Thank you again to all who have reviewed so far. I am very sorry for taking away the other chapters but they were in dire need of revising. I promise to have them back as soon as possible. With that said, thanks again and enjoy.
Chapter Four
July 24, 1998
The telephone sprang to life, jabbering and ringing alongside Chris' ear.
"No…" he groaned, rolling over in blankets and darkness.
The telephone continued to squawk incessantly, splashing the waters of reality into his face as he reluctantly woke from his dreams. His hand extended from the bed sheets and felt about the nightstand for the phone, his eyes groping for a vision of what time it was. Four thirty, damn. His fingers felt about as they curled around the ear piece of the phone, and Chris removed it from the receiver and placed it beside his ear.
"Screw you…" he groaned.
"Chris? Chris is that you?" came the high, nervous voice of Brad Vickers; the alpha team's pilot.
Brad was a good guy, nice and everything, but he had no balls whatsoever.
"Chickenheart," Chris groaned, "If there is not an applicable reason for calling me this freaking late-"
"There is, Chris. And it's early, not late."
Brad's voice sounded quaky. He was nervous, and as he explained to Chris why he was interrupting his slumber, his voice grew more unsteady. Suddenly, the explanation had slammed into Chris and he was fully awake. He sat straight up in bed, and replied, "All right all right, I'm there."
Brad squeaked a good-bye but Chris had already hung up. He threw the bed sheets off of him to reveal he was completely nude. Frantically he went to his dresser to unearth yet more clothes. As he did this he called over his shoulder, "Baby, something's come up at the office. Make yourself at home but before you go just be sure to lock the door and all the windows."
The sheets on the right side of his bed ruffled, and a pretty young woman appeared. She brushed away her blonde hair and said with a yawn, "Okay."
Chris stretched into a white t-shirt and slinked into his black jeans, throwing his black leather jacket over all of it. On the back of his jacket, an angel holding a wicked looking crossbow sat half naked. "Made in heaven" was in small red curving stitches on the lower right side of the back. Chris walked into the bathroom to put on some deodorant and slick back his short, dark brown hair when the girl called, "Hey Chrissie?"
"Yea?" he called from the bathroom, its light floating down into the dark bedroom.
The girl hopped out of bed, also nude, but she covered herself with the blanket to keep safe from the cold. She quietly walked into the bathroom to see Chris slip on his black boots.
"Thank you for last night," she said with a smile, kissing him on the cheek.
He smiled quickly, but the worry in his eyes seeped down to deplete his playful grin.
"You're welcome," he replied.
And with that, he was out into the living room of the large apartment, grabbing his motorcycle helmet and keys.
"Bye," he called over his shoulder.
"Bye," she replied.
Chris paced out into the dim hallway of his apartment building, turning right to head down an emergency exit staircase. The dank smell of cement and moisture reeked as he hurried down the stairs and out to his motorcycle that awaited him in the sheltered parking spaces. Judging by the gentle gleam that reflected the orange glow of the streetlights, it had rained sometime in the night. But now whatever storm there was had passed, and had left it's sopping wet footprints behind. The roads were wet, he would have to be careful.
Pulling down his full-faced helmet, Chris hopped onto the softail and brought his little baby to life. The engine roared, loud cracking noises sounded off with the rumbling as he hauled out of the lot and into the glistening orange of the street lamps. He watched his speed, ever watchful over the pace at which his bike hollered down the street. But his mind could not help but wander away from his focus. What Brad had told him was something he had been horrified to hear since that case first opened.
000
It was real. It wasn't a game, it wasn't some unbelievable words on paper. It was a reality now. Everyone who stood in the communications room knew it, everyone recognized it now as something that would not be removed easily. It was five in the morning, and all seven members of alpha team stood in the small cluttered room. A huge computer type of machine sat up against the walls, it was the control room for all radios and communications of the police department. The controls for the S.T.A.R.S. sat marked in one corner of the room. The radioman sat with his headphones pulled down around his neck, Chief Irons standing over him with his fists on his hips.
Over again it played. That horrible, broken, cracking and buzzing sounds, the radio whining at a lack of good frequency. Jill stood beside Chris and Leon, her hand over her mouth as she listened. Chris had his arms folded, his and Barry's eyes fixed upon the radio as it sputtered and wheezed. Leon looked around at everyone, unable to fully connect himself with the situation that was splayed before him. It wasn't right. Suddenly the tense, nervous voice of Richard Aiken buzzed in through the radio.
"Hel-…is anyone-…do you read me!" he screamed frantically, "Are y-…there!"
Joseph hung his head low, shielding his eyes with one of his hands against the bright fluorescent light. His humor had been completely stripped from his face, and he hung back in the shadows. Suddenly a spell of clarity was cast over the radio, and Richard Aiken's voice could be heard distinctly, though fuzz still embroidered his words.
"God damn it. Someone please get this message to Alpha team," he said desperately, his voice choked with fear, "There was an accident, the chopper had to make an emergency landing. We were attacked-…"
His voice went unclear, drowned out by the static and crackling. Then it broke free, dipping in and out of the buzz.
"-ran to the mansi-…-they're dead-I don't know who's alive…-Please find us…"
The radio became clear but Richard's voice did not speak for a long time. Only his breathing could be heard. In and out the breath came, the radio distorting it. His breathe began to wheeze and stutter, and Leon realized he was on the verge of crying. The sound of a broken man. Finally he spoke, his words bringing tears to Jill's eyes as he cried, "It's horrible."
Then the frequency died. The control man moved to play it once more for them, for it was recorded at twelve when no one could hear it. Chris however lurched forward and his fist against the many buttons of the radio, and the recording stopped.
"God damn it!" he yelled, his furious gaze turning to Irons, "You son of a bitch! If you had just listened to us then this wouldn't of happened!"
"Shut your damn mouth, you punk! You should be thanking me because if I had listened to you, you all would either be dead or with Aiken! You've heard what I wanted you to hear so get the hell out of this place! You all leave to go after them at seven tomorrow evening!"
"What!" Wesker suddenly butted in, "Sir, why that long? They could all be dead by then!"
"Because I don't want news of this getting out," growled Irons turning back to Chris, "If one peep of this kind of story gets to the papers we'll have folks running up there to see what the hell's going on. And what can we do? Barricade the entire god damn forest! We don't even know where to look for chrissake! If it's at night and you take the other chopper then no one will suspect a thing!"
Irons had a strange, yet somewhat logical way of thinking. It were as though it could extend to a certain point towards your mind, and if you simply pretended it made sense, it would. But if you took a step back and examined it, it was an impossible idea. Chris chose never to pretend, and he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the doors shut behind him. The others followed quietly. Now the case could never be easily cast aside in their memory, no longer was it carried by hope that it would be something easily forgotten. It would hollow away at its point in their memories, burrowing and never allowing itself to crumble. Little did they know it would only dig deeper.
000
Leon had decided not to go home. He decided it was best not to sleep, but to stay at the office and simply find some deep and heavy load of work that would distract his mind from the mission. However the moment he would idle from whatever paper sat before him, his mind would trace back to those horrible images. Only he would now see Rebecca, lying in that puddle of blood. No, he had to snap out of it. He looked up from his desk, everyone had gone home with the exception of the pretty girl sitting across the room reading a book. Jill had decided to stay behind for whatever reason, she probably felt similar fear and hatred as Leon did. Leon gazed at her, watching her as her conscientious eyes scanned the words of what she read. Leon glimpsed the face of the book and noticed Stephen King in big letters, though he could not see what title.
Wow, he thought to himself, wrong kind of novel to be reading as of now. He watched her flip a page and begin on the other side, her fingers gently grazing the top of the book. She looked up to see him quickly turn back to his own desk, back to whatever lay upon the stacks of papers. She smiled tenderly at his reaction, and watched him fumbling around with papers and trying to act busy. She closed her book and said calmly, "How are you doing, Leon?"
"Oh, just. You know," said Leon with a forced smirk, "trying to not think about tomorrow, I guess."
"Yea," she said, "You should go home and get some sleep."
"I think I can hold out. Besides, this case hasn't really given me the chance to sleep," he replied, "But what about you?"
"No, I'll be fine. I kind of like staying here late at night sometimes," she said as she brought several strands of hair away from her eyes, "Everyone thinks this old police station is creepy, but I kind of like being in such a large building all alone."
"Have you ever tried to find those rumored secret passages people always say Irons has?" asked Leon sarcastically.
"Yea," she smiled to herself, "Once actually. I never did find them though."
"Do you want to go and look?" he asked hopefully.
Jill's smile and complexion gleamed in the soft light of her lamp, illuminating the side of her figure. Leon could not ignore how pretty she was, and he couldn't help but to think that maybe he should try and intensify things between the two of them. Maybe…
"Well, maybe not tonight, Leon. Other officers will start arriving soon," she said standing and stretching.
"Oh, all right," he said looking back down at his work.
Shot down yet again, kablamo! And some indistinct feeling told him he would have to go through an entire shelling to get with this girl. She walked past him towards the door, what hopes he had drowned now in what he'd have to face. Just give it up, anyways. She's probably got more of a thing for Chris.
000
Much of the day ahead passed by at an ominously slow rate. Jill had decided to spend most of it working, but as the clocks hands clambered closer to seven p.m. she could not help but allow the distraction of worry take over her body. She felt light, weak, almost completely defenseless. Not good, no. If she could just focus, she had to remain in control, she was in control. Oh the hell she was, she had no command, she was the only girl on her team, and she was so scared she was about to up and quit the team. But helping her companions was far more important then her own safety in her eyes. She looked up at the office clock, six thirty. Not even time for a walk, she had better go to the lockers and dress in her uniform. They would be wanting to leave soon.
000
Leon took off his shirt to feel the steam from the men's locker room breathe warmly upon his skin. It was six thirty-five, they would be leaving soon so he and Joseph had decided to get dressed for the operation. It would be cold tonight, so he would dress in his full uniform like the others. He pulled the gray t-shirt over his head and down over his muscles, letting the cloth slide down to the belt of his jeans. The S.T.A.R.S. insignia upon either of his shoulders felt good, he felt as though he meant something when he wore that shirt. He was something, he was a guard against evil. A protector of those who are innocent. Okay, he thought to himself, it's time to stop with the cheesy fantasy film spoof.
"Hey man," said Joseph who had already finished dressing and was putting on his black combat boots, "C-can I ask you something?"
"No, Joseph, you can't," Leon replied as he buckled the uniform's heavy, dark blue cargo pants around his waist after tucking in the shirt.
"Seriously, Leon," snapped Joseph, and it was.
Joseph never used referred to Leon by his name unless he was utterly sincere.
"Okay, what?" asked Leon, buttoning the royal blue vest, the thick heavy feeling weighing him down slightly.
The vests, given to all the S.T.A.R.S. by color of their choice, were protective against cold, heat, and somewhat shielded their chests and backs against an attack (such as a fist or a kick, anything past that and they were screwed).
"Anything could be out there, but whatever it is," said Joseph finishing the last lace of his left boot, "I think it's really bad. If-…if I watch your back will you watch mine? You know? Keep a lookout for each other?"
Leon looked at his friend, at his intense almond eyes and he knew he wasn't messing around. Leon nodded and said, "You got it. I'm right there."
The two clasped hands together and smiled at each other, thankful to find some relief in what seemed their darkest moment. Joseph stood and wrapped his infamous lucky red bandana around his head like a cap, tying it in the back. He took the 9mm Beretta that was holstered from his shoulder strap in his street jacket, and buttoned it in the gun holster on his utility belt.
"Oh, Leon?" asked Joseph, "One more thing."
"Yea?" replied Leon.
Joseph got real close and said, "This is real important, and you can't tell any fuckin' person you here, you dig me?"
"Yea."
"All right…" he said, and taking a deep breath he continued, "I have to take a major shit."
Leon rolled his eyes and said, "Get outta here."
"Oh no, actually I plan to dump it right here, on your shoes."
"Would you get out?" asked Leon laughing.
Joseph, his grin wide on his face, said, "All right. I'm going up to weapons check to get a shotgun and some shells. You want anything?"
"Yea, a double cheeseburger, hold the onions," replied Leon, chuckling at his own joke.
Joseph stared at him blankly, until Leon stopped laughing.
"Yea that's not funny, dude."
"Yea, I'm working on it," replied Leon, "But seriously I'm good, I've got the eagle here."
"All right," said Joseph calling over his shoulder as he walked out of the locker, "I'll see your ass at the helipad."
Leon shook his head at his friend as he heard the door open and close shut. However, he knew Joseph had been serious about their looking out for each other. Leon strapped the utility belt around his waist, and sat down to tie the combat boots on. The heavy, steel toed boots weighted down his legs as he strapped them on. As he finished tying the last two laces together, he heard the door open and close again, the sound igniting a tingle in his nerves that left him breathless. Footsteps, echoing all around him, he could not tell which door had been disturbed nor which direction around him the footsteps came from. Leon silently stood, slinking towards his locker to grab his MR Desert Eagle along with the two clips originally meant as practice rounds. Slipping the two extra clips into the pouches at his side, he reached into his locker once more and revealed a small tactical knife. This he slid into it's sheath at the backside of his belt, and there he waited.
It could have possibly been another officer, maybe even one of the S.T.A.R.S. But Leon had thought the same thing last time, and so now he waited in silence for whoever it was to pop around his row of lockers. The footsteps had stopped for a moment, but now they were again echoing as whoever it was moved about the room. Leon dared not call out, not wanting to attract anything unwanted if it was indeed something to be cautious around. Then suddenly the footsteps' echoing was narrowed down, behind him. He spun around and aimed eagle at a figure in the shadows, the figure shrieked and stumbled back.
"Leon! What the hell!"
Brad Vickers, his eyes wide with shock at Leon's reaction.
"Oh," replied Leon as his shoulders slumped in relief, "It's you. Sorry about that Brad."
"Yea," he said nervously, "Ju-just don't do it again. You scared the bejesus out of me."
The scrawny pilot briskly paced to his locker and opened the door to begin dressing in his own uniform.
"See you up at the helipad," said Leon as he holstered the magnum and closed his locker.
"Yea."
000
With the screaming whir of the engine, the helicopter rose into the air, the blade whipping around the warm summer night's air. Inside the belly, Alpha team sat in silence. No one spoke nor could their minds find something to speak about, everything was kept bound by the single thought of question. They had no idea what was awaiting them, no one could assume anything save that it would be dangerous. Chris sat with his side against one of the doors, looking out the window at the slowly darkening skies that loomed over them. The sun sank beyond the mountains, and the city below them was growing thinner as they traveled through the air towards Raccoon Forest. Chris turned away from the window to look around at his companions. Everyone seemed very self contained, hardly moving, they hardly seemed to breathe. You could be the greatest veteran, but put your friends in a dangerous situation and you become as worried and horrified as any blood virgin on a first mission.
That thought made Chris look at Leon, the rookie of S.T.A.R.S. He must be freaking out, but in truth Leon looked quite calm. He simply sat there beside Joseph, leaning against the helicopter wall with his fingers laced together. Beside him, Joseph sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasping each other as the ball of his foot nervously tapped against the metal floor. Barry, sitting beside Chris, sat admiring his colt python. Chris couldn't really see Jill, but she seemed calm and attentive to the situation. Her blue eyes stared out the window, and Chris assumed that she was already looking for the lost helicopter.
Albert Wesker. The man was as solid as a rock, sitting in perfect posture, staring straight at the wall through his shades. Jesus Christ, he was wearing his sunglasses even at night. But there was something odd about Wesker tonight, something different that made Chris uneasy. How could he be so calm in this situation? So composed? It were as though he knew exactly what was going to happen the minute they would find the helicopter. Suddenly Brad's voice snapped Chris out of his thoughts, "We're over the area now, I'm going to start making circles. Everyone keep your eyes open, we're losing light fast."
Chris peered out the window, gazing down at the forest below. The black trees groped up at the chopper, reaching out as it swooped over head, begging for the chopper to land amidst their blackness. Chris scanned over the forest, all that he could see. But it was too dark, the final glow of the sun was slipping beneath the horizon, its orange and red streaks across the clouded sky. The night would be a black one.
As they searched, dusk swept away and nightfall was revealed. Brad shown the light beneath the cockpit down upon the forest, scaring away the shadows to reveal the green as it fluttered over and away. Then suddenly Jill gasped against the opposite window, "Look Chris!"
It was Bravo team's helicopter, and Brad swung the light around as he leaned the chopper over to shine upon twisted metal, wreathed partially in brush from the forest.
"Brad," called Wesker, suddenly coming to life from his stone form, "Where is the mansion from here?"
"Not far," called Brad, "Maybe only a few hundred yards, I can't make it out but if we are where I think we are then it's not far at all. We should be able to see it from the ground."
"Good, find a place to land."
The chopper began to dip low, and everyone tightened their breath as the shadows began to swell below them. Chris kept his and back straight against the wall of the chopper, his pose stiff and secure as he waited impatiently for Brad to bring the giant bird down. He could do it himself, Chris knew he was twice as good a pilot as Chickenheart was. It was only chief Irons that stood against him operating the helicopter. Until Irons was out of commission, he was merely a foot soldier. Chris thoughts were abruptly muddled together as he felt the chopper jolt before settling down amidst the forest grounds. There was not much of an area to land, but Brad had done a decent job.
"Everyone out," said Albert as he threw the door open and hopped out.
Chris followed closely behind, loading and readying his 9mm berretta. The others dropped from the steel, firm platform to meet a thick gushing sound of mud and water. Joseph allowed a slew of curses slip into the cold air as his boots slapped about in the water and muck.
Albert gathered everyone together to stand about in a small circle. However a majority of their attention could not be kept, for it was the forest that had taken a center position on the stage of their awareness. The fog, frightened away by the gusts of wind given by the propeller blade of the chopper began to settle thickly once more, billowing in about them so that nothing but a dull silvery blue could be seen instead of what their surroundings truly were. Several twisted, gnarling branches of trees dipped in from the clouds of fog, and brush rose from the ground like bushels of black thunder. Everything was dead, dead? Chris was confused, it is in the middle of July, and a heavy rain had been going on for several nights, why would they all be dead?
The silvery moonlight glided down to rest upon the shoulders of alpha team, shading the colors of their uniforms so that all wore pale shades of blue and gray.
"All right everyone, listen," said Albert, "I want to make this fast and efficient. Our first objective is to find bravo team's helicopter and see if we can find any evidence. Be prepared for the worst. Next, and I care nothing for what our orders are on this, we investigate the mansion and the surrounding area. Never mind what Irons said, I want our people out of here and safe. Then we'll check out the area ourselves.
"As for now we concentrate on two things, staying alive and making sure everyone else is as well. To be honest, I don't know what to expect out here so deny nothing. Now, Chris, Jill, Barry, and myself will go and search for the missing helicopter. Joseph. You, Leon, and Brad guard the chopper while we look-"
"Bull shit, Wesker!" cried Joseph.
"Oh thank god," muttered the horrified Brad.
Leon and Joseph turned to Brad's huddled, quivering figure in the moonlight, then drew their gaze back to Albert.
"Why do we have to stay behind?" cried Joseph.
"It's not fair, they're our companions and we care about this just as much as you all do. We should go to," objected Leon.
"Yea," Joseph jumped in again, "Let Chickenheart stay here by himself to guard the chopper."
"Oh please no…" whispered Brad.
"Enough!" Wesker's voice was calm but firm, "You are to do as you are ordered. I know I go normally by equality, but this is no normal situation. You three have to stay here and guard our chopper in case whoever's out there stumbles upon it. Or if they find us and we need a quick start up to get out of here. And furthermore, I am choosing these three because I know them the best and I know what they will do and what they won't do in the field. Leon you're a good cop and I've witnessed your skill, but I just don't know you. And Joseph, you are the best with the guns and the equipment, I need you here to keep a look after everything. Especially Brad."
They were all quiet, but it was apparent to Chris that jealousy and irritation gleamed fiercely in Leon's eyes.
"That's all, we'll radio back if we find anything," said Wesker.
He turned and walked to the helicopter, disappearing inside it's metal belly. He returned carrying four radios and a headset. He himself took one of the radios, attaching it to the headset so he could keep both hands free and hear every nearby frequency at all times. The other three were handed to Jill, Chris, and Barry. Wesker then solemnly walked off into the fog, his black uniform soon swallowed by the forest.
"You owe me, Chris," pointed Joseph with a firm index finger.
"Yea sure, Joseph. I guess you all are just too immature to go with us," said Chris as he tightened his gloves, then continued, "But you might wants to take a little walkie awound your helwicoptie so that da big baddies won't comes to gets it."
Joseph revealed another pointing finger at Chris, but it wasn't his index. Chris shook his head with his perfect 'Mr. Suave' smile, and disappeared after his commander. Barry gave a quick salute before slumping off afterwards. Jill looked at Leon for a moment, smiled, then turned away.
"Hey Jill?" asked Leon.
She turned around and replied with a hand on her hip, "Don't worry. I'll be careful."
Leon smiled and shuffled his feet, "Okay."
She walked after the others, soon the squelching squashing sounds of their boots and the mud could no longer be heard. Only silence reign supreme over their ears.
"Oh," said Joseph, "I see we have a little flirtation going down, hmm?"
"Psh, sure thing, Joseph," Leon smiled and turned away to go and lean against the chopper.
"I know it is man!" smiled Joseph, flipping out a cigarette to seal between his lips. He lit it and continued, "You just don't have the balls to do anything about it."
Brad stood nervously by himself, looking around as though every obstacle was a demon with the presence of mind to tear him into shreds. Of course in this branch of the forest, what didn't seem like that?
"Look, Joseph. So maybe there is some attraction, at least on my side, I don't know. I just don't think it would work between us, what with our job and all."
"Oh fuck man, what of it?" snapped Joseph with a grin as he pressed his fingers to his forehead, then tossed his hand back down as he pressed his jabbering on, "I mean honestly, what'd you do? Pin your badge through your dick or something?"
"Blow it out your ass, Joseph," said Leon, "I don't want to hear it. Besides, you know she has more of a thing for Chris. So maybe you're right, she is the prettiest-"
"Hottest."
"Whatever, hottest girl in the police department. And so if she digs me, what do you care?"
"Only because you, my friend, have forgotten one very important department of your life," Joseph's expression became melodramatically grim, "You've forgotten about little Leon, and by little I do mean little."
Leon smirked and shook his head, deciding it was best to simply ignore Joseph. That had always worked, and it appeared to not fail this time. Joseph continued on, "So what the hell is up with Wesker's shit tonight? Just lock the fucking helicopter, make Brad sit on his pale ass here to watch it, and we go help. But no, instead we've got to sit here waiting around like damn leftovers!"
"He's just doing his job, Joseph," replied Leon, "His tactics were well thought out. He's got good reason."
"The shit he does. And I know why he really did that."
"Oh no," squeaked Brad with a pinch of annoyance, "Not your allegations against Wesker again."
"Shit yea it is," replied Joseph lighting another cigarette.
It was apparent Joseph was nervous, he never was a chain smoker unless he felt insecure. Personally, Leon was surprised he wasn't an eternal chain smoker.
"What are you talking about?" asked Leon.
"I bet you anything that Wesker or someone is a traitor to S.T.A.R.S. and is in on this somehow."
"In on what?"
"The murders! The mansion! Bravo team! All this weird shit that's going down."
"It's a little disturbing, but not weird, I think," said Leon checking his magnum.
"Of course you don't think that, rookie. But look, since when did a pine forest have this jungle type of tree here. And all these plants, they're dead, it's in the middle of summer and they're dead. And what else? Isn't it odd to you that we have no real direct purpose out here?"
"We do though, we have to find bravo team."
"No, no no that's not true. Well, it might be. But see we wouldn't have been in if Bravo team didn't have that heavy of a situation and crash land and all that shit. But they did, the engine malfunctioned, remember?"
"So?"
"So? So I fuckin' worked on that chopper for an eternity with Forrest! It's flawless! We had just finished cleaning and reinstalling parts before they took off. Unless someone rigged it, it couldn't have malfunctioned like that. And of course, whoever did that knew that Alpha team would have to go in next. And then, we get left behind."
"What does that have to do with this idea?" asked Brad.
"I'll fuckin' tell you why. Whoever is behind this doesn't trust you or me, or even Brad. Well no…Brad you're just a pussy. But you Leon, you're new and you're loyal to the system. If you found out what this person's scheme was, you'd shut them down for sure. And who'd wanna fuck with you? And then me, no one trusts me, I'm rambunctious and I am onto whoever this is. They don't want me trailing them."
"Hold on," said Leon, "First of all I trust you. Secondly who is this traitor or whatever? And what's their purpose?"
"They're purpose is that they work for Umbrella, or one of those big companies. Everyone in the underground, like me, knows they were doing some fucked up experiments with a serum that could both cure and destroy the world or some shit like that. If some company like Umbrella could get their hands on that, they would be rich. And the man that got them that would be loaded."
"So then who is it?"
"I'll tell you, but you can't tell nobody. You dig?"
"Yea sure."
"…Barry Burton."
Leon burst out laughing, even Brad snickered.
"Oh what what? Is it that hard to believe?"
"Look…Joseph," gasped Leon between dying chuckles, "I think maybe your perception is wearing a little thin."
"Oh fuck-"
Suddenly a rapid series of gun shots brought their mouths to a speechless halt.
000
Chris and the others wandered into the dark fog. The conversations between the Leon and Joseph soon faded from their ears, and they could hear nothing but silence. No sound, nothing save a gentle whispering wind through the dead trees that glided along. And of course the slapping of mud and water against the hard soles of their shoes. All four of them kept weapons drawn and extended before them in one hand, the white silvery glow of their flashlights reaching out from their other hand. The four of them moved in a square type pattern, the beams of their lights making wide sweeps through the dark forest. Suddenly Chris heard Barry in the distance behind him, "Found the helicopter."
Chris turned reluctantly away from the black forest ahead of him, keeping his eyes sharp and attentive to the blackness that enveloped each tree. But he pulled away and came to the vague figures he could hardly make out through the fog. Jill, Barry, and Wesker all stood staring at what Chris presumed was the helicopter. And it was. The ruined machine, twisted and wrapped about in shards of metal and plants, was nothing short of a derelict. It lay partially smashed into the ground upon the edge of a small meadow, its glass had been shattered and the metal was bent and torn wide. The blades of the propeller were slightly bent, and with gentle gust of wind the blades squeaked, metal scraping against metal. The contents inside the helicopter had been cast out upon the ground, the medical and survival kits were torn open. Boxes of ammunition lay open upon the ground, yet no sign of weapons or of Bravo team.
"Chris," said Wesker as he slicked his reddish blonde hair back, "Scavenge around in the helicopter and see if we can find any bodies or supplies, maybe even evidence. Jill and Barry, check the surrounding perimeters but do not go far. I'll check the forests and this small bluff here."
As the others split apart, Chris stared blankly at the helicopter. What could he expect to find? There could be anything. Nothing in his training could ever prepare him or a situation like this. Last time he checked their wasn't a test or exercise called "react to your dead friends". Well shit, there would be nothing to find if he didn't move. He rose the pistol and flashlight as his rubbery legs began to move towards the metal wreckage. It glared at him from it's position, haunting him with its motionless position. And the squeaking, the gentle scraping of the metal propeller as the wind slowly edged it back and forth. The doors to the cockpit and belly of the chopper remained closed, the incessant squeaks growing as Chris came closer. He reached the door of the chopper and stood, the cold sweat gripping the metal of his gun and flashlight. A deep breath was released from his lips, and Chris slid his flashlight into his belt pouch, freeing his hand to open the sliding door.
It had been jammed shut apparently, so he thrust his foot violently against the handle, and tried again. The door slid open, revealing a dark, mutilated interior. He plunged his gun and flashlight into the darkness of the helicopter, particles of dust floating about in the light. The moment he stepped in, a horrible smell seeped into his nostrils and poked with nausea. It was horrendous, a nearly unbearable stench that overpowered Chris' senses. Yet he searched desperately to ignore it. There were little supplies that remained, and no weapons. So the group had been able to remove that much, they were just short of being able to carry additional ammunition. The indication revealed a possibility that they had left swiftly. Several of the side windows were cracked, but it was apparent that this had not been caused by the wreck. The lining of the cracks was too direct, all leading to minimal points of impact against the glass. But it wasn't a bullet either, no holes could be seen.
Chris brought his gaze around to the cockpit of the helicopter. One of the panes of the windshield was completely shattered, the other lay in ruin as a web of cracks was along it's surface. The glass of the meters upon the dashboard were in tact, so it wasn't the blow that caused the other bits of glass to shatter. So what was it? Then something just upon the edge of Chris' light made his blood freeze within his veins. He stiffened as the silvery light fell upon the pale white, knotted with pink areas and blotched brownish red. It was a hand, and Chris guided his flash light up along the pale arm and short sleeve revealing the S.T.A.R.S. insignia, to the face of Ed Dewey, Bravo team's pilot. His head was laid back limply upon the seat of the cockpit, his mouth partially open and his stare lifeless. His throat had been ripped wide open, the flesh, veins, and arteries torn loose and covered in a dry crusting blood. The skin around the wound had just begun to shrivel, signifying the body's decomposition. One of his eyes was missing, a gaping hole that oozed of a pinkish red substance, the bits of skull stained red with blood. His remaining eye was completely white, but a long series of scratch marks that had dug all the way to his skull were along the eye socket. His helmet was partially torn off, and his head was matted with the sticky residue of blood and bodily fluids as though he had been severely hit in the back of his head and the wound had been suppressed.
"Oh," Chris could not even find words as he stumbled back in horror at the massacre that had been splayed before him.
The horrible smell mixed with the heat of the night air and stung at his eyes, clogging his lungs with nausea.
"Oh…shit," he coughed and stumbled out into the dark night air, "Jesus Christ."
Chris stopped and rested his hands upon his knees, the intoxicating rot had deprived him entirely of clear mind as he coughed and tried desperately not to hurl. His shivered, choking upon the scratchy feeling of nausea, finding every breath a difficult task that he deemed impossible. He reached for his radio but thought better of it, he shouldn't waste the power when his mates were still close by. Suddenly something caught his eye, and he whipped his flashlight into the darkness.
Two eyes, glowing a brilliant greenish yellow, stared blankly at his light, watching him from the shadows. He froze, his finger upon the trigger of his Beretta, his eyes open and fixed upon the eyes. He could nail it from here, right between those eyes. But…but it must have just been some local wildlife. He sighed as he watched it scurry off into the shadows of the surrounding forest. He stared into the forest for a moment, distracted by the darkness about him. His mind began to wander. It made no sense, this entire thing was bent out of shape.
He had not gone long through his thoughts when the feeling of uneasy fear cuddled close to his spine with its icy breath. He turned to face the helicopter, staring at it's mangled scene. Somehow, he didn't know but somehow this held more clues then he had first seen.
It was then that Chris' entire thought process was clamped shut. A long, deep cry howled in echoes around him. It wasn't a coyote…no…the cry was too powerful, too ravenous. No no, stop thinking that, he thought to himself. He had to pull himself together, he was on a murder investigation for Christ's sake. Bravo team was in danger and he was quivering in his little boots about werewolves and monsters. It was time to grow up and check out something in the non fiction section.
Another famished cry, the mournful cry laced with a croaking gurgle that gradually died into the gentle wind. That was definitely, not a coyote. That wasn't even a wolf. Chris rose his flashlight, flexing his muscles to ready himself for anything, if anything. The white blanket swooped over the dead bushes and trees. Chris held his Beretta over the glow, the barrel staring down any shadow that would oppose his flashlight. His perceptive eyes stared at the light as it crawled over the brush. Suddenly a brief pair of those same eyes appeared, and Chris saw the figure of…of a dog? But the beast ducked away from the light, disappearing into the shadows with a grunting snort-like noise.
Jesus, if that was a dog it was one of most built dogs he had seen. That thing was huge. Chris flung the beam of the flashlight around, but the eyes were nowhere to be found again. He kept his light circling round the forest. Another pair of those horrible yellow eyes, and another, glowing against the light briefly before disappearing into the forest. Another howling cry, it seemed to be of desperation as the noise circled about Chris. What the hell was with these big dogs? Did they belong to some local? He had seen four so far, each time they seemed to be closer…and closer. This was not right. No no this wasn't…He shut his thoughts and again sent his light into the forest, staring at the silvery white that repelled back from the fog and trees.
Suddenly an ear piercing howl sounded out, as though it had ensnared Chris' ears in its sharp grasp. The cry made his skin crawl, and he stumbled backwards, swiftly aiming his gun at the shadows that drew closer amidst the fog. The cry lasted long, droning on and on, a raspy sound wrapping itself around the distinct screaming call. Slowly…slowly…it faded, until nothing was heard but a gentle croak. Then, everything went silent. No wind, no cries, it were as though he had gone deaf.
Chris saw it flash before his light. He screamed.
