Hours passed. Marigold stumbled through the woods on legs that had been out of commission for well over a decade.

Creatures came to investigate. They'd come into the near distance, dull eyes shining through the dim woods. She felt them approach. They all shied away.

The skies above began to darken. She'd more or less held her course; whether that actually went anywhere was another matter. marigold was debating whether or not to find a hill or a stout tree to climb as a good idea in order to find her bearings, when the noises ahead changed.

Traffic. A road!

Almost on cue, streetlights began to turn on, their glow visible in the distance ahead through the trees. She was nearly out.

Marigold hefted the bag up again. It was lighter now as her food and water stash had slowly diminished.

It had been years. The lab had seemed so sleek and strange. Was she going to be able to manage out in the world? Slowing her pace - stopping seemed like a bad idea, lest she freeze up - she dug the wallet out of the bag. Johns's ID was there; he'd stashed a house key inside, along with credit cards and a few hundred dollars in cash. He had clearly been doing just fine for money. A photo of what had to be him with a pretty young woman was tucked into the back- "John and Ada, May 1998." It seemed crisp, clean. Recent.

The lights were growing brighter, and the trees were beginning to thin out a bit. Just enough to see the outline of a building by the road.

She'd found a truck stop diner.

She found a booth with a table, and asked for a menu- and a newspaper, if they had one. The clock on the wall read ten thirty at night; it was high summer out here, and later than she had realized. Marigold knew how disheveled she looked. She wondered if the people here would think here a runaway teen. The faint sympathy in the waitress' eyes was unmistakable. "Honey, this a real bad time to be hitching rides right now. You got folks nearby?"

Hitching…oh. And those creatures had been seen near town? This had been ongoing. Marigold summoned a weak smile. "A cousin in town," she lied. The weakness in her voice from disuse blurred her accent. She did her best to mask the rest. The outsiderness of it registered in the older woman's face anyhow. Damn. "I get carsick when I travel, though. What's the biggest thing you have?"

Ah, she'd actually managed to forget about American portion sizes. A stacked burger arrived with fries and a milkshake, enough food for at least two to eat heartily. While waiting, she scanned the paper the woman brought her. Murders near the forest. A STARS team gone missing; a follow-up team had gone to look for them. Those poor bastards. If that other man had slipped in and out so quickly without telling anyone…what on earth was the big public reaction meant to do…

Oh, no.

She remembered the helicopter overhead. That must have been the search and rescue team. She read over the names and froze when a familiar name jumped out at her.

Captain Albert Wesker, heard of STARS with the Raccoon City Police department. He would have passed by as she was fading back into the trees.

Were the rest of the team Umbrella as well? Hard to guess. If they weren't, their odds of survival would go down significantly as soon as they came within range of the mansion.

She needed more information. As she was mulling over what to do next, the food arrived. A lifetime ago, she would have balked at that much grease and sugar, but she was hungry. Solemnly, she thanked the waitress, who smirked at the skinny thing who had the affect of one delivered before a deep-fried altar to worship. Several silent minutes passed as Marigold mechanically wolfed down every scrap before her, set a couple of twenties down on the table, and asked for a phone.


There was a pay phone outside, it seemed. She'd have to call collect for what she needed, eventually, but not here. She was far too close to the forest to make the calls she really wanted to make.

She tried a local one first, fishing out a quarter from the wallet. It rang twice, then picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" A woman's voice came through. She sounded tired. This had likely been a rough day for her as well, and it was nearly midnight by now.

Marigold froze at the sound. This was 1998. Practically a lifetime could have passed... "Kate, I'm sorry," She blurted out.

Across town, Kate Everett sat down sharply in the tasteful open kitchen of her home. It would have been easy to dismiss this as some cruel prank, but it wasn't. Somehow, she knew. "*Miss Ashford?!"*

"Quiet. I don't have much time. Something happened up in the mansion. As far as I know, It's accelerated," She cast an eye toward the woods. The creatures had avoided her before. Something was still out there. She could feel the eyes on her.

"PR's been going nuts these last few weeks, so, obviously. You've been dead for over a decade!"

"How was the funeral?" Morbidly curious, although...

"Closed casket," Everett replied flatly. "After you disappeared, and then the accidents in the Antarctic. " A sharp intake from Marigold cut Everett off cold. "You...you didn't know." Another beat. "Where have you been?"

Marigold glanced back at the forest again. That feeling was getting worse. "Same place you left me, obviously. I'm glad you weren't there for it, but it is what it is." If she didn't have decent access to the true goals of Umbrella back then, she couldn't assume the regional executives did. The only reason she could trust this one at all was that she had claimed her loyalty for herself, but fifteen years was a long time.

Silence. Then: "You told me to run, back then, didn't you."

Marigold's eyes remained trained on the forest. "Yes." Then: "The newspaper said that the researcher you had me meet...there...was leading a rescue team into the mansion. Are they all company?" So careful to avoid names.

"The...oh!" Everett stammered, picking up the thread of the question. "They're all cops, I think. Real ones. No, he went into the Intelligence Division years ago." The effort to keep the rising anxiety out of her voice was audible.

Marigold closed her eyes. "Listen," she commanded. The breathing on the other end of the line evened out, quieted. "Are any of them left? My nephew?" Marcus had only mentioned the two. It was likely that few even knew about Alfred.

Everett gave a surprised laugh. It was a mirthless sound. "Ah...yes. He's...he's not well, though. Mentally speaking. Allegedly. Runs a training facility, somewhere in the South Pacific." She paused. "I'm not sure why I kept up with that."

"That's all right, dear," Marigold murmured into the receiver. Alfred was still at Rockfort. Alive. Broken, possibly, but alive. He'd been such a sweet little boy when she last saw him. "I think I have to go. Be careful." She hung up before Everett could say anything else.

Alexander, dead. Alexia, dead. Alfred, alive, albeit broken. Years and years of absence. And the fresh generation that had entrapped her had grown into their own power. Marcus had told her just enough to alert her to how brutal the company had grown over time. Had it always been this way, or did they only grow more brazen?

You helped them make all of this. Don't forget. No. She wouldn't forget.

The summer's heat was heavy in the dusky air, seeping slowly away while the sun slipped under the horizon. The radio inside suddenly grew louder, as a news bulletin interrupted the cheery pop song. Reports of explosions in the forest, and several reported dead officers filtered through the propped open door. Someone inside gasped, and started to cry.

Marigold registered all of this remotely. Something was definitely watching her out there. It was a similar intensity to what she had felt from not-Marcus, but...he had felt like a shifting mosaic. A colony of Marcus? Fragmented. This...didn't. Something about this one felt horribly familiar; coiled, patient, assessing. Whatever it was, it staying far back in the trees. She had been keeping up her keep away field, for lack of a better term, all day. It was draining, although not in the way she remembered. Getting her muscles to remember to move had cost more.

Fight, or flight? It was waiting, for something. So much of her adult life had been maneuvers and placation, but she'd made sure she could do either should she have to. Somehow, she thought that breaking into a run would trigger a pursuit. And...last time she had tried to fight, she had froze. The collateral damage had been too high for her to accept.

Breaking into a run now would just make her prey. Again.

Someone kept crying inside the diner. She probably wouldn't have been able to hear them with normal senses, she thought distantly.

Marigold had been planning to place one more call, but this was so very clearly not the time. She pressed her mouth into a hard line. There were other options, other than running down the road. She stepped away from the payphone, towards the treeline. Two steps. The sense of predatory stillness reached her. Caution. But also a thread of anticipation.

She fell back a few steps, not quite jogging while reaching back for the door of the diner. The bell rang as she pushed through the gap and shut it behind her.

Only the waitress looked up from the crowd around the radio. "Hon?" She asked, concerned. The woman had the look of a hard-lived life. A girl ducking into a crowded store or restaurant with that look on her face was usually trying to get away from someone. "Someone out there giving you a hard time?"

Marigold glanced back at her. The sheepish grin on her face both looked and felt forced. The accent was a little better this time, at least. "Sorry, I just got a real creepy feeling out there. Would you know the number for a taxi into town?" She glanced at the crowd by the radio, who were now listening to updates on the recent murders around town. They had completely ignored her, although a few wary heads were starting to come up. "I-I don't think I should be out for long right now."