Chapter Twelve: The Tomb of Mrs. Trevor
The doors shuddered as the creatures crashed against it from the other side. Chris and Rebecca pressed their bodies against the rusted metal, feeling each strike reverberate through the door and into their own bodies. An ear splattering screech came from the other side. Chris looked about the room for something to hold the door shut, but there wasn't anything heavy enough.
Then, almost in an instant, everything was calm—the monsters' screeches had stopped and the strikes against the door's metal stopped. Chris kept his body pressed against the entrance, pressing an ear against it. Yet, he heard nothing. Perhaps the creatures had moved on or something else had caught their interests. Or maybe they fell back to regroup, he thought, making a cold chill run through him.
"You…seen those…before?" Chris asked through gasps of breath.
Rebecca stepped away from the door, breathing heavily with sweat dotting her face. Chris waited a second more and then stepped back as well. He watched the door in silence, half expecting for the barrage against the door to renew with vigor. Yet, there was only silence.
"What now?" Rebecca whispered as though the creatures would spring into action if they heard that they were, indeed, in this little shed. Chris stood there, trying to reign in his rapid breathing. Trying to think. Barry, Jill, and Richard were still out with those things and God knows what else. He couldn't just leave them.
"We should go help," Rebecca muttered.
Chris nodded, yet his face tightened into an expression of agitation. Going back out there was suicide. It was a cowardly thing to think, especially with his comrades out there, but it crossed his mind nonetheless. Still, Chris stood there, looking at the door in silence. He was afraid. He loathed to admit it, but it was what rooted him to the spot—though it wasn't just the thought of facing those figures again.
It was the thought of finding Barry, dead. Surely, those things would tear the group apart. Then what would Chris do? How could he face Kathy and Barry's girls and tell them that they had lost a husband and father? Especially when he could go back out there, maybe helped.
Chris reached out and grabbed the door's handle—
The door behind them burst open. Rebecca and Chris raised their weapons, though when they saw who it was, they quickly lowered them.
"Wesker!" Chris said.
Wesker stood in the entryway, gun in his hand but untrained. His sunglasses reflected the room around him, shielding his eyes. While Chris and Rebecca were covered in dirt and sweat, Wesker didn't seem ruffled in the least. In fact, not a single hair on his head appeared out of place.
"Redfield, Chambers. You're alive," he replied, saying it more as a statement than a question.
"My words exactly," Chris said.
"Have you seen the others?"
Chris and Rebecca shared a quick glance to one another.
"We were just together," Chris said, nodding toward the doors behind him. "But we were attacked and separated."
Wesker nodded and moved toward the door.
"I'll take care of it," he said. Chris stepped beside Wesker, but then the captain turned. "No. I can take care of the others myself. I have another job for you and Chambers."
No, Chris wanted to say. I'm going with you. You can't face those things by yourself. Wesker must have seen the words forming in Chris's mind because he quickly stated—
"I'm perfectly capable. Besides, the mission I have for you two is equally as important."
Chris still wanted to protest, but he took a deep breath and forced it down.
"What is it, Captain?"
"There is a set of gates beneath the stairs in the foyer," Wesker said. "There's a howl coming from down there—a breeze whistling through. It might lead to a way out."
It was nonsense. Finding the others were far more important and doing so together would only increase their chances of success, especially against those things out there. But, Chris took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to fight back. After all, all it would do was waste time that they didn't have.
"So, you want us to investigate?" he finally asked. Wesker nodded curtly.
"It would be prudent to divide our efforts. Here," the captain replied, throwing something to Chris. It was an antique key with a long shaft. "I found this lying around. It may help you get down there."
"I'll take care of it," Chris said. Though he knew that this was the best course of action, Chris couldn't help but feel a flare of indignation spark within him.
Wesker walked forward without another word. Just as the captain reached for the door handle, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
"I realize you must feel that this isn't the best option," Wesker replied, his voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. "Trust me, Chris. I trust this task to you because you're one of my best men."
Chris didn't say anything, but that rush of indignation died.
Wesker opened the door, handgun in hand, and darted out into the night without another word.
Rebecca and Chris made their journey through the halls in relative silence. The corridors seemed to reinforce this, as not even the floorboards creaked underfoot. As they entered the mansion's first hall, the stench of decay hit them. When they rounded the corner, they found the source. Two recently dispatched undead lay face down, thick crimson blood pouring out from under their bodies.
They stepped over the corpses, making sure not to track through the coagulated blood.
"You never get used to that smell, do you," Rebecca muttered as they exited through the double doors to yet again another hall. The corridor turned with an opening in front of them, though the threshold only opened to a wall of solid pavement. Chris and Rebecca glanced at it, but in their weary state, they began to fully understand what they were seeing, so they passed it without much inspection.
"No," Chris said as they continued down the winding corridor. He remembered old comrades talking about being in war. The explosions, the stench of death. How it pervaded every inch of your being until you couldn't wipe it from your senses. It became a constant companion. Chris had never taken much stock in it, always half believing that these men said these things in a dramatic gesture. But now, he wasn't so sure. "I don't think that you ever do."
Eventually, they found their way back to the foyer. The open space was too quiet, and even the sound of distant thunder which seemed so prevalent that night seemed to have disappeared. Chris and Rebecca climbed down the stairs at the rear of the room. When they reached the gate at the bottom and stared into the darkness beyond, Chris felt his heart seize. He reached out and grabbed the black steel to feel it's biting cold sting his fingers.
"Well," Rebecca muttered, her eyes fixated on the descent behind the doors. "Better get this over with then."
Chris nodded. He withdrew the antique key from his pocket and inserted its shaft into the keyhole. With a turn, the sound of tumblers unlocking filled the tiny space. Chris returned the key back to his pocket, placed a hand on the handle, and turned. It gave way easily and the door swung back, leaving nothing between them and the darkness.
Each step down seemed steeper than the last. The walls on either side started off as cold concrete, but when they reached a bend at the bottom of the stairs the walls gave way to rock. The sudden change almost gave Chris vertigo, but he swallowed back bile and continued. Light bulbs were nailed into the rock, attached together with a single electrical wire. Their flickering light seemed to cast more shadows than provide light.
The floor faded away to wooden slats on the earthen ground, making each step groan with the slightest of movements. Lit candles appeared on either side of the walkway—their flickering light barely enough to see by.
"Who do you think lit them?" Rebecca muttered. Chris didn't answer. He didn't even want to think of the answer. Rebecca seemed to think it suitable, for she let the subject die.
The earthen corridor came to an end, only leaving them with a ladder descending downward. Chris glanced over into the opening to find that the ladder dropped only a few feet onto a stone platform below.
"I'll go down first," Chris said. "If there's anything wrong, I'll let you know."
Rebecca nodded in acknowledgment. Chris grabbed the rungs of the ladder, flecks of rust sticking to his fingers. He tried to make his footfalls upon the steps as softly as he could. Still, even as he passed through the opening to the area below, Chris tensed in the anticipation of claws against the leg of his pants. Yet, there was none and he made it down without incident. However, when he turned around, he found his breath catch in his throat.
Chris stood upon a narrow platform that formed a u-shape in the middle of a large cavern. A chasm lay below the platform, so deep that the bottom couldn't be seen. In the center of the u-shape of the walkway stood a large, stone slap wrapped in chains that hung from the ceiling. At first, it appeared as though a large mass of flesh clung to the top of the slap. The mass rose and fell gently—as if breathing- and pink tendrils whipped in and out of its body as though inspecting the air. The creature hadn't acknowledged him, instead remained sprawled over the slab with its head pressed against the stone.
At that moment, Chris seemed to realize two things—this mass of flesh was the creature he had seen in the cabin, and that this slab was a coffin.
He glanced around, his limbs suddenly frozen. An opening stood just behind the creature, but an iron gate barred passage through.
Move, Chris replied. Just get back to the mansion and regroup.
Chris slowly stepped back toward the ladder when—Rebecca landed beside him with a loud thump. The creature raised its head. Chris couldn't its eyes, but he could feel them glaring at him and Rebecca-as though they had intruded on a private affair. The creature bashed its bound hands against the slab, its iron manacles thunderous against the stone.
Rebecca hissed as she breathed in. The creature leaped onto the slab, hunching over as tentacles burst from her back in an eruption of gray flesh. An odor emerged from the wounds creature that made Chris almost gag—of pus and decay. Amit the creature's screaming, Chris thought he heard it utter a word—
"Mo…th…er."
Chris's gaze darted from the slab to the creature, and then back to the slab. He suddenly felt the photo press against the side of his leg within his pocket.
"We have to open the grave," he muttered. Still, the statement felt heavy and impossible. In the best of times, trying to lift a stone as large as that without any equipment would take at least three men.
The creature stepped down from the coffin, its bondages clanging against the floor. Chris fired, sending a bullet into her shoulder. Chunks of meat and black blood gushed from the wound, but the creature lumbered toward them as though it had felt nothing.
"The pulleys," Rebecca muttered. She pointed to the ceiling. Chris's eyes flickered to the right of the room. Two egg-shaped monuments—roughly as tall as Chris himself—stood before the grave. A chain, black and red from rust, ran from it up to an ancient pulley system, and back down into the side lid of the slab.
"I'll distract it if you can push those off," Rebecca said. The creature stood a few feet away, raising her shackled hands to strike. The two stepped aside as the strike fell through. Chris's legs jolted him into action. As Rebecca fired more rounds into the creature, Chris half tackled the nearest monument. He cried out as pain erupted from his shoulder. The stone barely budged. Gunfire and shrieks filled the chamber. Chris continued pressing against the stone. His feet scraped against the ground, but slowly the stone began to move. Finally, the monument tumbled over the side. The chain rattled as it tugged against the coffin.
"Chris, watch out!"
Chris glanced back to find the creature approaching with her arms raised above her head. He rolled just as the manacled fists struck the pavement where he was moments before. A deep crack appeared in the stone. Jesus, Chris thought. The amount of strength it would take to put a crack like that—
An idea came to him.
"Hey!" he called to the creature as he quickly got to his feet. The creature shrieked, tentacles pulsating and turned toward him. Chris backed toward the second monument. He glanced up at Rebecca, expecting to have to warn her to hold fire. Though her weapon was trained, she watched as though she fully understood Chris's intent.
The creature ambled toward him. Was it just Chris's imagination, or was it gaining on him faster than he wanted? It raised its arms, staggering forward under the weight. Chris tensed, waiting for the proper moment when—
Chris leaped out of the way, feeling the breeze of the monster's arms swing past. He landed hard on his side, followed by a loud crack from behind. Chris glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch the monument teeter on the edge before falling. The rusted chain rattled against its pulley until the tomb's covering slid off.
Lisa took a staggering step toward him. Chris felt himself grow cold. Had his plan not worked? Granted, he wasn't quite sure what he expected, but nevertheless…but then, Lisa's mangled face turned toward the open coffin. She took another step, this time toward the tomb. Chris stood slowly as he and Rebecca watched the scene unfold.
Only a bundle of bones rested within the slab, almost minuscule in comparison with the cavernous interior. The creature reached its shaking hands in, fingers finding their way around the skull within. Then, it staggered to the edge of the walkway, clutching the aged skull like an offering to the Gods.
"Mother!" it cried out before tipping forward and falling into the void below, leaving them in silence.
Rebecca slowly approached the edge, gun trained. Chris joined her, but he already knew that there would be nothing there.
The creature finally found what it had been looking for.
"How did you know?" Rebecca asked.
Chris retrieved the photo from his back pocket and passed it to her. Rebecca stared at it, her brow furrowing before she looked back at Chris with confusion.
"Her name was Lisa," he said. "Umbrella…they did horrible things to her and her family. She was just a girl looking for her mom."
"How awful," Rebecca muttered, inspecting the picture. Lisa and her family looked so happy in that picture. Had they known the fate that was soon to befall them all, or did they believe that the corporation they worked for would protect them.
Chris's jaw tightened. He could only imagine the suffering that poor girl had endured, though he couldn't picture that little girl in the photo. All he could see was Claire. Chris's fists clenched.
Umbrella would pay. He would make sure of it.
Chris and Rebecca hadn't realized that, with the removal of the slab's lid, the gate that had barred their path had lowered. They had taken no more than a couple of steps toward the opening when the sound of someone descending the ladder came from behind. They turned just as Captain Wesker reached the bottom rung.
"Captain," Chris said, his brow furrowed. "You're back sooner than I'd have thought."
"Yes," Wesker replied, his face betraying no emotion. "I couldn't get very far before those creatures attacked. There were too many…I only found Enrico."
"Enrico?" Rebecca exclaimed, taking a step forward. "Is the captain alright?"
"He's dead."
Rebecca stepped back, her body deflating like a punctured balloon.
"How?" Chris asked, watching Wesker's features. Again, the captain showed no sign of emotion. Chris tried to see Wesker's eyes through sunglasses, but he could see nothing but his own reflection staring back.
"He was attacked," Wesker replied, simply. Something about the response didn't sit right with him. It seemed too convenient, too simple.
"I see you found a way forward," Wesker said, nodding toward the opening. "Let's take a look."
After a moment, Chris turned around. Perhaps he was being paranoid—
The back of Chris's head exploded in pain. He felt his legs give as his vision turned to black. Rebecca's cry was the last thing he heard before he fell into unconsciousness.