they were literally blown to pieces. The T-Virus had
been good for that much, and since they'd sped up the
amplification time, they'd been able to turn out
subjects in hours, rather than days. Once trained with
weapons, the Trisquads had become killing ma-
chines, although with the recent heat wave, he didn't
know how much longer they'd be viable...
Griffith turned his attention to Dr. Thurman, still
grinning and stinking like some bloated infant. He
even looked like a baby, pudgy and bald, his smile as
innocent and guileless as a child's.
"Dr. Thurman, go to your room and remove your
clothes. Shower and dress in clean clothes, then go to
the caves and feed the Ma7s. When you've finished,
go to the cafeteria and wait."
Thurman stood up, and Griffith saw that the pad-
ded chair was wet and stained.
Christ.
"Take the chair with you," Griffith said, sighing. "Leave it in your room."
After he'd gone, Griffith sat down across from Alan,
suddenly feeling tired. The anticipatory pride he'd
felt only moments before was gone, leaving a cold
emptiness in its place.
My children. My creation. . .
The virus was so beautiful, so perfectly engineered
that the first time he'd seen it, he'd wept. Months of
private research, of picking apart the T-Virus and
isolating effect, culminating in that first micro-
graph .. . while the others had been gloating over
their war toys, he'd found the true path to a new
beginning.
And do they appreciate what I've done? Do any of
them know how crucial this is? Crapping himself like a
disgusting child, like a monkey, disgracing my work,
my life. . .
Griffith looked at Alan Kinneson, studying his
handsome features, his expressionless eyes. Dr. Kin-
neson stared back, waiting to be told what to do. He'd
been a neurologist once. There were pictures in his room of his wife and baby, a little boy with a bright,
beautiful smile. . .
Griffith's sanity shuddered suddenly, a terrible,
rending twist that made him dizzy, a thousand voices
screaming unintelligibly through the cracks of reality.
For just a second, he felt as if he was losing his mind.
How many will just starve to death, sitting in
puddles of filth, waiting? Millions? Billions?
"What if I'm wrong?" Griffith whispered. "Alan, tell me I'm not wrong, that I'm doing this for the right
reasons ..."
"You're not wrong," Dr. Kinneson said calmly. "You're doing this for the right reasons."
Griffith stared at him. "Tell me your wife's a
whore."
"My wife's a whore," Dr. Kinneson said. No pause. No doubt.
Griffith smiled, and the fear melted away.
Look what I've accomplished. It's a gift, my cre-
ation, a gift to the world. A chance for man to become
strong again, a peaceful death for all the Louis Thur-
mans in existence, better than they deserve. . .
He'd been working too hard, tiring himself, and the
strain was getting to him. He was only human, after
all... but he couldn't afford to let the stress of his
body affect his mind again. There would be no more
tests. He'd spend the day getting ready instead, pre-
paring himself for the cleansing.
Tomorrow at sunrise Dr. Griffith would give his gift
to the wind.
SIX
KAREN DRIVER WAS A TALL, LANKY WOMAN
in her early thirties, with short blond hair and a
serious, businesslike demeanor. Her small home was
spotlessly kept and almost antiseptically clean. The
clothes she'd picked out for Rebecca were utilitarian
and perfectly folded: a dark green T-shirt and crisp
matching pants, black cotton socks and underwear.
Even her bathroom seemed to reflect her personality;
the white walls were lined with shelves, each neatly
organized according to purpose.
Scratch a forensics scientist, find an obsessive-
compulsive ..
Rebecca immediately felt guilty for thinking it.
Karen had been welcoming enough, even friendly in a
brusque way. Maybe she just hated clutter.
Rebecca sat on the edge of the toilet and cuffed the
overlong pants around her ankles, relieved to be out
of her old clothes and feeling surprisingly clear- headed after a night of broken sleep. David had
rented a car at the airport, and in the early hours of
the morning, they'd found a cheap motel and stag-
gered into their separate rooms, Rebecca too ex-
hausted to do more than take off her shoes before
crawling into bed. She woke just before ten, took a
shower and had been waiting nervously when David
knocked at her door.
Rebecca heard the front door open and close, new
voices floating through the living room. She slipped
on her high tops and laced them quickly, feeling her
anxiety level jump a notch. The team was assembled.
They were that much closer to going in, and though
she'd thought of little else since waking up, the
realization continued to come as a kind of shock.
Umbrella's surprise attack on Barry's house already
seemed like it had happened in another lifetime,
though it had been only hours ago...
... and hours from now, this will all be over. It's
what's gonna happen in between that worries me.
David and his team weren't there, they didn't see the
dogs, the snakes, those unnatural creatures in the
tunnels... or Tyrant.
Rebecca shook the images away as she stood up,
scooping her dirty clothes off the floor and stufling
them into the empty bag that she'd carried on the
plane. There was no reason to assume that the Cali-
ban Cove facility would be the same, and worrying
about it wouldn't change anything. She paused in
front of the mirror, studying the tense features of the
young woman she saw there, and then walked to the
door.
She headed for the living room, past the sparkling
kitchen and around a corner in the hall. She heard
David's lilting voice, apparently summing up the
events of the night before.
"... said he'd ring some of the others first thing
this morning. Another of the team has a contact in the
FBI to use as a go-between and to initiate an investi-
gation when we have proof. They'll be waiting to hear
from us when we've completed today's operation ..."
He broke off as Rebecca walked into the room, and
all eyes turned to her. Karen had pulled a few extra
chairs into the room and sat in one of them next to a
low, glass topped coffee table. There were two men
sitting on the couch, across from where David stood.
David smiled at her as both men got up, stepping
forward to be introduced.
"Rebecca, this is Steve Lopez. Steve is our resident
computer genius and our best marksman ..."
Steve grinned, an aw-shucks smile that suited his boyish features perfectly as he shook her hand, his
teeth white against his natural deep-tan coloring. He
had dark, quick eyes and black hair, and was only a
few inches taller than her.
Not much older, either...
His gaze was friendly and direct, and in spite of the
circumstances, Rebecca found herself wishing that
she'd at least run a brush through her hair before
coming out of the bathroom. Simply put, he was hot.
"... and this is John Andrews, our communications
specialist and field scout."
John's skin was a deep mahogany brown and he
didn't have a beard, but he reminded her of Barry
nonetheless. He was massively built, his six-foot
frame bulging with tightly packed muscle. He grinned
brightly at her, his smile dazzling white.
"This is Rebecca Chambers, biochemist and field
medic for the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S.," David said. John let go of her hand, still smiling. "Biochemist? Damn, how old are you?"
Rebecca smiled back, catching the glint of humor in
his eyes. "Eighteen. And three-quarters."
John laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle as he sat back
down. He glanced at Steve, then back at her.
"You better watch out for Lopez, then," he said, then dropped his voice to a mock whisper. "He just turned twenty-two. And he's single."
"Knock it off," Steve growled, his cheeks flushing. He looked at her, shaking his head.
"You'll have to excuse John. He thinks he's got a
sense of humor and nobody can talk him out of it."
"Your mother thinks I'm funny," John shot back, and before Steve could respond, David held up a
hand.
"That's enough," he said mildly. "We only have a few hours to organize if we mean to do this today.
Let's get started, shall we?"
Steve and John's banter had been a welcome break
from her tension, making her feel like one of the team
almost instantly, but she was also glad to see the
serious, intent looks on all of their faces as they
turned their attention to David, watching him pull
out Trent's information and lay it on the table. It was
good to know that they were pros . . .
. . . but will it matter? her mind whispered softly. The S.T.A.R.S. in Raccoon were professionals, too.
And even knowing the kind of research Umbrella's
been doing, will it make any difference at all? What if
the virus mutated and is still infectious? What if the
place is crawling with Tyrants . . . or something worse?
Rebecca had no answer for the insistent little whis- per. She focused on David instead, silently telling
herself that her anxieties wouldn't get in the way of
her doing her job. And that her second mission
wouldn't be her last.
For Rebecca's sake, David started the briefing as he
would have with an entirely new team. As bright as
she was, and with her previous experience at an
Umbrella facility, he didn't want her to hold back for
fear of speaking out of turn.
"Our objective is to get into the compound, collect
evidence on Umbrella and their research, and get out
again with as little trouble as possible. I'll go over
every step thoroughly, and if any of you have ques-
tions or ideas about how to proceed, no matter how
trifling, I want to hear them. Understood?"
There were nods all around. David continued,
comfortable that his point was made.
"We've already discussed a few of the possibilities
as to what may have happened, and you've all read
the articles. I submit that we're dealing once again
with some kind of accident. Umbrella's put a lot of
effort into covering up the problem in Raccoon City,
and while we could assume that they've been abduct-
ing or killing fishermen who've wandered across their
territory, it seems unlikely that they'd want to draw
that kind of attention to themselves."
"Why hasn't Umbrella sent anyone in to clean it
up?" John asked.
David shook his head. "Who's to say they haven't? We may find that they've already cleared the site of
evidence - in which case, we group together with the
Raccoon people and our own contacts and start
over.
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