He tried opening his eyes again as small hands
moved across his chest, lightly searching. It took him
a second to focus on the worried faces looming over
him, Jill and Chris and a frightened-looking Rebecca,
her fingers probing his shirt for the wound. The sirens
had fallen mercifully silent, though he could hear the
cop cars pulling up his street, their powerfully revving
engines echoing through the wooded park.
"Left bicep," he mumbled, and started to sit up. The dark woods wavered unsteadily, and then
Rebecca was gently pushing him back down.
"Don't move," she said firmly. "Just lay there a second, okay? Chris, give me your shirt."
"But Umbrella..." Barry started.
"It's clear," David said, kneeling next to the others. "Be still."
Rebecca lifted his arm carefully, looking at both
sides. Barry flexed his arm slightly and scowled at the
burst of pain, but could tell it wasn't bad; the bone
was still intact.
"Right out the deltoid," Rebecca said. "Looks like you're gonna have to lay off the weights for awhile."
Her tone was light, but he could see the concern in
her gaze as she studied his face. She started wrapping
Chris's T-shirt tightly around his arm, watching him
intently.
"You've got a nasty bump on your temple," she said. "How do you feel?"
Though his head was still pounding, the pain had
subsided to ache status. He felt light-headed and a
little nauseous, but he still knew his own name and
what day of the week it was; if it was a concussion, he
wasn't impressed.
I've had worse hangovers...
"Pretty much like shit," he said, "but I'm okay. I must've hit a tree on the way down."
As she finished the makeshift bandage, he sat up
again, this time with better results. They had to get
moving before the cops decided to search the
woods, but where could they go? It seemed unlikely
that Umbrella would attack twice in one night, but it
wasn't a theory worth testing. None of their homes would be safe. At least his family was out of harm's
way visiting Kathy's parents in Florida. The thought
that they could have just as easily been at home, his
girls playing in their rooms when the shooting had
started.
He staggered unsteadily to his feet, finding strength
in the rage that he'd lived with since that night at the
estate. Wesker had threatened Kathy and the girls to
force Barry's cooperation in Umbrella's coverup,
using him to get to the underground laboratories.
Barry's guilt had blossomed into fury in the days
since, an anger that transcended any he'd ever known.
"Bastards," Barry snarled. "Goddamn Umbrella bastards."
The others stood up with him, Chris's bare chest
pale in the faint light, all of them seeming relieved
that he wasn't badly hurt, except for David, who
looked as unhappy as Barry had ever seen him. His
shoulders sagged from some unknown burden and
when he spoke, he wouldn't meet Barry's gaze.
"The man who shot you," David said. He held up a nine-millimeter with a suppressor attached, blood
spattered across the barrel. "I killed him. I ... Barry, it's Jay Shannon."
Barry stared at him. He heard the words, but was
unable to accept them. It wasn't possible.
"No. You didn't get a good look, it's too dark ..."
David turned and walked through the trees, leading
them to the body of the shooter. Barry stumbled after
him, his head suddenly aching from more than just
smacking it on a tree trunk.
It can't be Shannon, there's no way, David's rattled
from the attack, that's all, he made a mistake...
... except David didn't rattle under fire, he never
had, and he didn't make mistakes that easily. Barry
grit his teeth against the pain and followed, for once
hoping that his friend was wrong.
The man had collapsed on his back or David had
rolled him over. Either way, he stared up at them with
lifeless eyes, a random pine needle stuck to one of the
glazed orbs. The semi-jacketed round from David's
Beretta had punched a hole directly over his heart; it
had been a lucky shot. Looking down at the shooter's
ashen face, Barry felt his own heart turn to stone.
Jesus, Shannon, why? Why this?
"Who is he?" Jill asked softly.
Barry stared down at the dead man, Unable to
answer. David's reply seemed hollow, toneless.
"Captain Jay Shannon of the Oklahoma City
S.T.A.R.S. Barry and I trained with him."
Barry found his voice, still looking at Jay's still face. "I called him last week, when I called David. He was worried about us, said he'd keep an eye out for
Umbrella..."
... and we shot the shit for another couple of
minutes, catching up, telling old stories. I told him I'd
send pictures of the kids, and he said that he had to get
off the phone, that he wanted to talk but he had a
meeting ...
Umbrella must have already got to him, and the
realization was cold and brutal and suddenly, horri-
bly complete. Umbrella may have been behind the
attack, but the S.T.A.R.S. had carried it out. Barry's
home had been blown to hell by people they knew,
and he'd been shot by a man he'd thought was a
friend.
The solemn quiet was broken by the barking of
dogs, faint through the shadowy trees. From the
number and location, it sounded like the RPD K-9
unit had just reached his house. Barry looked away
from the corpse, his thoughts returning to the imme-
diate situation. They had to move.
"Where can we go?" David asked quickly. "Is there somewhere Umbrella wouldn't think to look, a cabin,
an empty building ... someplace we can get to on
foot?"
Brad!
"Chickenheart's lease isn't up for a couple of
months," Barry said. "His place is empty. And it's less than a mile from here."
David nodded briskly. "Let's go."
Barry turned toward the park's playground, leading
the others across the moonlit clearing. There was a
small trail that let out two blocks away, hopefully far
enough away from the action that the cops wouldn't
follow. Barry had walked through the park a million
times, his wife at his side, his children dancing at their
feet.
... my home. This is my home, and it won't ever be
the same again.
As they ran through the warm, peaceful night,
Barry felt the hole in his arm start to bleed again. He
clapped his right hand over the sticky dressing with-
out slowing, letting the pain fuel his determination as
they tore through the scrubby trees and headed for
Brad's house.
No more. No more of this. My girls aren't going to
grow up in a world where this can happen, not if I have
any say in it.
So much had already happened, and this was only
the beginning of their fight. There were still people
working with the S.T.A.R.S. he trusted, that they could count on, and he wasn't going to be caught off
his guard twice. The next time Umbrella came knock-
ing, maybe they wouldn't have to run. And if Rebecca
and David could pull off the Maine operation, they'd
have what they needed to take the company down,
once and for all.
Umbrella had messed with the wrong people. Barry
planned on being there when they figured that out.
Jill picked the lock expertly, using a bent safety pin
and one of Rebecca's earrings to open the door to the
small cottage. Rebecca had swept Barry off to the
medicine cabinet, while Chris went searching for a
shirt. David and Jill checked the small house thor-
oughly, David's satisfaction growing with each pass-
ing moment.
He couldn't have imagined a better hideout, and it
was comforting to know that Barry and the two
Alphas would have a safe spot to work from. The two-
bedroom home shared a backyard with a security-
conscious family; bright lights snapped on when Da-
vid opened the back door, flooding the small lawn
brilliantly and from the sight of the neighbor's side,
they definitely had a rather large dog somewhere on
the premises. There were houses close on either side
of the rental, and the front window looked out on an
open schoolyard just across the street. There would be
no cover for an approaching team.
The house was furnished simply, if untidily; it was
obvious that the occupant had fled in a panic. Person-
al items and books were strewn randomly across the
rooms, as if Vickers had been unable to decide what
to take in his hurry to flee Raccoon City.
With what happened tonight, I can't say I blame
him for running ...
Mr. Vickers had obviously been in the wrong line of
work, but that didn't necessarily make him a coward.
Risking one's life on a day-to-day basis wasn't for
Everyone and considering the recent developments,
it was wisest for someone like Vickers to remove
himself from the situation. They could have used the
help, but from what little Barry had told him, the
Alpha pilot wasn't someone they wanted to work
with. Even if he didn't get himself killed, he'd lost the
trust of his teammates, and nothing could be worse
when it came to crisis situations.
David sat in the dark, cramped living room on a
rather hideous green couch, collecting his exhausted
thoughts as Jill dug through the kitchen. He'd found a
blank pad of paper and a pen, and had already
scribbled down the names and home numbers of his
team and various contacts, as well as Brad's phone number to take with him. He gazed blankly around
the shadowed room, fighting off the adrenaline slump
that so often followed battle. He didn't want to forget
anything important, any detail that needed to be
discussed before he and Rebecca left. If they wanted
to make their plane, Barry, Jill, and Chris would have
to deal with the aftermath of the attack on their own.
The S.T.A.R.S., Trent's poem, objectives and contacts.
It was hard to focus after such a draining experi-
ence, and it didn't help matters that he'd been tired to
begin with. He hadn't slept well in days, and thinking
of all that lay ahead of them only made concentration
harder. Rebecca's information about Dr. Griffith was
disconcerting, to say the least, and though he was no
less determined to carry out the Caliban Cove opera-
tion, it was just one more concern to add to a
seemingly endless list.
Chris walked into the room wearing a faded blue
sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and fell into a chair
across from David, his face hidden in shadow. After a
moment, he leaned forward, enough light filtering
through the closed blinds so that David could see his
expression. The younger man's gaze was tired,
thoughtful and apologetic.
"Look, David . . . the last couple of weeks have
been rough on all of us, you know? Waiting to see
what Umbrella was gonna do, the suspension, feeling
like our friends died for nothing ..." Chris stopped himself, then started again. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot earlier, and I'm
glad you're on our side. I shouldn't have been such an
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