Chapter Twelve: The Search Continues
After almost an hour flying over the calm waters, Lott and Lily Klein were fast asleep, gently lulled by the mechanical sounds of the spinning helicopter blades. Finding himself alone, flying the chopper over charted waters, he decided he best attempt to establish radio contact if he was going to land anywhere. Hanging on a hook above the pilot's head sat a headset attached with a mouthpiece, to which the jack was attached to a small radio control panel. It was of simple design, with a knob to switch between the various frequencies, a knob to adjust volume, a button to talk, and a couple of other knobs and switches serving as equalizers for the sound. Grabbing the headset, he flicked the blatantly obvious power switch and placed the instrument on his head. Sounds of static filled his ears. Starting with the first frequency it happened to be on, he pressed the talk button and spoke into the microphone.
"Hello? Can anyone read me?" Ark began. After a few seconds of wait, he got nothing but static in return. "This is Ark Thompson, flying from Sheena Island. Can anyone hear me? Please respond!" Another few seconds ticked by. Once again, he got nothing. Switching the tuning dial to another frequency, he tried his approach once more. This time, however, he heard a muffled voice drowned out by radio static reply.
"Hello?" Ark was certain he had heard something that time. "Hello? Can you hear me? If there is any other aircraft in the area, please respond!" Once again, another reply drowned out in static. Not wanting to let go of this opportunity, he turned the dial up one more click and tried one more time. "Can anyone hear me? This is a transmission coming from an evac helicopter flying from Sheena Island. If there is any nearby aircraft or heliport, please reply."
"Come in, chopper," A male voice responded. "Read you loud and clear."
Ark breathed an immense sigh of relief. "Thank you very much. Where are you transmitting from, over."
"This is the air traffic control for the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad heliport in Exeter, Maine, USA, over," the male voice replied.
Special Tactics and Rescue…S.T.A.R.S.!
"How far away am I from the landing pad?" Ark asked the air traffic controller.
"Where is your current position?" The man asked.
"Hold on just a sec…currently I'm flying south. I have been flying south from Sheena Island for the last hour now," Ark answered.
"That won't help us too much. I need your exact location in terms of latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates. It should be located almost directly in front of you if you look down a little ways," the controller replied. Looking slightly downward, Ark had caught a glimpse of the exact coordinates of his position, via a Global Positioning System on board.
"Um…54 degrees north, and 65 degrees west is where I'm at." Ark answered over the airwaves. "Where does that put me?"
"Lucky for you, you're almost due east of my position. You're just a couple hours out. Head directly west and maintain your current speed, and you should be here in two. How's the fuel situation?"
Ark looked at his fuel gauge. "Just a little less than full."
"That should do you just fine," the air traffic controller replied. "Any other persons on board?"
"Two others," Ark replied.
"Thank you very much, pilot. See you in two hours. Over and out."
"Copy that. Thanks again," Ark ended, taking the headset off. He leaned back in his seat once again, feeling even better now that he was going to be back in familiar territory. Priorities began to rack up in his mind. He'd have to touch base with Leon once again, and then determine what would become of Lily and Lott, who were now without parents, and whether they had any other living relatives Ark didn't know. For now, though, he attempted to place his mind at ease. He had survived the survival horror, miraculously, and now he just wanted to get back home, back to the bustling city of New York, where he had quite a story to tell the waiting Leon Kennedy. As his mind and body began to slowly unwind from the hair-raising experience he recently had, he turned the metal helicopter to his right, heading for Exeter, and as he did, he could feel the warm sensation of sunlight across the left side of his face, putting his mind and soul to a degree of relative ease.
* * *
Almost one month had passed since the incident at Sheena Island. By now, Umbrella was in a state of uproar. Its headquarters in Paris were trying their hardest to stifle activity, as so to not arouse the public interest. It did generate waves of disturbance through some, however, as some of its multitude of employees caught snippets of gossip and rumor. In just these last few months, five of its major labs—the two labs in the Raccoon Forest, Marcus and Spencer; the two labs in Raccoon City; and the one on Sheena Island—fell to their ruin at the hands of a combined effort between what was left of the rogue Raccoon City Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, also known as S.T.A.R.S., and by Umbrella's own recklessness at trying to quell the probing officers. Not everyone could be left in the dark, and naturally, rumors were bound to happen. Such was the case of the Sheena Island incident, as Ark would later come to find. In the month between his escape with the only other survivors, two children named Lott Klein and his younger sister Lily, Ark had done a lot. After his landing in Exeter, Maine, he managed to establish communication with Leon, arranging for him to be picked up and taken back to New York. In the meantime, however, the three were taken to a nearby hospital to administer any aid necessary. As expected, Ark looked pretty beat up—with his bruised left side and his left arm taking damage from the Tyrant class B.O.W. Mr. X and the stinging acid from the aberration known as Ivy. In a couple of days, all were given a clean bill of health and they left. As it turned out, Lott and Lily had grandparents in Quebec, Canada. Soon after they were contacted, it was decided that their grandparents would take them, and they were saddened by the fact that both of the children's parents died in a "tragic accident." Leon and Ark didn't divulge the exact reasons for their death for the sake of security and believability--for two senior citizens having the notion that creatures created by a mutagenic virus running amuck on an island causing the complete, total, and utter destruction of an island just wouldn't sit well, let alone be believed. Umbrella is a pharmaceutical corporation, they would think, they make legal medicinal drugs, not destructive viruses capable of reducing innocent civilians to a zombie state, capable of making monsters that would totally defy all logic. It was because of this possible train of thought that Leon and Ark held back on the details surrounding the children's parent's deaths.
Ark went back to New York with Leon, and here he was, sitting in front of a desk, and just by the look the desk, he saw that his partner had kept busy this last month. Papers and folders were littered everywhere on the desk, showing the owner's lack of organization. The only clear spot on the desk was near his computer. This was Leon for you, and in the month of time, he had tried to procure any other documents surrounding the Sheena Island incident, but came up with nothing. Anything Umbrella released regarding the incident was sealed up, highly classified. Not even Ark could do it. He leaned his head on his hand, feelings of boredom sweeping through his body. Leon had called him earlier in the day, requesting his appearance in his office at 1 PM. It was just after one now, and according to Ark's watch, Leon was so far fifteen minutes late. In the brief phone conversation between the two this morning, Leon had made mention of another assignment.
He let out a yawn, his state of boredom increasing. Soon, he'd leave—he'd been waiting for Leon for almost twenty minutes. Leon was not the type of person who was usually late. A minute later, a panting Leon stepped into the doorway behind Ark, red-faced.
"Better late than never," Ark said upon seeing the jacketed figure in the doorway.
"It's called traffic, Ark," Leon breathed heavily, walking toward his desk.
"That's every New Yorker's excuse," Ark said, amused from his own joke.
"There was an accident on the way here," Leon continued. "Traffic was backed up for miles."
"Which is what the average New Yorker says after they say 'traffic' and get shot down," Ark chuckled.
"Shut up," Leon shot back quickly.
"Just pulling your leg, lighten up," Ark said, chuckling.
Leon hung up his jacket, and quickly took a seat at his messy desk. "I called you here because I have another assignment for you."
"Is it anything like the last doozy you sent me on? The one that made me temporarily lose my memory and almost killed me?" Ark asked, his expression turning serious.
Leon stared straight into Ark's eyes. "No, not quite like that. Although it does involve Umbrella, indirectly."
"You have my attention," Ark said, returning the direct look.
"One of the survivors of the Raccoon City incident, a friend of mine, needs my help," Leon began. "Claire Redfield, one of the few civilian survivors from the former Raccoon City is searching for her brother, Chris Redfield—one of the last surviving Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. She has reasonable suspicion that her brother has gone to Paris, to Umbrella H.Q. She needs our help to get there. She intends on infiltrating the facility if necessary."
"But that's suicide!" Ark exclaimed. "Going into the world headquarters of a mega-conglomerate in a search for anyone is asking surely for a death wish. She can't go it alone!"
"I understand your concerns, Ark—I had the same ones," Leon began. "When she spoke to me a couple days ago, I offered to accompany her to Europe. However, she politely declined, her reasoning being that she did not want to put anyone else in any other unnecessary danger. So I offered to help her in any other way possible. Fortunately, she accepted my offer. She does need some weaponry, and she will need a method of transport over to the Umbrella facility, for she can't carry weaponry to any of the national airports. What will probably seem the most likely plan is for you to safely get her to their heliport or launch pad of some sort, without drawing their attention. You may need some Chaff grenades so you can jam their signals. All I require you to do is to guide her safely there. After she has made it inside the facility, you can go as per her request."
"That doesn't seem like a problem," Ark replied. "It does pose a risk, though. She might not be capable of bypassing some of Umbrella's security measures. Do they have their own creations running amuck through their facility?"
"I doubt it," Leon answered. "It is the world headquarters of a massive conglomerate. Remember, their research into mutagenic pathogens is top secret. To the rest of the world, they make pharmaceuticals. They don't have a side that experiments on live humans turning them into undead killing creations, warped, twisted aberrations that don't conform to any type of logic or common sense. To have their B.O.W.'s running around free in their facility would be a giant error on their part. As for security guards, I think the place will be riddled in them. I think if Claire managed to survive the debacle and nightmare that was Raccoon City, I think she should be able to manage."
"But," Ark began, "The city wasn't equipped with security devices, laser trip wires, and the myriad of fail-safe devices she's about to go up against."
"Very true," Leon acknowledged, "which is why I hope to hook her up with several chaff grenades in hopes that they jam the signals. You will have some when you land at their heliport so they will not be alerted."
"That's certainly a help. One other question: is her brother in Paris?" Ark asked.
"From last known contact, he was." Leon took a deep breath. "Granted, the last contact was over a month ago, and he may have left for all we know. According to his diary that was found in the S.T.A.R.S. office in the former Raccoon City Police Department, he went to Umbrella HQ in Europe. She's going on a hunch, a possibility. That would really suck if she was captured, and it turned out that he wasn't there, not even close."
"Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained," Ark replied, yawning. "When do I go?"
"In a few days, December 15th. The aim is to arrive at the heliport of Umbrella H.Q. when it is nighttime in Paris." Leon placed heavy emphasis on the last two words. "The time difference between New York and Paris is six hours. So you're not confused, if it is 12 PM in New York, it will be 6 PM in Paris. Timing is important." After he said that, he reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a manila folder. He cleared off a spot on his desk and opened it to Ark, and from Ark's observation, it looked like maps, floor plans of the Umbrella facility. "I took the liberty of getting these floor plans of Umbrella HQ, in hopes that they'd be of use to us, in regards to locations and things of that nature. These should be useful to Claire on the way there."
"Ooh, excellent!" Ark exclaimed. "These will prove very handy in the meantime. For now, though, anything else you need me to do?"
"I want you to find out everything you can about the facility—crew/employee rosters, any biological info on any top ranking officials, times when the guard shifts change, anything, with that last one—shift change times—taking top priority," Leon said. "I shall keep in touch with her accordingly as the day draws nearer. What is probably going to happen is that she will come here before she embarks on her mission. We can have a full discussion of the recommended plan of action. In the meantime, do everything necessary to find out what you can about the facility. Keep me posted. With that, I'll see you later." Leon rose to his feet.
"You got it, friend."
Almost three months had past since September 30, the day that Claire had escaped with Leon and the orphaned Sherry Birkin out of Raccoon City. Two days later, on October 2, it was destroyed. Now it was December 10, and Claire was wrapping up the fall semester at the university.
Finals week had ended. As a result, the semester had ended. Intercession, a period where there is a month between the fall semester and the spring semester, was upon Claire. Finally, with free time, she could head to Paris to search for her brother, Chris. She was, to put it mildly, worried. She hadn't heard from him since last August, and after that, in October when she found out that he escaped Raccoon City and was on his way to Europe. Chris was all she had left, with her parents dead, Chris had to take on the parental role. Their father had died on his construction job, a machinery accident, when they were kids and their mother died in a horrible car accident a few years ago. He had done his best to do what he could to provide for his younger sister, a few years younger than he was.
Now that she knew he was in Paris, she had made plans to fly there and search for him. The Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. was an underground group now, trying to dig up more dirt on them. It would be a massive undertaking—infiltrating the headquarters of a multi-billion dollar corporation so they can stop them from destroying the goddamn planet. A suicide mission, so it seemed. Yet, if anyone could stop the mega-conglomerate, it would be that small group of S.T.A.R.S. that Umbrella could not, no matter how hard they tried, dispose of. And now here she was, ready to fly into a possible danger situation in search for her brother. She had made certain all of the necessary things she needed when to get there were in place—thanks to the help of two people. In a couple days' time, she would be ready to go.
She decided that she would need a bit of help—after all, trying to infiltrate the headquarters of a massive pharmaceutical corporation was not something people did every day on a regular basis. She would need assistance in various items, such as acquiring weapons and a way of getting over there. As a result, she managed to find her friend, one of the few survivors from the Raccoon City incident, Leon S. Kennedy. Claire gave him a ring, and he offered his services, even offering to accompany her into the facility. Because she didn't want to put anyone else in any unnecessary danger, she politely refused his services, but she did ask if she could supply him with weaponry and a chopper, and he readily accepted her request, even going so far as to make her hotel arrangements while in New York City. From her conversations with Leon, she knew that she would be taken to Europe with a man named Ark Thompson, who, according to Leon, was a friend of his. Now she was ready to make the long bus trip from university to New York, an eight-hour non-stop (except for travel plazas and the like) venture. One thought still nagged at her, though.
What…if he isn't in Paris? If I'm doing this and it turns out he isn't there…then this will have been all for naught. Still…I have to try. If he's there, then it was all worth it, Raccoon City and everything. Just as long as I know he's alive and safe.
Back inside her small suite style dorm, she pulled out a small black duffel bag and began to pack. She'd pack lightly, taking mostly clothes for the most part. Like her brother, she was not a very organized person. Her clothes were jammed into each drawer of her tiny bureau, and opening them proved to be a comical struggle. After some strain and a loud groan, the top drawer finally gave, almost sending Claire onto the cold floor. Regaining her footing, she quickly glanced at the contents—nothing but bras, assorted panties and a few thongs.
"Vanity, thy name is underwire," she said to herself. Stuffing what she'd need in her duffel bag in no particular order, not even folding her clothes neatly in the bag, she found herself ready to go. Suddenly she remembered one more key essential she would need (sorry, nothing of the sexual persuasion here). Beneath her lower bunk bed, she had a small safe, where she would keep her most precious possessions. Pulling it out, she quickly aligned the tumblers and opened it. Inside were pictures of all the members of her family—her mother and father, her brother Chris, their Golden Retriever Belle, her diary, and her most recent acquirement, the first thing given to her in Raccoon City, a Beretta, the S.T.A.R.S standard issue handgun, still loaded with a few bullets—given to her by Leon at the outset of what would become their romp through the ravaged city.
Good thing I was never caught with this with their health and safety inspections. I can imagine them now, interrogating me where, why, and how I got this gun. This little thing has saved my life on countless occasions. Now it may see action again.
Stuffing that into her duffel bag, she closed and locked up the safe, and slid it back under the bed. Claire wouldn't be back in this dorm until late January, when the spring semester begins. Now that she was free to go, she was ready to go. She was packed, and her next destination was the bus depot in town, which would take her to the Port Authority in New York City. From there, she would meet Leon, they would go over the intended course of action, and then she would fly to Europe with the pilot Ark Thompson in five days. Of course, there was a risk of capture or death associated with this entire plan, but those were to be expected. Any person that was dealing with Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had that risk of death, especially one who intends on infiltrating such a place.
Now having everything, she put on her denim jacket and walked out her door, then she stopped, and ran a checklist through her mind, making sure she forgot nothing. Claire glanced down at her watch, checking the time. It was late in the morning, so she deduced that she would arrive somewhere around nine or ten in the evening. Now certain she had all she needed, she walked out into the hall, down a flight of stairs, and out the double doors of her residence hall, heading for the bus depot, not stopping to look back. As she walked on, feelings of hope and determination echoed throughout her mind and body, her mind hoping that this would end in total success, and that she would find her brother, who she hadn't seen in months.
Her sore ass reminded her of the time just a few months ago, when she was entering Raccoon City driving a Harley. Instead of a six and a half hour ride on a loud "vibrator," she had been sitting on a bus for a little over nine hours. When the bus arrived in New York, she had seen the familiar buildings that marked the acclaimed New York City skyline—the prominent twin buildings of the World Trade Center, the landmark Statue of Liberty, and the tall lit spire that was the top of the Empire State building. The whole city seemed to be alive with cars, people, and lights—lights everywhere, it was like daytime here. It was no wonder that the city is called, "the city that never sleeps." Before entering the hustle, bustle, and assorted commotion that was New York, the bus had rolled through open highway—not really the scenic route, but it had its purpose. Nevertheless, Claire had one song stuck in her head, a wonderful traveling song—"America," by Paul Simon. Claire had played the lyrics over and over in her head to pass the time, trying to lull herself to sleep.
Let us be lovers,
Go marry our fortunes together.
I've got some real estate here in my bag.
So we bought a pack of cigarettes,
And Mrs. Wagner pies,
And walked off to look for America.
"Kathy," I said as we boarded the Greyhound in Pittsburgh,
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now."
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw,
And I've come to look for America.
Laughing on the bus,
Playing game with the faces.
She said, "The man in the gabardine suit is a spy."
I said, "Be careful, his bow tie is really a camera."
Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat.
We smoked the last one an hour ago.
So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine,
And the moon rose over an open field.
"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping,
"I'm empty and aching and I don't know why."
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike,
They've all come to look for America.
All come to look for America,
All come to look for America.
Finally, the soft and gentle lyrics of the song began to make her doze off, making her forget about her aching butt. Her slight nap lasted about an hour, until some over-hyper child screaming about how pretty the New York skyline was awakened her suddenly. Her eyes shot open, and she let out a startled gasp. For a split second, she forgot where she was—until she saw the ticket she was holding in her hand, accompanied by the black duffel bag lying next to her. A sharp feeling of annoyance flew through her as she was gripped with a sudden urge to strangle the child, but the feeling soon quelled, and she looked out the window. Sure enough, the child was right—they were entering the grandiose sight that was New York City, the Big Apple. She took a look at her watch, and sure enough, the hour was approaching ten. Leon would be waiting for her when the bus pulled into the Port Authority in a little while. Claire had only been to the city a couple of times before as a child, when both of their parents were still alive. Even so, she vaguely remembered anything about the city. It was a place where one could very, very easily get lost. Despite that fact, she was awake now, probably for the best. Soon the bus would arrive at its intended destination.
Man, was she ever so relieved when she stood up as the bus pulled into its final stop. Those hours of traveling made her butt quite numb, and she felt a surge of life (not to mention a normal blood flow to those tender area) go through her as she stretched those temporarily atrophied limbs. Slowly, in obnoxious single file, the passengers disembarked, and as Claire walked down the set of three stairs, her head darted back and forth, looking for the familiar figure of Leon. Slowly walking forward on the cement platform, she tried to find him amidst the small crowd of passengers.
"Over here!" yelled a young male voice. Claire looked in the direction of the sound and she had seen him, a young man sporting a dark leather jacket. It was unzipped, revealing a white t-shirt, with the N.Y.P.D. logo in blue emblazoned on his chest. He wore a pair of dark blue loose-fitting jeans, and was waving at her, staring in her direction. This was a smiling Leon, as opposed to the stern, serious, and sometimes-brash Leon Claire had met as they both made their way into the scrum of Raccoon City. Claire's face lit up with joy and she sifted her way through the crowd, knocking into people with that duffel bag of hers, which got angry and dirty looks from the people, even after apologizing.
Such is New York, she reasoned. Home of the meanest and cruelest assholes on the planet. But I could be wrong.
She embraced him warmly, and the two laughed upon seeing each other once again for the first time in a couple of months, since she left the home of David Trapp, captain of the Exeter, Maine branch of S.T.A.R.S. His warm gaze met hers, and he finally began conversation.
"How the hell are ya?"
"Oh, just great," Claire replied. "My ass isn't feeling so hot, however. Hours upon hours of travel can do that to anyone, you know?"
Leon chuckled. "Tell me more as we get to my car. I hope you're hungry. What are you in the mood for?"
Claire smiled. "You know what? I would love to try a New York pizza. I've heard they're some of the best."
Leon looked at Claire. "So college food has really become gruel to you, huh?" They both laughed.
"Oh, yeah. I can only eat cafeteria food for so long before I go nuts. I need real food once in a while. Rations can only go so far," Claire added. "Hopefully there's a place open."
Leon gave her a mock look of confusion. "This is New York, you know. That whole 'city that never sleeps' thing—it's mostly true. Besides—it's almost eleven. The night is young."
Claire came back with a child-like look. "I've never been to New York before—well, a couple of times as a child, but do I remember it? No."
"Fine. Be like that," Leon said.
"I will," Claire giggled. Leon took her to an almost deserted parking lot, just a few cars scattered about the space. They walked over to a small black car, and from Claire's observation, it was very recently washed judging by the way the streetlamps reflected their cool white florescent lights off the sheet metal. Leon walked over to the passenger side, and like a chauffer, opened the door for Claire in a mock act of genteelism.
"For you, my fair lady," Leon said in a mock British accent.
"Thank you, good sir," she replied in the same mock accent, sitting herself down—even though her ass complained by sending a quick jolt of pain up her backside. Leon closed the door next to her, and he walked around to the driver's side, opened the door, and hopped in, closing the door next to him. He shot a quick glance at her and smiled, eliciting a return smile from the younger Redfield.
"I'm extremely glad to see you, Claire," he said, placing the key into the ignition and turning the engine over. Almost instantly, the powerful engine purred to life, sending a warm vibrating feeling through Claire's body, giving her a sensation similar to her riding a Harley.
"Nice car," Claire said. "I like it."
"Glad you do," Leon replied. "Shall we dine?"
"Hell, yeah! I'm starving," Claire answered, laughing.
"Let's go."
A/N: Sorry for the delay in post. I was on vacation and wasn't able to go online. However, I reward the wait with two more chapters, this one—and Chapter Thirteen: On the Road to Find out. Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming!