him over. Either way, he stared up at them with lifeless eyes, a random pine needle stuck to one of the glazed orbs. The semi-jacketed round from David's Beretta had punched a hole directly over his heart; it had been a lucky shot. Looking down at the shooter'sashen face, Barry felt his own heart turn to stone.
Jesus, Shannon, why? Why this? "Who is he?" Jill asked softly. Barry stared down at the dead man, Unable to answer. David's reply seemed hollow, toneless.
"Captain Jay Shannon of the Oklahoma City S.T.A.R.S. Barry and I trained with him."
Barry found his voice, still looking at Jay's still face. "I called him last week, when I called David. He was worried about us, said he'd keep an eye out for Umbrella..."... and we shot the shit for another couple of minutes, catching up, telling old stories. I told him I'd send pictures of the kids, and he said that he had to get off the phone, that he wanted to talk but he had a meeting...
Umbrella must have already got to him, and the realization was cold and brutal and suddenly, horri- bly complete. Umbrella may have been behind the attack, but the S.T.A.R.S. had carried it out. Barry's home had been blown to hell by people they knew, and he'd been shot by a man he'd thought was a friend. The solemn quiet was broken by the barking of dogs, faint through the shadowy trees. From the number and location, it sounded like the RPD K-9 unit had just reached his house. Barry looked away from the corpse, his thoughts returning to the imme- diate situation. They had to move. "Where can we go?" David asked quickly. "Is there somewhere Umbrella wouldn't think to look, a cabin, an empty building... someplace we can get to on foot?" Brad! "Chickenheart's lease isn't up for a couple of months," Barry said. "His place is empty. And it's less than a mile from here." David nodded briskly. "Let's go." Barry turned toward the park's playground, leading the others across the moonlit clearing. There was a small trail that let out two blocks away, hopefully far enough away from the action that the cops wouldn't follow. Barry had walked through the park a million times, his wife at his side, his children dancing at their feet.... my home. This is my home, and it won't ever be the same again.
As they ran through the warm, peaceful night, Barry felt the hole in his arm start to bleed again. He clapped his right hand over the sticky dressing with- out slowing, letting the pain fuel his determination as they tore through the scrubby trees and headed for Brad's house.
No more. No more of this. My girls aren't going to grow up in a world where this can happen, not if I have any say in it.
So much had already happened, and this was only the beginning of their fight. There were still people working with the S.T.A.R.S. he trusted, that they could count on, and he wasn't going to be caught off his guard twice. The next time Umbrella came knock- ing, maybe they wouldn't have to run. And if Rebecca and David could pull off the Maine operation, they'd have what they needed to take the company down, once and for all. Umbrella had messed with the wrong people. Barry planned on being there when they figured that out. Jill picked the lock expertly, using a bent safety pin and one of Rebecca's earrings to open the door to the small cottage. Rebecca had swept Barry off to the medicine cabinet, while Chris went searching for a shirt. David and Jill checked the small house thor- oughly, David's satisfaction growing with each pass- ing moment. He couldn't have imagined a better hideout, and it was comforting to know that Barry and the two Alphas would have a safe spot to work from. The two- bedroom home shared a backyard with a security- conscious family; bright lights snapped on when Da- vid opened the back door, flooding the small lawn brilliantly and from the sight of the neighbor's side, they definitely had a rather large dog somewhere on the premises. There were houses close on either side of the rental, and the front window looked out on an open schoolyard just across the street. There would be no cover for an approaching team. The house was furnished simply, if untidily; it was obvious that the occupant had fled in