Resident Evil – The "Umbrella" Conspiracy

As much as she wanted to find her team, Barry had been right about needing to get out of the mansion. If any of the other S.T.A.R.S. were still alive, they'd surely also be looking for an escape. Her thoughtful gaze fell across the fetid, broken creature that she'd killed, lingering on the slowly spreading pool of dark fluids surrounding its scabby head and she realized suddenly that she desperately wanted to leave the house, to escape its tainted air and the pestilent creatures that stalked its cold and dusty halls. She wanted out, and as soon as was humanly possible.
      Her decision made, Jill hurried back the way she'd come, gripping the heavy crest tightly. She'd already uncovered two of the pieces that the S.T.A.R.S. needed to escape the mansion. She didn't know what they'd be escaping to, but anything had to be better than what they would leave behind…
      "Richard!" Rebecca immediately dropped to her knees next to the Bravo, feeling his throat for a pulse with one trembling hand. Chris stared mutely down at the torn body, already knowing that she wouldn't find a heartbeat; the gap– ing wound on Richard Aiken's right shoulder was drying, no fresh blood seeping through the mutilated tissue. He was dead. He watched Rebecca's slender hand slowly drop away from the Bravo's neck and then reach up to close his glazed, unseeing eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Chris felt sick over their discovery; the communica– tions expert had been a positive, sweet guy, and only twenty-three years old… He looked around the silent room, searching ran– domly for some clue as to how Richard had died. The room they'd entered just off the second-floor balcony was undecorated and empty. Except for Richard, there was nothing. Frowning, Chris took a few steps toward the room's second entrance and crouched down, brushing at the dark tile floor. There was a dried crust of blood in the shape of a boot heel between Richard's body and the plain wooden door ten feet away. He stared at the door thoughtfully, tightening his hold on the Beretta. Whatever killed him is on the other side, maybe waiting for more victims.
      "Chris, take a look at this."
      Rebecca was still kneeling by Richard, her gaze fixed on the bloody mass of his torn shoulder. Chris joined her, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at. The wound was ragged and messy, the flesh discolored by trauma. Strange, though, how it didn't seem very deep.
      "See those purple lines, radiating out from the cuts? And the way the muscle has been punctured, here and here?" She pointed out two dark holes about six inches apart, each surrounded by skin that had turned an infected-looking red. Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at him.
      "I think he was poisoned. It looks like a snake bite." Chris stared at her. "What snake gets that big?" She shook her head, standing. "Got me. Maybe it was something else. But that wound shouldn't have killed him, it would have taken hours for him to bleed out. I'm pretty sure he was poisoned."
      Chris regarded her with new respect; she had a good eye for details and was handling herself remarkably well, considering. He searched Richard's body quickly, coming up with another full clip and a short-wave radio. He handed both to Rebecca, tucking Richard's empty Beretta into his waistband. He looked at the door again, then back at Rebecca.
      "Whatever killed him might be back there." "Then we'll have to be careful," she said. Without another word, she walked to the door and stood there, waiting for him. I've gotta stop thinking of her as a kid. She's outlived most of the rest of her team already, she doesn't need me to patronize her or tell her to wait behind. He stepped up to the door and nodded at her. She turned the knob and pushed it open, both of them raising their weapons as they edged into a narrow hallway. Straight ahead were a few wood steps leading to a closed door. To their left, an offshoot of the hall, another door at the end. There was blood smeared on the walls bordering the steps, and Chris was suddenly certain that it was Richard's; his killer was behind that door. He motioned down the offshoot, speaking quietly.
      "You take that room. You run into any trouble, come back here and wait. Check back in five minutes either way."
      Rebecca nodded and moved down the narrow hall. Chris waited until she'd gone into the room before climbing the steps, his heart already thudding solidly against his ribs. The door was locked, but Chris saw that there was a tiny shield etched next to keyhole. Rebecca was turning out to be more useful than he could have possibly imagined. He took out the key she'd given him and unlocked the wide door, checking his Beretta before moving inside. It was a large attic, as plain and unassuming as the rest of the mansion was ornate. Wooden support beams extended from the floor to the sloping ceiling, and other than a few boxes and barrels against the walls, it was empty. Chris walked farther in, his guard up as he scanned for movement. At the other side of the long room was a partial wall, maybe four feet by nine, standing several feet from the back of the attic. It reminded him of a horse stall, and it was the only area that wasn't open to view. Chris moved toward it slowly, his boots against the wood floor sending hollow echoes through the cool air. He edged to the wall, training his Beretta over the top as he peered down, heart pounding. No snake, but there was a jagged hole near the floorboards between the two walls, a foot high and a couple across and a strange, acrid odor, musky, like the smell of some wild animal. Frowning at the scent, Chris started to back away and stopped, leaning in closer. There was a rounded piece of metal next to the hole, like a penny the size of a small fist. There was something engraved on it, a crescent shape. Chris walked around the side and into the stall, keeping a wary eye on the hole as he crouched down and picked up the metal piece. It was a six-sided disk of copper with a moon on it, a nice bit of craftsmanship. Inside the hole, a soft, sliding sound. Chris jumped back, targeting the opening as he moved. He backed up quickly until his shoulders brushed the attic wall, then started to edge away and a dark cylinder shot out of the opening, lightning fast. It was as big around as a dinner plate and it hit the wall inches from his right leg, wood crunching from the impact.
      –oh shit that's a SNAKE-
      Chris stumbled away as the giant reptile reared back, pulling more of its long, dusky body out of the wall. Hissing, it raised up, lifting its head as high as Chris's chest and exposing dripping fangs. Chris ran halfway across the room and spun, firing at the massive, diamond-shaped head. The snake let out a strange, hissing cry as a shot tore through one side of its gaping mouth, punching a hole through the tightly stretched skin. It dropped back to the floor and whipped itself toward him with a single waving push of its muscular body, at least twenty feet long. Chris fired again and a chunk of scaly flesh erupted from the snake's back, dark blood spewing from the wound. With another roaring hiss, the animal reared up in front of him, its head only inches away from Chris's gun, blood gushing from the hole in its mouth-
      –Eyes. Get the eyes-
      Chris pulled the trigger and the snake fell across him, knocking him to the floor, its body thrashing wildly. The tail slammed into one of the thick support beams hard enough to crack it as Chris struggled to free his pinned arms, to at least hurt it worse before he died and the cold, heavy body suddenly went limp, sagging bonelessly to the floor.
      "Chris!" Rebecca rushed into the room, and stopped cold, staring at the monstrous reptile.
      "Woah!"
      His boot found one of the wooden supports and with a tremendous shove, Chris managed to wiggle out from beneath the thick body. Rebecca reached down to help him up, her eyes wide with awe. They stared down at the wound that had killed the Creature the black, liquid hole where its right eye had been, obliterated by a nine-millimeter slug. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. Chris nodded; a few bruised ribs maybe, but so what? He'd literally been inches from certain death, and all because he'd stopped to… He held up the copper crest, having to pry his clenched fingers from around the thick metal. He'd held onto it throughout the attack without even realizing it and looking at it now, he had a gut feeling that it was important somehow…
      … maybe because you were almost snake-food for picking it up?
      Rebecca took it from him, tracing a finger over the engraved moon. "You find anything?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head. "Table, couple of shelves… what's this for, anyway?"
      Chris shrugged, looking back down at the bloodyhole where the snake's shining eye had been. He shuddered involuntarily, thinking of what would have happened if he'd missed that final shot.
      "Maybe we'll figure it out somewhere along the way," he said quietly. "Come on, let's get out of here."
      Rebecca handed the crest back to him and together they hurried out of the cold attic. As he closed the door behind them, Chris realized suddenly that al– though he'd never cared before, he now absolutely hated snakes.
      Barry walked heavily up the stairs in the main hall, the knot of dread in the pit of his stomach tightening with each step. He'd been through every room he could open in the east wing and had come up empty-handed. The same horrible images played through his mind over and over as he trudged up the steps. Kathy and Moira and Poly Anne, terrified and suffering at the hands of strangers in their own home. Kathy knew the combination to the gun safe in the basement, but the chances of her making it down the stairs before someone could get in…
      Barry reached the first landing and took a deep, shaky breath. Kathy wouldn't even think to run for the weapons if she heard someone breaking through one of the windows or doors. Her first priority would be to get to the girls, to make sure they were okay. If I don't turn up those crests soon, nothing will be okay.
      He hadn't seen a phone or radio anywhere in the house. If Wesker couldn't get to that laboratory, how would he be able to contact the people at White Umbrella and call off the killers?
      Barry reached the door on the upper landing that led into the west wing. His only hope was that either Jill or Wesker had managed to find the three missing pieces. He didn't know where Wesker was (although he had no doubts that the rat-bastard would turn up soon enough), but Jill would probably still be search– ing upstairs. They could split up the rooms she hadn't checked and at least rule out the least likely areas. If they couldn't uncover any more of the crests, he'd have to go back through the east wing and start ripping apart furniture. He opened the door that led into the red hallway, lost in thought and very nearly ran into Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers as they stepped out of the doorway on his right. Chris's face lit up with a broad, beaming grin.
      "Barry!"
      The younger man stepped forward and embraced him roughly, then backed up, still grinning. "Jesus, it's good to see you! I was starting to think that me and Rebecca were the last ones alive. Where are Jill and Wesker?"
      Barry pasted a smile on as he fumbled for an acceptable answer, feeling almost sick with guilt. Lying to Jill hadn't been easy, but he'd known Chris for years…
      –Kathy and the girls, dead-"Jill and I came after you, but all the doors in that hall were locked and when we got back to the lobby, the captain was gone. Since then, we've been looking for you two and trying to find a way out." Barry smiled more naturally. "It's good to see you, too. Both of you."
      At least that much is true. "So Wesker just disappeared?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, uncomfortable. "Yeah. And we found Ken. One of those ghouls got to him."Chris sighed. "I saw. Forest and Richard are dead, too."
      Barry felt a wave of sadness and swallowed thickly,
      suddenly hating Wesker even more. The people Wesker worked for had done this and now they wanted to cover it all up, avoiding responsibility for their actions. And like it or not, I'm going to help them do it.
      Barry took a deep breath and fixed an image of his wife and daughters in his mind's eye. "Jill found a back door, and we think it could be a way out – ex-cept its got this trick lock, like a puzzle, and we have to get all the pieces together to open it. There are these four metal crests, made out of copper. Jill got one already, and we think the rest are hidden through-out the mansion…"
      He trailed off at Chris's sudden grin as Chris reached into his vest. "Something like this?"Barry stared at the crest that Chris had produced, feeling his heart speed up. "Yeah, that's one of them! Where'd you find it?" Rebecca spoke up, smiling shyly. "He had to fight a big snake for it – a really big snake. I think it may have been affected by the accident, though a cross-genus virus… those are pretty rare."
      Barry reached for the crest as casually as he could manage, frowning. "Accident?"Chris nodded. "We found some information that suggests there's some kind of secret research facility here on the estate and that something they were working on got loose. A virus."One that can apparently infect mammals and reptiles," Rebecca added. "Not just different species, different families."
      It's certainly infected mine, Barry thought bleakly. He let his frown deepen, feigning thoughtfulness as he struggled to come up with an excuse to get away. The captain wouldn't approach him unless he was alone, and he was desperate to get the copper piece into place, to prove that he was still on board, cooperating and that he'd convinced the rest of the team to help him look. He could feel the seconds ticking away, the metal growing warm beneath his sweating fingers. "We need to get the feds in on this," he said finally, "a full investigation, military support, quarantine of the area."
      Chris and Rebecca were both nodding, and again Barry felt nearly overwhelmed by guilt. God, if only they weren't so trusting.
      "But to do that, we have to find all of these crests.
      Jill might've turned up another one by now, maybe
      both of them…"
      … I can only pray…
 
      "Do you know where she is?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, thinking fast. "I'm pretty sure, but this place is kind of a maze… why don't you wait in the main hall while I go get her? That way we can organize our search, do a more thorough job." He smiled, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. "Though if we don't turn up soon, keep looking for more of those pieces. The back door is at the end of the west wing corridors, first floor."
      Chris just stared at him for a moment, and Barry could see the questions forming in his bright gaze, questions that Barry wouldn't be able to answer: Why split up at all? What about finding the missing cap– tain? How could he be certain that the back door was an escape?
      Please, please just do as I say. "Okay," Chris said reluctantly. "We'll wait, but if she's not where you think she is, come back and get us. We stand a better chance of making it through this place if we stick together."
      Barry nodded, and before Chris could say anything more, he turned and jogged away down the dim hall. He'd seen the hesitation in Chris's eyes, heard the uncertainty in his voice and with his final words, Barry had felt himself wanting desperately to warn his friend of Wesker's betrayal. Leaving was the only way to keep himself from saying something he might regret, something that might get his family killed. As soon as he heard the door back to the balcony close, he picked up speed, taking the corners at a full run. There was a dead zombie near the door that led to the stairs, and Barry leaped over it, the stench falling away as he ducked through the connecting passage. He took the back stairs three at a time as his conscience yammered mercilessly away at him, re– minding him of his treachery.
      You're a liar, Barry, using your friends the way Wesker's using you, playing on their trust. You could've told them what was really going on, let them help you put a stop to it.
      Barry shook the thoughts away as he reached the door to the covered walk, slamming the heavy metal aside. He couldn't risk it, wouldn 't – what if Wesker had been nearby, had overheard? The captain had Barry's family to blackmail him with, but once Chris and the others knew the truth, what was to stop Wesker from just killing them? If he helped Wesker destroy the evidence, the S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't be able to prove anything, the captain could just let them all walk away. Barry reached the diagram next to the back door and stopped, staring. Relief flooded through him, cool and sweet. Three of the four openings were filled, the sun, wind, and star crests in place. It was over.
      He can get to the lab now, call off his people, he doesn 't need us anymore! I can go back in and keep the team busy while he does whatever he has to do, the RPD will show eventually and we can forget this ever happened.
      He was so elated that he didn't register the muted footsteps on the stone path behind him, didn't realize that he wasn't alone anymore until Wesker's smooth voice spoke up beside him.
      "Why don't you finish the puzzle, Mr. Burton?"
      Barry jumped, startled. He glared at Wesker, loath– ing the smug, bland face behind the sunglasses. Wesker smiled, nodding his head at the copper crest in Barry's hand. "Yeah, right," Barry muttered darkly, and slipped the final piece into place. There was a thick metallic sound from inside the door, ka-chink and Wesker walked past him, pushing the door open to reveal a small, well-used tool shed. Barry peered inside, saw the exit at the opposite wall. There was no diagram set next to it, no more crazy puzzles to figure out. Kathy and the girls were safe. With a low bow, Wesker motioned for Barry to step inside the shed, still smiling.
      "Time's short, Barry, and there's still a lot for us to do." Barry stared at him, confused. "What do you mean? You can get to the lab now." "Well, there's been a slight change of plans. See, it turns out that I need to find something else, and I have an idea of where it might be, but there are some dangers involved… and you've done such a good job so far, I want you to come along."
      Wesker's smile transformed into a shark-like grin, a cold, pitiless reminder of what was at stake.
      "In fact, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to insist on it."
      After a long, terrible moment, Barry nodded helplessly.

THIRTEEN

      My dearest Alma, I sit here trying to think of where to begin, of how to explain in a few simple words all that's happened in my life since we last spoke, and already I fail. I hope this letter finds you well and whole, and that you will forgive the tangents of my pen; this isn't easy for me. Even as I write, I can feel the simplest of concepts slipping away, lost to feelings of despair and confusion, but I have to tell you what's in my heart before I can rest. Be patient, and accept that what I tell you is the truth. The entire story would take hours for me to tell you, and time is short, so accept these things as fact: last month there was an accident in the lab and the virus we were studying escaped. All my colleagues who were infected are dead or dying, and the nature of the disease is such that those still living have lost their senses. This virus robs its victims of their humanity, forcing them in their sickness to seek out and destroy life. Even as I write these words, I can hear them, pressing against my locked door like mindless, hungry animals, crying out like lost souls. There aren't words true enough, deep enough to describe the sorrow and shame that I feel knowing that I had a hand in their creation. I believe that they feel nothing now, no fear or pain, but that they can't experience the horror of what they've become doesn't free me of my terrible burden. I am, in part, responsible for this nightmare that surrounds me. In spite of the guilt that is burned into my very being, that will haunt my every breath, I might have tried to survive, if only to see you again. But my best efforts only delayed the inevitable; I am infected, and there is no cure for what will follow – except to end my life before I lose the only thing that separates me from them. My love for you. Please understand. Please know that I'm sorry. Martin Crackhorn
      Jill sighed, laying the crumpled paper gently on the desk. The creatures were victims of their own re– search. It seemed she'd had the right idea about what had happened in the mansion, though reading the heartfelt letter put a serious damper on any pride she might have taken from her deduction skills. After placing the sun crest, she'd decided that the upstairs office merited a closer look and with a little digging, she'd found the final scrawled testament of Crack– horn, tucked in a drawer. Crackhorn, Martin Crackhorn – that was one of the names on Trent's list… Jill frowned, walking slowly back to the office door. For some reason, Trent wanted the S.T.A.R.S. to figure out what had happened at the mansion before anyone else did, but with as much as he obviously knew about it, why not just tell them outright? And what did he stand to gain by telling them anything at all? She stepped through the office's small foyer and back out into the hall, still frowning. Barry had been acting strange before, and she needed to find out why. Maybe she could get a straight answer if she just asked him outright…or maybe not. Either way, it'll tell me something. Jill stopped by the back stairs, taking a deep breath and realized that something was different. She looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out what it was her senses were telling her. It's warmer. Just a little, but it's definitely warmer. And the air isn't quite as stale… Like someone had opened a window. Or maybe a door. Jill turned and jogged down the stairs, suddenly anxious to check the puzzle lock. Reaching the bot-tom of the steps, she saw that the door connecting one hall to the next was standing open. She could hear crickets singing faintly, feel the fresh night air wafting toward her through the frigid mustiness of the house. She hurried to the darker corridor and hooked a right, trying not to get her hopes up. Another sharp right and she could see the door that led to the covered walkway standing open.
      Maybe that's all it is, it doesn't mean the puzzle's solved.
      Jill broke into a run, feeling the clean warmth of summer air against her skin as she rounded the corner in the stone path and let out a short, triumphant laugh as she saw the four placed crests next to the open door. A warm breeze was flowing through the room that the puzzle had unlocked, a small storage shed for gardening tools. The metal door on the wall opposite was standing open, and Jill could see moonlight playing across a brick wall just past the rusted hinges. Barry had been right, the door led outside. They'd be able to get help now, find a safe route through the woods or at least signal.
      But if Barry found the missing pieces, why didn't he come looking for me?
      Jill's grin faded as she stepped into the shed, absently taking in the dusty boxes and barrels that lined the gray stone walls. Barry had known where she was, had suggested himself that she take the second floor of the west wing… So maybe it wasn 't Barry who opened the door. True, it could've been Chris or Wesker or one of the Bravos. If that was the case, she should probably go back in and look for Barry. Or investigate a little first, make sure it's worth the effort. It was a bit of a rationalization, but she had to admit to herself that the thought of returning to the mansion with a possible escape in front of her wasn't all that enticing. She unholstered her Beretta and walked toward the outer door, her decision made. The first thing she noticed was the sound of rushing water over the soft forest noises that filled the cooling air, like a waterfall. The second and third were the bodies of the two dogs that lay across the irregular stone path, shot to death.
      Pretty safe bet that one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this way…
      Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the open space was a barred iron gate just past an island of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal gate a few feet high.
      Stairs going down maybe?
      Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that direction. There was a sudden sound of water splashing wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise. She reached the end of the stone path and leaned over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open courtyard, twenty feet below. The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked down and across the wide yard just in time to see a shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that cascaded down the west wall.
      What the hell?
      She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing things– which meant that the rushing water concealed a secret passage.
      Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I didn't get enough of that inside.
      The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but nothing happened. She'd have to get down another way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got farther away.
      Unless…
      Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset square only three feet across and open on the side facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in a minute or less, using her back and legs to support her weight. As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in preparation for the climb, a disturbing thought oc– curred to her -if the person who'd gone through the waterfall was one of the S.T.A.R.S., how had they known that the passage was even there?
      Good question, and not one she wanted to linger over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate open and carefully started down the shaft.
      They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before heading through the winding halls of the west wing and finding the open back door. They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper and its four engraved crests. Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried. Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's what he meant to do.
      But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble, how did the piece I gave him end up here?
      He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it from him, he could've placed it himself and then been injured somehow… the possibilities seemed end– less, and none of them good. Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and looked at Rebecca. "Whatever happened to Barry, we should go ahead. This may be the only way off the estate." Rebecca smiled a little. "Fine by me. It just feels good to get out of there, you know?" "Yeah, no kidding," he said, with feeling. He hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left it. The difference was truly amazing. They walked through the tidy storage room and stopped at the back door, both of them breathing deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chew– ing at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was anything she needed to know, anything that would help her if they were forced into a combat situation.
      S.T.A.R.S. training covered all the basics, but shoot-ing at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from the real thing. He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying desperately not to show it. The captain for the mis– sion had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled him aside just before they went in, looked him up and down, and given him the single best piece of advice he'd ever received. "Son," she'd said, "no matter what happens when the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants."
      It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the statement so totally weird that he'd literally been forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room for it.
      "What are you grinning about?"
      Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow, he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the dangers they faced didn't shoot back. "Long story. Come on, let's go."
      They moved out into the calm night air, crickets and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left. Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a lonely, faraway sound.