minutes since their last transmission; if anyone had
been injured, they would have stayed. And if they'd
decided to leave, why had they left their equipment
behind?
Wesker handed the light to Joseph and nodded
toward the cockpit. "Check it out. The rest of you, spread out, look for clues-tracks, shell casings, signs
of struggle-you find anything, let me know. And stay
alert."
Jill stood a moment longer, staring at the smoking
'copter and wondering what could have happened.
Enrico had said something about a malfunction; so
okay, the Bravos had set down. What had happened
next? What would have made them abandon their
best chance of being found, leaving behind emergency
kits, weaponry - Jill saw a couple of bullet-proof vests crumpled next to the hatch and shook her head,
adding it to the growing list of seemingly irrational
actions.
She turned to join the search as Joseph stepped out
of the cockpit, looking as confused as she felt. She
waited to hear his report as he handed the light back
to Wesker, shrugging nervously.
"I don't know what happened. The bent rail sug-
gests a forced landing, but except for the electrical
system, everything looks fine."
Wesker sighed, then raised his voice so the others
could hear. "Circle out, people, three meters apart, widen as we go!"
Jill moved over to stand between Chris and Barry,
both men already scanning the ground at their feet as
they slowly moved east and northeast of the helicop-
ter. Wesker stepped into the cabin, probing the dark-
ness with his penlight. Joseph headed west.
Dry weeds crackled underfoot as they widened
their circle, the only sound in the still, warm air
except for the distant hum of the Alpha helicopter
engine. Jill used her boots to search through the thick
ground cover, brushing the tall grasses aside with each step. In another few moments, it'd be too dark to see
anything; they needed to break out the flashlights,
Bravo had left theirs behind. . . .
Jill stopped suddenly, listening. The sighing, crack-
ling steps of the others, the far away drone of their
'copter and nothing else. Not a chirp, a chitter, nothing.
They were in the woods, in the middle of summer;
where were the animals, the insects? The forest was
unnaturally still, the only sounds human. For the first
time since they'd set down, Jill was afraid.
She was about to call out to the others when Joseph
shouted from somewhere behind them, his voice high
and cracking.
"Hey! Over here!"
Jill turned and started jogging back, saw Chris and
Barry do the same. Wesker was still by the helicopter
and had drawn his weapon at Joseph's cry, pointing it
up as he broke into a run.
In the murky light, Jill could just make out Joseph's
shadowy form, crouched down in the high grass near
some trees a hundred feet past the 'copter. Instinc-
tively, she pulled her own sidearm and double-timed,
suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of encroaching
doom.
Joseph stood up, holding something, and let out a
strangled scream before dropping it, his eyes wide
with horror.
For a split-second, Jill's mind couldn't accept what
it had seen in Joseph's grasp.
A S.T.A.R.S. handgun, a Beretta.
Jill ran faster, catching up to Wesker.
And a disembodied human hand curled around it,
hacked off at the wrist.
There was a deep, guttural snarl from behind Jo-
seph, from the darkness of the trees. An animal,
growling joined by another rasping, throaty shriek
and suddenly dark, powerful shapes erupted
from the woods, lunging at Joseph and taking him
down.
"Joseph!"
Jill's scream ringing in his ears, Chris drew his
weapon and stopped in his tracks, trying to get a clear
shot at the raging beasts that were attacking Joseph.
Wesker's penlight sent a thin beam dancing over the
writhing creatures, illuminating a nightmare.
Joseph's body was all but hidden by the three
animals that tore at him, ripping at him with gnash-ing, dripping jaws. They were the size and shape of
dogs, as big as German shepherds maybe, except that
they seemed to have no fur, no skin. Wet, red sinew
and muscle flashed beneath Wesker's wavering light, the dog-creatures shrieking and snapping in a frenzy
of bloodlust.
Joseph cried out, a burbling, liquid sound as he
flailed weakly at the savage attackers, blood pouring
from multiple wounds. It was the scream of a dying
man. There was no time to waste; Chris targeted and
opened fire.
Three rounds smacked wetly into one of the dogs, a
fourth shot going high. There was a single, high-
pitched yelp and the beast went down, its sides
heaving. The other two animals continued their as-
sault, indifferent to the thunderous shots. Even as
Chris watched in horror, one of the slavering hell
hounds lunged forward and ripped out Joseph's
throat, exposing bloody gristle and the glistening
slickness of bone.
The S.T.A.R.S. opened up, sending a rain of explo-
sive fire at Joseph's killers. Red spatters burst into the
air, the dog-things still trying to get at the spasming
corpse while bullets riddled their strange flesh. With a
final series of harsh, barking mewls, they fell-and
didn't rise again.
"Hold your fire!"
Chris took his finger off the trigger but continued to
point the handgun at the fallen creatures, ready to
blow apart the first one that so much as twitched. Two
of them were still breathing, growling softly through
panting gasps. The third sprawled lifelessly next to
Joseph's mutilated body.
They should be dead, should"ve stayed down at the
first shots! What are they?
Wesker took a single step toward the slaughter in
front of them when all around, deep, echoing howls filled the
warm night air, shrill voices of predatorial fury com-
ing at the S.T.A.R.S. from all directions.
"Back to the 'copter, now!" Wesker shouted.
Chris ran, Barry and Jill in front of him and Wesker
bringing up the rear. The four of them sprinted
through dark trees, unseen branches slapping at them
as the howls grew louder, more insistent.
Wesker turned and fired blindly into the woods as
they stumbled toward the waiting helicopter, its
blades already spinning. Chris felt relief sweep
through him; Brad must have heard the shots. They still had a chance. . .
Chris could hear the creatures behind them now,
the sharp rustling of lean, muscular bodies tearing
through the trees. He could also see Brad's pale, wide-
eyed face through the glass front of the 'copter, the
reflected lights of the control panel casting a greenish
glow across his panicked features. He was shouting something, but the roar of the engine drowned out
everything now, the blast of wind churning the field
into a rippling sea.
Another fifty feet, almost there.
Suddenly, the helicopter jerked into the air, acceler-
ating wildly. Chris caught a final glimpse of Brad's
face and could see the blind terror there, the unthink-
ing panic that had gripped him as he clawed at the
controls.
"No! Don't go!" Chris screamed, but the wobbling rails were already out of reach, the 'copter pitching
forward and away from them through the thundering
darkness.
They were going to die.
Damn you, Vickers!
Wesker turned and fired again, and was rewarded
with a squeal of pain from one of their pursuers.
There were at least four more close behind, gaining on
them rapidly.
"Keep going!" he shouted, trying to get his bearings as they stumbled on, the piercing shrieks of the
mutant dogs urging them faster. The sound of the
helicopter was dying away, the cowardly Vickers
taking their escape with him.
Wesker fired again, the shot going wide, and saw
another shadowy form join the hunt. The dogs were
brutally fast. They didn't stand a chance, unless . . .
The mansion!
"Veer right, one o'clock!" Wesker yelled, hoping that his sense of direction was still intact. They
couldn't outrun the creatures, but maybe they could
