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.
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.
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 mention the primary source of income in Raccoon -- conducting 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 accountable yet, she figured it was only a matter of time.
Maybe they'll fly its to New York to brief the investigation team, or even to Europe for when they storm Umbrella's headquarters…
Chickenheart 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.
And once the reinforcements come, maybe they'll move me to one of the labs, let me study the virus.
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 you may as well face it, her mind whispered, you're fascinated by it. The chance to study an unclassified emerging mutagen, to find out what makes it tick -- that's what makes you tick.
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.
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.
"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…"
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, maybe 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.