Chapter One: Insurance Policy

September 24, 1998

It was raining. Jill lay there for a moment, listening to the gentle tapping on her window. For once she didn't have a nightmare. It felt as though every time she closed her eyes since the mansion incident, she was back in that place. The entrance hall was burned into her mind's eye and every time she thought about it, her heart raced. And I'm going back…Jill felt her stomach tighten at the thought.

It felt as though something tickled the side of her throat. Jill scratched it and the tickling subsided.

She opened her eyes. Little light made it in her apartment from the outside. Though she lived in a cozy loft off Nightingale Avenue, the "party street of Raccoon", her windows faced the brick wall of the adjacent building. Still, she found the sounds of the street comforting—the excited voices of filmgoers at the cinema across the street, the roaring of car engines. She usually kept her window open to let the sounds drift in and lull her into a fitful sleep. Looking at her soaked floor, she realized this was also a double-edged sword.

Thank God for hardwood, Jill thought as she leaped off her bed and stumbled toward the open window in the dark. She winced as she stepped into the puddle and her socks absorbed the cold water. Jill placed her hands on the window, droplets of rain brushing against her forearms. The hairs on her arms stood up on end and Jill realized how hot it suddenly was in her apartment. She shut the window. The rain and the noises of the Nightingale faded to a murmur, making her world feel unusually quiet. Jill shifted from one foot to another, lightly scratching her neck in agitation.

She moved through the darkness, working on a mental layout of the apartment and where she had placed boxes. Finally, she switched on a light, illuminating most of the loft. The apartment was divided into two halves by a wall. Her bed was pressed against the partition wall with a desk standing opposite of it. Among the other paraphilia littering her desk—a desk fan obsoleting along and case files—lay her 'lucky' beret. She hadn't touched it since her mission. True, it was no doubt working. She had been wearing it during her time at the Spencer estate. Yet, Jill couldn't bring herself to touch it, as if it would somehow transport her back to that night. So, it sat there, an object that both felt like both a symbol of good fortune and a coiled serpent ready to strike.

On the other side of the wall stood the kitchen with a small table, piled high with pizza boxes, and a refrigerator and counter. To the kitchen's right wall was the bathroom door, partially open.

Though, the one thing that always caught her attention was on the wall next to her desk—an elaborate collage of documents and photos following Umbrella and their activities. Granted it wasn't much. She set it up the night after their meeting at Barry's. She went to the library, trying to see if she could find out any more information, but it was sparse. Jill found herself gawking at it, frustrated that there was nothing more, yet sure that the answer was there—hiding in plain sight.

Jill dug her nails into the side of her neck, but it didn't do anything to save her from the incessant itching.

"What the Hell," she muttered to herself. Jill walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light. It was a small bathroom with the sink and mirror across from the door so she could see her silhouette even as she stood in the doorway. Her counter was relatively bare, really only containing soup and some foundation and mascara. Her Samurai Edge handgun also rested there.

Jill walked forward, her brow furrowing. When had she put her gun there? When she looked up, her gun disappeared from her thoughts.

A dark purple blotch consumed the side of her neck. Jill gasped, instinctively raising a hand to it and scratching it. Her skin felt clammy beneath her fingertips, the contents of her stomach threatening to rise. It's just the lighting, Jill thought frantically. If that were the case, why then was her eyes darkening with tendrils of infections snaking out from the blotches. Because that's what it is, isn't it? Some nasty voice said in the back of Jill's head. It had been foolish to think she escaped the Spencer estate Scott-free. They had been too close to the fire, it was inevitable they would be burned.

The itching made her want to claw off her skin.

Jill glanced down at her hands. They were shriveled and crimson, with blood seeping from her pores. Her only salvation rested there on the counter—her Samurai Edge. She stumbled toward it, brushing her hand against the counter. Blood smeared across the white linoleum. Jill snatched the weapon up. Her grip felt loose around it, as though she would drop it at any moment. She slowly raised it to her temple, grimacing when the cold mussel pushed the side of her head. Jill watched her wide, dark eyes stare back from the reflection. Her hand trembled. Do it now, she thought. Before the hunger comes. Jill grimaced, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

Jill gasped as her eyes popped open. The sounds of Raccoon drifted in through the open window, the bright light of morning shining outside. The usual roar of car engines from Nightingale seeped in. She raised her hands, squinting through the crust in her eyes and the sunlight. They were normal and white. No blotches, no bleeding, no itching. Jill slumped back onto her bed. Thank God, she thought. She had been no stranger to nightmares. After her tour through Iraq, the things she saw there made nightmares a frequent occurrence. But these dreams…they were getting ridiculous. The same bad dream for almost two months straight. They changed slightly—from the mansion to her apartment. Hell, once it even took place in a K-Mart. Yet, the one constant was the infection. The metamorphosis.

Jill grunted as she pushed herself up. Her shorts hiked up her thigh, revealing a puckered, white line. How narrowly she escaped from that encounter. How much longer can I keep getting lucky? Then the realization came.

"Today's the day," she muttered. Tonight, she and Chris were heading back into the Arklay Forest. It was probably all a waste of time. There wasn't much chance that this second lab at the Spencer Estate was still intact and even less chance that Umbrella wouldn't gut it had it survived. But what other leads do we have? We're grasping at straws.

Jill sighed and stood—

KNOCK. KNOCK.

She froze, her body tensing. Chris said he was just going to meet her at Kendo's at four. He didn't say anything about meeting her back here. Jill opened her end table's drawer, an assortment of over-the-counter sleep aids rattling over the surface. Within, she found her Samurai Edge lying there. There was another knock at the door. She scooped it up, sliding into her short's waistband. Jill rounded her bed and approached her front door.

"Who is it," Jill asked through the door, resting her hand on the handle of her gun.

"Jackie's Pizza!" someone's muffled voice replied. Jill's brow furrowed.

"Jackie's…" she muttered to herself, looking into her door's peephole. A teenager stood on the other end of the door, wearing a red t-shirt with 'Jackie's Pizza' in big yellow letters stenciled into the upper right corner. A green cap baring the same logo hid his shaggy brown hair. His watery blue eyes stared blankly at the door, as though the delivery boy was either extremely bored or extremely stoned.

Jill opened the door. Up close, the young man looked as though he couldn't be older than seventeen, a green pizza carrier hanging from his grip. Red acne blotches cluttered his face with a fair amount of scarring.

"I didn't order a pizza," Jill replied. Still, the young man retrieved a large pizza from his carrier.

"Yeah," the delivery boy replied as though it were obvious that she hadn't. "Someone called it in for you. It's paid for."

"Who called it in?"

The young man just shrugged, holding the pizza box out. A receipt was attached to the box. Jill didn't move at first, but then quickly regained her senses and opened the door up. She took the pizza, the cardboard box warm in her hand. A soon as she took it, the young man turned away back down the corridor outside. It wasn't until now that she noticed writing bled through from the opposite side of the receipt.

Jill crossed over to her kitchen table, placed the box down, and flipped over the receipt. Her eyes darted across the scrawl.

Hey Jill,

How you holding up? I still can't believe everything that's happening. It's such bullshit. Irons ought to pin a medal on us for making it out of that hellhole back in July. Or you guys I mean. I wasn't that much help, was I?

I know you guys are probably pissed at me. I honestly don't blame you. When it comes to fight or flight, I usually always choose flight. I chose it that night in the mountains and I chose in again back that day in the precinct. It's just that everything happened so fast…still, that's no excuse. I really screwed you guys over. I'm sorry.

Just promise to watch your back. I think I was being followed when all of this started, but I haven't noticed it as much anymore. Maybe I'm just used to being followed by black vans or maybe they've given up on us. Still, I don't want to take the chance. I may have taken Umbrella's money, but it looks like I'm still in the same boat as you guys. Just take care, Jill.

Brad Vickers

S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team (now and forever)

P.S. Had to slip this message to the pizza guy to avoid detection. Enjoy the extra large Mega Meat Supreme! It's on me.

Jill chortled.

"Maybe not a chickenheart forever," she muttered before opening the pizza box to the steaming pie inside.

"Jesus Christ."

Sure, it had been about a month since Jill had been out by the R.P.D., usually only going out to the grocery store down the block from her house or the library. Yet, she didn't think a sinkhole nearly as large as a football field would block Haddad Avenue. Barricades and scaffolding had been erected around the hole, separating Jill from a solid four-story drop.

Jill righted herself and reminded herself of the reason why she and Chris were here. To her right was the back of the R.P.D. with the rear garage opening out onto Haddad. As she glanced up at the old building, a wave of nostalgia overtook her. It was her first real job since leaving the army and taking a shot at a civilian job. Maybe not as laid back as a desk job, but not as intense as where she came from. Being a member of Raccoon's S.T.A.R.S. division seemed the best of both worlds—to be the city's first line of defense when something catastrophic had happened. Though, when she joined she was thinking more of taking down suicide bombers, not trying to take down a corrupt and negligible mega-corporation.

Wishful thinking, she thought before turning her back to the R.P.D. to her main objective. A squat shop stood before her. Wide windows showed shelves lined with ammunition and other weapon paraphernalia. 'Gun Shop Kendo' written in large red neon lights hung above.

"Jesus Christ," a voice said a foot from her. Jill glanced over to find Chris approaching, his gaze on the sinkhole.

"Something, isn't it?" Jill replied.

"This city is going to hell," he replied, a humorless smile crossing his face. However, when he turned to Jill, it vanished. "Ready for all of this?"

No, she wanted to say. How could you be ready to go to the one place that made your heart shake just by the mere memory of it?

"As ready as I'm ever going to be," Jill replied truthfully. Chris turned toward to the gun shop.

"At least we aren't going in blind this time," he said.

Thank God for small favors, Jill thought. The trouble was getting enough supplies without seeming suspicious. Jill could just imagine what the shop owner would be thinking as two disgraced officers came in to buy enough firepower to hold up Fort Knox. Barry was kind enough to suggest a good gunsmith—"The best gunsmith in Raccoon City," his exact words had been. "Just tell him I sent you."

Jill only nodded to Chris. Without another word, the two entered the shop.

Kendo's was fairly small, only containing a few shelves of ammunition and gun accessories to the right. A counter stood before them, behind which stood a case of various rifles and handguns.

"Welcome!" A large man in a red plaid shirt said from behind the counter. Graying scruff coated his jaw, making him seem all the more rugged. Jill couldn't help but be reminded of Barry. "What can I do you for?"

"Hi there," Chris said, stepping forward. "You're Kendo?"

"Yeah, that's me," Kendo replied, leaning against the counter.

"We were going on a hunting trip up north," Jill added. Not exactly a lie. "Barry said that you might be able to help us."

Kendo stood up, his eyes tightening as he looked Jill and Chris up and down.

"Barry Burton, huh? We go way back," Kendo said. His eyes tightened and Jill had to force herself to hold his gaze. He walked around the counter to the front door and clicked the lock. Jill felt her stomach churn. "I think I have the thing you need. Just wait here a second."

He walked past them again and exited through the rear. Chris stood, stoic and waiting. Jill, on the other hand, found that her legs demanded that she walkabout.

"Do you really think he can help us out?" Jill asked. "If he recognizes us…if he calls the R.P.D. our whole plan is shot."

"He came highly recommended from Barry," Chris replied. "I trust Barry."

So did I, Jill thought but then felt ashamed as soon as she thought it. It was true that Barry had betrayed them to Wesker in the mansion, but his family was taken hostage. At least, that's what Wesker had convinced everyone.

The rear door opened once again. Kendo walked back to the counter, carrying a large duffle bag. He put it on the countertop and then gestured toward it. Chris and Jill looked at one another. Chris's expression was tight and his eyes hard, while Jill's expression was wide with trepidation. Chris stepped forward. With a steady hand, he opened the zipper to the bag and peered inside.

Chris started laughing.

"Barry, you sly son of a bitch."

Jill walked forward and peered into the bag as well. When she saw what was inside, she couldn't help but grin herself. Two AK-47s, two handguns, a shotgun, and several boxes of ammunition and clips lay inside. Lying upon everything was a folded note written on notebook paper. Jill took it out, unfolded, and read:

Since you two are determined to go on this crazy mission, I might as well give you an insurance policy. Do me a favor-don't get yourselves killed.

-Barry

Jill showed Chris the note, which only made Chris laugh harder.

"You guys must be hunting some pretty big game," Kendo replied, smirking.

"The biggest," Chris replied.