4. Spencer Mansion

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, fussing the edges of the picturesque view and giving it an unreal, dream-like quality.

Minutes 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 as they waited for Alpha to show. Without the bird in working order, Marini wouldn't have started the proposed search.

Unless...

Chris grimaced, not wanting to consider any alternatives. He'd once seen the aftermath of a serious 'copter crash, back in the Air Force. Pilot error had led to the fall of a Huey carrying eleven men and women to a training mission. By the time the rescuers had arrived, there'd been nothing but charred, smoking bones amidst the fiery debris, the sweet, sticky smell of gasoline-roasted flesh heavy in the blackened air. Even the ground had been burning, and that was the image that had haunted his dreams for months afterwards; 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 muted green of the trees. Twilight was finally setting 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.

He turned his head to look at Jill and was surprised to find her staring back at him thoughtfully. She was sitting on the same bench as him and she smiled briefly, almost nervously as he caught her gaze.

Abruptly she unhooked her belt and moved to sit next to him. He caught a faint scent of her skin, a clean, soapy smell.

Chris... what you've been saying, about external factors in these cases...

Her voice was pitched so low that he had to lean in to hear her over the throbbing of the engine. She glanced around at the others, as if to make sure that no one was listening, then looked into his eyes, her own carefully guarded.

"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 it.

Chris's throat suddenly felt dry. "Did something happen?"

Jill shook her head, her finely chiseled features giving away nothing. "No. I've just been thinking that maybe you should watch what you say. Maybe not everyone listening is on the right side of this..."

Chris frowned, not sure what she was trying to tell him. The only people I've talked to are on the job.

Her gaze didn't falter, and he realized suddenly what she was implying.

Jesus, and I thought I was paranoid!

"Jill, I know these people, and even if I didn't, the S.T.A.R.S. have psycho profiles on every member, history checks, personal references - there's no way it could happen."

She sighed. "Look, forget I said anything. I just... just watch yourself, that's all."

"All right, kids, look lively! We're coming up on sector twenty-two, they could be anywhere."

At Wesker's interruption, Jill gave him a final sharp glance and then moved to one of the windows. Chris followed Joseph and Barry, 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 to warn him against the S.T.A.R.S...

She knows something.

She must, it was the only explanation that made any sense. He decided that after they picked up Bravo, he'd 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.

He stared out at the seemingly endless sea of trees as the helicopter skimmed lower, forcing his full attention to the search. The Spencer estate 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. He was still worried about the Bravos - though as the trees swept by, he was becoming more and 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.

Then he saw it less than a mile away, even as Jill pointed and spoke, and his concern turned to cold dread.

"Look, Chris!"

An oily plume of black smoke boiled up through the last remnants of daylight, staining the sky like a promise of death.

"Oh, 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 called, and then they were turning, heading for the dark smudge that could only 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 that they started the fire on purpose, as a signal."

Barry wished they could believe him, but even Wesker had to know better. With the 'copter shut down, a fire starting on its own was unlikely and if the Bravos wanted to signal, they would've used flares.

Besides which, wood doesn't make that kind of smoke...

But whatever it is, we won't know till we get there.

Barry turned away from the window and saw the others do the same. Chris, Jill, and Joseph all wore the same look, as he imagined he did: shock. 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 an organized approach, a standard fan as soon as we set down. Barry, you'll take 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. It was a good gun, though Barry preferred his Python, a lot bigger punch with .357 rounds...

He quickly distributed the weapons, passing out three loaded clips with each.

I hope we don't need these, Joseph said, slapping in a clip, and Barry nodded in agreement. 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.

As they neared 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 latch, 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 Marini was a good friend of his. Marini's wife had babysat for the girls more times than Barry could count and was friends with Kathy. The thought of him dead, to a stupid mechanical screw-up...

"Hang on, buddy, we're comin'."

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.

They spread out and started north, Wesker and Chris behind and to Barry's left, Jill and Joseph on his right. Directly in front of them was a sparse stand of trees, and as the Alpha's 'copter blade revved down, Jill could smell burning fuel and see wisps of smoke curling through the foliage.

They moved quickly through the wooded area, visibility dropping off sharply beneath the needled branches. The warm scents of pine and earth were overshadowed by the burning smell, the acrid odor growing stronger with each step. From the dim light filtering toward them, Jill saw that there was another clearing ahead, high with brittle grasses.

I see it, dead ahead!

Jill felt her heart speed up at Barry's shout, and then they were all running, hurrying to catch up to their point man.

She emerged from the copse of trees, Joseph next to her. Barry was already at the downed 'copter, Chris and Wesker right behind. Smoke was still rising from the silent wreck, but it was thinning. If there had been a fire, it had died out.

She and Joseph reached the others and stopped, staring, no one speaking as they surveyed the scene.

The long, wide body of the 'copter was intact, not a single scratch visible. The port landing rail looked bent, but besides that and the dying haze of smoke from the rotor, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it. The hatches stood open, the beam from Wesker's penlight showing them an undamaged cabin.

From what she could see, most of the Bravo's gear was still on board.

So where are they?

It didn't make any sense. It hadn't been fifteen minutes since their last transmission; if anyone had been injured, they would have stayed. And if they'd decided to leave, why had they left their equipment behind?

Wesker handed the light to Joseph and nodded toward the cockpit. Check it out. The rest of you, spread out, look for clues-tracks, shell casings, signs of struggle-you find anything, let me know. And stay alert.

Jill stood a moment longer, staring at the smoking 'copter and wondering what could have happened.

Enrico had said something about a malfunction; so okay, the Bravos had set down. What had happened next? What would have made them abandon their best chance of being found, leaving behind emergency kits, and weaponry - Jill saw a couple of bullet-proof vests crumpled next to the hatch and shook her head, adding it to the growing list of seemingly irrational actions.

She turned to join the search as Joseph stepped out of the cockpit, looking as confused as she felt. She waited to hear his report as he handed the light back to Wesker, shrugging nervously.

I don't know what happened. The bent rail suggests a forced landing, but except for the electrical system, everything looks fine.

Wesker sighed, then raised his voice so the others could hear. Circle out, people, three meters apart, widen as we go!

Jill moved over to stand between Chris and Barry, both men already scanning the ground at their feet as they slowly moved east and northeast of the helicopter. Wesker stepped into the cabin, probing the darkness with his penlight. Joseph headed west.

Dry weeds crackled underfoot as they widened their circle, the only sound in the still, warm air except for the distant hum of the Alpha helicopter engine. Jill used her boots to search through the thick ground cover, brushing the tall grasses aside with each step. In another few moments, it'd be too dark to see anything; they needed to break out the flashlights, Bravo had left theirs behind...

Jill stopped suddenly, listening. The sighing, crackling steps of the others, the faraway drone of their 'copter, and nothing else. Not a chirp, a chitter, nothing.

They were in the woods, in the middle of summer; where were the animals, the insects? The forest was unnaturally still, the only sounds human. For the first time since they'd set down, Jill was afraid.

She was about to call out to the others when Joseph shouted from somewhere behind them, his voice high and cracking.

"Hey! Over here!"

Jill turned, started jogging back, and saw Chris and Barry do the same. Wesker was still by the helicopter and had drawn his weapon at Joseph's cry, pointing it up as he broke into a run.

In the murky light, Jill could just make out Joseph's shadowy form, crouched down in the high grass near some trees a hundred feet past the 'copter. Instinctively, she pulled her sidearm and double-timed, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of encroaching doom.

Joseph stood up, holding something, and let out a strangled scream before dropping it, his eyes wide with horror.

For a split second, Jill's mind couldn't accept what it had seen in Joseph's grasp.

A S.T.A.R.S. handgun, a Beretta.

Jill ran faster, catching up to Wesker.

And a disembodied human hand curled around it hacked off at the wrist.

There was a deep, guttural snarl from behind Joseph, from the darkness of the trees. An animal, growling joined by another rasping, throaty shriek, and suddenly dark, powerful shapes erupted from the woods, lunging at Joseph and taking him down.

"Joseph!"

Jill's scream rang in his ears, Chris drew his weapon and stopped in his tracks, trying to get a clear shot at the raging beasts that were attacking Joseph.

Wesker's penlight sent a thin beam dancing over the writhing creatures, illuminating a nightmare.

Joseph's body was all but hidden by the three animals that tore at him, ripping at him with gnashing, dripping jaws. They were the size and shape of dogs, as big as German shepherds maybe, except that they seemed to have no fur, no skin. Wet, red sinew and muscle flashed beneath Wesker's wavering light, the dog creatures shrieking and snapping in a frenzy of bloodlust.

Joseph cried out, a burbling, liquid sound as he flailed weakly at the savage attackers, blood pouring from multiple wounds. It was the scream of a dying man. There was no time to waste; Chris targeted and opened fire.

Three rounds smacked wetly into one of the dogs, a fourth shot going high. There was a single, high-pitched yelp and the beast went down, its sides heaving. The other two animals continued their assault, indifferent to the thunderous shots. Even as Chris watched in horror, one of the slavering hellhounds lunged forward and ripped out Joseph's throat, exposing bloody gristle and the glistening slickness of bone.

The S.T.A.R.S. opened up, sending a rain of explosive fire at Joseph's killers. Red spatters burst into the air, the dog things still trying to get at the spasming corpse while bullets riddled their strange flesh. With a final series of harsh, barking mewls, they fell and didn't rise again.

"Hold your fire!"

Chris took his finger off the trigger but continued to point the handgun at the fallen creatures, ready to blow apart the first one that so much as twitched. Two of them were still breathing, growling softly through panting gasps. The third sprawled lifelessly next to Joseph's mutilated body.

They should be dead, should've stayed down at the first shots! What are they?

Wesker took a single step toward the slaughter in front of them when all around, deep, echoing howls filled the warm night air, shrill voices of predatorial fury coming at the S.T.A.R.S. from all directions.

"Back to the 'copter, now!" Wesker shouted.

Chris ran, Barry and Jill in front of him and Wesker bringing up the rear. The four of them sprinted through dark trees, unseen branches slapping at them as the howls grew louder, more insistent.

Wesker turned and fired blindly into the woods as they stumbled toward the waiting helicopter, its blades already spinning. Chris felt relief sweep through him; Brad must have heard the shots. They still had a chance...

Chris could hear the creatures behind them now, the sharp rustling of lean, muscular bodies tearing through the trees. He could also see Brad's pale, wide-eyed face through the glass front of the 'copter, the reflected lights of the control panel casting a greenish glow across his panicked features. He was shouting something, but the roar of the engine drowned out everything now, the blast of wind churning the field into a rippling sea.

Another fifty feet, almost there.

Suddenly, the helicopter jerked into the air, accelerating wildly. Chris caught a final glimpse of Brad's face and could see the blind terror there, the unthinking panic that had gripped him as he clawed at the controls.

"No! Don't go!" Chris screamed, but the wobbling rails were already out of reach, the 'copter pitching forward and away from them through the thundering darkness.

They were going to die.

"Damn you, Vickers!"

Wesker turned and fired again, and was rewarded with a squeal of pain from one of their pursuers.

There were at least four more close behind, gaining on them rapidly.

"Keep going!" he shouted, trying to get his bearings as they stumbled on, the piercing shrieks of the mutant dogs urging them faster. The sound of the helicopter was dying away, the cowardly Vickers taking their escape with him.

Wesker fired again, the shot going wide, and saw another shadowy form join the hunt. The dogs were brutally fast. They didn't stand a chance, unless...

"The mansion!"

Veer right, one o'clock! Wesker yelled, hoping that his sense of direction was still intact. They couldn't outrun the creatures, but maybe they could keep them at bay long enough to reach cover.

He spun and fired the last round in his clip.

"Empty!"

Ejecting the spent magazine, he fumbled for another one tucked into his belt as both Barry and Chris took up the defense, firing past him and into the closing pack. Wesker slapped in the fresh clip as they reached the edge of the overgrown clearing and plunged into another dark stand of trees.

They stumbled and dodged through the woods, tripping on uneven ground as the killer dogs came on.

Lungs aching for air, Wesker imagined that he could smell the fetid, rotting meat stench of the beasts as they narrowed the distance and he somehow found the capacity to run faster.

We should be there by now, gotta be dose...

Chris saw it first through the thinning shadows of trees, the looming monstrosity back-lit by an early moon. "There! Run for that house!"

It looked abandoned from the outside, the weathered wood and stone of the giant mansion crumbling and dark. The full size of the structure was cloaked by the shadowy, overgrown hedges that surrounded it, isolating it from the forest. A massive outset front porch presented double doors, their only option for escape.

Wesker heard the snap of powerful jaws behind him and fired at the sound, intuitively squeezing the trigger as he ran for the front of the mansion.

A gurgling yelp and the creature fell away, the howls of its siblings louder than ever, raised to a fever pitch by the thrill of the chase.

Jill reached the doors first, slamming into the heavy wood with one shoulder as she snatched at the handles. Amazingly, they crashed open; brightness spilled out across the stone steps to the porch, lighting their path. She turned and started firing, providing cover as the three gasping men ran for the opening in the darkness.

They piled into the mansion, Jill diving in last and Barry throwing his considerable bulk against the door, wedging it closed against the snarls of the creatures. He collapsed against it, face red and sweating, as Chris found the entry's steel deadbolt and slid it home.

They'd made it. Outside, the dogs howled and scrabbled uselessly at the heavy doors.

Wesker took a deep breath of the cool, quiet air that filled the well-lit room and exhaled sharply. As he'd already known, the Spencer house wasn't abandoned.

And now that they were here, all his careful planning was for nothing.

Wesker silently cursed Brad Vickers again and wondered if they were any better off inside than out...

Jill took in their new surroundings as she caught her breath, feeling like she was a character in a nightmare that had just taken a turn into a grand fantasy. Wild, howling monsters, Joseph's sudden death, a terrifying run through the dark woods-and now this.

"Deserted, huh?"

It was a palace, pure and simple, what her father would have called a perfect score. The room they had escaped into was the epitome of lavish. It was huge, easily bigger than Jill's entire house, tiled in gray-flecked marble and dominated by a wide, carpeted staircase that led to a second-floor balcony. Arched marble pillars lined the ornate hall, supporting the dark, heavy wood balustrade of the upper floor.

Fluted wall sconces cast funnels of light across walls of cream, trimmed in oak and offset by the deep burnt ocher of the carpeting. In short, it was magnificent.

"What is this?" Barry muttered. No one answered him.

Jill took a deep breath and decided immediately that she didn't like it. There was a sense of... wrongness to the vast room, an atmosphere of vague oppression. It felt haunted somehow, though by who or what, she couldn't say.

Beats the hell out of getting eaten by mutant dogs, though, gotta give it that much. And on the trail of that thought, God, poor Joseph! There hadn't been time to mourn him, and there wasn't time now, but he would be missed.

She walked toward the stairs clutching her handgun, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that led from the front door. There was an antique typewriter on a small table to the right of the steps, a blank sheet of paper spooled into the works. A strange bit of decorum. The expansive hall was otherwise empty.

She turned back toward the others, wondering what their take on all this was. Barry and Chris both looked uncertain, their faces flushed and sweaty as they surveyed the room. Wesker was crouched by the front door, examining one of the latches.

He stood up, his dark shades still in place, seeming as detached as ever. The wood around the lock is splintered. Somebody broke this door open before we got here.

Chris looked hopeful. "Maybe the Bravos?"

Wesker nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. Help should be on the way, assuming our 'friend' Mr.

Vickers bothers to call it in."

His voice dripped sarcasm, and Jill felt her anger kindling. Brad had screwed up big time, had almost cost them their lives. There was no excuse for what he'd done.

Wesker continued, walking across the room toward one of the two doors on the west wall. He rattled the handle, but it didn't open. "It's not safe to go back out. Until the cavalry shows up, we might as well take a look around. It's obvious that somebody's been keeping this place up, though why and for how long..."

He trailed off, walking back toward the group.

"How are we set for ammo?"

Jill ejected the clip from her Beretta and counted: three rounds left, plus the two loaded magazines on her belt. Thirty-three shots. Chris had twenty-two left, Wesker, seventeen. Barry had two racked speed loaders for his Colt, plus an extra handful of loose cartridges tucked into a hip pouch, nineteen rounds in all.

Jill thought about all they'd left back on the helicopter and felt another rush of anger toward Brad.

Boxes of ammunition, flashlights, walkie-talkies, Shotguns - not to mention medical supplies. That Beretta that Joseph had found out in the field, the pale, blood-spattered fingers still wrapped around it - a S.T.A.R.S. team member dead or dying, and thanks to Brad, they didn't even have a band-aid to offer.

Thump!

A sound of something heavy sliding to the floor, somewhere close by. In unison, they turned toward the single door on the east wall. Jill was suddenly reminded of every horror movie she'd ever seen; a strange house, a strange noise... she shivered and decided that she was most definitely going to kick Brad's narrow ass when they got out of here.

"That can't be good," Chris muttered

Wesker moved forward, his hand resting on the handle of his handgun. "We need to check that out."

Barry nodded, reloading his Colt Python with deliberate care. "Let's stick together. No sense in splitting up now."

Jill exchanged a glance with Chris. They had already been attacked by the hellhounds, and the mansion was starting to feel like another trap.

"Could be Bravo Team," Chris offered, but the doubt in his voice was unmistakable.

"Or something else," Barry added grimly.

Wesker approached the door, testing the handle, finding it unlocked. He pushed it open slowly, revealing a dark hallway ahead. The air felt colder, more oppressive, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as they moved forward cautiously.

The deeper they went, the more uneasy Jill felt. The mansion's grandeur seemed more like a twisted facade now. Who was here before them? What had happened to the Bravos?

Another sound, closer this time.

Thump.

They all froze.

"Stay alert," Wesker ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

They edged further into the hallway, following the noise to a large room up ahead. Barry stepped forward first, his heavy boots almost silent on the carpet. He gave a signal, and Wesker nodded.

With one swift motion, Wesker opened the door, and they stormed into the room, weapons raised.

The sight that greeted them was unexpected.

Across the room, a group of black-clad soldiers was standing, weapons drawn and trained on two people— a man pinned on the floor, and a woman standing beside him. The soldiers looked startled, their masked faces turning towards the S.T.AR.S. team.

For a moment, there was a heavy, palpable silence. Both groups stared at each other, neither willing to lower their weapons.

Chris took a step forward, his voice clear and firm. "Put your weapons down!"

Jill's heart pounded in her chest as she steadied her aim, glancing at the man on the floor and the woman standing next to him. She knew there was more going on here than they had anticipated.

"Drop your weapons, or we will respond with force," Jill warned

The air was thick with tension, and it felt like the slightest move could set off a full-blown firefight.