Heaven Can Wait

Kasage Starrunner

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and all characters, settings, monsters, and corporations associated with the game series and the movie are © Capcom and its affiliates. The author has no association with any of these companies.

All other characters and creations are © Kasage Starrunner. The author would like to note that Petra Cross, (Jo Sullivan, possibly) and Adrian Rhoades are part of a joint game project with her and friends, and that Petra will also be used in a collaborative mange started by Mangaworkshop.net. Also, the character Alex Quenby is based on her character, Quenby Andries from the Infinite Spiral Manga saga. Other character associations will be mentioned as necessary.

Also, feel free to correct my Resident Evil knowledge. I want to be accurate. Suggestions on that account are encouraged.

A Cast List will shortly be available at my site, Let Me Live::

http://geocities.com/lukleia/claire.html

Warnings: Violence (as typical for Resident Evil), profanity (the worst namely on the part of Petra)--more warnings will be added if necessary.



Chapter Three: Death Walking



Bio-ject Warehouse, Undisclosed Location



Cold, flourescent light filtered through the grated floor of the upper level, appearing as star-like pinpricks on the textured steel of the ground floor. Footsteps echoed like armor across the long, narrow expanse of the building, intermixed with the sounds of the generator and muffled whispers of the staff, scientist and civil alike. Enforced glass tubes and metal crates lined the floors, and the self-illuminating tubes cast an eerie glow in the spaced light. From far away, the staff could see the sillouhettes of the eerie freak show on display like a museum showcase. It was a menagerie of Bio-ject's leftover projects and fresh meat--all waiting for their own opportunity to be reconstructed into something bigger, better, and more frightening: something that would scare their competitors shitless.

One of the tubes was isolated on the far end of the upper floor. The only illumintion there was that of the tube itself and the monitor screens and button lights surrounding it. Various hoses and wires attached to the top and sides of the glass, sending charges and information to the sidelong computers and the governmental JANUS system. The computers closest monitored the temperature of the stasis liquid in Celsius, while another kept tabs on the vital functions of the body inside. Those functions registered on the screen as 0.

The body itself had been suspended in a gelatinous liquid, by staff who liked to call it Jell-o. The "Jell-o", which had a more suspicious and lengthy name, was then frozen--a gesture to prevent decay in the body until it could be put to good use. The thick, frozen liquid made the skin seem laer than it was, and the thick, short auburn hair hung in the substance as though it were floating. Veins criss-crossed the skin like blue tatooes. That combined with the stitches across the young male's chest made him seem remotely like some form of the Frankenstein monster. However, the stitches were merely the remnants of a medics attempt to close the large wound in the lower abdomen. Obviously this was so that once revived, the wound that killed the boy would not do so again.

Two figures stepped from the shadows in to the dim light surround the containment tank.

"So, have you identified our Lazarus, doctor?"

The figure that spoke was blonde, and his eyes seemed to glint a dim red from behind the sunglasses indoors and outdoors. The other that stood next to him was a woman, and she stepped back from him before answering, her eyes refused to look at his face, out of intimidation or fear. Her hands were small, and clutched a filing folder tighly to her chest.

"Yes. His prints match a young man named Steve Burnside, age 17, blood type AB. His father was caught spying in the Umbrella Corporation and the whole family was imprisoned ..." The man motioned for the folder and the woman gulped. " ... In Rockfort."

The blonde flipped through the pages and smiled. " A present conveniently left by the Redfields, how kind. Either you have some excellent sources outside of this Corporation or you are something of an incredible snoop yourself, Dr. Forscythe."

The American doctor ignored the comment, flicking a brown strand of hair from in front of her wire-rimmed eyeglasses. "We'll be ready to begin the Lazarus Operation at any time, Wesker. In the mean time, I'll be in the staff room ... Eating my lunch."

"You can eat after this?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing more as she walked out. Albert Wesker cackled softly to himself, taking a second to push his sunglasses back onto the arch of his nose.

"Mr. Burnside, you have no idea what you died into. You're about to become an incredible asset to me. Chris Redfied will not escape me this time. He will have to save his precious sister, who will try so desperately to save you."

Steve just hung there, frozen, and if there were such things as ghosts he was probably screaming at the blond man to leave Claire Redfield alone.



***



Hotel, Midfield Valley



Claire awoke at 2:30 in the afternoon feeling better then she had in weeks. Chris was already awake and dressed in a green button-down shirt and some jeans. He smelled a lot better now, much to his sister's relief, however the green shirt made her secretly wonder if her brother was deliberately trying to copy her cloths. To stop the mischief before it escalated, the red-head dug around in her shopping bag for a sweater and threw it over the tank. The sweater was black and red--a definite contrast to the previous green. She smiled in triumph as her brother watched her.

"Hey, Claire-bear--"

"Don't call me that. I'm not five."

"Sorry," he grinned a little. He'd been calling her that forever, and the nickname had just recently got amusing. "I couldn't stand the smell anymore," he said, gesturing to where their dirty cloths had been piled. "I washed them. They're packed in my bag."

Claire laughed. "Becoming a woman on me Chris--what happened, you get a boyfriend?" Chris glared at her, crossing his arms. "Payback for Claire-bear, Chris. I know you love that Jill woman." She grinned at him as the glare intensified. "Your blushing, bro. No really, thanks. Now I don't have to mess with detergent. Last time I did laundry I bleached your jeans white."

"I thought that was payback for something."

She fingered through her hair. "It probably was, come to think of it. A shame, because I was going to steal those jeans and make cut-offs." Her fingers hit some knots that refused to yield to the manipulative fingers. Her brother tossed her a comb from across the room. It worked like magic in the tangled locks.

"We won't be able to stay here, Claire. If Umbrella is looking for us, they can at least track me by my credit card."

Blue eyes gazed at him thoughtfully. "What then?"

"I don't know. Get jobs--something. If they find us now then its over for everyone." Chris put his head in his hands. Something told his sister that he'd been thinking about this since she laid down for a nap--or it woke him up from one of his own. "I could catch a ride to Columbus," he continued, planning out loud, "--use my card at some hotel there and make them think that we're moving around. I'd really like to sit on my ass for awhile."

"If you knew they could track us, then why--"

"We needed somewhere to sleep--especially you."

Claire bit her lip and fidgeted with her gloves from her seat on the bed. Her eyes stared at the floor as though it contained some answer. 'I'm causing him trouble again. He's always saving me, or taking care of me.' She wondered now if it would have been better if she had stayed out of this whole mess.

"I know what you're thinking, sis. It's not your fault. Shit happens."

Chris' foot thudded against the wall. She could hear it. He was definitely agitated, and she herself had no idea what to do. It didn't help that they were in a new city where they know absolutely no one. There was no one to take them in or hide them. On their own to fend for themselves--shelter, food, water--damn. Umbrella had them screwed.

"Aw, Hell," muttered Chris. "Umbrella owns this city for crying out loud. I think we stepped in it this time."

"No ... maybe we're safer than we think. I mean, they can't think we're so stupid as to actually stay near one of Umbrella's major headquarters ... again. They're expecting us to trek back to Paris. I bet they're watching the airports more than the damn hotels, and the only airport in Midfield Valley is private. They'll be watching Port Columbus or Cincinnati, Chris. Fake plane tickets could bail us out."

Chris started massaging his temples. Claire stared at him for a few minutes. He was stressed--too stressed, and as far as she was concerned the brunette was in no condition to making any decisions. She was taking over.

"Let's pack up and go for a hike," she finally said. "If Umbrella finds our room, then we won't be here to find."

Chris looked up. "Without checking out?"

Claire grinned, we have the room for the weekend. That's two whole days where Umbrella police might be confused."

***

Midfield Valley, Ohio





Alexis Quenby had done the full tour by 2:45--picking up the motorcycle she'd intructed Valeris to have waiting for her when she arrived in Midfield Valley. She'd picked it up before she began her tour, which started with the city's schools, nursing homes, and hospital. All she had left to locate were the local cememeteries.

The woman sped down the highway in her uniform, helmet-free. In the pale blue Captain's uniform she looked more like a cop than an Umbrella-employee, though considering S.T.A.R.S. relationship to local law enforcement, the image didn't matter that much. Alex hated the color. She thought it made her look like a pansy, which for some ungodly reason were blooming this time of year. Pansies ...

She adjusted her sungoggles with one hand wondering why the hell it was sixty degrees Farenheit in January. When she'd asked Jo before she left, the brunette had just responded with: "It's Ohio," as though the weather were the most normal thing in the world.

At the west end of town the blond biker slowed down. There were three cemeteries near Midfield Valley, and all were on the outer edges of the city. She was looking for the cemetery here on the west side of town, the same side of town where Valeris Davenport resided--when he chose to come to the mansion where his second wife and eleven year old son lived.

Alex turned onto Bennington Chapel Road from Main Street. It was a short jog from there to the large graveyard--which had been fairly expansive before the town grew into the mammoth corporate blackhole it was now. She parked and idled the motor to a stop, mentally noting the locations of the other cemeteries yet again--one on State Route 37 near their neighbor, Johnstown, and one near the S.T.A.R.S. dilapidated headquarters near the Delaware County border. The latter was a small cemetery, not used since the early 1900s, however, being located to her current base of operations the blond decided it was important as well.

The woman dismounted her bike and began to walk aimlessly through the headstones. She had come over soley to find the place visually, but somehow the varying names and dates and stories of the epitaphs always held her captive for a few minutes longer than necessary. Infant deaths, veterans, old soldiers, the 40s--now, those were troubled times.

"Father said I'd never see you at home, and yet here is Alexis Quenby, wandering around in a graveyard, alone."

Alex bristled and turned around. "What th-" She stopped herself and looked at the speaker. He sat atop a mausoleum like a raven, dressed in black. It was a boy, maybe eleven, but possibly younger, with a face that rarely saw the sun and pale, limp blond hair. He had blue eyes, but they had a dull look to them. However, that seemed to be from general ill-health rather than stupidity. The spindly legs swung back and forth, black shoes shining in the strange, January sun.

"Alfred Davenport?"

The boy nodded a confirmation, and Alex shook her head. He looked more ill than he had when she had first met him in Paris. He had been visiting his busy father, Valeris, despite seeming constantly like he was going to drop dead on the spot. He never had, though. The boy, as far as she knew, had a severe case of anemia, and had been born a year before Alexander Ashford's untimely death. As a gesture of admiration and generalized brown-nosing, Valeris' son had been named after the 9 year old Alfred Ashford, one of Alexander's twin children.

At any rate, that was the way Mr. Davenport had explained it, however according to rumors the story went on, and when Alexander died, it was Valeris with two other unknown executives, that guided young Alfred in his actions as head of the Umbrella Corporation. His own son, had been ignored and neglected.

"Have you been to the hospital recently?"

"No, why?"

The boy hopped from his perch on the mausoleum top. Alex resisted the urge to try and catch him. He looked like he were some kind of glass doll that would break at any wrong movement. However, like any kid, he hit the ground with a thud, ignoring potential bruises and standing upright again as though he'd landed on two feet. After that, Alfred proceeded in dusting himself off, watching the dust fly in the air as he smacked at it.

"You have a S.T.A.R.S. uniform, Alex. Do you have a death wish?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "You can take that up with your Daddy when he's home."

"He's never home. Not now. I believe he thinks I'm a grave disappointment."

"Then when he calls." She looked around. "Since when do you frequent cemeteries?"

"Since Mum died. I like to listen to the dead people."

"Ever hear the phrase, 'dead men tell no tales?' It's because dead people don't talk!"

"You're a fool."

"And you're an ass."

"Mum heard that!"

"Yeah, well for your information, ass means donkey means stubborn, Alfred." She paused. "Just don't tell you Step-Mother, and if you do, I didn't tell you--not that it matters."

The boy walked closer and grabbed Alex with a cold hand. An eerie smile crossed his lips and his eyes seemed brighter for a moment. There was something unusual about Alfred Davenport ... something she'd felt both times she'd met him.

"They're coming," he murmured.

"Who?"

"The undead."

Alex shuddered. A sharp, chilling wind picked up through the trees. The sound reminded her of the Irish tales of bashees. Her arm prickled where the slender fingers touched them. "You're joking with me, right, Alfred?"

The eleven year old just stared at her like he didn't know what a joke was. The woman looked at the headstones around her. Suddenly, they seemed to have eyes and ears. Alex grabbed the boy by the shoulders.

"Follow me and I'll give you a ride home."

"Okay, Alex."

The blond walked back to her motorcycle and lifted him onto the seat pad. "You hang onto me when I climb on." The boy nodded, so she mounted and started the motor. As she rode back onto Main Street toward the mansion, she thought of what Alfred Davenport had said.

There was something unholy about the words:

"They're coming ... The undead."

***

Umbrella Headquarters, Paris, France



"As you can see, there are no visible anomolies in the tissue structure, Mr. Davenport, but-"

Valeris looked at the Japanese scientist in front of him and raised a shaggy eyebrow. "But?"

The man, who qualified to Umbrella as both scientist and medical doctor, pinned two more pictures onto the light table. Both were in full color, however, one showed an open gash and the other showed the seaming scab of the same healing, yet scarring wound.

"This is the 'but'. The picture on the left was taken when Miss Quenby first arrived in Quarantine, thoroughly infected with the T-virus. This, of course, is only a small section of where the Licker Monster's claws razed her body from her lower abdomen to her upper back. As you can see there has been some definite muscle action."

"That is not unusual, Dr. Fujimoto."

"No, it is not. However, the second photo is of the same wound three days later--with no suturing. That healing time is not humanly possible even with stitches."

"After effects of the T-virus attempting to mutate, perhaps?"

"No such luck, otherwise, that virus would practically be a medical breakthrough. Unfortunately, the T-virus only promotes decay in such wounds, making this phenomenon even more unusual. She should have mutated with the virus. However, even if there had been no T-virus infection, any normal human being would have taken weeks to arrive at this healed state. After that there would be the necessity for extensive physical therapy, and 6 out of 10 individuals would never be in the same physical shape that they were to begin with. She walked out of quarantine in less than a week with no such therapy."

Valeris scratched his chin. A slight stubble was growing there, as he was debating for the thousandth time whether or not to grow a beard.

"You ought to do a background check on her," the scientist continued. "If you just sent one of Umbrella's top-secret projects to--"

The old man motioned the docor to be silent. "As far as I know, she's some other corporations guinea pig, and she's either tight-lipped about it, or doesn't know herself. I will do nothing concerning the situation of Alex Quenby until I have more evidence from the Genetic Department. Now do you have anything else to add?"

"Only that her body produces an unusually high level of T-cells."

"Thank you Dr. Fujimoto. That will be all."

The Asian man began collecting the photos, X-rays, and files from the room. He fastened them together with a paper clip and returned them to the manila folder from that he pulled them from. This he offered to Valeris Davenport. The aged man took them and smiled gently at the medical doctor. "You are the only one of your staff who worked on these smaples?"

The man nodded, running his hands through his hair. "I was the primary attendent with her in the Quarantine. Two nurses worked with her also, but I managed to convince them that Alex died from a comination of her wounds and the virus."

The smiled on the man's face broadened to utter delight. "Thank you for being such a loyal employee, Dr. Fujimoto." The mane walked to the doorway, straight cane clicking on the vinyl flooring. He stepped out of the room and hit the emergency button on the keypad with his cane. Behind him, the conference room locked down, metal doors dropping with randomly spaced clangs. Valeris keyed something in with his bony finger and gas began to contaminate the room. Dr. Fujimoto pounded desperately on the glass window for the executive to let him out, but another steel door cut him off. The old man waved into the room.

"Have a nice day."

When the doctor was thoroughly cut off from view, the executive walked back toward the elevators. Umbrella's contamination crew rush by as he mounted the elevator. As the machine whirred upward to the main floor, he just smiled calmly to himself, eying his reflection in the mirror-like steel. Clicking his cane on the floor, the man returned to his main floor office. His secretary eyed him strangely, but asked no questions as Valeris walked through the double doors, humming some random lullubye he'd heard the Ashford twins singing years ago. It really was a shame about Alexia. She would have made a brilliant executive or scientist--she would have been a brilliant anything.

He walked to the right of the room and with precision inserted the embossed hand of his cane into a matching circle on the drawer of his bookcase. It opened soundlessly to reveal a stash of several filing folders. The word "Berceuse" came into view and then was quickly displaced as the new folder was inserted.

The drawer closed with a muffled thud. The old man went back to his chair, and turned away from his desk to face his view of Paris, still humming softly to himself.



***



Midfield Valley, Davenport Estate



Alex's motorcycle puttered to a stop at the mansion doorstep. Alfred had gotten on the intercom at the gate by the road to buzz himself in and spare himself the walk. The woman was now glad she had let the eleven year old do it rather than saying, "Walk, it builds character." It was a lot longer ride from the road to the mansion than she had suspected and for all she knew the walk would have killed the boy.

She dismounted and helped Alfred from his seat, taking a long look around. The estate was a huge horse farm with extensive pastures and several barns--all white with green tiled roofing. The barns themselves were long structures, and outside sleek, blanket-clad horses were sniffing the ground for leftover autumn grass or munching hay from bins. From far away she could see a tiny figure perched atop a large pony. She cantered across the arena at a brave pace. The blond wondered at the girl, because as far as she knew, Alfred was Valeris' only son. She squinted and thought she caught the glint of golden hair, however she wasn't sure.

"Who's that, Alfred?"

The boy looked at the rider, then back to Alex, then back to the rider. He shifted his stance uncomfortably. "That's my cousin," he mumbled.

"Funny, I can't think of Valeris mentioning siblings. Nor anyone else for that matter."

"She's from my mother's side," he spat out quickly.

Alex eyed the boy for a moment with suspicious blue eyes. The boy did not return her gaze and only fidgeted more uncomfortably. The woman would have asked him more questions, but the butler came out the front door.

"Young master Alfred, there you are. Mrs. Davenport has been searching for you everywhere." The butler scolded the boy with his finger, and then eyed the blond woman suspiciously from down his nose. "Who is this?"

"A friend of father's," he retorted. "He sent her to protect the city."

The man laughed, it was nasal and whining. "Yes, well, we'll see about that."

Alex would have punched him then and there if she were not afraid that it would tilt his unfortunate nose a few degrees higher. Her voice came like ice through her gritted teeth when she spoke to him: "My team and I will protect this city, even those who don't deserve protecting, because if we can't I don't see anyone else coming to save you--least of all, yourself." The woman stalked back to her bike. "Mind your family, Alfred," she growled as she mounted. The motorcycle sped down the drive with a slight roar as the two watched from the porch of the brick mansion.

"That kind of rudeness is exactly why you are not to associate with the people of this town, young master Alfred."

"Yes, William."



***



Midfield Valley, East Side



"We must be over a mile from the hotel, Claire, can we stop walking?"

"You know, Chris, you're the last person I'd expect to complain about a little excercise."

Chris dug in his coat pocket for a cigarette and his sister death glared him. "We're outside. Christ, can't I have a smoke?"

"Not around me, you can't."

Claire skipped, bouncing her backpack up on her shoulders. It was loaded with both her new and old clothes, some items left over from Anartica, plus a few more items that she'd "borrowed" courtesy of the hotel. Her new coat was unzipped and she was sweating from the unusually mild temperatures.

She turned her head toward her brother, raising her eyebrows. "Does this feel like January to you?" Chris shook his head. His sister sighed. "Still, I wish I'd had this coat in Antarctica. I still can't believe I didn't ultimately freeze to death."

"You had Steve to keep you warm." Claire looked at her older brother mournfully, biting her lower lip. "Sorry, bad joke."

The red-head scuffed her feet on the sidewalk looking down at her shoes. For the second time that day Chris had inadvertently upset his sister. The brunette man knew it hurt her. She'd hated leaving Steve's body in that base. A tear trickled down the young woman's cheek and hung on her chin. Chris wiped it off gently with a finger.

"I'm a jerk. I forgot you were trying not to think about that."

"It's okay," she whispered.

"No, I should be more sensitive."

Claire raised her head. Her blue eyes were wet, but she tried to smile. She hooked her arm around Chris' and leaned on him. "I forgive you. Where are we?"

The older man looked around. The street was lined with several apartments, some houses, and a few store fronts--most abandoned. "Must be close to the eastern edge of town."

"Looks a little broken down."

Chris nodded. A brick house stood on the right hand side of them. It was a strange house that looked like a cross between a townhouse and a store. It was three stories, but the third looked like an attic that would have sloped walls. A couple of the windows were boarded up where the glass had been broken, yet not replaced, and the door was wide open. The siblings looked at each other, then walked toward the strange old house. The could hear a sweeper running and over it a female voice singing.

"1-2-3 O'clock, 4 O'clock. Rock!

5-6-7 O'clock, 8 O'clock. Rock!

9-10-11 O'clock, 12 O'clock. Rock!

We're gonna rock around the clock tonight!"

Chris knocked on the doorframe, however the sweeper continued to run.

"Rock around the clock tonight.

We're gonna rock rock rock

'Till the broad daylight--"

He knocked again, louder this time. The sweeper went dead and the singing stopped. The light footsteps of small, shoed feet came toward the door. A brunette head poked out the door and smiled at them.

"Helloooo?"

"Hello, the house looked deserted, but then we heard your singing and--"he stumbled around for words so as not to appear nosy. No such luck. Fortunately for Chris, however, the young woman waved him off, sparing him the embaressment of speaking any further. She stepped from behind the door to the doorway and the Redfields practically fell over with shock. She was wearing a S.T.A.R.S. uniform.

Claire was the first to semi-collect her wits. "We didn't know there was a S.T.A.R.S. team here in the city."

"Oh, we're a training group. Umbrella just assigned us. I think I may be one of only two people who's actually had training here." Brown eyes observed the flushed and sweating faces of the two siblings. "You look a little drained, you want to come in? The place is a mess still, but I made some iced tea. You can have some if you like."

Chris shook his head. "We should really keep go-"

"No, I insist!" She motioned them inside.

"Thanks," the red-headed woman said, stepping through the doorway before her brother could mouth another word of protest.

The house was cleaner than either of them expected, likely due to the diligent work of the young woman who'd invited them in. She motioned now to a couple counches that appeared to be left over from the 70s era of strange greens and bright orange. "You can sit there. Uh, this was the furniture the place came with, so I hope its okay. Umbrella's supposed to be sending some more institutional stuff." She rolled her eyes, figuring that the choice would be between ugly or uncomfortable.

Chris laughed. "No problem, a chair's a chair," he said and flopped down. From the sounds of it, this was the only place Umbrella would dig up for their newest S.T.A.R.S. team--no big surprise, considering. The young woman left the room and came back with two glasses of iced tea.

"Here you go. By the way, I'm Jo Sullivan."

"I'm ... Veronica Kennedy."

Chris rolled his eyes. Could Claire have picked a more ridiculous name for herself? "I'm Chris, her brother." The older man thought he felt eyes on the side of his head. He smiled to himself as he downed his glass of tea. Let her glare, he wasn't making up a stupid fake name just to humor her.

Jo looked at her clipboard laying on the other couch. "Hmmm ... I was hoping you were on this list, but it looks like you're not. I would have figured on at least one of these guys getting here this early." She discarded the papers back to the couch and sat down herself, eying the sweeper across the room. When it didn't turn on via telepathy, she returned her gaze to the siblings. There was something about th--she got it!

"Hey, I saw you two Uptown today. I remember because I had this weird feeling of deja vu. And then you two were so dirty--oh, I shouldn't have said that." The woman clapped her hand over her mouth and both of the Redfields laughed.

"It's alright," said Chris. "We were taking a winter hike across parts of the state. When it got so warm and muddy we obviously ran into trouble."

"Its a great state for hiking. You been in the Southern half yet? The Hocking Hills are gorgeous this time of year."

"No," Claire broke in. "We started a ways north of here not to long ago--New Years resolution."

"Lookin' for dates," her brother added with a sly grin. Claire was going to kill him later.

The brunette woman grinned, bobbing her head. "Gotcha." Jo got up and grabbed herself a cup of tea. She eyed Chris for a moment, unable to get over the fact that such a pleasant, blue-eyed specimen of a man was sitting there talking to her. This one was going in her diary ...

"So, here's a funny story for you. I was out with the Captain today and she could have sworn that she knew you from something important."

Chris and Claire eyed each other nervously. "Is your captain tall, blonde, and incredibly manly?" the red-head questioned.

"Yes."

The older man laughed. "And you though she was checking you out." Claire smacked him. "Ow, C-areful."

You two saw us then. I'm so embaressed."

The woman smiled. "No, its okay. We were staring too ... You weren't in uniform then."

"Hadn't picked them up yet. We'd just got in from Paris--you know I don't know who's ruder, the Franch or Umbrella--though I guess speaking French would help ..."

Chris made a motion to get up from his seat. "Mind if I go outside and smoke?"

"I don't mind," said Jo.

The man waited for Claire to respond. She waved him off. "Go," she grumbled. He strode across the room and shut the door behind him.

"Can't stand smoking?"

"I hate it. He told me he'd quit."

The brunette fingered her ponytail, feeling the way the strands pulled back smoothly. "If my brother even tried one cigarette, I'd smack him upside the head with that sweeper."

"Oh god, do you need to get back to your sweeping?"

"It can wait."

"No really, you're waiting on your team to show up too, how inconsiderate of me. I'll just finish this wonderful tea and get my brother and I out of your hair."

"It's okay, really. It's nice to have company other than Alex. She's so bitter and cynical some days that I want to scream."

Claire stopped twitching and made herself comfortable. They'd leave when Chris was done smoking. She eyed the empty glass where he had downed the amber liquid in seconds. "He drinks like a horse."

"I think its a man thing." Jo paused. "So how long will you be in town."

The red-head shrugged. "I'm not really sure. We've been hiking around so much we could really use a break, so ... Well, I'd like to stop and rest for a while, anyways."

"Well, if you need a place to stay, let me know. I went to college here and there are always a few nice people around willing to put someone up."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." It was the first good news Claire had heard all day.

"No problem at all, Veronica." The young woman scrawled a number onto a post-it note and handed it to the red-head. "That's my cell-phone. If you need anything don't hesitate to give me a ring."

The blue eyes widened. "Thanks again. I didn't know there were trusting people left anywhere in the world today."

"I pride myself in my excellent judge of character."

The door opened and Chris returned, looking very much relieved. "Done."

Claire nodded. "Well, Jo, we really should be going. Nice meeting you, and thanks for everything."

"Anytime. Come and visit--or call me!"

The Redfields waved back through the door. Jo watched, grinning for a moment, then disappeared. The sweeper started again.

"They did the Mash--They did the Monster Mash

The Monster Mash--It was a Gravyard smash.

They did the Mash-it caught on in a flash

They did the Mash-they did the Monster Mash

Wa-ooooooo ..."

Claire laughed and pulled at her brother's bag. "That was a pleasant surprise. Now aren't you glad I kept you walking?"

"What, for iced tea and a smoke?"

"And her number and a potential place to stay. We now have connections."

Chris stopped for a minute and watched his sister keep walking, shaking his head. The red-head really had changed--she was a lot more bossy.

***

Midfield Valley, a few doors down



Petra wasn't certain whether she was glad to be back in her own house or not. She lay sprawled on the couch in the living room, listening to the grandfather clock go tick-tock overhead. Her stomach hurt from where the frost bite was still healing. It covered the white of her abdomen in red blotches, with little purple patches mixed in for extra flavor. She hoped the damned thing wouldn't scar. She'd hate to get a new wardrobe of baggy, long T-shirts now. The woman poked her stomach with a naked finger and winced. Not good.

The clock chimed the half hour and echoed through the two-story house. It was so quiet without her family around. The silence pushed in on her temples. It was practically overwhelming. Suddenly, she heard voices outside. The green-haired woman sat up and listened to the strange sound. Her house was so far outside of town that practically no one passed by but a few stray cows that escaped from their pasture every other week. The voices were welcome in her mind, as she had felt that her head was about to explode from the general lack of noise.

Petra stood and walked to the window, peeking from behind the curtain with her contact-colored eyes. At first, she couldn't see anything, but slowly two figures appeared and began crossing the lawn in front of the house. The woman couldn't believe who it was.

"Holy shit," she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes.

Petra ran to the doorway, despite her protesting epidermis. She opened the door, fighting with the storm door until it unlatched and she could escaped onto the porch. She grabbed a column with one arm and slid around the steps.

"Hey, Redfields!"

The two stopped dead in their tracks like two fugitives and stared at the green-haired woman in dismay. The looks on their faces said plainly, " I hope to God she's not from Umbrella."

TBC in Chapter 4.