asshole about it."
David was surprised and impressed by the sincerity
behind the words; when he was in his twenties, he
would've rather had his fingernails pulled out than
display any emotion, except anger of course. He'd
had no trouble expressing anger.
Yet another legacy from dear old Dad. . .
"I don't think you have anything to be sorry for,"
David said softly. "Your concerns are more than justified. I—I've been under a bit of strain myself,
and I didn't mean to come across as domineering.
The S.T.A.R.S. are, that is, they mean a lot to me,
and I want us ... I want for them to be whole
again ..."
Jill walked in from the kitchen, saving David from
continuing with his fumbling speech. Much to his
relief, Chris seemed to understand; he met David's
gaze evenly, nodding, as if to say that the air had been
cleared between them. David sighed inwardly, won-
dering if he'd ever be able to overcome his awkward- ness with expressing emotions.
He'd done a lot of thinking since Barry had first
called, about himself and his almost obsessive anger
over the S.T.A.R.S. betrayal and had come to the
unsettling realization that he wasn't happy with the
way his life was turning out. He'd thrown himself into
his career in an effort to avoid dealing with a dysfunc-
tional childhood, something he'd always known, but
now, facing Umbrella and the treachery of an organi-
zation that he considered his family, he'd been forced
to really think about the implications of his choice. It
had made him an excellent soldier, but he didn't have
any close friends or attachments ... and having his
"family" taken away had come as a cruel wake up to
the fact that he had based his life on running from
human contact.
Brilliant for me to have figured it out this late in the
game. I suppose I should thank Umbrella for that
much; if they don't kill me, they'll at least have
managed to send me into therapy.
Jill had brought out a pitcher of water and several
mismatched glasses which she passed around as Barry
and Rebecca joined them. Barry wore a clean bandage
on his arm and seemed pale in the dim light, certainly
shaken by their discovery of Captain Shannon. David
felt bad about killing Shannon, though he'd recon-
ciled himself long ago to the realities of combat; in a
war, people died. The captain had made his choice,
and it had been the wrong one.
They drank in silence, the four Raccoon S.T.A.R.S.
(ex-S.T.A.R.S., he reminded himself) pensive and
somber, perhaps aware of the ticking clock. He and
Rebecca would have to leave in a few moments. There
was a convenience store a block away where they
could telephone for a cab. David wished he could
think of something encouraging to say, but the truth
was the truth: they were going on a dangerous mis-
sion, and there were no guarantees that any of them
would survive to meet again.
"Have you thought about what you'll tell the local
police?" David asked finally.
Barry shrugged. "We won't have to lie much, any- way. The three of us were at my place, a buncha guys
broke in and tried to shoot us. We ran."
"Irons will probably try to play it off as a botched
burglary," Chris sneered. "If he's in this as deep as I think he is, he won't want to call attention to anything
Umbrella's doing."
"Just be careful not to mention actually seeing any
bodies," David said. "They may have had time to clean up. And you should say that you were chased into the park. It would explain your leaving the scene,
as well as Captain Shannon's body ..."
Barry smiled tiredly. "We'll handle it. And I'm going to make some calls first thing tomorrow, get us
some backup. You just worry about your end, okay?"
David nodded and stood up, as did Chris. David
shook hands all around and then turned to Rebecca,
uncomfortably aware that he was taking her from her
teammates and trusted friends. The girl looked at the
others in turn with a thoughtful expression and
then grinned suddenly, an unaffected and purely
wicked smile.
"Sure you guys can hold down the fort for a couple
of days? I hate to think of you flailing around all
directionless while me and David go clean up this
Umbrella thing."
"We'll try to limp along without you," Chris shot back, smiling. "Won't be easy, what with you having the brain and all..."
Rebecca punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'll send you a postcard with instructions."
She nodded at Barry. "Take care of your arm. Keep it clean and dry, and if you spike a fever or get dizzy,
get to a doctor ASAP."
Barry smiled. "Yes, ma'am."
Jill embraced her lightly. "Give 'em hell, Becca." Rebecca nodded. "You, too. Good luck with Irons." She turned to David, still smiling. "Shall we?"
They walked to the front door together, David
wondering at the girl's easy demeanor. They'd just
barely survived a serious attack, carried out by people
who'd probably trained her, and she was leaving with
a man she hardly knew to embark on a life-
threatening mission. She was either putting on an act
or was amazingly optimistic and if she was faking
the casual bravado, she deserved an award.
He watched her carefully as they stepped out into
the small, unkempt yard of Brad Vickers's house, and
saw her smile fade, quickly replaced by a look of
vague sadness and beyond that, the same kind of
focused intensity that she'd had when she'd told them
about Dr. Griffith and his research. Whatever she was
thinking, he could see in that look that she was
perfectly aware of the risks, but that she refused to be
cowed by them.
The perfect definition of bravery... David was
satisfied with his decision to enlist Rebecca Chambers
for the operation. She was smart, professional, and
committed, as superior in her field of study as the rest
of his team members were in theirs.
He could only hope that their combined skills would be enough to get them in and out of Caliban
Cove in one piece, bringing with them proof of
Umbrella's experiments, an objective that would
lead to the ruin of the company that had corrupted
the S.T.A.R.S., and perhaps let him sleep peacefully
again.
David nodded, and the two of them set off to make
the call.
After rereading the information on Caliban Cove,
Rebecca folded the papers and carefully tucked them
into the overnight bag under David's seat. He'd
bought three bags at the airport, one for the weapons,
currently in cargo, the others to carry on so they
wouldn't attract attention. Rebecca wished they'd
thought to buy some snacks while they were at it. She
hadn't eaten since lunch, and the packet of nuts she'd
swallowed after takeoff wasn't cutting it.
She reached up to switch off the reading light and
then settled back in her seat, trying to let the smooth
hum of the 747 engines lull her into a doze. Most of
the other passengers on the half-full plane were
asleep; the dim "night" lights and the steady drone of
the engines had already worked for David. But even
as drained as she felt by the evening's events, she gave
up the effort after a minute or two. There was too
much to think about, and she knew that she wouldn't
be able to sleep without at least sorting through some
of it.
I feel like I'm dreaming already anyway; this is just
another weird tangent, a subplot that came out of left
field ...
In the past three months, she'd graduated college,
gone through S.T.A.R.S. Bravo training, and moved
to her first apartment in a new city—only to end up
one of the five survivors of a man-made disaster
involving biological weapons and a corporate con-
spiracy. In the past three hours, her life had taken yet
another totally unexpected turn. She thought about
what she'd wished for earlier, a chance to get out of
Raccoon City and study the T-Virus; the irony of the
situation wasn't lost on her, but she wasn't so sure she
liked the circumstances.
She rolled her head to the side and looked at David,
crashed out in the window seat, dark circles of ex-
haustion beneath his closed lids. After briefly filling
her in on a few details about the cove and outlining
their schedule for the next day, he'd told her to try
and take a nap ("have a lie down" had been his exact words) and then promptly taken his own advice—not
falling asleep so much as lapsing into an instant coma. He even sleeps efficiently, no tossing or turning...
Like he willed himself to get as much rest as possible in
the time allowed.
He struck her as an extremely competent and
intelligent man, if something of a loner, for as cool as
he was under pressure, he seemed to freeze with small
talk, leading her to wonder what kind of life he'd had.
She was impressed with how quickly he'd come up
with a plan to get them out of Barry's house, and was
glad that he was leading the operation to Caliban
Cove—though it was hard to think of him as a
captain. He didn't really project authority, and didn't
seem to want to, practically insisting that she call him
David. Even when he'd stepped into a leadership role
during the attack, it hadn't felt like he was giving
them orders so much as offering instruction.
Maybe it's just the accent. Everything he says sounds
polite...
He frowned in his sleep, his eyes flickering through
uneasy dreams. After a few seconds, he let out a soft,
child-like moan of distress. Rebecca briefly consid-
ered waking him up, but already he seemed to have
got past whatever troubled him, his brow smoothing.
Suddenly feeling like she was invading his privacy,
Rebecca looked away.
Dreaming about the attack, maybe. About having to
kill someone he knew...
She wondered if she'd be haunted by the image of
the man she'd shot, the shadowy figure that had
crumpled to the ground next to Barry's house. She
was still waiting for the guilt to hit her and thinking
about it, she was surprised to find that her mind
wasn't racing to rationalize the matter. She'd shot
somebody, he could very well be dead and all she
felt was relief that she'd stopped him from killing her
or anyone else on the team.
Rebecca closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the
cool, pressurized air hissing through the cabin. She
could smell the musky odor of dried sweat on her
skin, and decided that taking a shower was first
priority when they hit the hotel. David didn't want to
risk going back to his house on the off chance that
someone on the strike force had recognized him, so
they were going to grab a couple of rooms near the
airport somewhere after they changed planes. The
operation briefing was set for noon at the home of one
of the other three team members, an Alpha forensics
expert named Karen Driver. David had mentioned
that Karen could probably lend her some clean
clothes, though he'd actually blushed while saying it.
He was a quirky one, all right. . .
. . . and after the briefing, we get our equipment and
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