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 himintently. "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. Barrygrit 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'sashen 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.