Barry handed the medallion, or crest, or "key" – whatever it was – back to Wesker. "There's no way you just guessed all of this. Level with me," Barry demanded, "what's going on here?"
"It's better for your own good if you stay in the dark, Burton," Wesker cautioned.
"Cut the cryptic crap." Barry crossed his burly arms over his chest impatiently. "I've had enough unexplainable weirdness for one night. Tell me or I find my own way out of here."
The captain studied Barry, his face a grim, unreadable mask. His eventual response was a calm deadpan, but frustration boiled beneath. "If you want your family to be safe, if you want to make it out of here alive, you'll help me find the other three of these—" he held up the medallion "—so we can get out of here."
The first part of what Wesker said had knocked Barry off-balance, making it so he barely registered the last half of the captain's sentence.
"That sounds an awful lot like a threat," Barry bristled. A prickling chill ran down his spine – Wesker didn't seem the type to make idle threats. "What does my family have to do with this?"
"It is a threat, just not from me. They have people outside your house keeping an eye on your family to make sure you cooperate."
Barry felt like he was the butt end of some bad joke. "Who is this 'they' that I'm supposed to be cooperating with?"
"Think, Burton," Wesker prodded. "Where are we? Who owns this place?" He let that one marinate, realization slowly dawning on Barry's face.
"Umbrella?" Barry asked, his voice growing even more of an edge, getting irritated. Either the captain's gone bonkers or this is the worst prank ever. "What do they have to do with this?"
"The short answer? Everything. The murders and animal attacks, the disappearances – it all comes back to what Umbrella was doing here."
"Which is…?"
Wesker rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, in a growl that implied he'd had to explain this one two many times, "The mansion is just a cover for a BSL-Four virology lab working on creating bioweapons. There was a leak. Everyone was infected with a virus they were working on, and a few of the personnel and test subjects escaped. Apparently more escaped than we thought. There are teams canvasing the surrounding area to try and stop any more of them from getting to the city, but obviously that hasn't been working too well."
"How do you know all of this?"
"I work for them."
Barry grasped for some sort of response. There was no way this was real. "I don't know what kind of punchline that was supposed to be, but I'm not really seeing the humor here."
"No punchline," Wesker responded evenly, staring at Barry with eyes that had turned to ice. Barry's stomach sank. "This is real."
They just stared at each other for a moment in some sort of test of wills, Barry hoping Wesker would break but knowing somehow that the captain was telling the truth. Finally, unable to take it any longer, Barry asked, "Why are we out here?"
Regret softened Wesker's features. "We weren't supposed to be. Bravo's helicopter wasn't supposed to go down, at least not according to the plan I was told. I was supposed to keep the RPD away from this area as much as possible. The fact that they already had someone in place to blackmail you tells me that it was probably sabotage. If I don't call them on the satellite phone they provided every hour, they execute your family."
Barry let out a breath, long and slow, through his nose. "What's the plan now?"
"They want us to destroy the evidence. There's a self-destruct mechanism that will purge the lab and surrounding facilities, but we have to get to the terminal required to activate it first. The four medallions unlock the door to get there."
"Captain, if everything you said is true, this is huge. We can't just destroy the evidence!" Barry exclaimed.
"It's that or your family, Burton. I know what choice I would make."
Wesker was right. For as much as Barry's duty as a police officer meant to him, the safety of his family meant infinitely more.
Wesker sighed. "Trust me, I didn't want to be in this position either. But we're running out of time. Here." The captain produced a second PalmPilot and navigated to the map of the mansion before handing it and the medallion to Barry. He pointed at a pair of symbols placed among the simple linework meant to represent walls. "Those are the two medallions on the first floor. There's another on the second. If you tap on the symbol, they'll give you a hint at how to disarm their traps." There was a curved passage jutting out of the north side of the first floor with a small room at the end. "The door they unlock is here. Find Chris or Jill and pass this off to them, have them find the other three. Tell them you think the door the medallions unlock is the way out. It's technically true. But, whatever you do, do not tell them about Umbrella."
"Why not?"
"Think. Redfield is too much of an idealist. If he finds out about this, he's going to try to stop us from doing what we have to do, which means…"
Barry shook his head, still reeling from everything he'd just learned. "Right, I got it."
"Good. Meet me back here once you've told them what to do. There are a few more things I need your help with."
"Fantastic," he grumbled. "Guess I'd better get moving, then."
"Head on a swivel, Burton. We still haven't seen the worst this place can throw at us."
And I thought the police department was a maze…
The most likely route back to somewhere familiar being a bust, Jill had decided that she was going to have to check every room one by one. Mentally bracing herself for whatever was in store, Jill was surprised to be greeted by the cool mountain night and gentle rasp of leaves. She hadn't realized just how stale the atmosphere in the mansion was. Outside was a literal breath of fresh air.
Jill looked around at the walled walkway, patchy moonlight sifting through the foliage above, dappling the stone path that hooked out of sight to the right. Keeping a wary eye and ear out for any unexpected guests that might try to jump the stone walls, she snuck down the path to see where it led. She didn't have to go far. The solid steel gate at the end started to come into view even before Jill had made it to the bend. It had no handles or exposed locks that she could see. She pushed against it to test just how solid it was. The gate didn't so much as jiggle.
A heavily patinaed bronze relief set into the otherwise plain wall caught her attention. Like with the final painting in the room where the crows had attacked her, the text beneath was enigmatic. Jill ran her fingers over the raised letters.
WHEN THE SUN SETS IN THE WEST AND THE MOON RISES IN THE EAST, STARS WILL APPEAR IN THE SKY AND WIND WILL BLOW AT THE GROUND. THEN THE GATE TO NEW LIFE WILL OPEN.
Jill didn't know for sure, but guessed it had something to do with the four hexagonal hollows in the face of the relief. Taking a closer look, she noticed spring-loaded tabs along the edges of each hole that looked like they were supposed to interface with something and concluded that it was probably part of another puzzle.
And we know how messing with puzzles went last time. There weren't any homicidal birds out here that she could see, but it wasn't hard for Jill to picture a giant, round boulder dropping from somewhere and chasing her back down the walkway – or something along those lines, at least. I'm just gonna leave it alone for now.
Back in the mansion's stale air, Jill continued onward. The next door opened to a small study barely big enough for the desk and chair at its far end. After that was a hallway to a staircase. She made a mental note of that one in case she ran out of options and had to head upstairs. Stepping past the last zombie she'd put out of its misery, Jill tried the door immediately in front of her. It opened smoothly.
There was nothing in the square room but another doorway – no furniture or wall hangings, no gawdy wallpaper peeling from the drywall beneath – only dull plaster painted the color of fresh concrete. The floor was plain black tile, soaking up the harsh light from a quartet of old bulbs, screwed into cans inset in the equally unadorned ceiling. It felt like a room that belonged in another building, or more accurately, one that didn't belong in any. It didn't seem to serve any purpose. Spencer was one weird fucking dude.
Jill moved on.
The smell of stale cigar smoke burned her nostrils as Jill found herself in a windowless lounge, complete with leather couches and a humidor big enough to make Fidel himself jealous. There was still a single cigar resting in a glass ashtray on the coffee table, reduced to an ashy husk. Jill guessed it must have burned away on its own, lit but with no one to finish smoking it.
What caught her eye the most, though, was the double-barreled shotgun mounted on hooks above the fireplace. She reached for it, doubting anyone was dumb enough to leave it loaded but wanting to check anyway. Besides, even if it's empty, it'll make a good bludgeon.
She lifted the dusty weapon from its mount.
The hooks retracted into slots previously blocked from Jill's vision, and there was a low clunk from behind the fireplace like a finely balanced piece of metal shifting.
Jill froze, not sure what she had just triggered and equally unsure how to undo it. There were no other sounds, no birds descending upon her or anything of that sort. She decided that was as good as she was going to get for the time being.
The lever to open the shotgun's action was stiff but manageable. The twin barrels swung down to reveal that some dumbass who must have skipped their safety training had, to the benefit of Jill, left a pair of 12 gauge buckshot shells chambered and ready to go. While two shells weren't much, it was better than none and the best luck Jill felt she'd had all night.
Disappointingly, the only way out of the room was back the way she had come from. Satisfied though that the trip hadn't been a complete loss, Jill crossed the bland room back to the hallway and twisted the doorknob. It didn't move.
Jill hissed out a frustrated breath. You've got to be kidding me. There was no keyhole for her picks. She jiggled and wrenched on the knob, hoping it was just stuck and not actually locked.
From above came a loud crunch as the ceiling shifted. Fine plaster dust and bits of painted texture rained down on her and she stepped back from the stubborn door, looking up.
The steady clack-clack-clack-clack of heavy gears began above her head. The ceiling had begun to descend.
Jill recalled a certain trash compactor scene from a movie and noted that she would probably have as good of luck bracing the ceiling with her newly acquired shotgun as the movie's protagonist had with a steel pole. She gave the doorknob one last violent tug before lunging back toward the cigar lounge. It was locked tight, too.
More debris fell around her, scraped from the walls as the room gradually grew shorter.
Jill kicked off of the wall and threw herself at the door to the hallway. She bounced off the reinforced hardwood, barely keeping her footing. It had no effect besides the deep ache growing in her shoulder. She backpedaled and lined up to try again, hoping a better idea would come to her.
I should've known finding that shotgun was too good to be true.
That gave her the idea she needed. Jill backed up and brought the butt of the shotgun into the hollow of her aching shoulder, settling the aiming bead between the knob and the frame, hoping to blow out the lock.
The formerly high ceiling was only a foot from the top of the doorframe.
BOOM!
Lead buckshot blasted away a patch of wood and mashed one side of the doorknob, but ricocheted harmlessly off the door's steel core with a resounding clang.
Jill swore loudly. Whoever had designed this trap clearly didn't want anyone getting out. The room had grown another few inches shorter.
Someone beat furiously on the door from the other side. "Chris!? Jill!?"
She recognized the gruff voice. "Barry!? Barry, get me out of here! The roof's coming down and the door won't open – it's reinforced, too!"
"Hang on, Jill!"
The top of the doorframe splintered and gave way under the ceiling's weight. One of the lightbulbs flickered and went dark. Jill felt a fresh wave of panic lance through her chest. She heard loud tapping and scraping from the other side as Barry worked away at something, the noises growing faster and more violent as the seconds passed. As the doorframe continued to disintegrate bit by bit, there was no longer room for Jill to stand up completely straight.
Barry yelled something, but she couldn't make it out. "What!?"
"The hinges are free! You have to hit it from your side!"
Jill built up as much speed as she could while hunched over and slammed into the hinge side of the door. It didn't break completely free, but there was enough of a gap for her to try and squeeze through. Barry grabbed the edge of the door and muscled it back, and Jill tumbled out into the hallway.
Neither Barry nor Jill said anything as they watched the room's ceiling meet the floor with a final, ground-shaking crash.
Barry gave Jill a hand up. "Thanks," she said, keeping most of the shakiness she felt out of her voice. "That was too fucking close."
He nodded. "A few seconds later, and you would have easily fit into a sandwich."
They both laughed, more out of relief than at Barry's abysmal attempt at humor. "That is not the mental image I wanted right now." She examined the dislodged door. Barry had worked the pins out of the two heavy-duty hinges, rendering the pair of steel lugs that had slid into place above and below the latch more or less useless. Jill was surprised such a large and likely expensive series of contraptions had such a simple weakness. Granted, without Barry on the outside to help, there would've been no way for Jill to remove the hinge pins herself.
"What happened to Chris?" Barry asked worriedly.
Jill turned away from the deathtrap. "We got separated. I was supposed to meet him back at the main hall, but as you can probably tell, that hasn't exactly gone the way we planned. Where's Wesker?"
"Still upstairs trying to find a signal." Barry crossed his arms. "Sent me down here to find out what all the commotion was about." Eyeing the dead zombie on the floor, he added, "Seems like you've been busy."
"One of them got Ken."
Barry didn't say anything at first. He chewed at the inside of his cheek while processing Jill's words. "Damn." His eyebrows angled down harshly. "Find anyone else from Bravo?"
"No, not yet."
"Well, there's hope then at least." He ripped open the flap to one of his vest pockets and produced a thick, six-sided gold medallion with a sun carved into the front. "Have you found anything like this?"
She took it and looked it over, noticing a number of notches in the back edge. "No, but I think I know where it goes."
Barry followed as she led him down the path outside to the mysterious door and pointed out the incomplete relief.
"I think it belongs to this."
Barry studied the text. "West is that way, right?" he asked, pointing to their left.
Neither of them had a compass, and there was no way to see the stars through the leaves that filled the space above them. Jill looked back at the mansion, trying to regain her bearings. "I think so? I got a bit turned around in—"
Barry forcefully pressed the medallion into the left-most opening. Jill took a reflexive step forward and stuttered out a warning, worried that the more senior officer had just doomed them both.
She held her breath.
Nothing happened.
"Damnit, Barry!" she gasped, the adrenaline receding yet again. "What if that had been another trap, like the ceiling or the crows?"
"Crows?" Barry asked, confused.
"Never mind."
He pointed at the text, then tapped on the sun medallion twice with his index finger. "When the sun sets in the west. How much do you want to bet there's a moon, star, and wind crest as well?"
It made sense. Well, as much sense as using a puzzle with a shitty riddle to get into your back yard can, anyway. "Any idea if whatever's back there is worth getting at?"
"It's the only way left to go. Wesker and I found a map – it doesn't show where this door leads specifically, only that there are at the very least some outbuildings back there. Maybe even a place to land the helicopter."
"Better than nothing." Thinking of all of the drawers, shelves, and other hiding places she'd already passed by, Jill asked, "Where are we supposed to find the other three medallions?"
"What was that you mentioned about crows earlier?"
It sounded like something was moving in the walls, Chris thought, torn between his abject hatred for cockroaches and his hope that it could possibly be something so mundane in this nightmare of a mansion. The harsh contrast between light and shadow from bare bulbs strung along the ceiling didn't help his imagination as the rasping noise came again, dissipating just as quickly. He stepped over the half-finished hallway's exposed subfloor carefully. After making it a few more steps, he heard it once more, closer, like it was following him.
You're losing your shit, Redfield.
Ahead of him was a door, the hallway branching left just before it. He readied himself to clear the corner.
Someone or something groaned. He immediately tensed up at the thought of running into another zombie, sweaty palms tightening on his pistol's grip.
A body slumped against the wall at the end of the short passage. Chris settled his sights on its head, only then noticing the green STARS uniform. It took everything in him not to rush over to Richard, not sure yet as he watched him writhe lethargically if whatever had hurt the Bravo was still hanging around. Or if he's turned into one of those things. Chris did pick up the pace a little bit though.
"Richard?"
He groaned again, ragged and pained. Blood had soaked through his pantleg and smeared the floor around his right thigh. Chris was almost on top of him when Richard yelled in surprise and tried to push away with his good leg, feebly bringing his shotgun to bare.
Chris immediately lowered Forest's rifle and held out one palm. "Whoa! Hey, it's just me. Take it easy."
Richard stared for a few seconds before his glassy eyes recognized Chris. He carefully laid his shotgun on the floor, letting his head tilt back against the wall. He vacantly chided, "Jesus, Chris. I almost shot you."
"You've lost a lot of blood," Chris said, kneeling to check out the wound on Richard's leg. He used his knife to cut away the pantleg, revealing two rows of large punctures on the front and, upon closer examination, matching punctures on the back. The bleeding had slowed, but nonetheless he wadded up the ruined pantleg and used it to apply pressure.
"Fuckin' snake, man," Richard said through clenched teeth.
Chris wondered how delirious Richard was. He certainly sounded pretty out of it. "A snake?"
"Big one. I think it was following me for a while. Came out of the wall in there." He raised one hand and pointed at the door before letting his hand fall back near his side. Was that what I heard in the walls? "Forest is dead, Chris. I tried to save him, but… there were just too many of them."
"Calm down. It's okay." It wasn't, but that wasn't Richard's fault. Chris tried not to recall the images of his friend pecked to death by birds. He was also actively trying not to entertain the idea of reliving the movie Anaconda in real life, though a gigantic snake would explain Richard's injuries.
Richard let out a tired sigh. "Anyone else make it?"
"Yeah," Chris responded, somewhat distracted as he looked for something to tie around the makeshift bandage. He filled Richard in on the current situation with Alpha Team, including the deaths of Joe and Ken.
"What a hell of a night," Richard commented quietly, fading, eyes closed.
Chris patted at his shoulder urgently. "Hey, stay awake. I'm almost done, then we can get you somewhere safer."
"There isn't anywhere safe in here, Chris," he mumbled. His face was going pale. "Fucking carnival funhouse from hell."
It was an admittedly adequate descriptor.
The bandage now snugly in place, Chris practically lifted Richard from the floor. He supported him with one arm and clutched the rifle in the other. Richard's head hung low, but he managed to keep his feet beneath him as they hobbled slowly back in the direction of the main hall. He really hoped Jill had made it back and seen his message.
Rebecca's friend was very, very dead. Billy had seen a lot of nasty things in his time, but the eviscerated body at the end of the hall had to take the cake.
"You gonna be alright?"
Rebecca swallowed the rising lump in her throat and hoarsely suggested, "Let's keep going." She didn't have to ask him twice.
He didn't have to wait long to find out where Rebecca's friend's killer had gone. The answer lay in a congealing pool of its own blood through the next door. The zombie's face – what remained of it – was smashed against the tile. A single hole perforated its forehead. Billy was familiar enough with gunshot wounds to confidently guess that the fatal injury must have been inflicted by a nine-millimeter or something of similar ballistic capability. Judging by how the blood hadn't yet begun to dry, someone must have taken it out recently.
Somewhere further into the mansion, muffled by the walls, audible even over the loud ticking emanating from a grandfather clock along the wall, was a deep thud. Rebecca turned her head to look that way as if she expected to have developed x-ray vision.
"Cross 'things that go bump in the night' off the bingo card," Billy grumbled. "Some more of your police friends, maybe?"
"I hope so. Someone else has to have made it, right?"
Billy shrugged. "One way to find out." As they passed by the long dining table that dominated the room, Billy snatched up one of the electric candelabras. The bulbs went dark as it detached from its plug in the table. Rebecca looked at him like he'd grown a third arm. "What? It's better than that spray bottle."
To her credit, Rebecca relented with a shrug and nod rather than firing back another snide comment.
They emerged into the mansion's main hall. There was a typewriter near the stairs, a loose sheet of paper sticking conspicuously out from beneath. Rebecca gave the dark corners of the room a few quick, suspicious glances and hurried to go take a look. The paper rustled as she snatched it up.
"Oh shit!" Rebecca exclaimed, a relieved grin breaking across her face. "Alpha Team came to rescue us!"
"Then what's with the note?"
Her grin faded. "It sounds like at least two of them got separated. According to this, Chris headed upstairs about…" She took a peek at her watch. "Ten minutes ago? So he should be headed back in another ten."
Billy grabbed the note and squinted at the printed words. "We should go after him."
"What? But why? We won't have to wait long."
"Unless he needs help," Billy suggested.
Rebecca opened her mouth to say that Chris and Jill could deal with anything but stopped short. She had thought the same about Ken and Edward. Look how that turned out. "Okay, fine. You have a good point."
"I usually do," Billy stated, apparently a little too smugly for Rebecca's taste. She rolled her eyes.
"Let's go."
They had just made it to the top of the stairs when something thudded loudly against the door to their right. Rebecca and Billy froze, eyes locking first on the door then meeting as they tried to silently decide what to do. There was a grunt and another thump, and the doorknob rattled as someone struggled to open it from the other side. Billy approached the door holding his candelabra up like he was a batter waiting for the pitch. Rebecca moved to an angle where she could easily shoot whatever came through and gave Billy a nod.
He threw open the door and got out of the way as two figures practically tumbled out, barely keeping their footings. Rebecca recognized the two STARS almost instantly and rushed to steady them.
"Oh my god am I glad to see the two of you!" Rebecca blurted. Then she saw the red smears all over Richard's leg and Chris' hands. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"He's lost a lot of blood," Chris said, straining to hold Richard up, clumsily trying to cradle a rifle and a shotgun in the other hand. Billy wrapped one gigantic arm around Richard's back from the other side, allowing Chris some relief.
Rebecca was already opening up her medical bag. "Set him down so I can take a look." They did as she said. Richard was barely conscious. He let out a small groan. She was sweating, nervous. It was her first time doing any serious first aid in the field, and on one of her teammates, no less. She pulled back the bandage, revealing his mangled leg. "What did this?"
Chris wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. "He said it was a snake."
Rebecca looked at him incredulously. "A snake?"
"Yeah, a big one," he clarified, as if she couldn't see how big the bite was.
"Apparently." The bleeding had mostly stopped. Rebecca began to replace the makeshift bandage with gauze. "We need to get him to a hospital."
Chris paced. "Not an option. Until we can get ahold of Brad, we're stuck here."
"Okay," Rebecca said, trying to think. "If it really was a giant reptile that bit him, especially with how deep the bite is, it probably won't be long before infection sets in. I'm going to need antibiotics."
"You don't have any in your bag?"
"No, they didn't issue me any."
Chris grimaced. "Great. Where can we find some?"
Rebecca didn't have a good answer for that.
"I think I saw a bunch of medicine in a room on the other side of the mansion," Billy offered. "We could try there."
"Who's he?" Chris asked, gesturing with a tilt of his head.
"Lieutenant Billy Coen, US Marine Corps," he answered. Chris gave him a suspicious look. "It's… a long story," he added sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"Jarhead, huh," Chris said mostly to himself, still sizing Billy up. "I expect to hear that story at some point soon. One thing at a time though. Where's that room you saw?"
"Second floor. I can get you there. It'd be really nice to have a weapon though – there are still a lot of infected that way."
"Infected?"
"Another long story," Rebecca said. "I can explain now or when you get back."
Chris set the shotgun down next to Rebecca and pulled out his Beretta, thinking for a second before handing it to Billy. Billy nodded his thanks and checked to see that it was loaded. "Keep yourself and Richard safe, Chambers. We'll be back."
Author's note:
I want to apologize for the re-upload. I hadn't worked on this chapter for a while, forgot that I had meant to overhaul part of it, and posted it. The problem is fixed and I have reminders in place to keep that from happening again. Anyway, if you've made it this far, thanks for continuing to read and please leave a review if you have the time - I'd love to know what y'all think.
