The Umbrella Conspiracy

Chapter Thirteen

 

  My dearest Alma, I sit here trying to think of where to begin, of how to explain in a few simple words all that's happened in my life since we last spoke, and already I fail. I hope this letter finds you well and whole, and that you will forgive the tangents of my pen; this isn't easy for me. Even as I write, I can feel the simplest of concepts slipping away, lost to feelings of despair and confusion, but I have to tell you what's in my heart before I can rest. Be patient, and accept that what I tell you is the truth.

  The entire story would take hours for me to tell you, and time is short, so accept these things as fact: last month there was an accident in the lab and the virus we were studying escaped. All my colleagues who were infected are dead or dying, and the nature of the disease is such that those still living have lost their senses. This virus robs its victims of their humanity, forcing them in their sickness to seek out and destroy life. Even as I write these words, I can hear them, pressing against my locked door like mindless, hungry animals, crying out like lost souls.

  There aren't words true enough, deep enough to describe the sorrow and shame that I feel knowing that I had a hand in their creation. I believe that they feel nothing now, no fear or pain, but that they can't experience the horror of what they've become doesn't free me of my terrible burden.

  I am, in part, responsible for this nightmare that surrounds me.

  In spite of the guilt that is burned into my very being, that will haunt my every breath, I might have tried to survive, if only to see you again. But my best efforts only delayed the inevitable; I am infected, and there is no cure for what will follow - except to end my life before I lose the only thing that separates me from them. My love for you.

  Please understand. Please know that I'm sorry.

  Martin Crackhorn Jill sighed, laying the crumpled paper gently on the desk. The creatures were victims of their own research. It seemed she'd had the right idea about what had happened in the mansion, though reading the heartfelt letter put a serious damper on any pride she might have taken from her deduction skills. After placing the sun crest, she'd decided that the upstairs office merited a closer look and with a little digging, she'd found the final scrawled testament of Crackhorn, tucked in a drawer.

  Crackhorn, Martin Crackhorn - that was one of the names on Trent's list. . .

  Jill frowned, walking slowly back to the office door.

  For some reason, Trent wanted the S. T. A. R. S. to figure out what had happened at the mansion before anyone else did, but with as much as he obviously knew about it, why not just tell them outright? And what did he stand to gain by telling them anything at all?

  She stepped through the office's small foyer and back out into the hall, still frowning. Barry had been acting strange before, and she needed to find out why.

  Maybe she could get a straight answer if she just asked him outright. . . . . . or maybe not. Either way, it'll tell me something.

  Jill stopped by the back stairs, taking a deep breath and realized that something was different.

  She looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out what it was her senses were telling her.

  It's warmer. Just a little, but it's definitely warmer.

  And the air isn't quite as stale. . .

  Like someone had opened a window. Or maybe a door.

  Jill turned and jogged down the stairs, suddenly anxious to check the puzzle lock. Reaching the bottom of the steps, she saw that the door connecting one hall to the next was standing open. She could hear crickets singing faintly, feel the fresh night air wafting toward her through the frigid mustiness of the house.

  She hurried to the darker corridor and hooked a right, trying not to get her hopes up. Another sharp right and she could see the door that led to the covered walkway standing open.

  Maybe that's all it is, it doesn't mean the puzzle's solved.

  Jill broke into a run, feeling the clean warmth of summer air against her skin as she rounded the corner in the stone path and let out a short, triumphant laugh as she saw the four placed crests next to the open door. A warm breeze was flowing through the room that the puzzle had unlocked, a small storage shed for gardening tools. The metal door on the wall opposite was standing open, and Jill could see moonlight playing across a brick wall just past the rusted hinges.

  Barry had been right, the door led outside. They'd be able to get help now, find a safe route through the woods or at least signal.

  But if Barry found the missing pieces, why didn't he come looking for me?

  Jill's grin faded as she stepped into the shed, absently taking in the dusty boxes and barrels that lined the gray stone walls. Barry had known where she was, had suggested himself that she take the second floor of the west wing. . .

  So maybe it wasn 't Barry who opened the door.

  True, it could've been Chris or Wesker or one of the Bravos. If that was the case, she should probably go back in and look for Barry.

  Or investigate a little first, make sure it's worth the effort.

  It was a bit of a rationalization, but she had to admit to herself that the thought of returning to the mansion with a possible escape in front of her wasn't all that enticing. She unholstered her Beretta and walked toward the outer door, her decision made.

  The first thing she noticed was the sound of rushing water over the soft forest noises that filled the cooling air, like a waterfall. The second and third were the bodies of the two dogs that lay across the irregular stone path, shot to death.

  Pretty safe bet that one of the S. T. A. R. S. came this way. . .

  Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the open space was a barred iron gate just past an island of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal gate a few feet high.

  Stairs going down maybe?

  Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that direction.

  There was a sudden sound of water splashing wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise.

  She reached the end of the stone path and leaned over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open courtyard, twenty feet below.

  The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked down and across the wide yard just in time to see a shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that cascaded down the west wall.

  What the hell?

  She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing thingswhich meant that the rushing water concealed a secret passage.

  Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I didn't get enough of that inside.

  The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but nothing happened. She'd have to get down another way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got farther away.

  Unless. . .

  Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset square only three feet across and open on the side facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in a minute or less, using her back and legs to support her weight.

  As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in preparation for th
e climb, a disturbing thought occurred to her - if the person who'd gone through the waterfall was one of the S. T. A. R. S. , how had they known that the passage was even there?

  Good question, and not one she wanted to linger over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate open and carefully started down the shaft.

  They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before heading through the winding halls of the west wing and finding the open back door.

  They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper and its four engraved crests.

  Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried.

  Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's what he meant to do.

  But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble, how did the piece I gave him end up here?

  He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it from him, he could've placed it himself and then been injured somehow. . . the possibilities seemed endless, and none of them good.

  Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and looked at Rebecca. Whatever happened to Barry, we should go ahead. This may be the only way off the estate.

  Rebecca smiled a little. Fine by me. It just feels good to get out of there, you know?

  Yeah, no kidding, he said, with feeling. He hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left it. The difference was truly amazing.

  They walked through the tidy storage room and stopped at the back door, both of them breathing deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chewing at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was anything she needed to know, anything that would help her if they were forced into a combat situation.

  S. T. A. R. S. training covered all the basics, but shooting at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from the real thing.

  He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying desperately not to show it. The captain for the mission had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled him aside just before they went in, looked him up and down, and given him the single best piece of advice he'd ever received.

  Son, she'd said, no matter what happens when the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants.

  It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the statement so totally weird that he'd literally been forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room for it.

  What are you grinning about?

  Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow, he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the dangers they faced didn't shoot back. Long story.

  Come on, let's go.

  They moved out into the calm night air, crickets and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left.

  Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a lonely, faraway sound.

  Speaking of dogs. . .

  There were a couple of them sprawled out across the stones, soft moonlight glistening against their wet, sinewy bodies. Chris edged up to one of them and crouched down, touching its flank. He quickly pulled his hand back, scowling; the mutant dog was sticky and warm, like it had been sheathed in a thick layer of mucous.

  He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants. Hasn't been dead long, he said quietly. Less than an hour, anyway.

  There was a rusted iron gate just past some hedges in front of them. Chris nodded at Rebecca and as they walked toward it, the sound of rushing water increased to a dull roar.

  Chris pushed at the gate and it swung open on violently squealing hinges, revealing a huge, cut stone reservoir, easily the size of a couple of swimming pools put together. Deep shadows draped and hung at every side, caused by the seemingly solid walls of murky green trees and lush vegetation that threatened to break through the bordering rails.

  They moved forward, stopping at the edge of the massive pool. It was apparently in the slow process of being drained, the turbulent noise caused by the narrow flow of water through a raised gate on the east side. There wasn't a complete path around the reservoir, but Chris saw that there was a walkway bisecting the pool itself, about five feet below water level. There were bolted ladders at both sides, and the path had obviously been submerged until quite recently, the stones dark with dripping algae.

  Chris studied the unusual setup for a moment, wondering how anyone got across when it wasn't being drained. Another mystery to add to the growing list.

  Without speaking, they climbed down and hurried across, boots squelching against the slimy stones, a clammy humidity enveloping them. Chris quickly scaled the second ladder, reaching down to help Rebecca up.

  The heavily shaded path was littered with branches and pine needles and appeared to border the east end of the reservoir, passing over the open floodgate. They started toward the forced waterfall and had only gotten a few feet when it started to rain.

  Plop. Plop, plop.

  Chris frowned, an inner voice informing him coolly that he shouldn't be able to hear raindrops over the roar of the draining water. He looked up and saw a twisted branch fall from the stretching foliage hanging over the rail, a branch that hit the stones and slid smoothly away - - that's not a branch - - and there were dozens of them already on the ground, twisting across the dark stones, hissing and writhing as they fell from the trees overhead.

  He and Rebecca were surrounded by snakes.

  Oh, shit!

  Startled, Rebecca turned to look at Chris and felt cold terror shoot through her, her heart squeezed in its icy grip as she took in the path behind him. The ground had come to life, black shapes coiling toward their feet and dropping from above like living rain.

  Rebecca started to raise her gun, realizing numbly that there were too many even as Chris roughly grabbed her arm.

  Run!

  They stumbled forward, Rebecca crying out involuntarily as a thick, writhing body fell across her shoulder, a touch of cool scales against her arm as it slid heavily off and hit the stones.

  The path zig-zagged and they ran through the shifting shadows, heels crunching down on rubbery, moving flesh, throwing them off balance. Snakes darted forward to strike at their passing boots as they ran over a steel grate, black, foaming water thundering below, the sound of their boots hitting metal lost to the liquid roar.

  Ahead of them, the stones were clearer, but the path also dropped off sharply, a small elevator platform marking its end. There was no place left to go.

  They crowded on to the tiny platform and Rebecca snatched at the controls, her breath coming in panicked gasps. Chris turned and fired repeatedly, the shots blasting over the crash of water as Rebecca found the operating button and slammed it down.

  The platform shuddered and started to descend, slipping down past rock walls toward a massive, empty courtyard below. Rebecca turned, raising the Beretta to help Chris and felt her jaw drop, her throat locking at the gruesome scene.

  There had to be hundreds of them, the path almost completely hidden by the slithering creatures, hissing and squirming in an alien frenzy as they struck wildly at each other. By the time she managed to unfreeze, the loathsome sight had risen past eye level and was gone.

  The ride seemed to last forever, both of them staring up at the edge of the path they'd left behind, tensely, breathlessly waiting for the bodies to start falling. When the lift was within a few feet of the bottom, they both jumped off, stumbling quickly away from the wall.


  They both leaned against the cool rock, gasping.

  Rebecca took in the courtyard they'd escaped to in between shuddering breaths, letting the sound of the splashing waterfall soothe her nerves. It was a huge, open space made out of brick and stone, the colors washed out and hazy in the frail light. The water from the reservoir above tumbled down into two stone pools nearby, and there was a single gate across from them.

  And no snakes.

  She took a final deep breath and blew it out, then turned to Chris.

  Were you bit?

  He shook his head. You?

  No, she said. Though if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not go back that way. I'm more of a catperson, really.

  Chris stared at her for a moment and then grinned, pushing away from the wall. Funny, I would've figured you for lab rats. I. . .

  Beep-beep.

  The radio!

  Rebecca grabbed at the unit hooked to her belt, the snakes suddenly forgotten. It was the sound she'd been hoping to hear ever since they'd found Richard.

  They were being hailed, maybe by searchers.

  She thumbed the receiver and held the radio up so they could both hear. Static crackled through the tinny speaker along with the soft whine of a wavering signal. . . . this is Brad!. . . Alpha team. . . read? If. . . can hear this. . .

  His voice disappeared in a burst of static. Rebecca hit the transmit button and spoke quickly.

  Brad? Brad, come in!

  The signal was gone. They both listened for a moment longer, but nothing else came through.

  He must have gotten out of range, Chris said. He sighed, walking farther out into the open yard and gazing up at the dark, overcast sky.

  Rebecca clipped the silent radio back to her belt, still feeling more hopeful than she had all night. The pilot was out there somewhere, circling around and looking for them. Now that they were clear of the mansion, they'd be able to hear him signal.

  Assuming he comes back.

  Rebecca ignored the thought and walked over to join Chris, who had found another tiny elevator platform, tucked in the corner across from the waterfall. A quick check showed it to be without power.

  Chris turned toward the gate, slapping a fresh clip into his Beretta. Shall we see what's behind door number one?

  It was a rhetorical question. Unless they wanted to go back through the snakes, it was their only option.

  Just the same, Rebecca smiled and nodded, wanting to make sure he knew she was ready and hoping desperately that if anything else happened, she would be.