Resident Evil – Caliban Cove

by S. D. Perry

  stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll follow. Ready? Go."

  Jill was already moving around the couch, disap– pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase would be damaging. He crept toward the yawning blackness of the opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs. To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps. To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.

  They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins the rest of the strike force should rush the front door…

  David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they were dead. Away from the faint light from the win– dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low as possible. "Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly, no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of the corridor. On my mark… now!"

  The three of them sprang into position, Chris and Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the count ticking.

  … five… four…

  Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was only a foot away from the door when someone kicked it open. Bam! His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the base.

  …two…

  He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit– ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and out of the line of fire. Their time was up.

  David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a sound like an explosion behind him. The front door was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead by now. Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door, hoping he'd bought the S.T.A.R.S. enough time to escape.

  Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're gone.

  It was going to be close.

  Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart

  pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that

  chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.

  Come on, come on…

  Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Jill was the first to reach the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a touch, Chris following close behind. Bam! Bam! The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a sweaty ghost.

  "This way…"

  Rebecca turned and ran for the window, David at her side. Jill had already gone and Chris was halfway out, Barry gripping one of his hands as he struggled to balance himself. Please God, let there be a mattress, a pile of leaves… BOOM! The crash of the front door flying open was fol– lowed by heavy footsteps and muffled male voices, angry and commanding. Chris disappeared through the window and then Barry was reaching for her, his mouth a grim line. She jammed her pistol back in its holster and stepped to the window. Barry's warm hand on her back, Rebecca crawled onto the sill and looked down. There were hedges against the side of the house, lush and thick and impossibly far below. She caught a glimpse of Jill, standing on the lawn, aiming her weapon toward the front of the house and Chris looking up at them, his face tight with strain:

  –don't think just do it–

  Rebecca slid out the window, Barry's strong fingers finding her hand. Her shoulder groaned as gravity did its work, Barry leaning out to give her less of a drop, her body suspended in mid-air. He let go and before she could feel real terror, she hit the bushes. There was small pain, twigs and branches scratching at her bare legs, and then Chris was pulling her out, lifting her easily from the twining hedges. "Take the back," he breathed, his attention already fixed back on the window. Rebecca snatched the revolver out as she stepped onto the lawn, turning to face the shadows that made up the backyard. To her left, a dark stand of trees stood maybe twenty meters away, silent and still.

  Hurry, hurry…

  There was a thundering rattle of bullets inside the house and a thrashing thump in the bushes to her right, but she didn't turn, intent on her assigned task. A movement, by the corner of the house. Rebecca didn't hesitate, sending two shots into the thickening of shadow, Barry's.38 jerking in her hands. The figure crumpled, falling forward just enough for her to see that she'd hit a man clutching a rifle and that he wasn't going to get up again.

  –never shot anybody before– "Move!" Chris shouted, and Rebecca jerked her head around, saw Barry climb out of the bushes and stumble toward them. There was a shout from the window, followed by a burst from an automatic rifle. Rebecca actually felt the bullets hit the ground near her feet, tearing up chunks of overgrown lawn. Dirt pelted her legs.

  Shit!

  David and Jill fired back as they ran for the trees, Chris leading the way. The shooter either ducked or was shot; the dull clatter of the rifle fell silent. As they reached the first of the wooded shadows, Rebecca heard the wail of approaching sirens-followed closely by shouts and running steps across Barry's front porch. Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires. Rebecca stumbled through the brushy copse, dodg– ing between narrow, gnarled trunks, trying to keep the others in sight. The revolver felt too heavy in her slick grasp and her entire body seemed to be pounding, her legs shaking, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every-thing had happened so fast. She'd known they were in danger, that Umbrella wanted them out of the way, but knowing something wasn't the same as really believing it, as believing that violent strangers would break into Barry's home and try to take their lives…

  … and I may have taken one of theirs instead. The thought that she might have killed some-one… she forced it away before it could take hold, concentrating on the pale shape of Chris's T-shirt ahead. Her conscience would have to wait until she had time to think it through. Ahead of them, the thick woods opened into a clearing, playground equipment gleaming dully in the pallid light. Chris slowed to a jog and then stopped where the line of trees ended, turning back to search the shadows for the rest of them. Rebecca caught up to him, Barry and Jill just behind her, all of them breathing heavily and looking as stunned and sober as Rebecca felt. "David, where's David?" Chris gasped, and as they all turned, straining to see past the dark, reaching branches, Rebecca saw one of the shadows to their left move. A stealthy, sliding movement.

  "Look out!"

  She dropped to the ground even as she yelled, fresh terror surging through her system… and the shadow fired at them, twice, the shots muted compared to the explosive thunder at the house. There was a third shot, louder, closer, and the shadow stumbled and fell, crashing against a tree before collapsing silently to the dirt. Except for the rising moan of sirens, the park was again still. Rebecca slowly raised her head, craning to look over her shoulder and saw David, standing, still pointing his Beretta at the fallen shooter. Jill and Chris were crouched next to her, both of them holding their weapons out, staring around them with wide, searching gazes… and on her other side, Barry was sprawled on the ground, his face pressed to the blanket of dried pine needles and long dead leaves. He wasn't moving.

  FOUR


  There was darkness for an indeterminate time, silent and complete and then there were voices, drawing him up through the black depths of his limbo, voices that his floating mind couldn't identify at first. From somewhere far away, he heard sirens.

  he's been hit oh my God see if it's clear wait I can 't find the wound help me-Barry? Barry, can "Barry, can you hear me?"

  Rebecca. Barry opened his eyes and then closed them immediately, wincing as the throbbing pain wrapped around his skull. There was another pain in his left arm, sharp and insistent but not as complete as the ache in his head. He'd had acquaintance with both kinds of pain before.

  Got shot, met up with a tree… or some asshole with a baseball bat.

  He tried opening his eyes again as small hands moved across his chest, lightly searching. It took hima second to focus on the worried faces looming over him, Jill and Chris and a frightened-looking Rebecca, her fingers probing his shirt for the wound. The sirens had fallen mercifully silent, though he could hear the cop cars pulling up his street, their powerfully revving engines echoing through the wooded park. "Left bicep," he mumbled, and started to sit up. The dark woods wavered unsteadily, and then Rebecca was gently pushing him back down. "Don't move," she said firmly. "Just lay there a second, okay? Chris, give me your shirt."But Umbrella…" Barry started. "It's clear," David said, kneeling next to the others. "Be still."

  Rebecca lifted his arm carefully, looking at both sides. Barry flexed his arm slightly and scowled at the burst of pain, but could tell it wasn't bad; the bone was still intact. "Right out the deltoid," Rebecca said. "Looks like you're gonna have to lay off the weights for awhile."

  Her tone was light, but he could see the concern in her gaze as she studied his face. She started wrapping Chris's T-shirt tightly around his arm, watching himintently. "You've got a nasty bump on your temple," she said. "How do you feel?"Though his head was still pounding, the pain had subsided to ache status. He felt light-headed and a little nauseous, but he still knew his own name and what day of the week it was; if it was a concussion, he wasn't impressed.

  I've had worse hangovers… "Pretty much like shit," he said, "but I'm okay. I must've hit a tree on the way down."

  As she finished the makeshift bandage, he sat up again, this time with better results. They had to get moving before the cops decided to search the woods, but where could they go? It seemed unlikely that Umbrella would attack twice in one night, but it wasn't a theory worth testing. None of their homes would be safe. At least his family was out of harm's way visiting Kathy's parents in Florida. The thought that they could have just as easily been at home, his girls playing in their rooms when the shooting had started. He staggered unsteadily to his feet, finding strength in the rage that he'd lived with since that night at the estate. Wesker had threatened Kathy and the girls to force Barry's cooperation in Umbrella's coverup, using him to get to the underground laboratories. Barry's guilt had blossomed into fury in the days since, an anger that transcended any he'd ever known. "Bastards," Barry snarled. "Goddamn Umbrella bastards."

  The others stood up with him, Chris's bare chest pale in the faint light, all of them seeming relieved that he wasn't badly hurt, except for David, who looked as unhappy as Barry had ever seen him. His shoulders sagged from some unknown burden and when he spoke, he wouldn't meet Barry's gaze. "The man who shot you," David said. He held up a nine-millimeter with a suppressor attached, blood spattered across the barrel. "I killed him. I… Barry, it's Jay Shannon."

  Barry stared at him. He heard the words, but was unable to accept them. It wasn't possible.

  "No. You didn't get a good look, it's too dark…"

  David turned and walked through the trees, leading them to the body of the shooter. Barry stumbled after him, his head suddenly aching from more than just smacking it on a tree trunk. It can't be Shannon, there's no way, David's rattled from the attack, that's all, he made a mistake…… except David didn't rattle under fire, he never had, and he didn't make mistakes that easily. Barrygrit his teeth against the pain and followed, for once hoping that his friend was wrong. The man had collapsed on his back or David had rolled him over. Either way, he stared up at them with lifeless eyes, a random pine needle stuck to one of the glazed orbs. The semi-jacketed round from David's Beretta had punched a hole directly over his heart; it had been a lucky shot. Looking down at the shooter'sashen face, Barry felt his own heart turn to stone.

  Jesus, Shannon, why? Why this? "Who is he?" Jill asked softly. Barry stared down at the dead man, Unable to answer. David's reply seemed hollow, toneless.

  "Captain Jay Shannon of the Oklahoma City

  S.T.A.R.S. Barry and I trained with him."

  Barry found his voice, still looking at Jay's still

  face. "I called him last week, when I called David. He was worried about us, said he'd keep an eye out for Umbrella…"… and we shot the shit for another couple of minutes, catching up, telling old stories. I told him I'd send pictures of the kids, and he said that he had to get off the phone, that he wanted to talk but he had a meeting…

  Umbrella must have already got to him, and the realization was cold and brutal and suddenly, horri– bly complete. Umbrella may have been behind the attack, but the S.T.A.R.S. had carried it out. Barry's home had been blown to hell by people they knew, and he'd been shot by a man he'd thought was a friend. The solemn quiet was broken by the barking of dogs, faint through the shadowy trees. From the number and location, it sounded like the RPD K-9 unit had just reached his house. Barry looked away from the corpse, his thoughts returning to the imme– diate situation. They had to move. "Where can we go?" David asked quickly. "Is there somewhere Umbrella wouldn't think to look, a cabin, an empty building… someplace we can get to on foot?" Brad! "Chickenheart's lease isn't up for a couple of months," Barry said. "His place is empty. And it's less than a mile from here." David nodded briskly. "Let's go." Barry turned toward the park's playground, leading the others across the moonlit clearing. There was a small trail that let out two blocks away, hopefully far enough away from the action that the cops wouldn't follow. Barry had walked through the park a million times, his wife at his side, his children dancing at their feet.

  … my home. This is my home, and it won't ever be the same again.

  As they ran through the warm, peaceful night, Barry felt the hole in his arm start to bleed again. He clapped his right hand over the sticky dressing with– out slowing, letting the pain fuel his determination as they tore through the scrubby trees and headed for Brad's house.

  No more. No more of this. My girls aren't going to grow up in a world where this can happen, not if I have any say in it.

  So much had already happened, and this was only the beginning of their fight. There were still people working with the S.T.A.R.S. he trusted, that they could count on, and he wasn't going to be caught off his guard twice. The next time Umbrella came knock– ing, maybe they wouldn't have to run. And if Rebecca and David could pull off the Maine operation, they'd have what they needed to take the company down, once and for all. Umbrella had messed with the wrong people. Barry planned on being there when they figured that out. Jill picked the lock expertly, using a bent safety pin and one of Rebecca's earrings to open the door to the small cottage. Rebecca had swept Barry off to the medicine cabinet, while Chris went searching for a shirt. David and Jill checked the small house thor– oughly, David's satisfaction growing with each pass– ing moment. He couldn't have imagined a better hideout, and it was comforting to know that Barry and the two Alphas would have a safe spot to work from. The two– bedroom home shared a backyard with a security– conscious family; bright lights snapped on when Da– vid opened the back door, flooding the small lawn brilliantly and from the sight of the neighbor's side, they definitely had a rather large dog somewhere on the premises. There were houses close on either side of the rental, and the front window looked out on an open schoolyard just across the street. There would be no cover for an approaching team. The house was furnished simpl
y, if untidily; it was obvious that the occupant had fled in a panic. Person-al items and books were strewn randomly across the rooms, as if Vickers had been unable to decide what to take in his hurry to flee Raccoon City.

  With what happened tonight, I can't say I blame him for running…

  Mr. Vickers had obviously been in the wrong line of work, but that didn't necessarily make him a coward. Risking one's life on a day-to-day basis wasn't for Everyone and considering the recent developments, it was wisest for someone like Vickers to remove himself from the situation. They could have used the help, but from what little Barry had told him, the Alpha pilot wasn't someone they wanted to work with. Even if he didn't get himself killed, he'd lost the trust of his teammates, and nothing could be worse when it came to crisis situations. David sat in the dark, cramped living room on a rather hideous green couch, collecting his exhausted thoughts as Jill dug through the kitchen. He'd found a blank pad of paper and a pen, and had already scribbled down the names and home numbers of his team and various contacts, as well as Brad's phone number to take with him. He gazed blankly around the shadowed room, fighting off the adrenaline slump that so often followed battle. He didn't want to forget anything important, any detail that needed to be discussed before he and Rebecca left. If they wanted to make their plane, Barry, Jill, and Chris would have to deal with the aftermath of the attack on their own.

  The S.T.A.R.S., Trent's poem, objectives and contacts.

  It was hard to focus after such a draining experi-ence, and it didn't help matters that he'd been tired to begin with. He hadn't slept well in days, and thinking of all that lay ahead of them only made concentration harder. Rebecca's information about Dr. Griffith was disconcerting, to say the least, and though he was no less determined to carry out the Caliban Cove opera– tion, it was just one more concern to add to a seemingly endless list. Chris walked into the room wearing a faded blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and fell into a chair across from David, his face hidden in shadow. After a moment, he leaned forward, enough light filtering through the closed blinds so that David could see his expression. The younger man's gaze was tired, thoughtful and apologetic.