everyone listening is on the right side of this..."
Chris frowned, not sure what she was trying to tell
him. "The only people I've talked to are on the job." Her gaze didn't falter, and he realized suddenly
what she was implying.
Jesus, and I thought I was paranoid!
"Jill, I know these people, and even if I didn't, the S.T.A.R.S. have psycho profiles on every member,
history checks, personal references - there's no way it
could happen."
She sighed. "Look, forget I said anything. I just . . . just watch yourself, that's all."
"All right, kids, look lively! We're coming up on
sector twenty-two, they could be anywhere."
At Wesker's interruption, Jill gave him a final sharp
glance and then moved to one of the windows. Chris
followed, Joseph and Barry taking the search up on
the other side of the cabin.
Looking out the small window, he scanned the
deepening dusk on automatic, thinking about what
Jill had said. He supposed he should be grateful that
he wasn't the only one who suspected some kind of a
cover up, but why hadn't she said anything before?
And to warn him against the S.T.A.R.S. . . .
She knows something.
She must, it was the only explanation that made
any sense. He decided that after they picked up Bravo,
he'd talk to her again, try to convince her that going to
Wesker would be their best bet. With both of them
pushing, the captain would have to listen.
He stared out at the seemingly endless sea of trees
as the helicopter skimmed lower, forcing his full
attention to the search. The Spencer estate had to be
close, though he couldn't see it in the fading light.
Thoughts of Billy and Umbrella and now Jill's strange
warning circled through his exhaustion, trying to
break his focus, but he refused to give in. He was still
worried about the Bravos - though as the trees swept
by, he was becoming more and more convinced that
they weren't in any real trouble. It was probably
nothing worse than a crossed wire, Forest had just
shut it down to make repairs.
Then he saw it less than a mile away, even as Jill
pointed and spoke, and his concern turned to cold
dread.
"Look, Chris!"
An oily plume of black smoke boiled up through the
last remnants of daylight, staining the sky like a
promise of death.
Oh, no!
Barry clenched his jaw, staring at the stream of
smoke that rose up from the trees, feeling sick.
"Captain, two o'clock sharp!" Chris called, and then they were turning, heading for the dark smudge
that could only mean a crash.
Wesker moved back into the cabin, still wearing his
shades. He stepped to the window and spoke quietly,
his voice subdued. "Let's not assume the worst. There's a possibility that a fire broke out after they
landed, or that they started the fire on purpose, as a
signal."
Barry wished they could believe him, but even
Wesker had to know better. With the 'copter shut down, a fire starting on its own was unlikely and if
the Bravos wanted to signal, they would've used
flares.
Besides which, wood doesn't make that kind of
smoke. . . .
"But whatever it is, we won't know till we get
there. Now if I could have your full attention, please."
Barry turned away from the window, saw the others
do the same. Chris, Jill, and Joseph all wore the same
look, as he imagined he did: shock. S.T.A.R.S. some-
times got hurt in the line of duty, it was part of the
job, but accidents like this . . .
Wesker's only visible sign of distress was the set of
his mouth, a thin, grim line against his tanned skin.
"Listen up. We've got people down in a possibly
hostile environment. I want all of you armed, and I
want an organized approach, a standard fan as soon
as we set down. Barry, you'll take point."
Barry nodded, pulling himself together. Wesker was
right; now was not the time to get emotional.
"Brad's going to set us down as close to the site as
he can get, what looks like a small clearing about fifty
meters south of their last coordinates. He'll stay with
the 'copter and keep it warm in case of trouble. Any
questions?"
Nobody spoke, and Wesker nodded briskly. "Good. Barry, load us up. We can leave the rest of the gear on
board and come back for it."
The captain stepped to the front to talk to Brad,
while Jill, Chris, and Joseph turned to Barry. As
weapons specialist, he checked the firearms in and out
to each S.T.A.R.S. team member and kept them in
prime condition.
Barry turned to the cabinet next to the outer hatch
and unhooked the latch, exposing six Beretta 9mm
handguns on a metal rack, cleaned and sighted only
yesterday. Each weapon held fifteen rounds, semi-
jacketed hollow points. It was a good gun, though
Barry preferred his Python, a lot bigger punch with
.357 rounds. . . .
He quickly distributed the weapons, passing out
three loaded clips with each.
"I hope we don't need these," Joseph said, slapping in a clip, and Barry nodded agreement. Just because
he paid his dues to the NRA didn't mean he was some
trigger-happy dumbass, looking to kill; he just liked guns.
Wesker joined them again and the five of them
stood at the hatch, waiting for Brad to bring them in.
As they neared the plume of smoke, the helicopter's
whirling blades pushed it down and out, creating a
black fog that blended into the heavy shadows of the
trees. Any chance of spotting the downed vehicle
from the air was lost to the smoke and dusk.
Brad swung them around and settled the bird into a
scrappy patch of tall grass, snapping wildly from the
forced wind. Even as the rails wobbled to the ground,
Barry had his hand on the latch, ready to move out.
A warm hand fell on his shoulder. Barry turned and
saw Chris looking at him intently.
"We're right behind you," Chris said, and Barry nodded. He wasn't worried, not with the Alphas
backing him up. All he was concerned with was the
Bravo team's situation. Rico Marini was a good
friend of his. Marini's wife had baby-sat for the girls
more times than Barry could count, and was friends
with Kathy. The thought of him dead, to a stupid
mechanical screw-up . . .
Hang on, buddy, we're comin'.
One hand on the butt of his Colt, Barry pulled the
handle and stepped out into the humid, whipping
twilight of Raccoon Forest, ready for anything.
FOUR
THEY SPREAD OUT AND STARTED NORTH,
Wesker and Chris behind and to Barry's left, Jill and
Joseph on his right. Directly in front of them was a
sparse stand of trees, and as the Alpha's 'copter blade
revved down, Jill could smell burning fuel and see
wisps of smoke curling through the foliage.
They moved quickly through the wooded area,
visibility dropping off sharply beneath the needled
branches. The warm scents of pine and earth were
overshadowed by the burning smell, the acrid odor
growing stronger with each step. From the dim light
filtering toward them, Jill saw that there was another
clearing ahead, high with brittle grasses.
"I see it, dead ahead!"
Jill felt her heart speed up at Barry's shout, and
then they were all running, hurrying to catch up to
their point man.
She emerged from the copse of trees, Joseph next to
her. Barry was already at the downed 'copter, Chris
and Wesker right behind. Smoke was still rising from
the silent wreck, but it was thinning. If there had been
a fire, it had died out.
She and Joseph reached the others and stopped,
staring, no one speaking as they surveyed the scene.
The long, wide body of the 'copter was intact, not a
single scratch visible. The port landing rail looked
bent, but besides that and the dying haze of smoke
from the rotor, there seemed to be nothing wrong
with it. The hatches stood open, the beam from
Wesker's penlight showing them an undamaged cabin.
From what she could see, most of the Bravo's gear was
still on board.
So where are they?
It didn't make any sense. It hadn't been fifteen
