Chapter Eighteen: The Other Traitor
The sound of gunfire was the best thing in the world for Barry Burton. Every Saturday morning, before the girls woke up, he'd grab his rifle bag, load up in his car, and head to either the shooting range at the R.P.D or the one in the back of Kendo's. Feeling the recoil of the weapon or smelling the scent of gunpowder always made his heart race. It lit up his senses, making the world more vibrant and making him more perceptive of the world. He wasn't a fan of killing—didn't even like hunting much—but just the feel of that power in his hand sent chills through him.
After tonight, he wondered if that was going to change. From now on, he wondered if he would always smell that tinge of rot intermingled with the scent of gunpowder…much like it did now in the labs.
Barry pointed his magnum at the writhing monster on the floor—one that might have been a middle-aged man at one time but now half of his face was torn away to reveal the rotting muscle beneath and bone beneath. Unlike other zombies Barry had seen that night, this one's skin possessed a red tent. It darted toward Barry, quicker than any of the creatures had that evening, with Its tattered, soiled lab coat billowing behind it. He shot it at least three times. The creature shrugged off each blast, pivoting its body in the opposite direction to close the gap between them. It wasn't until Barry hit the monster squarely in the forehead that it flew back and landed with a sickening crunch on the concrete floor. He waited, gun poised, but the monster remained still. A pool of blood slowly spread out under its head. Barry finally lowered his weapon. Now, he could come back to the other problem.
"Go fetch Redfield and Chambers," Wesker had said. "The night is almost at its end." Barry's face tightened, the holding cell key feeling like a stone in the bottom of his pocket. God only knew what Wesker had in mind for Chris. Images of Richard, his body ripped apart. Barry's fist tightened around his weapon.
Richard should have just let the shark take him…
Just let Chris go, Barry thought. Tell him what was going on. Maybe then they could—his girls and Kathy flashed through his mind, ending the train of thought before it even fully developed. Barry grunted. It was a lose-lose situation.
So, he set his face and walked toward the double doors at the end of the hall.
Barry reached for the door handle—
The doors opened and Barry looked up to find the long barrel of a shotgun. Barry raised his Colt but then stopped when he recognized a familiar beret.
"Jill!" Barry said, relief flooded through him. "I'm glad to see you—"
His voice faltered as he remembered. The mission. She only got in the way of that now. Barry's stomach twisted and his mouth turned into a thin line across his face.
Jill lowered her weapon, stepping through the open-door way and into the corridor. She glanced at the dead creature on the floor, her mouth curling into a grimace, before turning back to Barry. Luckily, Jill's attention was diverted long enough for Barry to regain his composure.
"It's good to see you too, Barry," Jill replied with a weak smile. "We need to find Wesker." Barry took a sharp intake of breath, but he willed his expression to remain the same. "He's been behind all of this. He's working for Umbrella and set us up. Chris and Rebecca Chambers are locked up in those cells back there. I tried to unlock them, but it didn't work. I think Wesker has the key."
The knot in Barry's stomach twisted more violently. All of a sudden, he was painfully aware of the subtle imprint the key made against the pocket of his pants. He couldn't let her go, but he couldn't retrieve Chris with her without looking suspicious. Just tell her, he thought. Maybe together they could overpower Wesker—Barry pushed the thought aside before he allowed it to give him too much hope. No, there was only one option. It was the coward's way out, but what else was he to do.
"I know where he is," Barry replied in a gruff voice. "I know where we can find Wesker."
Jill's eyes widened, though they weren't the wide eyes of amazement or excitement. They were wide eyes filled with fear.
"You know where he is?"
"Yeah," Barry replied. "Follow me."
Barry turned, walking toward the end of the corridor. A fluorescent light flickered above, seemingly going in tandem with the beat of his heart. Jill asked him something—maybe to ask how he had found Wesker or what Wesker had been doing. Barry couldn't focus long enough to answer. Instead, he just said, "You'll have to see for yourself."
He felt Jill's gaze on the back of her head. She knew something was wrong. Barry would too if their roles were reversed. Still, she followed him down the hall, around the corner, and to a lift at the end. A large, rusted grate-door partitioned them from the empty shaft. Barry pressed the button to call the elevator from the floor below and together they waited for it to ascend to their floor.
The elevator rattled down the shaft, sinking them deeper into the earth. The scent of decay died away, quickly replaced by the powerful odor of antiseptic. Temperatures dropped so that the hairs on Barry's arms stood up. Eventually, the lift came to a halt and the metal doors slid open. Ghostly blue light illuminated the corridor. Water hissed a thin mist from cracked pipes lining the walls, giving the tight space a thick atmosphere.
Jill stepped out onto the landing with Barry close behind. It felt as though more weight was being strapped to him with each step. The corridor turned. At the end stood a single door. It was bare and gray, a plaque with a biohazard symbol bolted to the center.
"He's in there," Barry said. Jill nodded, tightened the grip on her shotgun, and walked forward. The door rose and disappeared into the top of the threshold—reminding Barry of one of those future doors he used to see in Star Trek.
Jill walked into the darkened lab. A series of tanks took up the center of the room, many holding large mutated growths, while other machinery lined the lab. Barry tried not to look at them as he passed. A gentle click came from the far end—as though someone was typing quickly on a keyboard. Jill raised her weapon as she rounded the last tank. Barry drew his Colt.
Wesker stood over a computer terminal next to a darkened tank that extended from floor to ceiling. A massive figure lay within it, but the darkness obscured any of the creature's finer details. Wesker didn't bother turning around.
"Wesker," Jill said.
Barry's magnum felt like a boulder on the end of his arm as he raised it…and aimed the weapon at Jill's head.
"Thank you, Barry," Wesker said. "Not who I had expected, but she'll do."
Jill glanced over her shoulder. As soon as she saw the barrel of Barry's gun, her eyes narrowed. Barry looked away, unable to hold Jill's glare.
"Well, what do you know," Jill said, her voice low as she lowered the shotgun to the ground. Each word felt like a stab to the chest.
"My girls..." Barry replied, his usually robust voice now sounding soft and feeble. There was so much more he wanted to say—to explain what was going on—but the words seemed to be caught in his throat. "He has my girls, Jill."
Jill's expression softened, but Barry still couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"Ever the family man," Wesker replied casually. "Nothing personal. I needed someone to help me collect the data I needed. Which reminds me…"
Wesker lifted a gloved hand and snapped his fingers. Barry glared at the man, his face flushing with anger. Still, he swallowed it down and withdrew the folder and a floppy disk. He stepped forward and placed them in the captain's hand.
"Wesker, you're pathetic," Jill muttered, shaking her head. Wesker chortled. Pathetic is being nice about it, Barry thought. Way nicer than Wesker deserved. There were a lot more colorful words he could think to call Wesker, most of which he would have to apologize to Polly and Moira if they ever heard them. If I ever see them again. Barry felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.
"Well, you shouldn't worry too much, dear. You'll be free from all this anyway," Wesker said.
"Why eliminate S.T.A.R.S.?" Jill asked. Again, Wesker snickered. Barry would love to beat the smirk right off his face.
"Believe it or not, that's Umbrella's intention," Wesker said.
"You're just a slave of Umbrella then," Jill spat back.
"Smart girl, but I think you misunderstand me," Wesker replied. Finally, he turned toward them. The room reflected within the black surface of his sunglasses. It almost made him look inhuman—no eyes, just an expressionless reflection. Like a machine. "The "things" you mentioned are nothing. I'll burn all of them along with this entire laboratory." Wesker raised his handgun, a Samurai Edge, and aimed the barrel between Jill's eyes. Barry tensed, waiting for the inevitable clap of gunfire. Instead, Wesker spoke. "Get Redfield and Chambers, Barry. It'll be one big family reunion."
Barry turned toward the door. Turn around and shoot the bastard, dammit, Barry told himself. Don't be a coward!
"Umbrella's men are stationed around your house," Wesker's words echoed within his head. "If you don't cooperate, well…"
Barry pictured Kathy in the kitchen washing dishes from dinner while the girls watched Rugrats in the living room. Then machine gunfire ripped through the walls. Ripping through them. Barry felt cold at the very thought.
"Barry…" Jill whispered, making Barry stop for a moment.
Richard appeared in Barry's mind again—guts spilling out of his top half in that shark tank. It shouldn't have ended like this. Richard was young, already surviving so much that night…
And Jill was going to end up the same way.
"I…I'm sorry, Jill," Barry replied. "I'm so sorry."
Barry continued toward the laboratory door, leaving Jill to face whatever fate lay before her.