Chapter Eight: In The Web
He didn't know where they were going, but Wesker was marching like he had a purpose. All Barry could do was try to keep up.
"I trust your search has been no more fruitful than my own."
He dipped his hand into his pocket. He didn't know whether he was expecting to feel pride presenting the medallion to Wesker. Here he was, one-upping the man holding his family to ransom. That should have counted for something.
Instead, there was only a bitter sense that it didn't matter what he did. Everything just helped Wesker move one step closer to his goal. If he stepped out of line, Wesker put him back in his place. If he put up a fight, Wesker punished him for it. And he did it without effort, without hesitation and without remorse.
It didn't matter what he did.
Wesker stopped and took the emblem. He examined it, weighed it in his palm, and then tucked it into his pocket. Just like that, it was as though the damn thing never existed.
"Just one more and we're home free, right?"
He made a noise that was frustratingly noncommittal and kept walking.
"Continue your search in the caverns below the courtyard. The waterfall barring the entrance has been drained. The second medallion should be there."
Caverns? Oh yeah. Didn't this used to be a mining town, back in its heyday. Before the war and the depression. Before Umbrella.
They'd reached the door to the courtyard. Wesker pulled it open and ushered Barry out into the glare of the porchlight.
"What about you?"
"There are matters that require my attention. If his progress is left unchecked, I am certain that Chris will stumble over something that might endanger the operation."
"Chris is here?" Surprise gave way to suspicion. "What are you going to do, Wesker?"
"That's none of your concern. Rest assured I will do my best to guarantee that Chris reaches the lab unharmed."
Barry flipped the sentence around in his head, looking for some kind of deceit. Men like Wesker weren't the type to just lie. They enjoyed making out like they were being honest just so they could rub it in your face when they went back on their word later.
And Barry didn't want to find Chris dead, just because Wesker hadn't said "Simon says".
"What if it isn't there?" he asked.
"That would be unfortunate. For the sake of your family, we should both hope that it is."
-x-x-x-x-x-
He found the cavern exactly where Wesker said it would be. The waterfall was gone, reduced to a trickle, and the dark mouth yawned open before him. Echoes spilled out like guttural snorts from the belly of whatever beast it was he was about to walk into.
The thought of taking the first step inside was daunting, but Wesker had made it clear he didn't have a choice. The job was his. If he didn't get it done, there would be hell to pay.
"Come on, Barry. Quit wimping out. This isn't like you. You're made of sterner stuff than this."
But even with that gentle encouragement, he was still paralysed at the threshold.
On the bright side, the crows that had chased them earlier were gone. He wasn't going to be ripped to shreds just standing there.
He listened into the depths, trying to hear if there was anything waiting for him. Zombies, dogs, crows - it didn't matter. He didn't want to run into any of them again.
What he heard was worse than any of that. Someone screamed the scream of a wounded man.
"Oh, hell."
He threw himself at the tunnel entrance. Before he knew it, he'd reached the back of the stone mouth and was descending into the throat on a ladder bolted to the wall. He dropped the last couple of rungs and struck an uneasy landing on the rough floor. Miranda came up - his flashlight too - and then he was scanning the cave interior.
Wormeaten wooden beams sagged under the weight of rock and loam in countless tons. More cobwebs, hanging off every rocky outcropping, filling every nook and cranny. Old lamps hung suspended on vines of rubber-bound cables. Either time had snuffed them out one-by-one, or the generator they were connected to had shut down, killing them all at once.
Where had that voice come from? Had he been hearing things?
Another noise this time. A sussuration, like something dragging across rock. A low grumble in the bowels of this place.
He followed it deeper into the tunnel, hoping that it wasn't too late to find whoever had cried out. Unless his mind had been playing tricks on him, it sounded like Enrico. It was too old to be Chris, and Wesker was in the house back there. Not to mention that Rebecca had already confirmed Edward Dooley as K.I.A.
Rebecca and Enrico. Last survivors of Bravo Team. Couldn't even save the goddamn Mountain Rescue guys we roped in to be their pilots. How did it even come to this?
He couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like the web was growing more dense. The grey walls turned dirty white with them. He tried to ignore the lumps. Some were harder to look away from than others. They had shapes - muzzles and thin, muscular legs and stout bodies. Black blood oozed out through what looked like puncture marks. Puncture marks about as wide across as his palm.
His foot snagged on something lying across the passage. He staggered and realised with horror that he was going down. He landed hard on his elbow and knees, managing to keep his gun hand from hitting the floor.
He grunted and rolled over, expecting to see a fallen beam. Instead, he saw another shell of webbing, this one cracked open by his boot. A human face, pulled tight around its skull in a silent scream, stared back at him through empty eye sockets.
He scrambled backwards, flashlight beam dancing as he tried to move and hold his arm steady at the same time. Something brushed past him, prickling his shoulder with what felt like cactus spines.
"Shit!"
He flopped onto his back, aiming the light and revolver side-by-side. A furry leg, black save for the red bands around its many knees, vanished into the shadows. It was one of those spiders. The same ones he and Rebecca had seen above.
He pushed himself to his feet, sweeping the beam across the room. He'd moved from the passage into a cave. The web was even thicker here. More bodies, made anonymous by their cocoons, hung from the walls. Dark shapes moved around them, shying from the light.
He turned around and found himself staring into a dozen glittering eyes, the size of baseballs. The body they were attached to was as wide across and as tall as an RPD squad car, covered with thick, black bristles that looked sharp enough to impale.
Huge legs bore it forward as it reared up. Its mandibles slid back. Fangs emerged, dripping with venom, into the light - two wet spikes as long as his forearm and poised to sink into his flesh.
He fell back. The flashlight beam shook, throwing crazy strobe across the cavern and the monster at its centre. He kicked out and felt carapace splinter under his boot.
The spider lunged at him again. He kicked just in time to deflect a fang and push himself clear of the other. His heart lurched as it powered forward, rolling him over and leaving his torso exposed to a bite. He lifted Miranda, finger tightening on her trigger.
You're too slow, old man. Here it comes. The end.
Except it didn't come. The revolver roared. A bullet burst a cluster of eyes. Watery gore, the colour of sewage, spewed across the cavern floor. The thing's legs quivered as it reared back, boxing the air with its mandibles as though it were trying to ward him off.
He forced himself to one knee, ignoring his body's protests, and fired off another shot. The spider lost a leg and limped into the corner of its lair, chittering.
The flashlight was lying at an angle, throwing its beam across the monster and onto the wall beside it. Something metal shone behind the webbing.
He didn't bother grabbing the light. He didn't want to disturb it in case he couldn't find it again.
His mind was working faster than his body could. It seemed to take an age to cross the cave, but he made it before the spider could turn to follow. He could see other shadows scuttling in the darkness, smaller but he was sure they were no less dangerous. Now wasn't the time to slow down.
He grabbed fistfuls of the web, wrenching it aside. It stretched like rubber, but wouldn't break. At least it gave him a chance to look at what lay behind and confirm his suspicions.
Twinned stainless steel nozzles. Two tanks coloured red and blue. About the size of any ordinary assault rifle. It was a flamethrower alright. An advanced, compact make. Umbrella spared no expense, although the question of why came to mind.
Unless they always planned to be attacked by their own giant spiders.
He slipped his knife loose, started sawing at the web strung across its mount. This place was infested, crawling with those giant freaks. This was the equaliser. Better than a can of Raid.
Strands popped and snapped as the serrated edge ate through them. Pretty soon, he was able to pull away what remained with his hands. Then, he was at the flame thrower, scooping it out of its cradle and into his loving arms.
Something scrabbled across the rock behind him. He spun and planted his boot on its head, stopping it about a foot from his other calf. The spider shuddered. Its back legs moved toward its torso, poised to flick hairs, just like Rebecca had said.
Miranda was still in his hand. It put a hole the size of his foot through its back. Guts and bile tumbled out in a gory avalanche. It sagged, legs curling into its body.
Then, he brought the flame thrower around. Behind him, the jeep-sized spider, tiger-striped black and red, stood at the back of a platoon of smaller monsters.
His hand found the ignition. A spike of blue flame jutted from the lower nozzle. In the next second, the front runners were awash with fire.
It seared them apart, separating limbs from bodies, bursting eyes. They twitched and flicked in their death throes, loosing sprays of burning hair into the air. Most of it hit the walls. Some stung the others gathered behind them.
Those that remained backpedaled, shrinking away from him as he advanced. The heat of the burning fuel stung his face and hands, but he was old and hardened by years of struggle and toil. His skin had turned to leather years ago. He was well-protected.
He wasn't fighting for his life anymore. He was exterminating them. His Pop had always taught him never to kill more than he could eat, and never to waste life, no matter how insignificant it seemed. But this was different.
Because these things were abominations. They weren't natural. They'd destroy nature. God only knew how much of Raccoon Forest had already suffered for them to be this big. He needed to wipe them out. He needed to fix the damage that Umbrella had done by even dreaming of them.
He fought them back into the corner, wiping them out one after another, until it was just him and the giant.
The image of the dead man, sucked dry and imprisoned in the walls, flashed into his mind. For a moment, he felt vengeful. He wanted to mete out retribution for what had been done to a member of his species by this ugly monster.
But the man had been Umbrella, most likely. No friend of his. And he wasn't going to make this thing suffer any more than it had to, no matter what it had done. He wasn't that kind of guy.
It's just an animal. Animals can't be evil. But people... People can be plenty evil.
He pulled the trigger. Flame engulfed it from front to back. Its brittle shell blackened and cracked under the heat. Its innards boiled and evaporated. Egg sacs burst on its back and dozens of spiders - large as his hand, but tiny by comparison - tumbled to the floor, shrivelling to cinders.
He let go when there were only ashes left. Nothing moved, save flickering flames dancing on the mass grave he'd wrought.
The tanks weren't empty just yet. He slung the flame thrower. The night wasn't over, and there was no telling what he might need it for next.
-x-x-x-x-x-
He'd glimpsed it a few times since leaving the nest. Splashes of red glistening in the flashlight beam. Fresh blood in a trail leading away.
When he entered a tunnel section where the electric lamps were lit, he knew he was beginning to get closer to the lab. He could also see the crimson stain on the floor that much easier.
Even so, he would have walked right past the nook if he hadn't heard something grunt off the main tunnel. He doubled back and saw someone slumped against the wall at the end of the offshoot, hand clamped over a bloody wound in their thigh.
He recognised them a second later. "Enrico."
He hustled over to him and knelt down, putting a hand to his shoulder. His mouth was a hard line and his brow was slick with sweat. He was in a lot of pain, and it wasn't hard to see why.
The puncture went straight through the meat of his thigh and out the other side. He caught sight of swollen, off-colour veins bulging around the injury. It looked like he'd had a run in with the mother spider.
"You okay?"
Enrico grunted and tried a grin. It didn't work as well as he'd probably have liked. "Just dandy," he said, voice strained, "stupid. I've been so stupid. Made so many rookie mistakes. We walked right into their trap. My team's dead. I couldn't protect any of them. Couldn't even protect myself."
"Don't blame yourself, okay? There's nothing you could have done. Besides, they're not all dead. Rebecca's still alive."
"Rebecca." He let out a disbelieving snort. "God only knows how that girl survived in a place like this."
Barry nodded. "She's got a lot of guts, for a greenhorn. Listen, I'm pretty sure she can treat that wound. Come on, I'm taking you back to the surface."
He started to slip an arm under Enrico's, but he pushed him off.
"I can't go back. I've come this far. I've got to keep going. I've got to expose the truth."
"Truth? Enrico, you can barely stand."
He made another attempt at hoisting him to his feet, and received another shove for his trouble.
"I have to try. Or my team died for nothing. I can't..." He went quiet, breathing heavy. When he started speaking again, it was with a bitter note of self-loathing. "I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen."
Barry's teeth clenched. He'd finally found a living member of the old Bravo Team, someone he could save, the way he hadn't been able to save Joe, or Richard, or Forest. And now he was trying to get himself killed.
The lab was where this nightmare had started. It'd be crawling with monsters.
"You're not gonna last two minutes down there, damn it!"
He dragged the other man to his feet at last. And then he was slamming back into the wall.
Enrico was staring at him, eyes wide. "How do you know what's down there?"
His voice was trembling with what sounded like shock. The venom had shaken him up worse than Barry had thought. The old Enrico was gone. No more Captain. No more professional. This man was a nervous, paranoid wreck. A shadow of his former self.
And that made him dangerous.
"It's you, isn't it? You're their inside man." His face turned hard, the line of his mouth twisting into an ugly snarl. In the poor light, dishevelled and covered in blood, he looked like a madman. "You two-faced, double-crossing piece of...!"
His hand sank to his hip. Barry leapt at him, catching the Beretta by its barrel as it rose and twisting it away.
All he could focus on was the gun. He didn't even consider trying to reason with him until he started babbling.
"No! Enrico, you've got it wrong. It's not me. Please. Put it down. Don't do this."
His voice turned from reassurance to desperate pleading in a few seconds. Enrico wasn't listening. Every syllable out of his mouth just brought the gun closer to his head.
He growled. "God... Damn... Traitor..."
A shot rang out. Barry hit the floor. He waited for the pain. He waited for the rush of warm wetness across his torso as blood soaked his clothes.
Enrico slid down the wall, into the position where Barry had first found him. There was an entry wound at the dead centre of his forehead.
He turned and saw the shape standing at the entrance to the passage, gun raised, sunglasses tucked into its top pocket.
He leapt to his feet. "Goddamn it, Wesker! That wasn't necessary! For God's sakes!"
The other man advanced on him. With his eyes exposed, Barry could see them narrow and smoulder. It doused his anger and put him on the retreat.
His back hit the wall. Then, the barrel of Wesker's Beretta hit his chin, pushing his head up.
"It would behove you not to raise your voice to me, Barry," he said, his voice as cold as it ever was, but harder all of a sudden, "insubordination will not be tolerated, particularly from one in your precarious position. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal."
Wesker backed away. He ejected his clip and thumbed a spare round into the top. "Good. Have you found the second medallion?"
"No. Why would it be here anyway?"
"The process of elimination. These tunnels separate the laboratory from the rest of the compound. Here would seem the most likely location."
"If you say so."
Wesker ignored him. "We will be able to search this area more efficiently if we do so separately."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can't keep splitting up like this. You're gonna get one of us killed."
"We are running out of time," he said, his tone hardening again, "if this operation is ruled a failure, the company will not hesitate to tie up its loose ends. You are an asset, and your family are potential liabilities. It is in your own best interests to cooperate."
"Okay! Okay! Fine!" He let out a breath through clenched teeth. "We'll do it your way."
"Do not linger. I have dispatched Chris and the sole remaining member of Bravo Team to the mansion to search for Officer Valentine. We will have limited time to accomplish our objectives and assemble them for extraction."
With that, Wesker struck off down one of the two tunnels they were faced with. Barry watched him leave, and then turned back to Enrico. Two glassy eyes stared at him, accusing.
He knelt down and thumbed the slack lids closed. His heart was aching again. Another friend was dead. Another good man. Dead. Murdered. And his murderer was walking free.
It should have been me. But I'm alive. Because I'm useful. Because I don't have the guts to stand up for what I'm supposed to believe in.
"Not like you did."
It wasn't much of a eulogy. But right now, it was the best he could manage. He had to find that medal.
"I'm sorry, Enrico," he said, rising to his feet, "I'm really sorry."
-x-x-x-x-x-
A/N: Yay, update! After my brief rut, I now think I'm well and truly back in the saddle. Updates for Bad Blood and Damage will be coming soon as well. I've been hitting Untold pretty hard in an attempt to get it finished. I think I'm getting close. I predict another four or five chapters. It depends, because sometimes I do have a habit of making mountains out of molehills.
Shak, once again, has been instrumental in providing a chapter of quality both for me to be proud of and for you to enjoy. She's always got my back and I am very appreciative to her for that. Also, gratitude to CJJS for following this story thus far.