Chapter Ten: The Lost Family
Almost as soon as the three started toward their ambiguous destination, Chris and Jill found themselves climbing up hills of rubble and turned up earth. Many of the trees which stood as silent sentinels during their last excursion through the Spencer's Mansion now lay uprooted or broken, with their bark blackened by the tell-tale signs of fire. Jill found this to have its advantages and disadvantages—the lack of canopy was good, as it allowed the moon to light their way. The bad, the shattered remnants of tree trunks and branches added to the already perilous terrain.
"We almost there?" Chris asked. During the journey, his flashlight never left Rain's back. Rain stopped for a moment, glancing at the ruined forest around her. "Hey, I asked you a question!" Chris aimed his gun for the back of her head, his finger tight around the trigger.
"We should be getting close," Rain replied.
She turned north-east and continued as though she was unaware she was half a trigger-push away from a bullet in the back of her skull.
"Chris, chill," Jill said at his side. Chris grunted and took a step forward. Jill lightly grabbed his arm, slowing his pace. "I know you're on edge. I am too. But this isn't going to help anything?"
"So what?" he muttered back. "You want me to treat her with loving care?"
"This isn't helping," Jill sighed.
"You realize that it's because of people like her—people who work for Umbrella-"
"People like us."
Chris stopped. Rain must have detected that her captors had come to a halt, for she also slowed and rounded to face them a few feet away.
"We're nothing like them," Chris replied evenly, his brow furrowed.
"Aren't we?" Jill replied, moving in so her mouth was inches from his ear. "Iron's was practically in Umbrella's pocket. Who did we report to?"
"It's nothing like that—"
"And three months ago, do you think we would have defied orders?"
Chris's mouth snapped shut. Jill waited, watching his face tighten into a thin-lipped grimace. It was a long-shot, making the comparison. From what little Jill knew of Chris, he didn't seem like the one to carry out orders for a cause he didn't believe in. Still, she couldn't disregard how his eyes tightened—as though a war raged within his thoughts.
"What's the hold-up," Rain asked.
"I'm not saying trust her," Jill whispered to Chris. "I'm just asking to empathize, even a little. Don't wind yourself up so much."
Chris let out a long, strained exhale.
"Fine," he replied. "But if something goes wrong…"
"Yeah," Jill muttered before she turned to follow Rain.
If something goes wrong. Jill tightened her hands around her weapon. She hoped—prayed—nothing went wrong. But in this place, there was barely anything that was right.
The trio continued for another ten minutes. The trees became more numerous, less of them blackened and most with their branches intact. As they passed beneath the thickening canopy, the moon fell behind and Jill and Chris's flashlights became the main source of light. Jill's ears perked for even the slightest sound—the cry of an owl or breaking of a twig.
Or the moan of a zombie.
Jill pushed the thought aside. She was about to ask when they were going to arrive when a structure emerged out of the darkness. It's wood-paneled siding nearly concealed it with the surrounding woods. The black cavities that once were windows were now paneless and seemed to absorb any light directed at it. A wind swept through the forest, making the weathered boards of the cabin creak in protest.
Chris stopped short when the structure became visible in his touch light.
"It's here, is it?" he asked.
"Yeah," Rain replied. "It was once—"
"The Trevor family," Chris interrupted. "They used to live here. I know."
"Right," Rain replied. "They were housed here to guard the back entrance to the underground." (You mean before they were killed and experimented on, Chris thought. The image of Lisa Trevor, hunched and shacked with the faces of her victims sewn over her own, filled his memory). Rain led the way to the front of the cabin. As they rounded the structure, Rain stopped so abruptly that Jill and Chris nearly ran into her.
Figures shifted in the darkness. Jill trained the beam of her light upon them. At first, she thought she was looking at some overgrown plants. Then they turned, their bulbous heads opening into a fleshy maw. Tiny white barbs glistened in each petal of their open face. Vines thrashed from their back as though seeking purchase on prey they couldn't see. One of them took a tentative step toward Jill's light. A long, stringy bit of drool dripped from its open plume and sizzled once it struck the ground. Jill shifted her light slightly, noticing there was at least another three or four behind it.
Rain raised her weapon and Chris quickly put a hand on the top, forcing her to lower it.
"They don't know we're here," Chris whispered. Now that Jill noticed, it was as though each plant creature's body arched backward so that their head faced the sky. As she glanced upward a droplet of water fell upon her cheek. Almost instantly, a cascade of rain descended upon the night. The creature's limbs swayed in the torrent, their bodies swaying to and fro while their vine-line appendages thrashed about. "Come on," Chris said, gesturing toward the door to the shack.
He rounded on the entrance, opened the door, and peered in with his flashlight before entering. Rain quickly followed suit while Jill took up the rear, keeping a wary eye on the plant-creatures before closing the door behind them. Inside, an eerie silence met them, broken only by the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof. The passage within was nearly black as pitch and not even the meager moonlight ebbing in through the open window could touch it.
Chris led the way, edging forward with his weapon trained. His shoulders hunched while he lowered his eye over the crosshairs, as though he anticipated—or rather expected—an oncoming attack. Chris turned the corner. Whatever he saw loosened the tension in his shoulders and allowed his head to lift.
Jill rounded the corner to find an open living area. A cobblestone fireplace stood to their right, its pit cold and dark. To their left ran three steps, leading to another darkened bedroom containing a perfectly made bed and a writing desk.
Rain charged forward. Chris tensed but let the woman by, following closely behind into an adjoining corridor. Rain walked its length, where the corridor seemed to come to an abrupt end. Then, she kneeled, feeling around the floor.
"There's a trapdoor around here," Rain said, as though expecting for one of the ex-S.T.A.R.S. to comment on the situation. Finally, her fingers found purchase and she lifted a section of the floor. It gave way to a dark opening, only lit with the faint flicker of firelight within.
"After me, I presume?" Rain asked over her shoulder.
Chris noted the instant change of atmosphere as they crossed the threshold. The humid summer air shifted into something more stale and cold. Candles lined the passage, its flickering light casting shadows over the earthen walls. Who the Hell is lighting these, Chris thought as Jill dropped down. He tightened his grip on his assault rifle.
The passage ended in an avalanche of fallen earth and debris. To their right, another ladder descended into another room. At the bottom, drenched in the flickering candlelight, was another bedroom. A queen-sized bed with a quilted duvet and a dozen pillows sat to their right, coated with a layer of dust. An end table stood at the foot of the bed, several lit candles surrounding a white spherical object adorning its surface. To their left stood a vanity with an assortment of framed pictures. A darkened opening stood on the opposite end of the room, two red, velvet curtains pulled back by a gold sash on either side. The sweet stench of mildew lingered in the air.
"Someone's been making themselves comfortable down here," Jill muttered. Chris's eyes wandered over to the vanity and the various faded pictures on the table. Photos of a woman, man, and girl between eight and nine rested on the countertop in gold-gilded frames. Chris picked one up—a family portrait of the three sitting upon a couch. The little girl, in pajamas with pants, sat between her mother and father, smiling at the camera.
Lisa Trevor. The daughter of the architect of the Spencer Estate, George Trevor. The only survivor of Umbrella's experiments...if what had happened to her could be counted as surviving. Chris had seen her last time the S.T.A.R.S. were forced into this death trap. She had barely been human at all-her wrists bound in chains, the flayed faces for her victims stitched to her own head, those agonized screams. All the time calling out for her mother. After all these years, she was still just a scared child. Chris's heart seized. His grip on the frame tightened as that seizing in his chest lit into a fire.
"Hey Chris," Jill said. Chris glanced over his shoulder to find Jill standing before the end table. She held up a white, spherical object. It took Chris a moment to register what the object was. When he did, that burning grew in his chest.
"Jesus," Rain muttered. Chris glared at her, every ounce of hatred toward Umbrella bearing down upon her. If it weren't for Jill, he wasn't sure what he would have done.
"Not quite," Chris smeared, handing Jill the photograph. She held it so the flickering of the flame reflected off of the frame's glass. Rain took a step closer, glancing at the photo over Jill's shoulder. "They were the Trevors. George was the architect who built this place for Umbrella. For Spencer. When he was done, Umbrella thought he was too dangerous to be kept alive, knowing everything about the mansion. They took him, his wife, and his daughter, Lisa. Tortured them. Experimented on them. The only one who made it out was Lisa, but they changed her…"
"Into what?" Rain asked, her voice low. The sound of her voice made Chris cringe, though this time not in disgust. There was a hint of shock and horror behind it. Her brown eyes stared down at the photo with a furrowed brow and she glanced around the room, as though Lisa was standing right behind them. As though she had no idea what Umbrella had been up to. Maybe Jill had been right after all. Maybe Rain, like the S.T.A.R.S. when they first ventured out into the Arkley mountains on that fateful night, had no comprehension of the horrors that her employers were capable of.
"What do you think?" he asked, surprising himself with the lack of venom in his voice.
"How do you know all this?" Jill asked.
"I found Lisa's diary last time we were here," he replied. "Before we came back, I did a little bit of research. There wasn't much. Nearly everything about George Trevor had been wiped clean."
A silence hung between them as the last syllable left Chris's lips. Jill gingerly replaced the skull on the table and then wiped her hand on her pants. She handed him the framed picture. He had just put it down when a sound echoed from above. A sound that made them all freeze. The sound of a door slamming shut. The color drained from Chris's face.
The three waited, staring up at the ladder. Nothing came for a moment. Not even the low whistling of the wind. Then came the gentle creaking of the floorboards above. The heavy weight of footfalls. Then, as though they needed any other proof as to who this visitor was, a single, muffled word echoed down to them like a gust through a cracked window.
"Mother."