Wherever they were sent, it had to be better than staying in Raccoon. The strain of looking over their shoulders had been getting to all of them. Chris seemed to think that Umbrella was waiting until the public eye was off the S.T.A.R.S. before making their move, though it was only a theory—and not exactly the most reassuring thought to fall asleep by. Chicken-heart Vickers had skipped out of town after only two days, unable to take the pressure—and although Jill, Chris, and Barry had condemned Brad’s cowardice, Rebecca was starting to wonder if maybe the Alpha pilot didn’t have the right idea. It wasn’t that she wanted Umbrella to walk, there was no question that their experiments were morally reprehensible and certainly illegal—but until the S.T.A.R.S. sent help, staying in Raccoon City was dangerous.
Not after tonight; just a little bit longer, and this will all be over. No more guns, no more locked doors—no more worrying about what Umbrella will do to us for knowing the truth.
When they’d first made the report, their superiors in New York had told them to stay put. Assistant Director Kurtz himself had promised to do some investigating and get back to them—but it had been eleven days, and still no word. She had no intention of running away as Brad had done, but she’d come to hate the feeling of that holster, the weight of the deadly steel against her side every waking moment of every day. She was supposed to be a chemist, for chrissake....
And once the reinforcements come, maybe they’ll move me to one of the labs, let me study the virus. Technically I’m still a Bravo; there’s no way they’d want me on the front lines....
There was no question that it would be the best use of her talents. The others were experienced soldiers, but Rebecca had only been with the S.T.A.R.S. for five weeks. Her first mission had been the one to Raccoon Forest that had wiped out over half the team and clued the rest of them in to Umbrella’s secret. Since then, she’d spent a lot of time brushing up on the molecular architecture of viruses, trying to deter-mine the T-Virus replication strategy. The S.T.A.R.S. didn’t need field medics right now, they needed scientists ... and if she’d learned anything from the Spencer estate disaster, it was that she belonged in a lab. She’d held her own that night, but she also knew that working with the T-Virus was the greatest contri-bution she could make toward stopping Umbrella. And you may as well face it, her mind whispered, you’re fascinated by it. The chance to study an unclas-sified emerging mutagen, to find out what makes it tick—that’s what makes you tick.
Yeah, well, there was no shame in enjoying her work. She’d joined the S.T.A.R.S. in hopes of just such an opportunity—and with any luck, after to-night’s meeting she would be packing a bag and getting the hell out of Raccoon City, heading into a new phase of her life as a S.T.A.R.S. biochemist. She pulled to a stop at the end of the block in front of a huge, two-story remodeled Victorian painted a pale yellow, checking all around for anything suspi-cious before getting off her bike. The Burtons lived next to a sprawling suburban park, heavy with trees. Even a few weeks ago, she might have wandered through the silent park, enjoying the balmy summer night, looking at the stars; now it was just one more dark place for someone to hide. Shivering slightly in spite of the warm, humid air, she hurried up the front walk.
Dragging her bike onto the porch, she wiped sweat from the back of her neck and checked her watch. She’d made excellent time, only twenty minutes since Barry’s call. Rebecca leaned the bicycle against the railing, praying that he had good news. Before she could knock, Barry opened the door, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, his heavily muscled body filling the door’s frame. Barry lifted weights. With a vengeance.
He smiled and stood back to let her inside, taking a quick look out at the quiet street before following her into the front hall. His Colt Python was tucked into a hip holster, making him look like an overgrown cowboy.
“You see anybody?” he asked lightly.
She shook her head. “No. I took back streets, too.” Barry nodded, and though he was still smiling a little, she could see the haunted look in his eyes, the look he’d had ever since their narrow escape. She wished she could tell him that nobody blamed him, but knew it wouldn’t make a difference; Barry still held himself responsible for a lot of what had hap-pened at the estate that night. He looked as though he was losing weight, too, though she figured that had more to do with him missing his wife and kids; he’d sent them out of town immediately following the incident, terrified for their safety.
Just one more way that Umbrella has damaged our lives....
He led her through the spacious hallway past the stairs, the walls decorated with framed drawings in crayon that his daughters had made. The Burton house was rambling and spacious, filled with the scuffed and well-worn furnishings that epitomized family.
“Chris and Jill should be here any time. You want some coffee?”
He seemed tense, scruffing nervously at his short red beard.
“No, thanks. Maybe some water. ...”
“Yeah, sure. Go ahead and introduce yourself, I’ll be back in a minute.” He hurried off to the kitchen before she could ask him if anything was wrong. Introduce myselj? What’s going on?
She walked through the hall’s arched opening into the cluttered, comfortable living room and stopped, a little startled to see a strange man sitting in one of the recliners. He stood up as she entered the room, smiling—but she could see by the way his dark gaze narrowed slightly that he was sizing her up. Even a few weeks ago, the careful scrutiny would have made her horribly self-conscious. She was the youngest S.T.A.R.S. member ever to be accepted for active duty, and knew that she looked it—but if anything positive had come from the incident at the Umbrella lab, it was that she no longer cared much about things like social embarrassment. Facing down a house full of monsters tended to put things in perspective that way. Besides which, being stared at had gotten pretty routine since then.
She gazed back at him impassively, studying him in return. Jeans, a nice shirt, running shoes. He also wore a hip holster with a nine-millimeter Beretta, the S.T.A.R.S. standard-issue sidearm. He was tall,
may-be a full foot over her five-foot three-inch frame, but slender, with a physique like a swimmer’s. He was almost movie-star handsome, a high, weathered brow and finely chiseled features, short, dark hair and a piercing gaze that sparkled with intelligence. “You must be Rebecca Chambers,” he said. He had a British accent, his words clipped and somehow polished. “You’re the biochemist, is that right?” Rebecca nodded. “Working on it. And you are . . .” He smiled wider, shaking his head. “Forgive my manners, please. I hadn’t expected . . . that is, I...” He stepped around Barry’s low coffee table and extended his hand, flushing slightly. “I’m David Trapp, with the S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch in Maine,” he said.
Rebecca felt cool relief wash over her, the S.T.A.R.S. had sent help instead of calling, fine by her. She shook his hand, stifling a grin, knowing that her appearance had thrown him. Nobody expected an eighteen-year-old scientist, and while she’d gotten used to the surprised looks, she still took a kind of mischievous pleasure at catching people off guard. “So, are you like the scout or something?” she asked.
Mr. Trapp frowned. “Sorry?”