Epilogue: Welcome Home
October 2nd 1204 hours
The journey home had been fairly uneventful.
The military had been kind enough to arrange transport for him to the nearest airport, and then had been able to get him a flight straight to Richmond for free, and then from there he would be able to get a taxi straight to his home, which was also kind of them, as otherwise Riverview was 20 miles outside of Virginia's capital, and he didn't fancy hitchhiking that far either.
He had slept across the entire plane flight, so exhausted was he from fatigue, but reminders of what had happened could be seen everywhere he went, plastered across newspaper headlines and on every news channels on television; images of that damn mushroom cloud framed on the horizon, and the flames ravaging the city. Over 100,000 were dead, and some serious questions were being asked, both of the Umbrella Corporation and the government itself. The public outcry was unprecedented as well: scores of angry protesters had picketed outside of the White House to show their displeasure.
And on the Umbrella side, more casualties were to be had. At least half of the Board of Directors had resigned in the days after the destruction of the city, and at least one other member had committed suicide, throwing himself from the balcony of his penthouse suite in New York, supposedly. Yet the corporation was still operating, though Dean wondered for how much longer. How much longer could they pull the wool over the eyes of the great American public? The though filled him with anger, but he only cared about one thing now: going home.
Right now the taxi was travelling through the picturesque countryside of Virginia, little to see save for the odd farm vehicle, and the fields of crops ripe for harvesting. In some places he could see the farmers going about their duties, entirely oblivious to events in the mid-west. There was also the crackle of the radio, as the cab driver, an African-American in his mid-thirties, switched channels constantly. Dean perked up when he caught a glimpse of a news report on one channel.
"And this news exclusive just in, President Rudolph Baxter has announced his resignation"-
"Hey buddy, turn that up will you?" he asked, tapping against the dividing window between the passenger compartment and the driver's compartment.
"As you wish boss," replied the driver with a dry chuckle, twisting one of the dials to increase the volume, loud enough for them both to hear it clearly, the female reporter continuing her piece.
"Just moments ago, the President of the United States has announced his resignation after serving just one term in office, with recent opinion polls suggesting his popularity has plummeted in the wake of the 'baccilus terminus' operation that occurred at the isolated mid-western town of Raccoon City, home of the Umbrella Corporation. However, in his resignation speech the president gave no outright explanation of his reasons for resigning, and refused to answer any questions of the press. His successor is yet to be announced..."
"Hell, can't blame him for steeping down after he authorized that shit, eh?" stated the driver loudly, looking back at Dean with a pearly smile showing a few black gaps in his teeth. "You see those pictures on the TV? Damn, that was one hell of an explosion."
"Could say that again," said Dean flatly as he looked straight at the rear-view mirror. "I used to live in Raccoon City. I saw that explosion close up." There was an awkward silence as the driver's smile faded, and he turned the radio off fully, focusing back on the road before him. Dean decided not to pursue the matter further as he looked out the side window over the fields, his ears starting to become filled with hollow moans and pained screams, murky memories swimming around his head like annoying flies.
Stop it...
Little was said for the rest of their journey, though Dean did begin to show signs of perking up when they passed by a huge wooden building that could easily have been storage warehouse, looming suddenly out of the trees at the side of the road. But Dean knew fine well that it was the old saw mill, long out of commission for years now, but still a well-known haunt for the young children in his home town: hell, he and the others had even frequented it right up to their final years of college. He could recall that night when Travis had managed to lift a six-pack of beer from his father's garage the morning previous, and the rest of the night was devoted to their first experience with alcohol- that ended with them having to half-drag, half-carry Cameron home. He'd been a lightweight ever since.
He smirked at the memory even as they rounded a corner and continued on through the road cut through the centre of the forest, until they passed by a tiny sign at the side of the road, the paint peeling away, but Dean could still clearly read the writing, printed in bright red lettering.
Riverview. Pop: 353
"At last..." he whispered, even as the forest suddenly gave way to a long avenue of single-storied homes, interspersed with various stores that he still remembered, from 'Bob's Fishin' Shack' to 'Eleanor's Essentials', through to many more. He also saw the dull concrete of the Sheriff's Station, a pair of black and white police cruisers parked up outside.
Wonder if Sheriff Harper's still alive and ticking?
"So where's your place then boss?" asked the driver as he approached a crossroads ahead, slowing down as the lights changed to red. It was a while before Dean replied, too busy was he in looking around at a place he hadn't seen in so long, and yet hadn't changed at all. Most of the houses and other buildings were barely changed from when he had first been growing up, running along the sidewalks, playing with his little sister.
"It's on the other side of town," he explained. "Just keep driving straight, and you'll see the white fence posts where the road turns off down a dirt track."
"You got it boss," replied the driver, as the lights changed to green once more, and he headed off again, as his passenger continued staring round at everything he could see, at people walking the sidewalks, sitting on benches, chatting between themselves. These were people he once considered close as family, such was the nature of the tiny settlement, but had left behind a long time ago.
"You know what's funny?" asked Dean suddenly, directing the question at no-one in particular. "It's been just over five years since I last set foot in this town, and it's hardly changed a bit."
"Yeah, going home can be a funny thing," agreed the driver, not taking his eyes off the road. "Especially after coming back after a long time away...it makes you appreciate the small things in life more."
"Appreciate the small things...yeah," whispered Dean as they passed by the three-storied Riverview Medical Clinic, probably the only building that had changed since five years ago. Not only did it have a fresh coat of paint, but its facilities looked a lot more modern now, as did the lone ambulance parked out front. And past that was another modern-looking building, Riverview High School, where he had first met Ben and the others, and where the supposed 'golden era' of their lives had begun. Even now he could see the kids coming out for their lunch break now, gathering around on the stone steps directly outside the front doors in groups. Looking again, he could almost see himself and the others sat there, talking and laughing about the most ridiculous things imaginable.
Just a shame that we can never have those moments again...not with Ben gone...
And almost as though fate had a sick sense of humour, the car then passed by a lone house with countless bundles of flowers and other tributes lying out the front, a few passer-bys standing by to examine the scene closer, and Dean realised that it was the Campbell residence. His heart sank once more, and he felt the surge of powerful emotions come back to him. How could he ever face Ben's parents again?
And then it was gone again, the road surrounded by forest once more, at this time of year a constant mirage of orange, copper and brown shades as the leaves shrivelled and fell from their branches. He knew that they were getting close to their ultimate destination, the old Travers farm, and he could feel the apprehension building up in his gut. How would they react upon seeing him for the first time in five years? That was the main question, and his mind returned to it again and again, throughout his whole trip here.
"Here we are boss. Sorry I can't take you any further," came the driver's voice suddenly, and it was only then that he realised that they had come to a complete stop, and he looked to his right to see a dirt path over-shadowed by trees growing on each side, marked with white fencing, exactly as he had described it. A small mailbox on a wooden post was also present, the word 'Travers' written across the side in white paint.
"That's fine, I can manage from here," he sighed, throwing open the door and stepping out, dried leaves crunching under his feet, and he also grabbed the dark duffel bag that had been laying on the seat next to him. He threw the door shut afterwards and approached the open driver window. "Thanks for the lift buddy."
"Don't worry about it boss, anything to help a brother in need," grinned the man, offering his hand to shake. Dean looked at it cautiously for a few seconds, before he took it and gave a hearty shake, knowing it was worth at least showing his appreciation. After that gesture, the man smiled again, rolled up his window, and then promptly gunned the engine, spinning the car through 180 degrees and heading back the way they had come, back on the long road towards Richmond. Dean watched him go for a while, and then he turned to appreciate the natural beauty around him.
Trees with auburn and orange coloured leaves littered the empty landscape, which would normally be overrun with acres of pure green fields in the spring and summer, but now autumn was beginning to take hold on nature's landscape, giving the whole area a general look of decay. He was reminded somewhat of Raccoon City, and of the decay that overtook that former home of his, even if that decay was unnatural in its state and origin.
He sighed and stooped to pick up the bag next to his feet, which contained a few changes of clothes and some other essentials, provided to him by the military before he had left, just while he got back on his feet. He was clad in the same jeans he'd had on for the last couple days, along with the same shirt and boots that were a bit too big for him, but as long as they were on him to provide some defence from the cold. He shivered as he remembered that he didn't have some kind of coat to add to his current outfit. Turning to face down the pathway, he began to traipse his way along the dirt road, his feet crunching under the fallen leaves and twigs littering the dirt.
Thoughts were swimming this way and that through his mind. It had been so long since he'd last been here, his first home, the place where he grew up for most of his life, before he abandoned that to cross the country and seek his fortune elsewhere, effectively abandoning the simple life of living on a farm, because he felt as though he wouldn't be able to sustain a proper living here, that he was meant for greater things.
He also remembered the row he had with his parents the night he left. They accused him of running away from his responsibilities. The Travers family had owned that farm for 3 generations, and Dean was supposed to be the fourth, but in leaving home he had left the future of the farm's ownership in jeopardy: if both his parents happened to die off the whole estate would go into ownership of the State, and neither of them wanted that. But he hadn't cared about that stuff all those years ago: he was too young and selfish to consider it, and was only looking out for himself when he moved out. He assumed that they'd be able to manage without him, and told him as much during their numerous conversations via phone and mail, but every time he was in contact with them he could sense a tinge of resentment. Looking back, he couldn't blame them really.
So would the farm still be running at full capacity? Or had it fallen on hard times? Would things have been different if he'd been there and never left? Or would that all be inconsequential as to the estate's ultimate fate?
Too many questions, he told himself. Just focus on what you can see and know. They'll be happy to see their son didn't get blown to smithereens in that damn nuclear blast.
A few minutes later, and the path opened out into a large clearing, the central hub of the Travers Estate. To his right was a wooden hut that operated as the garage, and it was currently occupied by a pair of vehicles, one a rusty pick-up truck with traces of red paint on it, one he remembered as the same truck his father had owned and driven for at least 10 years before he left, and it looked like it was still up and running (a small miracle in itself, as Dean was sure it was a nightmare to get parts for that vehicle). The other vehicle was a modern-looking sedan, a rich blue in colour and it looked fairly new.
Blue…that was always Lisa's favourite colour. That's probably her car…
His little sister Lisa…but chances were she wasn't so little now. She was 6 years his junior, so that would mean she would be 20 years old now, no longer the little girl who always used to chase after him when he went into town on some errand or another. He still vividly remembered the last time he'd seen here before he'd left: she was on the verge of tears, as she'd been going through some tough times during her time at college and he'd always been there to help her through. But if he left she'd be alone again, and she said she feared she would be unable to cope if he left.
But he told her that she had to keep strong, not for him but for herself, otherwise the rest of her life would have been an uphill struggle; that she had to look after their parents now. She had seemed content with his answer, and saw him off in good stead. Chances were she'd be the one most pleased to see him return home, but of course after what had gone down in Raccoon he'd wager they'd all be happy to see him initially. The resentment would just follow later, he reckoned.
His gaze crossed the yard and settled on the old barn opposite the garage, the red paint beginning to peel and fade away in places, but otherwise it was almost exactly the same as the last time he saw it, much like the rest of the town. Next to that was the immense grain silo, a great steel construction that towered over everything else in the yard. When he was a young boy, he always used to gaze up in wonder at the silo, and ask his father if he was ever going to be tall enough to reach the top. And every time, the response was 'One day son, one day.' He smiled a little at that happy memory.
Finally, he turned to look at the house itself, the large, two-story house that he was born and raised in. Its wood-panelled walls were painted white; and it was beginning to peel away in places, much like the barn, but otherwise it was still in good condition. The bright blue window blinds were drawn on the upstairs windows, the ones downstairs left open, though he discerned no movement inside. The old porch out front lay before the closed screen door, with an old hanging seat to the right of the door. Next to the house was the apple tree, almost as tall as the house itself now, the same tree he used to climb a lot when he was a child, but he always did that alone. His sister was always too afraid to climb after him, due to her vertigo.
"Dean, stop it! You're scaring me!" she would always plead, as he climbed past the 12 foot mark.
"Oh, I'll be fine!" he'd shout back, climbing another branch. "I bet I can touch the sky when I reach the top!"
"Never did reach that far," Dean said to himself solemnly. "Not since that time I fell and broke my arm." He rubbed at his right forearm as the memory of that accident came back to him. Apparently he was howling like a banshee when his dad found him, though he had always denied it for years afterwards, even to his closest friends.
The thoughts had only just begun to fade away when the sound of a door being opened reached his ears, and he flashed his gaze towards the front door. The screen door had been opened, and a young woman who could easily pass for his female equivalent, with green eyes and long dark brown hair, stepped outside, a basket filled with wet washing tucked under one arm. She was dressed casually in grey jeans marked with a few smears of dirt, along with white sneakers, and a blue vest top underneath a chequered shirt. She didn't notice him at first, not until she'd stepped off of the porch steps and looked up. She just stood there at first, staring at him in disbelief, almost as though she were trying to figure out if she was seeing things or not. Dean started to slowly grin to himself.
"You know, when you see someone you haven't seen in a long time, it's normally polite to say 'hello'," he joked with a wide smile. Soon she returned the smile that crossed her freckle-marked cheeks, dropping the full basket where she stood and running towards him. He barely managed to drop his bag and open his arms in time as she practically threw herself into him, holding onto him as though he was going to leave again and she wanted to keep him there in any way possible.
"Whoa, easy there tiger!" laughed Dean, as he regained his balance.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," she replied, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears. He held a hand protectively to the back of her head for a few seconds, letting her get her emotions out.
"Hey, hey, don't cry," he said, holding her away so he could see her face, slightly stained by tears. He carefully wiped away a trickling teardrop with his thumb. "I'm glad to see you too, kiddo." She just smiled at him again, and then pulled him into another meaningful hug that lingered for several more seconds before they finally pulled away from one another.
"When we heard about what had happened in Raccoon City, we feared the worst. Thank God you're still alive!" she continued, her voice still a little shaky.
"I feared for myself as well Lisa," Dean said blankly, lowering his head. "It was like hell on earth." There was a brief silence, until he spoke up again to try and shift the conversation onto a happier material.
"But look at you!" he said, moving a stray strand of hair out from her teary eyes. "You've certainly grown since last I saw you."
"People can change a lot in five years," she replied, and he retreated a little, unsure on how to react, whether it was an honest proclamation or a little dig at his departure. But she continued on as though nothing had happened. "But it's all thanks to you, big brother. You told me that I had to strong for mom and dad, right?"
"Yeah, I guess so," he said in a somewhat unsteady fashion, forcing a smile. "So where are you know? I'm guessing you start university soon?"
"That's right," she nodded with a smile. "Working for my medicine degree, it's been hard work, but I'm enjoying it. I'll be starting a placement at the medical clinic in a couple of week's time. Can't wait!"
"Oh that's brilliant news!" he smiled. "You've done great Lisa, just as you knew you always would." Lisa had been determined to become a doctor for years, after their grandfather had passed away from lung cancer. That would have a profound effect upon any 13 year old, but the look in her eye when she stated that she would become a doctor, no matter what, would convince any sceptic of her resolve.
"Are mom and dad in?" he then asked, moving the conversation along. He knew he would have to see both his parents sooner or later, so better to ask about them then giving the wrong impression.
"Mom's in, dealing with the housework, and dad went out with Curtis to check out the apple collection at the Orchard," replied Lisa.
"Curtis?" asked Dean with a laugh, remembering his father's longest-serving farmhand. "Is that old crusty goat still here?"
"He wouldn't appreciate you calling him that," laughed Lisa as she prodded her big brother's arm. "And yes, he's still here. He's practically part of the furniture, right?"
"Varnished too," chuckled Dean, remembering that Curtis had worked on the Travers farm for as long as either sibling could remember.
"Lisa!" shouted an older female voice from inside the house, a very familiar voice that made Dean perk up and turn in the direction of the front door. "Have you seen that damned dog anywhere?"
"Mom! We got a visitor!" shouted Lisa back excitedly, stepping away from her brother to allow him some more room to breathe. A few seconds later, they heard someone coming down a wood-floored hallway, and then the front door creaked open and a small figure ambled out.
"A visitor? Come now girl, you know how well that mutt is at going for a walk outside the fences"-
The woman before him was in her early fifties, her once brown short hair starting to grey in several places, though her blue eyes still held their gleam. She was wearing old and filthy jeans, marked with different colours of stains, along with a white vest top and a green and red plaid shirt over that, complete with brown work boots, stained with fresh mud, classic farmer's clothes from helping her husband out on the farm on many occasions.
"Dean...?" asked Marie Travers as she descended the porch steps.
"Hi mom," smiled Dean, moving forward, and then a few seconds later both of them had embraced, this time in a somewhat softer fashion than when his sister had greeted him. He moved back after a few seconds to see that tears were gathering in his mother's eyes.
"Hey come on, don't you tear up on me too," he laughed as he wiped away one of her tears, and she just stifled a sob as she pulled him closer for another hug instead, and he returned the gesture. He was sure that he'd have bruised ribs by the end of it.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see my boy back home in one piece," she then added, pulling away again. "We were all glued to that damn television screen for so long, not knowing what had happened..."
"Don't worry mom, I'm here now, see?" he replied, with another smile, before it quickly faded as he asked another question. "How are the others doing...Ben's parents? I saw the tributes outside their house on my way here."
Marie was silent for a few moments before replying. "...they're doing as well as can be. The funeral is arranged for tomorrow morning. Looks as though the entire town will be coming. They've been so supportive to them."
"I expected no less," replied Dean, as he just only realised that Lisa had disappeared off somewhere. "Jesus, I just wish it could all have turned out differently"-
"Found him!" called Lisa's cheery voice and Dean turned in time to see her appear from out of the tree line, clutching a furry bundle in her arms. A few seconds later, and he realised that it was a puppy; a Siberian Husky breed to be exact, all grey and white fur, struggling in her arms, though her grasp remained gentle.
"So you found him then?" asked Marie.
"Yes," replied Lisa, before turning towards her brother. "This is Grey, Dean. We got him not too long ago...after Hooch sadly passed on."
"Oh God, Hooch," sighed Dean, remembering the Alsatian that had served as the family pet for most of his life on the farm. Looked as though the old hound had finally passed on; following a life of much love and affection from his owners. As if to reinforce that point, he finally noticed the old empty dog house beneath the apple tree, the word 'Hooch' written above the entrance in black paint. Dean fondly remembered how often he would chase that damn dog round the farm to try and get its favourite fetch ball back.
"Hey there Grey," said Dean as he moved a hand towards the animal's head, and it suddenly craned round to sniff at his fingers, before licking at them with its coarse tongue. He then began to stroke its fur, and he was glad to see that this animal wasn't trying to rip his throat out with its bare teeth, like the infected dogs he had encountered in Raccoon City.
"I think he likes you," laughed Lisa as the puppy began to whine as it craned its neck round further for more affection.
"Good to know," he said with a forced smile as he looked down into the canine's deep blue eyes, glad that he wouldn't have to contend with anymore monstrous creations of that damned virus. Not out here, in the middle of the Virginian countryside, far away from the big city.
"Why don't we all go inside?" suggested Marie suddenly, as Lisa set Grey down and the puppy immediately starting pawing at Dean's lower legs, and he looked down, smiling a little. "You must be exhausted from your trip."
"Yeah, I still am, kinda," he replied, starting to follow his mother up the porch steps, dog at his heels.
They were currently sat in the farmhouse's lounge, a rather cosy-looking area with the windows at the back, a green couch with faded patches set in front of them, along with a pair of chairs set on either side of the couch, a wooden coffee table before the seats, and then at the opposite side of the room was a modest TV set, positioned on a small wooden cabinet. Sitting on one of the chairs now, sipping a cup of strong coffee, he swore that this room, hell, the entire house, hadn't changed in 5 years.
"That sounds horrible Dean," said Marie, shaking her head as she held onto her own mug. Lisa sat next to her on the couch, tugging at a thick rope toy that Grey was pulling on at the opposite end. He showed no sign of giving in.
"It was," nodded Dean, as he told them of what had happened in Raccoon City, though leaving out certain...'details'. "The R.P.D didn't stand a chance, no matter how many of us were there." He lowered his head again, avoiding direct eye contact as he knew fine well that it was painful enough to hear the trials that he had gone through, he didn't want them to see how much it had affected him too. He didn't want them to see his bruised and battered body either- he hated to think they saw him as some fragile shell that would fall apart at any moment.
"What happened in the city Dean?" asked Lisa suddenly, content to let Grey win the tug-o-war and instead ravage his rope toy freely. "The military were saying on TV that it was a toxic waste spillage...but I think that it's obvious it was something else, wasn't it?"
"Well," he began; looking away again as he debated whether or not he should tell them, but he gathered there was no harm in it. They were his family, after all. "-it was an outbreak of this virus, which had been spreading through the area for months. It changed people it infected, turned them into zombies, and I know that sounds insane, I truly do, but that's the truth." He could feel their surprised glares as he finished his little story.
"Zombies?" asked Lisa quietly. "You mean like"-
"Yes, like in a Biohazard movie," interrupted Dean, nodding his head. "I know this isn't a movie...but that's what I saw. Hundreds, no, thousands of those things wandering the streets, moaning and groaning and feeding on the fallen"-
"Hey, don't worry son," said his mother as she put a hand on his arm. "I know it can be painful...so please, don't feel rushed to talk about it so soon. We'll all understand if you don't want to discuss it."
"Th-thanks mom," he replied with a slight smile, looking over at her kind expression. "I see you're still as kind as always...some things don't change at all."
"A lot hasn't changed," said Lisa with her own smile. At that, Dean sighed deeply, knowing that he had to address the inevitable issue of his return after five years of being absent sooner or later. But when he opened his mouth to say something, he heard the sound of feet on the porch steps, and the front door opened, cutting him off.
"Marie! I'm back!" called an aged male voice that made Dean sit up and take notice, even as Lisa rose to her feet and disappeared from view through the doorway, as he heard her greet the new arrival.
"Dad! Welcome home! We've got a visitor!"
"Oh really? And who would that be? Not the tax man I hope," chuckled the new voice, as Dean glanced over towards his mother.
"Mom...how is"-
"He'll be glad to see you Dean, just be grateful of that," she replied with a smile, just as the footsteps came towards the lounge, and Dean rose to his feet quickly. A moment later, the new arrival entered the room.
The man standing before him was the exact same height as Dean, and may have been the same person too, sporting many of the same facial features, green eyes, and the same general hairstyle; though this man was in his late fifties, his hair beginning to thin and show patches of silver in some places, his eyes having lost some of their youthful glint. He wore a black shirt which emphasised his muscular physique (even in his advanced years he remained as fit as an ox), along with dusty beige pants and brown work boots, similar to his wife's. He also bore a faded scar over his right eye and a pair of dog tags dangled from around his neck, both mementos of his time in the jungles of Vietnam.
"Son...?" asked Joseph Travers, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Hi dad," replied Dean with a light smile. "I'm back."
"W-when did you get back?" asked Joseph, clearly still a little surprised to see his son here in the flesh, as he took a step forward.
"About half an hour ago," replied Dean, as he saw his sister enter the room behind Joseph, standing at the side. "I was just catching up with mom and Lisa...just musing on how little's changed around here."
"Yes, Riverview's also been like that," replied Joseph, before adding, "of course, only people who live here can appreciate that." Dean turned away, unsure on how to take that remark. He sighed before speaking up again.
"Dad, I'm"-
"Oh just shut up and come give your silly old man a hug," said Joseph suddenly, before he moved forward, and for the third time in the last half an hour, Dean felt himself embraced by one of his close family, though this time a lot more forecfully. Though he stumbled back a little from the sudden gesture, he soon settled his own hands on his father's forearms.
"It's OK dad, I'm home now," he whispered, before casting a look at his sister, who only smiled back in response.
"Welcome home son," added Joseph as he finally moved away from Dean, smiling and patting a hand on Dean's shoulder, his face twisting into a smile, an expression mirrored by the rest of the Travers family. Finally they were whole again.
Sometime later, Dean settled into a position on the swinging porch chair out the front of the farm house, a glass of cola in one hand. The warm orange glow of the kitchen's light warmed the back of his neck, and he could still hear his family speaking between one another, though no matter how much he perked his ears up, he couldn't tell what they were saying, if they were talking about him or not. They had recently finished their dinner, where Dean had demolished a huge cob of corn that had been put on his plate, slathered in butter, and it tasted as sweet as all the crops on the Travers Estate would.
He had also showered and changed finally, though while he was changing he had to quickly close the door when Lisa wandered past the door- terrified that she would spy the countless bruises and cuts that marked his torso like a road map. He didn't want any of them, let alone the one who looked up to him so much, in such a condition.
He sighed and turned his head away, looking over the spacious front yard instead, seeing that the big red tractor was now parked up just inside the front doors of the barn, alongside a few bales of hay, wrapped up tightly. The large gates that constituted the end of the dirt path from the main road were also closed fully, showing that no other action would be taken today. Otherwise everything was much as it was when he first arrived, though he could hear the subdued sound of flies buzzing around the lone porch light that had been lit. He could feel his hand reaching instinctively towards his hip, but reminded himself that he didn't have his gun on him, and that an army of walking corpses wouldn't suddenly shamble out of the trees to attack them all.
He looked towards the horizon, and even in the relative darkness he could see that dark, thick clouds that gathered, full of rain most likely. A few seconds later he saw a brilliant flash of white course through the clouds, illuminating the horizon, followed by a deep rumble of thunder several seconds later. It almost seemed like a metaphor for the funeral tomorrow: would the sky, along with the rest of the town, cry tears of sorrow for the death of Ben Campbell?
He sighed and lowered his head again, finding his mind returning to that cramped chopper, holding onto Ben's hand for dear life as the life drained from his body, pooling at his feet. He couldn't do anything to help his friend, even after all they had been through in that damn city. But soon that sorrow turned to anger, and he clenched his fist, as he remembered who was ultimately to blame for all of those tragedies.
The destruction of Raccoon City.
The deaths of its population.
The use of a nuclear weapon to stop the spread of the virus.
And the death of Ben Campbell, his closest and oldest friend.
Ben...those bastards will have to pay, one way or another!
He heard a brief yap that almost made him jump, and he glanced down to see Grey, the husky pup, sat at his feet, looking up at him expectantly, wagging his tail furiously, tongue lolling freely. A few seconds later, he then hopped up onto the empty space beside Dean, moving to nuzzle at his fingers.
"Hey there boy," he laughed, stroking the pup's soft fur. "They too busy to notice you in there?" he then asked, as the dog rolled onto its back and exposed its belly, though Dean had to lift his fingers away when it tried biting at him.
A second later, the screen door opened, and Joseph Travers stepped out, stretching his arms before noticing Dean sat not too far away from him. "Oh hey there son, that other seat taken?" he then asked, moving round before he saw the tiny bundle of fur sprawled across the seat.
"Sorry, but it is kinda," chuckled Dean as the pup looked up at his father's stern face.
"Move!" the older man ordered, and the dog immediately scrambled onto its feet and dropped off the seat, disappearing inside the house. Joseph closed the screen door behind the animal as it went, and then the farmer slowly settled himself into the now empty space.
"Never thought I'd see the day that my own pet would try and wrangle me out of my favourite seat on the porch."
"Well you know what they say, you snooze, you lose, old man," replied Dean, smirking.
"Hey!" retorted Joseph, punching his son's knee lightly. "I might be old, but I'm not that old! I could still box your ears if I wanted to!"
"You haven't changed at all dad," laughed Dean suddenly, staring ahead. "Just like mom and Lisa...just like this town: it's as though the last five years never happened."
"Well then son, if things haven't changed, then who's the sheriff?" asked Joseph, intending to test his son's memory of his old home town.
"That's easy, Harper Collins of course," replied Dean. "Tall guy, has a well-trimmed beard, pretty fair lawman in all," he continued, gesturing with his hands, before turning to his dad and adding, "how is the old guy doing anyway?"
"Same as always," smiled Joseph. "He just got a couple of new deputies into the force, since they've been having troubles with illegal hunters and poachers out in the forests."
"I see...and is the old greasy spoon still owned by Gloria and Richard?" asked Dean next, referencing the couple who had been running that small diner on the southern edge of the town for some years when he had left, frequented by the biker gangs and other persons just passing through Riverview on their way out west, or towards the capital.
"Yes, they're still around too," laughed Joseph, before he suddenly became serious and turned towards his son. "You know, I just don't get it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well you still know this tiny place in and out, like the back of your hand," explained his father. "Even after spending two years out in some big fancy city out west." Dean lowered his gaze again.
"Dad, I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"Five years ago, when I left town," began Dean, wondering how to word his next statement. "I didn't come back for so long because I felt like I wouldn't be able to show my face around here again...after everything you said about disgracing the family name"-
"We all said things that we didn't mean," interrupted Joseph suddenly. "Hell, looking back, I can't believe how stubborn I was being about everything, about letting you take over the farm. I just remembered that I swore to your grandfather on his deathbed that you would take over the farm and keep it afloat. That was his main wish, son."
"Dad..."
Everyone knew that William Travers was perhaps the most respected resident in Riverview's history, the World War II veteran who had returned home and picked up the Travers estate which had fallen into decline since the time of his father, Dean's great-grandfather, Robert Travers. And within a few months he had turned it all around, and the farm's produce that was sold on the market provided a steady stream of income towards the town as a whole, and allowed it to develop at an accelerated rate. Since then, the Travers farm had been so important for Riverview's fortunes that it had to remain at full operating capacity, for the good of the town.
"Your grandfather was a good man, an honest man," continued Joseph Travers, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "When he passed on, I was determined to honour his wishes as best I could. And when you said you didn't want to take over the farm like I had"-
"Dad, I said that because I knew the world was a very big place," responded Dean. "And I didn't want to be stuck in the same small place for the rest of my life...I wanted to find my own way, you know? My own path in this life." He finished by looking off towards the distance, as thunder lit up the sky on the horizon. "That's why I moved out to New York...I wanted to find my own fortune."
"I know," agreed his father suddenly, also looking towards the distance. "You always did things your own way Dean, ever since you were a child. I've got no more beef towards you...none of us do. We just wanted our son back."
"Dad, I'm sorry"-
"Dean, forget all of that," said Joseph firmly, turning to look his son in the eye directly. "All we care now is that you're safe and well. That's all which matters now, right?" Dean looked at his father for a while before the words began to sink in, and he finally offered a nod in confirmation.
"Yeah...and besides, if you told me five years ago I'd have a career in law enforcement then I'd tell you that you were pulling my leg," stated Dean, letting out a brief chuckle shared by both father and son.
"How did you enjoy that, then?" asked Joseph.
"Well it was good for the most part, aside from the danger of the guy you were chasing pulling a gun or a knife on you," explained Dean. "The rush of it could be thrilling though, I'll admit that. But I just wish my law enforcement career had ended on a more...positive note..."
An awkward silence was left over for several seconds, until Joseph shifted in his seat and finally spoke up.
"Son, don't beat yourself up over what happened to Ben."
"Why not?" retorted his son, turning suddenly. "We were partners, we were meant to look out for another, and I screwed up big time! How the hell am I supposed to look his parents in the eye and tell them I'm sorry?"
"You'll have to face them at the funeral Dean," retorted Joseph calmly. "They've been distraught enough as it is, you can't just fob them off." Dean sighed in annoyance and turned his head away, trying to avoid the inevitable truth.
"But I can't..."
"You can, and you'll have to son," replied Joseph, his voice becoming firmer now. "And me and your mother, and your sister, will be there to support you every step of the way. You'll always have a home here Dean, whatever happens..."
"Dad..."
"You don't have to say anything else son," interrupted his father, rising to his feet and placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll always love you Dean, and we'll help you get your life back together. Now it's getting late, and you should get some sleep: it'll be a busy day tomorrow." Dean tried to say something else, but it faltered in his throat. As Joseph turned to leave though-
"Dad? Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what is it?" asked his father, sitting himself down again. Dean was silent for many more seconds before he finally replied.
"Did you ever enjoy...killing people in Vietnam?" Joseph looked at Dean for a few moments, and then turned away, his hand cradling the dog tags hanging from his neck, clearly reminded of his own personal horrors in those steamy jungles.
"Son, most of the time I killed someone it was because I had no choice," he explained quietly. "I went out there because I thought I was doing good for our country...but in the end, no I didn't enjoy it. Killing's a very dirty game, take my word for it. Why do you ask anyway?"
"Because I killed plenty of people in Raccoon City," replied Dean, staring into the distance. "Men, women, the young, the old; hell, even the odd child. But like I explained to you in there, they weren't themselves. They'd been turned into monsters...they lost control of themselves..."
"What was the alternative?" asked his father.
"Then they'd be stuck in that state for the rest of their lives. It didn't bear thinking about."
"Then you did the right thing, Dean." There was another bout of silence after that statement, until finally his father rose to his feet once again. "You should get come sleep son, it'll be a hard day tomorrow."
"Yeah...but maybe I'll stay up a little longer," answered Dean.
"OK then," said Joseph, before he turned and disappeared inside the house, closing the screen door carefully as he went, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts once more.
His dad was right. Dean would have to face the Campbell's sooner or later, and that probably meant a lot sooner at the funeral tomorrow. How could he even explain why their son was dead, and he was meant to watch out for him? The loss of a child was perhaps one of the worst tragedies that could befall anyone: something that Dean would not wish upon anyone. But to live through it was another thing...
But as his father had pointed out, he couldn't exactly avoid them forever. Thunder rumbled in the distance once more, and he rose to his feet finally, turning to head inside. Tomorrow would be a very long and sad day indeed.
By the time the gates of Riverview Cemetery had been opened the next morning, most of the town had already gathered, despite the fact that angry black clouds swelled up in the late morning sky, threatening to erupt into rainfall at any moment, and the mourners came prepared in waterproofs and umbrellas, two lines of black-clad figures following the wooden coffin, laden with countless floral tributes, up the slight slope towards where the open-air service would take place.
Dean and his family walked two rows behind the coffin, a huge bouquet of red roses clutched in his hands. He just stared ahead, at the mahogany coffin born by the pall bearers, feeling his sister's comforting touch again his arm, his parents on either side of them. In front he could see Ben's parents, Peter and Joanne, the latter wearing a black veil and clutching a white handkerchief, wiping away her tears every now and then. He listened to the pained sobs for several more seconds, before casting his gaze downwards, the guilt gnawing away at his stomach.
"It's OK," Lisa whispered in his ear. "We're here for you."
A short while later, they had all gathered in the cemetery grounds, some 10 lines of 20 seats each, enough for 200 people, though many more who had came stood instead. Dean could see Cameron and Travis, along with their families too, along with many other familiar faces from the town. In front of them, Father Patrick Rooney stood beside the gleaming wooden vessel, as the pall bearers stood by, ready to commit Ben to the ground. Though the Campbell's were never a very religious family, they had still allowed a brief ceremony to go ahead, as it was the least that they could allow.
"Dearly beloved and friends," proclaimed Father Rooney as he began his sermon. "We are gathered here today to commit our beloved son, Benjamin Campbell, to the earth." At that, Ben's mother erupted into another fit of pained sobs, her husband settling a hand on her shoulder. Dean, sat with his family several seats away, lowered his gaze once more, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
"But one should not wallow in our feelings of sorrow," continued the town priest. "Ben dedicated his life to enforcing peace in our world, and towards protecting those who required protection- even in the final moments of his life, he was dedicated towards defending that which was most precious to others"-
Dean stiffened up at that point, and Father Rooney's voice faded away as he rambled on about some religious metaphors or other, something that wasn't important. What had resonated most visibly for him was the part about Ben's dedication to protecting others in his role as a police officer...a role that he had upheld until the very end, saving Dean's life from that damn Tyrant in the underground facility. His friend had died with no regrets in life, just as the others had suggested. But still...a part of Dean, deep down, still burned with guilt. Would that guilt ever leave him?
"-and as we commit our beloved to the ground, let us not forget the joy and happiness that he bought to our lives, and do not allow your memories of him fade from your mind. And when he has joined our Lord in heaven, he will live forever in our hearts."
As Father Rooney finished his sermon, he turned to the pall bearers and nodded his head, prompting them to begin turning the heavy crank that would gradually lower Ben's coffin into the hole dug for it. Almost as soon as they had begun their work, the heavens opened and a deluge of rain fell, as though mirroring the tears of sorrow shed by the mourners present. A few seconds later, umbrellas were raised, though Dean continued to sit unshielded, even as the rain pounded down on his head and shoulders, soaking him through to the bone, as he just watched the pall bearers do their work, carefully removing the harness and crank mechanism, and then beginning to shovel the dirt onto the lowered coffin, a process that continued for another agonising 10 minutes.
Many of the mourners remained for the next hour or so, giving their condolences and offering their own floral tributes to Ben's parents, a long line of black-clad people lining up before the bereft parents. Dean was one of them, his eyes lowered as he drew closer and closer to them, listening to the condolences offered to them.
"Peter, Joanne...I'm so, so sorry."
"If there's anything you need, anything at all"-
But Dean had one major difference from all of these others- he had been there when Ben had received his fatal injuries, had been there when the life had faded from his body, after holding on through excruciating agony. What would he say to them? That their son was killed by some towering monster created by a renowned pharmaceutical company? No-one in their right mind would believe that.
And yet I saw that...and all those other monsters. It's a wonder I'm not a gibbering wreck yet.
Soon enough, he was stood directly in front of them, feeling two pairs of eyes regarding him with conflicted emotions. He finally looked up, and he could sense Joanna Campbell's despairing eyes behind that veil which shadowed her eyes, and suddenly the bouquet in his hands felt useless, even as he spoke those words.
"I'm so sorry about Ben. He was...almost like a brother to me. I'm sure he wouldn't want you both to cry for him. He'd want you both to accept his actions and to move on."
Joanne offered a nod, even as she leaned up, carefully lifting her veil up to expose her cheeks stained with tears and ruined mascara, and putting a brief kiss on his cheek, mouthing the words 'God bless you', before taking the flowers and sitting down. He then turned to Peter, who just shook Dean's hand and nodded briefly, though his eyes showed some tinge of resentment towards him.
This is your fault, they seemed to say. Our son is dead and it's all your fault. You were meant to look out for one another, and you let him die. You should be ashamed of yourself!
Dean continued to stand for a moment, feeling that glare upon him, before he finally realised someone else was standing behind him, and he moved aside, allowing them to approach Peter and Joanne, and soon he found himself drifting back towards his family, settling into his seat, almost on autopilot as he settled back into his seat.
Sometime later, the cemetery had practically emptied, most of the mourners having departed to the memorial being held at the Campbell's residence. The only ones left behind were the somewhat lonely figures of Dean and Lisa Campbell, the former stood only a few feet from Ben Campbell's gravestone, staring towards the inscription etched upon the stone face.
Benjamin Campbell
6th April 1972 to 29th September 1998
Always in our hearts.
"They hate me, you know," he announced suddenly.
"Who does?" asked his sister.
"Ben's parents," he answered. "I could see it in their eyes...they hold me accountable for what happened to him."
"Dean, you did all you could," replied Lisa, moving up to stand beside him.
"And it still wasn't enough!" he half-yelled, still looking at the headstone's inscription. "Goddamn it, I'm sorry Lisa...I know I shouldn't take it out on you. But I still can't feel as though this could've turned out differently. What if I'd been faster? What if I'd been more careful? What if"-"
"Don't beat yourself up with the how's and maybes," she replied. "Just learn to deal with the present." He didn't reply for a long time, and just as she was beginning to lose hope in him agreeing, he finally turned towards her and offered a nod.
"You're right," he said, before he suddenly let out a sneeze. Which was understandable, since he was soaked through to the bone anyway. Though the rain had mostly cleared, it still drizzled lightly.
"Dean we should head back, you're soaked through and through," suggested Lisa.
"No, you go ahead," he stated, waving his arm and turning back towards the gravestone. "I still have a few things to be said."
"OK then..." replied Lisa, uncertain, but soon she turned and made her way back down the gentle cemetery slope, casting one last glance towards the wet, shivering figure of her big brother.
Now that he was truly alone, Dean allowed himself to express his emotions fully, breaking down into flowing tears almost in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of the grave, his knees plunging into wet mud, though he gave it no concern.
"Oh God, Ben," he sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I thought we would be there with each other until the very end...thought we would retire and grow old together. Friends until the very end. But then...then those bastards had to destroy Raccoon City!"
He slammed his fist down into the earth, feeling his anger towards Umbrella boil to the surface once more. He breathed hard a few times, before wiping his face clear of tears and taking a deep breath before speaking again.
"But don't worry," he continued. "I'll look after everyone, I'll protect them. I'll protect them, just like you protected my life back in that facility. It's the very least I can do for you. I'll never let those memories of you fade."
And with that, he rose to his feet, looked at the engraved surface of the stone for some time, and then finally turned and headed down the slope, a lone black-clad figure alone in his despair.
2 weeks later...
The cemetery was abandoned, save for the line upon line of gravestones, marking over 500 lost loved ones, some ranging from over 100 years ago, the stones weathered and marked with spots of lichen and moss, the most recent stones only a couple of years old, their inscriptions still legible. The graves were divided in two by the lone road which ran through the centre of the grounds, and several trees also dotted the grassy landscape, many of them having lost most of their leaves, along with a number of wooden seating benches.
At a small plot on the east end, a young woman with curly blonde hair, wearing dark jeans and a black rain coat, stooped down before a trio of grave markers, laying a huge bundle of white roses. The oldest gravestone, to the left, showed the resting place of 'Adam Devlan', described as a 'loyal and loving father and husband'. Beside that grave, and the most recent marker, lay 'Margaret Devlan', described as 'devoted' and 'caring', the year of her death reading 1998.
And then the woman turned towards the final marker, which showed the resting place of 'Robert Devlan', the stone's elaborate inscription describing him as a 'protector of the weak and innocent', and 'a true patriot for his country'. The soil before the grave was laden with a folded-up stars and stripes, the mark of a fallen US soldier, the ultimate mark of respect that could be shown from the military...even to a disgraced soldier such as this one, the man who murdered his own sergeant in cold blood in the Gulf 7 years prior.
She wiped away a few trickling tears before she spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I miss you all so much...but I know you're always with me too...right here, in my heart," she whispered, holding her hand across her heart. Though she was only in her early twenties, she had lost her entire family before she was 30...something that no-one should have had to go through. And yet this world could be very cruel.
That story from 2 weeks ago showed her that: a small town in the Midwest, wiped off the map by a nuclear weapon, supposedly to prevent the spread of some lethal pathogen that had infected the entire population. When she was young, she never believed tragedies such as that could never occur, but after the last few years she knew better.
Just as she rose to her feet, moving to leave, she paused after seeing something out the corner of her eye. She did a double-take, and thought she had seen the outline of a person standing beneath a nearby tree. But when she looked closer and the shadow moved, she knew she wasn't seeing things.
"Who's there?" she called out to the figure. "Are you following me or something?"
The figure seemed to hesitate for a moment, until a male voice called out, "are you Claudia Devlan?" She blinked in surprise.
"Yes, yes I am," she replied, somewhat shakily. "Who are you?" At the sound of her question, the figure finally stepped out into view, and she saw that it was a man some years older than her, about five foot ten inches, with dark brown hair and green eyes, freshly shaved and fairly handsome in appearance. He was wearing black pants and jacket, over a white shirt. He stopped several feet away from her, seemingly unsure on what to do next.
"You've got his face, you know that?" he said suddenly, causing her to furrow her brow in confusion.
"His face?" she asked quietly. "Who do you mean? Actually, who the hell are you? Just appearing out of nowhere?"
"My name is Dean Travers," the man replied, "and I'm very sorry for just appearing out of nowhere like this."
"OK then, Mr Travers," she continued, sounding a little more relaxed, even as he cast his gaze towards the grave markers behind her, "and why have you come here exactly?"
"Look," he began, "I know what I'm about to say next is going to sound impossible, but I just need you to believe me. I used to know your brother, Robert."
That statement was followed by a painful silence from the young woman, who felt a surge of powerful emotions and memories rise to the surface, most of them revolving around the smiling face of her elder brother. "You...knew Robbie? You were in his unit?" she then managed, shakily.
"His unit?" asked the man now known as Dean, sounding confused.
"He was in the Delta Force in the Gulf," she explained, "so you clearly weren't in his unit, otherwise you would know that. Were you in the same cell block as him? You sure don't look like a former military prisoner." By this stage the man was looking at her as though she had just grown a second head. Clearly he didn't know her brother if he was acting like this. She didn't have the patience to deal with a sick prankster like this, not today of all days.
She smiled a little, confidently. "I'm sorry, but you clearly didn't know Robert. If you did, then you would have known he spent the last six years of his life on death row for murdering his sergeant. Of course, no-one believed his story that he did it to stop him raping this innocent Iraqi girl...his regiment were too eager to nail him to the wall."
"He murdered his own sergeant?" whispered that man now known as Dean, lowering his head.
"Look," Claudia stated, sounding uncomfortable, "you clearly don't know my brother and you're a liar. Now you can clearly see on that gravestone that my brother died three years ago," she continued, pointing towards the end tombstone, her brother's name and the dates of his birth and death inscribed upon it.
As she began to choke back painful sobs, the man walked past her to examine the tombstone closely, stooping down on his knees and examining the folded-up flag and the bunch of roses for a few seconds, before sighing deeply and rising to his feet.
"Look, I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to come out and say it," he said carefully, holding his open palms out towards her. "Your brother was still alive until recently."
A dead silence befell the cemetery, broken only by the tweeting of nearby birds.
"What did you say?" she asked, her tears of sorrow becoming angry.
"Just let me explain"-
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she screamed suddenly, cutting him off. "You turn up here out of nowhere, say you knew my brother, and then you tell me he didn't die three years ago!"
"Please"-
"I watched my brother die before my very eyes!" she continued, shoving him forcefully in the chest, making him stumble back a few feet. His eyes showed genuine surprise. "I saw him tied to a post, and shot through the chest by six armed men because his regiment didn't have the balls to admit that he was a better damn soldier than their bastard of a sergeant! And then I had to watch my mother waste away"-
"I'm sorry"-
"Well don't!" she screamed again, tears of anger coursing down her cheeks. "Just go! Get the hell out of here before I call the police!"
"Look, I just need 10 minutes, no, 5 minutes of your time"-
"Go!" she screamed again, shoving him once more, but this time he suddenly took hold of her wrists in a careful but firm fashion, locking eyes with her, his expression somewhere between anger and annoyance.
"Just listen to me!" he urged, and her angry gaze melted away a little. He took a breath before continuing. "I'm sorry I just showed up out of nowhere, but if I didn't know your brother, then how did I get this?"
And with that, he retrieved something from one of his outside pockets, before dangling it in front of her face. It was a small metallic object, hanging from a steel chain. She looked at it for a few seconds, and then all of her anger melted away.
"How...?"
It was a simple dog tag, inscribed with the name 'R. Devlan', along with details of a date of birth and a blood type: all of them an exact match to that of her supposedly late brother. She carefully took the dog tag and stepped away from Dean, as he released his grip on her wrists slowly.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, sounding very distant.
"From your brother," he replied, taking a deep breath. "I know it's crazy, but your brother was one of a special military unit that had been deployed into Raccoon City..."
"Raccoon City?" she asked, the name jogging her memory. "You mean...that city in the Midwest that was destroyed?"
"The very same," he nodded grimly.
"And how did you meet-?"
"Because I was in Raccoon City too."
She became very silent, letting that information sink in for a while, before she turned away and walked a short distance away. This man was a survivor of the recently destroyed Raccoon City, and according to him her supposedly dead brother was one member of a military unit that had been deployed into the city. A rescue unit maybe? And if so, why did it have dead soldiers in it?
"Look," Dean said calmly, "it's a very long story. Why don't we take a seat and let me explain everything?"
And so they both took a seat on a nearby bench, and 5 minutes had turned to an hour as Dean had explained most of his story: how Raccoon City had been destroyed after an outbreak of a deadly virus developed in secret by pharmaceutical giant Umbrella Incorporate, turning the townsfolk into flesh-eating monsters, as well as creating other monsters known as 'B.O.W's'. It was shocking stuff, something straight out of a horror movie, but she could tell by the pained look in his eyes as he spoke that it wasn't some idle tale he had made up on the spot. He had suffered great pain recently.
"So where does my brother come into it?" she asked when he finally stopped for a break. He looked down for a few moments, before replying.
"You brother was a member of this secret paramilitary unit that I encountered in Raccoon," he explained, biting his lip, "called the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. They were like a clean-up crew for Umbrella's 'accidents', and they were there to extract any civilian survivors on the surface...but they were sent into the meat grinder just to gather data on these monsters for their employers."
"But how did my supposedly dead brother come into it?" Claudia asked, now desperate to find out more about Robert Devlan's return from the great beyond.
"The unit was formed from disgraced former soldiers and war criminals," explained Dean, "in other words, people that wouldn't be missed." At that remark, she turned away and lowered her head sadly, running her thumb over the almost flimsy metal dog tag that she had been handed just previously.
"Maybe Umbrella faked his execution so it would be easier for them to integrate him into the U.B.C.S," theorized Dean. "I know that sounds like a horrible thing, but Umbrella aren't as benevolent as you might think." She didn't reply, just continued examining the dog tag, and then after a while she finally spoke up.
"I never got to know my father," she explained, starting to tear up once again. "He committed suicide when I was barely a year old- blew his brains out with a hunting shotgun. I was told that he was a veteran of Vietnam, and when he came home he couldn't adjust to the horrors he saw out there."
"I'm sorry," said Dean, respectively.
"After that, mom retreated into her own world, and Robbie was the one who took care of me, bought me up," she continued, running a finger over the tag once more. "And then he went off to war again, just like dad...and he came back in chains, just for standing up for his morals."
"I'm sorry, I really am," whispered Dean, looking towards the three grave markers for her family that were just in the near distance. "I know what's it like to lose someone close to you." He lowered his gaze slightly, and she saw the pained look in his green eyes as memories came back to him.
"When Robbie was sentenced to death, mom didn't even bat an eyelid," continued Claudia, knowing that she may as well finish the tale of her complex family history, considering how much she had told this stranger. "She didn't want to go through the pain of losing another of her family, but shortly afterwards you could see it in her eyes...she'd lost the will to live after losing her son, and I couldn't do anything about it..."
"Miss Devlan..."
"You know the last thing Robert told me?" she continued, ignoring him. "He told me not to worry about him anymore...and all this time he was still alive somewhere. Why? Why didn't he get back in touch with me?"
"He was meant to be a dead man," reasoned Dean. "Him and possibly others in that unit. It wasn't exactly as though he could call home and give you an update...that unit wasn't meant to exist in official circles."
"But why did he agree to join them in the first place?" she then asked in a hoarse voice. "He was resigned to his fate..."
"That I don't know," replied Dean, "but I do know that he was a good man, your brother. He had this look in his eye...that once he had his mind set on something he'd follow it through to the end. We were fighting impossible odds in that city, but he still didn't back down. He fought to the death to save us."
"Yes, that sounds like the Robbie I know," she whispered in response, before carefully dropping the tag's chain around her neck, letting it hang in the middle of her chest. "You don't mind, do you?" she then asked, giving him a cautious look.
"Course not," he smiled. "It's the last thing you've got of your brother, after all." She seemed satisfied with the answer, and nodded, as he continued talking. "It took me a while to find you as well though. I must've taken nearly twenty of those tags out of the city, and most of them had no families or other loved ones...except for Robert Devlan, of course."
"But how though?"
"I had a friend who works in the library," he explained, and she raised an eyebrow, though he seemed aware of how silly that sounded. "...and he's good at getting information when I need it. Trust me, he's a good friend."
"He sounds like one," replied Claudia. "You...said you lost someone close to you, in the city?" she then asked, curiously. "Who?" She saw the pained look in his eyes as he became silent for a while, bad memories rising back to the surface.
"My friend, Ben Campbell," he answered finally. "We were both in the Raccoon Police Department...and he sacrificed himself to save my life. Just as any good police officer would have. And even after having three ribs broken he held on long enough so he could see the sun one last time...a true hero to the end."
"I'm sorry," she offered, her turn to apologise to a stranger.
"Don't be, it wasn't your fault," he replied, lowering his head. They continued to sit in silence for a few more moments, until he finally spoke up. "It's so peaceful here," he commented, looking around at the abandoned cemetery.
"Yes it is," replied Claudia, looking about with a smile on her face. There was another period of silence, and then Dean rose to his feet.
"I should go," he announced suddenly, and she looked up at him, concerned. "I'm sorry I had to drop in on you at a place like this, but I've done what I came to do, and its time I went." As he started to leave though, he felt a hand take hold of his jacket sleeve.
"Wait," said Claudia, before standing up herself. "Thank you for coming all this way, Mr Travers"-
"Please, call me Dean," he interrupted.
"Thank you for coming to find me Dean," she continued. "Part of me always felt as though Robert was with me always, watching over me...but I didn't realise that he was watching over someone for real...funny how this world works, isn't it?"
"You can say that again," replied Dean, with a lopsided smile.
"So thank you for putting my mind at rest," she continued, putting a comforting hand on his lower arm. "And I hope that someday you can find a way to move on with your life, to accept your loss."
"Yeah...I hope someday I can," whispered Dean. "But if you can move on after all you've lost, then I can do the same." And with that, she suddenly moved round to embrace him, and he stood there for a few seconds, somewhat awkwardly and caught off guard, before returning the gesture. She then moved away, before pressing a small card into his hand.
He examined it briefly, seeing 'Claudia Devlan, Attorney at Law', written across it, along with a phone number. "You're an attorney?" he asked in surprise. "I suppose everyone's full of surprises."
"Only a junior, even if I passed through law school with flying colours," she explained. "Even my tutor was amazed with how well I did. I gave you that because it would mean a lot to me if we kept in touch in the future."
"Really?" he asked, but when he saw the sincere look in her eyes he knew that she was serious about this, even if barely an hour ago he had been a complete stranger to her- albeit a complete stranger who had bought something belonging to her beloved, supposedly dead brother, so he could understand her reasoning behind the gesture.
"OK," he said, putting the card away. "I'll make an effort. Right now, I need to head back home...there's still a lot I need to do."
"OK, well I won't keep you," she smiled. "Take care, Dean."
"You too, Claudia," replied Dean, offering a quick nod, before he slowly turned and walked away across the grass, heading towards the main gates, only looking back once, just before he stepped onto the cemetery road, and then vanished from sight.
She watched him leave, and then turned back towards the small plot reserved for the Devlan family, before approaching it slowly, and kneeling before Robert's gravestone, feeling her sorrow rising back to the surface. She touched a hand to the coarse stone.
"Robert...I always knew it in my heart," she whispered, close to tears once more. "You always protected me and mom, and you protected others even when we thought you were gone. I was blessed to have a brother like you..."
And then she began to sob once more, as the powerful emotions overtook her again.
Settling into his rental car, Dean Travers sighed deeply and rubbed his face, casting a look back towards the cemetery gates, just behind where he had parked at the side of the road. He wondered if he should have stayed longer with Claudia, as she was clearly emotional when he had bought up the matter of her brother, but then he remembered that if he didn't leave soon, he wouldn't get home until tomorrow morning, and he promised his family he would only be gone for the day.
He sighed again and turned on the radio, flicking on the news station that he had been listening to before, mainly because the same thing had dominated the news headlines for the past two weeks.
"...two weeks have passed since the destruction of Raccoon City, and still there has been no official word on the exact reason for the decision to destroy the city. No comment has come from the White House, following the appointment of Vice President Woodward as the new President."
"But an anonymous source that broadcasted from inside Raccoon City moments before its destruction has suggested that pharmaceutical giant, which had many of its North American activities based in the city, were conducting secret viral experiments, the leak of which caused the Raccoon incident to unfold."
"In related circumstances, one Gordon Fletcher, Lieutenant with the 9th Regiment of the Raccoon County Garrison, one of the regiments charged with the clean-up and relief efforts at the Raccoon City site, has made public details of similar experiments that he claims acquired from a survivor of the disaster. Contained with the data he has given to one of the country's main media stations are years worth of photos, videos, and written documents detailing countless experiments that have been going on for many years. Lieutenant Fletcher had this comment."
The signal crackled a little, and then a familiar voice came through, over a background curtain of shouts and flashbulbs going off.
"This data that was recovered from Raccoon City proves that the city's destruction was a terrible tragedy that could have been averted, were it not for the machinations of Umbrella Incorporates unethical and immoral experiments, many of them which involved the use of human subjects. They are the ones responsible for this disaster, and I will endeavour to ensure they are made to pay for their crimes. That is all, thank you."
"Umbrella have declined to comment"-
Dean flicked the radio off. Bastards, he thought bitterly. It's only a matter of time before everyone knows what you've done.
He continued to stare at the dashboard for a while longer, knowing that Umbrella would pay for the destruction of Raccoon City sooner or later. With both Fletcher and that other source having leaked all of that data to the outside world, it had to be inevitable. They couldn't cover all of that up and pretend it never happened.
But he also had his own situation to worry about. He was back home, already beginning to rebuild his life, moving back into his old room as though he had never moved out in the first place, starting to help out around the farm as and when required of him, while he planned where he would go next, what he would do. It wouldn't be an easy task, but he had his family around him, and he had the support of Cameron and Travis too, and their families, and that of many of the townsfolk. He turned the key in the ignition and started the car up, guiding it onto the road after a quick glance over his shoulder, heading back home once again.
But Dean Travers had no idea of what the future had in store for him, even as he could see the darkened rain clouds gathering on the horizon.
THE END
A/N: And alas, all good things must come to an end. In honesty, I can't believe I published the first chapter of this story back in February of 2007. That means over three years spent on this fic, and personally this is the one piece of work I am most proud of. I had about a third of this chapter written up for over a year and a half before now, and added on the part where Dean visits Claudia Devlan in the cemetery, considering that the entire of Chapter 24 is dedicated to her brother, it seemed reasonable enough to close that story thread, if you could call it that.
As for you people, this is your last chance to R+R. Please do so, and if you have the time, then let me know what parts of the story you think I did well on, which parts you think I could improve on, and so forth. I really would like to improve as a writer on this site, and your feedback, positive or otherwise, would be a big help in that regard.
And so what of the future? Well, I will confirm one detail with you all.
Dean Travers will return...
That's correct, I already have plans for a sequel. With the working title of 'Resident Evil: Dead Memories', the new story will be set three years after the Raccoon City outbreak, and will primarily concern Dean's efforts to move on with his life after surviving that horrendous incident. It will hopefully be shorter than TFOR, and also be more focused on drama, character personalities, and emotions; something which I feel needs to be improved. The sequel is also slated to feature appearances from some familiar faces in the Resi Evil canon, though details will remain top secret and locked behind 10 levels of security clearance.
As for other projects, I am still currently working on 'Tales from the Necropolis', a parallel story of sorts to this one, focusing more on other characters mentioned in TFOR, and giving a number of different viewpoints of the destruction of Raccoon City. As I have finished up on TFOR, I should have more time to work on 'Tales', and get that done in good time. Also, I may work on the odd one-shot, or even projects based on other game series, but for anything regarding that, then you can check for the info on my profile page, as I update every now and then.
Otherwise, I've explained all I wanted to discuss with you guys. I just want to extend a big thank you to everyone who reviewed or ever just read this story, including Metal Harbinger (check out his Darkness Arises/Darkness Arises: Reborn stories if you haven't yet), Peanuckle, Misery's Troll, Ryusei Date, xRaineNothingx, NinjaAlucard, Cargo BOB, Kurotsuki-Tenchi, Devil Without a Cause, and many many more. I love every one of you guys! *wipes away a tear* What's that? I'm not crying, I just got dust in my eye.
Anyway, I've rambled on long enough. Thanks again to anyone who reviewed or read this story, and I hope that you will continue to enjoy my future work on this site. Until the next time,
Jammer69er