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 start the proposed search.
The alternative…
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 quickly 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. Now if I could have your full attention, please.
Barry turned away from the window, 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 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, semijacketed 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 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.