Chapter Nine: Time to Explain
What the hell is this place?
The passage gave way to an underground vault where the walls turned from rough to carved. Precision-crafted flagstones had been laid. In arched apertures, statues of angels wept and prayed into delicate hands. An iron chandelier, festooned with cobwebs, hung from the ceiling, but the light was provided by more electric lamps, these ones positioned in the corners. They threw long shadows across the ceiling, and it made him feel as though something huge and unspeakable were looming over him.
At the centre of the room stood a stone casket covered in dust. Someone was buried here, and with a good deal more respect than the architect, Trevor. He didn't get the chance to investigate. He could hear boots in the tunnel behind him.
Wesker.
"You find it yet?" he asked, without bothering to turn around.
"Find what?"
His eyes snapped wide. He reeled around, slumping backward against the coffin as recognition hit him like a slap in the face. He gaped, struggling for words, mouth working like he was a fish out of water.
"Jill? What are you doing here?"
She emerged into the tomb. The moment the light hit her face he could tell she wasn't happy. "I found my own way out of that hole," she said, "in case it wasn't obvious."
She pursed her lips. It looked like she was going to unload on him. She wouldn't have been completely out of line if she did. Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady.
"Where the hell did you go, Barry?"
"I'm sorry, Jill. I just ... had a little trouble finding more rope, that's all."
She glanced at his waist. He realised he was wearing the rope he'd found in the second building around his stomach like a cumberbund. He could feel his face burning and hoped she couldn't see it in the bad light.
"I was trying to find my way back out of this cave. Guess I got a little lost."
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn't buying it. He'd been a cop long enough to know when someone was on their guard.
"So where are we? Underneath the mansion?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Maybe. It looks like some kind of tomb."
She stepped up beside him, examining the casket he'd been leaning against. She swept a layer of dust away. Beneath was the faint outline of a brass plaque, turned dull brown with time. This time, she brushed down the small square until it was legible.
"Jessica Trevor." She mused on the name for a moment. "That's the name of the architect's wife."
Barry blanched. "You're kidding? They killed him and his family?"
She snorted, dry and humourless. "Killed him? They toyed with him. Let him wander around in that goddamned house until he curled up and died of starvation."
She threw something in his face, and he fumbled to take a hold of it. It was a black, leather pocketbook, cracked and stained with age. Its pages were warped, but the shaky handwriting was still legible. A pair of initials in gold leaf marked the corner: "GT".
He looked back at her, only to find her Beretta pointing at his head. Three decades on the force, and he'd never been on the wrong side of a police officer's gun before tonight. First Wesker, then Enrico, and now Jill. He'd never expected it to be any of them.
"I had a little time while you were gone to read up on Spencer and his company. It was a real education."
"I don't understand."
She growled. "Cut the crap, Barry. I know something's going on. I want answers. Now."
"Jill..."
He faltered, mind racing. What could he even say?
"Give me a break. I've been trying to keep everyone alive through this."
"Bravo Team is dead. Joseph's dead. I can't find Chris. And as far as I can tell, you left me to die too. So great job, Barry. Really. Great work."
"Please, just hear me out..."
"No! Shut up. You don't get to ask me for anything. Where's Wesker?"
The question stunned him. "What?"
"Wesker. Where is he?" she asked again, "I found Enrico. He was head shot with a nine millimetre. I only know three people that could make a shot like that and still get the drop on a vet' like Enrico. Forest is dead. It sure as hell wasn't Chris. And the third is him."
"I don't know. We split up a while back. He could have found the other medal and entered the lab by now."
"Fat chance of that. I've got his medal right here."
She tapped her pocket.
He felt a swell of hope, and then deflated a moment later. He knew where the final piece was. He could get them into the lab. It would be the final hurdle. The finish line would be in sight.
But Jill had it, and she wasn't about to give it up.
Something howled from the tunnel ahead. The noise sent a chill rattling down his spine. He'd heard it before, by a little shack in the forest at the back of the mansion. Then, footsteps. Bare feet slapping on stone. The sound of chains dragging.
The tension between them evaporated. They were both looking at the archway.
It staggered through the opening, hunched and bedraggled, just like he remembered it from before.
"Lisa," he muttered.
"The Trevors' daughter was named Lisa."
The father buried in the walls. The mother killed and entombed here. And the daughter kept for experimentation. God damn it, Wesker, this isn't what I signed up for.
His hand crept towards the flamethrower. Maybe a blast from it would stop her in her tracks. He was still reeling from the fact that Miranda hadn't ripped her apart. It just didn't seem possible. The .44 was king in the stopping power department. And she'd shrugged it off like a mosquito bite.
What the hell had Umbrella done to her?
"We can get past her," he said, keeping his voice low, "just lure her out of that doorway. I'll do the rest."
She growled. When she spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. "This had better not be a trick. I swear to God."
He didn't answer. His hand found the ignition. The flamethrower flickered into life. The monster's head snapped around, its eyes fixing on him. He could see the flame reflected in them through its mask of human skin.
Jill's gun barked.
Crimson puffs burst on Lisa's torso, spattering the stone with blood. She let out a shriek and shuffled forward, her body held in a hunch developed through decades in chains. Jill backed off, still firing, but she was coming at her too fast, lifting the shackle around her wrists like a bludgeon.
Barry waited just long enough to be sure that he wasn't going to hit Jill. Then he pulled the trigger. A burst of flame turned the tomb into a sauna, scorched the walls and enveloped Lisa in a fireball. She screamed, her body a silhouette writhing at the centre of its own personal pyre.
He saw Jill checking the breach on Forest's grenade launcher and backed up, knowing what was coming. The shell hit the girl full in the stomach and threw her back against the wall. It blew her out like a candle, leaving her a charred and blistered heap on the floor.
After years on the range and on the job, his hearing wasn't exactly stellar. The grenade going off in such close quarters probably wasn't going to help. His ears had that dull, muffled quality, nothing but a high-pitched ringing. Everything else sounded like it was coming through water.
"You okay?" he asked her.
"Fine," she said. She was yelling, but he could only just make it out.
He kept the flamethrower levelled at Lisa, wary in case she managed another miracle regeneration.
Jill set the launcher down on top of the stone casket. He didn't bother asking why. If she was dropping it then it was out of ammo. That was the only reason she would.
She kept her Beretta trained on Lisa as she crossed over to her. Maybe she'd picked up on how tense Barry seemed, even though she'd been blown up and burned to a crisp. Nothing seemed to die right here. Not the zombies, not the dogs, not this girl.
Nothing except Enrico, and Joe, and Richard and Forest and Ken. Nothing except us.
She stooped, hesitating to check for a pulse. Lisa didn't seem to have any skin left. She was a mass of black, her tattered dress burnt off, her mask melted onto her head. A glassy eye, filmed with blood, was staring from beneath the fused flesh.
Reduced to charred skin and bones, he could see how misshapen she'd become. Her spine had an unnatural curve to it, accentuated by the tumourous hump growing from her back. Her limbs were thin and distended, so much longer than they should have been.
This had been done to her. She was like this, in body and mind, because of Umbrella. He felt ashamed, and for a moment it wasn't just for his part in it. He was ashamed of his species.
And then Jill was crying out as Lisa's hands snapped up, grabbing her by the wrists. Her Beretta flashed, 9mm bullets shattering the black shell. Blood gushed.
Barry checked his impulse to use the flamethrower. No way he could get a clean shot. He drew Miranda and grabbed Jill by the shoulder, pulling her back.
Lisa let out a gurgling shriek, her mouth opening on a river of red that spewed down her chest. A .44 shot to the head knocked her flat. Her fingers uncurled from Jill's arms and she jumped back, swearing.
It took him a moment to see the pink skin on her forearms, the blisters rising on her wrists.
"Shit, shit, shit," she spat, fumbling off her watch and throwing it to the floor.
He was about to ask her if she was okay when something shoved him off his feet. The flamethrower hit the floor and skidded across the mausoleum. He rolled, the world spinning. He heard Jill go down a moment later.
When he sat up, he saw Lisa slumped over the casket at the centre of her room. Her hands traced the surface of the lid. She was trembling. It looked almost like she was crying.
He shot a look at Jill. She was watching the scene too. He saw her hand moving, gesturing to the coffin. She glanced askance at him, checking to see that he'd understood the message.
She pushed herself up, slowly. Lisa didn't seem to notice. He followed her as she stepped forward, easing her foot down as softly as she could.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Look at the casket. It doesn't look like it's been touched in years. Maybe she's been looking for it."
He nodded. That made a sort of sense. Why else would she be clinging to that thing?
And why else would she have survived so long? The virus sustained her, but for what? Why wouldn't she just curl up and wait to die? Maybe it was hope that was keeping her going. Hope that she would see her mother again.
Jill wrapped her hands around the casket's near corner and started to push. Lisa didn't move. Barry took the other side. It was heavy, but then, he wouldn't have expected a slab that size to be a featherweight.
Oh, Christ, what am I doing? That thing'll kill us both if it gets a chance.
The lid fell away and a gasp of long-dead air rushed out. It hit him full in the face, but the stench of burnt flesh had already inured him. Even so, he reeled back, hand crushed over his nose and mouth. Jill did the same.
Lisa leaned into the open coffin. She placed her shackled hands on its rim and peered at the skeletal corpse, in its ragged lilac dress, lying within. She reached in, gnarled fingers twitching, and clasped the dead woman's folded hands.
And then she collapsed, sobbing, to her knees. She dropped out of sight, and all Barry could do was listen, hand tight around Miranda's grip, as she cried. She didn't sound like a human anymore. Instead, she sounded like a tortured animal.
They stood in silence until the girl stopped crying. Her sobs turned to whispers and then, at last, nothing. For a moment, the room was still.
Jill was first to move. She circled the casket and knelt down where Lisa should have been. Barry followed her, aiming his revolver at the girl, lying very still, beside her. Jill's hand was on her neck.
"Dead," she said, "looks like she just ... gave up the ghost. Nothing left for her."
He hesitated, then lowered the gun.
She let out a sigh and looked up at him.
"Barry, what's really going on? You need to tell me. I can help you. Please."
"I need that medal," he said, "Wesker can use it to get us into the lab. From there we can call Brad. He's still circling the area, but he won't wait for us all night. Please, it's our last shot to get out of here. All of us."
He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her about Umbrella. About Wesker being a spy. About the virus and the zombies and the monsters that the company had created. And about his family.
He couldn't get the words out. Somehow, if he could just keep the whole truth from her, he could protect her. Wesker wouldn't kill her if all she knew was pieces of the whole. He had to hang onto that. There had to be a way for them all to get out alive.
She shook her head sadly, then motioned him to the tomb's exit. "You first. Go."
"Jill, I..."
Her eyes narrowed. "Just go."
-x-x-x-x-x-
He didn't know what to say to her. She hadn't said a word since they'd left the mausoleum. The silence hung heavy over them both.
He picked their path with guesswork, hoping she wasn't expecting him to know the way. He was probably as clueless as she was. Still, as far as he could tell, they weren't going around in circles.
He reached his limit after maybe ten minutes. The pregnant quiet was making his head pound, nothing but the sound of her footsteps drumming in military rhythm behind him. He had to say something.
He turned back to look at her, mouth open, ready to blurt the first thing that came out. Probably an apology.
He saw Jill. And behind her he saw Wesker, slipping out of the shadows.
"Jill!"
Wesker's arm locked under her jaw, pulling tight around her neck. Her breath caught in her throat, her lips parting around a grimace.
Barry ducked as her Beretta made an erratic jerk in his direction. Wesker's hand was on her wrist, fingertips gouging at tendons. Another shake, and the gun clattered to the floor. He kicked it away, sending it spinning into the darkness. Her face started to colour, a deepening flush appearing on her cheeks.
She jammed her elbow into his solar plexus, twisting out of his hold and rounding on him. If she was surprised to see who was attacking her, she didn't let on. His fist grazed her jaw as she turned her head away. She drove her heel into his knee, staggering him, and then slammed her palm into his cheek.
She swung a hook and he ducked. He was faster than Barry had given him credit for being. He caught her under the arms and powered her backward into the wall. Her spine struck the rock. Then her knee rose into his chest, knocking him away.
He came at her again, hands aimed at her throat. She caught him at the elbows, but there was no way she could beat him head-on. As good as she was, Wesker was almost twice her size. In a contest of strength alone, he'd rip her apart.
She dropped back, and for a moment Barry thought Wesker had overpowered her. Then he saw her foot rising, jamming into his stomach as she threw him over her head.
He rolled into a crouch. Barry saw a flash of silver in the light from one of the lamps. Wesker's combat knife was in his hand before he even found his feet again. He glanced over at Jill and saw her pushing herself to her feet, sliding her tazer from her hip pouch.
She hadn't noticed the blade. She was going to walk right into it.
Sorry, Jill.
He did the only thing he could think of. He waited until she strode past and then brought Miranda down on the back of her head.
She hit the floor, chocolate tresses spilling from her beret as it rolled into a puddle.
His eyes locked with Wesker's.
He slid the knife back into it's sheathe and then kneeled down to rifle through Jill's pockets. He found the medal and slid it into his own pouch.
"Did you intend to shoot me, Barry?" he asked, without looking up.
It took him a moment to realise that he was still holding his revolver. It was pointing right at the top of Wesker's head.
"I was thinking about it."
Wesker stood, straightening his uniform. "Then I suggest you reconsider.
He started to walk away.
"Bring Officer Valentine with you."
-x-x-x-x-x-
A/N: Grateful tidings to Zephyr12343 and to the nameless anonymous reviewer for giving Barry the love he deserves. And, as usual, I would like to heap praise on my beloved Shak for having done my beta.