Rebecca headed back into the room, smiling. Chris told her to stay put, but she wouldn’t be gone more than a minute or two—and perhaps when he got back, she’d have something to show him, a real contribution toward solving the secrets of the man-sion.
And proof that she wasn’t so useless after all.
ELEVETI
BARRY AND JILL STOOD IN THE COVERED walkway by the puzzle lock, breathing the clean night air. Beyond the high walls, the crickets and cicadas hummed their ceaseless song, a soothing reminder that there was still a sane world outside. Jill’s brush with disaster had left her light-headed and somewhat nauseous, and Barry had gently led her to the back door, suggesting that the fresh air would do her good. He hadn’t found Chris or Wesker, though he seemed certain that they were still alive. He brought her up to speed quickly, retracing his mean-dering path through the house as Jill leaned against the wall, still taking deep breaths of the warm air. “... and when I heard the shots, I came running.” Barry rubbed absently at his short beard. He smiled at her, a somewhat hesitant grin. “Lucky for you. Another couple of seconds, you would’ve been a Jill sandwich.”
Jill smiled back gratefully, nodding, but noticed that he seemed a little . . . strained, the humor forced. Odd. She wouldn’t have figured Barry as the type to tense up in the face of danger.
Is it any wonder? We’re trapped here, we can’t find the team, and this entire mansion is out to get us. Not exactly a laugh-riot.
“I hope I can return the favor if you ever get in a tight spot,” she said softly. “Really. You saved my life.”
Barry looked away, flushing slightly. “Glad I could help,” he said gruffly. “Just be more careful. This place is dangerous.”
She nodded again, thinking of how close she’d come to dying. She shivered slightly, then forced the thoughts away; they needed to be concentrating on Chris and Wesker. “So you do think they’re still alive?”
“Yeah. Besides the shell casings, there was a whole trail of those ghouls in the other wing, all with clean head shots; gotta be Chris—though I had to splatter a couple more of ‘em upstairs, so I figure he holed up somewhere along the way. . . ”
Barry nodded toward the copper diagram set into the wall. “So, was this star crest here already?” Jill frowned, a little surprised at the abrupt change of topic; Chris was one of Barry’s closest friends. “No. I found it in another room with a trap. This place seems to be full of them. In fact, maybe we should look for Wesker and Chris together—no tell-ing what they might’ve stumbled into, or what else could happen to either of us.”
Barry shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, you’re right, we should watch our step—but there are a lot of rooms, and our first priority ought to be securing an escape. If we split up, we can try to find the rest of these crests, and look for Chris at the same time. And Wesker.”
Though his demeanor didn’t change, Jill had the sudden distinct impression that Barry was uncomfortable. He had turned away to study the copper diagram, but it almost seemed as if he was trying to avoid eye contact.
“Besides,” he said, “we know what we’re up against now. As long as we use a little common sense, we’ll be fine.”
“Barry, are you okay? You seem—tired.” It wasn’t the right word, but it was the only one that came to mind.
He sighed, finally looking at her. He did seem tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his wide shoulders were slumped.
“No, I’m alright. Just worried about Chris, you know?”
Jill nodded, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. Since he’d pulled her out of the trap he’d been acting unusually subdued, even nervous.
Paranoid much? This is Barry Burton you’re talking about, the backbone of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S.—not to mention, the man who just saved your life. What could he possibly be hiding?
Jill knew she was probably being overly suspi-cious—but all the same, she decided to keep her mouth shut about Trent’s computer. After all she’d been through, she wasn’t feeling particularly trusting. And it sounded like he already had a pretty good idea of the mansion’s layout, so it wasn’t like he needed the information. . . .
That’s it, keep rationalizing. Next thing, you’ll be suspecting Captain Wesker of planning this whole thing.
Jill scoffed inwardly as she pushed herself away from the wall and she and Barry walked slowly back toward the house. Now that was paranoid. They stopped as they reached the door, Jill taking a few final lungfuls of the sweet air, letting it settle her nerves. Barry had taken out his Colt Python and was reloading the empty chambers, his expression grim. “I thought I’d go back over to the east wing, see if I can pick up Chris’s trail,” he said. “Why don’t you head upstairs and start looking for the other crests? That way we can cover all of the rooms, work our way back to the main hall. . . ”
Jill nodded and Barry opened the door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. A wave of cold swept past them and Jill sighed, trying to prepare herself to face another maze of frigid, shadowy halls, another series of unopened doors and the secrets that lay behind them.
“You’re gonna do fine,” Barry said smoothly, plac-ing a warm hand on her shoulder and gently ushering her back inside. As soon as the door closed behind them he lifted his hand in a casual salute, smiling. “Good luck,” he said, and before she could re-spond, he turned and hurried away, weapon in hand. With another creak of ancient metal, he slipped through the double doors at the end of the hall and was gone.
Jill stared after him, alone once again in the chilled, stinking silence of the dim corridor. It wasn’t her imagination; Barry was keeping something from her. But was it something she needed to worry about, or was he just trying to protect her?
Maybe he found Chris or Wesker, dead, and didn’t want to tell me. . . .
It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it would explain his strange, hurried behavior. He obviously wanted them to get out of the house as soon as possible, and wanted her to stay on the west side. And the way he’d fixated on the puzzle mechanism, seeming more con-cerned with their exit than with Chris’s or Wesker’s whereabouts. . . .
She looked down at the two crumpled figures in the hall, at the tacky, drying pools of red that surrounded them. Maybe she was trying too hard to find a motive that didn’t exist. Maybe, like her,
Barry was scared, and sick of feeling like death could come at any time. Maybe I should stop thinking about it and do my job. Whether or not we find the others, he’s right about needing to get out. We have to get back to the city, let people know what’s out here. . . .
Jill straightened her shoulders and walked to the door that led to the stairwell, drawing her weapon.
She’d made it this far she could make it a little farther, try to unravel the mystery that had taken the lives of so many—
• or die trying, her mind whispered softly.
Forest Speyer was dead. The laughing, Southern good oF boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a bloody, lifeless impostor slumped against a wall. Chris stared down at the impostor, the distant sounds of the night lost to a sudden gust of wind that whipped around the eaves, moaning through the railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly sound, but Forest couldn’t hear it; Forest would never hear anything again.
Chris crouched down next to the still body, care-fully prying Forest’s Beretta from beneath cool fin-gers. He told himself he wouldn’t look, but as he reached for Forest’s belt pack, he found his gaze fixed on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo’s eyes had once been.