Chapter 31: Loose Ends
October 3, 1998
2:38 AM
Arklay Mountain Research Station
During his ten-year career as a hired gun Scott Owens had never been shot once. Now that he had been, Scott decided it was an experience he could have done without. At first the wounds had burned like cold fir but now there was no sensation except for a dull, throbbing ache. Blood soaked the mercenary's sleeve and caked his hand in a syrupy crimson filth. Luckily the rounds had gone straight through without damaging or lodging in bone but that still did nothing to soothe Scott's anger – or his nerves.
Suffering the injury had shattered one of Scott's most favorite illusions: that he was invincible. Most individuals in his line of work did it for the payoff but not Scott Owens; he did it for the sheer thrill. To weave deception, to sow mistrust, to dodge death – that was what got Scott off and the money was purely an added incentive. Of course, it was much easier to dance around death when one believed they were impervious to harm. Lieutenant Zeke Wilcott had just taken that luxury away from Scott and he sincerely did not appreciate factors that complicated his ability to get the job done and have a little fun in the process.
Then again, maybe I should thank him. Scott thought as he inspected the ragged punctures in his arm, the wounds beginning to clot. Maybe this will make me sharper. I guess I always knew this business could be hazardous to my health but it was a lot easier to get things done when I didn't have to think about going home in a box. Maybe it was time for a rude awakening though.
Well, what was past was past and there was nothing for it. Zeke and the rest of the survivors were as good as dead now anyway and even if a nuke was not on its way Scott still wouldn't go on some misguided crusade for revenge. Making a mission personal always soured the high Scott received from completing his objectives. Unfortunately Major Da Silva was not able to be as passive aggressive about the current situation.
"I'm going to kill him! I'm going to fucking hill that little hick piece of shit!" The Latino raged, throwing his arms in the air and pacing back and forth quickly enough to burn a track through the floor. "He shot my boy scouts dead so I'll do the same for him! I'll put a bullet right between his goddamn eyes!"
"Would you calm down already?" Scott snapped, irritated by Da Silva's inability to control him self. "They've got no way to get in here and in about four hours there won't be enough left of them to fit in a matchbox. So chill out."
"Fuck off!" Da Silva bellowed, turning to focus the storm of his fury on Owens. "Those were my men out there! I don't expect you to understand a concept like honor, you little rat, but – "
"Please, major," Smith interrupted, stuffing his handheld computer back into his rucksack, "don't you think you're being just the slightest bit overdramatic? You didn't seem too concerned about upholding the values of honor and valor when you left Foller to the mercy of the Chameleon's back in the woods."
"How did you see that?" Da Silva asked suspiciously after starring at the supervisor for a moment. While his tone was sharp it was also suddenly meek and very small. "You had taken off by then."
"I have exceptional eyesight, major." Smith replied mysteriously. "It was one of the benefits I gained after my…accident."
Scott shuddered in spite of himself. His employers had not deemed to tell him a great deal about the men he would be teamed up with for Puppet Master but this "Smith" had been mentioned. He had been a mole of sorts as well but when one of his operations had gone a rye the company had used him in an experiment of their own and now he was said to be more ruthless than ever – their "secret weapon". Scott had been encourage to exercise extreme caution in what he said to Smith though it seemed Major Da Silva had not received similar instructions.
"You don't know anything about it." Rico said curtly, making no effort to conceal the bite in his voice.
"I know you're wasting time," Smith replied, "and as Mister Owens was so kind to point out we don't have a great deal of that left. In just over four hours the military is going to wipe Raccoon City clean and we still have data to collect, a facility to destroy and helicopter to put in the air. Major, you can mourn the loss of your teammates later – if you really want to – but for now I suggest you and Sergeant Owens accompany me." Hefting the silver case off the floor Smith started down the hallway.
The main lobby of the AMRS was not all that impressive really – at least not to Scott's eyes. The ceiling and walls were made of white ceramic tiles, the floor, made of the same material, was embossed with a massive representation of the Umbrella logo. The red and white shield seemed to glow beneath the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. A short staircase led to a bank of cold, stainless steel elevators, each set with a palm reader and keycard scanner. At the bottom of the stairway the hall split in two directions, the red arrows painted on either side of the elevators designated the areas as STAFF LOUNGE and SECURITY.
Ignoring the ache creeping up and down his bloodied arm, Scott pressed the stock of his M-4 tight to his shoulder as the sound of faint, shuffling footsteps reached him from around the corner labeled as the security wing. Rico and Smith pulled to a stop beside the mercenary as two figures dressed in the dirt-spattered white shirts and beige slacks of guards lurched around the corner. Their hollow moans and vacant milky eyes served as evidence that nothing even remotely human remained in the shells of their flesh. The three men opened fire as one and the two former security guards fell to the ground in a twitching, bullet-riddled heap.
"It gets kind of fun after awhile, doesn't it?" Owens observed with a grin, swapping magazines but Rico failed to see the humor.
"Shut up." The major said bluntly, brushing past Scott who could only shake his head and sigh.
Setting the silver case down, Smith removed his handheld computer and jacked the device into the bottom of the card reader set beside one of the elevators. A few keystrokes later and the red light above the lift turned green and a friendly beep echoed down the hall. The rumble of machinery flooded the chamber as the elevator came to life.
Smith took a second to study a map encased in a glass frame screwed to the wall before nodding and retrieving the silver case. "Fourth floor," he said pressing a button to call the elevator. "Just a few loose ends to tie up, gentlemen, and then you can all go home rich men."
"Tell that to Petrovsky and the others." Rico grumbled.
Scott nodded absently for he had heard that promise many times in his career and quite often his employers had tried to negate their part of the deal after he had completed his. Such strategies never ended well for them but Scott did not appreciate the added aggravation all the same. The rush of outsmarting others and testing himself in combat certainly outweighed something as menial as money but a man did have to earn a living after all and Scott did enjoy being paid on time. Sadly, he was also aware that the one thing corporations detested more than anything was parting with their earnings – especially to grunts like Scott Owens.
Maybe after this is all over I should get out of the country. Scott thought as he waited for the elevator to arrive. I've stuck around America for too long now and it's never a good idea to get comfortable in one spot for long. I think I'll head over to Denmark next. A Westerner with enough cash can do pretty nicely for himself over there.
The elevator announced its arrival with another cheery note and the three men climbed aboard. So far Scott had been given the opportunity to sabotage four Army transports, outwit a Ranger lieutenant and test his survival skills against a city swarming with biologically engineered death machines. Not bad as far as thrills went for a couple days work but the real challenge would come in collecting his fee. Scott Owens knew things that could damage Umbrella and they would have to be fools not to see that as well. They were not fools though, Scott knew, no man rose to prominence in the world's most powerful commercial entity by being foolish.
Which means they can't take a chance on me being co-operative enough to keep my mouth shut. Scott thought as Smith hit the button for the fourth floor and the doors slid shut. With what I know about their hobbies I could blackmail the head cheeses for millions – maybe even billions. So, how are they planning on getting rid of me then? A hidden sniper on a roof overlooking the meeting place or maybe an explosive little surprise in the case with my money? No matter, being careful might be boring but I can still do it when the situation calls for it.
Scott decided that when he got back to New York he would arrive to the meeting place a few hours early to scope out the best locations for a hidden agent to put a bullet in the back of his head from. He would show up armed as well, deal with the hit men Umbrella thought he would be too stupid to see then collect his earnings from whatever poor bastard the company assigned to deliver them. Scott would even give the man a bullet or two as a tip for a good effort. Effort should always be rewarded.
That he would be betrayed in the end was a certainty to the mercenary – and he knew a thing or two about betrayal. Well, that was the reality of a business that dealt in large sums of cash and Scott Owens felt no real animosity towards his employers for thinking it easier to dispense with him than pay for his services. Still, it was more than a small bit annoying that he should go through all the trouble of collecting combat data for the corporation just to turn it over and receive a knife in his back instead of a paycheck in his hand for all that hard work.
Maybe blackmail was not such an unsavory notion after all. Scott possessed a wealth of damning evidence against White Umbrella and the company had deep pockets. Owens was by no means a greedy man but he did believe that insults should be punished and Umbrella had certainly insulted him by doubting his intelligence. Scott could think of no greater punishment from Umbrella's standpoint than having to hand over the millions they had built through cut-throat ambition and cold-blooded murder.
Besides, Scott thought as the elevator began its ascent, it might not be so rough seeing how one of their executives lived either. Scott smiled. Strong arming an international, multi-billion dollar corporation out of its profits would be the greatest challenge of his life – and thus bring the greatest high. Just a few loose ends to tie up and then I can really get to work. He could have laughed with the sheer joy the anticipation brought with it.
---------- Page Break ----------
"We have a problem, Wes." Tech said to the Brit after inspecting the doorway that led inside the Arklay Mountains.
Sergeant Creeks sighed. "Tech, we just lost a good woman to those bastards in black, Zeke is having an emotional breakdown and in little over four hours we're going to be vaporized by our own government. We have several problems."
Tech blinked. "Okay, fine, we have a new problem then." The weasel-faced biker gestured back to the cliff face with his good arm. "I thought the entrance would be sealed by a keypad or a palm reader or something easy to crack like that but I was wrong. There's a fucking electrical jack set into the floor so the researchers must have been given mini-computers to access it with – or they knew about an even more discreet way inside. Either way I'd need a fucking code-breaker unit to get that thing to do another fucking Open Sesame routine."
"Let me guess," Wesley sighed again, "you don't have a code-breaker unit on you?"
Tech shrugged and made a face. "I left it in my other set of pants. Sue me."
Suppressing the overwhelming urge to throw his hands into the air and scream 'til his lungs gave out Wesley lowered himself onto a boulder and took a moment to look around, trying to put his thoughts into order. Officer Gabbor and Skip rested with their backs pressed against the wall of rock a few yards distant, both looking like death on two legs. Neither man said anything but tears streamed unchecked through the grime on Eddie's face and Wesley could not even contemplate the depth of the young officer's grief. With Kathy's death he was now probably all that remained of the Raccoon Police and that knowledge had to be particularly sharp. Coop and Shank moved about the fallen B.O.N.E.S. troopers, checking the dead for weapons and ammunition though Wes no longer saw any point in doing so. If they could not get inside the AMRS then all the weaponry in the world would not do them an ounce of good.
Ragged, violent sobbing drew the Brit's attention over to where Zeke sat in the dirt tearing at his short hair with both hands. The lieutenant's eyes were bloodshot, his face, covered in a filth and blood, was a mask of incomprehensible horror and misery. Despite Zeke's pathetic state Wes felt no pity for the man – only sympathy. They had all been forced to endure so much madness and strife that it was no wonder one of them would break beneath its burden. They had all lost friends and been forced to watch the innocent die but Wesley would save his tears for when they were as far from Raccoon City as humanly possible. Still, it tore his heart to pieces that there were no words or actions he could offer to his childhood friend that would give him comfort and restore light to a mind that had to be consumed with darkness.
For his entire life Wesley Creeks had avoided contemplating the severity of situations with the practiced skill of humor. He fought off fear with jokes and resisted the urge to cry by replacing it with the urge to laugh. Now, after seeing the terrors hiding in the dark places of Raccoon, Wesley doubted anything would ever seem funny again. He would hear screams instead of laughter; feel the cold touch of death instead of the warmth of mirth. Even if he survived the world would be a bleak, empty place devoid of the lights of joy or hope and, in many ways that frightened Wesley a great deal more than the prospect of dying.
Stop pissing in your pants and think of something you twit. Wesley's mind snapped at him. So what if you'll never be able to pursue a career in comedy after this? If you don't think of a way to get around that door soon then the bastards that killed Rachel and Kathy are going to get away smelling like roses. Not to mention how many more people are going to eat it if Umbrella gets a chance to release this bloody virus again. Think!
Knowing that he thought better on his feet than he did on his arse, Wesley pushed himself to his feet – and froze. Sticking out of a satchel at the hip of the Umbrella soldier closest to the doorway was an object that made Wesley's heart flutter. It was about the size of a textbook and the edge Wes could see was a muddy shade of brown. Sliding through the dust to the dead trooper's side, the Brit carefully removed the brick of plastic explosive and a remote detonator from the pack. A broad grin divided his grizzled face nearly in two.
"Tech, my boy," he said with a laugh, "did I ever tell you that only a complete jackass is stupid enough to give up hope?"
"What the hell are you blabbing about?" The biker asked pensively, coming to peak over Wes' shoulder. "The fuck is that?" He nodded to the package the Ranger cradled in his arms.
"This is the loudest key known to man." Wesley grinned, holding the brick out for the skinny man to see. "C-4 plastic explosive."
Tech blinked, startled, then he began to chuckle as well. "If we can't get the door to open we'll just have to take it off its fucking hinges huh? I've always liked doing things the direct way."
"Amen." Wesley agreed, stuffing the charge and detonator back into the satchel before handing it over to Tech. "Go and set it up – get Coop to give you a hand. Tell Shank and the others to collect weapons and hand them out. I'll go get Zeke."
Tech nodded dutifully then scurried off to inform the others of their find. Wesley moved over quickly to where Zeke sat and gave his weeping friend's shoulder's a firm shake. After a moment the lieutenant raised his eyes to meet the Brit's and Wesley found himself completely unprepared to meet all the emotion's locked away in Zeke's tired, broken gaze. Pain, anguish, fear, guilt and a supreme hatred moved in a fluid dance, overlapping one another in an endless battle for dominance. Where had the boy he played pranks with in Junior High gone? What had happened to the man he chased skirts with on Friday nights? It was shocking, Wesley thought, how when innocence was lost it was not merely taken away but thoroughly crushed and ground to powder, leaving nothing but an empty, yawning chasm of agony in a man's eyes.
"Come on, boss, we aren't lying on the mat with the ref counting to ten just yet." Wesley said with a grin that he hoped was encouraging, still gripping Zeke's shoulders. "One of those sods was carrying enough C-4 to level a house. We'll be able to bring that door down and hop on the first chopper out of town."
"Go without me." Zeke said in a hollow voice, starring up through a veil of tears and dried blood. "Leave me behind."
"I don't think so, Zeke." Wesley chuckled nervously. "You might not be the most entertaining chap to hang around with all the time but you're the only one that can stand me for any extended period of time and I'm not giving that up so lightly. Now, get on your feet and let's go."
"You don't understand, Wes." The lieutenant shook his head. "How many people did I leave behind? Captain Sullivan, Tessa, William." Zeke shook his head once more then lowered his eyes. "It's my turn to be left behind now. It's what I deserve."
"Zeke," Wesley said gently, "they told you to leave them. You would have died if you stayed. You had no choice."
"Didn't I?" Zeke demanded acidly, his lips curling into a cruel snarl. "Didn't I? I should have stayed behind! I could have saved them. I-I should have at least tried to! Maybe it would have been better to die like that – trying to help. At least then they would have had someone with them in their last moments – someone to die next to them. Think about how they must have felt, Wes. Think about the fear they must have felt at being abandoned to die alone in the dark at the hands of something that should even exist! Just think about it!" The lieutenant wailed and tore at his hair.
"You don't mean any of that, Zeke." Wesley frowned, startled and frightened by his friend's words. "You know it's what they wanted. You know they don't blame you for leaving."
"Well they should!" Zeke protested stubbornly, tears rolling freely down his cheeks once more. "I left them to die, Wes, don't you see that? Me, it was my decision! Can you even possibly imagine what it's like to know that?" The lieutenant broke off sobbing.
"I know what it's like." Wesley said firmly. "They were my friends too; I cared about them but it was their decision, Zeke, not yours and throwing your life away wouldn't have changed anything. You can't save everyone and you can't undo the past so you're going to have to learn to live with it. Now, come on. We have to go."
"You're leaving me behind. That's an order."
Wesley shrugged. "You'll just have to report me for insubordination when we get back then. Wouldn't be the first time I've been threatened with court marshal."
"Get out of here, Wes."
"Not without you."
Zeke laughed then, a mad, grief-stricken cackle that chilled the blood in Wesley's veins. "How stupid are you, Wes?" Zeke asked, wearing an insane grin. "Don't you get it? Once we're born all that's left to do is die. Life is just a fight against the inevitable! We all have to die sooner or later so why not here?" He gestured about vaguely. "It might be good to die here. I'll be close to Rachel here – as close as I can be anymore at least. Leave me here, Wes. You can go on struggling against fate if you want to but I'm throwing in the towel. I'm ready to die."
Wesley's face hardened and anger filled every fiber of his body. Time was ticking past and the others were starring at him but the sergeant's fury was so intense that he hardly cared. How could Zeke be so pig-headed and fatalistic? How could he be so selfish and blind? Did he not see that there were a handful of people trying to save him from himself? A handful of people willing to die beside the man that had fought so hard to guard and shield them against the evils Umbrella had unleashed on Raccoon City. Only a bastard could be that heartless and Wesley knew Zeke Wilcott was no bastard.
Summoning up every ounce of strength in his tired body Wes backhanded his oldest friend square across the jaw. Zeke's head snapped back and a startled murmur traveled through the small crowd at Wesley's back. When the lieutenant opened his eyes again they were wide and confused as if someone had just shook him from a dream.
"What – " he began but Wesley did not allow him to finish.
"You make me sick." He hissed sharply. "You come from an entire family of soldiers. Your fathers fought the Nazis and Communists and terrorists. Don't you think it was hard for them? Don't you think they saw friends suffer and die? How much horror did they have to endure? They never expected it to be easy though and they never gave up when it wasn't so what the bloody hell are you doing calling it quits after coming this far, Zeke?"
"Wes, you don't – "
"No!" The Brit cut in, silencing his friend with a quick gesture. "You're going to listen to me because I do understand. Rachel believed in you and so did Captain Sullivan. They knew you had the heart to see this through to the end, to do what was necessary. They knew you were strong enough to lead and so do I." Wesley paused to scoop up Zeke's pistol and hold it out to him. "You've got two options. You can either stop feeling sorry for yourself, get up off your arse and take us home or you can give up, roll over and die and prove to Rachel that you weren't worth half of the emotion she put into you. So, what's it going to be, Zeke? Was Rachel right – are you worth believing in or have we all just been wasting our time?"
Zeke looked up at his friend, fear and confusion plain in his wet eyes. He starred at the Colt held towards him and flinched as if he feared it might destroy him. Skip stepped up beside Wesley.
"You can do it, Zeke." The young man encouraged. "You've brought us this far. You can take us the rest of the way."
"We're with you until the end, boss." Shank said, slinging one of the black-finished AK's around his neck. Tech nodded at the big man's side. "All of the way and not just half."
"I just want to go home, lieutenant." Eddie said coming forward. "If I've learned anything tonight it's that you're the man to do it. You've gotten us out of some tight spots before and this seems like the tightest yet so I'm not going anywhere unless you're coming with me."
"Maybe I should have been a postman," Coop said grinning, having exchanged his empty SAW for the B.O.N.E.S. gunner's M-60, "but you were born for this business. Come on, boss, take us home huh?"
Zeke glanced around at all the eager, trusting faces looking more bewildered if anything. Silently, Wes urged his childhood companion to pick up the weapon, to lead these people whose hopes rested on this Ranger lieutenant that had helped them survive despite the odds. Then, tentatively, Zeke reached out and took the pistol from the Brit's outstretched hand.
"Too many people will die if we let those shit-heads get away." He said, all traces of that momentary madness gone. The old Zeke was in control again and Wesley beamed a grin. "We have some unfinished business with Major Da Silva – some loose ends to tie up before we get out of here. Coop blow the door. We're going hunting."
"Now you're speaking my language." Wesley laughed, cocking the bolt on his rifle.
Seconds later a massive blast rocked the Arklay Mountains as a smoking hole was blown clean through the cliff face itself. Together the small band of survivors moved forward with their leader firmly restored and nothing but hope to lift their spirits. Only a complete jackass gives up hope, Wesley reminded himself and in spite of everything he knew there was still hope. There was always hope.
Author's Note: Another update? This soon? Yep. I felt I owed you guys a quick update after such a long time away so here it is. I know it's short and a little less action packed but I felt that it was time to deal with some of the psychological issues Zeke is having to wrestle with. The next update (hopefully soon) will include some more running and gunning so please stay tuned. Please enjoy and don't forget to review if you have the time. Your reviews are what keep me writing so please give me some feedback! Thank you and enjoy.