another one and told me to put it on. Said there'd been an
accident in the basement lab. I just knew something like
this would happen. Those assholes in Research never rest,
even at night.
May 12, 1998: I've been wearing the damn space suit since yesterday. My skin's getting grimy and feels itchy all
over. The goddamn dogs have been looking at me funny, so I
decided not to feed them today. Screw 'em.
May 13,1998: Went to the Infirmary because my back is all swollen and feels itchy. They put a big bandage on it and
told me I didn't need to wear the suit any more. All I wanna
do is sleep.
May 14, 1998: Found another blister on my foot this morning. I ended up dragging my foot all the way to the
dogs' pen. They were quiet all day, which is weird. Then I
realized some of them had escaped. If anybody finds out, I'll
have my head handed to me.
May 15, 1998: My first day off in a long time and I feel like shit. Decided to go visit Nancy anyway, but when I tried
to leave the estate, I was stopped by the guards. They said
the company's ordered that no one leave the grounds. I can't
even make a phone call - all the phones have been ripped
out! What kind of bullshit is this?!
May 16, 1998: Rumor's going around that a researcher who tried to escape the estate last night was shot. My entire
body feels hot and itchy and I'm sweating all the time now. I
scratched the swelling on my arm and a piece of rotten flesh just dropped off. Wasn't until I realized the smell was
making me hungry that I got violently sick.
The writing had become shaky. Chris turned the
page, and could barely read the last few lines, the
words scrawled haphazardly across the paper.
May 19. Fever gone but itchy. Hungry and eat doggie food. Itchy itchy Scott came ugly face so killed him. Tasty.
4 // Itchy. Tasty.
The rest of the pages were blank.
Chris stood up and slipped the journal inside his
vest, his thoughts racing. Some of the pieces were
finally fitting into place - secret research at a secretly kept estate, an accident in a hidden lab, an escaped
virus or infection of some kind that altered the people
working here, changing them into ghouls . . .
. . . and some of them got out.
The murders and attacks on Raccoon started in late
May, coinciding with the effects of the "accident"; the
chronology made sense. But exactly what kind of
research was being done here, and how deeply in-
volved was Umbrella?
How involved was Billy?
He didn't want to think about that, but even as he
tried to clear his mind of the thought, a new one
occurred to him . . . what if it was still contagious?
He hurried to the door, suddenly desperate to get
back to Rebecca with the news. With her training,
maybe she could figure out what had been unleashed
in the secret lab on the estate.
Chris swallowed heavily. Even now, he and the
other S.T.A.R.S. could be infected.
EIGHT
AFTER JILL AND BARRY WENT THEIR SEPA-
rate ways, Wesker stayed crouched on the balcony in
the main hall, thinking. He knew that time was of the
essence, but he wanted to outline a few possible
scenarios before he acted; he'd already made mis-
takes, and didn't want to make any more of them. The
Raccoon Alphas were a bright group, making his
margin for error very slim indeed.
He'd received his orders a couple of days ago, but
hadn't expected to be in a position to carry them out
so soon; the Bravo team's 'copter going down had
been a fluke, as had Brad Vickers's sudden display of
cowardice. Still, he should have been more prepared.
Being caught with his pants down like this went
against his grain, it was so ... unprofessional.
He sighed, putting the thoughts aside. There'd be
time for self-recrimination later. He hadn't expected to end up here, but here he was, and kicking himself
for lack of foresight wasn't going to change anything.
Besides, there was too much to do.
He knew the grounds of the estate fairly well and
the labs like the back of his hand, but he'd only been
inside the mansion a few times and not at all since
he'd been "officially" transferred to Raccoon City.
The place was a maze, designed by a genius architect
at the bidding of a madman. Spencer was bats, no two
ways about it, and he'd had the house built with all
kinds of tricky little mechanisms, a lot of that silly spy
crap that had been so popular in the late sixties. . .
Spy crap that's going to make this job twice as hard
as it needs to be. Hidden keys, secret tunnels - it's like
I'm trapped in an espionage thriller, complete with
mad scientists and a ticking clock.
His original plan had been to lead both the Alpha
and Bravo teams to the estate and clear the area
before he proceeded to the lower labs and wrapped
things up. He had the master keys and codes, of
course; they had been sent along with his orders, and
would open most of the doors on the estate. The
problem was, there was no key to the door that led to
the garden, it had a puzzle lock and was currently
the only way to get to the labs, outside of walking
through the woods.
Which ain't gonna happen. The dogs would be on
me before I could take two steps, and if the 121s got
out . . .
Wesker shuddered, remembering the incident with
the rookie guard who'd gotten too close to one of the
cages, a year or so back. The kid had been dead before
he could even open his mouth to call for help. Wesker
had no intention of going back outside without an
army to back him up.
The last contact with the estate had been over six
weeks ago, an hysterical call from Michael Dees to
one of the suits in the White office. The doctor had
sealed the mansion, hiding the four pieces of the
puzzle lock in a fruitless effort to keep any more of the
virus carriers from reaching the house. By then, they
were all infected and suffering from a kind of para-
noid mania, one of the more charming side effects of
the virus. God only knew what tricks and traps the
researchers down in the labs had screwed with as they
slowly lost their minds.
Dees had been no exception, although he had
managed to hold out longer than most of the others;
something to do with individual metabolism, or so
Wesker'd been told. The company had already de-
cided to call a complete wipe, though the babbling scientist had been assured that help was on the way.
Wesker had enjoyed a good laugh over that one. There
was no way the White boys would risk further infec-
tion. They'd sat on their hands for almost two months
while Raccoon suffered the consequences, letting the
incompetent RPD investigate while the virus gradu-
ally lost its punch and then sent him in to clean up
the mess. Which by now was considerable.
The captain absently ran his fingers across the plush
carpet, trying to remember details of the briefing
about Dees's call. Whether he liked it or not, every-
thing had to be taken care of tonight. He had to collect
the required evidence and get to the labs, and that
meant finding the pieces of the puzzle lock. Dees had
been mostly incoherent, ranting about murderous
crows and giant spiders, but he had insisted that the
crest-keys to the puzzle lock were "hidden where only Spencer could find them," and that made sense. Everyone who worked in the house knew about
Spencer's penchant for cloak-and-dagger mecha-
nisms. Unfortunately for Wesker, he hadn't bothered
learning much about the mansion, since he never
thought he'd need the information. He remembered a
few of the more colorful hiding places - the statue of
the tiger with mismatched eyes came to mind, as did
the armor display room with the gas and the secret
room in the library. . .
But I don't have time to go through all of them, not
by myself.
Wesker grinned suddenly and stood up, amazed
that he hadn't thought of it already. Who said he had
to be by himself? He'd ditched the S.T.A.R.S. to map
out a new plan and search for the crests, but there was
no reason that he had to do everything. Chris wasn't
viable, he was too gung-ho, and Jill was still an
unknown quantity . . . Barry, though . . . Barry Bur-
ton was a family man. And both Jill and Chris trusted
him.
And while they're all still fumbling around in the
house, I can get to the triggering system and then get
the hell out, mission complete.
Still grinning, Wesker walked to the door that led to
the dining room balcony, surprised to find that he was
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