Rebecca sat back on her heels, looking up at him. “I think he was poisoned. It looks like a snake bite.” Chris stared at her. “What snake gets that big?” She shook her head, standing. “Got me. Maybe it was something else. But that wound shouldn’t have killed him, it would have taken hours for him to bleed out. I’m pretty sure he was poisoned.”
Chris regarded her with new respect; she had a good eye for details and was handling herself remarkably well, considering.
He searched Richard’s body quickly, coming up with another full clip and a short-wave radio. He handed both to Rebecca, tucking Richard’s empty Beretta into his waistband.
He looked at the door again, then back at Rebecca.
“Whatever killed him might be back there. ...” “Then we’ll have to be careful,” she said. Without another word, she walked to the door and stood there, waiting for him.
I’ve gotta stop thinking of her as a kid. She’s outlived most of the rest of her team already, she doesn’t need me to patronize her or tell her to wait behind. He stepped up to the door and nodded at her. She turned the knob and pushed it open, both of them raising their weapons as they edged into a narrow hallway.
Straight ahead were a few wood steps leading to a closed door. To their left, an offshoot of the hall, another door at the end. There was blood smeared on the walls bordering the steps, and Chris was suddenly certain that it was Richard’s; his killer was behind that door.
He motioned down the offshoot, speaking quietly. “You take that room. You run into any trouble, come back here and wait. Check back in five minutes either way.”
Rebecca nodded and moved down the narrow hall. Chris waited until she’d gone into the room before climbing the steps, his heart already thudding solidly against his ribs.
The door was locked, but Chris saw that there was a tiny shield etched next to keyhole. Rebecca was turning out to be more useful than he could have possibly imagined. He took out the key she’d given him and unlocked the wide door, checking his Beretta before moving inside.
It was a large attic, as plain and unassuming as the rest of the mansion was ornate. Wooden support beams extended from the floor to the sloping ceiling, and other than a few boxes and barrels against the walls, it was empty.
Chris walked farther in, his guard up as he scanned for movement. At the other side of the long room was a partial wall, maybe four feet by nine, standing several feet from the back of the attic. It reminded him of a horse stall, and it was the only area that wasn’t open to view. Chris moved toward it slowly, his boots against the wood floor sending hollow echoes through the cool air.
He edged to the wall, training his Beretta over the top as he peered down, heart pounding.
No snake, but there was a jagged hole near the floorboards between the two walls, a foot high and a couple across—and a strange, acrid odor, musky, like the smell of some wild animal. Frowning at the scent, Chris started to back away—
• and stopped, leaning in closer. There was a rounded piece of metal next to the hole, like a penny the size of a small fist. There was something engraved on it, a crescent shape. . . .
Chris walked around the side and into the stall, keeping a wary eye on the hole as he crouched down and picked up the metal piece. It was a six-sided disk of copper with a moon on it, a nice bit of craftsman-ship—
Inside the hole, a soft, sliding sound. Chris jumped back, targeting the opening as he moved. He backed up quickly until his shoulders brushed the attic wall, then started to edge away—
• and a dark cylinder shot out of the opening, lightning fast. It was as big around as a dinner plate and it hit the wall inches from his right leg, wood crunching from the impact—
• oh shit that’s a SNAKE—
Chris stumbled away as the giant reptile reared back, pulling more of its long, dusky body out of the wall. Hissing, it raised up, lifting its head as high as Chris’s chest and exposing dripping fangs. Chris ran
halfway across the room and spun, firing at the massive, diamond-shaped head. The snake let out a strange, hissing cry as a shot tore through one side of its gaping mouth, punching a hole through the tightly stretched skin.
It dropped back to the floor and whipped itself toward him with a single waving push of its muscular body, at least twenty feet long. Chris fired again and a chunk of scaly flesh erupted from the snake’s back, dark blood spewing from the wound.
With another roaring hiss, the animal reared up in front of him, its head only inches away from Chris’s gun, blood gushing from the hole in its mouth—
• Eyes. Get the eyes—
Chris pulled the trigger and the snake fell across him, knocking him to the floor, its body thrashing wildly. The tail slammed into one of the thick support beams hard enough to crack it as Chris struggled to free his pinned arms, to at least hurt it worse before he died—
• and the cold, heavy body suddenly went limp, sagging bonelessly to the floor.
“Chris!” Rebecca rushed into the room, and stopped cold, staring at the monstrous reptile.
“Woah_”
His boot found one of the wooden supports and with a tremendous shove, Chris managed to wiggle out from beneath the thick body. Rebecca reached down to help him up, her eyes wide with awe. They stared down at the wound that had killed the creature—the black, liquid hole where its right eye had been, obliterated by a nine-millimeter slug. “Are you okay?” She asked softly.
Chris nodded; a few bruised ribs maybe, but so what? He’d literally been inches from certain death, and all because he’d stopped to—
He held up the copper crest, having to pry his clenched fingers from around the thick metal. He’d held onto it throughout the attack without even realizing it—and looking at it now, he had a gut feeling that it was important somehow.......maybe because you were almost snake-food for picking it up?
Rebecca took it from him, tracing a finger over the engraved moon.
“You find anything?” he asked.
Rebecca shook her head. “Table, couple of shelves . . . what’s this for, anyway?” Chris shrugged, looking back down at the bloody hole where the snake’s shining eye had been. He shuddered involuntarily, thinking of what would have happened if he’d missed that final shot. . . . “Maybe we’ll figure it out somewhere along the way,” he said quietly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Rebecca handed the crest back to him and together they hurried out of the cold attic. As he closed the door behind them, Chris realized suddenly that al-though he’d never cared before, he now absolutely hated snakes.
Barry walked heavily up the stairs in the main hall, the knot of dread in the pit of his stomach tightening with each step. He’d been through every room he could open in the east wing and had come up empty-handed.
The same horrible images played through his mind over and over as he trudged up the steps. Kathy and Moira and Poly Anne, terrified and suffering at the hands of strangers in their own home. Kathy knew the combination to the gun safe in the basement, but the chances of her making it down the stairs before someone could get in—
Barry reached the first landing and took a deep, shaky breath. Kathy wouldn’t even think to run for the weapons if she heard someone breaking through one of the windows or doors. Her first priority would be to get to the girls, to make sure they were okay. If I don’t turn up those crests soon, nothing will be okay.
He hadn’t seen a phone or radio anywhere in the house. If Wesker couldn’t get to that laboratory, how would he be able to contact the people at White Umbrella and call off the killers?
Barry reached the door on the upper landing that led into the west wing. His only hope was that either Jill or Wesker had managed to find the three missing pieces. He didn’t know where Wesker was (although he had no doubts that the rat-bastard would turn up soon enough), but Jill would probably still be search-ing upstairs. They could split up the rooms she hadn’t checked and at least rule out the least likely areas. If they couldn’t uncover any more of the crests, he’d have to go back through the east wing and start ripping apart furniture. . . .