Стефани Перри - Caliban Cove

Brilliant for me to have figured it out this late in the game. I suppose I should thank Umbrella for that much; if they don’t kill me, they’ll at least have managed to send me into therapy.

Jill had brought out a pitcher of water and several mismatched glasses which she passed around as Barry and Rebecca joined them. Barry wore a clean bandage on his arm and seemed pale in the dim light, certainly shaken by their discovery of Captain Shannon. David felt bad about killing Shannon, though he’d recon-

ciled himself long ago to the realities of combat; in a war, people died. The captain had made his choice, and it had been the wrong one.

They drank in silence, the four Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. (ex-S.T.A.R.S., he reminded himself) pensive and somber, perhaps aware of the ticking clock. He and Rebecca would have to leave in a few moments. There was a convenience store a block away where they could telephone for a cab. David wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but the truth was the truth: they were going on a dangerous mis-sion, and there were no guarantees that any of them would survive to meet again.

“Have you thought about what you’ll tell the local police?” David asked finally.

Barry shrugged. “We won’t have to lie much, any-way. The three of us were at my place, a buncha guys broke in and tried to shoot us. We ran.” “Irons will probably try to play it off as a botched burglary,” Chris sneered. “If he’s in this as deep as I think he is, he won’t want to call attention to anything Umbrella’s doing.”

“Just be careful not to mention actually seeing any bodies,” David said. “They may have had time to clean up. And you should say that you were chased into the park. It would explain your leaving the scene, as well as Captain Shannon’s body—“ Barry smiled tiredly. “We’ll handle it. And I’m going to make some calls first thing tomorrow, get us some backup. You just worry about your end, okay?” David nodded and stood up, as did Chris. David shook hands all around and then turned to Rebecca, uncomfortably aware that he was taking her from her teammates and trusted friends. The girl looked at the others in turn with a thoughtful expression—and then grinned suddenly, an unaffected and purely wicked smile.

“Sure you guys can hold down the fort for a couple of days? I hate to think of you flailing around all directionless while me and David go clean up this Umbrella thing.”

“We’ll try to limp along without you,” Chris shot back, smiling. “Won’t be easy, what with you having the brain and all....”

Rebecca punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll send you a postcard with instructions.” She nodded at Barry. “Take care of your arm. Keep it clean and dry, and if you spike a fever or get dizzy, get to a doctor ASAP.”

Barry smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jill embraced her lightly. “Give ‘em hell, Becca”

Rebecca nodded. “You, too. Good luck with Irons.”

She turned to David, still smiling. “Shall we?” They walked to the front door together, David wondering at the girl’s easy demeanor. They’d just barely survived a serious attack, carried out by people who’d probably trained her, and she was leaving with a man she hardly knew to embark on a life-threatening mission. She was either putting on an act or was amazingly optimistic—and if she was faking the casual bravado, she deserved an award. He watched her carefully as they stepped out into the small, unkempt yard of Brad Vickers’s house, and saw her smile fade, quickly replaced by a look of vague sadness—and beyond that, the same kind of focused intensity that she’d had when she’d told them about Dr. Griffith and his research. Whatever she was thinking, he could see in that look that she was perfectly aware of the risks, but that she refused to be cowed by them.

The perfect definition of bravery.... David was satisfied with his decision to enlist Rebecca Chambers for the operation. She was smart, professional, and committed, as superior in her field of study as the rest of his team members were in theirs.

He could only hope that their combined skills would be enough to get them in and out of Caliban Cove in one piece, bringing with them proof of Umbrella’s experiments—an objective that would lead to the ruin of the company that had corrupted the S.T.A.R.S., and perhaps let him sleep peacefully again.

David nodded, and the two of them set off to make the call.

After rereading the information on Caliban Cove, Rebecca folded the papers and carefully tucked them into the overnight bag under David’s seat. He’d bought three bags at the airport, one for the weapons, currently in cargo, the others to carry on so they wouldn’t attract attention. Rebecca wished they’d thought to buy some snacks while they were at it. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, and the packet of nuts she’d swallowed after takeoff wasn’t cutting it. She reached up to switch off the reading light and then settled back in her seat, trying to let the smooth hum of the 747 engines lull her into a doze. Most of the other passengers on the half-full plane were asleep; the dim “night” lights and the steady drone of the engines had already worked for David. But even as drained as she felt by the evening’s events, she gave up the effort after a minute or two. There was too much to think about, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without at least sorting through some of it.

I feel like I’m dreaming already anyway; this is just another weird tangent, a subplot that came out of left field.. . .

In the past three months, she’d graduated college, gone through S.T.A.R.S. Bravo training, and moved to her first apartment in a new city—only to end up one of the five survivors of a man-made disaster involving biological weapons and a corporate con-spiracy. In the past three hours, her life had taken yet another totally unexpected turn. She thought about what she’d wished for earlier, a chance to get out of Raccoon City and study the T-Virus; the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her, but she wasn’t so sure she liked the circumstances.

She rolled her head to the side and looked at David, crashed out in the window seat, dark circles of ex-haustion beneath his closed lids. After briefly filling her in on a few details about the cove and outlining their schedule for the next day, he’d told her to try and take a nap (“have a lie down” had been his exact words) and then promptly taken his own advice—not falling asleep so much as lapsing into an instant coma. He even sleeps efficiently, no tossing or turning... like he willed himself to get as much rest as possible in the time allowed.

He struck her as an extremely competent and intelligent man, if something of a loner, for as cool as he was under pressure, he seemed to freeze with small talk, leading her to wonder what kind of life he’d had. She was impressed with how quickly he’d come up with a plan to get them out of Barry’s house, and was glad that he was leading the operation to Caliban Cove—though it was hard to think of him as a captain. He didn’t really project authority, and didn’t seem to want to, practically insisting that she call him David. Even when he’d stepped into a leadership role during the attack, it hadn’t felt like he was giving them orders so much as offering instruction. Maybe it’s just the accent. Everything he says sounds polite. . . .

He frowned in his sleep, his eyes flickering through uneasy dreams. After a few seconds, he let out a soft, child-like moan of distress. Rebecca briefly consid-ered waking him up, but already he seemed to have got past whatever troubled him, his brow smoothing. Suddenly feeling like she was invading his privacy, Rebecca looked away.

Dreaming about the attack, maybe. About having to kill someone he knew. . . .