S. D. Perry - Resident Evil 02 - Caliban Cove

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PROLOGUE

Raccoon Times, July 24, 1998

SPENCER MANSION DESTROYED IN EXPLOSIVE FIRE

RACCOON CITY—At approximately 2 A.M. Thursday morn-

ing, Victory Lake district residents were awakened by an

explosive blast that thundered through northwest Raccoon

Forest, apparently caused by a fire that swept through the

abandoned Spencer mansion and ignited chemicals stored in

the basement. Due to delays from the police barricade set up

at the forest perimeter (in connection with the recent string

of murders in Raccoon City), local firefighters were unable

to salvage any part of the estate's grounds. After a three-

hour battle against the raging fire, the thirty one year old

mansion and adjacent servant's quarters were deemed a

complete loss.

Built by Lord Oswell Spencer, European aristocrat and

one of the founders of the worldwide pharmaceutical com-

pany, Umbrella, Inc., the estate was designed by award-

winning architect George Trevor as a guest house for

Umbrella VIPs and was closed down shortly after completion

for reasons unknown. According to Amanda Whitney,

spokesperson for the Umbrella Corporation, parts of the

estate were still being used to store a number of industrial

cleaning agents and solvents used by Umbrella. Whitney said

in a statement yesterday that the company would take full

responsibility for the unfortunate incident, calling it

"A serious oversight on our part. Those chemicals should have

been cleared out of the Spencer house a long time ago, and

we're just thankful that no one was hurt."

At this point, the cause of the fire is undetermined, but

Whitney went on to say that Umbrella will be bringing in

their own investigators to sift through the ruins in hopes of

determining the fire's point of origin. . .

Raccoon Weekly, July 29, 1998

S.T.A.R.S. TAKEN OFF MURDER INVESTIGATION

RACCOON CITY—In a surprising announcement by city

officials at a press conference yesterday, the Raccoon City

branch of the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad (S.T.A.R.S.)

was officially removed from the investigation into the nine

brutal murders and five disappearances of city residents that

have occurred in the last ten weeks. City council member

Edward Weist delivered the statement, citing gross incompe-

tence as the primary reason for the S.T.A.R.S. removal.

Readers may remember that the S.T.A.R.S.'s first action

upon being assigned the cases last week was to search the

northwest area of the forest for the alleged cannibal killers.

Weist stated that it was because of their "blatantly unprofes-

sional conduct" that their mission ended in disaster, re-

suiting in the crash of a helicopter and the loss of six of

their eleven team members, including the S.T.A.R.S. branch

commander, Captain Albert Wesker.

"After [the S.T.A.R.S.'s] mishandling of the Raccoon

Forest search," said Weist, "we've decided to let the RPD see

this investigation through to its conclusion. We have reason

to believe that the S.T.A.R.S. may have been ingesting drugs

and/or alcohol prior to their search, and have suspended the

use of their services indefinitely."

Weist was joined by Sarah Jacobsen (representing Mayor

Harris) and Police Commissioner J.C. Washington to make

the announcement and answer questions. Neither Police

Chief Brian Irons nor any of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. could

be reached for comment. . .

Cityside, August 3, 1998

SOURCE OF ESTATE FIRE DEEMED ACCIDENTAL

RACCOON CITY—After an exhaustive investigation by fire

officials working with Umbrella, Inc.'s ISD (Industrial

Services Division), the fire that ravaged the company-owned

Spencer estate in Raccoon Forest late last month was

determined to have been caused by carelessness on the part

of person or persons unknown, as was announced in a press

conference yesterday. Said ISD Team Leader David Bischoff,

"It looks like somebody tried to start a campfire in one of

the mansion's rooms and things just got out of control.

We've found nothing to suggest arson or foul play of any

kind." He went on to say that while the destruction of the

property was total, there's no evidence that anyone was

caught in the fire or subsequent explosion.

Chief Brian Irons of the Raccoon City Police Department

was in attendance at the conference, and when asked

whether he believed the fire to be connected to the unsolved

murders and disappearances plaguing the city, Irons stated

that there was no way to be sure. Said Irons, "At this point,

anything I could say would only be speculation—though I

will say that the fact that the murders have stopped since the

night of the fire seems to imply that perhaps the killers were

hiding there. We can only hope that they've now left the area

and will soon be apprehended."

Chief Irons refused to comment on the allegations of

gross misconduct by the S.T.A.R.S. in their brief assignment

to the murder investigation, saying only that he agreed with

the city council's decision and disciplinary actions are being

considered. . .

ONE

REBECCA CHAMBERS RODE HER MOUNTAIN

bike through the dark, winding streets of the Cider

district, the late summer moon swelling in the warm,

clear night sky overhead. Although it was relatively

early, the suburban streets were deserted, the citywide

curfew still in effect; no one under eighteen was

supposed to be out after dusk until the murderers

were caught and put safely behind bars. It had been a

tense and quiet summer in Raccoon City, at least on

the surface.

She glided past silent houses, the faint glow of

television sets spilling out across well-kept lawns, the

distant drone of crickets and an occasional barking

dog the only sounds in the air that whipped past her.

The uneasy citizens of Raccoon dwelled behind those

locked doors, waiting for the announcement that the

killers had been apprehended and that their city was

safe.

If they only knew...,

For just a moment, Rebecca envied them their

ignorance. She'd come to the rather disheartening

conclusion in the last couple of weeks that knowing

the truth wasn't all it was cracked up to be—particu-

larly when no one believed it.

It had been a long, merciless thirteen days since the

nightmare at the Spencer estate. The surviving

S.T.A.R.S. had escaped treachery and death just to

run up against a massive brick wall of scornful

disbelief when they'd tried to tell their tale. Jill, Chris,

Barry, and herself had been labeled drug addicts and

worse in the local papers, undoubtedly at Umbrella's

urging—and after their suspension, even the RPD

had refused to believe them. Now, with Umbrella

taking over the investigation of the fire, undoubtedly

getting rid of the last of the evidence ... it was as if

everywhere the S.T.A.R.S. turned, Umbrella had been

there first, greasing palms and covering tracks, mak-

ing it impossible to get anyone to listen to their story.

Not that it would have been that simple anyway. One

of the biggest, most respectable med research and

pharmaceutical companies in the world—not to men-

tion the primary source of income in Raccoon—con-

ducting bio-weapons research in a secret lab, creating

experimental monsters— If I didn't know better, I’d

probably think I was crazy, too.

At least the absolute worst was over. With the lab

destroyed, the attacks on Raccoon had stopped—and

though the people responsible hadn't been held ac-

countable yet, she figured it was only a matter of time.

Umbrella was experimenting with dangerous stuff,

and wouldn't be able to hide it from a S.T.A.R.S.

investigation. She and the others just had to watch

their backs until the home office sent backup.

Speaking of—ouch ...

The pancake holster was poking into her ribcage.

Rebecca adjusted it through the thin cotton of her

shirt, hoping that after tonight she wouldn't have to

carry the weapon anymore—a snub-nosed .38 revolv-

er from Barry's collection. She couldn't speak for the

others, but she hadn't had a decent night's sleep since

they'd escaped the Spencer estate, and walking

around armed all of the time wasn't her idea of safe.

Sighing inwardly, she took a left on Foster and

pedaled through the shadows toward Barry's house,

reminding herself that he'd probably called the meet-

ing because he'd heard from the home office with

orders. He would only say that there had been a

"development" and to show up ASAP—and though

she was trying not to let her imagination run away

with her, she couldn't help the steady pulse of excite-

ment that had knotted her stomach since he'd called.

Maybe they'll fly its to New York to brief the investi-

gation team, or even to Europe for when they storm

Umbrella's headquarters...

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 saw 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 myself? 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?"

"For the investigation—are there other teams al-

ready here, or did you come to check things out first,

get the dirt on Umbrella . . ."

She trailed off as he shook his head slowly, almost

sadly, his dark eyes glittering with an emotion she

couldn't read.

It came out in his voice, heavy with frustrated

anger—and as the words sank in, Rebecca felt her

knees go watery with a sudden anxious dread.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Ms. Chambers. I

have reason to believe that Umbrella has gotten to key

members of the S.T.A.R.S., either by bribery or

blackmail. There is no investigation—and no one else

is coming."

A look of confused terror passed through the girl's

light brown eyes and just as quickly was gone. She

took a deep breath and blew it out.

"Are you sure? I mean, did Umbrella try to get to

you, or ... are you positive?"

David shook his head. "I'm not absolutely certain,

no—but I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. . . concerned

about it."

It was a bit of an understatement, but David still

wasn't past the shock of seeing how young she was,

and felt an almost instinctive desire not to alarm her

any further. Barry had mentioned that she was some-

thing of a child genius, but he hadn't really expected a

child. The biochemist wore high tops and cut-off

denim shorts rolled at the knee, topped by a shapeless

black T-shirt.

Get past it; this child may be the only scientist we

have left.

The thought rekindled the anger that had been

burning in David's gut for the past few days. The

story that had been unfolding since Barry's call wasn't

a pretty one, filled with treachery and lies—and the

fact that the S.T.A.R.S., his S.T.A.R.S., were in-

volved . . .

Barry walked into the room with a glass of water

and Rebecca took it from him gratefully, swallowing

half of it in one gulp.

Barry shot him a glance and then turned his atten-

tion to Rebecca. "He told you, huh?"

The girl nodded. "Do Jill and Chris know?"

"Not yet. That's why I called," Barry said. "Look,

no point in going through this twice. We should wait

for them to show up before we get into specifics."

"Agreed," David said. He generally found that first

impressions were the most telling, and if they were

going to be working together, he wanted to get a feel

for the girl's character.

The three of them sat, and Barry started to tell

Rebecca how he and David had met back in

S.T.A.R.S. training when they were both much young-

er men. Barry told a good story, even if it was only to

kill time. David listened with half an ear as Barry

related an anecdote about their graduation night,

involving a rather humorless drill sergeant and sever-

al rubber snakes. The girl was relaxing, even enjoying

the story of their childish prank—

—seventeen years ago. She would have been cele-

brating her first birthday.

Still, she had put her questions on hold at Barry's

request, even though David knew she had to be

anxious about what he'd told her. The ability to

retrain one's focus so quickly was an admirable trait,

one that he'd never fully mastered.

He'd been able to think of little else since his own

call to the S.T.A.R.S. AD. David's devotion to the

organization had made the apparent betrayal all the

more bitter, like a bad taste in his mouth that

wouldn't go away. The S.T.A.R.S. had been David's

life for almost twenty years, had given him all the

things he'd lacked growing up—a sense of self-worth,

a sense of purpose and integrity.

And just like that, the lives of dedicated men and

women, my life and life's work simply tossed aside as if

it meant nothing. How much did that cost? How much

did Umbrella have to pay to buy the S.T.A.R.S.'s

honor?

David shook the anger, focusing his attention on

Rebecca. If all he'd learned was true, time was short

and their resources were now severely limited. His

motivations weren't as important right now as hers.

He could tell by the way she held herself that she

wasn't the shy or submissive type, and she was

obviously bright; her eyes fairly sparkled with it.

From what Barry had told him, she'd acted profes-

sionally throughout the Spencer facility operation.

Her file suggested that she was more than qualified to

work with a chemical virus, assuming that she was as

good as the reports said—and assuming she has any desire

to put her life in further danger.

That was going to be the sticking point. She hadn't

been with the S.T.A.R.S. for very long, and knowing

that they'd sold their people out probably wasn't

going to overwhelm her with feelings of confidence for

the job ahead. It would be just as easy for her to step

out of the game now. For that matter, it would be the

intelligent choice for all of them.

There was a knock at the door, presumably the

other two Alphas. David's hand drifted down to the

butt of his nine-millimeter as Barry went to answer.

When he walked back in leading the S.T.A.R.S. team

members, David relaxed, then stood up to be formally

introduced.

"Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield—this is Captain

David Trapp, military strategist for the Maine

S.T.A.R.S. Exeter branch."

Chris was the marksman, if David remembered

correctly, and Jill something of a covert B&E special-

ist. Barry said that the pilot, Brad Vickers, had

skipped town shortly after the Spencer incident. No

great loss, from what he could gather; the man

sounded distinctly unreliable.

He shook hands with both of them and they all sat

down, Barry nodding toward him.

"David's an old comrade of mine. We worked

together on the same team for about two years, right

after boot camp. He showed up on my doorstep about

an hour ago with news, and I didn't think it could

wait. David?"

David cleared his throat, trying to focus on the

significant facts. After a pause, he began at the begin-

ning.

"As you already know, six days ago, Barry placed

several calls to various S.T.A.R.S. branches to see if

any word had come from the home office about the

tragedy that occurred here. I received one of those

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摘要：

PROLOGUERaccoonTimes,July24,1998SPENCERMANSIONDESTROYEDINEXPLOSIVEFIRERACCOONCITY—Atapproximately2A.M.Thursdaymorn-ing,VictoryLakedistrictresidentswereawakenedbyanexplosiveblastthatthunderedthroughnorthwestRaccoonForest,apparentlycausedbyafirethatsweptthroughtheabandonedSpencermansionandignitedchemi...

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