Disclaimer: Resident Evil belongs to Capcom, etc, etc. I don't own it and don't intend to make a profit from this story.
Chapter Three
Keller's Bar
Wendy Sorenson sighed and handed her boss another beer. It might be against the conditions of their license, but she doubted that Dean had never shown any regard for authority in his life. The bartender grunted his thanks and turned back to the newspaper, scratching at his thick sandy beard and frowning over a grainy photograph of a grim-faced boy.
She cast a glance about the bar. Keller's was almost empty; only the hard drinkers emerged before noon so the locals were looking pretty damn seedy. Wendy smirked to herself. No doubt her fiancée and her best friend would fit in well among the winos if either of them to stumble in.
I wonder how they're both doing, she wondered, bending to empty another ashtray. Neither Pete nor Lindsay was known for their ability to function while hung over. No doubt Pete was already sniping at his fellow officers and Lindsay had probably crawled back to bed.
Wendy dumped the dirty ashtrays into the sink and started scrubbing, wrinkling her nose at the smell of ash. Most of the time she didn't mind working at Keller's, but some of the chores Dean had her doing really sucked.
Oh well. I won't have to put up with it much longer. I'll get married to Pete in May and waltz right out of here. Oh well, that was the dream at least. Wendy was realistic to know she wouldn't be waltzing out of Keller's for next ten years if she and Pete bought that place on the outskirts of town. Pete's salary alone wouldn't cover a mortgage.
Wendy began stacking the ashtrays beside the sink, watching the regulars in their usual habits. The usual unemployed miners were already parked at the bar, downing beers despite the early hour and commiserating. Huddled around a table near the entrance were the low lives Dean refused to put tabs up for. Particularly Marlene King; Wendy had seen the middle aged woman put miners, cops and truckers to shame, downing more alcohol than Wendy thought possible for the human body to consume. Marlene caught Wendy's eye and lifted her empty pitcher, shaking it so the dregs sloshed onto the table.
Not until I see the cash, sweetheart, Wendy thought to herself, deliberately averting her gaze and focusing on stacking ashtrays. She didn't want to antagonise Marlene, not when the woman had a reputation for brawling and spending more time in the RCMP's cells than anyone else in town. Getting into a fight with her wasn't particularly appealing. But neither was getting her pay docked when Marlene failed to pay up.
The door opening caught her attention, and she appraised the burly man who paused to brush snow off his dark jacket and pants with a curious eye. When he glanced up, Wendy realised with a start that he was old enough to be her father. A little embarrassed-and darkly noting how Dean snickered over his paper at her-Wendy plastered a perky smile onto her face.
"Hi there," she greeted as the newcomer approached the bar. "What can I get for ya?" She indicated the slouched miners. "Don't let the time fool you. We start serving at nine."
The stranger laughed politely-a deep, chesty sound that made Wendy think of Old Ben the town mascot for some odd reason-and shook his head with a good-natured smile.
"Sorry but it's a little early for me. But I could stand a coffee if you serve it." He took a seat at the bar, pulling off his ski cap and scratching at his scalp. There were dark smudges and lines under his dark eyes, the greying stubble on his chin and cheeks making him look older than he probably was. Wendy thought he could have sat down with the miners and fit in perfectly, his exhaustion echoing their misery. "It's been a hell of a drive up here."
Wendy gave a sympathetic shrug and pulled out a mug, standing it beneath the espresso machine Dean had bought last summer for the tourists while reaching for a foil packet of espresso beans with her other hand.
"That road's a nightmare," she agreed. Wendy tore open the packet with her teeth and poured the beans into the machine before switching it on. "No one should be on it during winter in my opinion. It's a fatal accident waiting to happen. Anyway, I'm Wendy." She leaned over the bar and offered the stranger her hand.
He took it and returned her smile. "I'm Barry."
"What brings you to Grace Lake then?" Wendy asked, using the standard line she gave tourists.
"I'm actually here to catch up with an old friend," Barry replied, leaning to take something out of his jacket pocket. "I was in the next town over and realised I should drop by before I head south." Barry made a wry face as he handed over an old photograph. "It's been a while since we last spoke. I know he moved out here, but I'm not sure where he's living now."
Wendy took the photograph carefully. "Well, if he's a local I'll know him. We're the only bar around for miles. But I've gotta warn you, he might not live here anymore. Since the mine closed down last year people have been fleeing this town like it's a sinking ship. Did you see all the closed business on the way in? If it wasn't for the sawmill and the plantation this town'd be dea-" She abruptly stopped and glanced up, an amused expression playing on her face, her eyes glinting merrily. "You can't be serious. He's your friend? No offence, but I didn't think he had any."
Dean put down his newspaper. "Who is it?" he asked gruffly, craning to see. Wendy handed the photo to her boss reluctantly, dropping her gaze for another glance.
It had to have been taken years ago, before Dr. Cooper started losing all his hair and picked up all those lines on his thin face, but Wendy was sure it was him. He had a white doctor's coat on and the same bastard look on his face. Wendy didn't know how the doctor did it, but he managed to look snide, arrogant and cold all at once. It was really quite a feat for one expression, she thought.
"Norman isn't the easiest of people to get along with," Barry said with a grin. "Don't let his arrogance put you off."
Wendy rolled her eyes as she looked up. "It's not just the arrogance that puts me off, don't worry. Everything else about the good doctor contributes as well." The machine made a high-pitched beep and Wendy flicked the switch, sending a gurgling stream of brown liquid into the cup. "You take milk or sugar?"
"No milk, two sugars," was the answer. Wendy tapped in two sachets of sugar and set the cup in front of him.
"Well, if you're looking for Dr. Cooper, then I'd say he'd be at work, over at the hospital," she told Barry, leaning against the counter. "He's always there."
The newcomer took an apprehensive sip of the coffee. Wendy couldn't blame him-the stuff wasn't exactly café worthy. Obviously he thought better of it than Wendy did, because Barry quickly took another, coming close to scalding himself as he set the cup down.
"That sounds like Norman," he said. "He's always been a workaholic. So where is this hospital? I'll stop by and say hello."
"Over on Maple street," Wendy replied, noting that Marlene King was staggering over the bar. "You really can't miss it. The big grey building with a helipad on the roof. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to-"
"That's okay," Barry said. "I really should get going anyway." He stood and took a last gulp of hot coffee.
Wendy had already grabbed a fresh pitcher and was already pouring it for Marlene when a sudden scream rang through the bar, knocking the pitcher from her hands. It shattered on the polished wooden floor, beer saturating her black pants and pooling in foamy puddles around her feet. Before she could glance up and question what was happening, a second, shrill and strangled scream followed.
The commotion was focused around the miners. Chairs were being thrown back as they stood, drinks spilled and exclaimed and surprised cries clamouring through the bar. Wendy was about to check on it when Dean stood and left the bar. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad she hadn't been forced to break up whatever scuffle the miners had imagined amongst themselves. She bent to pick up some of the larger pieces of glass, but Dean's raised voice startled her a second time. Carelessly slicing her thumb on a shard, Wendy swore under her breath and stood, her eyes scanning the commotion for a cause.
That was when she saw it.
Blood bubbled from between one miner's hands, both clutched desperately at his throat. Wendy vaguely recognised him-Joe, always ordered Scotch when he was in a lively mood-and thought she recognised the tall, lanky man with blood smeared all over the lower half of his face, a feral, almost insane gleam in his eyes. Dean was attempting to hold him back while the other miners came to the assistance of the injured man, but even big burly Dean was finding it difficult to keep a grip.
"Someone call the cops!" one of the barfly's shouted.
"Hey, girlie, that man needs an ambulance!" Marlene King screeched pointedly at Wendy.
Wendy reached for the phone mounted on one of the bar struts, dialling 9-1-1 while watching with disbelieving eyes as the injured man was shouldered onto the cleared space used for dancing, a slick trail of blood trailing along behind him. In her ear, the phone dialled once, twice, three, four times…
"Come on!" she shouted impatiently, wondering why it was that whenever there was a real emergency it always took forever to get help.
Dean fought to keep his hold as the lanky, crazed man attempted to lunge toward Joe and the others huddled around him. "Get a hold of yourself son!" he yelled in his deep voice, not bothering to be careful about manhandling the guy. "The cops been called yet?"
"I'm trying!" Wendy cried, a hint of hysteria colouring her voice. The ring tone was still trilling in her ear. Over on the floor, Joe moaned, a reminder that he was going to bleed to death if she didn't get connected-
Shit, she'd worked at Keller's for over a year and never seen one patron bite-bite!-into another's throat. She'd cleaned up teeth and the like after brawls back when the mine was still in business, but none of those conflicts had ever had this kind of brutality about them. Disturbed by the sight of Joe's blood pooling on the wooden floor and covering the hands of the people trying to help, Wendy had to turn away, forcing her gaze on the floor to avoid the mirror that ran along the length of the bar.
"Hey!" Dean's shocked cry made Wendy's head snap up, the ring tone still echoing hollowly in her ear.
"Dean, you okay?"
"Grab a hold of 'im!" Dean shouted. "The bastard's bitten me!"
Wendy's heart thudded in her chest as she turned. Dean's outraged expression would have had her laughing if it had been any other time, but the trail of blood that trickled down the length of his arm made her stomach feel strangely hollow and her legs weak.
Don't pass out, she told herself, trying to keep a hold of her composure but suspecting she failing-badly. Keep it together.
The man grabbed Marlene King, his hands tearing cruelly into the squealing woman's hair. He dragged the thrashing woman toward him, ignoring the fists of the four or five men who tried to drag him away from her.
"Where are the god-damned cops?" someone shouted.
"I'm trying!" Wendy shrieked frantically, all semblance of control lost in her panic. "No one's picking up!"
That was, of course, when someone did pick up.
"911 Dispatch, what's your emergency?" the tired voice on the other end inquired dutifully.
"We need an ambulance at Keller's Bar! There's been a fight-oh God, he's bleeding on the floor…"
"Ma'am, I need you to stay calm and tell me what's happened," the operator said, her professionalism taking over. "Who's bleeding on the floor?"
"One of the patrons attacked another-and the bartender, and he's going to attack someone else if you don't send the cops here," Wendy cried, turning away from the scene before she threw up. "Please, we need paramedics and police as soon as possible-"
Somewhere behind her, Marlene screamed and the others shouted obscenities and indistinguishable curses as the struggle continued. There was a scuffle, and the sound of more chairs being knocked over. Someone shouted her name and Wendy glanced up, seeing Gav approach too late to escape. She skidded back, cutting her knees and slicing open the fabric of her pants on the forgotten shards of glass.
"The local RCMP and paramedics have been notified and are on their way," the operator told her, the voice almost lost amid Gav's shriek. "I need you to stay on the line and keep talking to me. Is the perpetrator still on the premises?"
"Yes," Wendy answered fearfully, her cut hand desperately grabbing for the baseball bat she knew Dean kept behind the register. She opened her mouth to say something else, but the abrupt sound of a handgun rang through the bar.
Screaming with shock and dropping the receiver, Wendy ducked down, her hands slipping on the beer-covered floor. The tiny voice of the dispatch operator shrieked at her, but Wendy made no move to grab for the phone. Fearing the worst-and waiting for another shot-she kept perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.
"It's alright now," a voice said in the sudden silence. "It's taken care of."
And so it was. Gav's body was sprawled in front of her, his blood mingling with the spilled beer and staining the foam a pale pink. Wendy let out a terrified cry and stared disbelievingly at the man's body. His legs twitched a few times, making Wendy flinch and scramble away on all fours, not trusting her legs to support her.
She edged along the bar, slowly peeking her head around the corner. The others were standing, aghast, some with blood-splattered faces and disbelieving stares directed at the lone figure standing near the doors.
A revolver was in Barry's hands, a determined expression on his face as he regarded Gav's still-twitching body. His pleasant, fatherly demeanour had been dropped, replaced by something Wendy could only call stern authority. Despite the fact Barry had just shot Gav point-blank in the face, the man didn't look crazy or even angry, which scared Wendy even more.
Who kills someone over a bar fight? She asked herself, bewilderment warring with fear. Another, irrational thought came to mind. How did Lindsay's father end up with such a crazy friend?
"That man was infected," Barry said, slowly lowering the revolver. He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath that Wendy was too far away to catch, and then slipped the revolver into an unseen shoulder holster. His gaze settled on Joe and the men surrounding him. "And anyone who got bitten or scratched by him is infected too."
Most-including Wendy-stared at Barry like he was crazy. Others-mostly those around the fallen Joe-shrank back, staring at blood stained hands with a degree of horror that hadn't been present a moment earlier.
Wendy couldn't find the courage to stand, or even speak, but Dean did.
"Are you tellin' me that man there's like a rabid dog?" he demanded, his bearded face red. "An' you jus' put 'im down like that? Shit, you're as crazy as he was!"
"It's no lie," Barry replied calmly. "I don't know how it could be…but here it is."
Dean didn't believe him-the belligerent expression on the bar owner's face attested to that-but Wendy found herself staring at Gav's pale face and wondered if the stranger was right.
She was about to actually stand and ask the stranger how he could possibly know that Gav was sick, but that was when the RMCP arrived, handguns aimed at Barry.
"What on God's green Earth happened in this shithole?" Sergeant Hull demanded as he surveyed the damage. His gaze stopped on the two fallen bodies and a small, unpleasant grin formed on his angular face when he saw the revolver in Barry's hands.
"You're under arrest," Hull said, the grin turning into a sneer. "Dean-your bar's gonna be closed for business today."
"Fine by me," Dean retorted. "Where are the paramedics? My damn arm's hurtin' and Joe there's bleedin' to death." Frozen in her spot behind the bar, Wendy watched as Barry calmly handed over his firearm and turned his attention to Hull.
"You're making a mistake," he said in a voice that disturbed Wendy more than any of the violence so far. He sounded so confident that he was right. Confident enough to make Wendy's gut clench. "This town has been infected by the same virus that decimated Raccoon City. Umbrella's already been here. What deal's been made here? What have you done?"
Hull laughed, and one of the other officers guffawed along with him. Wendy narrowed her eyes, recognising Stuart Evans, the same guy Pete had so many problems with. The one that moved in to handcuff Barry didn't laugh, his attention warily focused on the bigger man in case Barry decided to put up a resistance.
"Evans, get this fellow into a cell and out of my face," Hull instructed in a tone that brooked no argument. "And when Wake and Milner get back, send them down here. There's gonna be a whole lot of paperwork waitin' for them. I want everyone else focused on the Yates case."
"Virus? Honestly, what is this, nutcase season?" Marlene demanded, her high-pitched voice grating on Wendy's ears. "What virus makes people bite each other, I wanna know."
"Maybe it's the Yates defence," Evans cracked, drawing a scowl from his superior.
"It's the T-virus," Barry said in a low voice, allowing the officer to handcuff him. The authority seemed to leech from his face, and the etched exhaustion returned. "You have to start checking the community now, before it starts to spread-"
"Yeah, sure, tell us all about it back at the detachment," Evans sneered as they led Barry from Keller's. The wails of the town's only ambulance suddenly picked up on the edge of Wendy's hearing and for the first time since the commotion had broke out, she felt a little safer.
I wish Pete was here, she thought longingly, knowing her strong fiancée would know what to say to help her feel a bit better after today. When Hull called for everyone who wasn't injured to prepare to make statements about the 'incident' they'd witnessed, Wendy stood.
Wendy didn't notice the small tickle in the back of her throat, or how she absently rubbed at her eyes, which were starting to itch a little. Wendy didn't connect these tiny symptoms to the deadly disease she'd picked up from the immensely minute traces of virus in the pool of blood that had mixed in with the beer she'd spilled on the floor. It hadn't entered her mind that the cuts on her hands and knees were perfect openings for her death. She didn't know that tiny, artificially-created time-bombs were dissolving their crystal walls to sink their deadly cargo into her red blood cells.
She didn't know that almost every other person in the bar was infected with the T-virus either.
And she certainly didn't know that in a handful of hours, they were all going to be reduced to mindless, ravaging creatures that would make Gav's penchant for biting people look tame.
Note: Thanks to Squirrel54 for the review. It's really encouraging!