the lieutenant turned towards the source. Coming up the road behind them was the vague silhouette of a tall van, made visible by the glare of its headlights. The engine rumbled gently as the vehicle moved steadily towards Zeke and his comrades.
What the hell? They must be coming from the city…
"More survivors?" Eddie ventured, glancing at the lieutenant.
Zeke's eyes never left the van, now starting to slow. "Or more cleaners," he replied, "a back up team in case the first one dropped the ball."
"What do we do then?"
The young officer's question was a good one, one Zeke had been wondering himself. Every plan he had lain while fighting through Raccoon had only succeeded in getting his companions killed and he meant to protect these two men who had come so far with him, who had climbed through the Abyss at his side. Perhaps some things were better left in the hands of fate anyway.
"We wing it." The lieutenant said casually.
"Wing it?" Eddie quirked an eyebrow, "That's it? That's your master plan?"
"My master plans have a habit of turning ugly," Zeke grunted. "We'll just go with the flow on this one. If they are with Umbrella then we drill a few holes in 'em and help ourselves to their ride. If they're not then maybe they'll be in a charitable mood."
Maybe they were too charitable though, he thought, maybe they roamed around the city picking up everyone they could find like William's SWAT teams did. That means they could have infected in their, time bombs just waiting to go off, to transform regular people into ravenous cannibals. And we've got maybe five bullets between us.
The van rolled to a stop a foot or so before the trio. Cautiously, Zeke backed up a step, conscious to keep the high beams out of his eyes. The driver's door snapped open, a foot touching the pavement. Eddie thumbed the hammer back on his .38.
The driver appeared and whoever he was, he did not possess the look of a soldier. At least not as far as clothes went: his jeans, leather jacket and black cap were all non-descript but there was something his face…handsome yet a dedicated professionalism lurked in his eyes. There was something odd about the way he stood as well, keeping the door in front of the right side of his body and holding one leg slightly further back than the other.
It took Zeke only a moment to realize what it was about the man's posture that set off the alarms in his skull.
"Hello!" The driver called out amiably, his British accent making Zeke's breath catch. For a moment he had thought it was Wesley speaking. "You gentlemen look like you could use a hand."
Zeke scowled, one-arming his rifle. "Would that be the hand you have resting on the butt of your pistol back there?"
The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. The hesitation remained only a moment then he nodded and moved around to the front of the van with his hands raised. A black handgun sat in a pancake holster at his hip.
"My apologies," he said, "but judging by the looks of you all I think I know where you came from and knowing the situation there, I didn't want to be too careless. I assure you I'm no threat to you or your friends."
Judging by the looks of us? Zeke thought. Yeah, we must be quite the sight. Here we are, standing in the middle of the road, up to our necks in dried blood, mud, grease and mutant guts. Where else could we be coming from but Raccoon?
"You're from the city?" Eddie asked.
The man shook his head. "No, but three of our passengers are." He pointed over his shoulder to the van.
"Passengers?" Zeke inquired.
"Yes," the man replied in his smooth, polished voice, "survivors…like yourselves I assume. I understand there's been an…accident. One involving Umbrella."
"You don't know the half of it, buddy." Eddie grunted.
"If you're going to point a gun at me," the driver nodded to the M4 Zeke had trained on him, "you could at least tell me your names."
After a moment's consideration, Zeke lowered the weapon. "I'm Lieutenant Zeke Wilcott, my friend who's a little beat up here is Sergeant Ryan Pierce and that's Officer Gabbor to my left." The Ranger made the introductions flatly before continuing. "Pierce and I were sent in with an Army Ranger unit out of Michigan to help local law enforcement with containment. Things didn't go as planned and we bumped into Eddie along the way."
"Now it's your turn." The officer said, his tone heavy with suspicion.
"Of course," the man said politely, "my name is David Trapp. I was with the Exeter branch of S.T.A.R.S. I have two others with me, also S.T.A.R.S. – at one point in time at least. We've all had our share of experience with Umbrella as well."
"David Trapp." Zeke repeated the name warily. "I've heard that name before on the news. You led an attack on the Caliban Cove Umbrella laboratory. They said you lost your job, that you're a criminal, drug addict and murderer."
"Is that what they're saying now?" Trapp sounded amused. "I've been called a lot of things in my life but never a…a drug addict." He shrugged. "I suppose it will be an adjustment, getting used to that. Murderer is fairly accurate though.
The lieutenant wondered at that for moment then caught the man's meaning. That's right, they said he lost two of his team in that raid. So, another failed leader, another man whose mistakes hold him hostage. We've got more in common than you might think. Mister Trapp.
"So, lieutenant," David broke in, with the hint of a grin on his face, "are you going to shoot me or could I offer you a ride? I don't expect this road will be entirely safe for much longer and your friend looks in need of some tending to. We have a field medic aboard that could take a look at him – at all of you."
It was an enticing offer, one that seemed almost too good to be true and so it made Zeke pause. The situation was too convenient. They just happen to make it out of Raccoon, more or less intact, and stumble across a group of misfits that been globally branded as Umbrella's arch-enemies, offering a free ride and medical attention no less? It was either a godsend or a trick.
Fishy, too fishy. Zeke locked eyes with Trapp, looking for any flaw in the man's sincerity but the Brit's face was unreadable. Just kill him now and keep walking. It's the safest way. It's too risky otherwise. Just - Zeke shut his eyes, silencing the voice. No, Zeke Wilcott is no murderer: not by his own choice anyway. No more killing tonight, no more death. We'll just wing it again. Leave it to fate to decide.
After what seemed an eternity, Zeke nodded.
"We'd appreciate you picking up us hitchhikers, Mister Trapp," he said.
"David, please." He smiled, gently sliding open the van's side door.
A burly figure in a dark sweatshirt and jeans clambered out. He was tall and dark-skinned; his muscular girth reminding the lieutenant of Coop – if only a little bit. The mirthful twinkle in the man's eye seemed out of place in the face of the giant.
"Your pal's not looking so hot." The newcomer observed, taking the wounded Ranger's weight from Eddie who nodded his thanks. "What happened?"
"He was on the business end of a few bullets." Zeke answered as they helped Ryan limp towards the van. "Your passengers…the ones from Raccoon…they aren't…."
"Nah," the large man replied, reading the soldier's mind, "nah, nothing like that. They're exhausted, dirty and dinged up but nothing that would make them want to chew your arm off. Name's John Andrews in case you were wondering, David does have a tendency to try and steal the show now and then."
Wearily, Zeke nodded and together the two men lifted Pierce into the van, stretching him out across the seat. Eddie followed next, wincing as John gave him a hand up. Slinging the M4 around his neck, Zeke hopped in last, David sliding the door shut behind him.
The backseats of the van had been removed to make room for more cargo space and stretched out across the floor, huddled close together were three worn figures: a man, a young woman and a child.
The man's grime-spattered uniform named him as one of Raccoon's finest though he looked even younger than Eddie Gabbor. His hands were balled tightly into fists, his smudged, lined face shut in sleep. Zeke wondered at the young man's dreams, at the nightmares he had already lived through.
It was the woman that drew Zeke's eye next as John climbed into the passenger seat. Her auburn hair pointed to a fiery spirit but the lieutenant could not imagine how when her face possessed such a fragile beauty, such a delicate grace. Unlike the officer at her side, the girl did not doze but starred distractedly out the window not even seeming to notice as Zeke and the others piled in.
Cradled lovingly in the redhead's arms was a blonde-haired child, a little girl probably not even into her teens yet. Draped around the girl's shoulders was a denim vest that had to be at least two sizes too big. The script "Made In Heaven" was stitched across the back. Zeke studied the child's angelic face, serene as she napped in the woman's embrace, and decided it suited her after all. The girl's golden hair shifted as the woman passed her fingers through it with the utmost care so as not to wake her.
It was a heartbreaking sight and yet Zeke felt almost nothing, just that cold hollow in his chest. The innocent rest, he thought, watching the girl, while the wicked plot. Already Umbrella's higher-ups are trying to put their spin on all this, trying to cover it up. Well, the nuke should take care of that for them but it won't end there. No sir. You left me alive, you bastards, and it'll never be over for me.
David was back in the driver's seat now, speeding down the road with John whispering in his ear. It was then that Zeke noticed the last of the van's occupants – a slender, shorthaired youth in a pea-green t-shirt and khaki pants. At her side lay an opened box of medical supplies and she crouched over Ryan who now lay unconscious, studying the wound in his side while shaking her head.
That's the field medic? Zeke realized with disbelief. She's young enough to be my daughter…
"He's bad, David." She reported to the front. "Extensive trauma, blood loss…if we get him to a hospital fast he might have a chance but even then I can't be sure he'll pull through."
"Ryan will make it." Zeke said for once a hundred percent certain that he spoke truth. "He'll make it."
"What makes you so – "
"Ryan's a good soldier," Zeke explained patiently, "the best I've ever seen in fact. He always follows his orders, does as he's told and I told him he's not allowed to die until I give the word. Trust me, you just get him to where the doctors are and he'll pull through just fine."
The girl stared at him blankly, probably thinking he had already lost his marbles but Zeke knew he was still sane. Pierce would live because he had not ordered the man to do otherwise. It was as simple as that.
"Don't worry, lieutenant, " Trapp said, "we'll get the sergeant to a hospital before the sun's all the way up. Rebecca, do what you can for him in the meantime."
Nodding, the girl – Rebecca – turned back to her charged. Gently, Zeke rested his back against the door, unzipped his vest and studied the collection of survivors for a second time as the vibrations of the van hummed a soothing melody.
Exhaustion had, at last, claimed the redhead and she too lay sleeping with her nose buried in the child's golden locks. Zeke wondered at that trio's story. What horrors had they been forced to endure, what reserves of strength and desperation had they tapped in order to survive? Could that little girl truly be considered innocent after the sights she had no doubt witnessed this night?
Best not to think about it, Zeke told himself but still he wondered.
Eddie sat on the other side of the van, nodding drowsily but perhaps too tired to sleep after all. Instead, he rested, staring at the revolver in his hand as if it were a puzzle to be unraveled. Whatever significance the weapon had for Eddie, it was lost on Zeke.
So, this is all this is all that's left of Raccoon: Two cops, a woman, a child and a pair of old Rangers. This is the aftermath of Umbrella's work, of their progress. A hundred thousand lives destroyed and for what? Profit? Can even an ounce of justice be found in a world where something like this can happen?
If it can be found then I'll find it. I'll find it because I have to, because that's the cost of duty. I'll find it.
Soft, slim fingers touched Zeke's arm, rolling up his sleeve and the lieutenant stiffened. Rebecca smiled sheepishly at him, offered a silent apology as she gazed into his dirt-smeared face. A small syringe was held expertly in her free hand.
"It's a sedative, lieutenant," she said, "something to help you sleep."
Before Zeke could mount any protest she jabbed the needle into his arm and the soldier cried out, suddenly terrified of what she might be injecting him with. The medic pushed him back gently though and as the drug filled his veins it washed away the lieutenant's worry. Warmth flooded him, banishing the empty, gnawing whirlpool that had been consuming him since Rachel's death.
The blackness beckoned to Zeke and he felt fear in his heart once more. Ghosts resided in that darkness now, the souls of all those he had failed along with the remembered monsters of a madman's dreams. It called and pulled at Zeke but still he refused to give in, fighting to stay conscious. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes.
The world began to dim. Terror paralyzed Zeke. He whimpered, no longer able to speak. Ghost. Don't give me to the ghosts.
A cool, soothing hand touched his cheek and the lieutenant's wailing panic vanished at its feel. Calm filled him once more with that caring touch. A healer's touch.
"Don't worry," came Rebecca's voice as that small, tender hand brushed his hair back. "You're safe now. You're safe."
The words followed Zeke down into the bliss of dreamless sleep. You're safe now. You're safe.
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Bent, smoldering, crumpled steel gave way as Smith drove both feet into the cockpit-s door with desperate strength. Howling with pain, he crawled over the ruined piece of metal and tumbled onto the gravel of the cliff. The case holding the T-variant sample was clutched in a death-grip in the supervisor's right hand.
Smith's body was a study in destruction. Burn's and charred skin covered a third of him, still smoking beneath the shredded remains of his uniform. Shards of metal and glass, sharp as razor's dug into his arms and legs. The rest of the supervisor consisted of lacerations, gashes and bones shattered to powder. Even the most skilled physicians would have balked at the sight of him, bleeding his life out on the mountainside.
I died once before, Smith thought through the haze of his anguish, and I do not repeat my mistakes.
Even as the world spun in dizzying patterns, threatening to hurl him away into a realm of endless darkness, his body was healing, or trying to anyway. Ripped tendons and sinew would begin to twine together once more, opened skin would start to bind, his punctured lung would begin to heal – then tear apart once more. Old agony would fade only to be replaced by fresh waves of it.
Smith threw his head back and screamed.
It won't end like this – not again! His mind seethed with desperation. I won't fail when success is one step away! Not like I did before!
With blood shading his vision, Smith pulled the sample case close and ripped the top open with a growl. Coughing and hacking, he peered inside.
The case was padded with black foam in which rested four indentations. Three held syringes filled with a translucent crimson fluid. The fourth contained a long silver tube the size of a cigar that had been stamped with the Umbrella seal and capped with a biohazard label. Smith knew it held the same liquid as the needles. He could smell it.
Life, the supervisor thought as he clumsily pulled one syringe from its packing, yanking the cap off. This case holds life.
It had been too long since his last injection and merely placing the virus into his bloodstream would do no good, not when the damage to his body was already so extreme. Time, it was ticking away. He had to be quick. He needed an artery. The heart.
Without thought or hesitation, Smith fumbled his tattered vest off open and drove the point of the needle into his chest with both hands. Panting harshly he thumbed the plunger down.
Fire filled Smith's veins, the tendrils of its smoke reaching into his lungs. Pain rippled down the length of his broken body, arching his back until it seemed the man must break in two. Tremors shook him, causing him to fail and beat the rough ground. His eyes rolled; he tasted blood on his tongue. The agony went on beyond description.
There was, however, restoration in that torment; renewal within the pain. Even as he writhed and howled, Smith could feel his wounded heart beating stronger; his pulse quickening. Torn skin and muscle knitted itself back together so finely as to leave not so much as a pale pink scar behind. Bones, mere fragments and dust seconds ago, were made whole again. Then there was no more pain, only the sound of Smith's measured breathing and the drumming of blood in his ears.
Rescued. Rescued from death's door twice by the same miracle, the supervisor grinned. You cannot have me, Reaper.
Smith picked himself up, dusted off his pants and snapped the sample case closed once more. As an afterthought he popped the syringe out of his chest and flung it aside.
Turning, Smith studied the smoking, battered ruin of the Black Hawk. Sticking out of the aft hatch, lolling lazily above the ground was Major Da Silva's arm. Sighing, the supervisor started off through the mountain paths, leaving the scene behind.
It was too bad about the B.O.N.E.S. team really. Da Silva may have been an impulsive, slightly imbecilic commander but he had still done a credible job of cleaning up Umbrella's messes in the past. There was no doubt that the men beneath him – his "boy scouts" – were just as good. The situation in Prague, all those years ago, might have played out much differently if not for Rico and his squad.
They were valuable, Smith mused, gravel and stones crunching underfoot, but they were also expendable and that is what made them true assets. No, not assets…tools. A tool is valuable until it has served its purpose then it is discard without a thought. The world is full of tools. There will be no difficulty in finding replacements for the rash Rico Da Silva or the devious Scott Owens.
As Smith walked deeper into the mountains, winding his way through the passes, he turned his thoughts to the confrontation on the roof of the AMRS with Lieutenant Wilcott and the other two Rangers. Surely they were all dead by now. There had been less than ten minutes left in the self-destruct when the helicopter was destroyed and the lieutenant had no way of knowing about the underground train. Yes, Wilcott and his men had gone up in a ball of fire but…doubt pulled at Smith all the same.
I was convinced the S.T.A.R.S. would not survive the Spencer Estate and yet they did. Not all of them but far too many for me to feel any comfort now. Smith paused along the trail, snapping the straps of his gas mask free. Perhaps Lieutenant Wilcott has the devil's luck too. Perhaps he did find the train and made it out of Raccoon. No matter, if he did then Umbrella will know – they always know – and the lieutenant will be dealt with accordingly. Just like Redfield and his bunch of rogues are being dealt with now.
Tugging the mask off his head, Smith set the case down, freeing up both hands to smooth back his trimmed blonde hair, his pride and joy. The supervisor reached into one of the pockets inside his vest where his portable computer and a leather glasses case rested, both miraculously undamaged. Smith removed the case and retrieved the pair of Aviator shades within. Delicately, he settled the sunglasses over his red, slitted, reptilian eyes and smiled.
In a little over an hour the sun would rise, bringing with it a nuclear dawn for Raccoon City. That particular prospect did not worry Smith for with the speed granted to him by the T-variant he would be well outside the blast radius when the strike came. After that it was simply a matter of finding a phone and calling in for extraction.
Smith began to run, knowing he would be little more than a blur to the naked eye, feeling better than he had since his rebirth after the debacle at the Spencer Mansion. He had Owens' combat data on the carriers. He had the only remaining sample of the T-variant strain. Most importantly though was the fact that he alone was in possession the results of Operation Puppet Master – Umbrella's true mission in Raccoon City.
In one night he had become the company's greatest resource. Their chief asset.
And I am no tool. Smith grinned. Try to throw me away and I will snap off your hand before you can even make the attempt.
For months now the Inner Circle had lorded Smith's resurrection over him, using it as a leash to rein him in and for months he had been forced to work in secret, keeping his plots to the shadows. No longer though. The time for hiding was at an end. With the knowledge he now possessed he could afford to move more openly.
The time had come to cast off the guise of smith. It would be pleasing to once again walk the world as Albert Wesker.
Author's Note: An update at last! My humblest apologies to you, my Readers but I hit a bit of a slump and made myself scarce. I have returned though and here is the next chapter for you all. As always, please read, review and enjoy. Also, to my loyal fans, I give you all my thanks. Your comments and encouragement have kept me going all this time. Thank you for sticking with my work. This is not, however, the conclusion. There will be an epilogue to come ASAP as well. Please look for it within the next week and hopefully it will be up. Enjoy!