Act 2:Whispers
Ada Wong crept silently across the snow-covered roads of Stonefeather, her eyes shielded behind her multi-function goggles, scanned the area for zombies. That's what the townspeople had become, zombies. She'd seen it too many times not to know, first in Racoon city and then in Europe. Both times she had been prepared, this time was no different. Dressed in Umbrella standard issue combat gear that had her signature Red Butterfly symbol emblazened on her right arm, she held the grip of her black Glock 18. The Glock was never really her weapon of choice, but it was easier to conceal and reliable. And in the storm that she stood within, reliabilty was imperative.
It was hours earlier, around the same time that the storm hit, that Ada heard the deafening screams of people in pain in her room. She had checked the bodies of the townsfolk, finding no pulse in any of them. Instinct told her they wouldn't stay that way. Ada switched her goggles to IR mode, looking around carefully. She had already encountered and taken care of a few zombies easily but had witnessed first-hand their apparent ability to conceal themselves under the thick snow. She wasn't taking any chances. Ada could barely hear the beep of her communicator over the howls of the wind. She strode towards a dark alley, being careful not to be spotted. Whipping out her communicator, she prepared herself for her report.
"Status," came the emotionless voice of Albert Wesker, his picture flickering on the small screen of the communicator. Wesker as usual wore his trademark black sunglasses that concealed his unique mutated eyes. He sat calm and contemplating as he awaited Ada's response.
"There's a problem. A virus has been released," Ada said, her husky voice betraying nothing.
"What kind?" Wesker asked.
"Unconfirmed," replied Ada.
"Hmm...considering that you haven't been infected means its not airborne. That rules out the T-Virus. Perhaps it's Blake's product," mused Wesker. "Were there any signs of infection before the BOWs appeared?" Wesker asked again.
Ada frowned. "None. It seemed as though it was...timed. Your satellites can't get anything?"
"Nothing. This storm makes a perfect cover for whatever Smythe's planning. Reports say that the storm may last a day or so," Wesker said, referring to a sheet of paper he held up. The screen now flickered with static."Regardless, the mission must continue. After your failure to retrieve a real Las Plagas sample, my plans have been pushed back considerably. With Marcus and Ashford dead my rise to power should have been easy now that Ozwell has to deal with the government. But now I must deal with Spencer's lapdog Smythe," Wesker continued. "Find your contact, retrieve Blake's documents and a sample of this virus and return to me. And Wong, failure is not an option." With that the communicator's screen went black, leaving Ada to her own devices. She kept the gadget in one of her suits many pockets. Jeremiah Smythe, the man, the myth, the enigma. Since joining up with Wesker, Ada had often heard that name being spoken by both Wesker and the other Umbrella staff. She'd never seen him and even after thorough research, Ada had come up with nothing to even prove this elusive threat's existance. There were stories that Smythe was not human or was one of Ashford's creations during his attempts to recreate Veronica Ashford but nothing solid. All that Ada knew was that Smythe made the usually calm Wesker uncomfortable, and that meant he was a force to be reckoned with.
The sounds of gunfire caught Ada's attention. 'Survivors?' Ada wondered. Switching her goggles to IR, she headed into the storm once more, following the sounds of gunfire. By the time Ada arrived, all that greeted her was the sight of bodies and blood stained snow. She crept quietly towards a few empty bullet shells that lay on the snow. She picked up one of the shells and held it gingerly between her fingers. Her trained eye noted two sets of footsteps before the bodies. Two of them, one armed with a handgun, the other a shotgun. Ada tossed the shell to the ground and followed the footsteps to a small house, it's door left wide open, a few bodies lay before it. She considered entering the house but decided against it. She didn't have much time on her. Then again, she was in one difficult situation, unfamiliar territory and on deadly ground. Perhaps she could use these survivors to her advantage. Pulling off the velcro Umbrella patch from her infiltration suit, Ada trailed a set of footsteps with drops of blood. A wounded survivor. Much more easy to manipulate. Ada managed a small smile. There might be some hope yet...
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Smythe gave a casual glance at the gates before Blake Mansion. "Hammer," he said calmly, prompting the muscular enforcer to force the gates open with a single push. He looked to his side to see Ms.Scarlett, her face concealed under a red hood of her coat. Scarlett looked up at him, uncertain. "It's alright," Smythe ensured her with a smile as he held her hand. Weasel led the way, walking in a casual stride in his black Armani suit, unfazed by the blistering cold all around him. Behind him came Hammer who scanned the area silently, standing close to his employer and his young ward. "How drawl," commented Smythe as he looked upon the mansion. "Blake never did have any taste," he chuckled. Scarlett nodded in agreement. Standing before the large doors of the mansion, Smythe shook his head as he saw the demon-motiff door knock. Indeed, Blake had poor taste. Smythe nodded towards Hammer who kicked the doors open. Smythe and Scarlett entered the mansion first, the lights of the bright chandelier illumanated the brilliant halls of Blake Mansion. Smythe grinned as he noted a portrait of Blake hanging high under the top of the spiral stairs. If there was ever a more self-confident person than Blake, Smythe had never met him. Still for all his faults, Blake had proven he was brilliant, pioneering a hybrid experiment between biological warfare and his own...unique specialty. Smythe let the man enjoy his air of self-importance. He was only human after all. Not surprisingly, Blake came running down his staircase upon hearing the sound of his doors being forced open, his manservant Samson close by.
"Mr.Smythe!" Blake exclaimed as he stood before Smythe, a ridiculously large grin dominated his rudy face. "We were worried you wouldn't make it with the storm. My instruments told me that you had..." Blake trailed off as he watched as Smythe handed Samson his coat and helped Scarlett remove hers.
"Yes. I felt that it was time to put that little boast of yours to the test. I must admit Wilson, I'm impressed. I was nearly 90 miles away and this storm was already descending. I've seen the effects of your masterpiece. Excellent work," Smythe praised. If Blake's smile could have grown any wider, it would have. For years Wilson Blake had worked for Jeremiah Smythe, never had the man ever praised him in anyway. "Infection time?" Smythe asked as he followed Blake to his office, Samson, Hammer and Weasel following behind them.
"Two hours," replied Blake proudly. "No symptoms. No signs of infection. Nothing. The fools never realised that'd they had been infected for months now," Blake said as he opened the door to his spartan office. Scarlett and Smythe took their seats across Blake's as they waited patiently for their host. Blake poured Smythe and himself some Brandy to celebrate. He had some wine down in the cellar but felt that he needed Smythe approval first. It was his decision that decided if the project was a success after all.
"And no signs of trouble?" Smythe asked as he took a sip of the alcoholic drink.
Blake shook his head. "None whatsoever. We've preped the Self-Destruct device and the prototype. As per your orders, I've encrypted all my documents and files on the project to your specifications," Blake said as he lowered himself into his seat.
"Well done Wilson. Well done," Smythe said as he finished his drink. He looked at his pocket watch. "Weasel?" Smythe called.
"Yes boss?"
"Look around town. Seal off any possible escape routes and find any survivors. Deal with them accordingly," Smythe said as he handed Blake his empty glass.
Blake watched as the young man dressed in the Armani suit turned to carry out his orders, puzzled. "Sir...I doubt there are any survivors. The infection ratio is a hundred percent. No one could have been left unaffected," Blake said, suddenly wondering if Smythe was testing him.
"You'd be surprised at the number of times I've heard that Wilson. One can never be to sure especially with biological warfare. Umbrella's failures in Racoon City certainly holds testament to that. And besides, I had hopes that a certain guest may have dropped by. Someone I'm eager to meet." Smythe grinned. "This is very good Brandy", commented Smythe as he finished his second glass of the drink. "Perhaps your manservant would like to join us in a toast? After all, he has earned it, haven't you Matthew?"
Samson's heart froze upon hearing his real name being uttered. He backed away to the door slowly, only to bump into Hammer who gave him a menacing smile. The tall ghoulish man stared at the green-eyed Smythe who approached him slowly. "How did you..."
"Know?" Smythe cut him off. "It was fairly simple. Around the same time I had Blake prepared to move his operations, I received reports of one of Wesker's agents being killed in Europe. A man with some lab experience. Sad thing about Wesker is that he thinks a death is good enough to cover anything. It gets old quite quickly I'm afraid", Smythe said as he came closer to Matthew. Hammer grabbed his arms and forced the spy to his knees before Smythe's feet. "I decided to allow you to continue on your assignment. I know just how confident Wesker is of his deep-cover agents so I knew you'd perform well in your adopted role until you had the opportunity to report your findings to your superior. Your first mistake was assuming that I wouldn't know. Your other was thinking that you'd get away with it." Smythe bent down to look Matthew in the eye, his fiery green eyes burning into the depths of Matthew's soul. " Betrayal leaves no room for error," whispered Smythe as he rested his hand on Matthew's right shoulder. Matthew's eyes widened in horror as Smythe's hand rested on his face, his fingers sinking through his flesh and bone. His screams echoed throughout Blake Mansion as the darkness claimed him, Smythe's last words replayed in his mind: 'Betrayal leaves no room for errors.'
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Stonefeather Lake High was not a large school by most urban standards, by in a town of Stonefeather's size, it was considered to be slightly overbuilt by most of its denizens. The town itself only had about 700 teenagers and more than a third of that number either attended the school in the distant Fort Holden or went straight to work in the coal mines. Drake himself wasn't a very keen student of Stonefeather high, the darkened halls he treaded silently reminded him of a difficult education, one that consisted of detention and re-tests. Drake wondered why he would be thinking of his childhood at such a grave time. The main hall of the school was no different from other schools, footlockers lined each side as far as the eye could see. He had yet to encounter any townsfolk, normal or otherwise, and after peeking into some of the classrooms, decided that they'd probably stay within the safe confines of the bomb shelter under the school.
A short trip to the school's nurse's office allowed Drake to clean the bite wounds on his right shoulder, wrapping the blood-dried wound loosely with some wire gauze bandages he managed to find. He tried looking for a thick jacket to protect him from the cold. Running around Stonefeather in the middle of a snowstorm only wearing a shirt and a white undershirt wasn't exactly the smartest thing any man would do, but as luck would have it, there was no jacket or coat to be found, leaving Drake to battle the Razor in only his blood-stained garments. As he exited the Nurse's office, Drake heard the faint sound of footsteps. He drew his .40 Berreta, taking in a deep breathe as he scanned the darkness all about him. Indeed, the town's power had failed completely, but the school was to supposed to have been equipped with a working back-up generator. Why hadn't anyone operated it? ' Cause their probably dead', Drake thought, cursing himself immediately at even thinking so grimly. As he made his way through the school towards the basement, Drake heard the sound of footsteps again, and this time he was sure it wasn't his imagination. A putrid smell stabbed into his nostrils, forcing Drake to cover his nose. The basement. It was coming from the basement. Which lead to the shelter. Drake's heart pounded hard as he raced to basement door, kicking it down as he entered. Nothing. He turned rushed down several flights of stairs only to face another door. This one made of metal, a Radiation symbol painted on the door. the entrance to the bomb shelter. The pungent smell returned once more, stronger than ever. Cold sweat rolled down Drake's face. It was coming from behind the door. Against his better judgement, Drake slowly turned the handle of the steel door and pulled it gently. It was unlocked. The smell grew unbearable. Yet...familiar. Drake steeled himself as he swung the door open, weapon ready. What greeted was something he could never hope to prepare for.
The children. Their bodies chewed apart, limbs torn off, faces gone, replaced by blood, flesh and bone. The floor covered in a sea of blood and bodies. Drake hurled, turning away from the gruesome sight, his eyes tearing up not only from the strong smell but also from the fear that gripped him. Trying to regain his composure, Drake blanced himself on the grip of the nearby staircase, refusing to look back at the sight behind him. He rubbed his face. He took a quick glance behind, and returned his gaze to the floor. Spitting out the foul taste of vomit in his mouth, Drake shut his eyes in thought. He needed to find survivors. There had to be a survivor in that...bloodbath. There had to be. He drew in a deep breath and turned to face the bedlam. The sound of the blood beneath his shoes rippling as he walked sickened Drake. He tried to avoid looking at the faces of the fallen, only checking pulses at the arms...for those who still had arms. Nothing. Dead. All dead. But how? And why were the bodies mutilated in such a beastial manner? A sound of a blood spurt caught his ear, then the sound of something being torn off...and chewed. Drake's eyes adjusted to the darkness to make out a figure, an adult on all fours over the body of a child. The adult's head moved violently from side to side, the bloodied sound growing more vicious. Drake felt his gut tighten as he saw what was in its mouth: a child's small intestines. Drake fought the urge to hurl as he backed away slowly.He heard a groan from behind him. And another. And another. Drake clenched his teeth as he corked his weapon. They were already dead. He checked their pulses. Dead. The rippling of blood alerted Drake of a hostile from his left. He swung his gun, firing the weapon as soon as the demonic creature came into sight, sending a lead slug right through its neck. The man crashed to his knees, adding more blood to the already large pool beneath Drake's feet. The sound alerted the others all around. Drake ran out of the room, blasting through several men and women and dived through the door. A man followed Drake closely, a sharp hiss announced his intention as Drake drove his combat knife through his chest and blew the right side of its head off. The others now followed as Drake rushed up the stairs, firing at the horde of dismembered men, women and children as he retreated. Drake's heart skipped a beat as a young boy lunged for his foot, forcing Drake to kick him down the stairs. The possesed boy rolled violently as Drake heard the sound of cracking bones. He rolled into his pursuers, disrupting their chase momentarily, their growls and groans growing louder as they smelt warm blood before them. Reaching the basement door, Drake forced it shut but its locks were splintered, broken when Drake kicked it open. An arm smashed through the clouded glass window of the door and tried to make a grab for Drake, forcing Drake to abandon the door. He fell to the floor, gun ready as his attackers came through it. A rattle of bullets echoed through the halls as Drake's attackers fell one by one before him. Drake's eyes widened as they were cut down in a matter of seconds, blood staining the floor, walls and lockers.
His heart still pounding from both the run and the sound of gunfire, Drake slowly turned to see a pair of well-shined combat boots, slowly looking up to see a slender feminine figure clad in a dark military-styled outfit that lead to a familiar face. Her. The Asian woman. She gave Drake a small smile as she rested a sub-machine gun against her shoulder. "Looked like you needed some help Deputy", she said in a seductive husky voice as she held out her hand. Drake looked at her hand, returning the smile before collapsing from exhaustion. Ada looked at the young man at her feet and raised her eyebrows. Helping the deputy to his feet, Ada could hear the pounding of his heart. She rested the young man against a nearby locker, watching as he panted heavily. "You okay?"
'No', thought Drake but he remained silent. The cold and the fatigue was getting to him. Or was it the horrors all around him? Or the nightmare that he had awakened to? Drake looked at the woman before him. Even under her combat gear, Drake could make out an attractive slender figure that most women would give an arm to have. Her brown eyes showed nothing but calm and strength as strands of her silky raven hair fell over them. There was a scent all about her. Citrus and sandalwood, the scent expelling the pungent stench of death that had seized Drake's nostrils earlier. He noted her exceptional height, almost on par with his, as well as the MP5 sub-machine gun that was slung on her shoulder. "Who...are you?" Drake asked between breaths.
"Later," she replied curtly as she gingerly touched his blood-covered right shoulder with her slender fingers. Had he been bitten? "We ought to have that looked at first," she continued as she looked around the dark halls of Stonefeather high. "There a nurse's station here?" she asked. Drake nodded and led the way, walking sluggishly.
In the dark confines of the nurse's offices, Drake watched as the mysterious woman searched for the right medical supplies or for a medical kit. Sitting atop on of the two beds that had been prepared for sick students Drake saw the contents of a first aid kit scattered on the polished floor. His handiwork. "There," he said weakly, pointing to the articles on the floor.
The woman picked up a roll of wire gauze, some cotton pads and a bottle of medical alcohol. "Take off your shirt," she said. Wordlessly, Drake complied, wincing as a sharp pain seized his shoulder, his eyes fixated on a window of the room that showed nothing but the storm that raged into the night . "And your undershirt," she said again, soaking a cotton pad in alcohol. Drake gave her a skeptical look. "Got something to hide?" she teased, giving Drake an easy smile. Drake obeyed her, pulling off his blood-stained white shirt, the bandages on his right shoulder coming loose with every movement.
Ada looked at the poor dressing around the wound and shook her head. "Your handiwork I assume?" she asked looking the young man in the eyes.
"I was in a rush," was all he offered.
Ada nodded, pulling the bandages free off the shoulder, exposing the injury to the cold. As Ada suspected, he had been bitten by a zombie, but something struck her as odd. Examining the wound, she noted that scabbing had already occured, blood dried over the bite marks, forming an unsightly brownish crust. She noted the man's flesh: still firm and no signs of discolouration. The wound itself showed no signs of infection, normal or otherwise. By right this man should have been turning into one of them minutes after being bitten, without the proper vaccine that Ada had been injected with after joining Wesker to protect her from the deadly effects of strains of the T-Virus. Yet he seemed unaffected. 'Luck perhaps', Ada thought, 'Or maybe the virus is in recluse'. Ada dabbed the alcohol-soaked pad on the wound anyway, seeing the deputy wince as he felt a stinging feeling on his flesh. Ada discreetly observed the young man. He had a well toned body, lean like a swimmer's or a runner. His sharp features seemed downcast against his soft face, his exhaustion apparent in his dark brown eyes. Though young, his body was not without scars. Two scars sat under the bite marks on his right shoulder. Ada recognized them immediately as the result of gunshot wounds. Another was a clean scar that trailed down the side of his arm, most probably made by a knife or a sharp blade. He shivered slightly, his body exposed to the elements. Ada quickly dressed the wound, pressing a large bandage onto the bite marks and wrapping it tightly with the wire gauze.
"Thanks," Drake said as he watched her finish. He slipped on his white undershirt, careful not to strain the shoulder too badly. The woman stood before him, her hands at her hips, a dispassionate look on her flawless Asian face. He pulled his shirt on, "Who are you?" he asked softly.
Ada whipped out a leather wallet from one of her pouches and handed it to the deputy. "Ada Wong. Special Investigations Division, FBI," she told him, watching as he examined the ID and small gold-coloured badge carefully. He eyed her for a moment before finally handing the wallet back to her.
"Why would the Feds send one of their own way out here?" he asked. 'Good, he bought it', Ada thought. She made a mental reminder to thank the boys in Intel for hooking her up with the well-forged ID and badge. "Are there any other agents coming to help out?" he asked hopefully.
"No," Ada said apologetically. "I lost contact with my superiors when the storm hit and the power went down. I'm on my own now," she lied. "The name Wilson Blake mean anything to you?" Ada asked she watched Drake return to his feet. Drake considered the question. Around the same time he had left Stonefeather, Wilson Blake had arrived, causing quite a stir in town when he had construction vehicles come down from Fort Holden to build his mansion on the far eastern side of the lake, where the lake met with the range of mountains that crescented the town, marrying water, earth and sky. From what he had heard from Sam, Blake was a supposed businessman who had investments tied up to several oil rigs in Alaska. He was very seclusive, keeping to himself in his mansion that the townspeople had dubbed 'Casa Diablo' for its Gregorian-like architecture and gargolye-decorated roof-top. Apparently he was rather cozy with Stonefeather's unpopular but tolerated mayor David Bernard and it was rumoured that Bernard had struck some under-the-table deals with the so-called oil tycoon. Sam was never bothered with him, disliking Blake as well as his ghoulish manservant Samson for their uppity attitudes and their ego.
"Some oil big-wig who set up shop about four years ago. Keeps to himself in a mansion on the east side of the lake," Drake said, answering Ada's question. Did Blake forget to pay his taxes? What did he do to have a Federal agent come all the way down to Alaska?
"That's his cover story. Wilson Blake is a professional gun runner," Ada said, pausing to allow Drake to digest this new information. "He has several outstanding warrants for his arrest in 14 different countries. He specializes in...exotic weaponary".
Drake raised an eyebrow. "Define exotic."
"Biological weapons. Germ warfare," answered the woman.
Drake's eyes widened. "So that means all that's happening is..."
"I'm not sure," Ada said cutting him off. "It's possible that this may be a result of one of Blake's weapons. I was sent to investigate his operation here in Stonefeather. I arrived just yesterday," she explained.
"I know," Drake said, remembering seeing her for the first time at the Big Top that had just arrived from Fort Holden.
Ada smiled. "Noticed me straight away huh? What gave me away?" she asked.
"It's a small town, not too many people. And there was that rather...bright jacket of yours," Drake explained.
"Red's my favourite colour," admitted Ada.
Drake managed a small smile, cocking his head at the Red Butterfly symbol emblazened on Ada's dark combat suit. " I noticed". He offered her his hand. "Deputy Sheriff Drake Hartmann, Stonefeather Lake Sheriff's Department...but I guess I'm Sheriff now," he introduced himself with a hint of pity in his voice.
Ada accepted the hand, felt the firm grip of the young man. " A pleasure Sheriff Hartmann," she said before breaking the clasp. "Are there any other survivors aside from yourself?" she asked, her tone suddenly serious.
Drake nodded. "Just my grandfather and me so far. I came here to see if anyone tried to find shelter. They...became those things," Drake said in disgust.
"Zombies"
"Zombies?" Drake said dubiously.
"For lack of a better term. Your grandfather, where is he?"Ada pressed on. Usually, old people and young children fell prey to the virus far more easily than most adults. She wondered just how Hartmann and his grandfather had survived it.
"He said he needed to check something. Told me he'd meet me here once he was done," Drake explained.
Ada frowned. "You left your grandfather on his own in the middle of a snowstorm with zombies?" she said in disbelief.
Drake shook his head. "He'll be alright. I know he will," he said with a degree of confidence. "So," he said, rubbing his hands together, "What do we do now?"
Ada contemplated an answer. She needed to inform Wesker of the new developments and to be advised on what to do with Hartmann and his grandfather. They had survived the virus without the vaccine needed to neutralize its effects. It was something worth checking out. "You wait for your grandfather here, get some rest while your at it. I'll look around town for some survivors," she said finally as she handed Drake a blue can-like object. A grenade. "I trust you know how to use one of these?"
"Yeah but...?"
"Don't worry, I'll be in touch. Watch your back Sheriff," she said as she strode out of the room elegantly. Drake watched as her figure disappeared from sight. He looked at the grenade she had given him and sighed. Once again, he was on his own. Once again, he needed to face the nightmare.