Despite how many times she has been to Arklay Forest, Jill still hasn't managed to get used to the unsettling silence that permeates the area. The crack of twigs beneath their feet seems deafening in the complete quiet. She can hear everything—the gentle rustle of their clothing as they move, the sound of the soles of their boots scuffing the ground, Joseph nervously scratching at the back of his neck—and it makes her feel a little overwhelmed. Jill struggles to focus on anything in particular with the loudness of everything around them and it seems like a major disadvantage. Her lack of sleep has already hindered her alertness.
Wesker hadn't been particularly forthcoming with the details of their mission. Bravo team had apparently been deployed to Arklay for reasons he wouldn't reveal and contact with them had been lost roughly eleven hours prior. Wesker had been adamant about not telling them the reason for their deployment, but Jill couldn't help but wonder if it was somehow related to the Lester case. If it had been, why hadn't they been sent to investigate? Was it because of her and Chris?
Jill sighs. Somehow, this distantly feels as though it's her fault. She tells herself that communications were interrupted because of the poor reception in the mountainous terrain, but she doesn't really believe it. Jill doesn't know what to expect, but she hopes that this will, in fact, be a search and rescue mission as intended.
"I think I see something." Chris announces as he flits the beam of his flashlight against the cluster of trees to the east.
From the rear, Jill isn't able to make out anything. There's a faint glint of something in the distance—something metallic maybe—but there's nothing distinct. Chris pulls away from the group to move closer to the object and the rest of them follow. Jill doesn't miss the fact that Joseph hesitates to fall into step beside her.
"I hate this." Joseph whispers. "I hate Arklay."
Jill smiles weakly in return. She hates Arklay too.
Chris had been right when he thought he might have seen something through the thicket of trees. It's a helicopter—Bravo's helicopter—and the sight of its mangled frame fills her with a sense of dread. If she had doubted that this would be a search and rescue mission before, she was now certain that it wouldn't be.
"Hooooooly shit," Kevin gasps, "Not Dooley."
Jill smells the body before she's able to see it. It's that familiar rot, one that's foul and laced with the sickly sweet scent of decay, and it makes her think of Michelle Sanders. She can almost hear the run of water and see the flicker of flashing blue lights as she steps closer to the chopper and she feels bile rise in her throat when she peers into it.
Michelle had been horribly mutilated, but this was different. Jill didn't know Kevin Dooley personally, but she was certain that no one deserved to die the way he apparently had. Stiff as a board in his seat, Dooley's mouth is frozen open in an expression of fear, but that's not what really gets her.
What gets her is the fact that his eyes have been gouged out of his face. The seemingly bottomless, empty eye sockets that rest in his head make her skin crawl and the large, jagged wounds that cover his face and body seem like evidence of claws. She's heard about this, how wild animals will go for the soft tissues of a corpse first, but she's never really thought about it before. Were his eyes cleaned out of his skull post-mortem?
The dried blood that cascades down his face suggests not.
"What could do this?!" Brad gasps, audibly gagging as he steps away from the scene. He doubles over and retches into the grass nearby.
Joseph blinks hard, jaw clenched tight as he turns around. The pained expression on his face makes her wonder if he's holding back tears.
"Something isn't right." Kevin quietly says. "This is unnatural."
"We need to locate the rest of Bravo." Wesker announces, seemingly unaffected, but Jill supposes that's his job as Captain.
"What if…" Joseph hesitates as he peers into the dark forest ahead. "What if they're all dead too?"
"Then we find them." Wesker simply says.
The tension between them is heavy. There's hesitation to advance and Jill assumes it's due to a combination of both fear and mourning. As she looks over at Joseph, she pictures him in a similar state, skin torn open from sharp claws and blood trickling down his face. It makes her feel ill and she looks away, down at the dirt and the beetle crawling across the toe of her boot. She can't look at them right now because she doesn't even want to entertain the idea that they, too, could end up dead in this god forsaken forest.
The weight of the hand against her shoulder seems familiar. Chris is standing beside her, regarding her with a gentle smile.
"Hey," he mutters, voice deep and low, "Are you alright?"
She doesn't know the answer to that. Jill has no reason to be bent out of shape about the death of a man she never knew, but her history with Arklay makes this all seem strangely personal.
"Yeah." She breathes out, returning his smile with one that she hopes doesn't seem disingenuous. "Are you?"
He shrugs.
"Fuck Arklay."
Yeah, she thinks, fuck Arklay.
Being near him makes this all a little more manageable. Jill wants to stay by his side, but she can't. Chris is their pointman and she's rear security. Her job is to provide defense from the back and now isn't the time to let them all down for her own selfish desire. She has a bad feeling resting in the pit of her gut, one that suggests that perhaps Bravo didn't pull through on this mysterious mission.
A long howl echoes from the distance. She's grateful for the sign of life.
"Do coyotes howl?" Joseph frantically asks. "Or, uh, do you think it might be…"
He turns around quickly and peers up at the half-moon.
"Oh, thank god." He says, sighing with relief. "No full moon."
Despite the tension and tragedy, Joseph manages to make her smile. She never thought she'd come to appreciate his antics, but in this moment, she absolutely does.
"The mission." Wesker deadpans. "Get it together, Frost."
It's uncannily chilly for late July. A thin shroud of fog rolls through the forest, lazily hovering low to the ground and between the trees. The eerie, seemingly horror film-inspired imagery is fitting for Arklay after all of her experiences with it. She wonders how it hasn't received a reputation amongst the natives, how no one regards it as haunted or cursed given the frequency of strange things that have happened there. Maybe she's just biased.
She doesn't know how far they've wandered into the forest. Jill's senses have been in an overwhelming state of overdrive and it's hard to focus on any single detail. She's too preoccupied with finding Bravo and ensuring their own safety to pay enough attention to commit the vegetation around them to memory. It's all a blur at this point, just shades of green, thick fog, and the glow of their flashlights darting about.
A loud snap of a branch reverberates through the area and the group comes to a halt. It seemed close—too close—but the silence that follows makes her doubt herself. Had she heard it? It appeared that the others had too.
"What wa—"
Before Joseph can finish his sentence, a shadowy figure leaps from the thicket of overgrown brush nearby. Jill can't really process what's happening on account of the speed with which it goes down. Joseph's on the ground, a blood-curdling scream tears from his throat, and Chris is suddenly firing in their direction. The four-legged creature pinning Joseph to the ground falls over and Chris moves, blocking her view as he leans over to offer Joseph a hand and hoists him upright.
Joseph winces and clutches at his left shoulder. His skin seems extraordinarily pale due to the dark blood that trickles between his fingers and down the length of his forearm. He groans as he pulls his hand away, looking down at his blood-saturated palm, and Jill catches a glimpse of his mangled shoulder.
She glances down at the creature and grows even more confused. It's not a coyote, but instead appears to be some type of dog. She assumes it's a Doberman based on its pointed ears and lean body, but it's hard to tell because of how disfigured it is. Rough patches of fur and skin are missing all along its body, leaving the bright red viscera beneath exposed, and a portion of its yellowed ribs are made visible from the damage. It's lying on its side, legs retracted and curled back towards its body, and its eye is solid white, left open and unseeing in death.
Jill has no experience with animals and she certainly isn't a veterinarian, but she doesn't think mange looks like that.
"What the fuck...what the fu—"
Joseph's words are once again drowned out by several barks and howls. Jill's heart starts to pound rapidly and she instinctively reaches for the gun at her hip, looking over to Wesker for some type of direction, but the beasts are too quick for any type of preparation. Several charge from out of the brush nearby and guns are firing. She's too slow to the draw—Chris and Wesker are fast—and she doesn't have time to count the carcasses around them before more snarling draws closer.
"Move!" Wesker commands. "Move!"
Jill can't keep track of what's happening. She breaks into a sprint, following Wesker and faintly aware of Barry in her periphery based on the red blur of his vest. Jill can hear the creatures in pursuit of them, their paws strongly striking the ground as their growls grow increasingly louder in volume, and her breath hitches in her burning throat. They're fast, so fast, and she hears more gunshots.
"Keep going!"
It's Chris shouting from behind her and she clenches her eyes closed in desperation as she continues to run. Kevin cusses loudly and she hears one of the creatures yelp as another shot sounds. Her thighs feel tight and there's a stitch in her side, but they're coming up on a clearing and she thinks she sees a building in the distance and—
"Head for that mansion!" Wesker barks.
Jill doesn't have time to wonder why the hell there's a mansion sitting in the middle of Arklay. She's kicking up gravel as she charges towards the structure. It's intimidatingly large, adorned with intricate architectural designs and towering windows, but she doesn't pay it too much attention on account of the fucking hellhounds that are hot on her trail.
She nearly trips up the steps and reaches for the handle of the heavy wooden door, yanking on it with all her strength. It doesn't budge and just rattles on its hinges and she thinks oh fuck, what are they going to—
"Jill!" Wesker snaps and tosses something in her direction as he spins around, handgun drawn.
She catches the case and glances down at it in confusion. Jill realizes it's a lockpicking set and thinks it's odd that Wesker has a pick on him. She's never mentioned her talent for lockpicking, but she supposes her boss would know this about her because of her resume and—
"Jill, hurry!"
One, two, three gunshots. Jill drops to her knees and hastily zips open the case, fumbling for the tools she needs. She takes a chance on the assumption that it's a pin cylinder like most locks, but it would be just her luck if it isn't. Her hands are sweaty as she pushes the hook pick into the lock and the tension wrench slips in her grip.
Another shot, more barks.
"Jill."
The last pin gives and she sighs in relief as she finishes up, tugging the tools out of the lock as she shoves the door open. She stumbles inside, the soles of her boots squeaking against the lacquered floor, and she pivots around on her heel in time to watch Wesker slam the door shut and let out a sigh of relief.
Her stomach feels like it drops.
"Wesker?" Her voice is trembling as she steps forward, watching the door with iron vigilance, almost daring it to move. "Where are the others?"
She can't read his expression because of his dark shades, but he seems as stoic as ever.
"It seems we were separated in the chaos."
His voice is disturbingly cool.
"We can't just leave them out there!" She says, reaching for the handle of the door with her opposite hand poised at the gun on her hip.
Wesker directs her hand away, pushing back against it with firm pressure as he positions himself between her in the door. She feels a flash of anger, but Wesker shakes his head and calmly speaks.
"It's too dangerous to go back out there, Jill." He coolly reasons. "The others are capable. We will find them later."
She opens her mouth to speak, but the words don't come. As much as she doesn't want to admit it, she knows he's right. They're all highly trained and armed, but so was Bravo, weren't they?
"But…"
"Jill."
He rests a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. The attempt at comfort stuns her, but it doesn't bring her any solace. His hand is cold and heavy. If it was Chris, then maybe...
"You can't help them if you're dead."
Jill can't tell if it's the implication that she'd die or the monotone delivery of the statement that stings. She's at odds with herself because she knows he's right. There's no telling how many of those beasts are out there and she's not confident enough in her abilities to take them on. She'd probably die because Wesker clearly wouldn't be interested in going with her and…
She wishes Chris was here.
"Alright." Jill manages to say around the lump that's formed in her throat. She swallows thickly and nods her head, eyes still fixed on the door they entered through. "Okay."
Saying it twice doesn't convince her in the way she hoped it would. She closes her eyes and tries to get a hold of herself. Chris is the best shot on the team, so of course he'd be okay. Kevin is pretty good too and he's probably with Chris. They wouldn't leave Joseph behind, so he's alright too. Barry would look out for Joseph, so he must be with them. Brad, well...maybe Brad's alright, but...he probably followed them, right?
Yeah. That's exactly right.
Jill nods to herself and opens her eyes.
"We need to investigate this mansion." Wesker tells her. "Bravo could be here."
She doesn't want to think about it, so she just agrees. Jill wipes the perspiration off her forehead with the back of her gloved hand as she takes in their surroundings. They're standing in what appears to be a foyer with an open second level above them, but nothing about it feels quite right. It's disturbingly quiet, but the red carpet that travels up the staircase in front of her is immaculately clean, not unlike the perfectly polished tile she's standing on. She surveys the various candelabras positioned around the room, adorned with tall candles that appear to have been freshly lit, and she glances up at the elegant chandelier above them.
Someone has been here recently.
"I don't think we're alone." Jill softly says as she glances at the various doors around the room. There seems to be a hallway behind the staircase and there's no telling how many doors are on the second floor.
A muffled gunshot pierces the silence. Jill immediately turns to the set of double doors to her left.
"I believe you are correct."
Wesker nods towards the door.
"Go check it out. I'll secure this area."
"Shouldn't we go together?" She asks. "It might not be one of us."
Wesker has begun to ascend the staircase. He pauses, hand resting on the bannister, and looks back at her.
"Someone needs to be here in case the others show up in order to regroup."
She can't really argue with that one.
"Alright." She surrenders. "I'll be right back."
As she approaches the doors, a strange sense of dread washes over her. Jill doesn't know what's waiting for her on the opposite side, but she somehow knows it's not something that she wants to see.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
The string of expletives is followed by nervous laughter. It sounds like Joseph chokes on his own saliva before he asks, "We're gonna die, aren't we?"
Chris grits his teeth as he fires his final shot. The hellhound falls to the ground in the midst of its leap with an audible thud and Chris fumbles for the last magazine he has.
"We will if you don't fucking get it together, Frost." Chris hisses as he reloads his handgun, glancing back at Joseph with a pointed look.
He can hear labored panting in the distance, a promise that more of the fuckers are on their way. He's lost count of how many of the fucking things he's killed, but he knows he only has fifteen shots left and it's probably not enough. Chris lets out a shaky breath and turns back to the path ahead, briskly jogging to catch up with Joseph.
Joseph's still clutching his shoulder and grimacing from the pain. Chris hasn't had a chance to take a look at the wound, but he's seen enough glimpses of razor-sharp fangs to assume it hurts like a bitch. He's getting fucking tired from all this running and doesn't want to think about how this is all gonna turn out if they don't get the fuck out of there soon.
"If they get me," Joseph pants, "If they get me...just keep running."
He's not even going to entertain that idea. These hellhounds are more than enough for him to deal with right now.
"You're more dramatic than my fucking teenage sister." Chris quips. "Shut up and keep going."
He whips his head back and forth as they run through the forest, looking for anywhere at all to take shelter. Surely they'll find a big rock or something, maybe Lester's creepy ass murder cabin or that fucking hospital or...fuck, why is this forest so big?
The beams from their flashlights are erratically bouncing around as they sprint. In his head, Chris assumes they'll stumble upon a building at some point, so he nearly misses the fence sitting in the distance. He catches a brief view of it in the glow of Joseph's light and he comes to an abrupt halt, wrenching his flashlight from his vest to direct it in the area where he thought he saw it.
"Frost!" He calls out in a hoarse whisper. "Over there!"
Joseph stumbles as he comes to a stop. Chris pushes through the trees to approach the wrought iron fence as he says, "We have to jump it."
"I can't jump that!" Joseph exclaims, lifting his injured shoulder and wincing as he does.
Chris drops down on one knee and laces his fingers together.
"Come on. I'm gonna help you over."
"Are you crazy?"
"Are you?"
A howl comes from somewhere in the forest.
"Fine," Joseph relents, "Don't drop me."
He steps into Chris's hand and Chris grunts as he rises to a standing position. Chris feels Joseph's other boot digging into his shoulder and he grimaces.
"Can you hurry the fuck up?"
"I'm trying!"
The treads of Joseph's boot scrape against the side of his neck. Chris finds himself getting impatient and he pushes up against the sole of Joseph's boot with his palm, forcing him higher up. Joseph shouts in surprise and topples over the fence, landing on the dirt with an audible thud.
Chris almost apologizes once he's on the other side; instead, he offers Joseph a hand and hoists him to his feet.
"Fuck...Arklay…" Joseph manages to grit out between ragged breaths. "And...fuck these...dogs…"
He grimaces and asks, "You don't think they have rabies, do you?"
"What the fuck do I look like, Frost? A fuckin' vet?"
Chris feels bad about that one. Sighing, he swats at Joseph's hand, forcing it away from the wound. He doesn't need a veterinary license to know it looks bad because the wound is so deep that he can see some meaty shit that he's pretty sure is never supposed to be seen. Maybe the strong artificial glow of the flashlight makes it look worse than it really is.
"Well, you're not frothing at the mouth yet, so I think you're good."
"Yet?!"
Suddenly, Chris is aware of the sound of barking. It grows in volume and he hears the brush nearby begin to rustle. Instinctively, he moves to stand in front of Joseph and focuses his attention on the fence. He doesn't have many shots left.
The pack of hounds emerges from the vegetation like a fleet of shadows, rapidly charging towards the fence in a frenzied formation. To his surprise, they halt near the fence and begin to snarl. Fast as fuck despite looking like death, but it seems they still can't climb a damn fence. Chris isn't keen on sticking around to discover whether or not they truly can.
"Fuck this."
He sets off towards the trees nearby with Joseph in tow. They weave between trees, more damn trees, and another fucking cluster of trees until he can make out a faint light in the distance.
"There's something up ahead." He says, pointing towards the hill in the distance.
"I hope it's a fucking hospital." Joseph whines. "Tell me it's a hospital."
It looks more like a cabin, but Joseph can use his own damn eyes and figure that out himself. Chris approaches it slowly, taking in the rotten siding and the cracked window that's so filthy he can't even see through it. The place looks abandoned, but the porch light is on and he can hear the quiet tinkling sound of moths colliding against the lightbulb. It's unsettling.
"I don't know about this. I have a bad feeling."
"Me too, but I'd rather get murdered by some psychopath in a cabin than torn apart by hellhounds." Joseph hisses.
He has a point.
The steps leading up to the door groan beneath his weight. He knocks loudly and waits.
Nothing.
"Just go in." Joseph anxiously suggests. "I don't want to get eaten out here."
Chris gives it one last shot, but he raps so hard at the door that it falls open.
"Oh god," Joseph whines, "This is like...the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or something. We're going to get murdered. This is the beginning of a horror movie. I know it."
"Stop."
He's losing his patience. Chris is just as confused and anxious as Frost is, but they need to keep it together, to think rationally and get the hell out of Arklay. Chris looks at Joseph from over his shoulder and cringes at the sight of all the blood. He wishes Jill was here. She would know what to do.
Where the hell is Jill anyway? Where the hell is anyone?
Chris gropes his waist for his radio and finds nothing but air. He feels a sense of panic as he looks down and realizes it's missing. Of course he lost it in the fucking marathon sprint through the forest.
"Hey Frost, you got your radio?"
Joseph nods to his right. Chris tugs the radio off his belt and attempts to turn it on with no success. When he flips it over, he realizes the plastic casing is shattered.
"It's fucking busted." Chris angrily announces. "Of-fucking-course."
He shoves the ajar door open so hard that it slams against the interior wall of the cabin. Clouds of dust form in the air with each step he takes through the entryway and he wrinkles his nose at the massive cobwebs that are strewn about the place. A flickering light is cast onto the floor from the next room and, when he enters it, he finds a fire raging within the fireplace.
Chris motions behind him, holding up a hand to compel Joseph to stop. He rounds the corner quickly, handgun ready despite his mere fifteen shots, and progresses through the rest of the cabin.
"It's clear."
It's evident that the cabin has seen recent use—the lit fire, the unkempt bed nearby, and the illuminated lantern around the corner—but the degree of filth suggests otherwise. Thick layers of grime and dust coat the floorboards and the ripe, pungent scent of rot permeates the area. Chris suspects it's coming from the strips of cloth suspended nearby, strewn up as if to dry. The rust-colored stains that saturate the fabric are suspiciously reminiscent of blood. He wonders if this is one of Lester's hideouts too.
"This is weird as fuck." Joseph observes aloud as he meanders around the cabin before taking a seat on the edge of the bed and sighing at the sight of his own blood-covered palm.
Chris stares into the crackling fire, overwhelmed by the sheer incredulousness of the situation. He has no idea where the hell he is. Frost is essentially dead weight and there's no telling if the rest of Alpha is alive. Are they simply lost while the rest of the team searches for them?
A loud rumble of thunder echoes in from the distance, followed by a crack of lightning that briefly illuminates the dirty cabin in a flash of bright light. Romping around in the rain is perhaps the best way to make this experience even more miserable. They need to hurry.
"Stay here. I'm going to see if I can find someone."
Joseph's expression contorts into one of both pain and confusion, but he eventually nods. Although he's stated his intentions as though he's sure, Chris doesn't know if separating is a good idea. Frost is defenseless and Chris conjectures that practically anything could be roaming around Arklay at this point.
Irritated, Chris pulls his handgun from its holster and tosses it onto the bed beside Joseph.
"What?"
Chris crosses his arms over his chest. Isn't it obvious?
"In case something shows up before I get back."
Joseph's eyes widen and he asks, "Like what? And what about you?"
Chris gestures towards the knife strapped to his chest.
"That's it?"
"Just take the damn gun and don't fucking die."
He doesn't feel like arguing with him any further. Chris leaves, sighing in frustration as he slams the door shut behind him. He pauses, breathing in so deeply that the chilly air burns the lining of his nose and throat, and lets it out in another long sigh. Fuck Arklay, fuck S.T.A.R.S., fuck Irons, and fuck Wesker. Once he gets out of this mess, he's fucking quitting.
The pathway leading to who-the-fuck-knows-where is unkempt, ground unlevel and littered with various stones and overgrown moss. The further he travels away from the cabin, the more consuming the darkness around him becomes, and he rests a hand against the knife sheath that's strapped to the front of his vest. He follows the short picket fence that extends from behind the cabin because it's the only discernible landmark he can find.
When he spots the iron gate in the distance, he tries not to feel too much relief. Chris doesn't expect anything to work in their favor tonight. Hell, he's not even sure they'll make it out alive.
The gate hangs crookedly on its hinges, offering little security for what it contains. It makes a shrill sound as he pushes it open, one that makes him curse under his breath, and he shimmies through the small entryway he's created. Chris hesitates, expecting hungry snarls and vicious barking in response to the sound, but can only make out the sharp crow of a bird in the vicinity. As long as it's not a fucking hellhound, he thinks he can handle it.
It's pitch black beneath the inky, starless sky. Chris was never the type to fear the dark, but his skin is crawling at the thought of what may be lurking beyond the shadows that surround him. He attempts to study as much of the area as he can with his flashlight that suddenly seems far more dim than it was before.
To his left, a fleet of tombstones greet him. They're in a state of disarray, the graves obscured by tall blades of wild grass. In the distance, two headstones stand out from the rest, towering above the others and sectioned off by a rotten, lopsided wooden fence. He pays it no mind, only giving it a single thought—of course there's a goddamn graveyard in Arklay—and passes through the gate on the opposite side of the cemetery.
Damp mud squelches beneath his feet and he feels his boots sink into it. Chris clicks his tongue in annoyance and trudges a few steps forward. Through the trees, warm yellow light glows from the distance. He squints, stepping forward, and realizes there's a whole fucking building ahead. With the burst of adrenaline that hits him, he sprints up the wet, slippery path while trying to will himself to expect the worst.
A dilapidated shed stands at the top of the pathway, wooden exterior greying beneath the peeling white paint. A strip of light sits below the rotten door and he allows himself to feel a little relief knowing that he'll at least be able to see his surroundings.
Chris doesn't know what he expected to find in that shed, but it's as nondescript as can be. It reeks of mold and pesticides that he supposes comes from some of the copious junk that lines the perimeter of the room. The metal door across the room is bound to lead to the mansion he saw before and he pushes it with such force that he's surprised when it doesn't move.
It's locked. Of course it's locked.
He gives it another shove, but it's decidedly steady within its frame. Chris takes a step back and lunges forward, ramming the door hard with his shoulder, and grunts in pain upon impact. There's no way he's getting through this fucking thing. Fuck.
Chris turns around and notes a set of wooden doors on the other side of the shed. They'd lead away from the mansion, but he doesn't have much of a choice. As he walks toward the door, a gunshot sounds from far away.
He stops. Did he really hear that?
Several shots are fired and he no longer has any doubt. Chris breaks into a full sprint, tearing through the door and slipping down the wet path back towards the graveyard because he knows the sound of his own fucking handgun.
Something found Frost.
The dust that floats through the air tickles the lining of her nose. Jill tries to hold in a sneeze as she steps into what appears to be a dining hall. Despite the dust particles that are visible in the air, the long table is wiped clean and adorned with freshly lit candles and perfectly placed silverware. She looks up, taking in the high ceiling and open loft above her, and glances over at the grandfather clock that sits against the wall. The ticking is so loud that she hardly notices the crackling from the fireplace nearby.
Thunder cracks in the distance, followed by a strike of lightning that briefly envelops the room with light. The sudden noise makes her jump and she squeezes her eyes shut. She needs to get a fucking grip.
Lit candles, dusted furniture, and what appears to be a freshly kindled fire on the opposite side of the room. It doesn't make sense. Jill approaches the fireplace cautiously. As she passes the table, she notices a glint of light reflecting back at her from the floor and peers down at her feet.
Jill doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but the dark pool of liquid that sits in front of the fireplace looks a hell of a lot like blood. She kneels down, squinting at it in the flickering light, and she decides that it absolutely is blood.
As she rises to her feet, she follows a smear of blood to the single door nearby. She tries to convince herself that the blood belongs to one of those hellhounds outside, that she's going to find Richard or Forest or anyone on the other side of that door.
The metal door handle feels cold and ominously heavy as she presses down on it. She pulls the door gently, slowly revealing the wall that stands adjacent to her, and she realizes she's in a hallway. Jill looks to the right and to the left. A sconce on the wall is suspiciously lit. There's no one in sight and yet...what is that sound?
It's a horrible noise, one that makes her wrinkle her nose in disgust. It's a wet, sloppy, squelching sound that reminds her of the way Joseph chews with his mouth open when he decides he's too hungry for basic table manners, but she highly doubts he's sitting around the bend of the hallway and scarfing down a sandwich.
Jill takes a brief second to steel herself. She tightens her hold on the grip of her Beretta and takes a step forward. The carpet crunches beneath her feet and she already knows it's because it's saturated with dried blood before she even looks at it. She sucks in a breath, turns the corner, and lifts her handgun in preparation to confront whatever is waiting, but there's not enough time in the world to prepare her for this.
This section of the hallway is dark, lit only by the moonlight that filters in through the nearby window and her dull flashlight. It's enough to reveal the broad back of a man who's kneeling before her, hunched over something on the ground nearby. That sound—that disgusting sound—is deafening now as she approaches. Jill turns her flashlight in the direction of the noise, traces the room and sees legs behind the man's figure, like someone's lying on the floor and—
"Stop!" She shouts, taking a step back as she quickly rearranges herself to hold her handgun and flashlight in each hand. "Stop or I'll shoot!"
The sound suddenly stops and she can hear the wild racing of her heart. Jill steps back again as the man slowly and clumsily rises to his feet. His back is to her as he starts to turn and she gets a glimpse of the profile of his face. He isn't right—nothing about this fucking place is right. His face is unhealthily pale and she swears she sees blood smeared around his mouth as he lets out a groan and suddenly lunges for her.
She panics, shoots him three times before he drops onto the floor in a crumpled heap. Her heart is pumping hard in her chest and she tightens her grip on her gun as she shines the light in his direction and then towards where he came from.
The sight is enough to make her feel sick to her stomach. She doesn't know who the man is, but the familiar emblem embroidered on his sleeve is enough for her to know he's—was—part of Bravo team. The dark-skinned man is stiff, eyes open wide in what appears to have been fear, and his throat is ripped wide open, letting blood and gore spill out onto the carpet.
Jill quickly looks away and does the only thing that seems rational. She gets the fuck out, scurrying back through the door and sprinting through the dining hall so fast that she slips on the tiled floor. She catches herself on the edge of the nearby table and bursts through the double doors, back into the lobby as she cries out, "Wesker! I don't know wha—"
She stops, arms still stretched wide from slamming open the doors. For as far as she can see, the lobby is disturbingly empty.
"Wesker?"
Her voice is soft with fear. She swallows hard and walks into the lobby, looking up at the walkways above. There's no one, nothing, and she briskly moves through the area just to be sure.
Jill sits at the base of the stairs, elbows resting on her knees and head held in her hands. She doesn't understand what's happening. Even the most logical part of her fails to string together an even slightly plausible explanation. Bravo team went missing, Irons deployed Alpha team, they went to Arklay and now…
She quickly looks up and stares at the doors in front of her. Chris could still be out there. Chris, Kevin, Joseph, Brad, and Barry...they could all be out there. How did they all get separated?
The image of the pilot flashes through her mind. What if they had all been mauled too?
There's no time for this.
Jill approaches the door and presses her ear against the solid wood. She doesn't hear anything on the other side. Those hellhounds must be long gone by now; at least, she hopes they are. She ignores the trembling of her hand as she draws her handgun again and slowly pushes open the door.
The door is suddenly forced back against her. It collides against her shoulder and she winces, steeling herself to try to keep from being pushed back. She hears that familiar snarling and quickly snatches the door closed as one of the hounds forces itself in. It yelps as she slams the door on its torso and squeezes through the opening as she finally manages to pull the door shut.
Jill Valentine isn't usually the type to panic, but it's hard to not when there's an animated dog corpse charging at you. Its claws click against the tile as it circles around and begins to charge at her, taking a leap into the air. Jill fires her weapon, knocking it out of its jump, and it wastes no time in collecting itself off the floor. She shoots again, forcing it back down to the ground. It lays still for a moment and she approaches it, gun still ready.
It lifts its head slightly and she fires at it twice, apprehensively waiting for any sort of response. Blood slowly pools beneath the beast and it remains limp on the ground. She steps back and takes in a long, deep breath as she looks up at the ceiling. What the hell is she supposed to do?
She studies the room again, overwhelmed by the sheer number of routes she could possibly take. As she looks to the doors on the right, she's reminded of that creature outside the dining area, and a shiver runs down her spine. Perhaps upstairs would be best.
Jill is more attentive of her surroundings once the initial shock wears off. She ascends the central staircase as she studies the tall painting at the landing. At first glance, it's nothing particularly interesting; just an oil painting featuring three figures standing around a tombstone. As she draws closer, she notices an indentation that runs through the image, one that's suspiciously sized similarly to a doorway.
She feels like an idiot as she pushes against the wall, but it gives way and she can hear the sound of cicadas chirping in the distance. Jill steps through and finds herself standing at the top of a set of stairs overlooking a...graveyard?
Jill hesitantly takes the stairs, stepping down to the mushy, saturated earth. The graveyard has been neglected for a while, filled with moss-covered stones that once formed pathways and half-sunken headstones arranged in no discernible fashion. As she approaches them, she realizes that most of them are unmarked, and a chill runs down her spine. Who buries bodies in unmarked graves behind their own home?
There's a small, squared off patch of land in the corner of the area that's sectioned off by an iron fence. She tries the gate and it groans in protest as she attempts to force it open. It must be locked from the other side, but it clearly leads back into the mansion and she doesn't stress too much about it.
What she does stress about is the gunshot that's so loud it makes her ears hurt. To the right, there's another fence partitioning off a grave, but she sees a faint flickering light beneath it and realizes there's a staircase leading downwards. She hurries down it, the flames of the lit candles lining the passage dancing wildly in her wake, and she comes to a barred off entryway.
"Barry!"
The older man is standing with his back towards the wall, his massive magnum aimed in the direction of something she can't see. Jill twists in the small hallway to try to get a visual of it, but all she can hear is a guttural, breathy groan that makes her stomach twist into a knot. It reminds her of that man from before, the one that may have eaten someone, but it somehow sounds worse.
"Jill! Get out of here!" Barry shouts, firing another shot. "I'll take care of this."
"No!" She shouts, gripping the metal bars so tightly that her hands shake. "I can't leave you here!"
"Jill, I'm serious!"
He fumbles with a pocket on his vest and tosses something in her direction. It slides between the bars and lands somewhere behind her.
"Take that and go!"
She turns around, kneeling to sweep the object up off the floor. It's heavy and cold in her hand, marked with an insignia she doesn't recognize. What is she supposed to do with this?
"What is this?"
Barry jogs to the opposite corner of the room and fires again.
"I don't know, but it seems important! This thing was guarding it."
The thing growls and she hears a metallic clink.
"Barry, I ca—"
"Jill, go! Chris and the others are somewhere in that mansion."
Despair washes over her. She wants so badly to protest, to stay behind and partner up with him to search for the others, but she knows there's nothing she can do. There's no way she's getting through those bars and she can't see...the thing.
"Okay…"
She roughly shoves the object into her pocket.
"Okay, just don't…"
Don't die.
"I've got this, Jill. Go!"
She doesn't realize that she headed back into the mansion until she's descending the staircase towards the front door. The corpse of the hellhound is still motionless on the floor, now surrounded by a pool of blood that's far too much in quantity to even consider that it's still alive. She pulls the object from her pocket again and looks down at it, running her thumb over the insignia that's engraved into it.
Jill has no idea what this is. Vaguely, the grey, red, and white stripes that surround the insignia remind her of Umbrella's logo and she almost laughs. Maybe Umbrella owns this stupid mansion and sasquatch really is running through Arklay forest. Joseph would get a kick out of concocting conspiracy theories for this.
She feels a sharp pang in her chest at the thought. Joseph was wounded outside and all she can think about is the gore that gushed from the unidentified man's mangled neck.
Jill turns her head towards the doors leading to the dining hall and shudders. She doesn't want to think about what she might have seen and she definitely doesn't want to go see it again, so she goes in the opposite direction in search of...something.
The room she enters isn't what she expected. It's dark, lit by spotlights that are directed towards a statue in the center of the room. The statue seems innocuous—a woman holding a pot—but the shadows created by the lighting make it seem intimidating. Paintings cover the walls around her, framed in intricate metal work that seems expensive.
It's an art gallery that she's not going to waste time on. Jill passes through, down a long, L-shaped corridor that's accented by an excessive amount of fine china and artwork, and ends up in another twisted hallway. She begins to feel overwhelmed by the mere layout of the mansion and the weight of the object in her pocket suddenly feels like a burden. How is Barry so sure that this is relevant to anything at all?
Jill decides she'll go about this systematically, searching room-by-room until she runs into one of the others. Her plan is promptly thwarted when the first door in the room won't open and she glances down at the lock. It's a simple one, one that she knows she could pick in seconds, but is it really necessary? If it's locked, no one is inside...right?
She stares at the door, heart palpitating in her chest because she just doesn't know what to do. What was wrong with that man near the dining hall? Why did Wesker leave the lobby? Did Barry escape...the thing? Is Joseph alright? Where are the others?
Is Chris alive?
The fact that she's even questioning it makes her uncomfortable. Jill doesn't want to consider it. Once again, she tells herself that he's capable. Chris is alive, she decides, and he would tell her to open the door, so she does.
It takes her less than thirty seconds and she shoves the lockpicking set back into the pouch on her hip. The metal door is cold to the touch and she opens it cautiously. It leads outside, that she knows, but she hasn't even finished stepping through it when the barking starts.
Jill promptly steps back inside the mansion, yanking the door closed behind her. Not again.
She leans against the door, taking a moment to appreciate the cold surface. Her skin is slick with sweat and her breathing is erratic. She rests a palm against her chest, feeling the powerful recoil of her heart, and she looks to the door to her right and the bend of the hallway ahead.
Powering through, she takes an uneasy step forward and pushes open the next door. Her hand rests on the grip of her handgun in anticipation and she smiles to herself with relief when she steps into the bathroom.
The ceiling fan above her rotates slowly, but the air seems strangely stale. The sink vanity is pristinely clean, but the stench in the air is sickening. The tub nearby is filled to the brim with murky water and when she moves closer to it, she sees brown globules floating on its surface. It's too dark to see through, but it's obvious that the tub is the culprit of the smell.
Jill begins to leave the bathroom when she hears water swish behind her. She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls her gun from its holster, silently praying to herself that it was nothing more than an auditory hallucination. Swallowing hard, she turns, and time suddenly seems to move in slow motion.
What seems like a man has surfaced from the water, sitting upright in the tub. His skin is yellowed, browned, and wrinkled, so saturated with water that it seems to heavily sag off his frame. A pained, gurgling noise escapes him, propelling filthy water from his mouth as he turns his head in her direction.
She doesn't know what to call it, but she knows this isn't a man any longer. The creature's eyes are covered in a cloudy film that makes sight seem impossible. Its hand emerges from the tub, clenching the porcelain rim tightly, and she watches in horror as one of its fingers sloughs off onto the floor.
The monster plummets over the edge of the tub, landing on the tile with a wet sound. Its limbs are now contorted, bent in ways that bones shouldn't, and its neck is bent at a ninety degree angle. The creature's cheek is pressed against the ground and it gnashes its teeth open and closed, jaw audibly popping from the motion.
She's going to vomit. That telltale pressure is suddenly present in her stomach and she fights to keep it down. Jill stumbles forward as she scrambles for the toilet, but she feels something crunch beneath her boot and she slips, catching herself on the edge of the tub as her knees hit the ground hard. She looks back over her shoulder and realizes she stomped on the creature's head. The sight of the soggy, grey chunks of tissue splattered against the tile and the way its skull is split open from bursting is too much.
Jill hunches over and vomits onto the floor. She hears it splash against the tile and the sound inspires a second strangled gag, one that brings up acid that burns the lining of her throat. Her palms are stinging from how hard they struck the tile and she groans in pain, chest rising and falling erratically with her labored breathing.
She needs to get out of this room. Jill gropes for the wall nearby, using it as leverage to rise to a stand. She does everything she can to keep from looking at the disgusting scene below and leans over the sink, opening the tap and rushedly cupping her hands together, filling them with water to rinse out her mouth. No matter how many times she flushes her mouth with the icy water, she can't seem to get the acrid taste to go away.
This can't be happening.
Pressing her palms against the countertop, she leans forward and forces herself to look in the mirror. The paleness of her skin and the darkness of the circles beneath her eyes almost make it hard to recognize her own reflection. She tentatively presses her fingertips to her face, feeling the hard contour of her cheekbone beneath her skin.
Of course this is real. She feels stupid for even considering that it might not be.
As she aimlessly wanders down the hallway, she feels hopeless. Jill passes through another set of doors and finds herself in another hallway. Tears of frustration begin to obscure her vision and she blinks them away.
"Hello?" She calls out in a shaky voice. "Is anyone...here?"
She steps further into the passageway.
"Chris? Joseph? Wesker? Anyone?"
Silence.
A lone tear manages to escape, trickling down the side of her face and neck. Jill brushes it away with the back of her hand and walks to the end of the hallway. Reluctantly, she opens the door, expecting to find another goddamn hallway. Instead, she's outside again and she's grateful. She's ready to get the hell out of Arklay and never look back.
The soles of her boots scuff against the stone walkway. She feels safe here, sheltered by the twisting ivy that has claimed the lattices that surround her that obscure her view. Jill takes off her beret, raking her fingers through her sweat-dampened hair as she slowly walks to the end of the pathway.
The metal door is locked, but there's no keyhole anywhere to be seen. She takes a step back from the door and notices the inscription behind the door—the defiler of the accursed coffin.
The indentation beside it seems strangely familiar, octagonal in shape just like…
Jill reaches into her pocket and pulls out the object Barry gave her. Her gaze shifts from it, to the indentation, and back to the emblem. They seem similar, but it doesn't make sense. How would that even work?
As she reflects back on the events of the night, Jill decides that it might not be the dumbest idea after all. She pushes the object into the hole and hears a faint click, as if a lock has been undone. A premature rush of celebratory excitement courses through her as she reaches for the handle, but she hears a loud crack behind her.
Jill spins around as she hears the loud shriek, finding herself face-to-face with a horrifying creature that has leapt through the wooden lattice that once felt like a shield. Beyond its bipedal nature, it bears to likeness to that of a human. Its skin is covered in dark scales and it regards her with yellow, reptilian eyes. The monster's mouth opens, revealing a full set of razor sharp fangs that compliment its undoubtedly lethal claws.
It takes a step forward, the long claws on its feet clicking against the stone beneath them. Jill's mind is forced into a stunned silence by its presence and it rears its head back, splaying its arms wide as it lets out another shrill cry.
Though the rational part of her is unavailable, instinct isn't. The creature takes a step back, raising one of its horrible claws in preparation to strike. Jill hears its claws scrape the ground before she sees it jump into the air and she wastes no time in taking advantage of its movement. She runs back down the length of the hall, heart rapidly hammering away as the monster screams again.
It's after her. She hears it charging after her, all heavy stomps and the scratch of claws, and she vaguely thinks oh god, I'm going to die. Something about the appearance of those thick scales suggests that her 9mm won't offer much defense and the speed with which it vaults down the hallway in pursuit of her makes stopping to fire at it seem like an awful idea.
Jill doesn't know where she's going, but she doesn't necessarily need to. All she needs to do is run. She sees a door to the left, one she hasn't yet tried, and she takes the gamble. Jill rams the door open and stumbles into a room with a staircase. She doesn't think she'll be able to climb the stairs quickly enough, but she sees a room beneath them and she runs for it.
With the door closed behind her, Jill leans against it, forcing it to endure as much of her weight as she can. She can hear the monster stomping around, presumably rushing up and down the stairs, and she waits for the sound to fade away. It sounds like it's upstairs when she hears something break.
Jill exhales slowly, easing the burning tightness in her diaphragm from holding her breath. Her back slides down the door's surface as she lowers herself to the floor. She clenches her handgun tightly in her hand and waits, expecting the door to rattle on its hinges at any moment now as the monster attempts to force its way in.
It doesn't.
The room is dimly lit by a lantern that gives off a yellow glow. It's a small space, a closet of some sort that's filled with wooden crates and storage chests. Jill appreciates the normalcy of it and sighs with relief again. She sets her handgun on the ground beside her and draws her knees towards her chest, leaning forward to lean her forehead against them.
She doesn't understand what's going on. It feels like she's living in one of Joseph's insane conspiracy theories. No matter how hard she tries, she can't draw up a single reasonable explanation for what has happened to her tonight. The only thought that crosses her mind is zombies and she wants to laugh at herself for even considering it.
Jill looks up, resting her chin on top of her knees. She stares into the dull light of the lantern and, for a fleeting moment, she feels normal. There's no tightness in her chest, no rapid pounding of her heart, no breathlessness from running away from awful creatures. She feels warm and strangely safe, a feeling that reminds her a lot of…
Her last meeting with Chris comes to mind and her eyes feel hot with the pinprick sensation of forming tears. That very well could be the last moment of normal that she'll ever experience. Jill realizes she's probably going to die tonight and she's blindsided by guilt. She thinks about his offer, about spending a weekend on the lake with him and Claire, and she realizes that, for the first time since moving to Raccoon, it felt like maybe the pieces of her life were finally falling back into place.
Jill pictures him standing at the entrance of her apartment, grinning at her with that boyish smile and those warm eyes, and she suddenly wishes she would have invited him in. It occurs to her that she may never see him again, that he'll never awkwardly pass her his apology coffee again and that she'll never get a chance to find out what happens if she invites him into her apartment. Even in the odd chance that she survives this nightmare, he may already be dead.
The thought makes her break down. Jill buries her face in her knees again, shoulders visibly trembling as she tries to hold in her sobs. One of them is probably going to die tonight and she'll never see him again. She can't bear the thought of being the one that survives and sees him in a casket, lifeless and drained of color, when he had been so warm and alive only a few hours ago.
Jill will never figure out what she is to him, but she realizes exactly what he is to her. She has a stupid schoolgirl crush on Chris Redfield and she'll never find out if he feels the same about her.
Chris swears he can feel his heart skip a beat as he stands in the doorway of that filthy cabin. Joseph is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, limbs limply folded beneath his body. He can see the shadowing of blood beginning to seep through his bandana and Chris doesn't know what to do.
He doesn't think he's breathing. Chris tries to watch closely for the rise and fall of his chest, but his gaze keeps shifting back to the stain on his bandana and the handgun that seems to have fallen just out of Joseph's reach. He swallows to try to alleviate the lump that has formed in his throat, but he finds that he chokes on it instead—a sound that sounds reminiscent of a strangled sob.
He fucked up. He knows he fucked up. Chris can't understand why he thought leaving Joseph alone was a viable idea in the first place. He should have known better. With the way this night has gone, anything could have been lurking in the fucking woods and he should have known that. Joseph was S.T.A.R.S., but his specialization was in maintenance. Why the fuck did he think he'd be alright on his own?
"Fuck…"
Chris takes in a shaky breath as he forces himself to look away. This is his fault. Yeah, taking Joseph with would have been an inconvenience, but it was possible. He probably would have been safer in that shed than this disgusting cabin in the woods.
How would he explain this to the others? Yeah, sorry, Frost is dead because I abandoned him in the woods after he got mauled by hellhounds.
He awkwardly clears his throat again and turns away. Chris kneels down, collecting his handgun from the floor, and sighs. Whatever it had been that got Frost, he at least put up a fight. The entire magazine is empty. Joseph went down fighting.
"Fuck."
His vision is suddenly blurred with the onset of tears and Chris pinches the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut tight to will them away. What the hell is he supposed to do now? He can't just leave him here. Joseph deserves better than this.
A quiet groan disrupts the silence of the cabin. Chris immediately pivots around towards Joseph and sees his fingers curl into a fist.
"Oh, thank fuck." He mutters as he drops to his knees beside him. Chris pushes him over so he's lying on his back and Joseph grunts, his face twisting into a pained grimace.
"Frost, what the fuck?"
Joseph presses a palm against his forehead, opening his eyes as he pulls it away. He sighs at the sight of his blood-stained palm and lowers his arm back to the ground with another grunt.
"This...thing."
"The hellhounds?"
Joseph shakes his head as he sits up, once again resting a hand against his head like it hurts. It probably fucking does.
"No, this…"
He gestures towards the empty space beside him.
"It was this thing with, like...two faces? I don't know, man. Arklay is fucked up. I kept shooting it in one of its ugly faces and it kept coming until it clobbered me over the damn head."
Chris can't begin to imagine what he's describing.
"A thing with two faces?" He asks, trying to get clarification.
"Well, I think it had tentacles too. Or, like, worms."
Now he really can't imagine what it looked like.
"Wait," Joseph's eyes widen like he's had an epiphany, "Do heartworms, like, come out of dogs? What if...what if one of the dogs gave that thing heartworm and that's gonna happen to me?"
"It doesn't even sound like it was a person, Frost."
"No, it totally was!" Joseph insists. "I heard it talk."
"Really? Did it say 'boo' before it knocked you out?"
"No," Joseph says, rolling his eyes, "It sounded like it was calling out for its mother."
Is this one of his stupid conspiracy theories? Chris decides to cut him a little slack. He did just get clocked in the head.
"Yeah, alright," Chris brushes it off, "Come on, I found a mansion past the woods."
"A mansion?"
Chris offers Joseph a hand to help tug him to his feet.
"Yeah, a mansion. I haven't gotten inside yet."
"Probably a murder mansion." Joseph mumbles. "Some crazy ass scientist's hideout where he makes hellhounds and two-faced-tentacle-people."
"Yeah, probably, but where the hell else are we gonna go?"
He's starting to get irritated and feels a little guilty about it.
"I really don't wanna be a tentacle person and I definitely don't want them to put your face on me too." Joseph grimaces and adds, "I mean, I don't know where your face has been."
"I'll make sure it's me they put your face on then." Chris snaps, annoyed. "Come on, we need to go."
Joseph nods. He takes a step forward and slams a hand down on the edge of the desk nearby.
"Damn, I'm dizzy."
He takes a couple deep breaths, but suddenly stands upright and looks behind him.
"Wait, I have to show you something!"
"Frost, we really don't—"
Before he can argue, Joseph quickly scampers to the back of the cabin. He's out of Chris's view, but he can hear him rummaging around.
"Frost, we really need to go."
Joseph comes back with a fistful of yellowed papers.
"This is some messed up shit. It's, like, a diary or something."
"Yeah, we'll look at it later."
Chris really just wants to get the hell out of there before Joseph's tentacle creature comes back.
Their trip back to the garden shed is uneventful aside from Joseph's creative commentary. Chris stands in front of that metal door again, arms crossed over his chest, and angrily inspects it. He doesn't know how he can get this damn thing open beyond using brute force, but they need to get inside.
Chris tries to muster all his strength as he unsuccessfully rams the door again, hissing in response to the painful throbbing in his shoulder. He cradles it gently with his hand, trying to rub the ache away as he glares at the door offendingly.
Joseph gives him an odd look and reaches for the handle.
"It's—"
Chris thinks he's gonna punch a fucking hole in the door as it creaks open.
"It was locked before." Chris defends himself. "I'm serious."
Joseph purses his lips, a look of disbelief on his face, but he nods anyway.
"Really. It was."
Joseph continues to nod as he walks through the door. Chris feels like a fucking idiot as he follows him into the walkway ahead. The path ahead is dark on account of the vines that have entirely engulfed the lattice around it, but the sconce on the wall behind them provides just enough light to ensure that they're alone.
The inside of the mansion is dark and they find themselves facing a single door. The room opens up to the left, but he's not able to see around the corner. Chris draws his knife and motions for Joseph to wait, tiptoeing to the corner and peeking his head around. He doesn't see anything—a few closed doors and one that seems to have been left open—and he feels relief.
"We're good." He says, lowering his guard. "I don't see anything."
A loud, blood-curdling shriek echoes from ahead and Chris curses under his breath. Something comes pummelling their way, like it's sprinting down a set of stairs, and Chris quickly runs for the door ahead of them. Yanking it open, he motions for Joseph to go through. He hears the crowing of birds as Joseph passes through the doorway and thinks, just my fucking luck.
Before he can revise their escape route, he sees their pursuer leap through the open door. Chris doesn't know what the fuck it is—something covered in scales—but the glimpse of its claws is enough to persuade him to get the fuck out. He follows after Joseph, slamming the door shut behind them.
"What is it?" Joseph asks, voice drowned out by the loud cawing of crows resting on the track lighting overhead.
"I don't know, just fucking run!"
They're in an art gallery of some sort, he guesses, as he runs past the massive stoned glass paintings on the wall. He doesn't understand why the fuck a murder of crows is hanging out in the room, but he doesn't have time to ponder it because the creature is pounding on the door behind them. Joseph is slower than he is and he reaches out, pressing a palm against his back to shove him forward and towards the metal gate ahead. They're heading outside again.
He hears the door behind them give way as they find themselves in a graveyard. Chris quickly spins around as he continues to usher Joseph forward, spotting a door on the wall beside them.
"Fucking hurry!" He hisses, nearly tripping his way up the stairs.
The door they stumble through is heavy and Chris yanks it shut as hard as he can, almost wishing the fucking thing would get jammed. He hears the fucker scream again and he quickly surveys their surroundings. They're standing in the foyer, in between two sets of stairs, and he looks to his right and—
"Chris?"
He looks to his left, up the set of stairs, and sees Rebecca standing behind the railing above. Richard is leaning up against her, blood pouring down the side of his arm, but he manages a weak smile.
"Oh my god," Joseph nearly screams, "It's Rebecca!"
Chris hurries up to meet them. Richard has clearly been through some shit, given how horrible he looks. His skin is disturbingly pale, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, and his left arm is hanging limply by his side. Rebecca's struggling to hold him upright, her arm just barely long enough to encompass the width of his waist, and she huffs under the strain of his weight.
"What the hell happened to you?" Joseph asks.
Richard winces, but forces another smile as he mirrors, "What the hell happened to you?"
"Two-faced tentacle-looki—"
"We have to get out of here," Chris reminds him, "There's something after us."
Rebecca's eyes widen and she looks at Richard.
"We don't have a lot of time," she softly says, looking towards a door on the opposite side of the walkway, "He's poisoned and there's a medical supply room over there."
He hears the fucker loudly pounding at the door.
"Fuck."
Richard has a weak grip on a shotgun and Chris doesn't know what else to do.
"You have shots in that thing?"
Richard nods.
"Give it to me," Chris orders, "Frost will help you. I'll take care of...that."
Joseph opens his mouth to protest, but Chris cuts him off.
"We don't have much else of a choice, Frost. You need medical attention too. I'm fine."
Joseph slings Richard's arm over his shoulder, alleviating Rebecca of the burden of his weight. Chris isn't sure how much longer the door can hold, so he returns to it, gripping the handle hard to try to keep it steady in its frame.
"You have a gun?" He asks her and she nods.
"Magazines?"
"Yeah."
"Chris needs one."
Rebecca meets him on the stairs and slides the magazine into the pocket on his vest as Joseph and Richard hobble behind her.
"You better not die." She angrily spats in a way that reminds him of his bossy sister. "Come meet us after. Just go through those doors."
She points in the direction of the double doors that Joseph is trying to drag Richard towards.
"There's a door on the right. Go down the stairs and it's the first room there."
"Yeah, alright."
Chris feels like his heart is gonna leap right out of his chest. He doesn't know what to expect from whatever's on the other side, but he knows someone has to take care of it, so he roughly shoves the door open, causing the creature to screech once more as it stumbles backwards. He runs out into the graveyard, pumping the shotgun as he moves, and quickly turns around to face it.
Maybe it's the lack of lighting out here, but Chris thinks the thing is fucking terifying. He can't make out the fine details, but he sees it leap onto the landing in front of him, scales reflecting back the light that shines from behind it. It's standing on two legs and he thinks the fucker might even be bigger than Rebecca. It watches him with reptilian eyes that seem to glow in the darkness and it raises a claw in preparation to strike.
Chris hears its claws scrape the cement as it leaps into the air and he fucking runs, tripping over an errant gravestone that's hidden in the overgrown grass. He turns around and fucking blasts the bitch, causing it to stumble backwards and fall onto the dirt.
Dropping the empty shotgun onto the ground, he quickly slides the magazine into his handgun and approaches it as it writhes on the floor. Standing over it, he fires—one, two, three times—right at its fucking face. It doesn't make a sound. Its limbs fall limp against the ground and Chris hopes the thing is dead as fuck. Deader than dead as fuck.
He steps back, gun still poised in the direction of the damn thing. Slowly, he squats down to grab the shotgun, eyes glued on its corpse. It doesn't seem to move and that's good enough for him. Chris passes back through the door leading to the lobby and closes it gently behind him to keep from making a sound.
What the fuck is going on?
Chris leans back against the door and takes in a series of ragged breaths. His hands are trembling as he holsters his gun and he tightens his grip on the shotgun. He stares out into the lobby, taking in the wood paneling and gaudy decor. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something lying on the floor beside the entryway.
On closer inspection, it's a corpse of a fucking hellhound. He doesn't really want to touch it, but he reaches down and does. It's been dead for a while, cold and stiff to the touch with congealed blood pooled beneath it, and he wonders, did Rebecca do this?
It doesn't seem likely. Someone else is there.
He instantly thinks of Jill and feels his chest tighten. She's probably alright, isn't she?
Chris clenches his eyes shut and tries to recall what happened before, when they were first attacked by the pack of hellhounds. He remembers seeing her, a blur of blue in his periphery and headed in Wesker's direction.
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. As much as he hates to admit it, Wesker is talented. She's probably with him and that means she's safe. There's no way she's dead, no matter how many fucked up creatures are hanging out in Arklay. She's capable and she's with fucking Wesker. He's not even going to consider the possibility of her being dead. If she's not with Wesker, she's with Kevin or Barry. That's fine. He knows they'd keep her safe. Vickers is most certainly dead and he can't summon a single fuck about it.
He needs to get moving.
Chris takes the set of doors Rebecca pointed out earlier. The room is dark as hell and he heads to the railing that circles the perimeter room, peering over it into the floor below. It looks like a dining hall, encompassing a huge table that spans the length of the room in front of a roaring fireplace. He hears a clock ticking, a sound so loud that he thinks it might fucking deafen him, and he steps back.
He can't see shit. Chris fondles the wall to his right in search of the door Rebecca mentioned. He eventually finds it when he smacks his hand against the door handle and he yanks it open, making sure to close it behind him just in case something else wants to come up and surprise him.
The corridor is disturbing. A foul odor wafts through the halls, one that reminds him of roadkill in the summer, and he feels a little nauseated by it. The drywall nearby is cracked and crumbling and the room is cast with the yellow glow of a lightbulb that makes it seem sinister.
He feels uneasy. There's a door ahead of him and a passage to his right. He's a little annoyed because Rebecca sure as fuck didn't mention the hallway. Where the hell is he supposed to go? Is there a staircase around the corner?
Chris takes a step forward and immediately freezes. There's something down the hall, something that lets out a hoarse groan that makes his blood run cold. He doesn't dare move and listens to it approach with dragging steps. There's no way they came this way...or did this kill them?
Maybe he took the wrong door. Maybe there's another door that he missed. This definitely can't be the way and he's absolutely not interested in meeting what's waiting for him.
Chris considers turning around to head back, but it's too late. Whatever it is, it's sprinting down the hall, and he can hear it hiss loudly. It's fast, coming around the corner with its arms outstretched, and it tackles him to the fucking ground.
He struggles to keep it off of him. It's human—or used to be—and he's pressing a hand against its forehead to maintain distance between them as he grips its wrist in his opposite hand. Its flesh is red and blistered like it has been burned, and it practically growls at him, sending a shower of spittle across his face. Chris grimaces in disgust and attempts to shove it off of him again with no success. It hisses again and gnashes its rotten teeth at him, its breath so hot that he swears he sees smoke curl in the air between them.
Chris lets go of its wrist to quickly tear the knife from its holster on his chest and he forces the blade through its throat. He doesn't meet much resistance, just soft, pliant tissue, and he thinks something isn't right about that. It's not bleeding and, more importantly, it's not fucking dead. The thing doesn't even flinch even with a huge blade impaled through its throat.
It's going to fucking kill him. Chris clenches his teeth as he pushes it again with as much force as he can manage. It's unaffected, wildly chomping away in its attempt to get to him, and he thinks this is quite possibly the worst fucking way to die. He'd rather have been shredded to ribbons by that fucking other thing's claws.
Chris looks away from it and sees the shotgun lying beside him. It's close, close enough that he might be able to reach it, but he has to move fast. He takes in a deep breath and releases the monster's wrist again to grab the gun. Chris has his hand on the butt of it and swings it towards the creature, ramming it into the side of its head so hard that it stuns it. He bucks his hips, throwing it off of him, and begins to beat the fuck out of it. Its head caves in on the first hard thrust of the gun and it bursts open around the third. Chris gives it one last smack for good measure and feels sick when he sees the viscera clinging to the end of the shotgun.
As he's wiping it off on the carpet, he hears gunfire. It's close, really close, and it doesn't stop. It could be anyone but it doesn't fucking matter because all he wants is to see another living human's face. Without giving it a second thought, he sprints in the direction that he thinks it's coming from, and he hopes to god that it's someone familiar.
There's no doubt left in her mind—she's absolutely going to die. If anyone had warned her about what would happen tonight, she would have thought they were crazy, but she definitely wouldn't expect to hear that she'd be fighting a giant snake.
Idly, she wonders if this is a fever dream. There's no way this is happening. There's no way she's trapped in a library with a giant snake that's about to kill her. How the hell did she end up here? Why did she even come through here?
She can hear it slithering behind the massive bookcase in front of her, the end of its tail peeking out from behind the obstacle. It's so heavy that it sounds like it's being dragged across the floor and she steps back, creating as much distance between them as she can. It's going to come out from the opposite side and she's already put about twenty rounds into it, but it isn't stopping. Jill aims in its direction and waits because what else is she supposed to do?
It hisses as it slowly maneuvers past the shelf. She shoots at it again, managing to pop a few shots into it before it gets too close for comfort. Jill hurries around the bookshelf again, forcing it to follow her in the same loop, and she wonders if she should save the last bullet in her magazine for herself.
There are four shots left and she needs to make one of them count. She's trembling as she aims for it again, waiting for it to peek its head around the shelf. She decides that, if the third shot doesn't kill it, she might as well shoot herself with the last. She'd rather go out on her own terms than be swallowed by this monstrosity.
Jill fires once and it sounds like it wheezes. She wonders if it's close, if it's about to drop at any moment now.
She moves to another corner of the library and shoots again. It doesn't seem bothered by this one.
This is it, she thinks, if this one doesn't…
This shot isn't hers.
The snake lets out a pained noise as tissue flies out of the side of its head. Its narrowed eye is nothing but an empty, bleeding socket when it lands on the tile, flailing its tail hard against the shelf. Jill is stunned as she watches the bookshelf topple over, spilling books onto the floor before it lands on the snake.
She hears someone climbing down the ladder behind her and her heart skips a beat. Something tells her that she knows exactly who it is, but she can't seem to force herself to turn around. A warm hand comes to rest on her shoulder and she spins around so fast that she's dizzy, but the blur of olive green in front of her is more than enough proof that she's right.
Jill crashes into Chris so hard that he grunts, staggering a step backwards. Her arms are wrapped as tightly as she can manage around him and she has her head pressed against his chest, eyes held closed as she listens to the beating of his very much alive heart.
He returns her hug, pressing a palm against her back to pull her as close to him as he possibly can. She feels his hand at the back of her head, stroking her hair before gently cupping the back of her head in his palm to hold him against his chest.
Her voice is muffled by his chest and it cracks as she says, "I thought you were dead."
She feels him laugh beneath her cheek, chest rumbling.
"I knew you weren't."
Her heart feels like it's swelling to the point that it might burst right out of her chest. The heat radiating from him is nearly suffocating and she reluctantly pulls away, looking up at him as he cracks a smile.
"This place is…"
She doesn't even know how to describe it.
"Fucked up? Yeah, I know."
Jill isn't sure if she's about to laugh or cry. She tries to hold it in as she stares at his face and she thinks she does both—cries and laughs—because, for the first time that night, something is going right.
She wants to ask about the others, but she doesn't get a chance. Jill cries out as a sharp pain envelops her, one that shoots up her leg and seems to travel through her entire body. She stumbles forward, colliding against Chris, and she looks down at her leg. The corners of her vision are beginning to turn black, but she sees it, sees the fucking snake with its fangs impaled in her calf and she can't tell if she screams.
Chris shoots it. She can hear him fire at it and she tries to count the shots, but her head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and she can't concentrate. She feels like her legs have been swept out from under her, but she thinks Chris has his arm around her waist because it doesn't seem like she's hitting the ground.
Jill can't see anything, but she can feel his palm against the side of her face. He's saying something, but she can't really hear it. Her ears are ringing and she feels a sharp pain in the side of her head when he turns her in another direction.
She knew this fucking snake was going to kill her.
Her chest is burning and she coughs, feeling something wet surface in the back of her throat.
"—going to be alright—"
She's never heard him speak so softly. Maybe it's the ringing that's drowning out the sound of his voice.
"—got you—"
She feels so dizzy, but she can't see anything. Jill feels like she's weightless and she thinks he might have lifted her. She turns her head to the side and she feels him, warm and solid beneath her cheek, and she can hear the beat of his heart despite that high-pitched ringing.
In her last moment of consciousness, she thinks that maybe there are worse ways to die than in Chris Redfield's arms.
I feel so bad for coming back after such a long absence with a chapter like this. I hope the 14k word count makes up for it. Cyancaddy and I spent a lot of time fleshing out the Arklay timeline to try to make it seem as realistic as possible while being just similar enough to the canon to make it seem vaguely familiar without being boring. We definitely took some liberties with the canon and we know. It felt like it'd be awfully boring to retell the game to all of us who have played it a thousand times.
I hope you enjoyed. I'm going to go cry now because we're such bullies to these wonderful characters. Trust me, it hurts us too.