Chapter 4: Square One
It was nearly 8:30, but the sky was already taking on the pink hue of a summer night. Though Jill had left the sounds of cars and the bustling city behind as she turned into the suburbs, the towering skyscrapers of downtown Raccoon still loomed in the distance. Quaint houses with picket fences lined the one-lane streets, children playing in the front yard despite the August heat. Jill found a patch of undeveloped land, a small forest in the middle of suburbia, and tucked her black sedan into the thicket. Hopefully, once the sun finished setting, no one would know the difference.
She exited her vehicle and glanced at her wristwatch. The green crystals on the clock's face told her she still had a few minutes to spare. Jill crept through the shrubbery, scanning the streets as she emerged from the thicket. The street was vacant, the only inhabitants were the kids. "Come on, Aiden," a woman from one of the houses called out. "Time to come inside."
The curfew, Jill remembered. Needless to say, the city mandate as directed by Mayor Warren himself, had been the least of Jill's worries. Since the memorial, Jill had held up in her apartment, wondering why in the world she was still in the city. Just until the Memorial, she had told herself. The memorial came and went. Then whenever she thought about leaving, she could hear what Barry had told her and Chris in the R.P.D. courtyard—'I'll call you, but I can't make any promises.' It was the intrigue that made her stay put. That intrigue was titillated further this morning, but not by a phone call.
Jill had just gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock on the door. Her stomach instantly dropped. It's probably no one, she thought. Probably just some reporters late to the show. Even so, the tension tightened her chest as she wrapped a towel around herself and went to the door. She looked through the peephole and on the other side stood Barry.
"Oh! One second, Barry!" she called through the door, feeling that knot in her chest loosening. "I just got out of the shower!"
"It's okay, Jill," he said through the door. "I'm not staying long. I just need to tell you something."
Jill paused for a moment, processing Barry's words before she opened her door an inch and peered through the gap.
"What's up?" she asked.
Barry didn't answer right away. He glanced toward the end of the hall, his eyes appearing darker and more sunken than the last she saw him. Jill thought she even saw a few gray hairs peek out in his beard.
"I can't stay long," he replied in a low voice. "Meet me at my house. 9 tonight. Come in through the backyard. The family behind me is on vacation for the summer."
"Sure," Jill said, but Barry was already turned toward the end of the hall. Just as she was to close the door, he turned back around and added, "And Jill…make sure you're not followed."
And now here she was, cautiously peering around her surroundings in suburbia, Raccoon City. She tried to move quickly past the one-story peaked roof that was a 1970's era home—not too quickly as to appear conspicuous—but the wound in her leg ached, causing her to limp along. The back of Barry's house loomed just in front of her behind the flimsy defense of a low chain-link fence. Jill spotted a sliding glass door under a covered patio, but a set of vertical blinds hid anything within.
Jill strained her ears, constantly looking over her shoulder to the street behind. There were no cars, no sounds of engines. Just the warm summer twilight. Streetlamps flickered on as the sky quickly faded from pink to purple and blinking dots of gold sprang in and out of life as fireflies hovered in the air. Jill reached the gate. The latch to the gate door opened easily and she made sure to replace it once within the enclosure.
Drapes were tightly drawn in every window that Jill could see. She limped to the sliding glass door, the whole time her heart beating rapidly. What if Umbrella got to him? she thought, Barry's aged face staring at her in the recesses of her memory. She told herself that they wouldn't dare, not with the incident being so fresh…but how well did they know them? To create those…things…their idea of rationale and strategy had to be different from theirs.
Jill pushed the thought away as she stepped up to the sliding glass door. The faint murmur of voices came from the other side. She rapped her knuckles lightly against the pane. The murmurs instantly ended. No more than a few seconds passed than the blinds slid aside, revealing Barry wearing a red flannel shirt and tan cargo pants. He opened the door, the wave of air conditioning drying the sweat on Jill's brow.
"Hey Jill," he greeted, stepping aside to let her in. Jill returned the greeting and walked into the living room. It was lit by the lights of the ceiling fan. An entertainment center, complete with a 20-inch television and VHS player, stood beside a flagstone fireplace. Photos of Barry and his family hung on the walls. A couch and loveseat sat on the other side, perpendicular so that the two pieces of furniture formed an L-shape. Chris sat at an end of the loveseat, a glass of brandy resting on his knee. He wore a faded green tank top and a pair of camo pants, making Jill wish that she had chosen to wear something a little more comfortable than her own t-shirt and jeans. Chris nodded toward her as Barry glanced outside before sliding the blinds back into place.
"Can I get you anything, Jill?" Barry asked. "A coke? A beer? Maybe a sandwich?"
The ends of Barry's mouth lifted into a smile and Jill could help but grin herself.
"Water would be fine, thanks," she replied.
"Alright," Barry replied, gesturing toward the couch and loveseat. "Make yourself at home. I'll be right back."
Barry exited through a hall to the north of the room, while Jill took a place on the couch. Chris didn't look at her at first and instead watched the ice jingle in his glass.
"How have you been?" she asked.
"I'm good," Chris replied, shifting his gaze slowly toward her. She could tell he was already drunk. "Living the dream, you know."
Jill nodded.
"So, did Barry mention to you what was going on?"
"No," Chris replied, taking another sip of brandy. "Hopefully something that will help spread the word about these sons of—"
Chris's words were cut short as Barry entered the room, carrying a glass of water and a manila envelope. He set the water on the coffee table before Jill, condensation already forming on the glass. Jill thanked him and took a quick gulp. As soon as the ice brushed her lips, Jill felt light-headed and the airs on the nape of her neck stood up. Before she knew it, she had drunk three-fourths of the glass.
Barry sat beside Jill and tossed the folder onto the table.
"So, skip the foreplay, Barry," Chris said. "Did you find anything?"
Barry sighed, looking over at Chris like he was a child asking the same question over and over again. Yet, Chris only leaned forward, eyeing the folder on the table.
"We'll get there," Barry said, following Chris's gaze. "First, I just wanted to double-check—neither of you was followed, right? No strange black vans following behind."
"That's oddly specific," Jill replied, chortling. Barry returned a soft smile, but there wasn't any humor in it. "No," Jill continued. "I didn't see any black van following me."
"Me either," Chris said.
Barry breathed a sigh of relief and his broad body relaxed.
"Good," Barry replied. "I've spotted one everywhere I went the past couple of days—when I went to the grocery store, went to Kendo's, when I went to the memorial. One even tried to follow me home the other day. I lost him on the turnpike. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, I don't know."
"Know thy enemy," Jill said to herself.
"You guys notice that?" Barry asked.
Chris shook his head.
"No," he replied. "I've only been out a couple of times since we got back."
"Same here," Jill replied. The truth was the thought of going out in public, where anyone could hide in plain sight, made her skin crawl. Or how something could spread so quickly.
Once again, Barry nodded.
"That's probably why I've noticed them," Barry replied. "They probably latched onto me since I was the most active. That's the reason I came to see both of you in person. They might be tapping your phones. I didn't want to take the chance."
Barry leaned forward and grabbed the envelope.
"I had a pal of mine in the FBI take a look into things," Barry replied. "We go way back. I told him about our situation with Umbrella. Now, don't get excited," Barry said as he eyed Chris, who straightened in his seat. "He couldn't do much of anything. I knew he wouldn't be able to. Like he told me, Umbrella is a major pharmaceutical company that has their hands deep into the pockets of certain politicians since the late eighties. The amount they pay out in campaign contributions each election is sickening, both in Raccoon and in Washington. I wouldn't doubt Mayor Warren was in bed with them. So, we aren't going to get anywhere without some irrefutable proof that the bastards are doing what they're doing."
Jill felt herself deflate on Barry's couch. She pretty much knew everything that Barry had just told them. Yet, there had been that glimmer of hope…
"You drag us here to tell us that?" Chris asked, his voice tense.
"Yes and no," Barry replied. "My pal couldn't help us outright but he could give us some information." Barry opened the envelope. Inside were a dozen documents either stapled or paper-clipped together. "As you said, Jill. Know thy enemy."
Barry unclipped the pieces of paper and spread them out on the coffee table, some photos staples among the bunch. Among them, Jill spotted a photo of Atkins looking out over the top of his rectangular glasses.
"It wasn't much," Barry went on. "Basic stuff. Like the founding of Umbrella by three guys in the late sixties—Dr. Oswell Spencer, Dr. Edward Ashford, and Dr. James Marcus. Looks like Ashford and Marcus took a backseat while Spencer took the reigns as CEO. By the early 90s, both of his co-founders had died due to mysterious circumstances, making him the sole proprietor. Though, it looks like Spencer was in the business for more than pharmaceuticals. He also had an eye on eugenics."
Barry passed a couple of stapled sheets to Chris and Jill. Jill looked down at hers to find an article excerpt published in February 1973. "The Man of Tomorrow" by Dr. Oswell E. Spencer stood out in bold, black letters on the top.
"I already read some of it," Barry replied. "Sounds like more philosophy than actual science. Spencer kept going on about something he called the Übermensch—the next step in human evolution." Jill's jaw tightened. She remembered the Tyrant back at the Spencer estate. Its speed, its strength, its unwillingness to stay dead. It was hard to resist such a prospect, such power. But what would be the cost? Umbrella knew exactly how steep the cost was and they didn't care. Or about the collateral damage. Jill had to take another sip of water or else she felt as though she were going to dry heave.
"Anyway, Spencer stepped down as CEO in '91 due to health complications.," Barry continued. "What those complications were, I couldn't find out."
"And then enter our good friend, Atkins," Jill replied. Barry nodded.
"Yeah," he replied. "Atkins took up the mantle of CEO and Oswell remained on as a consultant, retaining his sole ownership of Umbrella."
"Anything about Atkins we could use?" Chris asked, shuffling through the papers on the table. Yet, Barry just shook his head. He grabbed a packet off the table and shifted through it as he spoke.
"Very little. Things that a basic background check could dig up. Thirty-Eight. Harvard graduate with his PhD. in business and strategy. Been an Umbrella employee since '74. Other than that, nothing."
"Shit," Chris grunted, raising from the couch to pace. He scratched his head vigorously and Jill was sure that he was going to scrape the skin off his scalp. "So, we're back a square one."
"Not exactly," Barry replied. "This information's not much but it's a start. It's just a matter of getting evidence."
"How do you expect us to do that, Barry?" Chris snapped, his word slurred. "March right up to Umbrella? Ask them for a tour through their death factories?"
"What about the Umbrella Headquarters?" Jill asked. A dull ache started in the center of her head, growing with each second. She took another gulp of water. "One of their headquarters is in Raccoon. If one of us could infiltrate the place…"
"I doubt they'd hide their bioweapons division in their public headquarters," Chris replied, scowling. Jill knew Chris's agitation wasn't toward herself or Barry. Hell, she knew it all too well. How many times had she woken up in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep? How many hours had she paced the length of her studio apartment trying to think of a way out of their predicament?
The pain in Jill's forehead flared more fiercely. She rubbed her forehead as Barry and Chris continued a heated conversation, the contents of which became white noise. There had to be something that they had overlooked. If only the labs in Arklay hadn't exploded. They'd have Umbrella's smoking gun right there. Maybe there was still something there that they missed in the mansion or the caves—Jill's eyes popped open.
"Lab B," she said. The men's conversations died. They both turned toward Jill, Chris's eyes narrowing as he waited for her to continue. "When the self-destruct sequence had been activated. It had said that it had been activated for lab B."
"What are you saying, Jill?" Barry asked, leaning in.
"I don't know," Jill replied. "It's unusual, isn't it, to call your lab 'lab B' if it were the only one. What if there were two labs at the mansion? The one Wesker led us to and another one."
"Where would it be?" Chris asked, though he too took a couple of steps closer. "We combed that place top to bottom."
Jill hardly had to think before she came up with the answer. Unfortunately, it also came accompanied by the last time she had seen Enrico alive.
"In the caves," Jill replied, more to herself. "There was a door with a card reader. Maybe…"
"That's a lot of maybes," Barry replied.
"Apparently, maybes are all we have," Chris said, returning to his seat. "Do you think you could find your way back there?"
"Now wait a minute, Chris," Barry replied. "There's no telling what's out there still. Sure, the lab—alright, one of possibly two labs—blew up. But the woods surrounding that place was crawling with monsters. Not to mention the damage to the property caused by the detonation. That place is a death trap—"
"What else are we going to do?" Chris shot back. "There is no one else who is going to expose Umbrella. You said it yourself, Barry! The FBI can't do shit unless there's proof."
Barry sighed and glanced at Jill. Jill only nodded.
"He's right," she said. "It's just us."
Again, Barry sighed, shaking his head.
"You're right," he replied. "You guys have to do what you have to do. I'll help any way that I can, but I'm heading out tomorrow."
Barry glanced over at the photos on the walls, each one a different moment caught in a single frame—Barry playing with an infant Polly, Kathy and Barry in an embrace on their wedding day, a Sears portrait of the four of them smiling back at the camera. Jill remembered the pain on Barry's face back at the mansion, of when he thought they were in danger. Of the lengths he was willing to go to protect them. Jill could only imagine the pain of being separated from his family, even if they were in a safer location.
"You have your family to take care of," Jill replied. "We understand."
Chris nodded curtly. Still, it didn't loosen the tightness in Barry's expression.
"Just promise me something," he said, turning his attention from Jill to Chris and back. "Wait at least for a couple of weeks."
"There's no time to wait—" Chris started.
"Both of you are still healing," Barry replied firmly. "Jill can barely walk, and you Chris…" He eyed the drink before Chris. Chris shifted his seat and refused to follow Barry's gaze. "You have more than one wound you need to take care of."
After a moment, Chris finally replied, "Fine."
"Agreed," Jill conceded with a sigh.
Life really could be ironic sometimes. The one place they all fought to escape kept pulling them back, whether it be in their nightmares or the coming mission. She had to take a deep breath to prevent herself from seizing up at the very thought. There is no other way, she reminded herself.
"Looks like we are going back to the Spencer Mansion."