Chapter 5

Fresh air felt like a blessing to Shawn as he took deep breaths of the crisp, autumn breeze. It was a shame that he couldn't enjoy it.

The scene was beautiful, the leaves just about to change colors, allowing the green ones time to bask in the mild sunlight. Even though the coldness stung worse than ever, the view was all worth it.

There was too much silence for a forested area. Shawn decided that the animals either flew the coop, realizing the danger of the unnatural creatures, or transformed with the rest of them. That last thought scared the shit out of him. A couple of stupid humanoids with wings, fine. But bears, birds, and creatures of the wilderness...that he had a problem with.

When Shawn was at that town with the spill, the one with the viral outbreak, he remembered what happened to the life-forms there. The sinister disease promised death and decay to all it touched, specifically bio-organic things. It wasn't pleasant at all, however, there was one aspect that made the incident more evil. He only could recollect the images particularly through dreams. A lot of what happened he couldn't remember for some odd reason. Because of this, he always kept these images to himself.

It wasn't until he decided to tell his best friend, Eduardo, who'd been there also, those horrific "dreams" that he began to feel uneasy. Shawn knew they weren't dreams, that he'd actually fought people who became zombies, but he had to make sure he had his sanity. The reply was a skeptical look and a question of mental health. But a few weeks after, he received a frantic phone call from his friend, telling him all about the dream, the same one Shawn had. They had planned to meet the following morning, but Eduardo had disappeared; his mother, wife, and fellow agents were unable to locate him...

For some odd reason, Shawn never dared question the call from his terrified teammate or the dream for that matter. Instead, he'd been depressed. Maybe it was...fear.

Shawn shook off the thoughts, knowing that it was irrelevant for the moment. He needed to get somewhere safe, especially since that bastard, Randolph, knew where he was headed. The man was crafty and knew his surroundings well. If Shawn wanted to stay alive, he had to think of something speedily.

VROOM!

He knew even before turning around that Eva had arrived. She must've been watching him...

"Eva!" She turned the bike sideways and came to a full stop right beside him.

"You missed me?" she asked, the tone in her voice sounding playful.

"...no questions, remember?" he replied back sarcastically.

"Oh, you're no fun." She still wore a wide grin. Shawn had a serious look on his face, which was still sweaty from his fights in the humid cave.

"Did you happen to see a strange man wearing a scarf and a robe?"

"I thought you just said 'no questions.'"

"I'm not fooling around! This man wants to kill me, but not just because I was in his way. Was he out here somewhere? I'm not joking..."

"I didn't see any man. Besides, you're the one who came to this hellhole in the first place. Did you expect special treatment! Ugh, what a typical American!"

With that, Shawn started to walk away from her and toward the wilderness.

"Where do you think you're going?" she questioned him quizzically. "Are you off to get yourself lost, ambushed, and eaten? That's about all that awaits you if you go, meanwhile I'm here offering you assistance! Why don't you take it?"

"Look, this isn't some reality show or game; this is serious! People are dying, and you're just acting like it doesn't matter. Tell me," Shawn stated as he turned back to her, "tell me who you are and what you want from me. Maybe then I'll cooperate…"

Eva's expression turned grim for the first time since they met. Then, she examined him with curiosity.

"You want to know…everything?" Shawn nodded distastefully.

"I guess it'd be alright if I told you, just you..."

"Okay…well?"

The two sat beside a huge rock outside the cave.

"I was a member of a covert assassin guild at a village somewhere near here. Dahlia was my name then. I had been raised there as a child, not having prior memories since age six. It wasn't until I was seventeen that I decided to break away from the guild and start a new life, a real one. But my past eventually caught up with me. They hunted me down, wanted to kill me. For what, I don't know, nor do I care."

Shawn looked at her skeptically, almost grinning in mockery.

"What, you don't believe me!" she scolded in response.

"No, I do believe you, it's just...you actually seem so serious."

"Well, it's all true," she reassured, "I was stalked by them for what felt like forever. But, it wasn't until recent that I overheard one of my former mentors speaking of some 'plan' involving a man by the name of Albert Wesker..."

The name rang a bell in Shawn's head. After filtering out all the crazy things that have happened so far, he remembered that it was Wesker his platoon was ordered to pursue originally. He first allowed Eva to finish, contemplating simultaneously.

"I have no doubt that the man they spoke to had something to do with all of this," she concluded.

"...What makes you say that?" Shawn seemed suddenly interested in her deduction.

"Just a little while ago, I spotted one of my former subordinates. He was...organizing the crazed denizens of the village. I don't understand how or why he was doing it, but if there were two things I was sure of, they were his facial features and the initiation tattoo of the organization."

"Initiation tattoo, huh?" Shawn wondered. Eva rolled the sleeve on her left arm up to unveil what looked like a flaming serpent of some sort, a dagger impaled into it.

"Not so pleasing to the eyes, I know. It was also a very painful procedure. Anyway, I guess there's a part of me that just doesn't want to let go. There are people in that clan that I'd hate to see as vampire zombies, so I came to spy, test the skills they'd taught me. But that's all there is to hear about me...let's see..."

She fiddled with some nearby pebbles as she thought some more, not moving her eyes anywhere Shawn could see them.

"Oh, I also uncovered something recently that may be of interest. I've confirmed the bodies of several people who were bitten on the neck. But they were not zombies. Instead, they seemed to have died from a parasite, which had evidently burst through from the chest."

"Great..."

"Well, now that we're thoroughly depressed, I guess I've told you basically all I've uncovered upon my arrival. I simply found you by coincidence because of the vampire-zombie things." She grinned slightly. "Now, it's your turn. Tell me what link you have with all that has happened," she rushed.

"I really wish I could tell you, but all I know right now is that something terrible happened to me at a remote town. Although it's currently unknown who was responsible for the viral leakage that afflicted many, the government had a big part, that much I know. It's all like...a blurry dream..."

"Sure," she joked, "...it's too bad." There was a brief silence and Eva got up and stretched. Shawn got up too, surveying the area for anything unusual.

"Can I ask you one more question, Eva?"

"Might as well," she replied crabbily.

"Who exactly are you running from, that you can't even be seen? Is it your clan, still?" Eva remained quiet for some time, her eyes wandering toward the path behind him. Then, several people's shouts disrupted their conversation; it came from that direction, mainly cries of agony. Without delaying, they hurried up the path and paused at the sound of something foreboding.

"Watch out!" shouted Shawn, and then he dove, pushing Eva out of the way of a blazing car's path. What followed was a screech from the tires, a loud crash, and finally, an explosion...

"Damn it, you okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine, what about you?" she replied in kind.

They saw the remains of the burning, overturned car, nothing but smoldering glass and metal. Someone lay on the ground nearby and still alive. When Shawn kneeled beside him, he became sure that with his mortal wounds, he wouldn't last long. The man was murmuring something inaudible. Both Eva and Shawn looked helplessly at each other.

"There's nothing we can do..." she marked.

As the scorched man began to breathe heavily, he raised one bloody hand and tossed something shakily toward them. Something metallic and silver fell on the patch of dirt, and when Shawn grabbed it, he noticed it resembled some sort of statuette. Then, the dying man took his last breath.

Sparing him no time to think, several more shouts came, only they were war cries. Four men dressed like the villagers came stalking up the path, their utterly inhumane features revealing them immediately. They held rusty knives and axes, as usual, and in the back, some strangely dressed man hidden in a bunch of drapes stepped forth. His build didn't match Randolph's at all. He also lugged a rather large gun of some sort...

"Shit, it's a bazooka," Shawn whispered. He was surprised to hear the man speak perfect English.

"So, fate has brought us together once more...Eva."

Shawn looked puzzlingly at Eva, who appeared lost in thought at the moment. The bloodthirsty zombies came closer, exposing their gore-infested teeth. One of them moaned and muttered darkly in Romanian, "the American agent..." The man with the bazooka smiled intently.

"And you even brought over the American! Excellent, this proves just how bound you are to us."

"...I don't know what they did to you, Hisaru, but I swear, I shall never join your ranks," Eva spoke, shaking her head. By then, Shawn was firing at the armed zombies. They showed very little effort to dodge his shots, and as a result they were riddled with holes.

"That's right, their chest, for some reason the heart..."

With that quick reminder, the first two zombies fell easily from two shots, clutching their chests in pain. The other two ran recklessly at him, but suffered the same fate. All that was left was that Hisaru character. He had been creeping nearer toward Eva, his attention so squared he didn't seem to care about the fact that he had the advantage with his gun.

"Get away from her!" Shawn yelled, his attempt to distract him failing. Hisaru took out a dagger with a very strange design on its hilt of a serpent...

"Doesn't this bring back fond memories?" he said with a heinous tone. He slid one finger down the edge of the dagger, smiling devilishly.

"So, you've all become pagans of your own beliefs..." Eva smiled nervously at the masked man, staring at his only revealed feature, his eyes. However, her focus remained on the dagger, not even the bazooka.

"Hey!" Shawn fired two shots into the man's gut, but he didn't even flinch.

"Shawn, leave!" Eva warned, but he remained.

"Should've listened to the heretic, boy," Hisaru hissed. In all but a flash of the moment, the bazooka rose up, Eva's voice shouted something frantically, something he could not hear, and he could only jump away at the loud, fizzing noise of a grenade round. He fell through some nearby underbrush and suddenly began to roll down some hidden slope. His groans as he hit each branch and shrub did not allow him to hear what went on up top.

Soon enough, when he finally came to a stop, he heard the sound of rushing water. When Shawn came to his senses, he sat up, embracing the pain from all over his body. A little further down, and he would've been off a small cliff and into a river.

BOOM...BOOM, BOOM.

At the faint rumbling noise, Shawn glanced up the hill and saw an enormous object tearing through the trees and bushes as if they were made out of paper; Hisaru must've pushed over a boulder! He only had so much time to think before he'd be flattened, so he did the only thing that would save him at the time...he leapt into the river.

W E S K E R

Just when he thought everything was going according to plan, Wesker manages to get himself stuck in a tight spot. It seemed to him that these things always had to happen, just to spite him. After damning himself and damning nearly every American agent on his tail, he cooled down and grinned, his expression back to its slapdash old self. The answer was quite as simple as the plain, blank computer screen in front of him.

"Let us begin this game of cat and mouse, my fellow Americans. But…" He turned his chair around, observing the dull gray color of the entire room. He put both hands behind his head, leaning back without a worry on his unchanging face.

"…we're on my turf, now," he finished. There was no doubt that his plan would work. He had thwarted the underestimated S.T.A.R.S. unit before, and he outsmarted Umbrella and the so-called genius, Alexia. Although there were flaws and unexpected events in his ploys, one thing was constant; he always won. Even at this moment, the Las Plagas samples, one of many essential keys to his plans, were being spliced and multiplied.

"Captain!" came a shout as his office door flew open, "Captain!"

"I see 'knocking' isn't in your vocabulary…"

"This is serious." It was a low-ranking officer under his command.

"Quit your whining and get to the point."

"Sir, the Elitists we sent out were wiped out completely! It seems that the Zalamel clan has gotten to them…" Wesker's teeth began to grind, and while his traditional black shades were still on his face, the officer could tell that his eyes were screaming and ready to attack. To his surprise, Wesker merely let out a slight chuckle.

"What do you mean by that, officer? Those primitive Hicksville scum pale in comparison to my Elitists. Besides, we had made a deal. It cannot be them…"

The look on the young and shaken man did not once falter.

"Y-Yes, intelligence is positive it's them, s-sir. Hisaru and several others were spotted in the fray, also carrying prisoners..."

"Preposterous. I shall have to take a closer look at this matter later myself…"

"T-T-that's not all…" the man said, trying his hardest to maintain his composure.

"…What else, are they also going to magically fly here and pinch us with pitchforks?" Wesker questioned mirthfully.

"Sir…The Owner…isn't bringing any more Elitists, or bio weapons for that matter."

Wesker looked the other way. For once in a long time, he felt the knots retying inside his gut. Without his precious B.O.W. 's, his long-awaited plans will come to naught. What was HCF thinking? Did they suspect something, or see something? Had he messed up somewhere? NO. Everything was going accordingly. That he at least knew. He brushed aside his uncertainty and pondered briefly.

"…You may go," he told the officer without a single hint that would suggest agitation. Confused, the officer untied his sweat-drenched collar a bit, replied with a mere "yes, sir", and stalked out of the room in a quick, yet cautious manner. Wesker was alone, still thinking. He was looking at the rational possibilities. Not many of these officers given to him by HCF even had a clue as to what was really going on, only aware of what the company demanded. And his more trusted men were securely fastened on their leashes, for lack of better words. However, there was that odd incident he hadn't had time to solved yet. The Americans' arrival was quite unexpected, the tribal uprising likewise, so he could only assume some internal source was at work…

"One thing at a time, Albert,"

It was his intuitive voice speaking. And his intuition was always correct. First, he had to squash the Zalamel bastards, then, he would brew something "special" for Luther, The Owner. He figured his last priorities would be the Americans. He sighed inwardly; he so looked forward to outsmarting and eliminating those pathetic fools. And after all that work with the traps. His smile suddenly reappeared as he remembered the new Marauders he kept stored away. Perhaps it was overkill, but he decided that it would be appropriate for the situation. Who knew, maybe his prototypes would be competent enough to hunt down those agents, too. Once again, Wesker laid back in his chair, smirking, lost in twisted thoughts, the bare screen of his computer finally flickering on.

S A M A N T H A

Time seemed to slow for just a blur of the moment as the two stood at the small corner of the old barn, the human-shape figure's insidious footsteps becoming more and more steadier. Samantha looked as if she was on the verge of panic, but she wasn't going to die here, not by a single fanatical lunatic.

She dug through some pulpy hay at a corner of the weathered construct and sighed at the sight of what had been projecting from a slot in a panel of wood. What might've been a part of a rake or plow was her only salvation, nothing but a long stick to defend an injured man and a pathetic interpreter.

"Maybe the guy will laugh so hard, he'll pop an organ or two..." she thought, suddenly feeling queasy at her own mockery of their predicament.

The sound of light footsteps ceased for a moment, their pursuer hesitating. The long piece of wood shook slightly in Sam's hands, but if anything, she had only gotten closer to the stairway. Then, she paused, her heart skipping a beat when she heard a click, one that sounded all too familiar to her; the "man" was armed with a handgun.

"Damn, hadn't thought about that!" she mentally shouted, wondering just how skilled the barbarians were with guns.

"Who's there!" It was the man's voice, and in English. "I have a gun! I will shoot!"

Great. It wasn't a man, but a kid. And by how poorly he assessed his situation, probably a teenager.

"Hold your fire, we're good!" Drake shouted. He leaned against the wooden wall to lift himself up, then joined Sam. The boy, who had then hurried up the stairs like a twelve-year-old child would, looked quite relieved despite the fact that their situation still really sucked. His bushy, brown hair nearly covered half his face, his tall, lanky features sheathed by baggy, black pants and a t-shirt with a skull design on it; a punk, most likely. Just the sight of other actual people must have raised his spirits, though. Sam presumed that he was alone...

"Shit! You're all really normal!" were his first words. The pair took a quick glance at each other as if to verify their thoughts. Basically, he was a lost sixteen, seventeen-year-old American tourist of some sort who got separated from his family, saw the overturned car, and heard Drake's shouting of pain. How he got hold of a gun, though, was questionable.

"Well, kid, what's your name?" Sam asked, her expression mild as if nothing had happened.

"It's Cliff, and I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen," he said bluntly. "Who're you people? Were you with those FBI agents a little while ago?"

"...You mean CIA?" Drake corrected with a smirk. Sam smiled also, feeling a spark of hope surge through her.

"You're telling us that you saw CIA agents around here! Where were they last?" the boy's expression was sour, a look of disappointment on his youthful features. He then turned toward the stairs again going down two steps.

"Look, I really got to go. I'm wasting time here..."

"Yeah, right, kid," Drake blurted, "you're coming with us."

With a scowl directed at both of them in general, he headed downstairs only to pause again.

"Pu-lease! You both gotta follow me! I have the gun, and you..." he pointed at the old wooden stick Sam held, "...enough said, huh? Call it a hunch, but I think you guys need me more than I need you."

"Snotnosed brat," Drake muttered. Sam tossed the pole aside, headed downstairs as he shot her a look of disbelief.

"Might as well," she replied, "it's better than staying up here like sitting ducks." Drake frowned.

"Can I at least use the gun? I wouldn't exactly trust the kid with it.."

Drake was halfway down the stairs when the steps beneath him suddenly began to shudder, then crumble. The whole barn started to quake shortly after, the feeling like that of an earthquake, only this one intensified after each passing second.

"Drake!" Sam called out, who was already on the bottom floor. Cliff shouted something inaudible and raced out of the doorway, pointing at something they couldn't see.

Drake tossed himself forward, landing on his unscathed left arm. Samantha helped him up and outside when something seemed to explode just right in front of them, dirt and grass flying at them and over the barn.

"What in the world..."

When the debris cleared, they gaped at what lay in front of them. An enormous striated worm, more accurately resembling a maggot, rose from the depths, its disfigured mouth made to resemble something like a sci-fi creature's. Marked with four sharp and lengthy teeth, each on a corner of its foul cavity, it shrieked unlike anything they'd heard before, like a shrill of death. And with that, the barn wobbled, its foundation obviously unable to withstand its monstrous tunneling.

"We have to find some way out!" Sam yelled over the shrieking. Planks of wood began to fall all about them as they flailed around for another opening. But then, the horrific worm began to dig again in the direction that the kid, Cliff, had ran to.

The pair scurried out, avoiding the holes that were caving in with dirt, dug by the loathsome creature. Then, shots were being fired. One, two, three. They thought he was a goner, until they saw the worm leap into the air, then flinch in pain as it changed direction. The boy wasn't such a bad shot...

"Cliff!" Drake shouted, oblivious to his current wounds. "Get the hell over here!"

The worm tunneled again, making a u-turn toward Cliff. In what seemed like a flash of a moment, the boy sprung sideways away from the aggressing beast, fired four more quick shots, two at its wide mouth, one in its mutant eye, and the other going wide, and landed hard on his right shoulder, the worm missing him by inches. It squealed in anguish at the blasts to its face and began digging into the dark, cold earth again. The rumbling started to become subtle, the monster giving up on its rather short chase.

The boy stood up, breathing heavily and in shock. The hole it had dug right next to him became a huge patch of dirt, the worm's disgusting putrid smell, like that of bile and sour milk, permeating through the air. By then, the others had reached him.

"Still think I'm just a snotnosed brat?" he mocked, a wide grin on his sweating face.

"You are insane!" Drake yelled, not with anger, but more in amazement.

"EVERYTHING here is insane!" retorted Sam. "Why don't we retrace your damn steps and try to find help before we all become fuckin' monster food!" Cliff shook his head as he regained his stamina.

"Well, we can't do that..."

"Don't tell me those nut-jobs are there, too." she said with extreme over-excitement.

"Yep, they destroyed what was left of the resort town. The worms came after."

"'Worms?'" Sam shuddered at the thought.

"This one wasn't even grown up! I can't imagine what you two would've done if you saw what I saw."

Drake shook his head, not knowing whether to feel relieved that they had lived, or to feel anxious at what he just told them. He looked up at Cliff, his face still appearing boyish in spite of his great meritoriousness.

"Alright, which way did you come from?" Drake asked, his tone much calmer than before.

"I guess that way," he answered, pointing behind him. That was east, Drake mentally noted. And he and Sam had come from south of this spot. Being that they were still at the heart of Romania, if they headed west, they'd most likely hit the Olt River. They'd end up in Transylvania, that is if they could manage to get across. They needed to find refuge; while the nearest major city was Brasov, any city near this area was in all likelihood already overrun.

"So, we'll follow this road northwest," Drake started, "until we get to the river further down. Then, we'll have to find the nearest bridge. I'm sure that those freaky monsters and zombie people wouldn't be all over Romania."

"And if they are?" the boy questioned, more anxious than he was critical.

"Well, that's a chance we'll have to take. Now, lets see if we can overturn the car. Maybe it'll still work..."

"Uh, bad idea," Cliff advised, looking down. Drake awaited a very viable explanation. "You see, I'm not a scientist or whatever, but I know those worms are attracted to very strong vibrations on the ground, such as cars. That's why you both were attacked while driving."

He frowned and brooded about the worm. It had been a miracle that he and Sam survived the crash, let alone the collapse of the barn. Suddenly, he didn't quite feel like arguing with the brat. As good as he was with the gun, he doubted that he had enough ammo even for himself. They just wouldn't stand a chance. Drake turned to Sam who was unusually quiet.

"You okay?" he asked, trying to sound a little upbeat even though he felt like just laying in a hole and dying.

"...yeah," she replied simply. She sounded lost in thought, was probably just as much in shock as anyone would be. Jesus, a mob of blood-frenzied vampire people, twelve-foot worms still not at full size, and who knew what else! He snapped out of his recollection and took a deep breath.

"So, where did you find that gun?"