The Mansion Incident

Chapter Nineteen

Chris didn’t know who went through guardhouse before him, but it was obvious that he wasn’t the first. A dead zombie right in the front hallway, another one in the rec room along with a humongous dead spider, and two more dead zombies in rooms down the hall was more than enough evidence of another survivor running loose. It could not have been someone from Alpha, because Chris doubted they could have gotten that far ahead of him already, but he supposed that someone from Bravo could have gotten this far. Of course, it was totally plausible that one of the mansion’s own security guards avoided the disease and was fighting his way out, but the path of destruction looked more like someone fighting his way in.

Forest and Edward were both dead, so it must have been one of the others. Enrico, Richard, Kenneth, or the new girl Rebecca. Chris would have been ecstatic to discover any of them walking around. To be honest, he would be happy to see another living human. He would even be happy to see Brad again.

He found the concealed elevator inside a closet in one of the back rooms, but only because the closet doors were already swung open. Chris’s predecessor through the guardhouse discovered it as well, apparently. Chris pressed the call button and a few seconds later, the elevator arrived from below. He got inside and did not debate whether or not to follow his predecessor down. At this point, there was no sense in getting cold feet. He hit the button with his elbow and descended underground.

It occurred to Chris, perhaps belatedly, that he wasn’t just searching for his comrades anymore. He was investigating the mystery of this place, searching for the key to understanding this whole impossible scenario. He could understand a secret mansion out in the mountains, but a hidden elevator inside a closet was getting too much to bear. It was clear that the elevator led to a place that wasn’t just hidden from Raccoon City. It was designed to be secret from the very people who lived in the guard house. It was a secret location within a secret location. Not only was Umbrella keeping secrets from the citizens of Raccoon City, they were essentially keeping secrets from their very own employees. Chris began to wonder exactly what they must be keeping down there, and he wondered if he should have used the elevator after all.

The doors slid open without sound and Chris found himself in a small white room with some tables and a few gray lockers against one wall and a rack of plain white lab coats against the other. He couldn’t hear any sound at all, not even the low hum of an air ventilation system.

He cautiously went out into the hallway and saw that it split in three directions. On the wall in large red letters were the words “Gamma Labs” with an arrow pointing right, “Delta Labs” with an arrow pointing forward, and “Theta Labs” with an arrow pointing left. Three labs, three choices.

Chris lowered his gun and frowned. There were three separate laboratory complexes? If that was the case, this place was much larger than Chris anticipated. He could wander around for hours and never find whoever it was he followed. How large were the labs? There might even be more than three. A depressing vision crept into his mind of twenty different lab areas spread out across five square miles and descending ten stories underground. The entire Arklay Mountain region might be tunneled out with labs like a giant ant farm.

There was no sign at all where Chris’s predecessor went. He would just have to guess. He closed his eyes for a moment and chose to go forward to Delta lab. It was the logical choice. Someone trying to go through the labs wouldn’t take a detour to the left or right, he would go straight ahead. Or at least Chris hoped so.

He went down the wide hallway at a brisk pace, keeping his gun drawn, listening intently to any sounds other than his own. His boots made soft bumping noises on the tile floor, but they didn’t echo, and he didn’t carry anything loose on his person like car keys or change in his pocket that would jingle around. For the most part, his travel was quiet.

There were lab rooms here and there, some of them with locked doors, some without doors at all, just connecting to the hallway. Chris surveyed them quickly and kept moving. He wasn’t interested in studying scientific leftovers, he was looking for survivors, preferably people he knew. Most of the labs looked the same anyway. A few long tables and counters, a few computer monitors, racks of test tubes and beakers, sometimes a chemical apparatus or some examination cages.

The size and scope of the labs amazed him, though. How long did it take to build this place? It must have been in operation for years. And who built it, exactly? Chris was fairly sure that no local construction crews or building contractors ever worked out in the mountains, or else people would have found out. That meant Umbrella brought in people from outside just to do the construction. But the place was gigantic. They must have used bulldozers and backhoes and dump trucks by the dozen to haul out all the dirt excavated to make these labs. And yet, Chris doubted that anyone in Raccoon City ever realized construction was going on.

But the city council must have known. Umbrella might have been conducting secret, illegal experiments here, but even international corporations have to follow zoning and property laws. They must have obtained legal permission to build these labs, and that meant dealing with the local government to get the forms and proper authorizations. And still, no one in Raccoon City knew about this place.

Just how much of Raccoon City did Umbrella own? Did it own not only land and buildings, but people too? Was the city council on their payroll? Chris remembered the name “M. Warren” scribbled in Ozwell Spencer’s appointment book, and wondered if Umbrella’s influence went even beyond the city council. Was the entire city government in their pocket?

The mayor, the city council, the zoning boards, and Chris could only guess who else. The city treasurer too, because someone controlled all the money. The utilities department, because Umbrella needed electricity and water just like everyone else. The tax and employment boards, because all of Umbrella’s employees, the scientists and security guards and janitors, filed local income tax.

Chris slowed down as his mind continued to make connections. If Umbrella was so thoroughly established in city government, what else did they have their hands in? Who else was on their payroll? Local hospitals, to help Umbrella test new drugs on unwitting patients? Local news media, to help Umbrella keep their illegal business secret?

The local police force?

Chris stopped dead in the hallway when the realization hit him. It felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It all fell into place in his head like a crossword puzzle with all the answers suddenly visible.

From the very beginning, the entire mission was all wrong. The way Bravo was kept incommunicado, the fact that no one really knew that the call was about, the fact that a local police force was being dispatched to a federal installation, and most obviously, the peculiar way Chief Irons stonewalled their inquiries and washed his hands of the whole thing before sending them off without even a plan of action. Chris was amazed he didn’t suspect it sooner. But how could he imagine something like that?

“Jesus,” he muttered softly. “They set us up.”

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