Resident Evil: Voracious - Chapter Two

Although Raccoon had never been a terribly clogged industrial town like some of those he had visited in his youth or in his military days, Barry could taste the difference in the air the minute he stepped out of the car, rolling the large muscles in his shoulders, relieved at being out of the confined space after so long. The scent of earth was in the air, damp and heavy with some recent rain, as well as the distant smell of wood burning in an iron stove -- one Barry remembered from days of his youth spent at his uncle's cabin in the Arklay mountains.

Barry's own family was mostly gone now, he the only child from his parents, and his uncle dying celibate. It gave him a painful sort of twinge in his chest to think now that the only real family he had left aside from Kathy and the girls -- namely Kathy's own mother and father -- might have already begun to cast him out. With the rest of his extended -- surviving -- family, Chris, Jill, Rebecca, and David, off doing their own best to receuperate before they planned a course of action, contact kept to emergencies only for safety's sake, Barry felt almost as he had the first time he'd been given a solo mission his first year after joining S.T.A.R.S.

It hadn't been solo, really. The rest of the team had been outside, threaded invisible amidst the compound as he'd crept inside towards the hostage situation. Still, he'd felt incredibly isolated, trying his best to make certain he wasn't heard, listening to the tense breathing of his companions over the broadcast channel in the little earbud he wore, so alive but so far away. The few postcards he'd gotten so far had been brief and encouraging, but so distant. At least, Kathy's sudden display of affection in the car meant things were changing, and he wouldn't find himself so completely isolated.

At least, he hoped so.

A sudden pressure against his calf made him jump before he realised what it was. Looking down, he saw the dog he'd noticed as they'd driven up standing beside him. The rolls of flesh over the animal's eyes made it look perpetually mournful, but it wagged it's tail once, twice under Barry's gaze before trotting away towards the nearby woods, sneezing loudly. Having already been unbuckled by Kathy, Poly Anne immediately eeled out of the back seat and looked after the dog with restrained ecstasy even as she clutched at her father's hand with both of hers. He knew both of the girls would have dearly loved a pet, and resolved to bring it up with Kathy sometime soon. Something warm and loving for them to hug at night after these last hectic, hateful months would be therapeutic for them all.

All thoughts of a new addition to the family, four-legged or otherwise, however, flew from Barry's mind the minute he held the door to the diner open for Kathy and the babies and the smell of grilling hamburgers hit his stomach like a sledgehammer. The interior was plainly decorated, with red and white checked tablecloths over massive hand-made wooden tables and the walls spottily decorated with framed pictures; some bad watercolours no doubt the work of some prized local artist, others what appeared to be black-and-white photographs of the town several decades before. Behind a half wall at the far end of the room, Barry could see a short, round woman with a massive bosom under a stained white cook's uniform sweating profusely over a large grill. This, he thought with relish, was the kind of place where even the salads came deep-fried, and the locals looked at you strangely if you complained.

"You're cheatin'." said a tall, painfully thin old man sitting across from a man so emaciated it was a wonder parts of him hadn't yet begun to fall off. The old-timer's expression was sullen, and Barry saw a pack of playing cards spread out between them on the table.

"The fuck I am." said the man's companion indignantly. His voice was high and reedy, and his Adam's apple bobbed dizzingly fast in his throat as he spoke. "You just ain't got the luck the Good Lord gave a blind, deaf whore."

"The fuck I don't!" shot back the first. "And I ain't payin'. I'm tellin' Lucy you bin down here takin' honest folk for fools."

"You do and I'll shove your head so far up your arse and you'll shit your dentures!"

Judging from the inattention of the diner's other sparse customers, this argument was an old one, and the only mind Barry paid it was to shrug slightly an give Kathy a what're-you-gonna-do grin when she frowned disapprovingly at the profanity.

If she thought the kids would be wounded by it, she was disappointed. Poly Anne and Moira had already begun straining at their parents' hands, eyes fixed on the drawings of ice cream and french fries on the chalk board nailed behind the counter. Barry couldn't blame them; for the past several days, they'd only eaten the pre-packaged sandwiches Kathy had made before they'd left, and he was willing to induldge them with any sort of real food, even if it meant stomach aches that night.

Leaving behind the two old men to squabble over their cards, Barry and Kathy sat the girls at a table near the counter, taking advantage of several old booster seats stacked haphazardly nearby. They'd barely kissed rump to chair when the waitress appeared, a middle-aged woman with dark hollows under her eyes and limp hair but a warm smile. "How you kids doin'?"

"Glad to be off the road." Barry replied. Then, out of courtesy, "How're you doing yourself, ma'am?"

"Ain't no ma'am." the woman replied, tapping the nametag clipped to her paisely blouse with a pencil. Margaret, it said. "Could complain, but won't. Don't expect hearin' about my sore feet'd be better'n a milkshake though, huh, darlin'?" This last was directed to Moira, who nodded violently. Margaret laughed. "Thought so. What can I getcha?"

Barry expected a long wait while their order -- enough grilled meat to terrify a large sized cow -- was prepared, but in no time at all the surface of the table was buried under ketchup-stained napkins and Kathy was wincing at the strawberry-flavoured moustaches the kids were left with around their mouths from dessert. While Poly Anne and Moira systematically eliminated the rest of Barry's french fries when he pushed his plate away, Kathy bought a newspaper at the counter, and pulled her chair closer to his so they could read it together. "Look," she said with amusement, "they had a pie bake-off last week. I didn't know they still had those."

"I'm still getting over the disappointment that nobody in the staff column is named Bobby-Joe or Debbie-Jean." Barry replied, and Kathy snorted laughter into a cupped hand, casting an embarassed eye over the rest of the diner to make sure nobody had been offended. The other customers had since left, and Margaret had gone over to the table governed over by the two old men, who were now bickering loudly over who should pay their check, each swearing up and down that they had paid it the last time. "Looks like a nice place though."

"How'd you find it again?" Kathy asked, paging through the paper, stopping for a minute to smile faintly at a picture on a page entitled 'Local Heroes' that showed several children Moira's age picking up trash in a park.

"Anderson." Barry said. "Said he came up here one year to ski."

"But he can barely walk and chew tobacco at the same time!"

"That's why he only came the one year." Barry replied. "Broke both his damn legs, but said the scenery was real pretty."

Whatever Kathy might have been about to say next died on her lips as she turned the page. Barry saw the slight widening of her dark eyes, the way she turned just a shade paler, before he lowed his own gaze to the article that had captured her attention.

ANIMAL ATTACK FINALLY CLAIMS LIFE

by Lorie Buckett

After being attacked by a cougar two weeks ago while hiking on her own on Winston's Trail, 33 year old mother of one Anne Fanley passed away early this morning. Fanley suffered a near-fatal loss of blood when she was ambushed by the large cat fifteen minutes' walk from home and left for dead, and although she managed to hang on long enough for her mother to be flown in from Boston to say goodbye, Fanley died in her sleep from severe internal damages.

Local sherriff William Harscht managed to track down and capture the animal two days after the attack occurred with several of his best men, but Fanley's family says they don't harbour any animosity. "It was just doing what came naturally. Instinct." says Fanley's husband, Harold, age 41. "You can't blame nature. Sure, we're angry. Nobody wanted to lose Annie. But maybe it was just her time to go."

The cougar has since been relocated to an animal preserve several hundred miles from Rhodes, where officials say it will have no need to feel threatened. Fanley's family, however, has lost something precious forever, and they hope their loss will remind people to always be careful and be prepared no matter how safe they believe themselves to be.

The funeral service for Anne Grace Fanley is a family-only affair scheduled for later this week, but the services following will be public, and all will be welcomed to pay their respects to a fine woman who was a well-thought of member of the community.

"It's nothing." Barry said immediately, although he shifted position so neither of the girls could see the article. After all, the murders in Raccoon City had begun with what many had thought were animal attacks as well, but this was different. "Says here they already caught the animal."

"I know." Kathy said, but she closed the newspaper anyway, and shoved aside the remains of her hamburger she had been picking at.

"These things happen all the time." he pressed. "It would have been front-page news if it had been -- "

"I know." she repeated. She didn't raise her voice, but Barry detected her downward plunge in mood without it, and was dismayed by it. Reminders, it seemed, were everywhere.

Moira seemed oblivious. "Do we still get hotdogs and marshmallows tonight?" she asked, wiping her face vigorously with a handful of clean napkins from the dispenser.

"How can you think of more food after all that?" Barry asked, determined not to let his mood be pulled down with Kathy's. "You can't possibly have any more room in you."

"Not now." Poly Anne said. "But we're gonna go to the bathroom later and make room."

While Moira looked embarassed, squirming down in her seat, Kathy laughed, and Barry relaxed slightly. They paid their bill to Margaret at the till, and Barry saw that the two old men were still arguing in the corner. Following his glance, the waitress grinned and said, "Happens every week, like clockwork. They only order one root-beer float each whenever they come in, but nobody ever wants to pay for it. Both of 'em retired with more money than I'll ever make in a lifetime, but you'd think the four dollars was almost gonna break 'em the way they carry on."

"Brothers?" Barry wondered aloud, recalling Moira and Poly Anne's frequent arguments that he supposed would only get worse and louder as they got older.

"Friends. Just old and stubborn ones." Margaret laughed. She took the five dollar tip Barry gave her without false protest. "Why, thank you. Will we be seein' you fine folks in here again, or are you just passin' through?"

"I don't know how much sugar we'll let the kids inhale, but we're here for a few months at least. We rented one of the cabins on the east side of town."

Margaret's pale brows rose. "Oh? Good choice. My uncle owns those. Tell him Margaret sent you. Cheap bugger won't take a penny off your cost, mind, but he don't come around here for me to say hello otherwise."

Despite the discovery in the newspaper at the diner, with their stomachs satisfyingly full of food, the ride through town was much more buoyant than had been the days-long drive into it. Twisting around in their seats, Moira and Poly Anne showed more curiosity about their surroundings than they had before, even if they did reserve the heights of their enthusiasm for the specialty candy shops and the town's single shopping mall. Although the town had to be at the very least half the size Raccoon had been, the sheer amount of greenery made it seem smaller than it really was, and when Barry turned a corner at the end of the street, all that was visible of the shops behind them was a thin stream of pale smoke rising from someone's chimney like a fond farewell above the tops of the pines.

The cabins Anderson had suggested were ideal. From pictures and phone calls, Barry had learned they were in an excellent location, close to a small playground for the girls, and the office housing a small convenience store. And, though Barry hadn't told Kathy, they looked to be easily defendable, if something were to happen. Something like . . .

. . . well, something.

The two months they'd prepaid for had been a large hit to the family's savings. Ever since they had gotten married, Barry and Kathy had made a point of setting aside a little from every paycheck into a savings account, subconsciously spurred on by the dire warnings in the media about having a little set aside for a "rainy day". Often, it had been little more than sacrificing the amount they might have spent to rent a few videos at the end of the week, but as the family had gotten it's feet steady underneath it, the deposits had gotten steadily larger. When Barry had first dared to look at it when the first plans for escape had begun to form in his mind, shortly after the Spencer Estate incident, he'd been stunned by just how much they'd managed to ferrett away without even realising it. Now, knowing that they'd be allright for a while, Barry was even more glad he'd insisted that Kathy withdraw all the money in the account when he'd sent her and the babies away to stay with her parents.

Doubly glad when you considered the fact that shortly thereafter, the Raccoon City First National Bank had become little more than a pile of charred debris in the center of Umbrella's blast zone that had signalled the end of so many people.

"Oooohh." Poly Anne sighed suddenly from the back seat, pointing out the window. "Mommy, how come we can't stay there?"

Barry looked, and immediately laughed. The only way they could have afforded the security deposit on the place would have been to win several large national lotteries . . . or rob several large national banks. In the setting sun, the large cottage didn't seem to sit back against the forest so much as nestle against it, like a woman into the arms of her husband or a child against the breast of it's mother. Although the front of the building was crawling with vines, they were so lush and artfully arranged around the curtained windows Barry was certain there would never be any architectural damage from them, given the expertly cultivated lawn Barry would see stretching out beyond the chest-high brick wall that surrounded it, as though someone went over the grass daily with a pair of tweezers. He was willing to bet that it had at least twice as many rooms as the house they'd abandoned back in Raccoon, and probably served as some wealthy couple's winter retreat. Right now, with all the curtains drawn and no glimmer of light from within, the place looked as though it were sleeping.

As they rounded the curve in the road and the cottage retreated from view, Poly Anne slumped back into her seat. "When I get rich," she said, "I'm buying Daddy and Mommy and us a house like that."

Although she too had twisted in her seat to watch the house go by, Moira scoffed. "Yeah, right. What're you gonna get rich on? The only thing you've got a lot of is snot."

Managing to look both offended and intrigued, Poly Anne said with perfect conviction, "It could happen."

"Fuck you! FUCK YOU!"

Even though Bill had turned the light off in the living room, Ina continued to scream at the door, shivering with both chill and rage in the evening air. She knew he was in there. Probably dialing that bitch right now so they could have a good laugh over her. Just the thought of that smug-faced whore made Ina want to scream again. "I hope you're both very goddamn happy with each other!"

The curtain in the kitchen window twitched, and Ina flipped it off, not even bothering to try to calm down. She was not known around town for her spectacularily cool head, after all, and when news of the incident, that Ina Watt had been dumped by Bill Meyers for scuzzy Marjorie Thomas of all people, spread throughout town, most people would probably agree that Bill had been lucky she hadn't been in possession of a tire iron for his head, or a brick for his windows, even if they secretly thought he was wise to have finally cut her loose anyway.

"Think you're so goddamn hot!" she screamed, kicking the door and leaving a small dent with her pointed heel. "You wait until I tell my fucking brother you been screwing around on me! YOU'RE GONNA BE DEAD, BILL!"

"Go home, Ina." The voice on the other side of the door was muffled, but still sounded tired and wan. "It's over. Just go home, okay?"

"Worm!" Ina shrieked, her voice now approaching such a level it made her own ears ache along with her throat. "Maggot! Fucking coward! She ain't half the woman I am, and you know it!"

"Ina, please go home. I think when you cool off you'll realise this is all for the better. We really . . . weren't right for each other anyway. Please go before I have to call Sherriff Harscht."

"Asshole!" Ina spat, but she turned and began making her way down the uneven pathway anyway. The last thing she needed was another run-in with the police, especially when she had to work tomorrow.

The sun had mostly sunk below the horizon now, and the streets looked empty as she reached the sidewalk. She didn't feel like going home right now even though she'd nowhere else to go. The truth was, even with her anger still smouldering in her gut, she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and she covered it by hunting in her purse for her mascara, just in case a car should drive by and see her. Hers was a frightening legacy in town for all of her nineteen years, built by her practiced sneer, backstabbing, and even an all-out fight now and again, and she didn't need people knowing that the feared Ina Watt was crying because her boyfriend had cut her loose in favour of a girl who didn't go out every night to party and wasn't prone to roller-derby fits of rage.

It wasn't that she'd particularily liked Bill all that much, she thought as she began walking down the street towards the heart of the town. He'd been a decent guy, sure, and had been able to make her laugh, but she couldn't have seen herself spending the rest of her life with him. It was that he'd been probably her longest relationship to date, and for him to just get rid of her like that after almost six months stung.

Tell my brother, sure. Anthony'll just laugh. Say I deserved it.

Ina sniffed and looked around. She wished she'd chosen pants to wear tonight instead of the short skirt she had on, but how was she to have possibly known she'd been headed for singlehood instead of the makeout session she'd imagined when Bill had asked to see her? Rhodes's auntumns might have been amazingly warm on most days, but at night, this close to the mountains, it was nothing short of freezing. She began to walk faster, long legs eating up distance, trying to pump some warmth back into them.

At night, even with the pools of light from streetlamps, Rhodes was a dark town. There were few, if any, windows ablaze in any of the small shops that lined the streets, and only rarely was light spilled from the headlights of a passing motorist. Still, Ina wasn't afraid. She had travelled over every alleyway and sidestreet of this town since she had been seven, made it hers with angry footfalls, and to her, the darkness was comforting, a cool balm against her anger.

She had reached the end of main street, a good ten minutes' walk from Bill's, before she realised she was being followed.

It wasn't that she could see anything behind her, nor was it anything overly obvious, but the signs were there, and Ina's survival instincts were well-honed for her age. Little things. Like what she had taken to be the echo of her heels off of the sidewalk was in reality someone else's own footsteps stopping a bare second later whenever she paused. Like the way the air had changed quality slightly, displaced by something else, by that weighty feeling of being watched.

"I ain't in the mood." Ina said loudly, still walking briskly towards the unlighted street home. "Fuck off."

Dangerous? Not a chance. There had never been a rape or murder reported in town as far as she knew. Probably just some high school kids trying to give her a scare, or even one of her many admirers. One of the men who left a larger than usual tip when she served them at the diner, tried to catch her eye as she was leaving. Even if it had been someone who meant her harm, they'd learn Ina Watt was far from helpless. She hardly had any formal martial arts training, but in her experience a good knee to the groin and a thumb in the eye would discourage just about anyone.

She turned the corner and heard a soft skittering sound off to her left. Had the creep cut off? When she stopped, she heard a single footstep behind her. No. Someone else, then. Sweat kissed the nape of her neck, and she cursed herself softly. Get a grip, Ina. Ever heard of garbage in the wind? Stray animals?

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

Ina spun around, hands balled into tight fists, her purse hitting the ground. The sound had been extremely close, but she couldn't see anyone behind her, and there were no alleys here to hide in. Angry now that she was so edgy, and angrier still when it was fanned by the flames of her still hot fury towards Bill, Ina shouted, "You leave me alone and I'll leave you a testicle, asshole! Getting your wanks outta following some girl on her way home! You make me sick!"

One of the shadows clinging to the wall of the building she stood next to seemed to flex itself.

Ina's stomach gave an odd lurch, and she hopped back before she could stop herself, heart doing double-time somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. "Jesus." she breathed. "And people say I have no imagination."

Turning her back now, Ina broke into a trot. She was roughly five minutes from her house and the safety of her living room. She'd always admired how shapely these heels made her calves look, but they were hardly suited for running a marathon, and it wasn't long before every step sent a small but noticeable spike of pain up her heel. If the footsteps behind her sped up to match her pace, she couldn't hear it over her own harsh breathing.

Ahead of her, in the gloom, something flexed.

With a shrill cry, all pretense of toughness dropped, Ina broke for the other side of the street, and this time she definitely heard the clatter of footsteps pick up behind her. Was it possible for something as simple as a footstep to sound excited? Her own sounded desperate to her.

The familiar shape of the faded white fence that surrounded her family's property finally came into view, each picket like a dingy ghost, and Ina gasped with relief. Once she was inside, she was going to pour herself a hefty glass of whiskey and not breathe a word of this to anyone. Even if it was just her imagination acting up or some harmless bum, Ina had never before been so frightened. Not even the time her mother had gotten drunk and had chased both she and Anthony into the woods for three hours with a hammer when Ina had been six compared. Irrational, maybe, but true.

Reaching the fence, Ina swung herself through the broken gate and bolted up the path. She hit the door with her shoulder and grabbed at the doorknob. The feel of the cold metal was reassuring in her palm, but the sensation didn't last when it resisted when she tried to turn it. Locked. Who locked their doors in this town anymore, least of all her own brother? Remembering her purse on the sidewalk, Ina hit the door with her fist. "Anthony," she called, keeping her voice level, "open up. It's Ina. I lost my keys. Okay? Okay? Anthony? Are you there?"

She cast another look over her shoulder, and a frightened whine broke out of her throat. The shadows seemed to be converging on her, moving up the walk like a living thing. One trick of her eyes was fine, but this many was too many to dismiss. "Anthony!" she cried, hitting the door again with her shoulder although she knew she had no chance of breaking it down even fuelled by fear.

Ina Watt, terror of high school girls and grown men for over a decade, opened her mouth to call out again when something thick and wet flapped over her mouth. A second later, she forgot everything in a burst of freezing agony that seemed to blossom from her belly like some terrible flower.

It was less than five minutes later when Anthony Watt opened the door, still buckling his jeans. "Ina?" he called wearily. She'd sounded absolutely freaked, strung out; Ina wasn't much for drugs, but she was one hell of a drinker, and it wouldn't have been the first time she'd come home screaming about something. By now, at seventeen, he was more than used to his sister's wild moods, and bore them without so much as batting an eye.

Tonight, however, the small yard in front of the house was empty.

Frowning, he leaned out over the front step and called again, "Ina?"

There was a soft step on the stairs behind him in the entryway, and he heard Allison sleepily call, "Anthony?"

More confused than worried, Anthony gave the yard one final cursory glance before he shut the door, remembering to lock it again. Ordinarily he wouldn't have bothered, but it made Allison uneasy to think of someone able to just walk in. She was a sweet girl, kind and quiet, but a little nervous. In any case, if Ina came back -- if it had been her and not just someone fooling around -- she'd hopefully have sobered up enough to remember the spare key kept above the doorjamb.

After all, it was just like Ina to lose her head over something like that.