Though his demeanor didn't change, Jill had the sudden distinct impression that Barry was uncomfortable. He had turned away to study the copper diagram, but it almost seemed as if he was trying to avoid eye contact.
Besides, he said, we know what we're up against now. As long as we use a little common sense, we'll be fine.
Barry, are you okay? You seem-tired. It wasn't the right word, but it was the only one that came to Jill’s mind.
He sighed, finally looking at her. He did seem tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his wide shoulders were slumped.
No, I'm alright. Just worried about Chris, you know.
Jill nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. Since he'd pulled her out of the trap he'd been acting unusually subdued, even nervous.
Paranoid much? This is Barry Burton you're talking about, the backbone of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. – not to mention, the man who just saved your life. What could he possibly be hiding?
Jill knew she was probably being overly suspiCious, but all the same, she decided to keep her mouth shut about Trent's computer. After all she'd been through, she wasn't feeling particularly trusting.
And it sounded like he already had a pretty good idea of the mansion's layout, so it wasn't like he needed the information.
That's it, keep rationalizing. Next thing, you'll be suspecting Captain Wesker of planning this whole thing.
Jill scoffed inwardly as she pushed herself away from the wall and she and Barry walked slowly back toward the house. Now that was paranoid.
They stopped as they reached the door, Jill taking a few final lungfuls of the sweet air, letting it settle her nerves. Barry had taken out his Colt Python and was reloading the empty chambers, his expression grim.
I thought I'd go back over to the east wing, see if I can pick up Chris's trail, he said. Why don't you head upstairs and start looking for the other crests?
That way we can cover all of the rooms, work our way back to the main hall.
Jill nodded and Barry opened the door, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. A wave of cold swept past them and Jill sighed, trying to prepare herself to face another maze of frigid, shadowy halls, another series of unopened doors and the secrets that lay behind them.
You're gonna do fine, Barry said smoothly, placing a warm hand on her shoulder and gently ushering her back inside. As soon as the door closed behind them he lifted his hand in a casual salute, smiling.
Good luck, he said, and before she could respond, he turned and hurried away, weapon in hand.
With another creak of ancient metal, he slipped through the double doors at the end of the hall and was gone.
Jill stared after him, alone once again in the chilled, stinking silence of the dim corridor. It wasn't her imagination; Barry was keeping something from her.
But was it something she needed to worry about, or was he just trying to protect her?
Maybe he found Chris or Wesker, dead, and didn't want to tell me.
It wasn't a pleasant thought, but it would explain his strange, hurried behavior. He obviously wanted them to get out of the house as soon as possible, and wanted her to stay on the west side. And the way he'd fixated on the puzzle mechanism, seeming more concerned with their exit than with Chris's or Wesker's whereabouts…
She looked down at the two crumpled figures in the hall, at the tacky, drying pools of red that surrounded them. Maybe she was trying too hard to find a motive that didn't exist. Maybe, like her, Barry was scared, and sick of feeling like death could come at any time.
Maybe I should stop thinking about it and do my job. Whether or not we find the others, he's right about needing to get out. We have to get back to the city, let people know what's out here.
Jill straightened her shoulders and walked to the door that led to the stairwell, drawing her weapon.
She'd made it this far she could make it a little farther, try to unravel the mystery that had taken the lives of so many or die trying, her mind whispered softly.
Forest Speyer was dead. The laughing, Southern good ol’ boy with his ratty clothes and easy grin was no more. That Forest was gone, leaving behind a bloody, lifeless impostor slumped against a wall.
Chris stared down at the impostor, the distant sounds of the night lost to a sudden gust of wind that whipped around the eaves, moaning through the railing of the second-story patio. It was a ghostly sound, but Forest couldn't hear it; Forest would never hear anything again.
Chris crouched down next to the still body, carefully prying Forest's Beretta from beneath cool fingers. He told himself he wouldn't look, but as he reached for Forest's belt pack, he found his gaze fixed on the terrible emptiness where the Bravo's eyes had once been.
Jesus, what happened? What happened to you, man?
Forest's body was covered with wounds, most an inch or two across and surrounded by raw, bloody flesh – it was as if he'd been stabbed hundreds of times with a dull knife, each vicious cut ripping away chunks of skin and muscle. Part of his ribcage was cruelly exposed, slivers of white showing beneath tattered redness. His eyeless, streaming stare was the crowning horror-like the killer hadn't been content to take Forest's life, wanting his soul instead.
There were three clips for the Beretta in Forest's pack. Chris shoved the magazines into a pocket and quickly stood up, tearing his gaze from the mutilated body. He looked out over the dark woods, breathing deeply. His thoughts were jumbled and grasping, trying to find an explanation and yet unable to hold on to any coherent facts.
Once in the main hall, he'd decided to check all of the doors to see which were unlocked and when he'd seen the bloody hand print in the tiny upstairs hall and heard the wailing cries of birds, he'd charged in, ready to deal out some justice… … crows. It sounded like crows, an entire flock… or a murder, actually. Pack of dogs, kindle of kittens, murder of crows…
He blinked, his tired mind focusing on the seemingly random bit of trivia. Frowning, Chris crouched back down next to Forest's ravaged body, studying the jagged wounds closely. There were dozens of tiny scratches amidst the more serious cuts, scratches set into lined patterns.
Claws. Talons.
Even as the thought occurred to him, he heard a restless flutter of wings. He turned slowly, still holding Forest's Beretta in a hand that had suddenly gone cold.
A sleek, monstrous bird was perched on the railing not two feet away, watching him with bright black eyes. Its smooth feathers gleamed dully against its bloated body… and a ribbon of something red and wet hung from its beak.
The bird tilted its head to the side and let out a tremendous shriek, the streamer of Forest's flesh droooine to the railing. From all around, the answering cries of its gathered siblings flooded the night air.
There was a furious whisper of oversized wings as dozens of dark, fluttering shapes swooped out from beneath the eaves, screeching and clawing.
Chris ran, the image of Forest's bloody, terrible eyes burned into his pounding thoughts as he lunged for escape. He stumbled into the tiny hall and slammed the door against the rising screams of the birds, adrenaline pumping through his system in hot, surging beats.
He took a deep breath, then another, and after a moment, his heart slowed down to a more normal pace. The shrieks of the crows gradually grew distant, blown away on a softly moaning wind.
Jesus, how dumb can I get? Stupid, stupid.
He'd stormed out onto the deck looking for a fight, looking to avenge the deaths of the other S.T.A.R.S. and been shocked into stupidity by what he'd found. If he hadn't let himself get so freaked out by Forest's death, he would have made the connection sooner between the birds and the types of wounds and perhaps noticed the gathering flesh-eaters that had watched him from the shadows, looking for their next victim.
He headed for the door back to the main hall, angry with himself for going into a situation unprepared. He couldn't afford to keep making mistakes, to let his attention wander from what was in front of him. This wasn't some kind of a game, where he could push a reset button if he missed a trick. People were dying, his friends were dying – and if you don't pull your head out of your ass and start being more careful, you 're going to join them.
Another torn and lifeless body crumpled in a cold hallway somewhere, another victim to the insanity of this house.
