Resident Evil Legends Part Two: The Arklay Outbreak

By Andreas Leachim

Based on the Resident Evil video game series by Capcom. Albert Wesker and William Birkin have worked for Umbrella for fifteen years. Birkin is the head of the Raccoon City laboratory and an absentee father to his young daughter Sherry. Wesker runs the Arklay laboratory by day, and by night he is the commander of a special unit of police officers called the S.T.A.R.S. team. Wesker deals with the pressures of two demanding careers, and Birkin deals with an unhappy family life and strained relationship with his wife Annette. But when a mystery man from their past resurfaces and releases the Progenitor into the open, they have to find a way to salvage what they can. The S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team is sent to investigate, and their youngest recruit, Rebecca Chambers, must join forces with an escaped convict named Billy Coen if either of them are going to survive the outbreak ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andreas Leachim
• Release date: Nov 7, 2015

Andreas Leachim

Andreas Leachim is seven feet tall and has six fingers on each hand. He speaks 22 languages. He won the Academy Award for Best Picture, the Nobel Prize in Chemistry, and the Cy Young Award all in the same year. He once climbed Mount Everest while juggling a pair of flaming chainsaws. He is allergic to other human beings.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rebecca Chambers was twenty-four years old, but she looked barely older than eighteen. She had a youthful face with soft, innocent brown eyes, and straight reddish-brown hair that reached down just below her ears. She sat up straight, with her hands in her lap, dressed in a casual but businesslike blue blouse, knee-length skirt, and black stockings and shoes. Her outfit looked out of place on someone who appeared so young, as if she was just a child playing dress-up.

Wesker, seated at the desk in front of her, set her transfer paperwork down and sighed wearily, leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair. He wore a wrinkled gray dress shirt with visible sweat stains under the arms. His police badge hung from his belt. And, as always, his mirrored sunglasses were on his face.

You graduated the Academy two months ago, he said.

Rebecca nodded vigorously. Yes, sir.

Don’t take this the wrong way, Miss Chambers, but don’t you think you’re a little bit inexperienced for an assignment like the S.T.A.R.S. unit?

No, sir. I’m totally ready to be a member of your team.

Wesker noted how she said totally like an airheaded high school cheerleader. He had half a mind to deny her transfer on the spot. But she graduated third in her class at the Academy, and was qualified and trained as a primary first-aid specialist, which the S.T.A.R.S. teams currently lacked.

We have other applicants, you know, he said, glancing down at her paperwork again. He had to admit that there was nothing in her background that necessarily disqualified her from the open position, except for her age. Wesker had already interviewed seven other applicants, and none of them had resumes any better or worse than Rebecca’s, if he had to be honest.

I understand, sir, Rebecca said. All I can say is that I’ll work hard to earn your trust. I know I’m young, but I’m dedicated and I strongly believe that I’m the right person for the job. If you think that someone else is better qualified, then I promise that you’ll see me again the next time you have an opening. I truly believe that the S.T.A.R.S. team is where I’m meant to be.

Wesker thought about the other officers he had interviewed. All of them were hardworking, responsible, and talented individuals, but none of them really seemed to grasp what the S.T.A.R.S. units were all about. They came into the interview treating it as just another promotion to a higher rank and pay grade. There was no shortage of ambitious police officers like that. Wesker could have hired any one of them, but he knew that they would never fit into the team’s unique dynamic.

Wesker was far from an idealist. He preferred to have tough, solid, experienced officers under his command. But he knew that he could not hire someone who treated the S.T.A.R.S. team as a stepping stone to a better promotion a few years down the line. Rebecca Chambers looked like she was better-suited to teaching a class of a kindergarten students, but something about her personality made Wesker think that maybe she was the right person for the job.

You’ll have to speak with Enrico Marini, he said. He’s the captain of Bravo team. He won’t be here tomorrow, but can you come back on Friday morning for a meeting with him?

Yes, I would love to.

Wesker scribbled Enrico’s office number on a slip of paper. He comes in at around eight. Call first to schedule an interview. Ultimately, it will be his decision to hire you. But knowing Enrico like I do, I don’t think that will be a problem. So let me be the first to say, welcome to the S.T.A.R.S. team, Rebecca.

Rebecca’s face lit up and she almost jumped up out of the chair. Thank you so much, she said, coming forward to shake his hand and take Enrico’s phone number, which she tucked into her purse. I can’t tell you how happy I am about this. You are totally not going to regret it.

There was that totally again. Wesker wondered if he was making a mistake. Enrico would accept the girl right off the bat. He appreciated eagerness and enthusiasm toward the job. Someone like Rebecca was sure to impress him with her youthful energy, if nothing else.

In his ten years with the Raccoon City Police Department, Wesker was a model officer without so much as a smudge on his record. He quickly climbed the ranks, in accordance with his original deal with Chief Irons. Thankfully for both of them, no one had reason to complain about Wesker’s rapid promotion, since he proved himself as one of the most capable officers on the force. It was somewhat ironic, since he was the only one of them not to graduate, or even attend, the Academy. His papers were all clumsy forgeries, but Irons lived up to his part of the arrangement and passed them without a hitch. And now, after ten years, Irons was still the Chief of Police and Wesker was captain of the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team.

S.T.A.R.S. stood for Special Tactics And Rescue Squad, and there were no other police units quite like it. There were two teams, Alpha and Bravo, and each had six members. They performed missions all across the tri-state area, and were a very recognizable and highly regarded department within the RCPD. They were more than just a regular S.W.A.T. team, although comparisons could be made. S.T.A.R.S. was equally trained for search-and-rescue missions as well as urban infiltration and combat scenarios, along with a wide variety of specialty assignments that didn’t fall neatly into any one category.

Wesker lifted his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and if he didn’t get some sleep soon he would just pass out at his desk. He’d been up for almost thirty hours, after spending all morning in the labs and now all evening here at the police station. And it was only nine-thirty.

He did not like to think of his life as a double life or a secret life. Granted, one half of his life was a secret from everyone involved in the other half, but Wesker didn’t think of it that way. He simply had one very complicated, very complex life.

By day he was the head research supervisor at a state-of-the-art science laboratory, and by night he was the commander of a special unit of police officers in the RCPD. Both jobs, both lives, were highly stressful and incredibly demanding, but Wesker successfully kept them both going, meeting all the responsibilities and obligations of both with no one in the RCPD the wiser. Monday through Saturday, from six in the morning until noon, he worked in the labs, supervising all of the experiments and projects and also managing the entire research staff. Wednesday through Sunday, he worked in the police station from noon until ten at night. He usually stopped back at the lab for an hour or two before going home. His schedule allowed him to have Saturday night and Sunday morning off, which he usually spent catching up on sleep.

His cell phone rang, jarring him from his half-asleep introspection. He pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the number, and set it against his ear. What is it? he asked, slouching in his chair.

Get to the lab right away, Spencer said.

You know I can’t just run off.

Leave early for the night. Give them some excuse, I don’t care what. You’ve got to get over here as soon as you can.

Why?

It’s the hunters again. One of them got loose from the tanks. They have it barricaded in the west observation lab, but it killed one of your boys.

Can’t you handle this yourself? Wesker said angrily. I haven’t slept in two days. You don’t need me there. Tell them to tranquilize it.

This is your project. When things go wrong, you’re held accountable.

Then kill it for all I care, Wesker shot back. We have more in the tanks. This isn’t just my project, Spencer, this is everyone’s project. You can’t call me every time some crisis falls in your lap.

We have a dead man here, Wesker.

He isn’t the first.

Those hunters are dangerous, Spencer said. You authorized their development. I didn’t put off retirement just to clean up your messes.

I’m busy, Wesker said. I’ll be there in the morning. You’ll just have to keep things under control until I get there. Goodbye.

Don’t you hang up on me – Spencer said, but Wesker didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He ended the call and then turned off his cell phone.

Things at the lab, for months now, were getting progressively more and more out of hand, and Spencer was no help at all. If Wesker didn’t know better, he’d think the old man was going senile, or at least going soft. As impossible as it seemed, Spencer was merely in over his head. He was getting old, and progress at the lab had outpaced his ability to keep up with the new developments.

In the ten years since Wesker adopted two lives, Spencer delegated more and more responsibility onto him, as if he wasn’t already overworked enough. Spencer no longer ran the Arklay facility with an iron hand, and as a result, Wesker was elected to handle every problem the lab faced. That, combined with his responsibilities in the S.T.A.R.S. team, was what made his life so difficult. Sometimes he wished he had never agreed to join the police department in the first place. At this point, he didn’t even remember if it had been his idea or Spencer’s.

His desk phone rang and he picked it up, expecting a call from forensics.

Wesker here, he said.

I’m not joking around, Spencer snapped at him. This is serious. Drop whatever you’re doing and get over here!

You can’t call me on my office phone, Wesker said. You know that. I’ll be at the lab tomorrow morning. See you then.

He hung up the phone and unplugged the cord from the back. With a groan, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes again. He decided that it was a good thing his chair was so uncomfortable; if it was comfortable, he’d have fallen asleep in it by now.

There was a sharp knock on his door, and it opened to reveal a six-foot-three giant of a man with short brown hair and a scruffy beard. Barry Burton, the oldest member of Alpha team. He wore a plain white t-shirt with a red vest over it, dirty blue jeans, and black motorcycle gloves. He sat down in the chair opposite Wesker and it creaked alarmingly under his weight.

How’s it going, Wesker? he asked.

Rough. I just want to go to bed, Wesker replied honestly.

There’s not much going on tonight. Take off and get some sleep. You look like you need it.

Wesker shook his head. No, I have to wait for the daily reports to show up. Chris and Jill still haven’t turned one in. And I’m waiting for a call from forensics.

Barry glanced down at the phone. You’d better plug it in then.

Wesker sighed and plugged the phone line back in. Weird. I wonder how that happened.

Barry chuckled under his breath. Man, do you look beat.

That obvious?

Looks like you haven’t slept in a week.

I slept this week, just not that much.

Why don’t you just call it a day? Tell forensics to leave a message. Have Chris and Jill slide their reports under the door.

No sense in leaving early, Wesker said, shaking his head. Might as well get it done today and start fresh tomorrow.

Barry smirked and shook his head. Man, I don’t think I’ll ever understand what makes you tick. You come here and work yourself to death, and don’t have anyone at home waiting for you.

Wesker mentally prepared himself for Barry’s daily You should be married and have kids by now speech. Barry was a huge family man himself, and would gladly show you the pictures in his wallet if you gave him half a chance, and he took it on himself to constantly berate those who chose not to participate in the traditional nuclear family. Wesker, the perpetual loner, was first on his list.

Gonna tell me again now I need to find myself a wife? he asked cynically, trying not to sound angry about it.

You’re not a complete person, Barry said, sounding like a pop psychologist, which was funny because he more closely resembled a lumberjack. You need someone in your life before it’s too late, man. You work all these long hours to make up for the fact that you don’t have someone to share your life with.

Wesker laughed at that. Barry, where do you come up with this stuff?

Just look at me, Barry said confidently. Or Enrico, or even Ken. We’re well-rounded because we have healthy family lives and healthy professional lives. You don’t have a healthy family life, so you make up for it by working yourself into an early grave.

You’re exaggerating.

Am I? Take a look in the mirror, buddy. You look like a walking zombie.

Wesker found that unintentionally hilarious, but that time he didn't laugh. Instead, he spread his hands and said, I’m a busy guy. I don’t have time for a girlfriend.

What about that peach that just left your office?

Who? When Wesker realized he was referring to Rebecca Chambers, he just shook his head. For your information, that young woman is the newest member of Bravo team. It would be inappropriate for me to date someone under my command. Besides, she’s a bit young for me.

How old was she? Twenty?

Twenty-four.

You’re not that much older.

I’m thirty-five, Wesker said, feeling older even as he said it. Eleven years older.

Barry could not come up with a comeback to that. He shook his head, and Wesker could sense real disappointment in his reaction. Thirty-five and still single. What am I gonna do with you?

Nothing, Wesker said. Nothing at all.

There was another knock on the door, and it opened promptly. Chris Redfield, Alpha team’s strategic coordinator, poked his head in.

Hey, Barry. Hey, Wes. I got my daily report here, and Jill’s too.

Hand them over.

Chris gave them to Barry, who set them on Wesker’s desk, and closed the door after him. Wesker set the papers on the edge of his desk without reading them. Now why can’t you do that? he asked Barry. Why can’t you just pop in, give me your work, and leave again? Every day you come in and preach to me.

Cause I’m worried about you, man. It ain’t right seeing someone like you working yourself to the bone every day and not having anyone to go home to. If I didn’t have Kathy and the girls, I’d be empty inside.

I guess that’s the difference between us, Wesker said, trying not to sound too scornful. I don’t need other people in my life to be happy. I can do just fine without anyone. He stood up and took his jacket off the filing cabinet behind him. I will, however, take your advice and leave early. If I stay awake much longer, I’ll fall asleep on the drive home.

They walked out of Wesker’s office and he locked the door. He wished Barry a good night and left the office area. The forensics call would just have to wait until tomorrow.

Barry gave him a hard time, but he only knew half the story. If Barry ever realized what Wesker’s life was really like, he’d praise him for not having an immediate nervous breakdown. If Wesker had to handle working in the labs all day, working at the police station all night, and dealing with a family on top of all that, the strain would kill him in less than a week. There was no room for a personal life when his professional life took up eighteen hours or more of his day. He had nothing to give a significant other. No woman in her right mind would put up with his insane work schedule for very long. Wesker had long ago resigned himself to being single for the rest of his life.

He left the police station and walked around back to the parking lot. Night had already fallen, and the street lamps cast long shadows across the bare cement. Wesker approached his car and looked around. No one was in sight. A black, wrought-iron fence surrounded the parking lot, the kind of fence that looked like it should line the grounds of a cemetery or a haunted house. Distantly, he heard the sounds of urban Raccoon City penetrate the twilight silence: car engines grumbling, tires bumping over pot holes, wind rushing through the streets, people talking, faint music coming from somewhere. He opened the door to his car and got in.

Although he desperately wanted to go home and sleep for twelve hours, the lab called to him. As much as he argued with Spencer for calling him every time something went wrong, he could not dismiss his responsibilities there. He was the Research Project Manager, after all. The lab – the entire lab – was his personal work area, and he did not have the luxury of ignoring problems and expecting someone else to clean up after him. Deep down, Wesker was an obsessive perfectionist regarding his work. If complications arose, he handled them himself rather than let anyone else possibly make them worse. He needed to know that everything was under control and running the way he wanted it to. Basically, he didn’t trust anyone else to take care of it.

As he drove out of town, he tried to prepare himself for the situation awaiting him once he got to the lab. Spencer said they had one hunter loose and one scientist dead. That was nothing new. Four scientists had died in the past three years due to one of the experiments getting loose or due to virus contamination. It was a dangerous place to work, and they just weren’t being careful enough.

The hunters were a problem from the beginning, ever since they first began growing them in the stasis tanks. They were the most uncontrollable, most brutally violent creatures Wesker had ever experimented with. He likened them to the Velociraptors in Jurassic Park, extremely efficient and single-mindedly brutal killers. And to think, they all started out as harmless frogs.

When the pure T-virus was exposed to living creatures, it mutated them. In the case of humans, it turned them into Tyrants, the walking albino behemoths. But other animals mutated in different ways. Some of them disgusting, most of them totally useless. The testing labs looked like a circus freak show, with different animals transformed into hideous beasts shambling around behind metal bars and unbreakable glass.

Frogs grew to many times their normal size, until they were almost as large as dogs. Their limbs extended disproportionately, so that they began walking around like gorillas. They grew long claws and razor-like teeth, and were the most bloodthirsty monsters the scientists had ever seen. And that was before they began breeding.

Even though Marcus was long dead, his work lived on. Letting mutated creatures breed became standard procedure, and with each new generation, the mutations deepened. The hunters got larger and faster, until some of them measured five feet tall. And as they grew in size, they became more agile and unbelievably strong. They could jump over seven feet high if given the chance, and their claws, long and sharp as knife blades, could cleanly decapitate a man with one swipe. But unlike the other T-virus experiments such as the Tyrants, who were almost immune to physical damage, the hunters’ strength and speed did not make them immune to harm. One shotgun blast could drop them fairly quickly. And once dead, they somehow stayed that way.

The hunters were just one of many experimental creatures at the lab. And despite Spencer’s claim that Wesker had authorized their development, the truth was that Spencer directed their research in that direction almost from the beginning. The lab contained all sorts of experimental T-virus organisms. They had other creatures known as lickers and stingers, which were both just as dangerous as the hunters. The hunters just had a habit of escaping more often.

When Wesker pulled into the lab parking lot at the side of the mansion, he found Spencer standing there impatiently, his arms crossed, slightly shivering against the chilly night air. Wesker got out of his car and entered the mansion nonchalantly, Spencer hot on his heels.

I’d better be getting overtime for this, he said.

I pay you a salary, Spencer said, reasonably calm despite his anger and his time spent waiting outside. Working late is part of your job.

Wesker laughed, but not at the comment. He realized that Barry was wrong the whole time. Wesker most certainly did have someone waiting for him when he came home from work. He had Ozwell Spencer.

Chapter 2

Where’s Daddy? eight-year-old Sherry Birkin asked over breakfast, digging her spoon into an overflowing bowl of Lucky Charms. She knew the answer, but like most intelligent children, she asked the question just to see how her mother would respond. With the uncomfortable truth, or a convenient lie. To her mother’s credit, she usually told the truth, since like most parents of intelligent children, she knew when her daughter knew more than she let on.

He stayed at work all night, her mother said, making Sherry’s school lunch. A peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, a fruit cup, and a thermos of chocolate milk.

He does that a lot, Sherry said.

He’s a very busy man, her mother replied. You know he comes home and spends time with us as often as he can.

If his work is so hard, he should just quit and find a new job.

He loves his job, honey. It means a lot to him.

His family should mean a lot to him, too.

With a sigh and a sideways glance in her direction, Sherry’s mother placed her lunch in her pink lunch box and clicked it closed. Please don’t start on that this morning. She set the lunch box on the kitchen table and glanced at her watch. Now hurry up, honey. It’s almost time to go.

Sherry obediently finished her cereal and grabbed her lunch box as she left the table. She was dressed in a dark blue shirt and checkered skirt, her school uniform. She wished that she could attend the local public school, where she wouldn’t have to wear a uniform and could dress however she wanted, but her parents insisted on the so-called advantages of a private school. She knew that both of them had attended public elementary schools and they turned out just fine.

Annette Birkin grabbed her white jacket off the coat rack by the front foyer and opened the door. Sherry ran out the door and quickly got into the car. It was only early October, but the wind was numbingly cold this morning. Annette wrapped her arms around herself as she walked to the car, a shining black luxury coupe. Her blonde hair whipped around her face as she got into the car, relieved when she closed the door and got out of the biting wind.

Her husband had never liked the house. Birkin firmly proclaimed his opinion when they first bought it seven eight ago, but Annette refused to raise their daughter in the lab. They had a child and they needed to buy a house like a normal married couple, she told him at the time. Their combined salaries added up to well over three-hundred-thousand dollars a year, so they could easily afford to get financing for an upper-class home in the hills on the north side of Raccoon City. It was a residential area composed of beautiful two-story homes, well-manicured lawns, and overgrown pine trees, populated by millionaires and wealthy business owners and the spoiled rich children of millionaires who looked down at Annette because she chose not to employ a butler or a nanny. Birkin probably wouldn’t have cared, because it would have made his life easier, but Annette refused to hire someone else to raise their child or manage their household. She took on those jobs herself, taking time away from her work at the lab and creating more distance between her and her husband.

Do you think Daddy will come home tonight? Sherry asked.

I hope he does. I’ll talk to him at work and see if he can come home, okay?

Thanks, Mommy.

The drive through the city was uneventful. Annette would have preferred moving to a bigger city, like New York or Boston, but that would mean leaving behind the Umbrella facilities in Raccoon City, which Birkin was not willing to do. Raccoon City was nice enough, but after thirteen years, Annette found the city rather dull and pedestrian.

She pulled the car into the school’s driveway. Parked in front of her were expensive luxury cars and monstrous sport-utility vehicles, all shiny and new, since none of the wealthy parents would dare drive an old car. Children in the same dark blue uniform as Sherry hurried across the sidewalk to the large front doors. The school did not draw much attention when viewed from the street, but it looked like a historic European government office, built of austere gray marble and stone.

Have a good day, honey, Annette said, touching Sherry’s shoulder. Sherry leaned up and kissed Annette on the cheek. She got out of the car and ran to the school’s entrance, turning back once to wave before she disappeared inside. Annette pulled the car out of its parking space and circled around the driveway to head back down the street.

She became pregnant not long after the hasty marriage, and she worked in the labs right up to the minute her water broke. But after that, things were undeniably different. The birth of their first child unintentionally and irrevocably caused a rift in their marriage, even if Birkin refused to admit it. Even Sherry seemed to sense it, but she was very bright for a second grader.

Annette forced herself not to judge Birkin too harshly. His first love had always been science and his work, regardless of what he said to her in their tender moments, and their marriage had not changed that. She knew that one of the things Birkin loved about her at the time was that her dedication to science nearly matched his own. But having a child altered her priorities. When she began spending less time at the labs, Birkin grew distant. He never said anything out loud, he was too stubborn to, but Annette would have to be blind not to see it. The baby took her away from the work, and Birkin loved her because of the work. Since her dedication to the work faltered, so did his feelings for her.

Convincing him to buy the house was another fracture in the relationship. Before the baby, Annette and Birkin spent all their time at the lab together, since they both lived and worked there. But when Annette bought the house and began spending most of her time caring for their new baby, Birkin’s feelings for her faded. In a way, Annette knew that she should have seen it coming. Men like Birkin love their work, and they love people who love their work as well. Once you stop loving their work, they stop loving you.

It wasn’t fair, though. It wasn’t fair to her, and it certainly wasn’t fair to Sherry, who saw her father only a few times a week, usually when he was too overworked to really spend quality time with her. It wasn’t even fair to Birkin, who was missing out on his own daughter’s childhood.

Annette arrived at the lab and made her way down into the lower levels, where Birkin always worked. The hallways were spotless white tile and stainless steel, and the scientists she passed in the halls wore white gowns, white slippers over their shoes, and white face masks. Annette had worked there too long to care about such things; she knew that if the virus escaped, a white face mask wasn’t going to save her life. She wore comfortable black sneakers, gray slacks, and a blue shirt under her unbuttoned lab coat.

Birkin was in the central lab, hunched over his desk, scanning a pile of detailed image print outs. He glanced up as she entered and did not bother to say Good morning before he waved her over to the desk and began talking about work. His hair was a black tangle on his head, looking as if birds had recently nested there, and his eyes were deep with lines. He wore the same shirt and pants as he’d worn the day before.

If we can isolate the VN-68 protein here, he said, pointing at one of the pictures, we can splice it with the enhanced Progenitor-K. I think that it might solve, or at least delay, the nerve damage in the test subjects.

Annette pulled up a chair and sat down, examining the pictures, letting him rant for a few moments before interrupting him. VN-68 was just one of thousands of different enzymes and proteins and related biological products that the lab experimented with.

Birkin was like this every morning, going on about whatever minor aspect of the Progenitor he wanted to work on that day, and it changed every single day. He was too scattered, too frazzled. It was apparent in every movement of his hands, every twitch of his eye.

Did you sleep at all last night? she asked, cutting him off.

Did I ...? He seemed lost for a moment, and looked at her curiously. Yes, I slept a few hours. Three or four. I spent all night calibrating one of the chemical analyzers and didn’t get to bed until about three-thirty.

Looks like you slept in your clothes.

Birkin scoffed and returned his attention to the print outs. Please. I don’t have to keep up appearances for anyone. I can look however I want.

You look awful, Annette said bluntly.

Yes, well, that’s your opinion. I don’t hear anyone else complaining.

"That’s cause everyone