Captain Albert Wesker looked at the clock. While he would never let it show to those under his command without good reason, he was beyond ready to go home. Alpha Team lounged around the STARS office. Brad listened to the radio, but otherwise very little was getting done. And Joe had his feet kicked up on his desk again. Normally Wesker would have cared more and ordered better discipline from them, but he figured the Alphas had earned a bit of respite. They – and Bravo – had had a long day. He didn't look forward to the next few.

On which note, he thought, Bravo should be radioing that they're on their way back soon. Once they were back safe, they could all punch the clock and call it a day.

It was a shame Redfield wasn't going to be with them most of the weekend. Sometimes his impulsiveness was more than Wesker would have desired, but the younger man was also one of their best in the field. Wesker understood though. Honestly, with the nature of what had happened to his friend, the captain was surprised at how well he was handling it. Though he and Valentine seemed to be getting a little too close as of late, maybe dangerously so. He wanted to keep them both on Alpha, but he might have to switch around who was partnered with who if things seemed to be going too far. That would be unfortunate. The two rounded each other out quite well.

"Hey Captain?" Frost called from across the room.

Wesker looked up. "Go ahead."

Frost flipped a page of the car magazine he was reading, not as much as glancing up from it as he said, "I vote next time we have to borrow the helicopter, we install cushier seats."

"Voting would imply this is a democracy, Frost. But my aching ass and I will take your suggestion into consideration."

Burton stared back over his shoulder at Wesker, pretending to be bewildered. "Did you… did you just make a joke?"

Wesker stared back at him, unamused. "Burton, don't make me—"

"Repeat, Bravo Team? You're breaking up." Brad Vickers had leaned in closer to the radio, slowly tuning one of many knobs in an attempt to clean up the signal. "Everyone, quiet!"

Wesker couldn't recall a time he'd ever heard Vickers yell like that. Concerned, he ordered, "Put it on speaker."

Vickers flipped a switch and the room was filled with static. Edward's voice barely broke through. "…mayday. We're gonna have to… clearing. Lost the tail…"

Everyone was raptly focused on Brad as he tried to maintain communication, but only snippets made it through. "What's your location?"

"Twenty… Charlie… south of the… man… going down!"

Bravo Team, please repeat?"

Dead air.

"Bravo Team! Ed! Come in!"

Vickers tried, but there was nothing after that. The signal was gone. He turned to Wesker and threw his hands up in frustration. All the Alphas looked at one another, wide-eyed.

Wesker rocketed out of his seat and began shouting orders. "Frost – take the radio! Vickers – get to the airport and get the helicopter ready to go, we'll be ten minutes behind you! Redfield! Grab your rifle and Frost's shotgun from the armory! Valentine, Burton, let's try to figure out roughly where Bravo Team went down! Move!"

Everyone was already up and going before he had finished. The door slammed shut behind Redfield and Vickers. Valentine roughly unfurled the map.

They all knew Bravo was in danger, but only Wesker knew just how much. Assuming they had even survived what sounded like a forced landing, if Alpha didn't find their comrades quickly… The STARS captain had known it was only a matter of time before something like this happened, but had hoped to stave it off as long as possible. He had done his best to prepare Alpha and Bravo Teams. The question was, had he prepared them enough for what they were about to find?

Alpha Team was jostled roughly one way then the other as the RPD SWAT van rounded another corner, too fast. The shrieking sirens clawed at their ears as they bounced down the access way to the tarmac.

They skidded to a stop in front of one of the hangars. Barry flung the van's back doors wide and they hustled up to where the RPD's Eurocopter AStar waited, engine screaming faster in preparation for takeoff. Brad was still checking instruments when Wesker waved everyone aboard. Barry climbed into the copilot seat and donned his headset. Joe was last and took the seat closest to the open door. Brad glanced back and, seeing everyone was good to go, throttled up and sent them skyward with a tug on the collective.

The Eurocopter was dainty in comparison to the Huey, with a considerably smaller crew compartment. Whereas the Huey could cram in eleven passengers, the Eurocopter only sat four in its current configuration, besides the pilot and copilot. There was also realistically no standing room. They would likely have to take a few trips, more if some of the Bravos were too injured to sit. He desperately hoped that wouldn't be the case.

Joe looked out the sliding door as the ground sped by beneath them. Lines of street lamps and head and tail lights gave way to the sparse, firefly glow of Raccoon's outskirts, then an unending stretch of impenetrably dark forest. There was still a little glow in the sky, but it would be gone by the time they arrived. That was going to make things tricky. Jill and Barry had determined a rough location, but it would be hard to know for sure until they got there. Luckily the rising moon offered to provide at least a little natural illumination once it was higher in the sky.

Hopefully Bravo had only encountered a minor mechanical failure. Ed yelling that they were going down didn't make it sound minor. It was a known fact that Ed was liable to bitch about anything, but if he actually sounded distressed, things were probably really bad.

Joe felt sick at the thought. This is your fault. They trusted you to make sure the helicopter was safe. They wouldn't be in this mess if you'd just put the kibosh on using that hunk of garbage.

Wesker was hunched down, peering out the windscreen between Brad and Barry. He pointed at something then barked an order. Brad nodded and they turned toward a clearing to take a better look.

That's when Joe saw the small clouds of oily, black smoke hanging above the treetops. His stomach still sank. He had seen a helicopter crash once during his time in the Navy. By the time emergency response arrived, the burning fuel had left little but charred skeletons of the crew. He could only hope that Bravo hadn't suffered a similar fate. Joe tried to push the images of crushed and broken limbs and the acrid-sweet smell of burning flesh and paint out of his mind.

They roared over the clearing in a sweeping arc. Brad snapped the spotlight on and quickly found what they were looking for with the intense beam. Down below, Bravo's helicopter sat on its belly at an angle, near the edge of the woods. Joe squinted but couldn't see any of the Bravos inside or around. He had expected to see Forest at the very least, cursing and ripping the old bird to pieces to find out what was wrong. There were also massive, fresh troughs cut into the soil where the now-shattered rotor blades had caught the ground. He was relieved to see it was mostly in one piece, but where was Bravo Team? Brad eased the Eurocopter down so its skids dangled just above the ground. Alpha leapt out into the waist-deep grass.

The sound of the helicopter grew distant as Brad sped off. The grass swished and rasped against Joe's pant legs as he moved toward the downed Huey, head on a swivel. Sweat dripped down the center of his back, and not just because of the warm evening. On the outside he did his best to look calm, but it felt like his insides were all clenching together in anxious anticipation.

Faint moonlight painted everything in a pale, ghostlike glow. The dark hulk of the wrecked Huey jutted from the waving meadow, dark and looming, like a bolder from a lake. It was unclear where the fading smoke was coming from. Jill and Chris had taken the left flank, Barry and Wesker the right. Joe took center. Their flashlights divided the clearing in ever-changing slices as they looked back and forth, up and down for any sign of where Bravo had gone.

"Frost, Redfield," Wesker barked, even more tense than usual. "Check the helicopter."

Frost approached from one side, sweeping the light attached to the pump of his shotgun around the interior of the crew compartment. At least on the port side, it was as empty as it had appeared from the air. Chris made it to the other side as Joe rounded the nose, keeping the light trained on the fuselage the whole time.

He stumbled back, startled, and let out a yelp. Kevin Dooley stared at him from the shattered windscreen with his one remaining eye, bloody mouth frozen in a silent scream. Parts of his face were missing. Tattered skin dangled in short strips around the massive wound where the flesh had been torn from Kevin's left cheek. White bone glistened out from where the flesh had been stripped from his forearms.

Chris ran up, rifle at the ready. "Oh, Jesus."

"Frost, what do you see?" called Wesker.

"Captain, Kevin is down." Joe took a second look, struggling against the rising bile in his throat. "It doesn't look like he was killed in the crash."

Wesker jogged over. He took one look in the cockpit, then scanned the nearby tree line warily. He seemed to conclude, as had Joe and Chris, that it would be a waste of time to check Kevin's vitals. The muscles at the back of Wesker's jaw bulged as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Joe thought he looked worried. "Fan out! I want a line ten feet apart, facing the trees – we're going to start sweeping that way. We've already got one man down, so be careful. We don't know who or what is out there. If you see anything – I mean anything – out of place, I want to hear about it immediately."

The trees were spread far enough apart that they were able to maintain their distance easily enough, but the canopy shaded them from the moon. Dark shapes lurked at the edges of Alpha Team's flashlights. Joe, now at the left end of the line, felt like his side was exposed. He realized he didn't hear anything aside from the sound of four sets of footsteps and the distant helicopter. No croaking frogs, or distinctive screech of owls hunting for mice and other rodents. Nothing. His knuckles were white as he subconsciously gripped the shotgun tighter.

They had unintentionally begun to spread further out as they worked their way around downed logs and the occasional thicket. Joe adjusted his course slightly back toward Jill. He saw Wesker talking into his radio, likely updating Brad on the situation.

Joe caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and swung the shotgun's light, hoping to catch a better look. Whatever it was had disappeared. Joe waited a few beats before continuing, wondering if his eyes had begun to play tricks.

"Empty handgun magazine over here," Barry called from the other side of their search line. "Looks like from one of our Berettas."

Jill, the closest to Joe, was the next to find a hint at what had happened to Bravo Team. A handful of 9mm casings glittered in the detritus on the ground.

Up ahead, Joe saw a familiar shape wearing green and black cloth, soaked in liquid crimson. "I think I've got another body." He approached, glancing continuously between the shape and his surroundings. Joe knelt next to the horribly mangled corpse. From the uniform and patch on his arm, Joe could tell it was definitely a member of Bravo Team. Beyond that, though, there was little left to identify. Joe looked for a badge.

Something rustled in the brush behind him. Joe stood and spun, bringing the shotgun to bear.

There was nothing there.

"Joe?" Jill inquired nervously, starting to head his direction.

Pull yourself together, man. He stood, unmoving, knowing he hadn't imagined it this time. "I thought I heard—"

A dark shape rocketed out of the brush at him, snarling. All he saw were jaws lined with sharp teeth, open wide, headed straight for his face. He instinctively lifted the shotgun and squeezed the trigger.

BOOM!

Buckshot ripped its maw apart in a spray of thick fluids as Joe sidestepped, barely avoiding getting knocked down. He heard the higher pitched pop-pop-pop of pistol fire, mixed with the splitting CRACK of Chris' rifle. Another of the creatures bore down on him. Joe pumped the shotgun and fired again but it was too late. The buckshot scattered into the tree limbs above as the thing slammed head-first into Joe's legs and he was knocked roughly to the ground.

Fangs bit into his bicep and the thing began to shake its head violently, slowly separating muscle and sinew from bone. Joe let out a blood-curdling scream as he tried to claw at its face with his other hand. He flailed and kicked, jabbing at its eyes and trying to pry open its mouth, but it was no use. Gunfire continued behind him, but the sound was lost to the excruciating shock of pain he felt as another set of jaws tore into his thigh. A third grabbed his free hand as he swung back to hit the first and, clamping his fingers in its powerful bite, ripped them off with a single jerk. Joe tried to kick at the one on his leg with the opposite foot but couldn't quite reach. His arm muscles tore free with a wet snap. Joe felt pain and pressure on his throat as his frantic screams were cut off. The last thing his mind registered was the meaty crunch of his windpipe collapsing.

Jill fumbled another magazine into her Beretta. She watched in horror, unable to do anything to stop the half dozen large animals tearing Joe to pieces. A chorus of howls rose above the gunfire.

"Ambush!" bellowed Barry.

The magazine locked into her gun with a clack. Joe began to gurgle. Jill realized his attackers were some sort of large canine, maybe Dobermans, but deformed somehow.

Her thumb found the release on the side of the pistol. The slide slammed forward, chambering a round.

Their thin skin had begun to slough off in places, revealing greasy red muscle beneath. They were just like what Chris had described seeing in the alley the other night. Jill swore she smelled the putrid stench of decay.

One of the dogs looked up, blood-slick tatters of flesh dropping from its snarling mouth as it registered new prey with its milky eyes. It howled long and low, then charged. She fired. Nine-millimeter hollowpoints smacked into its rotting flesh one after the other as it prepared to pounce, staggering the creature long enough for Jill to realize that two more had abandoned Joe, also catching notice of the other STARS members. She wouldn't be able to take them all out quickly enough to avoid Joe's fate.

Chris appeared beside her, quickly dispatching one and wounding the other with well-placed rifle fire. He grabbed her by the arm. "Jill – run!"

He didn't have to tell her twice. The four Alphas took off at a dead sprint back toward the clearing. Wesker and Barry had a bit of a head start, the former yelling into his radio for Brad to pick them up. Brad's spotlight silhouetted branches and trunks like strange, uneven prison bars against the blinding glare as he descended. Jill caught a glimpse of more of the foul creatures weaving deftly through the trees in the harsh light, closing on their position. There must have been over a dozen on their heels. Barry spun and fired past her, eliciting a pained yelp from uncomfortably close behind.

Almost there.

They broke from the tree line, legs and lungs alike burning. Brad waved emphatically for them to get aboard. His face twisted in alarm as he saw what was right behind them.

One of the hellhounds leapt into the helicopter from the other side. Brad sent the helicopter lurching up with a high, mechanical whine. Another tried to follow, but slammed headfirst into the skid and fell back into the grass. The helicopter roared over as it bobbed and zagged, Brad no doubt trying to shake his unwelcome passenger from the crew compartment.

They didn't have time to wait for him to land again. Jill remembered something. "Quick! That mansion is close!"

Wesker gave a curt nod and they were off once more. They veered north, and Jill wondered if she could maintain her current pace for the remaining quarter mile. She was a good runner, one of the fastest in STARS, but even she had her limits. Her legs started to feel wobbly and it was getting noticeably harder to dodge roots and other obstacles. Chris looked like he was starting to wheeze as he barely managed to keep up with her. He aimed his rifle to their rear and sent a few rounds into the growing pack behind them to try and keep them at bay.

One of the dogs grabbed the barrel of his rifle in its jaws, trying to pull it from his hands. He struggled with the beast for a moment before realizing it was useless. Chris ducked out of the rifle's sling and kept running, drawing his handgun in the process. Jill spun and fired at the dog as it dropped the rifle and resumed its pursuit. It lost its footing and tumbled to the ground. She didn't wait to see if it stayed down.

The mansion's dilapidated façade loomed up through the trees. Light glowed from a few of the windows. Isn't this place supposed to be abandoned?

Oh well, doesn't matter now, she decided, just grateful to finally have reached some amount of safety. They rushed up the marble steps and Barry yanked at the handle of the heavy, wooden door. It opened with a loud creak. Light spilled out onto the steps as the STARS ducked inside, the door slamming shut behind them with a hollow finality.