Grayson Harman, an OC belonging to Q_Alias from The Antarctica Incident appears as a cameo in this chapter, with permission.
u/6668852/Q-Alias
s/14128148/1/The-Antarctica-Incident
The cab stank of stale sweat and low-grade anxiety - the driver clearly didn't want to be caught out alone with the stories seeping into and around the news. That was fine by Marigold. She clutched her duffel bag (she still had a gun, she reminded herself, firm) like a schoolgirl's book bag and flashed a grateful smile back at the waitress before dashing out the door, and over the short distance to the cab's rear door. "Town," She said, a little too loud. "I have it written down here, go ahead and drive. I'll have it in a second." Her American accent was improving. She used to do a decent one, but it took time to get back properly. Thankfully, the driver was just as eager to be the hell away from the middle of nowhere as she was.
That waiting sensation, calm, assessing, remained, fading with distance. It was...eerie, almost in the same way pulling up to the mansion had been (days) years ago. The parallel wasn't lost on her; she wasn't clear of the trap yet.
Marigold kept her eyes fixed on the rear window until she was sure it was far enough, then dug the wallet out of the bag. John Clemens may be gone, but she thought he might allow her to rely on his hospitality just a little longer.
Doctor Clemens, as it turned out, had a charming little bungalow relatively close to downtown. Marigold did her best to look meek and apologetic as she paid the man; young lady coming home after curfew. The fare was about twice more than expected, but it had also been fifteen years, and he hadn't taken a circuitous route to get here. There was a few hundred dollars in cash in the wallet. if she was careful, she could stretch it a bit; just not as far as she first anticipated.
She eyed the house, speculative. There were no visible lights on inside, a good sign. No cars in the driveway either, and heard no one moving about inside. Empty. Maybe. She strode to the door tried her key, letting out a long breath when it clicked open.
The bungalow was a short walk, end to end. No sounds of sleeping, or breathing. He clearly didn't spend much time here; the place was spartan, with only the bookcases of medical texts and a few photos hung up to show anyhow had ever lived here.
Well, almost. She thought of the photo from his wallet when she came across the closet with a pang of guilt. A few pairs of smart slacks, cotton blouses, a jacket. Some underwear. Spares for late nights; not quite living together, but the girlfriend had been starting to put down roots. A few pairs of low heels were stashed inside as well. She worried her lip, looking down at herself. She had been working her way through the woods for nearly a full day; she had risked barely any rest aside from short breaks to eat her dwindling rations.
Marigold caught her reflection in the mirror hanging by the closet and flinched. At the very least, she needed a shower, and Her hair was several inches longer than it had been the last time she had bothered with it, with a bleached cast to it. The gym clothes might not be a total loss (miles to go before I sleep), but she couldn't afford to waste time. "I look like a Victorian ghost," she murmured to herself.
Not for the first time, she found herself grateful for the counterintelligence training she had been made to sit through once MI5 had noticed the breadth and volume of her travel schedule back in the seventies. Thirty minutes, a hasty pass through John's kitchen and a scalding shower later, she was starting to feel a little more...well, human. Tea wasn't the worst hair dye she had ever tried, but she's have to hope it didn't rain in the next day or so. The knife in her bag did the rest. She hoped it would be enough. The dirty shirt was spread out over the table, bottles refilled from the sink and replaced, cushioned by the fabric. A box of granola bars. She found a bottle of vodka tucked above the stove by the smell, next to a first aid kit, and she grabbed both after a moment's hesitation. Another fifteen minutes. She would have been in there just under an hour. Empty lab book. pens.
She had started for the fridge when she notice that there was a phone mounted to the kitchen wall, by the back door. Marigold hesitated a moment, then crossed the room. She picked up the receiver. A soft click was audible before the dial tone kicked in.
Bugged. His phone was bugged. Probably Umbrella. Even if it wasn't, she'd stayed here quite long enough. The idea of scavenging a moment longer felt akin to desecrating a tomb. Still not safe.
At almost 3 AM, roughly one hour after a bedraggled girl in shorts and a too-large T-shirt which hung like a sheet from her frame let herself into John's house, someone else - apparently - walked out the front door. Ada Wong sat in her car, observing from halfway down the street. Her eyes narrowed. Is that my jacket? Arklay had gone into lockdown just days earlier, and this was her first good lead since the murders around town had started. She had a pretty good idea why. Sooner or later, one of the Umbrella reps in her dossier was going to come here, and turn the entire place over for evidence. This one didn't fit her profile. Worse, she knew the players involved in this town. This one didn't fit the profile.
Ada waited a moment, then raised her radio to her mouth. "I have a live one here. Caucasian, female, maybe twenty. A cab dropped her off earlier - I have a plate number to pass to Ben. Has a small duffel bag. Unknown affiliation, if any, but she had a key to John's place and is on foot. I'll have the description when I check in later. Maintaining distance until I get a better read."
The girl had entered looking like she was running away from a cult. The person who left had light brown hair, from what she could see in the streetlights, and was dressed like a reasonable stylish, if waifish, office worker. She still carried a bag, but it wasn't totally out of place - small, and compact, enough for gym clothes for after a long day at work.
Ada watched the girl pause, look around, then set a steady course for downtown. This one was wary.
Good. She thought. Let's see where you run, little rabbit.
An all-night diner was run down the street from the Raccoon Police Department. Cindy, a young blond woman in waitress attire, looked up from the counter when the bell at the door announced her arrival. Her brow furrowed, and she glanced at the clock. 4:15 AM. Much too early for the office crowd. Her eyes dropped to the duffel bag, considering. Not too early for a breakup.
The woman looked back at her with a sheepish expression. "Is it too early for breakfast? My office doesn't open for a while, and, well..." She trailed off and looked at her feet.
"Say no more. I'll get some coffee going, and you can settle in. Booth, or counter?"
"Booth?" Cindy nodded, and the woman smiled, clearly relieved. She glanced down at her nametag. "Thanks so much, Cindy."
An hour passed, then another. Officers from down the street trickled in with the morning light for a cup of coffee before heading out on patrol. The young woman kept quietly to herself, waiting and watching the chatter around her. Cindy forgot about her for a while after getting her a large breakfast (must have missed dinner, poor thing). The rumours coming in from the previous night's activities seemed to be taking center stage today. Some of the officers that hadn't returned were regulars here, and the stories coming out of there were weird as hell. Both captains dead, and only a handful of officers had come back, talking about monsters at the old mansion rumoured to be up in the hills. Creepy. At time like this, she was glad to be just down the street from the police station, but still.
The patrol rush died down just before seven before Cindy made her way around to the woman again, who had apparently just had a bad breakup, refilling her coffee. The woman had nestled into the wall of the two-seater booth, watching with a blank face. She'd been working away, filling up a notebook for a few hours though. "I thought I'd had a bad night," She said softly to Cindy. Cindy hmmed in response, then took a closer look. "You look a little peaky. You doing alright?" The woman shrugged. "Didn't sleep much, I wasn't about to for a while anyhow. Maybe I'm coming down with something." She glanced up at Cindy. "Do you need me to settle up? I have another hour or so, but if you're about to have a shift change..?"
Cindy smiled gratefully. When the woman left at 7:30, she left twenty dollars tucked under the salt.
Marigold had intended to stake out the diner for a few hours longer, but something in the area felt deeply wrong to her, in a way that had nothing to do with the food. She ate mechanically through the feeling, trying to ignore it at first. It felt like the forest.
No. It felt like the mansion but sharper. She had been to this area several times in the seventies, and there had been nothing. On the surface, this town was a perfect slice of Americana. Beneath, there was something that felt like it would eat a hole in her gut the longer she stayed.
Two blocks, then three, four. She walked until a phone booth outside a familiar bar came into view. Umbrella had offices this way, but no one seemed to be paying attention to a mousy-looking woman walking down the street. She pushed through the sliding door of the booth - there. A new phone book hung in a plastic case, attached to a chain secured at the top of the booth. She stared at the phone for a moment (no dial, on a payphone?), then refocused on the phone book. She only really had one shot at this, with the window of time before the vultures descended already closing. Flipping through the book, she noted a name and smiled, grim.
Then, she hesitated. Concentrated. That feeling of being hunted from the diner was gone, and while it was possible that the 'scent' from the police station acted as camouflage, she didn't think she had been followed. Not by that, anyhow. A familiar face had poked into the diner while she had waited to learn who had survived. She was still being tracked, all right.
Seventeen years. Her medications had been thoroughly flushed from her system. The alternative was that something had changed, and the implications of that were too much to do more than shove the fear down and power through it. Marigold spared a glance around - a tall, well-built man doing a half-hearted Johnny Cash impression was having a cigarette by the door to the bar, but he wasn't paying her any mind.
She called the operator. Rattled off an international number, to be placed collect. After a pause, the operator complied and put her through. A long moment passed before a quavering voice came on the line. Scott Harman, Alexander's butler, had grown old in the last few years, then. "Yes?"
Marigold looked towards the street, then turned her attention to the phone. "Harman. It's so good to hear your voice again. Could I leave a message at the crossing, The one by the wood?" She fully dropped her American accent. She needed to get through, quickly.
A long pause. "Whom is the message from, if I might ask?" Suspicion, tinged with disbelief.
"The message is from Callie Lundy." Marigold was such an easy name to latinize.
Harman - one of hers, Alex had made sure of it - gasped. "I - Yes, I can transfer him. He's an early riser," A muffled shout on the other line - Harman had shouted something to a passerby.
A new voice came on the line, irritable. "Who is this and why are you stirring up my staff," Alfred Ashford demanded.
"I...you're alive." Marigold's voice faltered when she heard him. She swallowed hard. She had to move. Every moment she wasted was a moment closer to detection. "I only have a few minutes before I have to keep moving. Do you know my voice?"
A longer pause. "I do," came the reply, slow. "But-"
"Listen. Spencer Mansion is gone. They likely think I went the same way. I think...I think I got very, very lucky." Marigold glanced around again. "The damned town is too distracted by the overflow of.." She trailed off. "They showed me what it was for. Before...I lost my head a bit. I should never have gone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Yes, the renovation was much remarked upon." Alfred said after a long pause. She gave a sharp surprised laugh. He continued. "You need to get out of there, now."
"I'm working on it." The car parked down the street was familiar. She'd been seeing it passing her several times over the last few hours. "It might be a while before you hear from me again."
"Understood, but..." Alfred hesitated. "The company won't matter for long. She...we made a plan. You'll see."
Everett's remarks about the mental health of her nephew flashed through her mind. "Alright," she said, careful. "I'll try to get in touch if I can. 'Bye, Crow." She hung up the receiver with the nickname she'd given her nephew when he had been three still in her mouth. Marigold took a moment to collect herself. She had no ID, a little money, a tourist-level knowledge of the world she inhabited, and the clothes on her back. The things she did have, had to be deployed incredibly carefully.
Time for a small gamble, then.
Ada had been trailing this girl for hours. If she had any real intel available, that was one thing. But there was nothing.
When Ada went to check in with her handler, he had seemed to perk up when she described her. "I have a BOLO on a woman fitting that profile."
"Long hair, too-big clothes, young? Looks like someone had a go at burying her alive?" Ada paused, twiddling the cord on her car phone. "The quick change was good work. Had a CIA flavour to it. I wouldn't have looked twice at her if didn't seem her walk out the same door. Which agency is she with?" If it was Umbrella she could pull the girlfriend card. She had stolen her jacket.
Ada liked that jacket.
"None, as far as I can tell. If she's industry, she's brand new. She was spotted at a truck stop outside town before calling a cab. Head office got a tip to keep an eye out, but do not engage." Across the street, the target had huddled into a telephone booth outside Jack's Bar, clearly preoccupied.
Ada snorted. "She looks barely out of high school. Maybe college. Am I so terrifying to the local youth?" Outside the bar, she recognized Annette Birkin's pretty side-piece, likely drying out after a long night. Raccoon City was such a small town, sometimes.
"Miss Wong, you terrify all of us every day."
She smirked. "Flatterer."
"Always. That is a blanket directive for this one."
She frowned. "Understood. She left the diner to make a phone call in front of J's Bar. I think she was looking for an address." She paused. "Oh."
"Oh?"
"I'll call you back." Ada hung up the phone, just as the woman she had been tailing crossed the street and made a beeline over to her. The man outside the bar blinked at the woman in surprise as she passed, brows creasing like he was trying to remember something. She had a piece of paper folded up in her hand. She realized a moment too late that the car was unlocked before the other woman let herself into the passenger side and settled in. She looked...thoughtful.
"How long were you following me? From the diner?" A very faint accent under a bland American one.
Interesting. "Can I help you?" Just a touch of outrage in the voice. The woman stared, then handed her the paper. "Try again, Ada."
Ada glared and took the paper - a well-worn photo, from the feel of it. She looked down, seeing her own face looking back at her.
"How did you get this." Ada's mouth was suddenly very dry. John had kept this photo in his wallet with him. Sweet, sentimental man.
Do not engage this one. The why of it was clear as mud, but she could see why that order was made in the first place. Well, technically, she had engaged Ada.
Clearly, this was fair play. "Are you with the company?" She tried again. "With Umbrella? John hasn't called me back in over a week. What were you doing at his house? Did you think he had files there?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. "The house. Alright. No, I...I just needed..." She stopped a moment. "Government or competitor?"
Oh, fun. "Excuse me?"
"On any other day, I would love to play this game out. I used to be good at it. You're not Umbrella. Umbrella probably would have put a bullet in my head at this point."
Ada looked at the woman, appraising. "You're not wrong, but that's a naive take. They would have tracked down your loved ones first."
"Lucky me. They've taken care of that aspect, albeit out of order." The woman looked disquieted at the thought though. The accent was getting stronger, something crisp and British. "I asked you a question though."
Ada regarded her, choosing her words carefully. "It's complicated. And more intertwined than you're implying."
The woman pursed her lips. "Damnit, Daniel," she said quietly. Ada watched her process this. Surely she didn't mean...later. This wasn't the time to get sidetracked. "My question now. How did you come to have this? He would have kept it on his person. I know where he worked." She held up the photo. "I assume that you were getting around to that. Who are you, anyways? They don't send interns there."
The woman grew nervous, smaller. "Inter...right. Not a researcher, no." She made a face. "Although there was an influx of teenagers getting run through the place."
"Experiments?"
"Researchers. Wait, what? I...actually no, I believe that. Of course, they would." The woman looked grim. She didn't speak like a college kid. "I never actually met him. Your…John, I mean. I think I was the only option left if anyone was going to get out of there. He left his things at the terminal." Ada deflated slightly as the woman continued. "The other question is...complicated." Ada rolled her eyes at her, and she pushed on. "Yes, I know it sounds idiotic. That question has a lot of required context behind it and..." She spread her hands, frustrated.
"You showed up in a cab looking like you ran away from a cult after they tried to bury you alive," Ada said flatly. She left out the bit about the diner. This woman had approached her on her own, but could lose her nerve at any moment. Keep an eye out, but do not engage.
It seemed to hit just the right nerve. The woman stared, then sank back in the seat with a weak laugh. "Huh. I...you know what, let's just go with that. In a manner of speaking, you're not even wrong." She seemed to come to a decision. "If you can give me a ride and maybe an hour to stop for someone - hopefully much less - and a way out of Raccoon City, we can discuss this at length."
Ada considered. There was a weird amount of confidence coming from this woman. "You're taking a lot on faith right now."
"It's only fair. You really have no idea what you're dealing with, in this particular case." The woman's voice was almost sad.
Ada looked at her a moment longer, then started the car.
Author Notes:
when-seven-pieces-of-technology-became-deemed-obsolete/ - why the phone is briefly confusing, but also not totally foreign.
Ford = a river crossing. Ash is a type of tree.
