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-
