It Takes a Village
He was back in Alpha Team.
Granted, not the same Alpha Team of the RPD Special Tactics and Rescue Service. Rather, the Alpha Team of a ten-man unit, divided between Alpha and Bravo, that would be disbanded at the conclusion of the operation. In this Alpha Team, he wasn't wearing the insignia named after a stellar body, he was wearing the shoulder patch of a blue umbrella. Representing the company that had been formed from the ashes of another company, which had reduced STARS, the RPD, and the city they'd served, to ashes as well.
Some people might call that irony. Chris Redfield called it getting the job done.
"Bravo Team, in position. Commencing overwatch."
Some people might also call it overkill, to send ten mercenaries to take out two targets and apprehend a third. But then, considering what those first two targets were infected with, he'd gladly take overkill in exchange for the knowledge that only two people would have to die tonight.
"Roger Bravo. What's the situation of the village?"
"Lights off, people home."
"Status of targets one, two, three?"
"Thermal scans indicate all three targets in dwelling."
"Acknowledged. We'll move in at five. Mission is go."
"Roger. Bravo Leader out."
He removed his hand from his earpiece. Looking around Alpha Team, he took note that all the Blue Umbrella troopers had their helmets on. Standard operating procedure really -Targets 1 and 2 were potentially contagious, and Target 3 could develop similar symptoms. That wasn't even accounting for the risk of them infecting the other villagers. If it came to that, then his job had become a lot more complicated.
"So it's come down to it, has it? We're going to ride our bullets all the way into history."
Chris winced and looked at the trooper beside him. "That's not the actual quote." And too many bombs have been launched into history already.
"I know that." The tone in Croydon's voice suggested that he didn't. "Just pointing out the whole hired guns thing."
"You're all hired guns," Chris murmured.
"And you're not?"
Chris opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He wanted to tell Croydon that he wasn't, and in doing so, reassure himself. No, he wasn't a hired gun. He'd been working with Blue Umbrella for the last few years, but he was still technically part of the BSAA. He wasn't an actual member of a PMC, whose ranks were composed of ex-Umbrella staff members and military recruits. No. He was part of another organization who consisted of ex-Umbrella staff members and military recruits.
He wondered what was behind Croydon's helmet. Whether he was smirking at forcing his boss to question his moral piety, or frowning, knowing that all the piety in the world wasn't going to change what was about to happen.
He looked at his watch - 23:57. Three more minutes, and Alpha Team would move in on the target. Strictly speaking, there was no reason they couldn't move in right now. After all, the village below them was inhabited with nothing more than farmers, farriers, and housewives, with nothing deadlier than a shotgun. Alpha Team, equipped with everything from their own rifles, to grenades, to body armour, could have taken the place by themselves.
Chris looked at his watch - 23:58.
"It's still fucked up though," Croydon said. "Whole child-killing thing."
"You're with Blue Umbrella, Croydon, 'fucked' up is part of the job description."
Behind the man's helmet, Chris could see the glare. "And you're better?" he asked.
Chris remained silent.
"You telling me in all your time with the BSAA, you never had to do anything...fucked up?"
You've no idea. But, not wanting to show any weakness to the squad, he murmured, "were you at Dulvey?"
Croydon didn't say anything.
"Any of you?" He looked around the squad.
He knew the answer. He'd reviewed all of Alpha Team's files. All of them were veterans, and some of them even had experience with B.O.W.s. But none of them had been there in Louisiana.
"No. You weren't."
Let alone all the other nice spots he'd visited since '98.
"This isn't Dulvey," one of the troopers murmured.
"It isn't. And it never will be. And do you know why? Because tonight, we're going to do what needs to be done." Chris looked back at the village. "Keep your heads in the game."
He looked at his watch - 23:59.
Silence lingered in the air for the next forty seconds or so. No whispers from men, no bats, no birds, nothing. It was the winter of January, and the world had gone to sleep. Target 3 had brought Targets 2 and 1 to the far ends of the Earth to escape from people like him. People who might want to use Target 1 for their own ends, or remove Target 1 from the face of the planet. He'd never thought that Target 3 had it in him to evade the world's intelligence agencies like he had, but then, he hadn't really known the man that long. Target 3 had survived a biohazard where dozens of others hadn't. So really, bringing his family here, to a village in a war-torn country in the shadow of a giant castle (because why not?), wasn't too far-fetched.
"Why here?" Croydon asked.
Chris looked at him.
"Of all the places Ethan Winters could have run to, why here?"
Chris looked at his watch - it was zero hour. He signaled to Alpha Team to rise, and got up himself.
"Takes a village, Croydon," he murmured. "Maybe that's why."
"To do what?"
Chris frowned as he put his helmet on. "To raise a child."
"Well, you know what they say," murmured Barry Burton. "It takes a village to raise a child."
Sitting on the porch of the Burton household, Chris took a sip of the beer that Kathy had provided him and her husband with. He hoped that in the time it took him to sip the beverage, he'd be able to come up with something comforting, or smart, or heck, both. Unfortunately, by the time he lowered the bottle from his lips, he'd not come up with either of those options. So all he could do was look at Barry, and say something he hoped would suffice.
"Canada's good."
Barry sipped his own beer. "That's what Kathy says. Or, rather, what her sister says."
"Does Christine still think Kathy made a mistake?"
Barry chuckled and sipped more of his beer. "If she didn't at the wedding, she sure as hell does now."
"Yeah, well, lawyers. Look on the bright side, if Umbrella tries to sue you for property damage and espionage, you'll have the best lawyer family can buy."
"Please. Christine would be the prosecution."
Both men chuckled, but there was no mirth. As they sat on the porch of the Burton household, looking out over the garden and at Raccoon City beyond, Chris put his hand on his friend's shoulder and gave a squeeze. Barry, looking back at him, gave a look that showed he understood.
It was August, and autumn's chill was already in the air. Brown leaves falling upon the grass. Chris had been at the Burton household last year, and the difference was like night and day. Moira and Polly would be playing in the yard. Kathy and Barry would be together, laughing, chatting, talking about life, the universe, and everything. At some point, Moira and Polly would thank "Uncle Chris" for the toys he'd brought them, before heading off back in the yard to play with the other children. Friends and colleagues would eat, drink, and bitch about Chief Irons, or if they were feeling particularly bold, the president. Come 11, the girls would be sent off to sleep, people would head off into the night, and Barry would give Chris a ride to his apartment before he stumbled inside, collapsing on his bed. Ready to begin work again tomorrow and have Irons make his headache worse.
Now the house was silent. The girls had gone to bed early, after a day of sorting out "the essentials" to take with them. Usually, moving house was a process that would take months, but in light of what had happened in the Spencer Mansion, and the realization that Umbrella's control over Raccoon City extended beyond its economy, choices had been made, and the process of selling and moving house had been expedited. Next week, the Burtons would be joining Kathy's sister in Petersham - a small town in British Columbia that Chris had never even heard of until a few days ago. After that, Barry would be joining Chris in Europe to continue their investigation of Umbrella.
Truth of the matter was, Chris wasn't sure if Barry should have even told him. He wasn't even sure if Barry should stick in this fight. He had a family after all. Children. Of all the surviving members of STARS, Barry had the most to lose by poking Umbrella in the eye. But it was too late for that. Too late to take back a lot of things. And in Barry's mind, all he could do was spend as long as it took to make up for them.
Barry sipped his beer. "Sure am going to miss this place."
"The house, or the city?"
Barry chuckled. "Both."
"Hmm." Chris sipped more of his own bottle.
"What about you?" Barry asked. "You going to miss this dump?"
"No."
Barry raised an eyebrow.
"Gone from one place to another for most of my life, Raccoon City's not going to be much different."
Barry shrugged and sipped more of his beer.
"How's Rosa?"
Barry didn't answer.
"Still that bad?"
Barry gripped the bottle tighter. "Still that bad."
"Right..." Chris sipped more of his beer, noticing it tasted bitter than usual. "Of course."
He'd tried visiting Enrico's wife, but she hadn't wanted the company. Looking at her, listening to her, she didn't appear to want anything. Bad enough that she'd lost her husband. Worse was the official report that Bravo Team's helicopter had crashed due to gross pilot error, and that the rest of Bravo Team had been on drugs at the time, and that the Alphas had destroyed the old Spencer Estate in an act of arson. As cover stories went, it wasn't particularly convincing. But when the truth was stranger than fiction, and when no-one wanted to question that Raccoon City's biggest employer might have been involved in the development of biological weapons, all the official story needed to do was be slightly less crazy than the real one.
He liked to think that Rosa knew her husband better than that. Enrico deserved better. Heck, all of STARS did. He could only hope that when Irons had sent condolence letters to the families of the officers who'd lost their lives over those two nights in July, he'd at least tried to portray himself as being somewhat sympathetic.
"What about you though?" Barry asked.
Chris looked at him.
"How are you handling things?"
"Oh, fine." He sipped the last few drops of his beer. "Absolutely fine."
"That's not what Jill says."
Chris winced. "What Jill says isn't the same thing as reality."
"It is, when other officers are saying it too."
"Fuck the officers." Chris put the bottle to his lips, remembered he was out, then tossed the bottle into the nearby bin that already contained two. "Fuck Irons, fuck Wesker, fuck the lot of them."
"Right." Barry sipped some beer. "Handling things."
"Listen, I-"
"And what about Claire? Have you told her anything?"
A chill ran down Chris's spine, and not because of the autumn breeze.
"If you're taking a leave of absence to explore Europe, then-"
"Claire doesn't know anything, and I'm keeping it that way."
Barry frowned. "Listen, it might not be my business-"
"You're right, it's not."
"...but piece of advice? Sometimes, the truth sets you free." Barry finished his beer, before tossing it into the bin. "Trust me. I know."
Much as Chris resented Barry right now for bringing his sister into things, he gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. "I do."
A silence lingered between them. One broken by the sound of the porch door opening from the adjacent living room.
"Polly wants her daddy."
Chris glanced round. In the door frame stood Kathy - tired, flustered, and doing a better job of handling things than most people would in a shitstorm like this. Normally, he'd have said hello, but given the frosty reception he'd had tonight...
"You still here Chris?" she asked.
...yeah, he'd taken the hint.
"What does Polly need me for?" Barry asked.
"Bad dreams."
"And you can't calm her down?"
"Barry, I've been trying to calm her down, but she wants her daddy, and some of us can't be sitting out drinking beer while others spend all day packing and tidying and-"
"Kathy, we're selling the house, we don't need to tidy anything!"
"Oh no, of course not. Your fucking mess, isn't it Barry?! I always fucking is!"
For a moment, Chris was afraid that one of the Burtons would strike their spouse. Not just for the physical harm that would cause (though whether Kathy could actually hurt her husband was debatable), but what it would mean for them. For their children.
"Daddy?"
For Polly, who was inside the living room, dressed in Little Mermaid pajamas, clutching a giant red crab toy. For Moira, leaning against the wall behind her - trying to convey a sense of indifference, but not entirely succeeding. His parents had fought plenty before they'd died in the car crash, leaving him to be a father for Claire as much as a brother. It hadn't been easy for him then. He doubted it was easy for them now.
"Daddy's here, sweetie." Barry walked back in and squatted down. "Had a bad dream, pumpkin?"
Polly sniffed and wrapped her arms around her father's waist. Chris knew he shouldn't listen, but he couldn't help but overhear it...voices in the garden...people coming for her...afraid that the bad men were going to take her daddy away...Wesker had been lying when he said that his men had Barry's family hostage, but even from beyond the grave, the bastard was still hurting the living.
He glanced at Kathy. No words passed between them, but the understanding was clear. No, this wasn't his fault. Yes, it was time for him to leave. He saw her head in, going to talk to Moira. Only a few words being exchanged before the words became shouting, and Polly let out a wail, wanting them to stop fighting. Which only caused the shouting to get even louder.
"Takes a village," Chris murmured.
In the chaos, he saw Barry glance at him. Chris gave him a nod, before heading out across the lawn and to the street.
In the distance, a siren wailed.
Five men in black made their way across the white snow.
It had occurred to Chris that their uniforms weren't best suited for the job, least if they wanted to stay hidden. Black tended to stick out on white and vice versa. But that was Blue Umbrella. It wanted its members to be seen, it wanted the world to know that it was clearing up the mess its parent company had left the world. Problem was, Chris doubted that any of the people here really cared about that.
On the other hand, no-one was in the streets this late out. There was no source of illumination outside their helmet and rifle lights. Electricity had never made it out here apparently, and it wasn't as if Edonia's power grid was in the best of shape these days. But then, this village was so isolated, he wouldn't be surprised if the people here had managed to live their lives without ever being affected by it. Heck, they might not have even known a war had been on in the first place.
Ignorance is bliss, Chris reflected, as Alpha Team made it to the perimeter of the Winters household. Least until the bullets start flying.
He'd talked with the higher-ups. He'd tried to talk Blue Umbrella out of a hit job. Yes, Mia Winters and her child were infected by the Mould. Both of them were potential pathogenic time bombs. That didn't mean they had to die. Bring them in, quarantine them, at least keep them alive until a cure was found for the new strain. After all, Ethan had been infected as well in Dulvey, before being cured. They had something to work with through him. Yes, he'd be pissed, but at least his family would be alive.
They'd refused. They'd lost too many people at Dulvey to risk another outbreak. It was a miracle that they'd been able to contain the pathogen at all, given how it had got into the bayou and infected the wildlife. They sure as hell weren't going to let it happen in a country where sanitation was at a premium. And besides, there was something worse than killing Targets 1 and 2, and that was letting them fall into the hands of a group who'd want to use them to their own ends. Mia Winters, as his superiors had pointed out, was a bioterrorist who'd been assigned to escort a little girl into combat zones to spread the bloody Black Plague. Some might call killing her an act of justice. Or if not, a mercy, compared to what even worse people might do with her. What she and Target 1 might do to others, intentionally or not.
Chris didn't agree. He'd tried to bring the BSAA into this, only for them to wash their hands of the situation. He'd leaked a report on the Mould to Rebecca in the hope that she'd downplay the risk, for her to say that containment was viable, only for her to agree with Blue Umbrella's own scientists. He'd almost contacted Claire, before realizing that TerraSave had no clout left these days (Miller and Fisher had long since poisoned the well), and besides, if Blue Umbrella was doing a hit job, he might as well be the one to do it. He'd been at the place where this had begun. Now, he had to see it to it end. And he wanted his sister to be able to look him in the eye for as long as possible.
"Go," he whispered.
The five men sprinted across the snow-covered garden. From the looks of things, the Winters had set up an orchard. Not that anything was growing at this time of year, but somehow, the village had survived. They'd made a home here. Come the morrow, the village's population would be down by three.
"Alpha Leader to Bravo Leader, come in."
"Bravo Leader, reporting."
"At target site. Status?"
"All clear."
"Good. Contact will be made once we have Target Three."
"Affirmative. Bravo out."
"Alpha, out." Chris cut the feed and looked at his men. All of them ready to storm inside the building. Moving up along the line, he put his hand around the door knob...and to his surprise, found that the door was unlocked.
Fuck me.
Croydon must have seen it, as he asked, "so, do we knock?"
Chris didn't say anything. The Winters must be incredibly naive, or incredibly trusting. For whatever reason, they felt safe here. Ignorance...bliss...both about to be shattered.
He looked at the troopers. The troopers looked back at him. Nodding, he opened the door, and four men stormed into the household, rifles raised. Chris followed them in.
Nice place.
No-one said anything. They were in the hallway, adjacent to a kitchen on one side, and a living room in the other. The former was pitch black. The latter was illuminated by a single candle. But no sign of any life. But thankfully, no sign of mould, or even cobwebs.
"Revnak, take point," Chris whispered. "We'll be on your-"
When it happened, it happened quickly.
The candle began to move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Someone was holding it, coming their way. He rose his rifle, ready to fire.
"What are-"
He didn't. Croydon did. The sound of gunfire, followed by a yell, echoed through the house.
"Cease fire, cease fire!"
The target fell to the ground. Croydon lowered his rifle, smoke emanating from its barrel. He looked at Chris, whispering, "target down."
Chris wanted to yell. But moral outrage wouldn't change what had happened. After all, they were on a hit job, and two of the three Winters were meant to die tonight. Taking off his helmet and tossing it into Croydon's hands, he looked into the target's eyes.
Mia Winters
She was still alive. Possibly due to the Mould, possibly due to her body refusing to give out. Blood was spreading around her chest, pouring out of bullet holes in her front and back. She was struggling to breathe, as her lungs drowned in her own blood. Technically, Croydon had done what they'd been sent to do. Functionally, he'd made a mess of things.
He looked at his squad. "Take the others," he said. "Bring them down here." He paused, before adding, "alive."
The troopers nodded, before spreading out through the house. Two on the bottom level, two heading up the stairs. Up where Chris could already see a second light moving.
"Don't..."
He looked back at Mia. Struggling to breathe. Struggling to speak. Looking up at the helmeted man before her with a combination of confusion, fear, and desparate hope.
"Don't...hurt..."
Chris shouldered his rifle and drew out his pistol. All it would take was a shot to the head.
"Don't...hurt...him..."
He frowned. Even at the end of her life, Mia was more worried about her family than herself.
But then, what else would you expect from a parent?
Barry had seen better days.
Of course, Chris reflected, he'd also seen worse ones. And on balance, over the course of Barry Burton's life, he figured that Barry was seeing his best years right now. Retired, living in the suburbs of Vancouver, still married, and his family more or less intact, Barry had made it through the ringer of the USAF, RPD, and BSAA, before emerging the other side. His hair a little greyer, his beard a little longer, his belly a little fatter, but still, solid.
Standing on the porch of their home, Chris wished he could say the same for himself. He sipped his beer, and glanced at Barry, sitting down, sipping a cold one himself.
"You know you can sit, Chris."
Chris shrugged.
"Suit yourself." Barry took another sip, before looking up at his friend. "Come on, sit down. You look exhausted."
Chris wished he had a snappy comeback, but the beer had burnt all the retorts off his tongue. Instead, he just collapsed on one of the deck chairs.
"Isn't that better?"
Chris gave Barry a look, before looking at the bottle. He'd spent six months in Edonia drinking poison like this, before Piers had dragged him kicking and screaming back into the game. Or, rather, dragged him, and put him into a warzone where there was plenty of screaming, and where he had to do plenty of kicking to stay alive. Plus shooting, and knife fighting, and a dozen other things that had kept him alive. Which was more than he could say for millions in Lanshiang.
And for Piers himself.
"It's good that they gave you leave," Barry said, breaking the silence.
Chris grunted.
"Planning any vacations?"
Chris snorted. "You think I look like the vacationing type?"
"Well-"
"Don't answer." Chris sipped more from the bottle. "Still get to see plenty of the world."
"You don't need to be in the field for that."
"I dunno." Chris took another sip. "Don't I?"
Barry didn't say anything. He took another sip of his own and glanced out over the yard.
Chris wondered if Barry felt that he resented him. That he'd retired from the field to spend time with his family, while Chris was still with the BSAA, and the only living member of his family was still with TerraSave. If Barry felt that...he couldn't say, because he didn't even know how he felt about the subject. Envy was an ugly emotion. Part of the joys of going into conflict zones was being able to appreciate just how lucky he'd actually been in his life, even if the world conspired to end it so often.
Also the question of family. And, as visiting this place had reminded him, love. The former he'd lost, and the latter forever beyond his reach.
"You know, I talked with Jill earlier this week," Barry said. "Says she's sorry she can't come down, but she's wondering-"
"When you get this place anyway?" Chris interrupted.
Barry fell silent.
"Back in oh-two, was it? Couldn't stand Christine anymore?"
"Oh-three, actually. Kind of a little celebration."
"Because of Umbrella biting the dust, or getting away from Kathy's sister?"
Barry chuckled. "Both." He took another sip of his beer before getting to his feet. "Cost a fortune, but, well, some things money can't buy."
"Peace of mind?"
"Yeah. That." He turned around so that he was facing the screen door that separated the patio from the kitchen. "Kathy? Are the girls down yet?"
There was no answer.
"Kathy?!"
There was the sound of footsteps, but they didn't belong to Kathy Burton. Rather, Polly, who came walking out onto the porch. Giving her dad a look that suggested that there were a thousand places she'd rather be, but would tolerate being here for now.
"Mum's still trying to get the bookworm out of the closet." She grabbed a beer from the esky and looked at Chris. "Hey."
Chris gave her a slight toast. "Hello, Polly. You're looking...stylish."
She rolled her eyes, ripped the bottle cap off, and murmured, "don't go dad on me Chris. Got one of those already."
Chris gave a small smile. "Duly noted."
He wasn't going to 'go dad,' as the twenty year old had so eloquently put it. But he was old enough to remember when Polly Burton had been a child, calling him Uncle Chris when he'd turned up at the Burton household in Raccoon City. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a face like a cherub...now, she had a nose piercing, half a dozen ear piercings (on each ear), hair that had been dyed black, and a just as black t-shirt with the words FIGHT THE POWER. Exactly what "the power" was, Chris wasn't sure, and he didn't think Barry did either. It just appeared to him that Polly had decided to out-Moira Moira, which meant giving all authority the finger, while still reaping the benefits of living with her parents.
Plus whatever telemarketing jobs paid these days.
"Kathy's still trying to get Natalia out?" Barry asked.
Polly sipped some more beer. "Oh yeah, the bookworm doesn't want to come down. She's too engrossed in that vampire book...what was it...something about..."
"Twilight?" Barry asked.
"Nah. Dracula."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a bit old for her?"
Polly shrugged. "I dunno. All I know is that the bookworm prefers books to people."
"Polly."
"...and that she's the second stray my dad brought home."
"Polly!" Barry got to his feet. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again, okay?"
Polly looked taken aback. "I'm just saying-"
"Don't 'just say' anything, Polly. Think before you speak."
"Sure, dad." Polly sipped some more beer before looking at Chris. "You ever have to put up with this bullshit when you were my age?"
Chris looked at Polly, then Barry, then Polly again. Before murmuring, "when I was a bit younger than you, I was the one dishing it out."
"Pardon?"
"Being a brother and father at the same time...well, some of us don't have your luck."
Polly had the courtesy to at least look taken aback. And Barry the courtesy to give him a silent nod of thanks.
"And here we are."
Three pairs of eyes turned to the woman who'd walked out of the kitchen onto the porch. Barry, at least, gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, and the other two pairs of eyes followed.
"Lunch will be ready in ten," she said. She looked at Chris and smiled. "Anything I can get you?"
"No, I'm fine. Smells delicious though."
"Right. Let's just hope is tastes delicious too. I've never had to cook this recipe, but since Polly's in her vegan phase-"
"It's not a phase, mum!"
"...I've had to be creative."
Chris smiled. "Don't we all?"
The look in Kathy's eyes told her that she knew. She'd had to be creative from the moment she'd married her husband - Barry's career in the USAF, before transferring to the RPD's STARS branch, had meant plenty of single parenting, and that was even before the risk of Umbrella using Barry's family against him. Remembering the last time he'd seen her in Raccoon City, on the porch of a house not unlike this one, he'd wondered if their marriage could last. Still, what didn't kill you made you stronger, and apparently, that applied to matrimony as well.
"Natalia, would you come outside please?"
Chris watched as a girl much younger than Polly stepped out onto the porch.
"Hello," she whispered.
Kathy gave her adopted daughter a squeeze on the shoulder. She whispered something in her ear that Chris couldn't make out, but reading her lips, he was able to pick out "try" in the sentence.
"Anyway, I'll give you guys a call." She looked at Barry, then Polly, then Natalia, before heading back indoors, closing the porch door behind her with a thud. About the only sound that followed for the next five seconds.
"So..." Chris began. He looked at the girl before him. "Don't believe we've met."
She shook her head.
"You're Natalia, right?"
"Yes."
"And lo and behold, the bookworm speaks," Polly sneered.
Natalia gave Polly a look. "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth, and remove all doubt."
Barry chuckled, however forced. "Got you there, Pol."
"Yeah, whatever." She sipped more of her beer.
"And you're Chris," Natalia said. "I know a lot about you."
"From Barry?"
"Sort of."
There was a way she said that, and a way she looked at him, that filled Chris with unease. But then, the girl had gone through hell, twice. While she was supposedly incapable of feeling fear, Terragrigia and Sejm had to have left their marks on her.
Natalia would be 14 years old if he remembered correctly. But as far as she was from her foster sisters by age, she was even further away in demeanor. She wore glasses, and her hair (dyed blonde) was tied up in a ponytail. She was wearing a black blouse, as if this was a formal, and polished black shoes. Black, like Polly, but proving that black apparently wasn't the new black, but rather, a different black. In Chris's experience, girls at this age wanted to rebel against the world (certainly Claire had), but Natalia appeared to have gone full conformist.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Barry asked. "Apple juice, lemonade...?"
"I'll have something." Natalia fished a can of soda from the esky. "Thank you though."
Polly chuckled. "Wow. A soda. Isn't that, like, super off-limits for you?"
Natalia opened the can and took a small sip.
"And don't you usually have a glass?"
"I do. Usually. But mum said I have to try."
Polly snorted. "Ain't your mum, bookworm."
"Polly!"
Chris couldn't blame Barry's anger. Nor could he miss the look of hurt in Natalia's eyes.
"I'm just saying dad, she ain't right in the head. She started off crazy, and she's still crazy."
Chris, seeing Natalia flinch, put a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't touch me."
And withdrew it, as he saw Natalia glare at him. As the words, and the tone behind them, echoed in his mind. Almost as if she was a completely different person...
"Polly, one more word out of you, and I'll-"
"What, dad, what?!" Polly tossed her bottle out onto the grass. "I get it. You get a perfect little girl, who does oh so well at school, because all she does is read her fucking books-"
"Polly, I swear to God, if you-"
"But she's crazy, okay? You know it, I know it, and it's only a matter of time before she pops herself off like Lucia did!"
Barry let out a roar. He got up, grabbed Polly by the arm, and dragged her out onto the grass. Chris couldn't make out their words, but there were numerous gestures to the house, the car, and the road.
He would have followed, but at the same time, Natalia let out a sob, and headed to the kitchen. Only to bump into Kathy, before looking up at her, and throwing her arms around her adoptive mother's waist, burying her face into her stomach. Leaving Chris to wonder what he should say, and how.
"Takes a village?" he asked Kathy.
She didn't answer.
As the shouting and sobbing continued, no-one did.
The troopers had done their job too well, and too fast.
It would have been easier, Chris reflected, if Mia had been dead before her husband and son were brought down from the cottage's upper level. Easier on Ethan, at least. Easier on him. Whether it would be easier on the couples' son was academic, since she'd be joining his mother soon.
He wondered how many men had told themselves that. How many soldiers had believed that their victims would find the hereafter after being murdered. He didn't know. He didn't care to guess. Having spent so much of his life battling soulless creatures, he'd rarely had to ask.
He winced as Ethan was pushed down onto the floor by the troopers, while Croydon and another held Target 1 between them. In the gloom, and coupled with the robe the child was wearing, Chris couldn't make out his features.
But he could make out Ethan's. He hadn't seen the man since Dulvey, and the years hadn't been kind to him. Weathered face, greying hair...Ethan Winters had grown old before his time. Unlike his wife, gasping for air. Her eyes darting to her husband and child. She reached out a hand, before her arm fell beside her, limp.
They didn't say anything. That was what surprised him more than anything else. They knew what had happened. What was about to happen. One might think they'd want to exchange some final words. But Mia couldn't speak. And Ethan seemed beyond words. Still in shock, or still barely awake. But aware enough to look at the man in black standing above him.
"Chris?" he asked.
To recognize him.
"Sorry Ethan."
He looked at Mia. Gave her the courtesy of looking her in the eyes as, using his pistol, fired five rounds into her.
"Why?!"
Chris looked back at Ethan. He was struggling to get up, but the other troopers were keeping him pinned. His eyes were wide, and he was yelling. Screaming. His son was trembling, almost spasming. Chris, for his part, couldn't say anything. He hadn't been there when his parents had died. He'd never find love the way Ethan had. But he had a sister, and had travelled across continents to rescue her. If someone had done to Claire what he'd done to Mia...
"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"
...then he couldn't blame Ethan for acting like he did. Glancing at the troopers, he gestured to them to lift Ethan up. To let him speak face to face.
"Ethan..."
Ethan's fire had already burnt out. "I'll kill you..." he whispered. He looked at Chris, and in the gloom, he could see tears running down the man's eyes. "I'll kill you..."
"Maybe," Chris murmured. "I..." He held up a hand, ready to put it on Ethan's shoulder, but thought better of it. Sighing, he walked past the man.
"What are you doing?"
"Your wife and son are infected, Mister Winters. Orders are to deal with it."
"What?"
Ethan stood in front of the boy. Trembling. Orders, he reminded himself.
"No. No, you can't!"
"Turn away, Ethan. You don't want to see this."
"Leave him alone. You hear me? Leave him alone!"
Chris gestured with his hand and the troopers holding Ethan dragged him out of the cottage, past the body of his wife.
"Chris, please!"
Chris held his pistol out. It would be easy to pop off Target 1 here and now. But...he couldn't resist. Curiosity, compassion, honour...something caused him to take the boy's hood down. To see the face of the child he'd been sent to murder.
Fuck me.
See it, and recoil.
The boy was disfigured. And despite having seen plenty of disfigured bodies in his lifetime, Chris was repulsed. Withered skin. One eye larger than the other. Shrunken lips. Wisps of hair, like a baby's brow. He'd seen pictures of Eveline, from her child's body to her aged form. Target 1 looked simultaneously too old, and too young.
"Daddy..."
The boy ran forward, out of the troopers' arms. He shot Croydon a look - maybe they'd been as repulsed as he had. Or maybe, face to face with the would-be monster, they'd flinched.
"Adam!"
Like the troopers outside might have. Either way, Ethan had got back into the house, and was hugging his son.
"Mum...y?"
Adam, Chris reflected. This time after Evie.
The troopers raised their rifles. He raised his hand. He'd started this. He'd finish it. He walked up to Ethan, who was hugging his son close.
"Step aside Ethan."
Ethan wasn't listening. He was hugging his son close.
"Ethan, he's infected. You could be infected too."
Ethan shook his head.
"Ethan, I know you..." He trailed off. Unable to say, I know you love him. Unable to say it, because he couldn't imagine how anyone could love that monstrosity. They had to know what Adam...what Target 1, was infected with. What had grown inside Mia Winters's womb. They had to...
Do what?
Not love him? What parent wouldn't do everything they could to protect their child, he wondered? What parent wouldn't give their child love and shelter, even if it meant the world could burn? If he'd been in Ethan's position, if that had been his child...could he say he wouldn't be doing the same thing?
"Please." Ethan, holding his son close, looked up at Chris. "Please, don't do this..."
Chris clutched the pistol.
Just as memories clutched his heart.
"I'm sorry Barry, but I can't do anything."
"Can't?" His friend put his fists on the table between them, leaning forward. "Or won't?"
"Can't. And it's as simple as that."
Chris regretted the words immediately. Not so much in of themselves, but rather, the look in Barry's eyes. One eye, containing fire - the desire to lash out at the world, or at least, the man before him. In the other, ice. The coldness of a cruel world, closing in. Revealing its truth. Question was, which eye would lead?
"It's never that simple," Barry murmured.
Chris got up from his chair and turned around, facing the window.
"And you know it."
The window that his forehead came to rest on, as he closed his eyes. He'd ask God to help him, or spare him, but after more than two decades fighting the spawn of madmen and monsters, so far, he hadn't received any divine intervention.
"Chris."
In the distance, a siren wailed. And for a moment, he was taken back to a night twenty-two years ago. When he'd looked at a city just like this one. Not that Raccoon City had ever been New York, but...
"Chris, are you even listening?"
But New York had survived its own incident with bioterrorism. One million dead, and over twice that number injured from the dispersal of the A-virus. Right now, the city was mostly silent, on lockdown from a pathogen that hadn't been brewed in a lab, but-
"Chris!"
He felt Barry's hand on his shoulder. The one where, right below it, he wore the insignia of Blue Umbrella on his uniform. Even in the office he'd been assigned in the organization's New York branch, he wore the company's colours. The white and the blue. Give it some red, and he could imagine he was serving Uncle Sam again.
"Sit down, Barry."
He took a seat at the desk. After a moment's hesitation, Barry did so likewise.
"Barry, Natalia has to remain in our custody."
"Bullshit."
"We can't afford to let her out in the public."
"Still bullshit."
Chris sighed. "Listen, Barry. I know this is hurting you..."
"Do you?"
Chris looked into his friend's eyes. Ice and fire looked back at him. Giving him a look that made Chris wonder if he truly did.
"But the T-Phobos she's carrying? It's mutated. She might not even have to feel fear to trigger it."
"T-Phobos isn't contagious."
"Not yet. But you want her to have a nightmare? Get angry? Fall in love? You want to have a monster on your hands?"
"I've raised two daughters before Natalia, Chris. I can handle monsters."
"Don't be glib, Barry."
Barry chuckled. "Then you can stop being an arse, and get Natalia out of isolation."
Chris sighed, leaning back in the chair. Folding his hands together. Looked at the man across from him.
He'd been in Barry's position before. Back in the BSAA. Back at the RPD, when he'd have been in Barry's place, and in his, the likes of Irons or Wesker. Both of them willing to play the game of distraction and delay, both of them able to justify their actions in a way that allowed them to sleep at night. He knew...told himself...that he wasn't like those men.
"Chris, please..."
Told himself, and tried to believe it.
"Chris, you know that's no life for a child."
He remained silent, and watched Barry get to his feet, pacing around the office.
"Polly misses her, did you know that? I mean, she's finally got her act together...training to be a nurse, can you believe that? Kathy still keeps her room tidy. And Moira? Well, she-"
"I know what Moira wants me to do," Chris murmured. "Claire told me."
Barry looked at him, his eyes containing less ice and fire, and now, hope. "Then you-"
"But I can't release her. No matter what you think, I don't call the shots here."
The hope fled, now, replaced with hatred.
"I'm not the one responsible for what happened to Natalia."
Barry clenched his fist.
"And after what happened to Lucia, I imagine you-"
Barry punched him, his fist connecting with Chris's jaw. The blow wasn't hard enough to get Chris to fall out of his seat. But it was hard enough so that he could taste blood upon his tongue.
"Don't you dare use Lucia against me like that, okay?"
Chris slowly got to his feet.
"You hear me?!"
"I hear you," Chris murmured. "And I know that when you heard she'd committed suicide, after she was taken to her relatives in Europe, rather than being allowed to stay with you, you've never forgiven yourself." Chris paused, rubbing his jaw. "Lot of stuff you've never forgiven yourself for."
Barry looked ready to strike him again. Or maybe strike himself.
"Natalia isn't Lucia," Chris said. "She isn't...scarred, like she was. And she doesn't have any family left." He paused, thinking of when he'd heard about the Starlight. About the girl Barry and Leon had rescued. How she'd begged to stay with the Burtons, before being taken to relatives in Portugal...before she hung herself a month later, wanting the nightmares to end. Leon had taken it hard. Barry harder. Like the rest of his family. Like no doubt they were taking it with Natalia right now.
"But it isn't just T-Phobos," Chris continued. "It's the headaches. It's the split personality disorder. It's the accelerated ageing." He paused, before murmuring, "it's almost as if Alex-"
"Alex didn't do anything to her," Barry whispered. "I was there. I stopped her. My daughter...stopped her..."
"Alex Wesker injected Natalia Korda with T-Phobos, so yes, she did do something to her," Chris murmured. "Like your first daughter. Like my sister."
Barry remained silent.
"I can have you hate me," Chris murmured. "I can have Moira hate me. I can even have Claire hate me. But I can live with that if it means that Natalia Korda is no longer a threat."
Barry went to say something, but stopped. Perhaps the cat had his tongue. Perhaps the cat was causing him to chuckle, as he paced around, shaking his head.
"Barry?"
Muttering something.
"Barry, I know what this is costing you. Your family. Even Natalia. But fixing one broken family isn't worth a hundred dead ones."
The muttering got slightly louder.
"And I've seen plenty of broken families."
The pacing slightly faster.
"Barry, are you even listening?"
Barry stopped dead, and glared at Chris. "You've changed," he whispered.
Chris met his gaze. The ice was gone. All that was left was the fire.
"Tell me - was it before, or after you joined Blue Umbrella?"
"Technically, I'm a liaison."
"Yeah." Barry took a step forward, and it was only now that Chris realized just how much muscle the man had on him, even after retirement. "And I bet that helps you sleep at night."
Chris stood his ground. Whispered, "who's to say I sleep at night?"
The two men glared at each other. Chris could only imagine what Barry was thinking. He could imagine what a lot of people thought of him. That Christopher Redfield, the man who'd brought down Umbrella Inc., could be working with their successors, was an irony not lost on most people. Everything Barry had said, every way he'd glared at him...he'd heard it before. Seen it before.
"So," Barry said eventually. "It's what you won't do, not what you can't do."
Chris remained silent.
"You know, walking in, I couldn't help but notice that there's no pictures of any friends or family here," he said.
Chris remained silent, as he continued to taste blood upon his tongue.
"And I can't help but wonder..." He smiled, but it was without warmth, or mirth, "whether you letting me, or Claire, or Moira hate you...is a privilege you extend to other people."
The blood was still there. Burning.
"Like Jill, for example. I-"
"Get out."
The blood remained, even as the whisper filled the air.
"I understand you don't talk much these days. It's a shame. We all thought you two would eventually-"
"Get. Out."
Maybe Barry heard the venom in his words. Maybe he saw the clenching of his fist. Or maybe he'd said everything he needed to. Either way, he turned around, and headed for the door.
"Like I said earlier. You've changed..."
Chris wanted to say something about changing with the times, or doing what had to be done. Instead, he remained silent. Wanting his friend...possibly former friend, now...to leave.
Barry put his hand on the knob and sighed. "Just so you know, I'm not giving up." He looked at Chris. "But until then..."
He reached into his jacket, and for a moment, Chris was afraid that he was going to pull out a gun.
"…this is for you..."
But it wasn't. It was a single white envelope. He tossed it to Chris, and he caught it. Able to tell by the weight that it wasn't a letter that was inside.
"...until you figure it out."
Chris opened his mouth. To ask Barry what was inside. To ask him not to leave. But no words came out, and even if they had, they would have been silenced by the sound of a door slamming shut. Shaking the office, and what few amenities were inside it.
Not giving up, Chris reflected. Wouldn't expect any less.
He rubbed his head, and took a seat at his desk. Holding the envelope in his hands. No stamp, no address, not even a name. Frowning, he opened it, and let the object it contained fall onto his desk.
Chris sat there. Staring.
The STARS badge stared right back at him.
It was amazing, Chris reflected, what a parent would do for their child.
Surely Ethan had to know. Surely, as soon as Adam Winters emerged from his mother's womb, he'd seen what the mutamycete had done to him. Surely he had to understand that what had happened at Dulvey could happen here. Not just to him and Mia. But to everyone in this village. Surely, he knew why he had to do this.
But if he did, there was no sign of it. He was still holding his son close. Putting his body between him and the assassin who'd taken the life of his wife. A woman who had lied to him, who was a terrorist, who'd nearly got him killed, and yet, he loved anyway. Ethan Winters was testament to the fact that humans were irrational beings. A testament that added to a whole long list of testaments that ran from madmen and madwomen, to a father, still trying to get his adoptive daughter out of custody.
"Please..." Ethan begged.
He wondered what Target 1 would say, if he could speak. He wondered what Barry would say, if he knew what he had been sent into Edonia to do. He wondered what Jill would say, if she was standing right by him...whether he'd be able to ever look her in the eye again...
Maybe that was why so many Blue Umbrella troopers wore helmets. Easier to serve when people couldn't see your face, and what lay in the eyes beyond. Those around him and the remaining targets stood silent. Motionless. Watching. Waiting. The family had already been torn apart. Taking this child's life wound sunder it forever, as well as whatever remained of his morality. But then...
But fixing one broken family isn't worth a hundred dead ones.
The words echoed in his ears. Unbidden. Unwanted.
It takes a village
As did others. This child, this abomination...still loved, after everything...one like him had destroyed lives to find love. Now, life would be destroyed to end it. Unless he...
Until you figure it out.
He looked at the child, shielding his face from the man who had murdered his mother. He looked at Croydon, standing like a silent sentinel - angel and devil upon his shoulder, both. And finally, at Ethan...at the ice and fire within his eyes, reminding him of a man who he'd once called friend. Like that man, willing to do anything for his family...
"Please..."
"Like I said earlier," Chris whispered, "sorry about this, Ethan."
He raised his pistol, towards the target's forehead. For a second, letting it hang there.
"Sorry about everything."
And a second later, firing.
Causing a body to fall.
Causing a father to scream.
Beyond the village, a wolf howled.