In the dim and silent S.T.A.R.S. locker room, Jill's arms had been full of two bulging duffel bags. She set them down and quickly pulled back her hair, tucking it into her well-worn black beret. Though the climate was hot, this was her lucky hat, wouldn't want to leave it behind. She glanced at her watch before hefting the bags, glad to note that she only needed three minutes to load them up.
She had gone through all of the Alpha's lockers, grabbing utility belts, fingerless gloves, kevlar vests, and shoulder packs, seeing that each cabinet reflected its user's natures: Barry's filled with snapshots of his family and a pin-up from a gun magazine; a rare .45 Luger, shining against red velvet. Chris had pictures of his Air Force buddies, boyish mess-crumpled T-shirts, some wobbly papers, and a glow-in-the-dark broken string yo-yo.
Brad Vickers had a stack of self-help books, and Joseph, a Three Stooges calendar.
Only Wesker's didn't have a single personal effect, and it doesn't surprise her, the captain struck her as too tightly wound to place much value on sentiment.
Her own locker had some used paperback novels, a toothbrush, floss, breath mints, and three hats. On the door was a small mirror and an old, frayed photo of her and Dick, taken when she was a child, and they had gone to the beach one summer.
As Jill prepared the Alpha's gears, she decided that she would redecorate it later; anyone looking through her locker would think she was a dental freak. She crouched a bit and fumbled at the latch to the door, balancing the awkward bags on one raised knee.
She had just grasped it when someone coughed loudly behind her.
Jill startled then dropped the bags before quickly spun, looking at the cougher as her mind reflexively assessed the situation. The door was locked, and the small room held three banks of lockers, the place also quiet and dark when she came in. There was another door in the back of the room, but no one came through it since she had entered.
That meant the cougher was already here before she entered the room, in the shadows behind the last bank.
Who is it? A cop grabbing a nap?
Unlikely, the department's lunch room had a couple of bunks in the back, a lot more comfortable than a narrow bench over cold concrete.
Then, maybe just someone who is enjoying a little "leisure" time with a magazine... Wait, does it matter tho? Jill, you are in a hurry!
She picked the bags and prepared to leave when a low-musical voice resounded from the shadow.
"Miss. Valentine?"
Jill stopped once again and turned her face, finding a tall man, about in his early forties and possess a thin figure walked out from the back of the room.
His hair was dark while also having a pair of deep-set eyes; he wore a trench coat, an expensive one.
Jill readied herself to move quickly if the man means harm; besides, she didn't recognize him.
"That's right," she said warily.
The man stepped toward her; a smile flickered across his face, "I have something for you."
Jill squinted her eyes and shifted automatically into a defensive position, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet.
"Hold it, asshole! I don't know who the hell you think you are or what you think I want, but you're in the police station-"
"You mistake my intentions, Miss Valentine. Excuse my manners, My name is Trent, and a friend of the S.T.A.R.S."
Jill observed his posture and position, didn't feel any threat comes from him; she relaxed her stance slightly.
"What do you want?"
Trent grinned, lowly says, "Of course, straight to the point. Then again, you are in a hurry."
He slowly reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out something like a cell phone.
"Maybe this not important, but I think you should have it."
Jill glanced at the item, says with a frown," What is it?"
"A device that will show you a rather few interesting documents," Trent said as he offered the item.
Jill reached in wary, realizing that it was a mini-disk reader, a very complicated and costly microcomputer.
This Trent seemed well-financed.
Jill tucked the reader into the pack on her hip, looks at him with curiosity, "Who do you work for?"
Trent shook his head, "That's not important, not at this juncture. Though I can say that there are a lot of pretty important people watching Raccoon City right now."
"Oh? And they are supposedly the 'friends' of S.T.A.R.S. too?"
Trent laughed with a soft and deep chuckle, "So many questions, yet so little time. Read the files. And if I were you, I won't mention our meeting with anyone, the consequence rather serious."
He walked toward the door in the back of the room, turning his back to her as he reached for the knob. Trent looked at her; the weathered traits on his face suddenly lost all humor; his gaze was serious and intense.
"One more thing, Miss Valentine, and this is serious, make no mistake; not everyone can be trusted, and not everyone is who they appear to be- even the people close to you. If you want to stay alive, best remember my advice."
Trent opened the door and disappeared behind it.
Jill stared after him; her mind went a million directions at once. She felt like she was in some melodramatic old spy movie and had just met the mysterious stranger.
It was laughable, and yet he just handed you several thousand dollars worth of equipment with a straight face and told you to watch your back.
Was he joking? She didn't know what to think, and she didn't have time to think, the Alpha team probably had assembled, waiting and wondering where the hell she was.
She shouldered the heavy bags and hurried out the door.
(***)
They had gotten the weapons loaded and secured, and Wesker was getting impatient. Although his eyes were hidden by the dark aviator sunglasses, Chris could see it in the captain's stance and in the way he kept his head cocked toward the building.
The helicopter was prepped and ready, the blades whipping warm, humid air through the tight compartment. With the door open, the sound of the engine drowned out any attempt at conversation. There was nothing to do but wait.
'Come on, Jill, don't slow us up here,' Chris thought.
But from the building, Jill suddenly emerged while jogging toward them; she carried the Alpha gear with both arms and an apologetic look on her face.
Wesker jumped down to help her, taking one of the stuffed bags as she climbed aboard.
Wesker followed, closing the double hatches behind them. Instantly, the roar of the turbine engine was mute to a dull thrum.
"Problem, Jill?" Wesker didn't sound angry, but there was an edge to his voice that suggested he wasn't all that happy, either.
Jill shook her head, "One of the lockers was stuck. I had a hell of a time getting the key to work."
The captain stared at her for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to give her a hard time, then he shrugged.
"I'll call maintenance when we the back, now distribute the gear."
He picked up a headset and put it on, moving up to sit next to Brad as Jill started passing out the vests.
The helicopter lifted slowly, leaving behind the RPD building as Brad steered it toward the northwest.
Chris crouched next to Jill after donning his vest, helping her sort through the gloves and belts as they sped over the city toward the Arklay Mountains.
The busy urban streets below quickly gave way to the suburbs, wide streets and quiet houses set amidst squares of browning grass and picket fences.
An evening haze had settled over the sprawling but isolated community, fuzzing the edges of the picturesque view and giving it an unreal, dream-like quality. Minute passed in silence as the Alphas prepared themselves and belted in, each team member preoccupied with his or her own thoughts.
With any luck, the Bravo team's helicopter had suffered only a minor mechanical failure. Forest would've set it down in one of the scraggly open fields that dotted the forest and was probably up to his elbows in grease by now, cursing at the engine while waiting for Alpha to show. Without the bird in working order, Marini wouldn't start the proposed search.
The alternative... no, there shouldn't be, Chris doesn't want to consider any alternative. He had once seen the aftermath of a serious 'copter crash, back in the Air Force.
A pilot error had led to the fall of a Huey carrying eleven man and women to a training mission. By the time the rescuers had arrived, there had been nothing but charred, smoking bones amidst the fiery debris.
The sweet, sticky smell of gasoline roasted flesh was heavy in the blackened air. Even the ground had been burning, and that the image that had haunted his dreams for months afterward; the earth on fire, the chemical flames devouring the very soil beneath his feet.
There was a slight dip in their altitude as Brad adjusted the rotor pitch, jolting him out of the unpleasant memory.
The ragged outskirts of Raccoon Forest slipped by below, the orange markers of the police blockade, standing out against the thick softened green of the trees.
Twilight was finally settling in, the forest growing heavy with shadow.
"ETA... three minutes," Brad called back, and Chris looked around the cabin, noting the silent, grim expressions of his teammates.
Joseph had tied a bandana over his head and was intently relacing his boots. Barry was gently rubbing a soft cloth over his beloved Colt Python, staring out the hatch window.
Chris turned his head to look at Jill and surprised to find that she actually stared at him. She was sitting on the same bench as him.
Catching his eyes fell on her, Jill smiled briefly, almost nervously.
She somehow unhooked her belt and moved to sit next to him; a faint scent of clean and soapy smell entered his nose.
"Chris... what you have been saying, about the external factors in these cases."
Her voice was pitched so low that he had to lean in to hear it over the throbbing of the engine. She glanced around to make sure that no one else listened, then looked at his eyes.
"I think you might be on the right track," she said softly, "and I'm starting to think that it might not be such a good idea to talk about."
Chris's throat felt dry, says, "Did something happen?"
She shook her head, her finely chiseled feature giving away nothing, "No, I've been thinking that maybe you should watch what you say. Maybe not everyone listening to it is on your side."
Chris frowned, not sure what she was trying to tell him.
"The only people I told is the people on-" Chris suddenly stopped, realizing what she was implying through her unwavering gaze.
And here he thought he is the paranoid one!
"Jill, I know them, even if I didn't, the S.T.A.R.S. have psych profiles one every member, history checks, personal reference- there is just no way."
She sighed, "Look, forget I said anything, ok? I just... just want to tell you to watch yourself, that's all."
"Look lively, kids! We're coming up on the sector twenty-two, they could be anywhere."
At Wesker's interruption, Jill gave him a final sharp glance then moved to one of the windows. Chris followed, Joseph and Barry were taking the search up on the other side of the cabin.
Looking out the small window, he scanned the deepening dusk on automatic, thinking about what Jill had said. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn't the only one who suspected some kind of a cover-up, but why hadn't she said anything before?
And she warned him against the S.T.A.R.S.
She knew something, she must!
It was the only explanation that made any sense. He decided that after they picked up Bravo, he would talk to her again, try to convince her that going to Wesker would be their best bet. With both of them pushing, the captain would have to listen.
Chris stared at the seemingly endless sea of trees as the helicopter skimmed lower, forcing his full attention on the search.
The Spencer Mansion had to be close, though he couldn't see it in the fading light. Thoughts of Billy and Umbrella and now Jill's strange warning circled through his exhaustion, trying to break his focus, but he refused to give in, still worried about Bravos.
As trees and more trees swept by, Chris was becoming more convinced that they weren't in any real trouble. It was probably nothing worse than a crossed wire, Forest had just shut it down to make repairs.
But, then he saw it, less than a mile away, even as Jill pointed and spoke, his concern turned from cold to dread.
"Look, Chris!"
An oily plume of the black smoke boiled through the last remnants of daylight, staining the sky like a promise of death.
No, no.
Barry clenched his jaw, staring at the stream of smoke that rose up from the trees, feeling sick.
"Captain, two o'clock sharp!" Chris said, and then they were turning, heading for the dark smudge that could mean a crash.
Wesker moved back into the cabin, still wearing his shades. He stepped to the window and spoke quietly, his voice subdued.
"Let's not assume the worst. There's a possibility that a fire broke out after they landed, or they have started the fire on purpose, as a signal."
Barry wished they could believe him, but even Wesker had known better.
With the 'copter shut down, a fire starting on its own was unlikely, and if the Bravos wanted to signal, they would use the flares.
Besides, the wood didn't make that kind of smoke.
"But whatever it is, we only know till we get there. Now if I could have your full attention, please."
Barry turned away from the window, saw the others do the same. Chris, Jill, and Joseph wore the same look, as he imagined he did.
S.T.A.R.S. sometimes got hurt in the line of duty, it was part of the job, but accidents like this.
Wesker's only visible sign of distress was the set of his mouth, a thin, grim line against his tanned skin.
"Listen up. We've got people down in a possibly hostile environment. I want all of you armed, and I want as an organized approach, a standard fan as soon as we set down. Barry, you'll take the point."
Barry nodded, pulling himself together.
Wesker was right, now was not the time to get emotional.
"Brad's going to set us down as close to the site as he can get, what looks like a small clearing about fifty meters south of their last coordinates. He'll stay with the 'copter and keep it warm in case of trouble. Any questions?"
Nobody spoke, and Wesker nodded briskly.
"Good. Barry, load us up. We can leave the rest of the gear on-board and come back for it."
The captain stepped to the front to talk to Brad, while Jill, Chris, and Joseph turned to Barry.
As a weapons specialist, he checked the firearms in and out to each S.T.A.R.S. team member and kept them in prime condition.
Barry turned to the cabinet next to the outer hatch and unhooked the latch, exposing six Beretta 9mm handguns on a metal rack, cleaned and sighted only yesterday.
Each weapon held fifteen rounds, semi-jacketed hollow points. I was a good gun, though Barry preferred his Python, a lot bigger punch with .357 rounds.
Barry distributed the weapons, passing along three loaded clips together.
"I hope, we actually don't need it," Joseph said, slapping in the clip.
Barry nodded, just because he paid his dues to the NRA didn't mean he was some trigger-happy dumbass, looking to kill; he just liked guns.
Wesker joined them again and the five of them stood at the hatch, waiting for Brad to bring them in.
They gradually approached the plume of smoke, the helicopter's whirling blades pushed it down and out, creating a black fog that blended into the heavy shadows of the trees.
Any chance of spotting the downed vehicle from the air was lost to the smoke and dusk.
Brad swung them around and settled the bird into a scrappy patch of tall grass, snapping wildly from the forced wind. Even as the rails wobbled to the ground, Barry had his hand on the hatch, ready to move out.
A warm hand fell on his shoulder, Barry turned and saw Chris looking at him intently.
"We're right behind you," Chris said, and Barry nodded. He wasn't worried, not with the Alphas backing him up. All he was concerned with was the Bravo team's situation.
Rico Marinin was a good friend of his. Marini's wife had babysit the girls more times than Barry could count and was friend with Kathy.
The thought of him dead, to a stupid mechanical screw-up.
'Hang on, buddy, we're coming.'
One hand on the butt of his Colt, Barry pulled the handle and stepped out into the humid, whipping twilight of Raccoon Forest, ready for anything.