Notes from the author: Gah finished with this chapter! It took me two days, one to sketch out the order and another to write it down in my notebook and then type. Wow I feel like I accomplished so much in these days. : )
I even finished chapter 6 (but I still need to type it) and wheee I'm tired now. I was off today (friday,1/24) and I guess i made pretty good use of my time. I guess this also helped me keep my mind off things. Just a day ago I had a death in the family, and thats what spurred me to get my creative juices pumping. So, enjoy! Please do, you may not get more from me for a bit. AND! I would like to ask if anyone would be interested in beta reading my next chapter. I was a little weird writing it, and although I'm not sure I will actually need someone to read it, I'd like to keep the option open. You can tell me in a review (wink wink, hint hint) if you'd like to. Until then, onward!
--
It was late. The sun was swept away by the dark clouds of night. Even in his window seat, Billy could see nothing beyond the thick glass. The protruding wing of the aircraft had been swallowed by the black. There was no moon that night, no grinning man in the sky. Billy frowned, wondering if there was anything to smile at now. He didn't believe so...
After lowering the panel on the charcoal canvas, Billy dug through the small backpack he had carried on. That was the only bag of three he had access to. In one lay his new clothing; neatly folded and organized. His gun, along with the envelope of crisp bills were stored within the second. At last was the one he grasped now and deep inside the manila envelope was kept.
Releasing it from its tight confines, Billy opened it once more, causing the stiff material to make a dull crackling sound. This disrupted the smooth, constant hum of the airliners engine. The other passengers were unaffected-most of them were dozing soundly. Only a few dim night-lights flickered in the cabin and soon enough his own joined them, casting a sheepish glow over his form.
Billy could recall a few of the papers from the ride to the airport, having skimmed through them to fend off conversation with the taxi driver. Trent had warned him to be all around careful; to avoid talking when possible. Billy agreed, too worried that a citizen would see the lie behind his words. He locked what he knew deep down inside, where they had been resting until this very moment. Now the jumbled puzzle pieces went free; searching and longing to find a conclusion.
And what else had Trent informed him about? Billy frowned, leaning his head back slightly, skull rolling to look at the passed out man at his side. Trent's words stroked his mind.
"Raccoon City is a very dangerous place," He had said. "Though it won't be for much longer."
Even until this moment, Billy hadn't known what to make of it. He longed to share his knowledge with anyone, curious as to if they had anything to add and possibly fill in the numerous blanks to the story. But yet, he refused to do so. It was necessary to hide. Umbrella had ears all around and if someone held in their pocket caught word of damaging suspicions-
The papers in his hands were smooth and dry; the aroma of dry ink lingering into Billy's senses. In the package had been various articles; bits and pages of local reports. Some had been from witnesses of the rumored nocturnal canines who had been stalking throughout Raccoon Forest. Only Billy knew the truth behind their words. No matter how farfetched the rambling peoples beliefs had been, no one knew the merit to them.
One report had made Billy bite his tongue and let out a well-needed sigh of relief. The Spencer's mansion, hidden far within the boundaries of the forest had been destroyed. According to the press, the Umbrella owned V.I.P. resort had been shut down for years, closed after the disappearance of the famous architect George Trevor. But there was more.
The Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. were the victims of the tale. One reporter wrote about suspected "illegal drug used among the armed group." She believed that such an irresponsible action had been the cause of a helicopter crash that had killed six out of the eleven members. Billy knew better; he had witnessed the death of some and it was at the hands of Umbrella. The S.T.A.R.S. were wrongly accused.
Below one brightly colored photo was a single paragraph that filled him with assurance. There, it named the survivors. Amongst that list was Rebecca Chambers. And although Billy didn't know the others, Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Barry Burton, and Brad Vickers, he believed them to be as innocent as she. And just as strong.
While the Raccoon City Police Department backstabbed and betrayed their loyal employees, the small but persistent bunch spoke of a vast Conspiracy. But in the who in the right frame of mind would believed that the Umbrella Corporation, the multibillion dollar business responsible for building up Raccoons fair city would be committing such crimes? No one would.
Apparently biological testing, resulting in cannibal humans, mutant creatures, and man slaughtering weapons is too far fetched for the public. They wouldn't know, they haven't experienced such things. And those who have are aware that it is only the tip of the iceberg.
The S.T.A.R.S. had been suspended shortly after the incident.
Weeks later, several attacks occurred, keeping the same profile as the previous murders. Billy could feel it, he knew what Trent's words meant now. The virus was spreading, multiplying throughout the people, and soon it would be too late. No one could prevent what was happening, not even-
Somewhere behind him, a shuddering cough. There was a force pressed against the seat, a shuffling sound of movement as the chairs inhabitance shifted position. In his concentrated studies, Billy jumped, startled. The papers in his sweaty palms crumbled as he jerked to slip them away. His heart was thumping inside of his temples-racing, pulsing-bile rising slowly up his throat in fear-
-And the moving stopped. Everything seemed to freeze then, slowly melting back into reality. The jets cabin was alive once more, dimly lit and warm.
Calm down, stay cool. Billy uttered in his mind. The stress he had been put under had apparently taken its toll on his nerves. He no longer felt total control over himself. For a few drawn out moment, Billy tried to collect himself. He tried desperately to still his racing head, holding it in a deadlock for quite some time, becoming a single mass of bone and skin. Nothing more. Once his eyes close, Billy's other senses heighten; the smells, tastes, sounds, and touches seem as if they are the only existence.
The dry fabric of the plane seat felt cool beneath his feverish skin, the soft press of cotton soothing in some way. And past that, the smell of leather lingers through the air, coming from a mans newly purchased briefcase perhaps? Billy didn't know. Inhaling the dark, musky fumes triggered his imagination, creating a story full of details-all but sight. Maybe like a book? A dull story that yes, had descriptions, but didn't quite paint a world. Like the one a nearby passenger was flipping through; the sliding sound of pages being turned were all too evident.
...And if you don't follow suit, you'll never get through all those documents Trent gave you. Don't be caught with your head up your ass! Have to make a good impression on the team if we're going to be working together.
Trent had set everything up. He was assigning him to one of the teams. Billy was scheduled to meet them in Exeter, Maine, his destination for this flight. And even though he was given no clue as to whom the others identities were, Trent had assured Billy that he would be very pleased with the results. Trent even mentioned that they would find him. Billy had been very skeptical at first but decided to wait and see the outcome of this-Trent had become a very reliable source- and held his questions in. Trent only gave what he offered. Nothing more.
Eyes fluttering open, Billy sifted through the papers again, coming up with the third document. It appeared to be a list of people.
JACOB FISCH, TIFFANY HOLCOM, BRUCE LINDEMANN, WILLIAM BIRKIN, ALAINA CROOGER.
None of the names were familiar to Billy, at least not at the moment. At some time, Billy believed, all the bits of information would come together. Now was not that time.
Behind this was a folded piece, creased into sections. Once recovered, it appeared to be a map. DIRKIN VALLEY was at the top, scripted in bold, blocky letters. In a similar type at the bottom it read: UMB. RESEARCH AND TESTING.
Trents map was sketchy, locating every different structure of the facility. For instance, to the north was a helipad and down the hall from it was an elevator bank, holding five in all. Two on the east and exactly west from that, two more. In the room's center, an emergency elevator was marked. There seemed to be two or three stories to the facility, keeping the bottom two, built deep under the grounds surface, save out of site. Billy stashed Trent's maps away for later study.
There had been five documents in the package, and it was the fifth that he now skimmed through. At first glance, it seemed like jumbled information and phrases, but it only took Billy a moment to realize that it had to be some sort of riddle.
Think things twice/Those who seem weak are anything but/red key makes blue/blue to enter/don't stop/he's watching you.
The last section sent a chill through Billy's spine, leaving him with an uncomfortable tingle near the base of his throat. But that was all. And he was tired. The papers were soon folded crisply as they had been, and stored back inside of the manila envelope. From then on, Billy slept, wondering it this would be his last chance to dream...