Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Uncontrolled Exposure ❯ Chapter 3

Curiosity

June 1996

Wesker groaned as Chris and Claire Redfield's jeep swerved off the narrow dirt road for the seventh time in the last ten minutes. He could clearly see Jill Valentine's head bobbing through the back glass as she yelled at the siblings. Forest was hanging out of the back passenger window, screaming back at Bastian's Land Rover and waving his arms as a signal for needing a rescue. Wesker cut his eyes to Bastian, brow raised behind the sunglasses he always wore. Said S.T.A.R.s officer was trying very hard not to laugh at the sight before them while he slowed to avoid another collision.

It would only be the third one of the day . . . which had made the normally three hour drive stretch into almost five . . . and they still weren't at Bastian's sister's cottage on Alkali Lake. Actually, from what he could glean from the GPS, they were still at least forty-five minutes away. Bastian owed him for this . . .

Wesker rolled his eyes as Bastian's phone blared to life, Jill's number blinking across the faceplate. Bastian sighed, reaching down and answering as he shook his chin length black hair out of his light blue eyes, shifting in his seat. He'd shed his faded black leather motor jacket at their last pit stop, leaving him in just the skintight white T-Shirt and worn bootlegged jeans; which-coupled with his own unusually casual dark jeans and fitted heather gray thermal shirt- had drawn far more female attention than either Shaw or Wesker had actually wanted. Forest, on the other hand had loved it.

Bastian Shaw was proving not to be the typical police officer; what with his almost model worthy good looks, varied interests and classical education. But Wesker had known that when he'd started looking. Actually, it was part of what led Wesker to recruiting the man despite his issues within the Rangers during the first few months of his operation within the Raccoon PD. Bastian was close to his age and came from a very wealthy and influential family . . . or would have if his father weren't the world's largest jackass.

Over the past few months, Wesker had learned the man's father had apparently decided after he'd already had Bastian and Mikhail with his first (deceased) wife that his second -Millennia Guadimus- wasn't what he wanted in life. Which would've been fine if she hadn't legally adopted both of the brothers and wasn't pregnant with Bastian's half sister at the time. When he left, he didn't take either of his sons with him and-as far as Wesker knew- had never laid eyes on his daughter. His stepmother had raised them and worked herself literally to death to take care of them until she passed away when he was seventeen. Which left Bastian with an elven year old brother and a nine year old sister to practically raise. He'd kept them out of Child Services, had even put himself and his siblings through school even with joining the Rangers. Wesker himself could relate to being passed around and looked over . . . which is probably part of the reason why he hadn't fought Bastian's attempts to be friendly-despite the fact that Birkin had taken it badly that he was going to have more than one friend.

The phone being passed in his face brought him from his thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Which seemed to be keeping peace in a vehicle that he wasn't even bodily in. He sighed, taking the phone and cursed himself for the millionth time. Why had he allowed Bastian to goad him into this woodsy excursion with the others from Alpha and Redfield's sister?

Because he's bringing you to meet his sister and to force you to relax. And you're curious as to what normal people actually do on camping trips and vacations.

“Yes, Valentine?”

“Please tell Chris to quit messing with Claire over this boy she's been seeing at school. I can't handle anymore whiplash and I'm sure Bastian doesn't want to have his car repaired anymore than he already does!”

Wesker sighed deeply before removing his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. Only Redfield could cause problems in such a remote setting with hardly anyone else around. It was like that man was genetically designed to destroy his plans or something-even when he wasn't actively trying. As he heard the phone get passed to Redfield he could also hear Claire's indignant grumbling and Forest's jibes about Chris lightening up some. Normally he wouldn't care either way but they had laid this on him so they would deal with his forced sentiments about the situation.

“Redfield, leave the damn girl alone until we reach our destination. After that you can go out into the woods and dish it out properly for all I care. Just do not cause another wreck or anymore delays. I would like to get there before the end of our holiday if you don't mind.”

Redfield agreed sheepishly, tossing the phone back to Valentine.

“Valentine, do please try and keep the peace. By whatever means necessary.”

She thanked him before hanging up abruptly. Leaving him and Bastian to barely manage avoiding the Jeep's sudden stop. Chris was practically pushed from the driver's seat and out onto the unpaved road, landing on his ass- as they watched Jill scale the seats and take his place. Forest opened the back door, pulling him in before the Jeep shot forward. Leaving a cloud of dust and dirt in its wake as Jill tore through the snaky back roads.

Bastian blinked before erupting into guffaws of laughter, Wesker himself finding it hard not to chuckle at what had just happened. Apparently all Jill had needed to take matter into her own capable and deadly hands was permission. As they followed quickly, Wesker noted that they would probably make it to the cottage within thirty minutes now . . . maybe less if Jill kept accelerating. And for once, it didn't bother him that he and Bastian were still laughing over the mutiny against his star sniper. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing for him to have actually come along . . . besides, he could always sneak away and check to make sure no other test subjects were out if he needed to escape the others . . .

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