The side office was always cramped, even more so now as all nine occupants crowded around the highlighted map spread across the desk. Edwards and Haldane had called in everyone they thought could be helpful, having broken the news of the murders to the PD in neighboring Stoneville and updating the Arklay Sheriff's Department. As such, the sheriff and one of his deputies, two Stoneville detectives, Moreau, STARS Captain Wesker, and their new FBI friend had filed in over the course of the last hour, more and more frequently bumping into each other and trying not to suffocate. It didn't help that the room had no windows.
The wiry, slightly hunched Sheriff Stephenson thumped his bony index finger on a section of the map. "This area makes the most sense."
Edwards leaned in. Stephenson was pointing to where the Circular River and an abandoned set of railroad tracks intersected, just northeast of the lake, behind Ecliptic Ridge.
"There are some old shacks up there from the lead and zinc mining days – some built right into the hillsides along with the mine shafts. It would be a pretty good spot to hide out of sight."
Wesker balled one fist in front of his mouth, thinking. "Water, shelter… hell of a place to sneak up on, too, with the terrain how it is. It looks like the only good way in is along the tracks."
"They found some bootleggers camped out there during Prohibition," Stephenson added. "I'm surprised it wasn't torn down then."
The deputy, Hernandez, seemed focused on a spot roughly two miles to the west of the mines. "What about that old mansion?"
He was referring to the Spencer Estate, built by some corporate bigwig about the same time that the Umbrella Corporation opened its first office in Raccoon back in the early '70s and abandoned only a couple years later.
Wesker scowled. "Maybe, but I doubt it. That place is locked up tight."
"You've been out there?" Haldane inquired.
"A long time ago, but yes." The terseness in the STARS captain's voice made Edwards think there was a story there, but the even stonier-than-usual look on his face told the detective that that was likely all he would get for now.
"We'll keep it in mind," Edwards conceded. "For now though, I agree with the Sheriff. Captain, how soon can you get a team out to check that mining area?"
He thought for a moment. "My team will need the day to plan. We can be out there just before dawn tomorrow morning."
"Good. Detective Haldane, Special Agent Wong, and myself will be tagging along. Hopefully we'll find something out there."
"You're sure you want to come along?" Wesker asked skeptically, glancing over at Wong. "Like I said, it's going to be a rough hike, and there may not be anything to find."
Special Agent Wong gave him an amused, but not quite cocky, smirk. "What? You afraid I won't be able to keep up with your 'macho squad?' Trust me, I can hold my own."
Wesker, however, only seemed to get icier. "I'm worried that if things go bad, my team is going to have to carry the three of your asses out of there." He didn't sound angry, just matter-of-fact.
"That's only if there's something to find, which as you just said there very well may not be."
"Just in case the you-know-what hits the fan," Stephenson placated, "we can keep our whirlybird spun up and ready to go."
The STARS captain turned toward the Sheriff and nodded once. "Actually, if you're offering, I think I have a better idea." Passing his gaze across the detectives before settling once again on Wong, he added, "Just make sure that, if something happens, you stay out of my team's way."
A warm breeze rustled the trees along Ecliptic Ridge, momentarily buying the hiker perched atop the slight outcrop a respite from the smothering humidity. Billy Coen upended his plastic, military-issued canteen and took two big swigs of lukewarm water. Some of it ran off his chin and down the front of his stained, gray tank top. It was indistinguishable from the sweat long since soaked through from the inside. Compared to the time he'd spent in central Africa two summers prior at the direction of Uncle Sam, the heat here was nothing.
Not wanting to stop for too long, Billy took one last, long look around at the old growth he would soon descend back into and the patchwork of farmland further out toward the horizon. Then, opposite the way he had arrived, he started once more down the trail.
It was a less popular route, some of the gravelly dirt washed out or partially covered by bright green brush. But it had always been a favorite of Billy's. Only twice had he ever run across another hiker or runner on this trail in the years he had spent out in the Arklays. One of them was a cute redhead he had met last week – she'd left her number on his nightstand before sneaking out of his apartment early in the morning. Maintaining his pace, Billy contemplated if it would be too late to call her when he got back to town. Have to get in whatever fun I can before my leave is up.
Fun was an accurate, if overly simplistic, word.
He had dropped down the backside of the ridge now, and the temperature dropped a little bit as the dense leaves shaded him from the sun's direct rays. Billy slowed as the trail leveled out for a stretch.
About fifty feet and a switchback below, he could see patches of the rusted old railroad tracks peeking out between the foliage, their gravel bed long since eroded away and the remaining ties amorphous logs of splintered fiber and weathered tar. Soon he'd pass by the old mining camp, about a quarter mile down the tracks and shortly before the trail split back off from the rail line. It seemed like an interesting spot, but he'd never taken the time to stop and really look at it too closely. I guess we can change that today.
Billy jogged along the tracks, having to cross over them twice to avoid a cluster of dogwood that stretched out into his path. Up ahead the ground plunged downward about ten feet to the narrow bed of the Circular River, and he carefully made his way across the top of the decrepit, wooden trussel that spanned the gap. It held, but the slight wobble he felt with each step made him wonder how many more years before it completely crumbled.
The mining camp was up on the left. As Billy veered to head up the slight incline, he could see there was very little remaining. The only freestanding shack he could clearly identify appeared to have collapsed in on itself some time ago, by the way that the undergrowth had woven itself through the pile of rotten boards and shakes. He could also make out two small structures built directly into the hillside. One was similar to the shack, just a mess of wood that had buckled under their own weight, revealing a room carved into the dirt and rock behind it, just big enough for a few miners to have set up their bunks.
The other was still standing, barely. Its roof sagged under its own weight, held up only by the three rough-hewn plank walls. The doorway gaped into darkness, obscuring anything left inside. Billy edged closer to get a better look.
What he saw surprised him.
Four military-style canvas cots lined the walls, and a large radio setup sat up against the back wall like a shrine. It all seemed like it had been placed there recently. There were scuff marks and footprints all over the dirt floor and, he realized, leading out past him.
What the fuck…
Billy didn't like it. Who else was out here?
He heard a twig snap a ways behind him.
While he wasn't easily spooked, something deep in his gut told him to get out of there. There wasn't any good concealment nearby – even the collapsed structure to his right offered little in the way of obstruction. And if whoever was coming was one of the people camping out in the structure, it wouldn't do him much good to duck inside. He decided his best bet was just to make his way back down to the tracks and hope that, worst come to worst, he could just play dumb.
Billy only made it a few steps before he saw the shape perched above the rim of the clearing. Whoever it was up there was well hidden, but his trained eye picked them out with relative ease. Maybe if he just pretended he hadn't seen them…
"Stop where you are," the shape called out, voice muffled behind something. Billy froze. "We know you've seen us. Hands above your head, slowly. We won't shoot."
Then he saw the submachine gun – an MP5, not unlike those that some of the guys in his unit had been issued on their last deployment, though this one had been hastily painted green and appeared to have a sound suppressor or something built in.
Silently cursing himself for not noticing the gun sooner, did as he was told. It was then he noticed the other two figures – not all at once, they were well hidden – forming a loose semi-circle around his position. They were decked out head-to-toe in some sort of woodland camouflage he wasn't quite familiar with, and he had a hard time picking out much in the line of details.
Billy pondered for a moment. He was in peak physical condition, but even then there was no way he could make it back to the tracks without taking a bullet in the back or elsewhere. They didn't seem like any police unit he'd ever seen. We know you've seen us didn't strike him as a normal thing for anyone in a legit, official capacity to say. And even if he didn't get shot in the back trying to flee, how many more of them were there? Billy remembered the four cots, and wondered where the fourth "FBI" agent was.
He decided to try to buy some more time. He shouted up at the shape, "Who are you?"
"FBI," came the calm but stern response.
Thinking back to all of the crime shows he'd watched, Billy thought it odd that they hadn't led with that. He didn't like it. Also, what the fuck were they doing out here? Did it have something to do with those animal attacks? But, weighing his options one more time, he decided there was only one logical choice. He stayed planted. "I'm just a hiker, man."
They descended on him cautiously, the muzzles of their guns never breaking from his center of mass. None of them responded to what he'd said. All wore what looked to be some sort of lightweight chemical or biological warfare suits, gasmasks snugly fit in place over their faces.
The few alarm bells that hadn't already gone off began to make themselves heard in his head.
There was a noise behind him, the soft rustle of thick fabric sliding against leaves. Billy had barely begun to turn around when the taser arced into his spine and he collapsed like a ragdoll.
The plan was simple. Both STARS teams would insert by helicopter – Bravo a mile and a half to the east of their target, from which they would hike in with the detectives via the railroad tracks, and Alpha would be dropped in a clearing to the north. Alpha's route would be trickier, following the riverbed for about a mile until they veered uphill and ended up above the mining camp.
The Arklay Sheriff Department's old UH-1 "Huey" was spun up when they stepped out onto the helipad, downdraft from the main rotor scattering dust and bits of grass outward and ruffling the hair and clothing of the fourteen men and women piling aboard.
Brad was already in the copilot's seat, wearing his headset, examining the controls on his side of the cockpit and helping out Kevin Dooley, the pilot supplied by the Sheriff's Department. They seemed to be arguing a bit over something, but Chris wasn't sure what.
Chris and Jill claimed the side-facing two person seat to the left of the boxy transmission structure and belted in.
The helicopter was likely surplus from one branch of the military or another and, judging by the patched-over holes in various places, had seen its fair share of combat. Honestly, Chris didn't like the look of the thing. He noticed a few missing bolts and small patches of rust peeking through, and the sound dampening panels around the transmission vibrated loudly enough that he could pick out the difference over the normal engine noises. But to be fair, he'd flown in worse.
Jill had apparently noticed, too. She leaned in close and shouted, just audible over the din, "I think it might've been a better idea to hike all the way in!"
"Too late now!" he said, grinning like an idiot despite the flutter in his own stomach as the skids broke contact with the earth and they lofted up into the sky. It didn't matter that he'd done it hundreds of times, takeoff still played with his nerves. Though part of it, he admitted, might have to do with what he and Jill had seen the other night. Chris worried what they might find when they reached their destination.
They had taken off later than intended. The first indications of light were just beginning to appear on the horizon as they sped above the tree tops, wind battering into the crew compartment so hard that any further conversation was made impossible. Wesker was the only one who wasn't seated, clutching to a handhold just behind the cockpit, occasionally saying something into his own headset to Brad and Kevin.
As the dark forest rushed by beneath them, Chris thought about how long it had been since he'd flown like this. Doing yet another mental check of his gear, he examined the AR-15 carbine cradled in his lap. Forest was the only other STARS member with a rifle. Joe and Richard carried the teams' pair of shotguns, and everyone else was armed with only pistols. Chris would have personally preferred to go in heavier, but Wesker didn't see the need. In his words, it wasn't exactly a military operation. Besides, the RPD didn't exactly have a ton of rifles to go around.
Jill pointed past Chris, locking eyes with him before nodding in the direction of her outstretched finger. He craned his neck to look, seeing the opening in the canopy that was their landing zone.
They touched down a few minutes later, the skids wobbling just above the ground as Alpha leapt out. As soon as they were clear, Kevin hoisted the Huey back into the air and they raced off for the second LZ.
Chris fell into position, taking point. Wesker trailed a few yards behind, followed by Jill, Joe, and finally Barry. They made their way to the river easily enough. From there, the next bit would be fairly easy if time consuming.
Silt and gravel shifted under their boots as they hiked, and occasionally they had to duck under or push out of the way wayward branches that drooped out across their narrow path. Despite not actually expecting any trouble – not yet at least – Chris kept his shooting hand wrapped around his rifle's pistol grip the whole time, thumb ready to flip the safety to fire and finger extended along the receiver, ready to drop into the trigger guard at a moment's notice.
It was peaceful, and only the most eager of birds had begun to call back and forth through the trees. Most were still asleep, and would be for a while. Chris was certain he caught a glimpse of a bat flitting back into the safety of the shadows. The air was already starting to warm, and he could feel the first droplets of sweat wicking into his green uniform under his black, Kevlar tactical vest.
They were making good time. Wesker stopped the team and checked the map. Chris dropped to a crouch and continued scanning their surroundings as the captain relayed their position to Bravo in a low murmur, requesting an update on their progress. His eyes squinted and jaw set in consternation at whatever the response was before signaling Alpha to continue holding position.
Chris quietly made his way over to Wesker and asked under his breath, "What's the holdup?"
"Their progress hasn't been as quick as expected." Wesker left it at that. Chris guessed the detectives weren't able to keep pace as he moved back to his position. What felt like an eternity passed before the radio sputtered again, and the captain ordered them forward once more.
The river bent west – to their right – and Chris guessed this was where they split off from the waterway even before Wesker directed him to do so. Chris trail blazed as discreetly as possible up the steep embankment and into the tall brush.
As they got closer, Chris brought the rifle up to low ready. Alpha Team spread out, with Barry and Joe on the left flank and Wesker in the middle. Jill moved up alongside Chris, her Beretta already out of its holster as they made their way the last few yards to the lip of the small bowl.
Below he could identify the remains of three structures, two of which had completely collapsed, and the one across the clearing on the left seemed close to it. He couldn't see any obvious signs of recent activity like trash or remnants of a fire, but it was hard to tell for sure. He could just barely make out Forest, partially concealed behind a stump and rifle at the ready, across from him. They crouched in place until Chris caught the movement of Bravo approaching from the right, downhill.
His radio crackled almost imperceptibly, and Wesker's hushed voice ordered, "Go!"
Chris brought the rifle's sights up, keeping both eyes open so as not to lose his peripheral vision as Bravo rushed up from the tracks and Alpha descended, save him and Forest, who maintained overwatch. He watched Richard and Joe breach the door to the surviving shack but then come out again moments later, looking disappointed.
Wesker looked pissed. He waved Chris and Forest down as the detectives and Special Agent Wong trudged up to join them. Chris lowered the rifle and scrambled down the slope.
"No luck?" asked Edwards, the more talkative of the detectives.
Wesker shook his head, hands on his hips. "There was someone here recently. They were set up in there," he said, gesturing at the shack. "Looks like they had cots and a fair bit of other equipment, judging by the marks in the dirt. But whoever it was, we just missed them."