
PROLOGUE
Associated Press, October 6, 1998
THOUSANDS KILLED
AS FIRE SWEEPS THROUGH MOUNTAIN COMMUNITY,MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS MAY BE INVOLVED
NEW YORK, NY---The secluded mountain community of RaccoonCity, PA, has officially been declared a disaster area by state andfederal officials, as dedicated firefighters continue to wage waragainst the dying blazes and the death toll continues to rise. It isnow estimated that over seven thousand people were killed by theexplosive fires that raged through Raccoon in the early hours ofSunday, October 4. It is being called the worst U.S. disaster interms of lives lost since the industrial age, and as national aidorganizations and international press flock to the blockadessurrounding the still burning ruins of the city, shocked friendsand family of Raccoon citizens have been gathering, waiting forword in nearby Latham.
National Disaster Control (NDC) Director Terrence Chavez,coordinator for the combined efforts of the multiple firefighting
and emergency teams, released a statement to the press last nightstating that barring unforeseen complications, he expects the lastof the flames to be extinguished before midweek---but that it maybe months before the origin of the fire is determined, as well aswhether or not arson was involved. Said Chavez, "The magnitudeof the damage in terms of area alone is going to make finding theanswers a great undertaking, but the answers are there. We willget to the bottom of this, whatever it takes."
As of 6 a.m. today, seventy-eight survivors have been found,and their names and conditions withheld; they have beentransported to an undisclosed federal facility for observationand/or treatment. Initial reports by HazMat teams suggest that anunknown illness may be responsible for the incredible number ofvictims, as infected citizens were unable to escape due to thepossibly incapacitating sickness. There is the further suggestionthat the disease may have induced violent psychosis in some ofthose infected. Members of private and federal disease-controlcenters have called for extending the quarantine boundaries, andalthough no official statement has been released, there have beenseveral "leaked" descriptions of physical and biological abnormali-ties in many of the victims. Said one source, a worker for a federalassessment team, "Some of those people weren't just burned ordead from smoke inhalation. I saw people who'd been killed bygunshot wounds or stabbings, [and] other forms of violence. I sawpeople who'd obviously been sick, dead, or dying long before thefire ever hit. The fire was bad---terrible---but it's not the onlydisaster that occurred there, I'd bet money on it."
Raccoon City was in the news earlier this year when a series ofunusual murders rocked the community. These were apparentlyunmotivated slayings, of extreme violence, and several involvedcannibalism; already, tentative connections are being made bylocal press near Raccoon between the eleven unsolved murdersfrom last summer and the rumors of mass violence prior to theconsuming flames.
Mr. Chavez refused to confirm or deny the rumors, saying onlythat investigations into the tragedy will be thorough. . . .
Nationwide Today, a.m.. Edition, October 10,1998
RACCOON DEATH TOLL RISESAS SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAMS COMBINE EFFORTS
NEW YORK, NY---The official body count now stands at just under4500, with the blackened ruins of Raccoon City still being combedfor additional victims of the apocalypse that took place early lastSunday morning. As a nation's mourning begins, over sixhundred men and women are working to uncover the reasonsbehind the destruction of the once peaceful community. Localrelief organizations, scientists, soldiers, federal agents, and corpo-rate research teams have come together in a show of determina-tion and purpose, pooling resources and accepting delegatedresponsibilities in order to get to the truth.
NDC Director Terrence Chavez, the official head of the effort,has been joined by top researchers from disease-control centers allaround the world, national security agents from several federalbranches, and a privately funded team of microbiologists fromUmbrella, Inc., the pharmaceutical company, which is investigat-ing the possibility that there may be a connection between theirchemical lab on the outskirts of the city and the strange infectionnow being called "Raccoon syndrome."
Initial studies of this illness have been vague and inconclusive,says Umbrella team leader Dr. Ellis Benjamin, "but we'reconvinced that the citizens of Raccoon were infected withsomething, either accidentally or intentionally. All we know at thispoint is that it doesn't seem to have been airborne, and that thefinal result was rapid cellular disintegration and death; we stilldon't know if it was bacterial or viral, or what the symptoms were,but we won't rest until we've exhausted all of our resources.Whatever the findings, and whether or not Umbrella materialswere a part of it, we're committed to seeing this through to the
end. It's the least we can do, considering how much our companyowes the people of Raccoon." The Umbrella chemical plant andadministration facilities in Raccoon City provided nearly a thou-sand local jobs.
The 142 survivors are still being held in quarantine forobservation and questioning at an undisclosed location. Whiletheir identities are still being protected, the FBI has released astatement listing medical conditions. Seventeen survivors sufferedminor injuries but are in stable condition, seventy-nine are still ona critical list following surgical procedures, and forty-six of thesurvivors, while not injured, have suffered some major mental oremotional breakdown. There is no confirmation as to whether ornot any are infected with the syndrome, but the statement didinclude a reference to survivor's stories that verified the existenceof the infection.
Gen. Martin Goldmann, overseer of military operations in theravaged city, is hopeful that all of those still missing will be foundwithin the next seven days. "We've already got four hundredpeople out there working twenty-four/seven, searching for survi-vors and running identification checks---and I just got word thatanother two hundred will be coming in on Monday. ..."
Fort Worth Bugler, October 18, 1998
POSSIBLE CONSPIRACYBY CITY EMPLOYEES IN RACCOON TRAGEDY
FORT WORTH, TX---New evidence uncovered by cleanup crews inRaccoon City, PA, indicates that the "Raccoon syndrome," thedisease responsible for the majority of the 7200 deaths that haveoccurred in Raccoon as of this writing, may have been unleashedupon the unsuspecting populace by Raccoon Police Chief BrianIrons and several members of the Special Tactics and RescueSquad (S.T.A.R.S.).
At a press conference held early yesterday evening by FBIspokesman Patrick Weeks, NDC Director Terrence Chavez, and Dr.
Robert Heiner---called in by Umbrella team leader Dr. EllisBenjamin---Weeks revealed that there is strong circumstantialevidence that the disaster in Raccoon was the result of a terroristact that went horribly wrong. The subsequent fires that havenearly wiped out the small city may have been an attempt by Ironsor one of his accomplices to cover up the disastrous effects of thespill.
According to Weeks, several documents were found in thewreckage of the RPD building that implicate Irons as theringleader of a conspiracy to take hostage the Umbrella chemicalplant on the outskirts of the city. Allegedly, Irons was furious withcity officials over the suspension of the S.T.A.R.S. in late July fortheir mishandling of a multiple murder investigation---the nowwell-documented cannibal slayings that took the lives of elevenpeople early last summer. The Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. were suspendedafter a helicopter crash in the last week of July that claimed thelives of six team members. The five surviving S.T.A.R.S. memberswere suspended without pay after evidence suggested drug oralcohol abuse in connection to the crash---and while Ironspublicly advocated the suspension of his elite squad, the docu-ments found indicate that Irons meant to threaten Mayor DevlinHarris and several City Council members with a spill of extremelyvolatile and dangerous chemicals unless certain financial demandswere met. Weeks went on to say that Irons had a history ofemotional instability, and that the documents---correspondencebetween Irons and an accomplice---revealed a plan by Irons toextort ransom from Raccoon and then flee the country. Theaccomplice is named only as "C.R.," but there are also referencesto "J.V.," "B.B.," and "R.C."---all initials for four of the fivesuspended S.T.A.R.S.
Said Terrence Chavez, "Assuming these documents are accu-rate, Irons and his crew had planned to storm the Umbrella plantat the end of September, which would correspond exactly to thetimeline described by Dr. Heiner for the Raccoon syndrome toachieve full amplification. We're currently operating under the
assumption that the takeover did take place, and that anunexpected accident occurred with cataclysmic results. At thistime, we don't know if Mr. Irons or any of the S.T.A.R.S. are stillalive, but they are wanted for questioning. We've released anational APB and all of our international airports and borderpatrols have been alerted. We urge anyone with informationrelating to this case to come forward."
Dr. Helner, a renowned microbiologist as well as an associatemember of Umbrella's Biohazardous Materials Division, stated thatthe exact mix of chemicals released in Raccoon may never beknown. "It's obvious that Irons and his people didn't know whatthey were handling---and with Umbrella continuously developingnew variations of enzyme syntheses, bacterial growth mediums,and viral repressers, the lethal compound was almost certainly anaccidental aggregation. With the possible combinations of materialsnumbering in the millions, the odds of duplicating the Raccoonsyndrome mix are astronomical."
The S.T.A.R.S. national director wasn't available for comment,but Lida Willis, regional spokesperson for the organization, hasgone on record as saying that they "are shocked and saddened" bythe disaster, and would devote every available agent to the searchfor the missing S.T.A.R8. team members, as well as for anycontacts they might still have within the network.
Ironically, the documents were found by one of Umbrella'ssearch teams....
ONE
"GO, GO, GO!" DAVID SHOUTED, AND JOHNAndrews hit the gas, whipping the minivan around atight corner as gunfire thundered through the coldMaine night.
John had spotted the two unmarked black sedansonly a moment before, which had barely given theteam enough time to arm themselves. Whoever wason their ass---Umbrella or the S.T.A.R.S. or the localcops---it didn't matter, it was all Umbrella---
"Get us lost, John!" David called, somehow manag-ing to sound cool and controlled even as bulletsriddled the back of the van. It was the accent---healways sounds like that, and where the hell's Fal-worth?
John felt scattered, his thoughts racing and jum-bled; he kicked ass on a mission, but sneak attacks bitthe bone---
---right on Falworth and head for the strip---Christ,ten more minutes and we would've been gone---
It had been too long since John had been in combat,and never in the midst of a car chase. He was good,but it was a minivan---
Bam bam bam!
Someone in the back of the van was returning fire,shooting out of the open back window. The nine-millimeter explosions in the tight space were as loudas the voice of an irate God, pounding at John's earsand making it even harder to focus.
Ten more goddamn minutes.
Ten minutes from the airstrip, where the charteredflight would be waiting. It was like a bad joke---weeksof hiding, waiting, not taking any risks, and thengetting tagged on the way out of the damn country.
John hung on to the wheel as they shot down 6thStreet, the van too heavy to outmaneuver the sedans.Even without five people and a shitload of artillery,the bulky, boxy knockoff mini wasn't exactly a power-house. David had bought it because it was so nonde-script, so unlikely to be noticed, and they were payingfor it---if they managed to shake their pursuers, it'dbe a small miracle. Their only chance was to try tofind traffic, play some dodge. It was dangerous, but sowas getting run off the road and shot to death.
"Clip!" Leon shouted, and John shot a look in therearview, saw that the young cop was crouched at theback window next to David. They'd taken out the backseats for the trip to the airstrip, all the more room forweapons---but that also meant no seatbelts; take acorner too fast and bodies would be flying---
Bam! Bam! Two more blasts from the sedan assholes, maybe from a .38. John gave the shudderingvan a little more pedal as Leon returned fire with aBrowning nine-millimeter. Leon Kennedy was theirbest shot, David probably had him trying to drawbead on the tires---
---best shot next to me, anyway, and how the hell amI going to get us lost in Exeter, Maine, at eleven o'clockon a weeknight? There is no traffic---
One of the women tossed Leon a mag, John didn'thave time to see which one as he jerked the wheelright, heading for downtown. With a smoking squealof rubber on asphalt, the mini teetered around thecorner of Falworth, heading east. The airstrip waswest, but John didn't figure that anyone in the vanwas worrying much about getting to the plane ontime.
First things first, gotta ditch Umbrella's hired goons.Doubt there's room on the charter for all of us---
John saw red and blue light in the mirror, saw thatat least one of the sedans had put a flasher on the roof.Maybe they were cops, which would really suck.Umbrella's job of spin control had been thorough---thanks to them, every cop in the country probablybelieved that their small team was at least partlyresponsible for what had happened to Raccoon. TheS.T.A.R.S. were being played, too---some of thehigher-ups had sold out, but the agents in the trenchesprobably had no idea that their organization hadbecome a puppet of the pharmaceutical company---
---which makes it a hell of a lot harder to shoot back.
No one on their makeshift team wanted innocentsto get hurt; being misled by Umbrella wasn't a crime,and if the sedan teams were cops---
"No antennae, no warning, not cops!" Leon called,and John had time to feel about a second's worth ofrelief before he saw the barricades looming in front ofthem, the roadwork sign propped next to the blockedstreet. He saw the white circle of a man's face abovean orange vest, the man holding a sign that said"Slow," the man dropping the sign and diving forcover---
---and it would've been funny except they weredoing eighty and had maybe three seconds before theyhit.
"Hang on!" John screamed, and Claire pushed herlegs against the van wall, saw David grab hold ofRebecca, Leon snatching at the handle---
---and the van was screeching, jerking, and buckinglike a wild horse, spinning sideways---
---and Claire actually felt open space beneath theright side of the van as her body was compressed tothe left, the back of her neck crunching painfullyagainst the tire well.
---ohhell---
David shouted something but Claire didn't hear itover the squealing brakes, didn't understand untilDavid dove to the right, Rebecca scrambling rightnext to him---
---and wham, the van dropped back to the groundwith a terrific bounce and John seemed to have itunder control again---but there was still the piercingscreech of locked brakes coming from---
CRASH!
The explosion of metal and shattering glass behindthem was so close that Claire's heart skipped a beat.
She turned, looked out the back with the others andsaw that one of the cars had barreled into a roadworkbarricade---a barricade they'd probably come withina second or two of bashing into themselves. Shecaught just a glimpse of a crumpled hood, of brokenwindows and a stream of oily smoke, and then thesecond sedan was blocking her view, shrieking aroundthe corner and continuing the chase.
"Sorry 'bout that," John called back to them,sounding anything but; he seemed wired withadrenaline-pumped glee.
In the few weeks since she and Leon had joined upwith the fugitive ex-S.T.A.R.S., she'd discovered thatJohn would make jokes about anything. It was simul-taneously his most endearing and most annoyingtrait.
"Everyone alright?" David asked, and Claire nod-ded, saw Rebecca do the same.
"Took a whack but I'm okay," Leon said, rubbinghis arm with a pained expression. "But I don'tthink---"
BAM!
Whatever Leon didn't think was cut off by thepowerful blast that slammed into the back of the van.Still most of a block away, the sedan's passenger hadfired a shotgun at them; a few inches higher and thepellets would have come in through the window.
"John, change of plans," David called as the vanswerved, his cool, authoritative voice rising over thenoise of the screaming engines. "We're in theirsights---"
Before he could finish, John took a hard left.Rebecca fell backwards, nearly crashing into Claire.
The van was now headed down a quiet suburbanstreet.
"Hold on to your butts," John called over hisshoulder.
Chill night air whipped through the van, darkhouses flying by as John picked up speed. Leon andDavid were already reloading, crouched behind themetal half-door. Claire exchanged a look withRebecca, who looked as unhappy about their situa-tion as she felt. Rebecca Chambers was ex-S.T.A.R.S.,she'd worked with Claire's brother, Chris, as well asundertaking a recent Umbrella operation with Davidand John, also ex-S.T.A.R.S.---but the young womanhad been trained as a medic with a background inbiochemistry. Marksmanship wasn't her forte---evenClaire was a better shot---and she was the only personin the van who hadn't had any real training . . .
. . . unless you count surviving Raccoon.
Claire shuddered involuntarily as John took a hardright, veering wide around a parked truck, the sedangaining ground. Raccoon City; the scratches andbruises on Claire's body hadn't even faded yet, andshe knew that Leon's shoulder was still giving himpain---
BAM!
Another shotgun blast from behind, but it wentwide and high.
This time. . . .
"Change of plans," David said, his crisp Britishaccent calming, like the voice of reason and logic inthe midst of chaos. It was no wonder he'd been aS.T.A.R.S. captain.
"Everyone brace for an impact. John, just past yournext turn, bring us to a stop. Hit and run, alright?"
David brought his knees up, wedging his feetagainst the van's wall. "They want us so badly, letthem have us."
Claire slid over and pushed her feet against theback of the passenger seat, knees bent and head down.Rebecca moved closer to David, and Leon sidled backso that his head was close to Claire's. They lockedgazes and Leon smiled faintly.
"This is nothiri"" he said, and in spite of her fear,Claire found herself smiling back at him. After mak-ing it through the madness of Raccoon City, skirtingthe murderous Umbrella creatures and crazed hu-mans---not to mention their extremely narrow escapefrom explosive death when Umbrella's secret facilitiesblew up---compared to all that, a simple car wreckwas like a Sunday picnic.
Yeah, just keep telling yourself that, her mind whis-pered, and then she didn't think anything at all,because the van was swerving around a corner andJohn was pumping the brakes and they were about toget hit by about a ton and a half of fast moving metaland glass.
David inhaled and exhaled deeply, relaxing hismuscles as best he could, the squeal of brakes comingup fast from behind---
---and wham, violent motion, a sense of incrediblevibration, a second that seemed to stretch for anendless and silent eternity---
---and the noise coming immediately after---breaking glass and the sound of a tin can being crushedamplified a million times. David was jerked forwardand back, heard Rebecca emit a strangled gasp---
---and it was over, and John was already hitting thegas as David rolled to his knees, raising his Beretta.He shot a look out the back and saw that the sedanwas motionless, skewed across the dark street, thefront grill and headlamps smashed all to hell. Theslumped, shadowy figures behind the spidered glasswere as still as the ruined car.
Not that we fared much better. . . .
The inexpensive green minivan he'd bought specifi-cally for their ride to the airfield no longer had abumper, tail lights, a rear license plate---or, he imag-ined, any possible method for opening the back gate;the door was a warped and crunched-up mass ofuseless metal.
No great loss. David Trapp despised minivans, andit wasn't as though they'd planned on taking it toEurope. The important thing was that they were stillalive---and that---for the moment at least---they'dmanaged to avoid the infinitely long arm of Umbrel-la's wrath.
As they sped away from the wrecked car, Davidturned and regarded the others, reflexively putting ahand out to help Rebecca up. Since the ill-fatedmission to the Umbrella lab on the coast, he'd grownquite attached to the young woman, as had John. Therest of his team hadn't survived---
He shook off the thought before it could take hold,and called up to John that they should circle backtoward their original destination, staying away frommajor streets. A bad break that they'd been spotted
just as they were leaving---but not all that surprising,however. Umbrella had staked Exeter out two monthsearlier, right after they'd returned from Caliban Cove.It had only been a matter of time.
"Nice trick, David," Leon said. "I'll have to re-member that next time I get chased by Umbrellagoons."
David nodded uncomfortably. He liked Leon andClaire, but wasn't so sure how he felt about two morepeople looking to him for leadership. He could under-stand it with John and Rebecca, they'd at least beenpart of the S.T.A.R.S. before---but Leon was a rookiecop from Raccoon and Claire was a college studentwho just happened to be Chris Redfield's little sister.When he'd made the decision to break from theS.T.A.R.S. after finding out about their connection toUmbrella, he hadn't expected to continue leading,hadn't wanted to---
---but it wasn't my decision to make, was it... hehadn't asked for their allegiance, or offered himself upas decision maker---and it didn't matter, that was justthe way things had turned out. In war, one didn'talways have the luxury of choice.
David glanced around at the others before staringout the back, watching the homes and buildings slippast in the cold dark. Everyone seemed a bit subdued,always the aftermath of an adrenaline rush. Rebeccawas unloading clips and repacking the weapons, Leonand Claire sitting close together across from her, nottalking. Those two were usually joined at the hip, andwere still as tight as they'd been since David, John,and Rebecca had picked them up just outside ofRaccoon less than a month earlier, dirty and damaged
and reeling from their run-in with Umbrella. Daviddidn't think there was a romantic connection there, atleast not yet; it was more likely their shared night-mare. Nearly dying together could be quite a bondingexperience.
As far as David knew, Leon and Claire were theonly survivors of the Raccoon disaster who knewabout Umbrella's T-Virus spill. The child they'd hadwith them had only had the faintest idea, althoughClaire had been very careful to shield the little girlfrom the truth. Sherry Birkin didn't need to knowthat her parents had been responsible for the creationof Umbrella's most powerful bioweapons; better thatshe remember her mother and father as decentpeople. .. .
"David? Anything wrong?"
He shook himself out of his mental wanderings andnodded at Claire. "I'm sorry. Yes, I'm fine. Actually, Iwas thinking about Sherry; how is she?"
Claire smiled, and David was struck again by howshe brightened when Sherry's name came up. "She'sgood, she's settling in. Kate is nothing like her sister, adefinite plus. And Sherry likes her."
David nodded again. Sherry's aunt had seemednice, but beyond that, she'd be able to protect Sherryif Umbrella decided to track the girl down; Kate Boydwas a fiercely competent criminal lawyer, one of thebest in California. Umbrella would do well to stayaway from the Birkins' only child.
Too bad the same doesn't apply to us; wouldn't thatmake things quite a lot easier. . . .
Rebecca had finished reorganizing their rather im-pressive cache of weapons. She scooted over to sit
next to him, brushing a loose strand of hair off herforehead. Her eyes much older than the rest of herface; barely nineteen, she'd already lived through twoUmbrella incidents. Technically, she had more expe-rience than any of them as far as the pharmaceuticalcompany went.
Rebecca didn't speak for a moment, staring out atthe passing streets. When she finally spoke, she kepther voice low, her sharp gaze studying him intently.
"Do you think they're still alive?"
He wouldn't bother feeding her a sunny picture;young as she was, the girl had a knack for seeingthrough people.
"I don't know," he said, careful not to let the othersoverhear. Claire wanted desperately to reunite withher brother. "I doubt it. We should have heard fromthem. Either they're afraid of being traced, or. . . ."
Rebecca sighed. Not surprised, but not happy."Yeah. Even if they couldn't get through to us---Texasstill has the scrambler up, don't they?"
David nodded. Texas, Oregon, Montana---all openchannels with S.T.A.R.S. members who could still betrusted, and they hadn't gotten a call in over a month.The last message had been from Jill; David knew it byheart. In fact, it had been haunting him daily forweeks.
"Safe and sound in Austria. Barry and Chris track-ing lead at UHQ, looks promising. Get ready."
Ready to join them, to call in the few waiting troopsthat he and John had managed to network. Ready tostorm Umbrella's real headquarters, the power be-hind it all. Ready to strike against the evil at itssource. Jill and Barry and Chris had gone to Europe
to find out where the true leaders of Umbrella'shidden purpose were secreted, starting at internation-al HQ in Austria---and had promptly disappeared.
"Heads up, kids," John called from the front, andDavid looked away from Rebecca's unsmiling face,looked out to see they were already at the airfield.
Whatever had happened to their friends, they'd findout soon enough.
TWO
REBECCA STRAPPED HERSELF INTO THE TINYseat of the tiny plane and looked out the window,wishing that David had chartered a jet. A giant, solid,can't-possibly-be-unsafe-'cause-it's-so-damned-big jet.From where she sat, she could see the propellers on thewing of the aircraft---propellers, like on a kid's toy.
Bet this puppy will sink like a rock, though, once itfalls out of the sky at a few hundred miles an hour andslams into the ocean. . . .
"Just so you know, this is the kind of plane that'salways killing rock stars and the like. Just as theymake it off the ground, a big gust of wind knocks themright back down."
Rebecca looked up to see John's grinning face; hewas hanging over the seats in front of her, his massivearms folded across the headrests. He probably neededtwo seats to himself; John wasn't just big, he was
body-builder huge, two hundred forty pounds of mus-cle packed into his six-foot-six frame.
"We'll be lucky to get off at all, dragging your fat assup there," Rebecca shot back, and was rewarded witha flash of concern in John's dark eyes. He'd broken acouple of ribs and punctured a lung on his lastmission, less than three months before, and stillwasn't up to pumping iron. For as burly and macho asJohn was, she knew he was vain about his looks, andhad absolutely hated not being able to work out.
John grinned wider, the deep brown of his skincrinkling. "Yeah, you're probably right; a few hun-dred feet off the ground and wham, that's all shewrote."
She never should have told him that this was onlythe second flight she'd ever been on (the first waswhen she accompanied David to Exeter for the mis-sion to Caliban Cove). It was exactly the kind of thingon which John got off cracking jokes---
The plane started to rumble all around them, theengine whining up into a deep hum that madeRebecca grit her teeth. Damned if she was going to letJohn see how nervous she was; she looked back outthe window and saw Leon and Claire walking towardthe metal steps. Apparently, the weapons were allloaded up.
"Where's David?" Rebecca asked, and Johnshrugged.
"Talking to the pilot. We've only got the one, youknow, some friend of a friend of some guy in Arkan-sas. Not many pilots willing to smuggle people intoEurope, I guess. .. ."
John leaned closer, dropping his voice to a fake
whisper, his grin fading. "I hear he drinks. We got himcheap 'cause he crashed some soccer team into theside of a mountain."
Rebecca laughed, shaking her head. "You win. I'mterrified, okay?"
"Okay. That's all I wanted," John said mildly, andturned around as Leon and Claire walked into thesmall cabin. They moved back to the middle of theplane, taking the two seats across the aisle from whereRebecca was sitting. David had mentioned that thearea over the wings was the most stable, although itwasn't like there was that much of a choice---therewere only twenty seats.
"Ever flown before?" Claire asked, leaning out intothe aisle, looking a little nervous herself.
Rebecca shrugged. "Once. You?"
"Couple of times, but always on big airliners, DC747s or -27s, I forget. I don't even know what thisthing is."
"It's a DHC 8 Turbo," Leon said. "I think. Davidmentioned it at some point. . .."
"It's a killer, is what it is." John's deep voice floatedover the seats. "A rock with wings."
"John, sweetie .. . shut up," Claire said amiably.
John cackled, obviously pleased to have somebodynew to play with.
David appeared at the front of the cabin, steppingthrough the curtained area that led to the cockpit, andJohn broke off, their collective attention turning to-ward him.
"It seems that we're ready to go," David said. "Ourpilot, Captain Evans, has assured me that all systemsare fully functional and we'll be taking off in just a
moment. He's asked that we remain seated until he'sgiven us leave to do otherwise. Um---the restroom isjust back of the cockpit, and there's a small refrigera-tor at the rear of the plane with sandwiches anddrinks\_\_\_"
His voice trailed off, and he looked as if there wassomething else he wanted to say but wasn't sure whatit was. It was a look that Rebecca had seen oftenenough in the past few weeks, a kind of uneasyuncertainty. Since the day that Raccoon had beenblown to shit, she supposed they'd all had that look atone time or another...
... because they shouldn't have been able to do it.That should have been the end, and it wasn 't, and nowwe're all more freaked out than any of us wants toadmit.
When news of the disaster first hit the papers, theyhad all been so certain that this time Umbrellawouldn't be able to cover its tracks. The spill at theSpencer estate had been small, easy enough to writeoff after fire gutted the mansion and surroundingbuildings; the facility at Caliban Cove had been onprivate land and was too isolated for anyone to knowabout---again, Umbrella had swept up the brokenpieces and kept it quiet.
Raccoon City, though. Thousands of peopledead---and Umbrella had walked away from it smell-ing like a rose, after planting false evidence andgetting their scientists to lie for them. It should havebeen impossible; it had disheartened them all. Whatchance did a handful of fugitives have against a multibillion-dollar conglomerate that could kill an entirecity and get away with it?
David had decided not to say anything at all. Henodded briskly and then walked back to join them,pausing next to Rebecca's seat.
"Do you need some company?"
She could see that he was trying to be supportive---and she could also see that he was tired. He'd been uplate the night before, doublechecking every detail oftheir trip.
"Nah, I'm okay," she said, smiling up at him, "andI've always got John to talk me through it."
"You know it, baby," John called loudly, and Davidnodded, giving her shoulder a light squeeze beforemoving to the seats behind her.
He needs the rest. We all do, and it's a long flight---so why do I have the feeling that we're not going to getany?
Nerves, that was all.
The engine sound got louder, higher, and with astuttering jerk, the plane started to move forward.Rebecca clutched the arm rests on either side andclosed her eyes, thinking that if she had the guts to goup against Umbrella, she could certainly survive aplane ride.
Even if she couldn't, it was too late to change hermind; they were on their way, no turning back.
They'd been in the air for only twenty minutes, andalready Claire was nodding off, half-leaning againstLeon's shoulder. Leon was tired, too, but knew hewasn't going to get to sleep so easily. He was hungry,for one thing---and then there was the fact that he stillwasn't sure if he was doing the right thing.
Great time to think about it, now that you're pretty
much committed, his mind whispered sarcastically.Maybe you could just ask them to drop you off inLondon or something, you could hang out in a pubuntil they're all finished... or dead.
Leon told himself to shut up, sighing a little. He wascommitted; what Umbrella had been doing wasn'tjust criminal, it was evil---or at least as close to evil assome money-grubbing corporate dickheads could get.They'd murdered thousands, created bioweapons ca-pable of murdering billions, wiped out his carefullyplanned future and been responsible for the death ofAda Wong, a woman he'd respected and liked. They'dhelped each other through some rough spots on thatterrible night in Raccoon; without her, he neverwould have gotten out alive.
He believed in what David and his people weredoing, and it wasn't that he was afraid, that wasn't itat all\_\_\_
Leon sighed again. He'd given the matter a hell of alot of thought since he and Claire and Sherry hadstumbled away from the burning city, and the onlyreal reason he could come up with was so stupid thathe didn't want to credit it. Standing against Umbrellawas the right thing to do---it was that he didn't feelqualified to be there.
Yep, that's pretty stupid.
Maybe it was---but it was holding him back, mak-ing him feel uncertain, and he needed to examine it.
David Trapp had made a career of the S.T.A.R.S.,only to watch the organization fall under the controlof Umbrella; he'd lost two close friends on a missionto infiltrate a bioweapons testing facility, as had JohnAndrews. Rebecca Chambers had just been starting
out in the S.T.A.R.S., but she was some kind ofscientific child prodigy with a deep interest in Um-brella's work; that and the fact that she'd beenthrough more than anyone else made her continueddedication understandable. Claire wanted to find herbrother, the only family she had; their parents weredead, and the two of them were close. Chris, Jill, andBarry he'd never met, but he was sure they hadcompelling reasons of their own; he knew BarryBurton's wife and children had been threatened,Rebecca had mentioned it. ...
And what about Leon Kennedy? He'd stumbledinto the fight without a clue, a cop fresh out of theacademy on his way to his first day at work---whichjust happened to be with the Raccoon PD. There wasAda, true---but he'd known her less than half a day,and she had been killed just after admitting to himthat she was some kind of an agent, sent to steal asample of an Umbrella virus.
So I lost a job, and a possible relationship with awoman I barely knew and couldn't trust. Of courseUmbrella should be stopped. . . but do I belong here?He'd decided to become a cop because he wantedto help people, but he'd always figured that meantkeeping the peace---busting drunk drivers, breakingup bar fights, catching crooks. Never in his wild-est dreams would he have figured on being caughtup in an international conspiracy, cloak-and-daggerinfiltration-type stuff against a giant company thatmade war monsters. It was crime on a much biggerscale than he felt he was ready for ...
. . . and is that the real reason, Officer Kennedy?
At exactly that moment, Claire mumbled something from her light doze, nuzzling her head againsthis arm before falling silent and still again---andmaking Leon uncomfortably aware of another facet tohis involvement with the ex-S.T.A.R.S. Claire. Clairewas . . . she was an incredible woman. In the daysafter their escape from Raccoon City, they'd talked alot about what had happened, the experiences they'dhad both separately and together. At the time, it hadfelt like an exchange of information, filling inblanks---she'd told him about her run-in with ChiefIrons and the creature she'd called Mr. X, and he'dtold her all about Ada and the terrible thing that hadonce been William Birkin. Between them, they'd beenable to come up with a continuous story, with infor-mation that was important to the fugitive team.
In retrospect, though, he could see that those long,rambling conversations had been essential for an-other reason entirely---they'd been a way to leach outthe poison of what had happened to them, like talkingout a bad dream. If he'd had to keep it all inside, hethought, he might have gone crazy.
In any case, the feelings he had for her now wereconvoluted ones---warmth, connection, dependence,respect, others that he had no name for. And thatscared him, because he'd never felt so strongly aboutanyone before---and because he wasn't sure howmuch of it was real and how much was just some kindof a post-traumatic stress thing.
Face it, stop bullshitting yourself. What you're reallyafraid of is that you're only here because she is, andyou don't like what that says about you.
Leon nodded inwardly, realizing that it was the
truth, the real reason behind his uncertainty. He'dalways believed that want was okay, but need? Hedidn't like the idea of being led around by someneurotic compulsion to be close to Claire Redfield.
And what if it isn't need? Maybe it's want, and youjust don't know it yet....
He scowled at his own pathetic attempts at self-analysis, deciding that maybe it would be best just tostop worrying about it so much. Whatever the reasonfor becoming involved, he was involved---he couldkick ass with the best of them and Umbrella deservedto have their ass kicked, big time. For now, he had topee, and then he was going to eat something and dohis best to catch some sleep.
Leon gently moved out from beneath Claire'swarm, heavy head, doing his best not to wake her up.He slid out into the aisle, glancing around at theothers. Rebecca was staring out her window, John wasflipping through a muscle mag, David was dozing.They were all good people, and thinking that madehim feel a little easier about things.
They're the good guys. Hell, I'm a good guy, fightingfor truth, justice, and fewer viral zombies in theworld....
The bathroom was in the front. Leon started to-ward it, steadying himself by touching each seat as hepassed, thinking that the steady drone of the plane'sengine was a soothing sound, like a waterfall---
---and then the curtain at the front of the cabin waspushed open, and a man stepped out, a tall, smilingman in an expensive-looking trench coat. He wasn'tthe pilot, and there wasn't anyone else on the plane,
and Leon felt his mouth go dry with an almostsuperstitious dread even though the thin, smiling mandidn't seem to be armed.
"Hey!" Leon shouted, backing up a step. "Hey, wegot company!"
The man grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Leon Ken-nedy, I presume," he said softly, and Leon wassuddenly absolutely sure that whoever he was, thisman was trouble with a capital "T."
THREE
JOHN WAS ON HIS FEET BEFORE LEON HADfinished his warning, hopping out into the aisle andstepping in front of Leon in a single stride.
"Who the hell---" John snarled, his shoulders set,ready to break the thin mam in two if he so much asblinked wrong.
The stranger held up pale, long-fingered hands,looking as though he could barely contain his de-light---which made John all the more wary. He couldeasily pound the guy into hamburger, what the hellwas he so happy about?
"And you're John Andrews," the man said, hisvoice low and calm and as pleased as his expression."Formerly a communications expert and field scoutfor the Exeter S.T.A.R.S. It's so good to meet you---tell me, how are your ribs? Still tender?"
Shit. Who is this guy? John had broken two ribs and
cracked a third on the cove mission, and didn't knowthis man---how the hell did this man know him?
"My name is Trent," the stranger said easily, nod-ding at both Leon and John. "I believe your Mr.Trapp can vouch for my identity ... ?"
John flicked a glance back, saw that David and thegirls were right behind them. David gave a quick nod,his expression strained.
Trent. Goddamn. The mysterious Mr. Trent.
---The same Mr. Trent who had given maps andclues to Jill Valentine, just before the RaccoonS.T.A.R.S. had discovered Umbrella's initial T-Virusspill at the Spencer estate. The Trent who had given asimilar package to David one rainy August night,information about Umbrella's Caliban Cove facility,where Steve and Karen had been murdered.
The Trent who'd been playing games with theS.T.A.R.S.---with people's lives---all along.
Trent was still smiling, still holding his hands up.John noticed a black ring made out of stone on oneslender finger, the only affectation that Mr. Trentseemed to have; it looked heavy and expensive.
"So what the hell do you want?" John growled. Hedidn't like secrets or surprises, and he didn't like thefact that Trent seemed totally unimpressed by hisformidable size. Most people backed down when hegot in their face; Trent seemed amused.
"Mr. Andrews, if you please . . . ?"
John didn't move, glaring into Trent's dark, intelli-gent eyes. Trent gazed back impassively, and Johncould see cool self-assurance in that bright gaze, alook that was almost but not quite patronizing. As big
and buff as John was, he wasn't a violent man---butthat confident, mirthful look made John think thatMr. Trent could use a good beating. Not by him,necessarily, but by someone.
How many people have died, just because he decidedto stir things up a little?
"It's alright, John," David said quietly. "I'm surethat if Mr. Trent meant us harm, he wouldn't bestanding here introducing himself."
David was right, whether John liked it or not. Hesighed inwardly and stepped aside, but decided thathe definitely didn't like it; from what little he knewabout the man, he didn't like it at all.
Gonna be watching you, "friend."...
Trent nodded as though there had never been anyquestion and walked past John, smiling at all of them.He motioned for them to sit in the seats on one side ofthe cabin; he took off his trench coat and put it aside,moving slowly and carefully, obviously aware thatany sudden moves could be detrimental to his health.Beneath the coat he wore a black suit, black tie, andshoes; John didn't know clothes but the shoes wereAsante. Trent had taste, anyway, and a shitload ofmoney if he could afford to blow a couple thou onfootwear.
"This may take a few moments," he said. "Please,get comfortable." He pushed himself up to sit atopone of the chairs opposite their group, moving with asmooth grace that made John feel even less comfort-able. He moved like someone with training, martialarts maybe. . . .
The others sat or leaned against the chairs, each of
them studying the uninvited guest, each looking asunhappy about his appearance as John felt. Trentstudied them in turn.
"Mr. Andrews, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Trapp, and Ihave already met. . . ." Trent looked back and forthbetween Rebecca and Claire, his sparkling gaze finallysettling on Claire.
"Claire Redfield, yes?" He seemed a little morehesitant, which wasn't a surprise. Rebecca and Clairecould have been sisters, both brunettes, same height,only a few months difference in age.
"Yes," Claire said. "Does the pilot know you're onboard?"
John frowned, irritated with himself for not havingasked first. It was a fairly important question, and ithadn't occurred to him. If the pilot had let Mr. Trentaboard. . . .
Trent nodded, running one pale hand through histousled black hair. "Yes, he does. In fact, CaptainEvans is an acquaintance of mine, so when I realizedthat you were going . . . traveling, I arranged for himto be in the right place at the right time. Much easierthan it sounds, really."
"Why?" David asked, an edge coming into hisvoice that John had only ever heard in combatsituations. The captain was right on the verge of beingseriously upset. "Why would you do that, Mr. Trent?"
Trent seemed to ignore him. "I realize that you'reconcerned about your friends on the continent, but letme assure you that they're in the best of health.Really, there's no reason for you to worry your-selves---"
"Why?" David's voice was steel.
Trent stared at him, then sighed. "Because I don'twant you to go to Europe, and making it so thatCaptain Evans is your pilot means that you won't.You can't. In fact, we should be turning back anymoment now."
Claire stared at him, feeling her stomach knot,feeling that knot transforming into a burning, leadenanger.
Chris, I won't see Chris---
John pushed away from the seat he'd been leaningon and grabbed Trent's arm before Claire could evenopen her mouth, before anyone had time to respondto his statement.
"Tell your 'acquaintance' to keep right on goin' theway we're goin'," John spat, glowering at Trent. Fromthe way John's hands were shaking, Claire thoughtthere was a good chance that he would break Trent'sarm---and found that she didn't think that was such abad idea.
Trent wore an expression of mild discomfort, noth-ing more. "I'm sorry to interrupt your plans," he said,"but if you'll hear me out, I think you'll agree that it'sfor the best---if you really want to stop Umbrella, thatis."
For the best? Chris, we have to help Chris and theothers, what is this shit?
She waited for the others to explode into action, tostorm the cockpit, to tie Mr. Trent to a chair and forcehim to explain himself---but they were all silent,looking at one another and at Trent with shock,
anger---and interest, guarded but interest nonethe-less. John loosened his grip, glancing at David fordirection.
"This had better be a good story, Mr. Trent," Davidsaid coolly. "I'm aware that you've---helped us in thepast, but this kind of interference isn't the kind ofhelp we want or need."
He tipped his head at John, who reluctantly let goof Trent and stepped back. Not very far back, Clairenoticed.
If Trent had been worried at all, there was no signof it. He nodded at David, and in his low, musicalvoice, started to speak.
"As I'm sure you're all aware, Umbrella, Inc., hasfacilities in locations all around the world, factoriesand plants that employ thousands of people andgenerate hundreds of millions of dollars each year.Most of them are legitimate pharmaceutical or chemi-cal companies, and have no relevance to this discus-sion, except that they're quite profitable; the moneygenerated by Umbrella's legal enterprises allows themto finance their lesser-known operations---operationsthat you and yours have recently had the misfortuneto come across.
"These operations fall into a division known asWhite Umbrella, and most have to do with bioweap-ons research. There are very few who know all of theins and outs of White Umbrella's business, but theones who do are extremely powerful. Powerful, andcommitted to creating all sorts of unpleasantness.Chemical weapons, fatal diseases .. . the T and Gseries viruses that have been so troublesome as oflate."
That's an understatement, Claire thought nastily,but was intrigued in spite of herself. To finally knowsomething about what they were up against. ...
"Why?" Leon asked. "Chemical warfare isn't allthat profitable, anyone with a centrifuge and somegardening supplies can come up with a bioweapon."
Rebecca was nodding. "And the kind of workthey're doing, applying rapid fuse virions to geneticredistribution---it's incredibly expensive, and as haz-ardous to work with as nuclear waste. Worse."
Trent shook his head. "They're doing it becausethey can. Because they want to." He smiled faintly."Because when you're richer and more powerful thananyone else on the planet, you get bored."
"Who gets bored?" David asked.
Trent gazed at him for a moment, then startedtalking again, blatantly ignoring David's question."White Umbrella's current focus is on bio-organicsoldiers, if you will---individual specimens, mostgenetically altered, all injected with some variation ofvirus intended to make them violent and strong andoblivious to pain. The manner in which these virusesamplify in humans, the 'zombie' reaction, is nothingmore than an unexpected side effect; the virusesUmbrella creates are designed for nonhuman use, atleast at this point."
Claire was interested, but she was also gettingimpatient. "So when do we get to the part about whyyou're here, why you don't want us going to Europe?"she asked, not bothering to keep the anger out of hervoice.
Trent looked at her, his dark eyes suddenly sympa-thetic, and she realized that he knew why she was
angry, that he knew all about her reasons for wantingto go to Europe. She could see it in the way he gazed ather, his eyes telling her that he understood---and shesuddenly felt deeply uneasy.
He knows everything, doesn't he? All about us. . . .
"Not all of the White Umbrella facilities are thesame," he continued. "There are some that dealstrictly with data, some only with the chemistry, somewhere specimens are grown or surgically pieced to-gether---and a very few where these specimens aretested. And that brings us to why I'm here, and whyI'd rather you postponed your plans.
"There's an Umbrella testing facility about to go online in Utah, just north of the salt flats. Right now, it'sstaffed by a very small crew of technicians and . . .specimen handlers, and is scheduled to become fullyoperational in about three weeks. The man overseeingthe final preparations is one of White Umbrella's keyplayers, a man named Reston. The job was supposedto have been handled by another fellow, a despicablelittle man by the name of Lewis, but Mr. Lewis had anunfortunate and not entirely unplanned accident. . .and now Reston is in charge. And because he is one ofthe very important men behind White Umbrella, hehas, in his possession, a little black book. There areonly three of these books, and the other two would benearly impossible to get hold of. . . ."
"So what's in it?" John snapped. "Get to thepoint."
Trent smiled at John as if he had asked politely."Each book is a kind of master key; each has acomplete directory of codes used to program everymainframe in every White Umbrella facility. With
that book, one could conceivably break into any lab ortest site and access everything from personnel files tofinancial statements. They'll change the codes oncethe book is stolen, of course---but unless they want tolose everything they've stored, it will take themmonths."
No one spoke for a moment, the only sound that ofthe plane's insistent hum. Claire looked at each ofthem, saw the thoughtful expressions, saw that theywere seriously considering Trent's implied propos-al---and realized that it had just become highly un-likely that they would be going to Europe after all.
"But what about Chris, and Jill and Barry? Yousaid they were okay---how do you know that?" Claireasked, and David could just hear the barely hiddendesperation.
"It would take a very long time to explain how Icome by my information," Trent said smoothly. "Andwhile I'm certain you don't want to hear this, I'mafraid you'll just have to trust me. Your brother andhis companions are in no immediate danger, theydon't need you at the moment---but the opportunityto get Reston's book, to get into that lab, will be gonein less than a week. There's no security detail rightnow, half the systems aren't even running---and aslong as you stay away from the test program, there areno creatures to contend with."
David wasn't sure what to think. It sounded good, itsounded like exactly the opportunity they'd beenhoping for ... but then, so had Caliban Cove. So hada lot of things.
And as for trusting Mr. Trent. . .
"What's your stake in this?" David asked. "Why doyou want to hurt Umbrella?"
Trent shrugged. "Call it a hobby."
"I'm serious," David said.
"So am I." Trent smiled, his eyes still dancing withthat twinkling humor. David had only seen him oncebefore, hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words,but Trent seemed just as strangely happy now as hehad then; whatever it was that made him tick, it wascertainly bringing him a lot of pleasure.
"Why have you been so cryptic?" Rebecca asked,and David nodded, saw that the others were doing thesame. "The stuff you gave to Jill, and to David,before---all riddles and clues. Why not just tell uswhat we need to know?"
"Because you needed to figure it out," Trent said."Or, rather, it was necessary that you appeared tofigure it out, all by yourselves. As I said before, thereare very few people who know what White Umbrellais doing; if you seemed to know too much, it mightcome back to me."
"Then why take the risk now?" David asked. "Forthat matter, why do you need us at all? You obviouslyhave some connection to White Umbrella; why not gopublic, or sabotage them from the inside?"
Trent smiled again. "I'm taking the risk because it'stime to take a risk. And as to the rest... all I can sayis that I have my reasons."
He talks and talks, and yet we still don't know whatthe hell he's doing, or why. . . how exactly does hemanage that?
"Why don't you tell us a few of those reasons,Trent?" None of it was sitting well with John, David
saw; he was scowling at their stowaway, looking asthough he might have to be talked out of punching theman.
Trent didn't answer. Instead, he pushed himself offof the seat and picked up his coat, turning to look atDavid.
"I realize you'll want to discuss this before youmake your decision," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I'lltake this opportunity to visit our captain. If youdecide against collecting Reston's book, I'll step aside.I said before that you had no choice, but that was mydramatic side showing, I suppose; there's always achoice."
On that, Trent turned and walked to the front of thecabin and slipped behind the curtain without a back-ward glance.
FOUR
JOHN BROKE THE SILENCE ABOUT TWO SEC-onds after Trent left the cabin.
"To hell with this," he said, looking as pissed off asRebecca had ever seen him. "I don't know about therest of you, but I'm not all that happy about beingplayed like this---I'm not here to be Mr. Trent's boy,and I don't trust him. I say we get him to talk aboutUmbrella, tell us what he knows about our team inEurope---and if he gives us one more say-nothinganswer, we should drop-kick his evasive ass out thedamned door."
Rebecca knew he was royally ticked, but shecouldn't help herself. "Yeah, John, but how do youreally feel?"
He glared in her direction---and then grinned, andsomehow, that broke the tension for all of them. Itwas as though they all remembered how to breatheagain at the same time; the unexpected visit from
their mysterious benefactor had made it hard for afew moments to remember much of anything.
"We've got John's vote," David said. "Claire? Iknow you were worried about Chris. . . ."
Claire nodded slowly. "Yeah. And I want to see himagain, as soon as possible. ..."
"But," David said, coaxing the rest of it out.
"But---I think he's telling the truth. About thembeing okay, I mean."
Leon was nodding. "I do, too. John's right abouthim being slick---but I don't think he was lying, aboutanything. He didn't tell us a lot, but I didn't get theimpression that he was bullshitting us with what hewould say."
David turned toward her. "Rebecca?"
She sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, John, but Iagree. I think he's got some credibility; he's helped usbefore, in his own weird way, and the fact that he'shere, unarmed, says something---"
"---it says he's a dumbass," John muttered darkly,and Rebecca punched him lightly on the arm, realiz-ing suddenly, intuitively, why John was so reluctant toaccept Trent's word.
Trent wasn't intimidated by him.
She was sure of it; she knew John well enough toknow that Trent's indifference would absolutely pushhis buttons.
Choosing her words carefully, keeping her tonelight, Rebecca grinned at him. "I think you just hatethe fact that he's not scared of your big scary self,John. Most people would've wet their pants with youtowering over them."
It was the right thing to say. John frowned thought-fully, then shrugged. "Yeah, well, maybe. I still don'ttrust him, though."
"I don't think any of us should," David said. "He'skeeping an awful lot to himself for someone whowants our help. The question is, do we seek out thisReston, or do we continue with our original plans?"
No one spoke for a moment, and Rebecca could seethat no one wanted to say it---to acknowledge that ifTrent was telling the truth, there was no reason to goto Europe. She didn't want to say it, either; somehow,it felt like a betrayal of Jill and Chris and Barry, like,"we've found something better to do than come toyour aid."
But if they don't need us...
Rebecca decided that she may as well go first. "Ifthis place is as easy as he says ... when would we everhave another chance like this?"
Claire was biting at her lip, looking unhappy.Looking torn. "If we found that book of codes, we'dhave something to take with us to Europe. Somethingthat could really make a difference."
"//we find the book," John said, but Rebecca couldsee that the idea was growing on him.
"It could be a turning point," David said softly. "Itwould knock the odds against us down from a millionto one to perhaps only a few thousand."
"I have to admit, it would be fine to turn overUmbrella's private files to the press," John said."Download all of their shitty little secrets and passthem out to every paper in the country."
They were all nodding, and although she thought it
might take a little more time to get used to the idea,Rebecca knew that the decision had been made.It seemed that they were going to Utah.
If anyone had expected Trent to be overjoyed at thenews, they would have been deeply disappointed.When David called him back to the cabin and toldhim that they would go to the new testing facility,Trent only nodded, that same enigmatic smile on hislined and weathered face.
"Here are the coordinates for the site," Trent said,pulling a slip of paper from his front pocket. "Thereare also several numerical codes listed, one of whichwill provide entry---although the keypad may be hardto find. I'm sorry I wasn't able to narrow it down anyfurther."
Leon watched as David took the paper from Trent,as Trent walked back out to tell the pilot, wonderingwhy it was that he couldn't stop thinking about Ada.Since Trent's little speech about White Umbrella,memories of Ada Wong's skill and beauty, echoes ofher deep, sultry voice had been haunting Leon. Itwasn't a conscious thing, or at least not at first. It wasthat something about the man reminded him of her;maybe that supreme self-confidence, or that hint ofsly smile---
---and at the end, before that crazy woman shot her,I accused her of being an Umbrella spy---and she'dsaid that she wasn't, that who she worked for wasn'tmy concern. . . .
Although he and Claire had come into the fightpretty late in the game, they'd been thoroughly
briefed on what the others knew about Umbrella, andwhat part Trent had played in the past. The oneconstant---besides being incredibly elusive with in-formation---was that he seemed to know all sorts ofthings that no one else knew.
It can't hurt to ask.
When Trent walked back into the cabin, Leonapproached him.
"Mr. Trent," he said carefully, watching him close-ly, "in Raccoon City, I met a woman named AdaWong\_\_\_\_"
Trent gazed at him, his face giving nothing away."Yes?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about her,about who she was working for. She was looking for asample of the G-Virus---"
Trent arched his eyebrows. "Was she? And did shefind it?"
Leon studied his dark, quick eyes, wondering whyhe felt like Trent already knew the answer. Hecouldn't, of course, Ada had been murdered justbefore the laboratory had exploded.
"Yes, she did," Leon said. "In the end, though,she---she sacrificed herself in a way, rather than makea choice. Between killing someone and losing thesample."
"And was that someone you?" Trent asked softly.
Leon was aware that the others were watching, andwas a little surprised that he wasn't at all uncomfort-able. Even a month ago, such a personal conversationwould have been embarrassing for him.
"Yeah," he said, almost defiantly. "It was me."
Trent nodded slowly, smiling a little. "Then it
seems to me that you wouldn't need to know anythingelse about her. About her character or motivations."
Leon wasn't sure if he was evading the question orhonestly telling him what he thought---but eitherway, the simple logic of his answer made Leon feelbetter. As though he'd known the answer himself allalong. Whatever psychology he was working, Trentwas quite a piece of work.
He's smooth, cultured, and scary as hell in his ownquiet way. . . . Ada would have liked him.
". . . much as I'd enjoy talking with you, I havesome business with our captain that needs to beattended to," Trent was saying. "We'll be at Salt Lakein five or six hours."
With that, he nodded toward them and disappearedthrough the curtain again.
"Too good to sit with the grunts?" John asked,obviously not over his initial dislike. Leon lookedaround at the others, saw thoughtful and uneasyexpressions, saw Claire looking as though she halfwanted to change her mind.
Leon walked to where she was leaning against aseat, her arms folded tightly, and touched hershoulder.
"Thinking about Chris?" He asked gently.
To his surprise, she shook her head, smiling at himnervously. "No. Actually, I was thinking about theSpencer estate, and the raid on Caliban Cove, andwhat happened in Raccoon. I was thinking that nomatter what Trent says about how simple this will be,nothing is ever simple with Umbrella. Things have away of getting complicated when they're involved.You'd think we would know that by now. . . ."
She trailed off, then shook her head as if trying toclear it, giving him another, brighter smile. "Listen tome talk. I'm going to get a sandwich, you wantanything?"
"No, thanks," he said absently, still thinking aboutwhat she'd said as she walked away---and wonderingsuddenly if their little trek to Utah was going to be thelast mistake that any of them ever made.
Steve Lopez, good ol' Steve, his face as blank andwhite as a sheet of paper, standing in the middle of thestrange, vast laboratory, standing and aiming his semiat them and telling them to drop their weapons---
---and the rage, the pain and red fury that hit Johnlike a hurricane as he realized what had happened,that Karen was dead, that Steve had been turned intoone of those crazy asshole's zombie soldiers---
---and John screamed, what did you do to him, notthinking, spinning instead, firing at the blank-faceddrone behind them, the round punching neatly throughits left temple and the cold air stinking like death as thecreature fell---
---and pain! Pain, tearing through him as Steve,Stevie, his friend and comrade, shot him in the back.John felt blood dribble from his lips, felt himselfturning, felt more pain than he thought he could feel.Steve had shot him, the mad doctor had used the viruson him and Steve wasn't Steve anymore and the worldwas spinning, screaming---
John, John wake up you're having
"---a bad dream. Hey, big guy---"
John sat up, his eyes wide and his heart thumping,feeling disoriented and afraid. The cool hand on his
arm was Rebecca's, the touch gentle and soothing,and he realized that he was awake, that he'd beendreaming and was now awake.
"Shit," he mumbled, and sagged back against hisseat, closing his eyes. They were still on the plane, thesoft drone of the engine and the hiss of canned airputting to rest the last of his confusion.
"You okay?" Rebecca asked, and John nodded,taking a few deep breaths before he opened his eyesagain.
"Did I---did I yell or anything?"
Rebecca smiled at him, watching him closely."Nope. Just so happens I was on my way back fromthe bathroom and saw you twitching like a rabbit. Itdidn't look like you were having much fun ... hope Ididn't interrupt anything good."
The last was almost a question. John forced a grinand avoided the subject entirely, glancing out at thepassing darkness instead. "Three tuna sandwichesbefore bed was a bad idea, I guess. We almost there?"
Rebecca nodded. "We're just starting the descent.Fifteen, twenty minutes, David says."
She was still scrutinizing him, still wearing anexpression of warmth and concern, and John realizedhe was being an idiot. Keeping that shit to oneself wasa sure ticket to losing one's mind.
"I was in the lab," he said, and Rebecca nodded, itwas all he needed to say. She'd been there.
"I had one just a couple of days ago, right after wedecided to leave Exeter," she said softly. "A real nastyone. It was kind of a combination, stuff from theSpencer lab and from the cove."
John nodded, thinking about what a remarkable
young woman she was. She'd faced down a housefulof Umbrella monsters on her first S.T.A.R.S. mission,and had still decided to come with them to check outthe cove when David had asked.
"You kick ass, 'becca. If I were a few years younger,I think it might be love," he said, and was pleased ather blushing, grinning reaction. She was probablysmarter than him by half, but she was also a teenagegirl---and if he remembered correctly from back inhis day, teenage girls weren't adverse to hearing abouthow cool they were.
"Shut up," she said, her tone of voice telling himthat he had, in fact, thoroughly embarrassed her---and that she didn't mind.
A moment of comfortable silence rested betweenthem, the last dregs of the nightmare fading as thecabin pressure fluctuated, the plane on its way down.In a few minutes, they'd be in Utah, of all places.David had already suggested that they get to a hoteland start making plans, that they would go in tomor-row night.
Go in, get the book, and then get the hell out.Easy . . . except hadn't that pretty much been the planfor the cove?
John decided that once they landed, he wanted todo a little more talking with Trent. He was up for themission, for getting the book and throwing a fewwrenches into Umbrella's works in the process---buthe still wasn't happy with Trent's rather selectiveinformation. Yeah, the man was helping them---butwhy so weird about it? And why hadn't he told themwhat their Europe team was doing, or who was
running White Umbrella, or how he'd known to puthis own pilot on their charter?
Because he's on some power trip, that's why. Controlfreak.
That didn't seem quite right, but John couldn'tthink of any other reason that their Mr. Trent wasbeing such a secret agent wannabe spy. Maybe if hegot his arm twisted a little, he'd be more forth-coming. . . .
"John---I know you don't like him, but do youthink he's right about this being a snap job? I mean,what if this Reston won't give it up? Or what if---whatif something else happens?"
She was trying to sound professional, her tone lightand easy, but the troubled look deep in her mildbrown eyes gave her away.
Something else. Something like a viral spill, some-thing like a crazy scientist, something like biomonstersgetting loose. Like the something that always happensaround Umbrella. . . .
"If I have anything to say about it, the only thingthat will go wrong is that Reston will shit himself andthe smell will be terrible," he said, and was againrewarded with a grin from the young woman.
"You're a dork," she said, and John shrugged,thinking how easy it was to make the girl smile---and wondering if it was such a good idea to get herhopes up.
A few moments later the small plane touched downeasily and for the first time, the pilot used the inter-com system. He told them to remain seated until theplane had stopped and then clicked off, not bothering
with the usual crap about how he hoped they'denjoyed their flight or what the current temperaturewas; for that, at least, John was grateful. The smallcraft rolled across the tarmac, finally coming to agentle stop, the team standing and stretching andputting on their coats.
As soon as he heard the outer door pop, Johnstepped past Rebecca and walked to the front of thecabin, determined not to let Trent get off beforethey'd had a chance to chat. He pushed through thecurtain, a cold wind blowing into the small passagebehind the cockpit, and saw that he was too late. Thepilot, Evans, was standing in the doorway to thecockpit by himself.
Somehow, Trent had managed to slip away in thefew seconds it took John to walk through the tinyplane. The metal stairs that had been pushed to theoutside of the craft were empty---and even thoughJohn took the steps two at a time, hitting the groundin less than a heartbeat, there was still nothing to seein the endless stretch of tarmac, and no one at allexcept for the man who'd brought the stairs out.When asked about Trent, the airport worker insistedthat the first person off the plane had been Johnhimself.
"Son of a bitch," John spat, and it didn't matter,because they were in Utah. Trent or no Trent, theyhad arrived---and because it was after midnight, theyhad less than a day to get ready.
FIVE
JAY RESTON WAS PLEASED. IN FACT, HE WASas happy as he'd been in a long time, and if he'dknown it would feel so good to be back in the field, hewould have done it years ago.
Managing employees, the kind who actually gettheir hands dirty. Making things happen and seeingthe results unfold, being a part of the process. Beingmore than just a shadow, more than some namelessdarkness to be feared....
Thinking these things made him feel strong andvital again; he was barely fifty, he hadn't yet come tosee himself as even middle-aged, but working in thetrenches again made him realize how much he'd lostover the years.
Reston sat in the control room, the pulse of thePlanet, his hands behind his head and his attentionfixed on the wall of screens in front of him. On onescreen, a man in coveralls was working on a series of
trees in Phase One, adding another coat of green to arow of faux evergreens. The man was Tom Something-or-other, from construction, but the name wasn'timportant. What was important was that Tom waspainting the trees because Reston had told him to,face-to-face at the morning briefing.
On another screen, Kelly McMalus was recalibrat-ing the desert temp control, also at Reston's request.McMalus was the Scorps lead handler, at least untilthe permanent staff came in; everyone in the Planetwas temporary, one of White's newer policies to avoidsabotage. Once everything was up and running, thenine technical people and half-dozen "preliminary"researchers---actually glorified specimen handlers, al-though he'd never call them that directly---would berelocated.
The Planet. The facility was actually "B.O.W. Envi-rotest A," but Reston thought that Planet was a muchbetter name. He wasn't sure who had come up with it,just that it had cropped up at one of the morningbriefings and stuck. Referring to the test site as thePlanet in his updates to the home team made him feeleven more a part of the process.
"The video feeds were connected today, althoughthere's some problem with the mikes, so the audiohasn't been hooked up yet; I'll have that taken care ofASAP. The last of the Ma3Ks came in, no damage toany of the specimens. In all, things are going very well,we expect to have the Planet ready days ahead ofschedule...."
Reston smiled, thinking of his last conversationwith Sidney; had he heard just a touch of jealousy inSidney's voice, a thread of wistfulness? He was part of
a "we" now, a we that called Envirotest A by anickname. After thirty years of delegation, having tooversee the finishing touches on their most innovativeand expensive facility to date had been a blessing indisguise. And to think that he'd been irritated whenhe'd first heard about Lewis's car going off a cliff; theman's accident was probably the best work he'd everdone for Umbrella, because it meant that he would beoverseeing the Planet's birth.
Another tech was walking across one of the screens,carrying a tool box and a coil of rope. Cole, HenryCole, the electrician who'd been working on theintercom and video systems; he was in the maincorridor that ran between the faculty quarters and thetesting area, leading toward the elevator. Reston hadnoticed the day before that several of the surfacecameras were malfunctioning; none of the cameras inthe Planet had been wired for sound as of yet, but thescreens for the upper compound would intermittentlyspew static for minutes at a time, and he had askedCole to see to it---
---but after he'd finished with the 'com system, notbefore. How am I supposed to stay in contact with thesepeople if I don't have a working intercom system?
Even the flush of irritation he felt for the tech wasexhilarating; instead of pushing a button, telling someyes-man to fix it, he would have to attend to ithimself.
Reston pushed away from the console, stretching ashe stood up, taking a last look at the row of monitorsto remind him of anything else he needed to see to aslong as he was out.
Intercom, video feeds. . . the bridge in Three will
need reinforcement, that's not a priority, but we reallyshould do something about the city colors, they're stillmuch too flat....
He walked through the sleekly designed controlroom, past the line of plush leather chairs so new thattheir rich scent still lingered in the cool filtered air.The chairs faced a wall of high-resolution screens; inless than a month they would be seating the topresearchers, scientists, and administrators that werethe heart of White Umbrella, as well as the twobiggest financiers of the program. Even Sidney andJackson would be there, to see the initial run of thetest program.
And Trent, Reston thought hopefully. Surely hewouldn't turn down an invitation to the first testrun....
Reston stepped on the pressure plate in front of thedoor, the thick metal hatch sliding up with only awhisper of sound, and walked out into the widecorridor that ran the length of the Planet. Controlwasn't far from the industrial elevator, almost straightacross in fact, but the electrician had already startedfor the surface. There would be four lifts operatingwithin the week out of one of the other surfacebuildings, but for now, there was only the one indus-trial elevator. He'd have to wait until Cole had exited.
He pushed the recall and straightened the cuffs ofhis suit jacket, thinking about how he would lead thetour. It had been quite a while since Jay Reston hadindulged in daydreaming, but in his short time at thePlanet, imagining the day when he would welcome theothers and guide them through the facility he hadmanaged and transformed into a smoothly running
machine had become a favored pastime. Of the hand-ful of people who ran White Umbrella, who made thebig decisions, he was the youngest to be accepted intothe inner circle---and while Jackson had often as-sured him that he was as valued as anyone else, he'dnoted on more than one occasion that he was the lastto be consulted. To be considered.
Not after this. Not after they see that even without adozen assistants waiting on my every word, I've man-aged to get the Planet up and running without a hitch,and before schedule. Id like to see Sidney do half aswell.. . .
They'd come in at night, of course, and probably inseveral groups. He'd have the specimen caretakers atthe entrance to greet them and lead them to theelevators (the new ones, not the dirty monstrosity hewas about to ride); on the way down, the visitorswould hear all about the efficient, elegant livingquarters, the self-contained air-filtering system, thesurgical theater---everything that made the Planettheir most brilliant innovation yet. From the eleva-tors, he'd take them around to the control room andexplain the environments and the current series ofspecimens, eight of each. Then, back out and north,toward the beginning of the testing site.
We walk straight through, all four phases, then viewautopsy and the chemical lab. We'll have to stop in fora look at Fossil, of course, and then through the livingarea---where there will be coffee and rolls, sandwichesmaybe---and then circle back to control to observethe first tests. Specimen against specimen only, ofcourse---human experimentation would put such adamper on things. . . .
A soft tone brought his attention back to theerrand, alerting him to the elevator's return. The dooropened, the gate slid aside, and Reston stepped intothe large car, the reinforced steel platform clankingbeneath his feet. Dust puffed up from the metal,settling over the polished sheen of his shoes.
Reston sighed, tapping the controls that would takehim to the surface, thinking of all he'd had to put upwith since arriving at the Planet only ten days before.Things were coming along, but he'd never realizedjust how many inconveniences one had to suffer toget one of these places operational---the lukewarmmeals, the constant need to pay attention to everyniggling detail, and the dirt: everywhere, thin layers ofworkman's dust clung to hair and clothes, clogging theniters . . . even in the control room, he'd had to takeall kinds of extra precautions to keep it from gettinginto the central terminal. He'd had to work with threedifferent programmers to get the mainframe running,yet another of Umbrella's precautions to keep any oneof them from knowing too much; but if the systemwere to go down. ...
Reston sighed again, patting the small, flat squarein his inner pocket as the lift hummed smoothlyupwards. He had the codes; if the system went down,he'd just have to call in new programmers. A setback,but hardly a disaster. Raccoon City, now that was adisaster---and all the more reason that he wantedthings to go well with the Planet.
We need this. After the summer we've had, the spilland those meddlingS.T.A.R.S. and losing Birkin ... Ineed this.
Although it had been a unanimous decision, it had
been Reston's people who'd gone into Raccoon totake Birkin's G-Virus---an action that had resulted inthe loss of their lead scientist and just over a billiondollars' worth of equipment, space, and manpower. Itwasn't his fault, of course, no one blamed him---but ithad been a bad summer for all of them, and havingEnvirotest A up and running would ease things con-siderably.
He thought about what Trent had said, just beforeReston had left for the Planet---that as long as theydidn't lose their heads, there was no need for concern.Generic placating advice, but hearing it from Trentmade it sound like the truth. It was funny; they'dbrought Trent in to act as trouble shooter, and in lessthan six months he'd become one of the mostrespected members of their circle. Nothing rattledTrent, the man was ice; they were lucky to have him,particularly considering their recent run of misfor-tune.
The elevator came to a stop and Reston squared hisshoulders, preparing himself to redirect Mr. Cole'sefforts---and just the thought of making the manjump made him smile again, all other worries putaside for the moment.
Just a working-class Joe, he thought happily, andstepped out to take care of business.
SIX
THERE WAS A HALF-MOON IN THE CLEARnight sky, casting a pallid blue light across the vast,open stretch of plain and making it seem even colderthan it was.
And that's pretty goddamn cold, Claire thought,shivering in spite of the rental's blasting heater. It wasanother minivan, and even with the three of themmoving around in the back, checking weapons andloading clips, they didn't seem to be generating nearlyenough heat to ward off the icy air that seeped inthrough the thin metal shell.
"Do you have the 380s?" John asked Leon, whohanded over the box of rounds before going back toloading up their hip packs. David was driving,Rebecca checking their position on a GPS. If Trent'scoordinates were correct, they'd be getting close.
Claire looked out at the pale landscape passing bythe dirt track, the seemingly endless miles of nothing
beneath the wide open sky, and shivered again. It wasa barren, forsaken place, the road they were onscarcely more that a dirt track leading in from no-where; a perfect setting for Umbrella.
The plan was simple. Park the van a half mile or sofrom Trent's coordinates, load up with every weaponthey had, and slip into the compound as quietly asthey could manage . ..
".. . we'll find this entry keypad of Trent's, run thecodes through, and go in strong," David had said,"well after dark. With any luck, the majority of theworkers will be asleep; just a matter of finding thestaff quarters and rounding them up. We'll confinethem and have a check around for this book of Mr.Reston's; John, you and Claire will keep watch overour captives, while the rest of us search. It wouldprobably be in their operations room, or in Reston'sprivate quarters. If we haven't found it within, say,twenty minutes, we'll have to ask Mr. Reston direct-ly---a last resort, to avoid implicating Trent. Book inhand, we go back out the way we came in. Ques-tions?"
Their planning session at the hotel had made itsound easy enough---and with as little information asthey had, the questions had been few. Now, though,driving through an endless, freezing waste and tryingto get psyched up for a confrontation---now it didn'tseem so simple. It was a scary prospect, going into aplace none of them had ever been before and try tofind an item no bigger than a paperback novel.
Plus it's Umbrella, plus we'll have to intimidate thecrap out of a bunch of technicians and possibly end uphaving to strong-arm one of the big boys.
At least they were going in well armed; it seemedthat they had learned something about dealing withUmbrella, after all---that taking in a shitload offirepower was a very good idea. In addition to thenine-millimeter handguns and multiple clips thateach of them would carry, they had two M-16 A Is,automatic rifles---one for John, one for David---anda half-dozen fragmentation hand grenades. Just incase, David said.
In case everything falls apart. In case we have toblow up some bizarre, murderous creature---or a hun-dred of them. . . .
"Cold?" Leon asked.
Claire turned away from the window, looking athim. He'd finished with the packs, and was holdingone out to her. She took it, nodding in response to hisquestion. "Aren't you?"
He shook his head, grinning. "Thermal underwear.Could have used these in Raccoon. . . ."
Claire smiled. "K?w could have used them? I wasrunning around in a pair of shorts, you at least hadyour uniform."
"Which was covered with lizard guts before I washalfway through the sewers," he said, and she wasglad to hear him at least try to joke about it.
He's getting better; -we both are.
"Now, children," John said sternly. "If you don'tstop, we're turning this car around---"
"Slow down," Rebecca said from the front, herquiet voice stilling them. David let up on the gas, thevan slowing to a crawl.
"It looks like---it's about a half-mile southeast fromour current position," Rebecca said.
Claire took a deep breath, saw John pick up one ofthe rifles, and saw Leon's mouth press into a thin lineas David brought the van to a stop. It was time. Johnopened the side door and the air was ice, dry andbitterly cold.
"Hope they got the coffee on," John breathed, andhopped out into the darkness, reaching back in tograb his pack. Rebecca loaded up a few medicalsupplies, and as she and David climbed out, Leon puthis hand on Claire's shoulder.
"You up for this?" he asked softly, and Clairesmiled inwardly, thinking of how sweet he was; she'dbeen thinking of asking him the same thing. In thedays since Raccoon, they'd gotten pretty close---andalthough she wasn't positive, she'd picked up on afew signals that suggested he wouldn't mind gettingcloser. She still wasn't sure if that was a good idea---
---and now's not the time to be deciding. The soonerwe get this code book, the sooner we get to Europe. ToChris.
"As up as I'm gonna be," she said, and Leonnodded, and they climbed out into the freezing nightto join the others.
David put John at the rear and took the leadhimself, forcing all negative thoughts out of his mindas they struck out for where Trent said the test sitewould be. It wasn't easy; they were going in cold withless than a day's planning, no layout, no idea whatReston looked like or what kind of security they'd befacing---
---the list is endless, isn't it, and I'm still takingthem in. Because if we're successful, I can step down.
Umbrella will be as good as dead and no one will haveto look to me for anything, ever again.
That was a thought he could hold on to; a peacefulretirement. Once the monsters behind White Umbrellahad been brought to justice, vigilante or otherwise,he'd have no greater responsibility than keeping him-self fed and bathed. Perhaps he'd work up to a house-plant. . . .
"I think---veer left a few degrees," Rebecca saidfrom behind him, startling him, bringing his focusback around. She'd barely spoken above a whisper,but the night was so cold and crisp, the air so perfectlystill that every step taken, every breath exhaledseemed to fill the world.
David led them through the darkness, wishing theycould use their lights; they should be getting quiteclose. But even dressed all in black, he was worriedthey'd be spotted before they could get inside---what-ever that meant exactly; Trent had given them no ideaof what the facility would look like. In any case, withbarely a half moon they wouldn't see it until they wereright on top---
There.
A thickening of shadow, straight ahead. David heldup his hand, slowing the others as they moved closer,as he saw a dented metal roof reflecting moonlight.And then a fence, and then a handful of buildings, allof them dark and silent.
David dropped into a walking crouch, motioningfor the rest to follow suit, holding the automatic rifletight against his chest. They crept closer, close enoughto see the lonely group of tall one-story structuresbehind a low fence.
Five, six buildings, no lights, no movement---a front,surely....
"Underground," Rebecca whispered, and Davidnodded. Probably; they'd discussed several possibili-ties, and it seemed the most likely. Even in the wanlight he could see that the buildings were old, dustyand worn. There was a smallish structure in the front,five long, low buildings in a row behind it, all withsloping metal roofs. It was certainly big enough to besome kind of a testing ground, the larger buildings asbig as aircraft hangars, but between the site's place-ment---alone, out in the open in the middle of adesert---and the wear and tear, he'd guess under-ground.
Good and bad. Good, because they should be ableto get into the compound without much trouble; badbecause God only knew what kind of surveillancesystem had been set up. They would have to go in fast.
David turned, still in a crouch, and faced the team."We'll need to double-time," he said softly, "and staylow. We scale the fence, head for the structure closestto the front gate, same order---I'm on point, John's inback. We have to find the entry ASAP. Watch forcameras, and everyone's armed as soon as we're in thecompound."
Nods all around, faces grim and set. David turnedand started for the fence, head down, his musclestight and jumping. Twenty meters, the air biting intohis lungs, freezing the light sweat on his skin. Tenmeters. Five, and he could see the "No Trespassing"signs posted on the fence, and as they reached thegate, David saw the sign telling them that they were atthe privately owned "Weather Monitoring and Survey
#7." He looked up and saw the rounded silhouettes ofwhat had to be satellite dishes on two of the buildings,plus the multiple thin lines of antennae stretching upfrom one of them.
David touched the fence with the barrel of the M-16, then with his hand. Nothing, and there was nobarbed wire either, no sensor lines that he could see,no alarm trips.
Obviously, no weather station would have those;trust Umbrella to be as concise in their fronts as withanything else.
He slung the rifle over his shoulder, grabbed thethick wire and pulled himself up. It was only sevenfeet; he was at the top in five seconds, flipping himselfover and jumping to the dusty ground inside thecompound.
Rebecca was next, climbing quickly and easily, alithe shadow in the dark. David reached up to helpher, but she leapt nimbly to the ground next to himwith hardly a stumble. She drew her weapon, an H&KVP70, and turned to cover the darkness as Davidlooked back to the fence.
Leon almost tripped off the top, but David man-aged to steady him, grabbing the younger man's hand;once he was down, he nodded his thanks at David andturned to help Claire over.
So far, so good. . . .
David scanned the shadows around them as Johnscaled the outside, his heart pounding, all of hissenses on high alert. There was no sound but thegentle clank of the fence, no movement in the black-ness.
He glanced back as John thumped to the cold anddusty ground, then nodded toward the front struc-ture, the smaller one. If he were to design a falsecover, he'd hide the real entrance somewhere no onewould look---in a broom closet at the back of the lastbuilding, through a trap door in the dirt---but Um-brella was cocky, too smug to worry about suchsimple precautions.
It will be in the first building, because they'll believethey've hidden it so cleverly that no one will find it.Because if there's one thing we can count on, it's thatUmbrella thinks they're too smart to be caught out. .. .
He hoped. Staying down, David started for thebuilding, praying that if there were cameras watchingthem, there was no one watching the cameras.
It was late, but Reston wasn't tired. He sat in thecontrol room, sipping brandy from a ceramic mugand idly thinking about the next day's agenda.
He'd make his report, of course; Cole still hadn'tmanaged to fix the intercom system, although thevideo cameras all seemed to be in working order; theCa6 handler, Les Duvall, wanted one of the mechan-ics to see about a sticking lock on the release cage---and there was still the city. The MaSKs couldn'texactly shine if the only colors were tan and brick . . .
. . . have to get the construction people into Fourtomorrow. And see how the Avis do with the perches---
A red light flashed on the panel in front of him,accompanied by a soft mechanical bleat. It was thesixth or seventh time in the last week; he'd have to getCole to fix that, too. The winds sweeping off the plain
could be vicious; on a bad day, they rattled the doorsto the surface structures hard enough to set off all ofthe sensors.
Still, good thing I was here... once the Planet wasfully staffed, there'd always be someone in control toreset the sensors, but for the time being, he was theonly one with access to the control room. If he'd beenin bed, the soft but insistent alarm currently going offin his private room would have forced him to get up.
Reston reached for the switch, glancing at the rowof monitors to his left more for form's sake thanbecause he expected to see anything---
---and froze, staring at a screen that showed himthe entry room nearly a quarter mile above where hesat, in a view from the ceiling cam in the southeastcorner. Four, five people, turning on flashlights, all ofthem dressed in black. The thin beams of lightroamed over the dusty consoles, the walls of meteoro-logical equipment---and illuminated the weaponsthey were holding in flashes of metal. Guns and rifles.
Oh, no.
Reston felt almost a full second of fear and despairbefore he remembered who he was. Jay Reston hadnot become one of the most powerful men in thecountry, perhaps in the world, by panicking.
He reached beneath the console, reached for theslender handset tucked into the slot next to the chairthat would connect him directly to White Umbrella'sprivate offices. As soon as he picked it up, the linewent through.
"This is Reston," he said, and could hear the steelin his voice, hear it and feel it. "We have a problem. Iwant a call put in to Trent, I want Jackson to call me
immediately---and send out a team, now, I wantthem here twenty minutes ago."
He stared at the screen as he spoke, at the intruders,and clenched his jaw, his initial fear turning to anger.The fugitive S.T.A.R.S., surely\_\_\_
It didn't matter. Even if they found the entrance,they didn't have the codes---and whoever they were,they would pay for causing him even a second ofdistress.
Reston slid the phone back into its slot, folded hisarms, and watched the strangers move silently acrossthe screen, wondering if they had any idea that they'dbe dead within half an hour.
SEVEN
THE BUILDING WAS COLD AND DARK, BUT
there was the soft hum of working machinery to breakthe silence, to listen to over the pounding of her heart.It wasn't too big, maybe thirty feet by twenty, but itwas a single room, big enough to feel unsafe, vulnera-ble. Small lights blinked randomly all around it, likedozens of eyes watching them from the shadows.
Man, I hate this.
Rebecca trailed the tight beam from her flashlightover the west wall of the building, looking for any-thing out of the ordinary and trying not to feel sick atthe same time. In movies, private detectives and copswho had just crashed someone's house were alwaysstrolling calmly around, looking for evidence, as ifthey owned the place; in real life, breaking in some-where you were absolutely not supposed to be wasterrifying. She knew they were in the right, that theywere the good guys, but still her palms were damp, her
heart hammering, and she wished desperately therewere a bathroom she could get to. Her bladder hadapparently shrunk to the size of a walnut.
And it'll have to wait, unless I want to go wet the dirtin enemy territory. . . . Rebecca didn't.
She leaned in to take a closer look at the machine infront of her, a stand-up device the size of a refrigera-tor and covered with buttons; the label on the frontread, "OGO Relay," whatever that was. As far as shecould tell, the room was full of big, clunky machinesawash in switches; if all of the other buildings weresimilarly equipped, finding Trent's hidden code panelwas going to be an all-night operation.
Each of them had taken a wall, and John was goingover the tables in the middle of the room. There wasprobably a surveillance camera set up somewhere inthe building, which made the need to hurry evengreater---although they were all hoping that the mini-mal staff meant no one would be watching. If theywere very lucky, the security system wouldn't even behooked up yet.
No, that would be a miracle. Lucky will be if we getin and out of this alive and unhurt, with or without thatbook. .. .
Since they'd walked away from the van, Rebecca'sinternal alarms had been ticking down to a full-blowncase of the nerves. From her short time with theS.T.A.R.S. she'd learned that trusting her gut feelingswas important, maybe even more important thanhaving a weapon; instinct told people to duck bullets,to hide when the enemy was near, to know when towait and when to act.
The problem is, how do you know if it's instinct or if
you're just scared shitless? She didn't know. What sheknew was that she wasn't feeling good about theirlate-night raid; she was cold and jumpy, her stomach ,hurt, and she couldn't shake the belief that something jbad was going to happen.
On the other hand, she should be scared---they allshould be; what they were doing was dangerous.Something bad might actually happen, acknowledg-ing it wasn't paranoid, it was realistic---
---hello. What's that?
Just to the right of the OGO machine was some- \thing that looked like a water heater, a tall, roundeddevice with a window in the front. Behind the smallsquare of glass was a spool of graph paper, coveredwith thready black lines, nothing she recognized---what had caught her eye was the dust on the glass. Itwas the same finely powdered dirt that seemed to beon everything in the room . . . except it wasn't. Therewas a smudge across the dirt, a damp streak that mayhave been caused by someone's finger.
A smudge on dirt?
If someone had run their hand over the dusty glass,they would have cleared a path. Rebecca touched it,frowning---and felt the pebbled surface of the dust, ,the tiny ridges and whorls like sandpaper beneath herfingers. It was painted or sprayed on---that is, fake.
"Might have something," she whispered, andtouched the window where the smudge was. Thewindow popped open, swinging out---
---and there was a sparkling metal square behind it,a ten-key set into an extremely undusty-looking panel;the graph paper was also fake, just a part of the glass.
"Bingo," John whispered from behind her, and
Rebecca stepped back, feeling a flush of excitement asthe others gathered around, feeling the tension com-ing from all of them. The mist of their combinedbreath made a small cloud in the freezing room,reminding her of how cold she was.
Too cold... we should go back to the van, back tothe hotel for a hot bath. .. . She could hear the desper-ation in her inner voice. It wasn't the cold, it was thisplace.
"Brilliant," David said softly, and stepped forward,holding his flashlight up. He'd memorized Trent'scodes, eleven in all, each eight digits long.
"It'll be the last one, watch," John whispered.Rebecca might have laughed if she wasn't so scared.
John fell silent as they watched him plug in the firstnumbers, Rebecca thinking that if they didn't workshe wouldn't be all that disappointed.
Jackson had called, informing Reston in his cool,cultured tones that two four-man teams were ontheir way by helicopter from Salt Lake City. "It sohappens that our branch office was entertaining a fewof the troops," he'd said. "We have Trent to thankfor that; he suggested that we start relocating some ofour security in advance of the grand opening, so tospeak."
Reston had been glad to hear it, but wasn't so happyabout the fact that they were there, three armed menand two women poking around the Planet's entrancein the middle of the night---
"They can't get in, Jay," he'd interrupted, gently,soothingly. "They don't have access."
Reston had swallowed his knee-jerk response to
that, thanking him instead. Jackson Cortlandt wasprobably the most patronizing and arrogant son of abitch Reston had ever known, but he was also ex-tremely competent---and extremely savage if need be;the last man who'd crossed Jackson had been mailedto his family in pieces. Saying "No shit" to the seniormember was akin to walking off" a tall building.
Jackson had then made it quite clear that while heappreciated the call, it would be best for Jay to handlesuch matters himself in the future---that if he'dbothered to keep himself apprised of internal shift-ings, he would have known about the teams in SLC.There was no explicit wrist-slapping, but Reston gotthe message all the same; he hung up feeling as thoughhe'd been severely chastised; watching the five inter-lopers search the entry building only added to hismounting tension.
No codes, no access, even if they find the controls.
Twenty minutes. All he had to do was wait fortwenty minutes, half an hour at the outside. Restontook a deep breath, blowing it out slowly---
---and forgot to inhale again as he saw one of them,a girl, push on the window to the keypad. They'dfound it, and he still didn't know who they were orhow they knew about the Planet---but the way one ofthe men stepped forward and started punching keyssuggested that twenty minutes could be too long towait for help.
He's guessing, random numbers, it's not possible---
Reston watched the tall, dark-haired man continueto tap in numbers and thought about what Trent hadsaid at their last gathering. That White Umbrellamight have a leak.
An information leak, from someone high up. Some-one who might know the entry codes.
He reached for the phone again and then stopped,Jackson's subtle warning making him break out in alight sweat. He had to handle it, he had to keep themfrom getting in, but everyone was asleep and therewasn't an intercom, there was a gun in his room but ifthey had the code, he didn't have time to---
---override.
Reston turned away from the screen and started forthe door, kicking himself as he hurried out of control.There was a manual override switch in a hidden panelnext to the elevator, he could keep the lift down evenif they had the entrance numbers---
---and the teams will come and collect our little packof invaders, and I will have handled it.
He smiled, a smile entirely without humor, andbroke into a run.
Leon watched anxiously as David typed in anotherstring of numbers, hoping their presence hadn't beendetected yet. He hadn't seen a camera, but that didn'tmean there wasn't one; if Umbrella could buildmassive underground laboratories and create mon-sters, they could hide a video camera.
David hit a final key---and there was sound andmovement at once, the low hiss of hidden hydraulics,the distant hum of an engine. A giant piece of the wallto the right of the keypad slid upward. As one, all fiveof them raised weapons---and lowered them againwhen they saw the thick mesh gate and the black andempty elevator shaft behind it.
"Damn," John said, a tone of awe in his voice, and
Leon had to agree. The panel was ten feet across,thick and heavy with machinery, and had completelydisappeared into the ceiling in two seconds. Whatevermechanism was operating it was exceptionally pow-erful.
"What's that?" Rebecca whispered, and Leonheard it a second later, a distant hum. Apparentlythe entry code had also recalled the elevator; theycould hear it rising, hear the growing echo of well-oiled sound in the freezing darkness of the shaft. Itwas rising fast, but was still a long way down. Leonwondered, not for the first time, how the hell Um-brella had managed to build such a thing; the Rac-coon lab had also been massive, with God-knew-how-many floors of laboratory, all of it deep beneaththe surface of the city.
They must have more money than God. And one hellof an architect.
"We may have triggered a warning device oralarm," David said quietly. "It might not be empty."
Leon nodded along with everyone else; they wereall silent and tense as they waited, John pointing hisrifle at the mesh gate.
Reston found the flat, seamless panel, and pried itopen without any trouble---
---but there was a lock on the switch, a thin metalrod hooked through the top, keeping it from beingpushed down. It wasn't until he saw the lock that herecalled it; yet another of Umbrella's precautions, onethat suddenly seemed monumentally stupid.
The keys, the workers all have them, I got a setbefore I came---
Reston ran his hands through his hair, wracking hisbrain, feeling desperate and harried. Where'dlput thegoddamn security keys?
When he heard the lift being recalled to the surfaceonly seconds later, it was all he could do to keep fromscreaming. They had the code. They had guns andthere were five of them and they had the code.
Takes two minutes to get to the top, I've still got timeand the keys are---
Blank. His mind was blank, and the seconds wereticking past. He'd already hit the recall button, but itwouldn't bring the elevator back down if someoneopened the gate on the surface. For all he knew, theassassins or saboteurs or whatever the hell they werehad already pried opened the gate, were now watchingthe lift on its way up, waiting---
---or maybe throwing a few pounds ofplastique intothe shaft---or---
---control, they're in control!
Reston turned and ran, across the wide corridorand ten feet to the right, down the small offshootoutside of control. His first day at the Planet, one ofthe construction people had shown him all of theinternal locks---backup generator, drug cabinet insurgical... manual override for the lift. He'dyawned his way through that particular tour, thentossed the keys into a drawer in the control room,knowing that he wouldn't be needing them.
He hurried through the door, deciding that he couldberate himself for forgetting the keys later, wonderinghow things had gone so out of control in such a shortperiod of time. Only ten minutes ago he'd beensipping brandy, relaxing---
---and ten minutes from now, you could be dead.Reston hurried.
The elevator was big, at least ten feet across andtwelve deep. John squinted as it rose into view, theharsh light from a naked bulb in the ceiling nearlyblinding after their long stint in darkness.
At least it's empty. Now all we gotta do is avoidgetting ambushed and murdered when we hit thebottom.
The elevator came to a smooth stop. The latch onthe mesh gate unlocked and the gate slid into the wall.John was closest. He glanced at David, who nodded ago-ahead.
"First floor, shoes, menswear, Umbrella assholes,"John said, not particularly bothered that he didn't geta laugh. Everyone had their own preferred method fordealing with tension. Besides, his sense of humor wasmore fully developed.
Right over their heads, he thought, scanning the wallsof the elevator car for anything unusual. Well, maybenot over their heads; it was more that they just didn'tappreciate his fine wit. He kept himself amused, thatwas the important thing, it kept him from freezing upor turning into a basket case.
The elevator looked okay, dusty but solid. Johnstepped carefully inside, Leon right behind---
---then John heard a noise, just as a red lightstarted to blink on the lift's control panel.
"Be still," John hissed, holding his hand up, notwanting anyone else to get on until he saw what thelight was for---
---and the mesh gate closed behind him, the latch
snapping shut. He spun, saw that Leon was on board,saw Claire and Rebecca lunging for the gate from theother side and David running for the keypad.
There was a rasping click from overhead and Leon,closer to the front, shouted at Claire and Rebecca---
"Get back!"
---because the wall panel was coming down, slam-ming down, and the girls were stumbling back. Johncaught a final glimpse of their shocked and pale facesin the gloom---
---and the door had closed, and although he hadn'ttouched a thing, the elevator was going down. Johncrouched by the controls, punching at the buttons,and saw what the flashing red light was for.
"Manual override," he said, and stood up, lookingat the young cop, not sure what to say. Their simpleplan had just been totally screwed.
"Shit," Leon said, and John nodded, thinking he'dsummed it up perfectly.
EIGHT
"SHIT." CLAIRE HISSED, FEELING HELPLESSand afraid, wanting to beat against the wall paneluntil it released the two men.
Trap, it was a trap, a setup---
"Listen ... it's going down," Rebecca said, andClaire heard it, too. She turned, saw David tappingthe keypad with one hand, flashlight in the other, hisface grim.
"David," Claire started, and stopped as Davidspared her a pointed glance, a look that told her towait. He barely paused in his number punching,returning his entire attention back to the controls.
She turned to Rebecca, saw that Rebecca waschewing at her lip nervously, watching David.
"He must be trying all the codes," she whispered toClaire, and Claire nodded, feeling sick with worry,wanting to talk action but realizing that David neededto concentrate. She compromised, leaning in to whisper back to Rebecca; if she just stood there quietly inthe freezing dark, she'd lose her mind.
"Think it was Trent?"
Rebecca frowned, then shook her head. "No. Ithink we hit a silent alarm or something. I saw a lightflashing in the elevator before the gate closed."
Rebecca sounded just as scared as she was, just asterrified, and Claire thought about how close she andJohn must have gotten. As close as Leon and herself,maybe. Claire instinctively reached for her hand andRebecca took it, squeezing it tightly, both of themwatching David.
Come on, one of them has to open it, to bring itback. . . .
A few tense seconds passed, and David stoppedhitting keys. He pointed the flashlight up, the reflec-tion just enough light to see each other by.
"Seems that the numbers don't work if the lift is inuse," he said. His voice was calm and easy, but Clairecould see that his jaw was clenched, the muscles in hischeeks twitching.
"I'll try them all again in a moment, and thenagain---but since someone else seems to have accessto the lift's master control, we should start consider-ing other options. Rebecca---start looking for a cam-era, check the corners and ceiling; if we're going to behere awhile, we'll need privacy. Claire, see if you canfind any tools we might use to get through the wall---tire iron, screwdriver, anything. If the codes won'twork, we'll see if we can't force our way in. Ques-tions?"
"No," Rebecca said, and Claire shook her head.
"Good. Take a deep breath and get to it."
David went back to the keypad and Rebecca walkedto the corner, turning her flashlight to the ceiling.Claire took a deep breath and turned, looking at thedusty table in the middle of the room. It had stackeddrawers on either side; she opened the first, pushingaside papers and clutter, thinking that David reallykicked ass under pressure.
Tire iron, screwdriver, anything. . . be careful,please be careful and don't get killed. . .
Claire forced herself to take another deep breath;then she opened the next drawer, continuing hersearch.
John took the lead, which Leon was only too happyto follow. He may have survived Raccoon, but the ex-S.T.A.R.S. soldier had been in and out of combatsituations for something like nine years; he won.
"Get down," John said, crouching himself, thenlying down on his stomach and wrapping the M-16strap tightly around his muscular arm. "If it's anambush, they'll be aiming high when the door opens;we take out their knees. Works like a charm."
Leon lay down next to him, propping his right armup with his left hand, his nine-millimeter pointedloosely at the gate. Outside, the darkness slid past,nothing to see but metal-lined shaft. "And if it's not?"
"Stand up, you take the right, I'll take left, stay inthe car if you can. If you find yourself aiming at awall, turn around and shoot low."
John glanced over at him---incredibly, a wide grinwas spreading across his face. "Think of all the funthey're going to miss. We get to blow some Umbrella
guys all to shit, and they're stuck in the cold dark withnothing to do."
Leon was a little too tense to smile back, althoughhe made an effort. "Yeah, some guys get all the luck,"he said.
John shook his head, his grin fading. "Nothing wecan do but go for the ride," he said, and Leon nodded,swallowing. John might be crazy, but he was rightabout that much. They were where they were, wishingotherwise wouldn't make it so.
Doesn't hurt to try, though. Christ, I wish we hadn'tstepped on this thing. . . .
The elevator kept going down, and they both fellsilent, waiting. Leon was glad that John wasn't thechatty type; he liked to crack jokes, but it was obviousthat he didn't take a dangerous situation lightly. Leonsaw that he was breathing deeply, sighting the M-16,preparing for whatever was going to happen.
Leon took a few deep breaths himself, trying torelax into the prone position---
---and the elevator stopped. There was a soft pingsound, a chime, and the mesh gate was moving,disappearing into its designated hole in the wall. Awindowless outer door rose at the same time, mellowlight spilled across them---
---and there was nobody. A polished concrete walltwenty feet away, a polished concrete floor. Grayemptiness.
Get up, go!
Leon scrambled to his feet, heart beating too fast,John silent and even faster to his left. An exchangedglance and they both took one step out of the elevator,Leon whipping his VP70 around right, ready to fire---
---and there was nothing. Again. A wide corridorthat seemed a mile long, the faint, mingled scents ofdust and some industrial disinfectant in the cool air.Cool, but not at all cold; compared to the surface,it was summer. The hall was a hundred and fiftyyards easy, maybe more; there were a few offshoots,rounded lights spaced at regular intervals along theceiling, no signs posted---and no sign of life either.
So who brought us down? And why, if they weren'tplanning on meeting us with a few bullets?
"Maybe they're all playing bingo," John said softly,and Leon looked back, saw that except for the place-ment of a few side halls, John's side was identical tohis. And just as empty.
They both stepped back into the elevator. Johnreached for the controls, tapped the "Up" button, andnothing happened.
"What now?" Leon asked.
"Don't ask me, David's the brains behind ouroutfit," John said. "Though I got the looks."
"Jesus, John," Leon said, frustrated. "You've gotseniority here; give me a break, will ya?"
John shrugged. "Okay. Here's what I'm thinking.Maybe it wasn't a trap. Maybe ... if it was a trap,they would've tried to get all of us. And we'd be in themiddle of a firefight right now."
And the timing. The elevator was only therefor a fewseconds---as if someone realized we'd called it up. . . .
"Someone was trying to keep us from getting on,weren't they?" Leon said, not really asking. "To keepus from coming down."
John nodded. "Give that man a cigar. And if that'sright, it means they're scared of us. I mean, there's no
security, right? Whoever brought us down probablyhightailed it to a room with a lock.
"As to what we do now," he continued, "I'm opento suggestions. It'd be nice to rejoin our group, but ifwe can't figure out how to get the elevator going...."
Leon frowned, thinking, remembering that beforeRaccoon had pretty much blown his career choice, hehad been trained as a cop.
Use the tools you've got....
"Secure the area," he said slowly. "Same plan asbefore, at least the first part. Get the employeessecured, then worry about the elevator. Dealing withReston will just have to wait---"
John held up his hand suddenly, cutting him off, hishead cocked to one side. Leon listened, but didn'thear anything. A few seconds passed and then Johnlowered his hand. He shrugged dismissively, but hisdark eyes were wary and he held the automatic rifleclose.
"Good call," he said finally. "If we can find thedamn employees. You wanna go left or right?"
Leon smiled faintly, suddenly remembering the lasttime he'd had to pick a direction. He'd taken a left inthe subbasement of Umbrella's Raccoon lab and runinto a dead end; having to backtrack had almost costhim his life.
"Right," he said. "Left has some bad associationsfor me."
John cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything;oddly enough, he seemed satisfied with Leon's rea-soning.
Maybe because he's crazy. Crazy enough to makebad jokes in the midst of situations like this, anyway.
Together, they stepped out into the long, emptycorridor and turned right, moving slowly, John watch-ing their back and Leon scanning every offshoot'sopening for a sign of movement. The first side hall wasto their left, not fifteen feet from the elevator.
"Hang on," John said, and ducked into the shorthall, walking quickly to a single door at the back. Herattled the handle, then hurried back out, shaking hishead.
"Thought I heard something before," he said, andLeon nodded, thinking about how easy it would be forsomeone to kill them.
Hide in a locked room, wait 'til we're past, step outandpovf... .
Bad thinking. Leon let it go and they continued theirslow trek down the passage, sweeping every inch withtheir weapons, Leon realizing that the thermal under-wear'd been a bad idea, as sweat started to trickledown his body---and wondering, quite abruptly, howthings had gone so wrong so fast.
Reston had an idea.
He'd almost panicked after he'd heard them sayingthings that they shouldn't have known, hiding incontrol with the door cracked open. When he'd heardone of them say his name, he'd felt the panic rise intohis throat like bile, coloring his mind with visions ofhis own horrible death. He'd closed the door then,locking it, sagging against it as he tried to think, tosort through his options.
When one of them had rattled the door, he'd verynearly screamed---but had managed to hold still, tomake no sound at all until the interloper had moved
on. It took him a few moments to collect himself afterthat, to remember that this was something he couldhandle; strangely enough, it was the thought of Trentthat did it for him. Trent wouldn't panic. Trent wouldknow exactly what to do---and he most certainlywouldn't run crying to Jackson for help.
In spite of that, he'd almost picked up the phoneseveral times as he watched the monitors, watched thetwo men terrorizing his employees. They were effi-cient, unlike their rumbling counterparts still workingto figure out the elevator on the surface. It had takenthe two men all of five minutes once they'd reachedthe living area to get the workers together; it helpedthat five of them were still awake and playing cards inthe cafeteria, three of the construction crew and bothmechanics. The young white man watched them asthe other one went to the dorm and roused the rest,marching them back to the cafeteria, crowding themwith his automatic weapon.
Reston was disappointed with the lackluster perfor-mance of his people, not one fighter among them, andwas still very afraid. Once the teams from the citycame in he'd have something to work with, but untilthen, all sorts of bad things might happen.
"Dealing with Reston will just have to wait...."What happens when they realize I'm not in theirhostage group? What do they want? What could theywant, except to hold me for ransom or kill me?
He'd been on the verge of calling Sidney, in spite ofthe fact that Jackson would certainly find out aboutit---but he'd risk his colleague's disapproval, he'd risklosing his place in the inner circle if it meant he couldsurvive this invasion.
He was actually reaching for the phone when herealized that someone was missing. Reston leanedcloser to the cafeteria monitor, frowning, forgettingthe phone. There were fourteen people grouped to-gether in the middle of the room, the two gunmenstanding some distance away.
Where's the other one? Who's the other one?
Reston reached out and touched the screen, mark-ing off the faces of the bleary-eyed hostages. The fiveconstruction workers. Two mechanics. The cook, thespecimen handlers, all six of them. . . .
"Cole," he muttered, pursing his lips. The electri-cian, Henry Cole. He wasn't there.
An idea began to form, but it depended on whereCole actually was. Reston tapped at the buttons thatworked the screens, beginning to hope, to see a waynot only to survive, but to, to---win. To come out ontop.
There were twenty-two screens in the control room,but almost fifty cameras set up throughout the Planetand in the surface "weather" station. The Planet hadbeen built with video in mind, the layout fairlysimple; from control, one could see almost every partof every hall, room, and environment, the camerasplaced at key points. Finding someone was just amatter of pushing the right button to switch betweenviews.
Reston checked the test rooms first, each set ofcameras in phases One through Four. No luck. Hetried the science area next, the surgical rooms, thechem lab, even the stasis room; again, he didn't seeanyone.
He wouldn't be in quarters, they've certainly cleared
everyone else out... and there's no reason for him tobe on the surface....
Reston grinned suddenly, punching up the camerasin and around the holding cells. Cole and both of themechanics had been using the cells to lay out equip-ment, wires and tools and various bits of machinery.
There!
Cole was sitting on the floor in between cells oneand nine, sorting through a box of little metal pieces,his skinny legs splayed out in front of him.
Reston looked back at the cafeteria, saw that thetwo armed men seemed to be conferring, watching theuseless, huddled group of workers. On the surface,the other three were still hammering at the keypadand searching for something or other....
The idea took shape, the possibilities coming tohim one at a time, each more interesting and excitingthan the last. The data he could collect, the respectthat he would earn, getting rid of his problem andpromoting himself at the same time.
I could edit the tapes together, have something toshow my visitors after the tour---and won't Sidney beundone when Jackson sees what I've accomplished,how I've handled things. I'll be the golden child for achange....
Reston stood up from the console, still grinning,nervous but hopeful. He'd have to hurry, and he'dhave to use all his acting skills with Cole; not aproblem, considering that he'd spent thirty years ofhis life developing them, honing them.... Beforejoining Umbrella, he'd been a diplomat.
It would work. They wanted Reston; he'd give himto them.
NINE
COLE WAS POKING IDLY THROUGH A BOX OFbipolar transistors, thinking that he was an idiot; heshould be sleeping. It had to be close to midnight,he'd been breaking his ass all day for Mr. Blue, andhe'd have to drag said ass out of bed in another sixhours to do the same. He was tired and sick to deathof being picked on just because the last happy assholeto go through the Planet with a toolbox had doneeverything wrong.
It's not my fault, he thought sullenly, that thedumbass didn't connect the leads on the MOSFETsbefore he installed 'em. And his outdoor conduits arecrappy, he didn't figure on the Planet's inductiveload. .. incompetent jerkoff. . ..
Maybe he was being harsh, but he wasn't feelingparticularly forgiving after the day he'd had. Mr. Bluehad distinctly told him to get to the surface camsfirst---and then chased him down and insisted he'd
told him to take care of the intercom system first.Cole knew he was full of shit---along with everyoneelse working at the Planet---but Reston was one of thetop guys, a real heavy-hitter, when he said jump, youjumped, and there was never a question of who wasright. Cole had only worked for Umbrella for a year,but he'd made more money in that year than he hadin the five before combined; he was not gonna be theone to piss off Mr. Blue (so-called because of hisperpetual blue suit) and get himself canned.
You sure about that? After all you've seen in the lastfew weeks?
Cole put the box of transistors down and rubbed athis eyes; they felt hot and itchy. He hadn't beensleeping all that well since coming to work at thePlanet. It wasn't that he was some bleeding-hearttype, he didn't give much of a shit what Umbrellawanted to do with their money. But---
---but it's hard to feel good about this place. It's badnews. It's a freak show.
In his year with Umbrella, he'd wired a chem lab onthe west coast for power, installed a bunch of newcircuit breakers for a think tank on the other coast,and generally done a lot of maintenance work wher-ever they shipped him. Incredible pay, not too hard,and the people he usually worked with were decentenough---mostly blue-collar types doing the samekind of stuff he was doing. And all he had to do---out-side of the work---was promise not to talk aboutwhatever he saw; he'd signed a contract to that effectwhen he'd first hired on, and had never had a problemwith it. But then, he'd never seen the Planet.
When Umbrella called you out on a job, they didn't
explain anything. It was just, "fix that," and you fixedit and got paid. Even within the working crews,discussions about the job site's purpose were heavilydiscouraged. Word got around, though, and Coleknew enough about the Planet to think that he maybedidn't want to work for Umbrella anymore.
There were the creatures, for one thing, the testanimals. He hadn't actually seen them, or the thingthey were calling Fossil, the frozen freak---but he'dheard them, a couple of times. Once, in the middle ofthe night, a screeching, howling sound that hadchilled him to the bone, a sound like a bird, scream-ing. And then there was the day in Phase Two,realigning one of the video cameras, when he'd hearda strange chattering sound, like nails being tapped onhollow wood---but the sound was animal, too. Alive.He'd heard that they were specially created for Um-brella, some kind of genetic hybrids that would bebetter for studying, but hybrids of what? All of thecreatures had bizarre and unpleasant nicknames, too.He'd heard the "research" guys talking about them onmore than one occasion.
Does. Scorps. Spitters. Hunters. Sound like a funbunch---for a honor movie.
Cole crawled to his feet, stretching his tired mus-cles, still thinking unhappy thoughts. There was Res-ton, of course; the guy was a grade-A tyrant, and ofthe worst kind---the kind with a lot of power and nota lot of patience. Cole was used to working withmanagerial types, but Mr. Blue was way too high onthe food chain for his comfort zone. The man wasintimidating as all hell.
But that's not the worst, is it?
He sighed, looking around at the dozen cells thatlined the room, six on either side. No, the worst wasright in front of him. Each cell had a cot, a toilet, asink---and restraining straps on the walls and at-tached to the beds. And the cell block was less thantwenty feet from the "foyer" of the first environment,where the doors had locks on the outside.
After this one, I do some serious thinking about mypriorities; I've got enough saved to take a break, getsome perspective. . . .
Cole sighed again. That was fine, for later. For now,though, he had to try and catch some sleep. He turnedand walked to the door, slapping the lights off as heopened it---
---and there was Reston. Hurrying around thecorner where the main corridor turned toward theelevators, looking extremely upset.
Oh, hell, what now?
Reston saw him and practically ran to him, his bluesuit uncharacteristically rumpled, his pale gaze dart-ing left and right.
"Henry," he gasped, and stopped in front of him,breathing hard. "Thank God. You have to help me.There are two men, assassins, they broke in andthey're here to kill me, and I need your help."
Cole was as much taken aback by his demeanor asby what he said; he'd never seen Blue with a hair outof place, or without that small, smug smile that wasthe sole property of the incredibly wealthy.
"I---what?"
Reston took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly."I'm sorry. I just---the Planet has been invaded; thereare two men here, looking for me. They mean to kill
me, Henry. I recognize them from a thwarted attempton my life not six months ago; they've posted a manon the surface by the door, and I'm trapped, they'llfind me and---"
He broke off, gasping, and was he trying not to cry?Cole stared at him, thinking he called me Henry."Why are they trying to kill you?" He asked.
"I was the chair for a hostile takeover last year, apackaging company---the man we bought out wasunstable, he swore he'd get me. And now they're here,right now they're locking up everyone in the cafe-teria---but they're only after me---I've called for helpbut they won't get here in time. Please, Henry---willyou help me? I---I'll make it worth your while, Ipromise you. You'll never have to work again, yourchildren will never have to work. . . ."
The open plea in Reston's eyes was disconcerting; itstopped Cole from mentioning that he didn't haveany children. The man was terrified, his lined facequivering, his silver-shot hair sticking up in tufts.Even without the monetary offer, Cole would haveoffered to help.
Maybe.
"What do you want me to do?"
Reston half-smiled in relief, actually reaching outto grasp Cole's arm. "Thank you, Henry. Thank you,I---I'm not sure. If you could---they only want me, soif you could distract them somehow. ..."
He frowned, his lips trembling, then looked pastCole to the small room that marked the entrance tothe environments. "That room! It has a lock on theoutside, and opens into One---if you could lure them
to you, slip into One ... I could lock them inside,lock down the entire room as soon as you were out.You could go straight through to Four and out to themedical area, I'd unlock it for you as soon as they'retrapped."
Cole nodded uncertainly. It should work, except---
"Won't they know I'm not you? I mean, they'll havea picture of you or something, won't they?"
"They won't be able to tell. They'll only see you fora second, when they come around the corner, andthen you'll be gone. As soon as they get inside, I'll hitthe controls---I can hide in the cell block."
Reston's pale eyes were swimming, overbright withunshed tears. The guy was desperate---and as planswent, it wasn't a bad one.
"Yeah, okay," he said, and the look of gratitude onthe older man's face was almost heartwarming.
Almost. If he were a decent human being it would be.
"You won't regret this, Henry," Reston said, andCole nodded, not sure what else to say.
"You'll be fine, Mr. Reston," he said finally, un-comfortably. "Don't worry."
"I'm sure you're right, Henry," Reston said, andturned, and walked into the dark cell block withoutanother word.
Cole stood there for a second, then shrugged in-wardly and started for the little room, nervous butalso a little peeved. Mr. Blue was scared, but he wasstill pretty much an asshole.
No "Don't you worry either, Henry," or, "Be care-ful- " Not even a "Good luck, hope they don't shoot youby mistake."...
He shook his head, stepping into the small room. Atleast if he helped out the big Blue he'd probably beable to sleep in, maybe even quit the Planet andUmbrella for good. God knew he needed the rest; he'dbeen having a hell of a time sleeping... .
Rebecca found the camera, at least. A lens no biggerthan a quarter was hidden in the southwest corner,just an inch from the ceiling. She'd called David overand he'd covered it with his hand, wishing that he'ddone a more thorough check before leading his teaminside. He'd been stupid, and John and Leon werealmost certainly gone because of it.
Claire had found a roll of tape in her diggings,though little else. David taped the hole over, wonder-ing what they were going to do. It was cold, so coldthat he didn't know how much longer their reflexeswould still be good. The codes weren't working, thesealed entrance would take more than they had toopen it up, and two of his team were somewherein the facility below, perhaps wounded, perhapsdying.. .
... or infected. Infected like Steve and Karen wereinfected, suffering, losing their humanity---
"Stop it," Rebecca said to him, and he steppeddown from the table they'd pushed to the corner, halfknowing what she meant but not ready to admit it.Rebecca had a way of drawing him out at the worstpossible times.
"Stop what?"
Rebecca stepped closer to him, staring up into hisface, hooding her flashlight with one small hand.
"You know what. You've got that look, I can see it;you're telling yourself that this is your fault. That ifyou'd done something differently, they'd still behere."
He sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but this isn'tthe appropriate---"
"Yes it is," she interrupted. "If you're going toblame yourself, you won't think as clearly. We're notin the S.T.A.R.S. anymore, and you're not anyone'scaptain. It's not your fault."
Claire had walked over to join them, her gray gazecurious and searching in spite of the worry that stillpinched her delicate features. "You think this is yourfault? It's not. I don't think that."
David threw up his hands. "My God, alright! It'snot my fault, and we can all spend some time analyz-ing what I'm accountable for if and when we get out ofthis; for now, though, can we please concentrate onwhat's in front of us?"
Both young women nodded, and while he was gladto have stopped the therapy session before it gotstarted, he realized that he didn't know what the nextthing was---what tasks to give them beyond whatthey'd already done, how they were going to resolvetheir crisis, what to say or how to say it. It was adreadful moment; he was used to having something tofight against, something to react to or shoot at or planfor, but their situation seemed to be static, unchang-ing. There wasn't a clear path for them to follow, andthat was even worse than the guilt he felt about hislack of foresight.
And just at that moment, he heard the distant buzz
of an approaching helicopter, the faraway thrum thatcould be nothing else---and although it was a solutionof sorts, it was the worst one possible.
Nothing for cover except this compound, and we'llnever make it back to the van, we've got two, threeminutes---
"We have to get out of here," David said, alreadyrunning through the things they would have to do ifthey were to stand a chance, even as they were allrunning for the door.
The workers were cake. There had been a few tensemoments rousing them from their dark cots in thedark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without inci-dent. John had still been somewhat wary of a few ofthem when he'd first herded them into the cafeteria,where Leon was watching the card-players---in partic-ular, two fairly big men who looked like they mighthave machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy withdeepset eyes who couldn't seem to stop licking hislips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds,his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips andthen disappear for another few seconds. Creepy.
There'd been no trouble, though. Fourteen men andno one willing to play hero after John had presentedthem with a little logic. He'd kept it short and simple:we're here to find something, we're not planning tohurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the waywhile we get out of here. Don't be stupid and youwon't get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had beenenough to convince them that it would be best not toargue.
John stood by the door back into the big hall,
watching the unhappy-looking group seated in themiddle of the large room around a long table. A fewlooked pissed, a few looked scared, most just lookedtired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; hedidn't want to have to worry about anyone trying towork up a rebellion.
In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool,he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon hadbeen gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lotlonger. He walked in holding a length of chain and acouple of wire coathangers.
"Any trouble?" Leon asked quietly, and John shookhis head, keeping his attention on the silent group.
"Been nice and quiet," he said. "Where'd you findthe chain?"
"Toolbox, in one of the rooms."
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm."Alright, folks, we're about to take our leave. Wethank you for your patience. ..."
Leon nudged him. "Ask if Reston's here," he whis-pered.
John sighed. "You think if he is, he's gonna tell us?"
The younger man shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn'tit?"
Stranger things have happened. . . .
John cleared his throat and spoke again. "Is a mannamed Reston in here? We just have a question, we'renot going to hurt you."
The men stared at him, at both of them, and Johnwondered, for just a second, if they knew what theywere doing there; if they knew what Umbrella wasdoing. They didn't look like Nazis, they looked like abunch of working stiffs. Like guys who put in a hard
day and liked to throw back a few beers in theevening. Like---like guys.
And what did Nazis look like? These people are apart of the problem, they're working for the enemy.They're not going to help us---
"Blue ain't here." A big bearded man in a T-shirtand boxers, one of the ones John had been keeping aneye on. His voice was gruff and irritable, his face stillpuffy from sleep.
John glanced at Leon, surprised, and saw that therookie looked the same. "Blue?" John asked. "Is thatReston?"
A man sitting at the end of the table with longishhair and grease-stained hands nodded. "Yeah. Andthat's Mister Blue to you."
The sarcasm was pointed. There were a couple ofdark looks exchanged within the sitting group---and acouple of chuckles.
Reston's one of the key guys, Trent said. And justabout everybody hates their boss . . . but so much thatthey'd talk shit about him to a couple of terrorists?
Reston must be real unpopular.
"Is there anyone else working here who isn't in thisroom?" Leon asked. "We don't want to be sur-prised. ..."
The implications were obvious, but it was alsoobvious that they weren't going to get anything elsefrom the assembled employees. They might hateReston, but John could see from the crossed arms andscowls that they wouldn't talk about one of their own.If there was anyone else in the facility, which hedoubted. Trent had said it was a small staff. . .
.. . which means it was probably Reston who
brought us down, which means we could kill two birdsif we find him---get the book and get him to start upthe elevator again. We lockReston in a closet, hook upwith David and the girls and get gone before anythingelse unexpected comes up.
John nodded at Leon, and they backed up to thedoor. John realized that he didn't want to just walkout, that he felt a kind of sympathy for the men thathe'd dragged out of bed. Not a lot, but something.
"We're gonna lock the door here," John said, "butyou'll be okay until the company sends someone, yougot food .. . and if you don't mind a little advice,listen up---Umbrella ain't the good guys. Whateverthey're paying you, it isn't enough. They're killers."
The blank stares followed them out of the room.Leon closed the double doors and started to rig up themakeshift lock, threading the chain through the han-dles and bending the hangers. John walked the fewsteps to the corner and looked down the long gray hallthat they'd stepped into from the elevator. They couldcontinue on the way they'd been going to look forReston, there was a bend in the corridor not far pastthe staff housing area---
---but he's not that way, John thought, remember-ing the sound he'd heard when they'd first arrived.He's back the way we came, somewhere.
Leon finished securing the doors and joined him,looking a little pale but still game. "So .. . now welook for Reston?"
"Yeah," John said, thinking that the kid was doingpretty well, considering. Not a lot of experience, buthe was smart, he had guts, and he didn't clutch underthe gun. "You holding up?"
Leon nodded. "Yeah. I'm just---do you thinkthey're okay up there?"
"No, I think they're freezing their asses off waitingfor us," John said, smiling, and hoped that was thecase---that after locking down the elevator, Restonhadn't released the hounds, or whatever equivalentthis place had.
Or called for help. . . .
"Let's get this over with," John said, and Leonnodded, as they started back down the hall to seewhat was what.
TEN
THEY HEADED OUT INTO THE BLACKNESSof the compound, the beat of the helicopter's bladesgetting closer. Rebecca saw its lights less than a half-mile northwest, saw that it was hovering, shining aspotlight down onto the desert-like plain.
The van, they've spotted the van.
Claire saw it too, but David was looking at thewarehouse-type buildings behind them as he unslunghis rifle, his intense gaze taking in the layout. Rebeccacould hardly see him in the pale moonlight.
"They'll have to set down outside the fence," hesaid. "Follow me, and stay close." He jogged off intothe darkness, the burr of the helicopter growingsteadily behind them.
God, I hope he sees better than I can, Rebeccathought, clutching her nine-millimeter tightly, themetal cold against her numb fingers. She and Clairejogged after him as he headed for one of the dark
structures, the second from the left in the line of five.Why he'd picked that one she didn't know, but Davidwould have a reason, he always did.
They ran into the corridor of black between the firstand second building, fifteen feet of hard-packed aridsediment that stretched ahead of them some indeter-minate distance. The freezing air burned into herlungs, gusting out in clouds of steam she couldn't see.The whackawhacka sound of the 'copter drowned outtheir footsteps, drowned out most of what David wassaying as he stopped, a door on either side of them.
". . . to hide until we ... can't. . . back. . .."
Rebecca shook her head and David gave it up,turning to the left, pointing his weapon at the door ofthe first building. Rebecca and Claire moved behindhim, Rebecca wondering what he was up to; if thepeople from the helicopter landed to search---whichthey surely would---the bullet-riddled door wouldgive them away. It looked to be made from some high-density plastic, but wasn't remarkable in any otherway---it had a handle and keyhole rather than a cardswipe. The building itself was some kind of stuccomaterial, dirty and dusty, and no particular color thatshe could tell; the one behind them looked the same;there were no windows on either.
The helicopter's searchlight was sweeping the fenceat the front of the compound, its brightness piercingthe cold dark like a brilliant flame. Flurries of dustwere swirling up into the light, staining it, andRebecca thought they had maybe a minute before itfound them; the compound just wasn't that big.
Bambambambambam!
Most of the noise was swallowed up by the roar ofthe helicopter. Even in the darkness, Rebecca couldsee the line of holes, the concentration of them nearthe handle. David stepped forward and gave the doora hard kick, then a second---and it flew inward, agaping black hole in the wall.
The searchlight was moving back through the com-pound, the helicopter's swollen belly passing almostdirectly overhead as it shone its beam down on theother side of the first building, the thunder of itsengine and billowing clouds of dust and makingRebecca feel as though Death were approaching; notdeath but Death, some fabled beast of mercilesspower and relentless intention... .
David turned and grabbed her and Claire both,pushing them firmly toward the open door. As soon asthey were through, he motioned for them to stop andto wait. David pulled his handgun and jogged acrossthe open space, standing close to the second build-ing's door, angling his body and---
---BAM, the nine-millimeter round, louder than therifle's .223s but still almost lost, as the helicopterstarted its sweep up their row and the door blastedinward and David leapt through the opening, just asthe blinding light illuminated the ground betweenthem. A half-second later and he would have beencaught in the light. The spent casings from David'sweapons were thankfully lost in the furor, spinningclouds of dust whipping up and over them andmaking it hard to breathe. She turned, saw that Clairehad tucked her face down into her black sweatshirt,and followed suit. The cold, thick air was filtered
through the fleece, and in spite of the deafening noise,Rebecca could hear her heartbeat in her ears, rapidand afraid.
A second later, the light was past; a second afterthat the dust seemed to be settling, it was hard to tellin the black; the sudden absence of light meant theireyes would have to readjust---
"Are you alright?"
Rebecca jumped as David practically screamed inher face, just a shadow in front of her. Claire let out alittle shriek.
"Sorry!" David called. "Come on! Other building!"
Barely able to see, Rebecca stumbled outside,Claire right next to her. David came up behind them,touching their backs, guiding them toward the secondbuilding. The 'copter was still moving away fromthem, north to south, but it would run out of things tolook at very soon---and then they'd land and comelooking. That the helicopter was from Umbrella was agiven; the only question was how many had come,and whether or not they were to be captured first orjust killed outright.
As they fell through the door to the second build-ing, it dawned on Rebecca what David had done. TheUmbrella thugs would see the first bullet-blasted doorand assume that their quarry was hiding there.
And he only shot through the keyhole of this one.They'll see it eventually, but it buys us a little moretime. . . .
She hoped. The darkness was almost as cold asoutside and smelled like dust. A low light flickered on,David hooding his flashlight with one hand, just
enough for them to see that they were surrounded byboxes. Big ones, small ones, cardboard and wood,stacked on shelves and on the floor all the way up tothe slanted ceiling. In the brief second that Davidshone the light across the mammoth room, they sawthat there had to be thousands of them.
"I'm going to see what I can do about the door andcut the lights," David said. "Find us a place to hide.It's our best option until we know how many thereare, what scenario they're employing. They mighthave spook eyes, the floor's no good---somewherehigh up and in a corner. Shelves would be best. Gotit?"
They both nodded and the light went out, leavingthem in a complete darkness; before, she could atleast make out shapes and shadows. Now, Rebeccacouldn't see her hand in front of her face.
"Which corner?" Claire whispered, as if the chillblack nothing they stood in demanded silence.
Rebecca reached out and found Claire's hand,placing it against her back. "Left. We go left until werun into something."
She heard a whisper of movement behind them, asDavid went about his preparations. Taking a deepbreath, Rebecca put her hands out in front of her andstarted to edge forward.
Every door off of the lengthy corridor was locked,with the exception of a utility closet past the elevator;there, they found absolutely nothing of interest, un-less shelves of paper towels and styrene coffee cupswere interesting. They'd tried the elevator again, with
no luck, and there didn't seem to be a fuse box oroverride switch anywhere near it. Not surprising, butLeon still felt a pang of distress. The other three wereprobably really worried . . .
. .. and you're not? What if something went wrongup there? Maybe the "test" part of this place is above-ground. And maybe Reston unleashed some of Umbrel-la's warrior specimens up there, and right now Claireis---
"What say if we run across one more locked door,we use up our grenades? I've got two of 'em," Johnsaid, looking irritated. They'd just tried the ninthdoor in the silent hall, and were almost to the north-ernmost curve. For all they knew, they'd alreadypassed Reston, or the passage that would lead them tohim.
"Let's at least see what's around the corner beforewe start blowing things up," Leon said, though he wasalso losing patience. It wasn't that he'd mind damag-ing some Umbrella property, but that just wasn't thepriority---reuniting the team was. They'd alreadydecided that if they didn't find him soon, they'd goback to the cafeteria and try to get one of the workersto fix the elevator, and to hell with Reston; themission would be a bust, but at least they'd all be aliveto fight another day.
Assuming we're all still alive now...
They reached the corner and paused, John raisingthe M-16 and lowering his voice. "I'll cover?"
Leon nodded, moving closer to the inner wall. "Onthree. One ... two ... three---"
He took a running step away from the wall, drop-ping into a crouch and pointing his semi down the
west leg of the corridor as John whipped the riflearound the corner. The hall was a lot shorter, no morethan sixty feet, dead-ending in an open, doorlessroom. There was a door on the left---
---and somebody moved across the opening at theend of the hall, the darting shape of a man.
Reston.
Leon saw him, a thin guy, not too tall, wearing jeansand a blue work shirt. Mr. Blue, just like theysaid. .. .
"Hold it!" John shouted, and Reston turned,startled---and weaponless. He saw the M-16 andjumped away from the double-wide opening, maybeheading for an exit---
---and Leon ran, pumping his arms for speed, Johnquickly passing him in a full-on sprint. They wereinside the room in a flash and there was Reston,pushing desperately at a door on the right. He threw aterrified glance over his shoulder as they barreled intothe room, his eyes wide with panic.
"It won't open!" He screamed, his voice on theedge of hysteria. "Open the door!"
Who's he talking to?
"Give it up, Reston," John growled---
---and behind them, a metal sheet crashed downover the opening, shutting them into the room with abrutal, heavy dang. Leon looked down, saw that thefloor was plate steel---and felt the first stab of unease.
Reston spun around, his hands in the air, hisnarrow features contorted with fear. "I'm not him,not Reston," he babbled, his pale face slick withsweat---
---and behind them, a face appeared at the window
in the metal door, distorted by the thick plexiglass butobviously grinning. An older man, dressed in a darkblue suit.
Oh, no---
The man looked away for a moment, one handreaching up to touch something Leon couldn't see---and a smooth, cultured voice floated into the roomfrom a speaker in the ceiling.
"Sorry, Henry," the man said, his moving facewarped by the glass. "And allow me to introducemyself. I'm Jay Reston. And whoever you are, Fmvery glad to meet you. Welcome to the Planet's testprogram."
Leon looked at John, who was still pointing his rifleat the near hysterical Henry. John looked back at him,and Leon could see the awareness dawning in his darkeyes, even as it dawned on him.
They were in extremely deep shit.
Yes!
Reston laughed giddily. The gunmen were trapped,and the three on the surface were probably alreadybeing picked up by the teams---he'd handled hissituation, and handled it brilliantly.
Of course it's no fun if there's no one around toappreciate it. . . but then, I have a captive audience,don't I?
"We're not scheduled to go on line for anothertwenty-three days," Reston said, smiling widely, al-ready imagining the look on Sidney's bloated face."At which time, I was going to host the initial run ofour carefully designed program for a group of ex-tremely important people. It was going to be specimen only, we hadn't planned on putting humansthrough the phases for a while yet, let alone soldiers.But now, thanks to you, I'll be able to show my littleparty actual footage of what our specimens werecreated for. By now, your friends on the surface willhave been taken, sad to say---but the three of you willsuffice, I think. Yes, you'll do quite nicely."
Reston laughed again, unable to contain it. "Youmay want to kill Henry before you start, though, he'llonly drag you down---and he did lure you in, didn'the?"
"You bastard!"
Henry Cole pushed away from the wall and flew atthe door, pounding on it with his fists. The two-inchmetal didn't even rattle in the frame.
Reston shook his head, still grinning. "I am sorry,Henry; we'll miss you terribly. You never did finishwith the intercom system, did you? Or the audio . . .at least you hooked up this one, for which I can'tthank you enough. Is it clear enough in there? Gettingany static?"
Whatever demon had possessed the electrician fled,the man collapsing against the door, breathing rag-gedly. The bigger of the two armed men, the burlydark-skinned one with the rifle, stepped toward thewindow with a menacing expression.
"You're not gonna get us to go through any tests foryou," he said, his deep voice quivering with rage. "Goahead and kill us, 'cause we're not alone---and Um-brella's going down, whether or not we're around tosee it happen."
Reston sighed. "Well, you're right about not beingaround. But as to the rest... you're some of those
S.T.A.R.S. people, aren't you? You and your grass-roots campaign are nothing to us; you're mosquitoes,an annoyance. And you will participate---"
"Participate this," he spat, grabbing his crotch.Even through the thick plexi, the gesture was unmis-takable.
Vulgar. Young people today, no respect for theirbetters...
"John, why don't you break out one of those fraggrenades?" The other one said coolly, at which pointReston sighed again.
"The walls are plaster-coated steel, and the doorwill withstand a lot more than you could possiblyhave. You'd only succeed in blowing yourselves up. Itwould be a pity---but if you must, you must."
They didn't seem to have a smart reply to that. Noone spoke, although Reston could still hear the trou-bled gasps coming from Cole through the intercom.He'd grown tired of goading them anyway; the surfaceteams would be putting a call in to control soon, andhe really should be there.
"If you gentlemen will excuse me," he said. "I haveother business to attend to---like releasing our petsinto their new homes. Rest assured, though, I'll bewatching your debut; try to make it through at leasttwo of the phases, if you can."
Reston stepped away from the window to the con-trol panel on the left, and punched in the activationcode. One of the men started shouting that theywouldn't go through with it, that he couldn't makethem---
---and then Reston hit the large green button, theone that simultaneously opened the hatch into One---
and released a spray of tear gas into the small ante-room from vents in the high ceiling. He stepped backto the window, interested to see how effective theprocess was.
Within seconds, a white haze came pouring downfrom above, obscuring the three men. Reston heardshouts and coughing, and a second later he heard thehatch lock down, which meant they were through.The pressure plates in the floor thus unencumbered,there was a low hiss as the ventilation system kickedon, clearing the room of mist in under a minute.
Nice. He'd have to remember to commend which-ever designer had recommended it.
"I'll make a note," Reston said to no one inparticular. He smoothed his lapels and turned to walkback to control, excited to see how well the menwould fare against the newest additions to the Um-brella family.
ELEVEN
COLE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO STUMBLEafter the killers, choking and nauseous, his heart sickwith dread and hate. He'd been abandoned to deathby Reston, the man had even encouraged the assassinsto kill him---he no longer knew if they even wereassassins, he didn't know who the "stars" were sup-posed to be---he didn't know anything except that hiseyes were burning and he couldn't breathe.
At least make it fast, let it be fast and painless. . . .
Through the hatch into One, the door snappingclosed behind him. Cole fell back against the coolmetal, struggling to catch his breath, gummy tearsleaking from beneath his closed lids. He didn't want tosee them pull the trigger, he'd rather not have to suffersuspense before he died; dying was plenty enough.
Maybe they'll just leave me here.
The small hope that the thought brought him was
stamped out immediately as a big, rough hand latchedon to his arm and shook him.
"Hey, wake up!"
Cole reluctantly opened his watering eyes, blinkingrapidly. The big black guy was staring down at him,looking mad enough to start hitting. His rifle waspointed at Cole's chest.
"Want to explain what the hell this place is?"
Cole shrank against the door. His voice came out ina stammer. "Phase One. F-forest."
The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, forest, I got that.Why, though?"
Jesus, he's huge! The guy had muscles on his mus-cles. Cole shook his head, sure that he was about to beseverely beaten but not sure what the man was asking.
The other one took a step toward the two of them,looking more upset than angry. "John, Reston screwedhim over, too. What's your name again? Henry?"
Cole nodded, desperate not to piss anyone off."Yeah, Henry Cole, Reston told me you were here tokill him and he told me to stand in there, he was justgoing to lock you guys up, swear to God I didn't knowhe was gonna do this---"
"Slow down," the smaller man said. "I'm LeonKennedy, this is John Andrews. We didn't come hereto kill Reston---"
"Shoulda, though," John rumbled, looking aroundthem.
Leon went on as if he hadn't spoken. "---or anyoneelse. We just wanted something Reston is supposed tohave, that's all. Now---what can you tell us about thistest program?"
Cole swallowed, wiping at the water on his face.Leon seemed sincere---
---and what are your options here? You can get shot,get left behind, or work with these guys. They've gotguns, and Reston said the test specimens were designedto fight people and oh shit how'dlwind up in this mess?
Cole looked around at One, amazed at how differentit seemed now that he was locked in, how---menacing.The towering artificial trees, the plastic underbrushand fallen synthetic logs---with the subdued lightingand humidified air, the dark walls and painted ceiling,it almost felt like a real forest at twilight.
"I don't know a whole lot," Cole said, looking atLeon. "There are four phases---woods, desert, moun-tains, city. They're all big, each one's like two footballfields, side by side, I forget the exact measurements.Word is that they're supposed to be suitable habitatsfor these hybrid test animals; they're even gonna stockthem with live food, mice and rabbits and such.Umbrella's testing out some kind of disease-controlthing, and the test animals are supposed to havesimilar circulatory systems to humans, something likethat, it'll make good study material. . .."
He trailed off, noticing the look that the two menexchanged when he'd started talking about the testcreatures.
"You really believe that, Henry?" John asked, notlooking pissed anymore, his expression neutral.
"I---" Cole said, then closed his mouth, thinking.About the incredible pay and the don't-ask policy.About the questions from whoever was supervising onany given job---
"Are you happy working here? Do you feel thatyou're getting paid enough?"
---and about the prison cells---and the restraints.
"No," he said, and felt a rush of shame at hisdeliberate ignorance. He should have known, wouldhave known if he'd had the guts to take a closer look."No, I don't. Not anymore."
Both men nodded, and Cole was relieved to see Johnalter the position of the gun slightly, pointing it away.
"So do you know how to get out of here?" Johnasked.
Cole nodded. "Yeah, sure. All of the phases haveconnecting doors, in alternating corners. They'relatched shut is all, no keys or anything---except forthe last one, Four, it's bolted on the outside."
"So the door we'll want is that way?" Leon asked,pointing southwest. They were in the northeast cor-ner. From where they stood, the far wall wasn't evenvisible, the fake woods were so dense. Cole knewthere was at least one decent-sized clearing, but itwould still be a hike to get through.
Cole nodded.
"Can you tell us about these test animals? What dothey look like?" John asked.
"I never saw 'em, I was just here to do the wiring---cams and conduits, like that." He looked between thetwo men hopefully. "But how bad could they be,right?"
The expressions on their faces weren't encouraging.Cole started to ask what they could tell him when aloud, metallic clattering filled the moist air, like a giantgate being raised. It came from the back, the west wall,where Cole knew the animal pens were kept---
---and a second later, a shrill, piercing shriek cutthrough the air, a long and warbling note that wasquickly joined by another, and another, and then toomany to tell apart.
There was a beating sound, too, so huge that for amoment, Cole couldn't place it---and when he did, hefelt a little like screaming.
Wings. The sound of gigantic wings beating the air.
They were fifteen feet off the ground, atop a doublerow of wooden crates in one corner of the warehouse.Even the slightest movement made them sway a little,which made Claire deeply uneasy.
Not enough that John and Leon are gone, or thatwe're hiding from a bunch of Umbrella goons. No, wehave to be stuck on Mount Precarious in a pitch-blackicebox. One of us sneezes too hard and we all go down.
"This sucks," she whispered, as much to break thetense silence as to vent. The helicopter noise hadstopped, but they hadn't heard anyone outside yeteither.
She was surprised to feel Rebecca's body quakingnext to hers, and to hear a muffled giggle; the youngbiochemist was trying to suppress it, and wasn'thaving an easy time. Claire grinned, absurdly pleased.
A few seconds passed, and Rebecca managed to say,"Yes. You're so right," and then they were bothchoking back laughter. The boxes teetered gently.
"Please, "David said, sounding edgy. He was on topof the second stack of crates, on Rebecca's other side.
Claire and Rebecca quieted down, and again awaiting silence fell over them. They were in thenortheast corner, both on their stomachs, handguns
pointed toward the wall across from them in thegeneral direction of the other door. David said therewere two; he was facing south, covering the one they'dentered by.
The tension-breaking giggle fit had relaxed Claire alittle. She was still cold, still afraid for Leon and John,but their situation didn't seem so terrible. Bad, defi-nitely, but she'd been in much worse circumstances.
In Raccoon, I was on my own. There was Sherry towatch out for, we had Mr. X on our trail, we had ashitload of zombies to wade through and were totallylost. At least now I have some idea of what we're upagainst; even an army of gun-toting creeps isn 't as badas not knowing what's what---
Outside of the warehouse, a noise. Someone waspulling at the door that she and Rebecca were cover-ing; a quick, rattling shake and then silence again---except Claire thought she heard footsteps now, pad-ding against the ground outside.
Checking doors. And if David's lock-rigging isn'tconvincing, or they happen to look closely. . ..
At least it was David covering them; he was amaz-ing, cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind asshe'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just whatto do---instantly, no matter what happened. Evennow---David had said that they'd probably be doing astraight-across sweep, starting at one end or the otherand checking each building in teams.
Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over whathe'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-iflist. But still, just having something to concentrate onwas a relief.
If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay
quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the dooracross from where they entered and wait. When wehear them on the other side, we head out and run forthe fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pickoff the others one at a time as they come through thedoor, then climb down, then run.
If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throwsthe grenade and then shoot; same if they've got night-vision, the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to returnfire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover---
The other variables disappeared as she heard theother door being shaken. Shaken---and then kicked.
Thunk!
The door blew open, a square of pale light appear-ing in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlightpierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, thenturning back toward the door.
A soft click---and then a whispered curse.
"What?" A different voice, also whispering.
"Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, comeon. They're probably in the other one anyway, theydidn't get all the way through the lock on this one."
Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were goingto search, but they didn't suspect their presence.
A second beam appeared, and Claire could see thevaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the twopowerful lights, both of them men by the voices. Theystarted to move forward, the beams dancing over thestacks of boxes and crates.
Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes,not wanting for either of the men to feel watched;she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Notto look.
"I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, andClaire wondered if they had any idea how well soundcarried in the open space.
We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, butshe was scared. At least the zombies hadn't hadguns-----
The lights split, one heading away from them, theother turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least;whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn'trealize that people could climb boxes.
Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let ussneak out of this without having to fight! David saidthat they'd come back for John and Leon when Um-brella had cleared out; he said they'd probably post aguard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would bea lot easier than taking out an entire squad---
---and a light was shining in Claire's face, theblinding beam hitting her eyes.
"Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then---
---bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heardsomething beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as thetower of boxes tipped backwards.
Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at theshifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shoutscoming from outside, the orange burst of thunderingmuzzle fire coming from David's weapon---
---and with a shuddering crash, all the crates wenttumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.
When he heard the mighty flap of wings and theshrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn'tlike birds, never had, and to run into a flock ofUmbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest---
"Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing theplastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's wasalso pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet abovewhere the tallest trees stopped and painted a deeptwilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten tomaybe twenty-five, thirty feet---and at the very top,John saw that there were perching "branches" graftedon, each as big around as a basketball.
Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet toneed that to land on. . . .
The piping screams had stopped, and John didn'thear the beat of wings anymore---but he wonderedhow long it would be before the birds decided to lookfor prey.
"Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voicecracking. "Dacs."
"You're kidding," John breathed, and could see theskinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his periph-eral vision.
"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard."Cole sounded distinctly terrified.
"Let's head for that door," Leon said, alreadyedging into the false, shadowy woods.
Amen to that.
John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying tolook up and watch his step at the same time. Hetripped almost immediately, one boot kicking againsta molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself fromgoing into a full sprawl.
"This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole---Henry?"
He glanced back and saw that Cole was still hud-dled against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turnedup to the sky.
---ceiling, dammit---
Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up intothe spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said.
John walked back, angry and frustrated and seri-ously uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, Davidand the girls could very well be fighting for their liveson the surface, and he wasn't going to waste timecoddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, theycouldn't just leave him behind, at least not withoutmaking an effort.
"Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tappedhis arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mildbrown eyes were positively glassy with fear.
John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He wasan electrician, for hell's sake, and it seemed thatignorance had been his only real crime.
"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stayhere, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have bothhad run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is tocome with us---and besides, we could use your help,you know more about this place than we do. Okay?"
Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just---I'm scared."
"Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flyingpart's cool, but they're so weird, got those beady eyesand scaly feet---and have you ever seen a buzzard?They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, andsaw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quiverysmile.
"Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walkedback to where Leon was standing, still watching theair above.
"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you
lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, andwe'll need a clear route so we won't have to worryabout tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"
Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale,John could see that he would hold together. For awhile, anyway.
Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headedroughly southwest, weaving a crooked path throughthe strange forest. Leon and John followed, Johnrealizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn'tmake much of a difference.
If you don't look where you're going, you're going totrip, John thought wearily, after the sixth time he raninto a fallen "log." No way around it.
The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in anappearance or made any other sound. Just as well;John thought walking through a plastic forest wasenough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation,seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth,feeling the moisture in the air---but also being awarethat there were no smells of earth or growing things,no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It wasa dream-like experience, and an unnerving one.
John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on thecrisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped.
"We're---there's kind of a clearing here," he said.
Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?"
John stepped forward, peering through the seem-ingly random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. Itwas at least fifty feet across, but John would ratherthey go out of their way; being dive-bombed by apterodactyl didn't sound like fun at all.
"Yeah. Henry, veer right. We're going to---"
The rest of his words were lost as that high, war-bling screech blasted through the unnatural forest,and a brown-gray shape dove into the clearing andflew at them, extending talons a foot across.
John saw a wingspan of eight or ten feet, theleathery wings tipped with curved hooks. He saw ascreaming, toothed beak and a slender elongatedskull, flat black eyes the size of saucers, glittering---
---and he and Leon both opened fire as the creaturehit the line of artificial trees in front of them, its hugeclaws gouging into the solid plastic. It held on, spread-ing its vast membranous wings in a struggle to bal-ance---
---and bambambam, holes punched through thethin flesh, streamers of watery blood trickling downfrom the openings. The animal screamed, so close thatJohn couldn't hear the bullets, couldn't hear anythingbut that quavering, high-pitched shriek---and then itdropped, landing on the dark floor, pulling its wingsin---
---and walking toward them on its elbows, like a bat,moving jerkily through the shredded trees, shriekingin short, sharp barks of sound. Behind it, anotherdropped into the clearing, gusting odorless wind acrossthem as its wide wings folded closed, its long, pointedbeak opening and revealing nubs of grinding teeth.
This is bad, bad, bad---
The lurching animal was less than five feet awaywhen John drew a bead on the bobbing head, on theshiny round eye, and pulled the trigger.
twelve
THE TALLER ONE, JOHN, POINTED HIS AUTO-matic rifle at the Avi and let loose a hail of bullets.Like a stream of destruction, they hit the Dac'saquiline skull and blew out the other side, dark fluidsspattering across the freshly painted trees. Both eyespopped like water balloons.
Damn. Low threshold; it's those hollow bones....
Reston watched as the other gunman pointed hisweapon at a second Dae that had landed in theclearing. Even without sound, Reston could see thehandgun kick three, four times, hitting the specimenin its narrow chest. The Dac's slender neck curvedwildly back and forth, a squiggling dance of deathbefore it sprawled, bleeding, against the ground.
He didn't see any more of the animals touch down,but the three men were retreating, stumbling backinto the woods. Poor Cole seemed quite undone, hismouth open in a silent howl, his lank brown hair
practically plastered to his head with sweat, his limbsquaking.
Serves him right for not getting to the audio. Thelack of sound was annoying, although he supposed thefootage wouldn't suffer for it. People knew whatbullets and screams sounded like already.
The three were moving out of range, heading westnow. Reston switched cameras from the one in thetree to a long shot from the north wall. It was clearthat Cole was trying to lead them to the connectingdoor---although he obviously didn't remember that asecond, larger clearing was now in their path. For themoment, though, the Dacs had also pulled back; theygenerally gravitated toward open spaces. The gunmenhad only killed two, which meant that there would besix healthy specimens to greet them in the "meadow."
Reston had released all of the creatures into theirhabitats just after the call had come on the cell linefrom a Sergeant Steve Hawkinson, the man who wasleading the surface effort. He had informed Restononly that two Umbrella teams---nine men, includinghimself---were starting a sweep of the compound, andthat the fugitives' transport had been spotted; thethree were still in the area unless they had a secondvehicle, a highly unlikely possibility. Reston told himthat the entry's camera had been covered by one ofthem and asked for an update as soon as anythingturned up, then settled in to watch the show.
He poured himself another brandy as he watchedthe three weave slowly through the trees, John withhis weapon pointed above, the other scanning theshadows around them. ...
He needs a name, too. We have Henry, John, and---Red? His hair is son of reddish.
Not really, but it would do, just as "Dae" workedfor the Avis. There was no relation to pterodactyls, ofcourse, and the "Av" was for "Aves," birds---and infact, the Dacs were closer to bats than anything. Therewere just too many in the mammal series already. Atthe request of Jackson himself, the specimen growershad added some new classifications for clarity's sake,using some of the secondary contributors to thatseries's gene pool. Like the Spitters, who were closerto snakes than to goats, but'd been labeled Ca6s, forCapra, because of the cloven hooves ...
... and the Dacs do look like pterodactyls, or atleast our modern concept of them, Reston thought,looking at the screen that showed the cage entrance.Two of the animals were still inside. The streamlined,muscular body and the narrow beak, the bone"comb" on the top of the head, the fibrous wings ...they were really quite elegant in a brutal sort of way.The two in the massive behind-the-scenes "cave"were clearly agitated by all of the excitement, crawlingback and forth on their folded wings and swingingtheir heads from side to side. Reston didn't knowmuch from the biological end, but he knew that theyhunted by motion and scent, and that just two ofthem could take down a horse in under five minutes.
Not so efficient being shot at, however.
It didn't make a difference, really. The Avis hadbeen created for third-world situations, where ma-chetes still outnumbered rifles. It was too bad thatthey died so quickly, the handlers would be disappointed by the loss---but they would have been testedagainst firepower eventually anyway.
And speaking of...
The three men were getting close to the clearing,moving out of the north camera's view. That wouldbe where the Dacs would make their play. Restonleaned in to watch, realizing that the scenes he wasrecording would make his career---and that regard-less of that fact, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
David opened fire as soon as the thug's light foundthem, hearing the single shot of a weapon downbelow---
---and felt the splintering of wood to his left, aflurry of splinters spraying his arm. He was too intenton taking out the shooter to stop firing, but he knewwith a burst of dread that they were about to fall, thatboth young women would smash into the concrete ifhe didn't do something---
---and then he was falling, too, the wooden slatsbeneath him disappearing suddenly, plunging himthrough the icy dark. David held on to his weapon,pushing his arms out and bending his knees in the halfsecond of blind free fall---
---and then his knees connected with cardboard,with an unseen box that collapsed beneath his weight,sparing him the worst of it. Instantly he was on hisfeet, turning toward the other flashlight, which wasstill shining out from halfway across the warehouse,the first man already down. No time to check onRebecca, on Claire---the raised shouts from outsidewere almost upon them.
The torch-bearer went down in the short line ofbullets David sent from the M-16, a guided four-footarc across the darkness behind the light. The flatechoes of the rounds blasted through the alleys be-tween boxes, and as the flashlight dropped, a singlegrunt of pain and surprise going down with it, Davidturned the gun toward the open door.
Come on, then---
Rattatattatt---
Submachine gun fire from outside, a sweep acrossthe door ... but no one stepped inside. David movedleft and sent a burst from his weapon in response, notexpecting to hit anyone, the bullets crashing uselesslyinto the door's frame. He needed to buy them time,even if only a few seconds.
"Uunh," a soft, feminine groan from behind him.
"Rebecca! Claire! Sound off"!" He whisperedharshly, still watching the pale, empty square of opendoor.
"Here. Claire, I mean, I'm okay but I think she'shurt---"
Dammit!
David felt his heart skip a beat and he backed up astep, his thoughts racing, a knot of dread in his belly.It had been less than a half-minute since the first shot,but the Umbrella team would have already sur-rounded the building, if they were any good at all.They needed to get out before the attackers werefirmly organized.
"Claire, come to me, follow my voice---I need youcovering the door. You see anyone, even a shadow,shoot to kill. Understood?"
He heard her shuffling movements as he spoke and
reached out for her as she came close, grabbing holdof her arm.
"Wait," he said, and let another burst from the gunfly, hammering into the wall near the door. Heimmediately unslung the M-16 and handed it toClaire as the submachine gun returned fire, a rattle ofbullets spraying directionless into the dark.
"You can use this?"
"Yeah---" She sounded anxious but steady enough.
"Good. As soon as I say, we're going to startmoving for the west door; you'll be covering us."
He was already turning toward the corner, whereRebecca would be. He heard another muffled murmurof pain and fixed on it, moving quickly, dropping tohis knees and feeling for the injured girl. He feltsilkiness beneath one hand, Rebecca's hair, and ranboth hands over her head, feeling for the stickywarmth of blood.
"Rebecca, can you speak? Do you know whereyou're hurt?"
A cough---and then he felt her fingers touch hisarm, and knew she was all right even before she spoke.
"Back of my head," she said, softly but clearly."Possible concussion, cracked hell on my tailbone,limbs seem okay . . ."
"I'm going to help you up. If you can't walk, I'llcarry you, but we have to go now---"
As if to prove his words, there was another rattlefrom the gunman outside---
---and a shout that had him moving even before itwas finished.
"Fire in the hole!"
David spun, leapt up from his crouch and tackled
Claire from behind, calling out, "Close your eyes---"as he closed his own in case of incendiary, praying itwasn't a shrapnel---
---and the \vhump of a grenade launcher, followedby a loud pop and hiss told him it was gas. He movedoff of Claire, felt her sit up beside him, heard herragged, frightened breathing.
God, not sarin, soman, let them want us alive---
Within seconds, David's nose and eyes started towater viciously and he felt a wave of relief. Not nervegas; they'd used a CN or CS tear gas. The Umbrellateam was going to smoke them out.
"West door," David said, and Claire choked out anaffirmative, the chemical compound disseminatingquickly into the frigid air, an effective but thankfullynonlethal weapon.
He turned back and felt a hand brush across hischest.
"I can walk," Rebecca said, coughing, and Davidthrew her arm across his shoulders anyway andstarted for the door, moving as fast as he couldthrough the black. He heard Claire gasping but hold-ing her own, keeping up with them.
David hurried forward, planning as he went, tryingnot to breathe too deeply. There'd be people at bothdoors, waiting---
---but how close? They'll want to be right there,waiting to subdue their choking victims. . ..
He had it. As they came to the wall, David fishedinto his hip bag, pulling out the smooth, round anti-personnel grenade and pulling the pin.
"Claire, Rebecca, behind me!"
Already blind in the dark, the tears only hurt; they
didn't interfere with his aim as he pulled his nine-millimeter and swept it in front of him, finding thedoor.
BAM!
He blew a hole in the door's edge, unlocking it,hearing the surprised cries of the men outside. Withhardly a pause, David jerked the door open, how far tothe fence, fifty, sixty meters---
---and lobbed the grenade, a gentle toss out thedoor, closing it just as fast as he could, throwing hisweight against it and thanking God that it was so verydurable---
---and KA-WHAM, the door fought with him as theimpact fuse went, dirt and shrapnel slamming againstit like a wild beast clawing for entrance. David heldon, only a second's war but a fierce one nonetheless.The thundering boom of the M68 gave way to moansand howls of pain, barely audible over the ringing inhis ears and the screaming of his breathless lungs.
"Cover to the right and head left!" He shouted, andyanked the door open, whipping the H&K from sideto side. The pallid moonlight showed him only threemen, all down, all hurt and screaming and still alivebeyond the veil of his tears.
Kevlar, full-body maybe---
They'd expect a run to the front, to their escapevehicle, so David turned left. He fixed his wet gaze onthe dark fence as Claire and then Rebecca tumbledout behind him, coughing and crying.
"Fence," he said, as loud as he dared, and reachedback for Rebecca, sliding his arm around her waist.They stumbled over one of the fallen men, clutchingat his bleeding face, and managed a shagging run
toward escape, Claire right behind. She sidled quicklyafter them, the M-16 aimed back toward the front ofthe compound.
Good girl, we might make this, over the fence andcircle away from the van, out into the desert---
They ran, closing the distance much faster thanDavid could have hoped, the fence only ten yardsbehind the rear of the building they'd been in, thebuilding he'd chosen because of it; the others angledtoward the front, too much distance, and the firstwould have been too obvious---
---then they were almost to the fence when some-one fired the machine gun from the darkness behindthem, from the cover of the building's other side. Atleast one of the Umbrella team had fought logic andcome around by the unexpected route.
Claire was on it, returning fire, the rapid chatter ofthe two automatics merging into an explosive duo.The invisible shooter was either hit or ducking as thethundering song went solo, Claire peppering the dark-ness with the .223s.
Rebecca will need help.
"Claire! Up and over!" David shouted, reachingout for the M-16. She let it go and turned, scaling thefence easily.
"Rebecca, go!" David pulled the trigger and held it,spraying bullets across the cold night, hearing returnfire from seemingly everywhere at once, three, maybefour shooters---
---and there was a cry from behind him, fromRebecca, only halfway up the metal grid. A few dropsof warmth spattered across David's face and he
stopped firing, jumping to catch her before she couldlet go.
"Got it!" Claire shouted from the other side, andshe fired through the mesh, the nine-millimeterrounds pounding and loud, David's pulse even loud-er. Rebecca was pale, panting harshly, obviously inpain---but she managed to hang on to the fence, evento climb a little as David straddled the fence andlifted her up.
He half-carried her over the top, and as soon asClaire reached up to help, David turned and firedagain at the oncoming attackers, still hidden in theshadows, his fury drying the last of the chemical tears.
Bloody bastards, she's still just a girl---
The M-16 went dry and he jumped, then Rebeccawas between them, leaning heavily on David's shoul-der, and they were staggering out into the freezingdesert night.
thirteen
WITHIN MINUTES OF THE ATTACK, LEONcould see that Cole was in no shape to lead. TheUmbrella worker was stumbling blind, headed onlyvaguely in the direction they needed to go and morefrom happenstance than by design.
And now that we know they can attack from theground... he and John didn't both need to be watch-ing the skies, so to speak.
"Henry---why don't you let me take over as guidefor a few minutes?" Leon asked, glancing back atJohn. John nodded, not looking all that hot himself;he seemed extremely tight, his gaze darting rapidlyback and forth, his hands tight on the M-16.
Maybe he's thinking about the others. About thembeing "taken."
"Yeah, okay, that'd be---okay," Cole nodded, hisrelief all too apparent. He wiped at his sweaty brown
hair and hurried to get behind Leon, John still inback.
Leon was nervous, but not nearly as frightened ashe had been, at least not for the three of them. Thebirds, Dacs, were unpleasant and dangerous, but itwas a relief to have seen them; they weren't as terribleas his imagination had led him to believe uponhearing those first savage cries. Monsters from themind were always worse than the real thing, and theDacs weren't even all that durable. As long he andJohn were on their guard, they should make it okay.
They were headed due south, so Leon angled themagain, realizing that he was starting to catch glimpsesof what might be the far wall. The setup was disori-enting; the trees were not all that close together, butwere scattered so that the woods seemed dense whenyou looked across it; the thick ground cover, somekind of molded plastic, didn't move underfoot, butthere were slopes and rises in the material that madeit even harder to get a feel for the size of the chamber.
This is so weird, so over the top---so utterly likeUmbrella.
It was like the vast laboratory facility beneathRaccoon, complete with its own foundry and privatesubway---unbelievable, except he'd seen it himself.And he knew from the ex-S.T.A.R.S. that there'd alsobeen an isolated cove on the Maine coast guarded byteams of viral zombies, and a "deserted" mansion inthe woods, the Spencer place---that one had beenrigged with secrets, keys, codes, and passages, like thesetting for a spy movie that no one would ever buy.
Now this---simulated environments beneath the
barren Utah salt flats. What had Reston called it? ThePlanet. It was an extravagant, decadent, immoralwaste; ridiculous, except---
---except we're stuck in it, and God only knows whatwe'll be up against next.
Leon kept moving, trying not to think about whatClaire and the others might be going through. Restonhad obviously assumed that the rest of the team hadbeen nabbed, but he didn't know. He also didn't knowhow resourceful Claire and Rebecca were, or howbrilliant David was as a strategist. They'd all slippedaway from Umbrella before, and there was no reasonto think that they wouldn't do it again.
Leon was so intent on the private pep-talk that hedidn't see the clearing until they were practically ontop of it, less than twenty feet away. He stopped,remembering the last attack---and chided himself fornot paying attention.
"Let's back up and go around," he said---and thenhe heard the beat of wings, and knew it was alreadytoo late. In the wilted shadows above the open space,one, two, three of them were diving off perches,soaring down into the rounded clearing.
Shit!
One of them started to screech and then there wereothers nearby, overhead, hiding in the unlikely trees,who joined in the song, a deafening, horrendouscacophony of needle-sharp sound. Leon fell back,John suddenly at his side, aiming his rifle into theopen space.
The first flew at the trees, twisting sideways as if tofly between them. It pulled up at the last second, soquickly that they didn't get off a shot. As it soared up,
Leon saw two on the ground, dragging their sinewybodies eagerly forward on folded wings.
The noise! It was painful, as shrill and terrible as athousand screaming infants, and Leon felt the nine-millimeter fire more than he heard it, the heavy metaljumping in his hands. The birds fell silent as thecloser of the two took the shot in its curving throat. Aragged hole blew open just above its narrow chest,flaps of gray-brown skin blossoming out like somedark flower. Thin blood gushed from the wound, butthe second was already climbing over its spasmingbody, single-minded in its attack. Leon took aimand---
"Hey hey oh shit--- "
Cole's hysterical cry distracted him, the shot jerk-ing right, missing. John opened up on the second Dae,the clatter of automatic fire tearing into the animal.Leon spun and saw Cole stumbling backwards, anoth-er of the vicious birds lunging toward him.
How'd it get past us?
Leon aimed, the Dae no more than five feet awayfrom Cole, and even as he pulled the trigger anotherof the creatures was swooping down from directlyoverhead. At such close range the nine-millimeterround punctured the bird's chest and blew a fist-sizedhole out its low back, the Dae dead before it crumpledto the ground. The newcomer gave one mighty flap,the tips of its huge wings brushing the floor, and flewback up and away.
"Henry, get behind me!" Leon shouted, glancingup---and seeing yet another Dae coming down from aseries of perches directly above, tucking its wings inand diving straight for him.
He needed help. "John ... !"
The diving bird spread its leathery wings only a fewfeet from the floor and touched down, surprisinglygraceful in its landing. It turned toward Leon andlurched forward. Behind him, he heard the spatter ofbullets---and heard it stop, heard John cursing, heardthe M-16s aluminum alloy body clatter to the ground.
The Dae in front of Leon opened its long beak andsquawked, a burst of angry, hungry sound, sidlingforward on its bent wings as fast as Leon could backaway. The creature was weaving back and forth andLeon didn't have enough ammo to waste, he had toget a clear shot---
---and it jumped, a strange, sudden hop that put itonly a foot away. With another shrill screech, itbobbed its head forward, its open beak closing on hisankle. Even through the thick boot leather, he couldfeel the pegs of its teeth, feel the power in its jaws---
---and before he could fire, John was there, he wasstamping down on the Dac's snaking neck and point-ing his handgun---
---and bam, the round snapped its spine, a verte-bral knob on its sleek back exploding, shards of palebone and runny blood spraying outward. It let go ofhis ankle, and though its neck continued to twist itsbody was still, bleeding and still.
How many, how many left---
"Come on," John called, scooping up the rifle andturning to run. "Get to the door, we have to get to thedoor!"
They ran. Through the clearing, Cole right behind,the beat of wings behind them, another shrill voicecrying into the air. Back into the trees, the lifeless
woods, stumbling over branches and veering aroundthe gnarled plastic trunks.
The wall, there's the wall!
And there was the door, a double-wide metal hatch,a deadbolt set low at the right side---
---and Leon heard the terrible screech in his ear,inches away, and felt the gust of air across the back ofhis neck---
---and he let his legs give, collapsing to the ground,and felt sudden pain as something snatched a chunkof hair and ripped it from his scalp, from the back ofhis head.
"Look out!" Leon screamed, looking up to see themassive bird swooping in on John, almost to the door,Cole beside him.
John turned, not a flinch, not a backward stumble.He raised the handgun and pulled the trigger, a deadshot, and the Dae dropped as if made of lead, its tinybrain suddenly liquid, blowing up and out.
Cole was fumbling with the door, John still aimingover Leon's head, and Leon heard another onescreaming as if in a fury, somewhere behind---
---and the door was open---Leon ran, John cover-ing him as he stumbled after Cole, out of the cool,dark woods and into a blinding heat. John was rightbehind him, slamming the hatch closed---
---and they were in Phase Two.
Rebecca was running, out of breath and exhaustedand unable to stop, to rest. David and Claire wererunning with her, holding her up, but she still felt thateach step was an effort of pure will; her muscles didn'twant to cooperate, and she was disoriented, her
equilibrium a mess, her ears ringing. She was hurt,and she didn't know how bad---only that she'd beenshot, that she'd hit her head at some point, and thatthey couldn't stop until they were well away from thecompound.
It was dark, too dark to see where the ground was,and cold; each breath was an iced dagger in her throatand lungs. Her thoughts were muddled, but she knewthat she'd suffered some brain dysfunction, she wasn'tsure what exactly; as she staggered along, the possibil-ities haunted her. The bullet was easier; she knew bythe hot and throbbing pain where it had gone. It hurtterribly, but she didn't think she had a fracture and itwasn't gushing; she was much more concerned aboutthe loss of coherency.
Shot through left gluteal, lodged in ischium, luckylucky lucky. . . shock or concussion? Concussion orshock?
She needed to stop, take a temporal pulse, checkher ears for blood ... or for CSF, which was some-thing she didn't even want to think about. Even in herconfused state, she knew that bleeding cerebrospinalfluid was about the worst outcome for a blow to thehead.
After what seemed like a very long time, and moretwists and changes in direction than she could count,David slowed, telling Claire to slow down, and thatthey were going to sit Rebecca on the ground.
"On my side," Rebecca panted, "bullet's on theleft."
Carefully, David and Claire lowered her down tothe cold flat earth, gasping, catching their breath, andRebecca thought she'd never been more glad to lie
down. She caught just a glimpse of the black sky asDavid rolled her over: the stars were amazing, clearand ice against the deep black sea ...
"Flashlight," she said, realizing again how strangeher thoughts had become. "Gotta check."
"Are we far enough?" Claire asked, and it tookRebecca a moment to understand that she was talkingto David.
Oh, crap this is not good. . .
"Should be. And we'll see them coming." Davidsaid shortly, and he turned on his flashlight, the beamhitting the ground a few inches in front of Rebecca'sface.
"Rebecca, what can we do?" He asked, and sheheard the worry in his voice and loved him for it.They were like family, had been ever since the cove,he was a good friend and a good man . . .
"Rebecca?" This time, he sounded afraid.
"Yeah, sorry," she said, wondering how to explainwhat she was feeling, what was happening. She de-cided it would be best to just start talking and letthem figure it out.
"Look at my ear," she said. "Look for blood orclear fluid, I think I've had a concussion. I can't seemto gather my thoughts. Other ear, too. I was shot and Ithink the bullet lodged in my ischium. Pelvis. Lucky,lucky. Shouldn't be bleeding much, I can disinfect it,wrap it if you'll hand me my pack. There's gauze andthat's good, though, the bullet could've snapped myspine or gone low, chewed through my femoral artery.Lot of blood, that's bad, and me the only medic beinghurt---"
As she spoke, David shone the light across her face,
then gently lifted and checked the other side beforeresting her head in his lap. His legs were warm, themuscles twitching from exertion.
"A little blood in your left ear," he said. "Claire,take off Rebecca's pack, if you would. Rebecca, youdon't have to speak anymore, we'll fix you right up;try to rest, if you can."
No CSF, thank God. . .
She wanted to close her eyes, to sleep, but sheneeded to finish telling them everything. "Concussionsounds minor, explains displacement, tinnitus, lackof equilibrium---may only be a couple hours, maybeweeks. Shouldn't be too bad, shouldn't move though.Bed rest. Find my temporal pulse, side of my fore-head. If you can't, I could be in shock---warmth,elevation. ..."
She took a breath, and realized that the darknesswasn't just outside anymore. She was tired, very, verytired, and a kind of hazy blackness was encroachingon her vision.
That's everything, told them everything---
John. Leon.
"John and Leon," she said, horrified that she'dforgotten for even a moment, struggling to sit up. Therealization was like a slap in the face. "I can walk, I'mokay, we have to go back---"
David barely touched her and somehow, her headwas in his lap again. Then Claire was lifting the backof her shirt, dabbing at her hip, sending fresh waves ofpain coursing through her. She squeezed her eyesclosed, trying to breathe deeply, trying to breathe atall.
"We will go back," David said, and his voice
seemed to be coming from far away, from the top of awell that she was falling down. "But we have to waitfor the helicopter to leave, assuming that it will---andyou'll need time to recover. . .."
If he said anything else, Rebecca didn't hear it.Instead, she slept, and dreamed that she was a child,playing in the cold, cold snow.
Desert!
There weren't any animals in sight, they had to beon the other side of the dune, but Cole thought heknew which ones belonged to Phase Two. Before Johnor Leon could get even a step away, before Cole's earshad stopped ringing from the Dacs' terrible cries, hestarted babbling at them.
"Desert, Phase Two is a desert so it must be theScorps, scorpions, see?"
John was pulling a curved magazine from his hippack, scowling into the artificial sunlight that beatdown from above. It had to be at least a hundreddegrees in the room, and between the white walls andglaring light it felt a lot hotter. Leon scanned theshining sands in front of them, then turned to Cole,looking as though he'd just eaten something sour.
"Wonderful, that's just great. 'Scorps'? Scorps andDacs ... what are the other ones, Henry, do youremember?"
For a single second, Cole's mind went blank. Henodded, wracking his brain, all of the sweat on hisbody already evaporated in the bone dry heat.
"Uh---they're, they're nicknames, Dacs,Scorps. . . Hunters! Hunters and Spitters, the han-dlers all had these nicknames---"
"Cute. Like Fluffy, or Sweet Pea," John inter-rupted, wiping his brow with the back of one hand."So where are they?"
All three of them looked across Phase Two, at themassive sand dune that towered in the middle of theroom, glittering beneath the giant grid of sunlampsoverhead. Twenty-five, thirty feet high, it blockedtheir view of the southern wall, including the door inthe far right corner. There was nothing else to see.
Cole shook his head, but he wasn't telling themanything; the Scorps were elsewhere, and they'd haveto cross the bright and burning sand dune to get to theexit.
"What were the other phases, mountain and city?Have you seen them?" Leon asked.
"Three is like a, whadayacallit, a chasm, on a peak.Like a mountain gorge, kind of, real rocky. And Fouris a city---a few square blocks of one, anyway. I had tocheck the video feeds in all of the phases when I firstgot here."
John looked up and around, squinting against theharsh light. "That's right, video ... do you remem-ber where they are? The cameras?"
Why would he want to know that? Cole pointed left,at the small glass eye embedded in the white wallsome ten feet up. "There are five in here; that's theclosest. .."
With a huge grin, John held up both hands andextended his middle fingers to the lens. "Bite it,Reston," he said loudly, and Cole decided that heliked John, a lot. Leon too, for that matter, and notjust because they were the only ticket out. Whatevertheir motivations, they were obviously on the right
side of things; and the fact that they could still joke ata time like this. . . .
"So, we got a plan?" Leon asked, still looking at thewall of yellow-white sand looming in front of them.
"Head that way," John said, pointing right, "andthen climb. If we see something, shoot it."
"Brilliant, John. You should write these down. Youknow, I---"
Leon broke off suddenly, and then Cole heard it. Achattering sound. A sound like nails being tapped onhollow wood, the sound he'd heard when he wasfixing one of the cameras only last week.
A sound like claws, opening and closing. Like man-dibles, clicking. . . .
"Scorps," John said softly. "Aren't scorpions sup-posed to be nocturnal?"
"This is Umbrella, remember?" Leon said. "Youhave two grenades, I've got one. ..."
John nodded, then said, "You know how to work asemiautomatic?"
The big soldier was watching the dune, so it tookCole a second to realize he was talking to him.
"Oh. Yeah. I haven't ever used one, but I wenttarget shooting a couple of times with my brother, sixor seven years ago. . . ." He kept his voice low as theydid, listening for that strange sound.
John looked directly at him, as if sizing him up---then nodded, and pulled a heavy-looking handgun outof his hip holster. He handed it to Cole, butt first.
"It's a nine-millimeter, holds eighteen. I got moreclips if you run out. You know all the gun safety rules?Don't point it at anyone unless you mean to kill, don'tshoot me or Leon, all that stuff?"
Cole nodded, taking the gun, and it was heavy---and although he was still more scared than he'd everbeen in all his thirty-four years, the solid weight of itin his hand was an incredible relief. Rememberingwhat his little brother had told him about safety, hefumbled through checking to see if it was loadedbefore looking at John again.
"Thank you," he said, and meant it. He'd luredthese two guys into a trap, and they were giving him agun; giving him a chance.
"Forget it. Means we won't have to worry aboutcovering your ass on top of ours," John said, but hewore a slight smile. "Come on, let's move out."
John in the lead and Leon behind him, they startedeast, walking slowly through the changeless environ-ment. The sand was really sand; it shifted underfoot,and with the blasting heat, it made for a real workout.
They'd only gone a short distance when Leon calledfor a halt.
"Thermal underwear," he muttered, bolstering hishandgun before pulling off his black sweatshirt andtying it around his waist. He wore a thick, texturedwhite shirt underneath. "I didn't realize we'd behitting the Sahara---"
They all heard it, only a second before they saw it---before they saw them, three of them, lining up at thetop of the dune. Tiny rivers of sand trickled downfrom beneath their multiple legs, each as thick andstocky as a sawed-off baseball bat. They had claws,giant pincing claws that were narrow and black,serrated on the inside, and long, segmented bodiesthat dwindled to tails, curling up and over their
backs---and tipped with stingers. Wicked, drippingstingers at least a foot long.
The trio of sand-colored creatures, each five or sixfeet long, maybe three feet high, started to chatter---the slender, pointed, tusk-like projections beneath therounded arachnid eyes tapped against one another,beating out the strange tattoo of clicks that they'dheard before---
---and then all three of the creatures, the monsters,were sliding down toward them, perfectly balanced,scuttling through the moving sands with ease.
And at the top of the dune, another three appeared.
FOURTEEN
"SHIT," JOHN BREATHED, NOT EVEN AWAREthat he'd spoken as he raised the M-16 and open-ed up.
---bambambambam---
---and the first of the scorpion-things let out astrange, dry, hissing sound, like air being let out of agiant tire, as the bullets hammered into its curledbody. A thick white fluid burst from the wounds thathad opened in its insectile face, a face of droolingtusks and spider's eyes, a face with a black shapelesshole for a mouth. Writhing, claws raised, it fell on itsside and twisted wildly, digging its own shallow gravein the hot sand.
Leon and Cole were both shooting, the thunder ofthe nine-millimeter drowning out any more hissing,producing even more of the pus-like blood in thesecond and third of the Scorps. The white liquid
spewed out in glurts, like puke, but there were threemore of the creatures coming down---
---and the first one, the one that John had drilledfull of holes, was getting up. Getting up unsteadily,but getting up all the same. The openings were oozingwith that viscous white goo---and even as it took itsfirst step toward them, John saw that the liquid washardening. Plugging the wounds as efficiently as plas-ter filled a hole in a wall.
"Go go go!" John shouted as the other two crea-tures, taken down by Leon and Cole, started to move,their wounds already scabbing over. The secondthreesome was halfway down the dune and closingfast.
Gotta get out.
There were still two more "environments," andthey'd already blown at least a third of their ammo;this ran through John's mind in the split-second ittook him to spray the Scorps with a hail of bullets, asLeon and Cole ran east.
He didn't even try to take any of the six down, heknew it wouldn't make a difference. The line ofexplosive rounds was to hold them back until theother two men were clear, his mind grasping for asolution as the impossible animals waved their jaggedclaws, scrabbling against the shifting sands and spurt-ing more of their bizarre epoxy.
---grenade but how do I get them all, how do weavoid taking shrapnel---
The closest of the Scorps was perhaps a dozen feetin front of him when he turned and ran, moving asfast as he could through the blazing heat, his adrenaline up and raging. Leon and Cole were fifty metersahead, stumbling through the sand, Leon runningsideways---watching front and back, sweeping withhis semi.
John risked a glance back, saw that the scorpioncreatures were still coming. Slower than before butnot faltering, their waspish bodies dripping white,their bizarre elongated claws raised and snapping.They were gaining speed, too, faster with each skitter-ing step, a pack of undead bugs looking for lunch---
---pack, in a pack---
They might not have a better chance. John droppedthe rifle, the sling hanging awkwardly around hisneck, and jammed one hand into his pack, stillmanaging a decent run. He came up with one of thegrenades, jerked the pin free, and turned, backing upin a shambling jog. He tried to evaluate the distance,the M68's process running through his frenzied mind,the Scorps sixty, seventy feet behind.
---impact fuse, armed two seconds after it hits, six-second backup---
"Grenade!" He screamed, and threw the roundcanister up, praying that he'd judged it right as heturned and lunged, the grenade still ascending as hedove into the side of the sand dune.
John swam into it, pushing with all his considerablemuscle, burrowing into the hot grit blind and breath-less. The sand was cooler underneath, waves of theunpacked stuff pouring across his face, trying to forceits way into his nose and mouth, but he couldn't thinkof anything except pulling his legs in---and what theblast-projected slivers of metal could do to humanflesh.
One final, desperate kick and------KA-WHAM---
---there was a huge shift all around him, an incredi-ble pressure slamming into him and into the movingwall he was embedded in. He felt the weight on top ofhim press down, forcing the air out of him, and it tookall he had to force one hand up to his face, to cup itover his mouth. Breathing shallowly, he startedworming his way back out, wriggling and kicking.
Leon, did they get down in time, did it work---
He fought against the still sliding currents of pol-ished granules, taking one more breath before usingboth hands to swipe at the heavy sands. In a fewseconds he was out, rivulets of grit streaming off ofhim, his irritated eyes watering. He wiped at themone handed, raising the M-16, looking first at thethreat---
---which wasn't a threat anymore. The grenademust have landed right in front of them; of the sixmutant scorpions that had been pursuing them, fourwere in pieces. John saw a still-twitching claw lyingacross the sand in a puddle of white, a tail with stingerstill attached sticking out of the side of the dune, a leg,another leg; the rest was unrecognizable, great hunksof wet mush splattered in a rough semi-circle.
The two Scorps at the rear of the pack were stillwhole, but were definitely not going to get up again;the bodies were intact, but the eyes and mouth, thestrange mandibles, the faces were gone.
Blown all to shit, in fact. No amount of white goop inthe world's gonna plug that up. . . .
"John!"
He turned, saw Leon and Cole striding back toward
him, expressions of amazement on both their faces.John allowed himself a brief moment of completelyunchecked pride, watching them approach; he'd beenbrilliant---timing, aim, everything.
Ah, well. The true soldier takes no accolades for a jobwell done; it's enough that he knows it. . . .
By the time they reached him, he'd managed to getover himself; thinking about their situation wasenough. They were in a psycho testing ground beingput through their paces by an Umbrella madman;their team was split up, they had limited ammo, andthere was no clear way out of it.
Pretty much, you're screwed. Patting yourself on theback is kinda like giving aspirin to a dead guy;pointless.
Still, seeing the faint hope on the other men'sflushed and sweating faces ... hope could be mis-guided, but it was rarely a bad thing.
"There could still be more of them," he said,wiping sand off of the M-16. "Let's get out of here---"
---clickclickclick---
That sound. All of them froze, staring at each other.It wasn't close, but somewhere over the dune, therewas at least one more Scorp.
David had spotted a moving light, maybe a quartermile southwest of their position, but it had come nocloser; if it wasn't for the cold, Claire thought shemight feel relieved. The chances of anyone findingthem in the endless miles of dark were somewherenear zero; the Umbrella guys had blown it. Even withthe helicopter's searchlight---which they apparently
weren't going to use---it'd be pure luck if they ranacross the three of them . . .
. . . although maybe it'd be lucky for us. Maybethey'd have blankets and coffee, hot chocolate, spicedcider . . .
"How are you, Claire?"
She made an effort to keep her teeth from chatter-ing, but it failed. It had been at least an hour,probably more. "Pretty goddamn cold, David, andyourself?"
"Same. Good thing we dressed warm, eh?"
If it was a joke, she wasn't laughing. Claire snuggledcloser to Rebecca, wondering when she'd lose allfeeling in her limbs; as it was, her hands were numband her face felt like it was freezing into a mask, inspite of near-constant changes of position. David wason Rebecca's other side, the three of them huddledtogether as tightly as was humanly possible, spoonfashion. Rebecca hadn't woke up, but her breathingwas slow and even; she was resting comfortably, atleast.
That's one ofus...
"Shouldn't be much longer," David said. "Twenty,perhaps twenty-five minutes. They'll post a man ortwo, then go."
"Yeah, so you said," Claire said. "How do youfigure the time, though?" Her lips felt like popsicles.
"Perimeter search, perhaps a quarter-mile'round---assuming they have six or less men still able-bodied, I'm estimating four---"
"Why?"
David's voice shook with the cold. "Three sent to
the back door of the building, two men down inside---and from the sounds, I'd say there were three to sevenat the front. Eight or twelve men; any more, and theywouldn't have all fit in the helicopter. Any less, theywouldn't have been able to cover both entrances."
Claire was impressed. "So, why twenty to twenty-five minutes?"
"As I said, they'll cover a certain distance all theway around the compound before they give us up. Thesize of the compound, tack on a quarter-to a half-mile, and how long it takes an average man to walk afourth of that distance. We saw that light perhaps anhour ago, and since they most likely would have eachtaken a direction and searched that single seg-ment ... well, twenty to twenty-five minutes. That'sincluding the time it would take to look through thevan, as well. That's my guess, for what it's worth."
Claire felt her frozen lips attempting a smile."You're bullshitting, aren't you? Making it up."
David sounded shocked. "I am not. I've gone overit several times and I think---"
"I'm kidding," Claire said. "Really."
A short silence, and then David chuckled, the lowsound carrying easily through the cold dark. "Ofcourse you are. Sorry. I think the temperature hasaffected my sense of humor."
Claire alternated her hands, slipping the right oneout from beneath Rebecca's hip and sliding the leftone under. "No, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have inter-rupted. Go on, this is really interesting."
"Not much else to say," David said, and she heardthe soft, rapid chatter of his teeth. "They'll want toget medical attention for their wounded, and I doubt
Umbrella wants one of their helicopters to be seenflying around the salt flats by the light of day; they'llleave a guard behind and go."
She heard him shifting, felt Rebecca's body move ashe altered his own position. "Anyway, that's whenwe'll move. Back to the compound first, a bit ofsabotage---and then we'll just see what turns up...."
The way his voice trailed off, the forced goodhumor in his tone that barely covered the despera-tion---both told her exactly what he was thinking.
What we've both been thinking.
"And Rebecca?" She asked gently. They couldn'tleave her, she'd freeze, and trying to infiltrate thecompound again, trying to take out a couple of armedmen while carrying an unconscious woman ...
"I don't know," David said. "Before she---she saidthat she might recover within hours, given rest."
Claire didn't respond. Stating the obvious wouldn'thelp anything.
They fell silent, Claire listening to Rebecca's softbreathing, thinking about Chris. David's affection forRebecca was plain; it was like the love between afather and daughter. Or brother and sister. Thinkingabout him was one way to pass the time, anyway.
What are you doing right now, Chris? Trent said youwere safe, but for how long? God, I wish you'd neverbeen assigned to that Spencer place. Or Raccoon, forthat matter. Fighting for truth and justice pretty mucheats it, big brother. ...
"Not falling asleep, are you?" David asked. He'dasked her that every time they stopped talking formore than a minute.
"No, thinking about Chris," she said. Forming the
words was a chore, but she figured it was better thanletting her mouth freeze shut. "And I bet you'restarting to wish we'd gone to Europe after all."
"I do," Rebecca said weakly. "Hate thisweather. . . ."
Rebecca!
Claire grinned, not really able to feel it and notcaring. She hugged the girl as David sat up, diggingfor the flashlight---and though she was freezing,though they were cut off from their friends, cut offfrom escape and facing uncertain odds, Claire felt likethings were definitely starting to look up.
The call came just after John blew up six of theArl2s.
Reston had been wishing for popcorn up until then;the Scorps' defense systems were working just as theprojected numbers had suggested, the exo damagerepairing even faster than they'd hoped. What theyhadn't counted on was how very fragile the connectivetissue between the arachnid segments actually was.
One grenade. One goddamn grenade.
The desire for popcorn was as dead as the Arl2s.There were still two left, scuttling around in thesouthwest corner, but Reston no longer had muchfaith in the 12s---and although that was importantinformation, he wasn't so certain that Jackson wouldbe pleased with him for obtaining it.
He'll want to know why I didn't take away theirexplosives first. Why I released all of the specimens.Why I didn't call Sidney, at least, for counsel. And noanswer I give will be sufficient....
When the cell phone rang, Reston jumped in his
chair, suddenly certain that it was Jackson. Thatridiculous notion was gone by the time he picked upthe phone, but it had given him pause---and madehim quite glad that his test subjects wouldn't surviveThree.
"Reston."
"Mr. Reston---this is Sergeant Hawkinson, WhiteGround Team One-Seven-Oh---"
"Yes, yes," Reston sighed, watching Cole and thetwo S.T.A.R.S. people regrouping. "What's happen-ing up there?"
"We---" Hawkinson took a deep breath. "Sir, I'msorry to report that there was an altercation with theintruders and they've escaped the premises." He saidit all in a rush, obviously uncomfortable.
"What?" Reston stood up, nearly tipping his chairover. "How? How did this happen?"
"Sir, we had them trapped in the storage building,but there was an explosion, two of my men were shotand three more were critically---"
"I don't want to hear it!" Reston was furious,unable to believe that he had such incompetentsworking for him. "What I want to hear is that you didnot just fail miserably, you did not just let threepeople slip past your 'crack' teams, and that you didnot call to tell me that you can't find them!"
There was a moment of silence at the other end,and Reston just dared this screwup to mouth off, togive him any more reason to make his life a living hell.
Instead, Hawkinson sounded properly contrite. "Ofcourse, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I'm going to fly the helicop-ter back to SLC and bring back some of our newrecruits to extend our search parameters. I'm leaving
my last three men to stand watch, two at the com-pound's east and west, the third at the escape vehicle.I'll be back within---ninety minutes, sir, and we willfind them. Sir."
Reston's lips curled. "See that you do, Sergeant. Ifyou don't, it's your worthless ass."
He flipped the talk switch and tossed the phoneback on the console, at least feeling as though he'ddone something to facilitate the process. A good ball-squeeze worked wonders; Hawkinson would crawlover broken glass to get results, which was exactlyhow it should be.
Reston sat down again, looking at the test subjectsas they slogged their way over the sand dune. Colehad a gun now, and was leading them toward theconnecting door. Reston wondered if John or Red hadany idea how useless Cole was. Probably not, if they'dgiven him a weapon....
When they hit the top of the dune and started downthe other side, the two Scorps finally moved in. Inspite of his earlier resolve, Reston watched closely,holding on to a shred of hope---that it would endthere, that the men would be stopped. It wasn't thathe had any doubt about the Ca6s in Three, theycertainly wouldn't survive those. . .
... but what if they do, hmm? What if they do, andthey make it to Four, and they find a way out? Whatwill you tell Jackson, what will you tell your guidedtour when there aren't any specimens left to observe?Then it will be your ass, won't it?
Reston ignored the whispery little voice, concen-trating on the screen instead. Both Scorps were going
in fast, claws and stingers up, their lithe, insectilebodies set to attack---
---and all three men were firing, a silent battle, the12s dodging and feinting, then falling beneath thestream of bullets. Reston's hands were in fists, thoughhe didn't notice; his attention was entirely on the twodowned Scorps, waiting to see if they'd be ready toattack again before the men reached the door---
---except John and Red were moving toward theanimals, pointing their weapons---
---and shooting out the eyes. They did it quicklyand efficiently, and although both Scorps were mov-ing again as they headed for the door, the blindcreatures could only flail about in the sand. One ofthem managed to find a target; with a limber curl, itdrove its extraordinarily toxic sting into the othersback. The poisoned 12 whipped around and stabbedthe first through the abdomen with one jagged claw,impaling it; it writhed weakly, alive but unable tomove or see---bound, dying, to its dead brother.
Reston shook his head slowly, disgusted at thewasted time and money, at the millions of dollars andthe man-hours that had gone into developing theinhabitants of phases One and Two.
And Jackson will want that information. Once thetest subjects are dead and their friends caught, I'll beable to put the right spin on things; with some of ourbackers coming in, such a poor performance from our"prize" specimens could be costly. Better to knownow. . . .
Yes, he'd be able to pull it off. Now Red wasunlocking the connecting door that would lead them
into Three; unless they had a case of grenades, theywould be dead in minutes.
Reston took a deep breath, remembering who wasin control, who was calling the shots here. Hawkinsonwould handle the surface situation, Jackson wouldbe pleased, the three musketeers were about to beblinded, trampled, and eaten. There was nothing toworry about.
Reston exhaled heavily, managing a somewhat un-easy grin and forcing himself to relax into his chair,dialing up the screens that would show him the Ca6habitat.
"Say good-bye," he said, and poured himself an-other brandy.
FIFTEEN
FROM THE TERRIBLE, BAKING HEAT OF THEblinding scorpion desert, they stepped into the coldshade of a mountain peak. They stayed by the door,surveying their newest crucible, Leon wondering ifthey'd be facing Hunters or Spitters in this very grayroom.
Gray the rock-studded, sharply angled mountain ofstone that loomed in front of them. Gray also thewalls and ceiling, and the winding path that snakedwest, bordering the "mountaintop." Even the scrubbygrasses in and around the misshapen boulders weregray. The mountain looked real enough, rough-hewnchunks of granite mixed into cement, dyed to matchand sculpted into crags. The overall effect was of alonely, windswept ridge high on a barren mountain.
Except there's no wind---and no smell. Just like theother two, no smell at all.
"Might want to put your shirt back on," John said,
but Leon was already untying it from his waist. Thetemperature had dropped at least sixty degrees, al-ready freezing the sweat he'd worked up from PhaseTwo.
"So where do we go?" Cole asked, his eyes wide andnervous.
John pointed diagonally across the room, south-west. "How 'bout the door?"
"I think he meant which way," Leon said. He kepthis voice pitched low, just as the others did. No pointin alerting the inhabitants to their position; they'dprobably be interacting soon enough.
The three of them examined their options, all twoof them: take the gray path or climb the gray moun-tain.
Hunters or Spitters . . . Leon sighed inwardly, hisstomach knotted, already dreading whatever camenext. If they made it out, if they found Reston, he wasgoing to give old Mr. Blue a solid ass-kicking. It wentagainst the belief system that had led him to be a cop,but then, so did White Umbrella's very existence.
"From a defensive standpoint, I'd say trail," Johnsaid, looking up at the rough surface of the slope. "Wecould get trapped if we head up."
"There's a bridge, I think," Cole said. "I only didone of the cameras in here, that one---"
He pointed up and right, into the corner. Leoncouldn't even see it---the walls were fifty feet high,and their monotone color blended into the ceiling. Itcreated a kind of optical illusion, making the roomseem endlessly vast.
"---and I was on a ladder, I could see over, kind
of," Cole continued. "There's a gorge on the otherside, and one of those rope bridges going across."
Leon opened his pack while Cole was talking,assessing his ammo situation. "How's the M-16?"
"Maybe fifteen left in this one," John answered,patting the curved mag. "Two more full, thirtyeach . . . two clips for the H&K, and one more gre-nade. You?"
"Seven rounds left, three clips, one grenade. Henry,have you been counting?"
The Umbrella worker nodded. "I think---five shots,I fired five times."
He looked as though he wanted to say somethingelse, glancing back and forth between Leon and John,finally staring down at his dirty workboots. Johnlooked at Leon, who shrugged; they didn't reallyknow anything about Henry Cole, except that hedidn't belong there any more than they did.
"Listen ... I know this isn't really the time orplace, but I just want to tell you guys that I'm sorry. Imean, I knew something was weird about all this.About Umbrella. And I knew Reston was a seriousasshole, and if I hadn't been so greedy or so stupid, Inever would have got you into this."
"Henry," Leon said. "You didn't know, okay? Andbelieve me, you're not the first to be duped---"
"No doubt," John interrupted. "Seriously. Thesuits are the problem here, not guys like you."
Cole didn't look up, but he nodded, his thin shoul-ders slumping as if in relief. John handed him anotherclip, nodding toward the path as Cole tucked it intohis back pocket.
"Let's hit it," John said, talking to both of them butaddressing Cole. Leon could hear it in his deep voice,a note of encouragement that suggested he was start-ing to like the Umbrella worker. "Worse comes toworst, we can retreat to Two. Stick close, keep quiet,and try to shoot for the head or eyes---assuming theyhave eyes."
Cole smiled faintly.
"I'll bring it up," Leon said, and John noddedbefore stepping away from the hatch and turning left.The chilled air was as quiet as it had been since they'dcome into the room, no sounds but their own. Leonbrought up the rear, Cole walking slowly in front ofhim.
The path was grooved, as if someone had run a rakethrough the cement before it was dry. With the"peak" to their right, the trail extended about seventyfeet and then turned sharply south, disappearingbehind the craggy hill.
They'd gone about fifty feet when Leon heard thetrickle of rock behind them. Loose gravel falling downthe slope.
He turned, surprised, and saw the animal near thetop of the peak, thirty feet up. Saw it and wasn't surewhat he was seeing, except that it was walking,skipping down the hill on four sturdy legs, like amountain goat.
Like a skinned goat. Like---like---
Like nothing he'd ever seen, and it was almost tothe ground when they heard a wet, rattling sounderupt from somewhere ahead of them, the sound of asnot-clogged throat being cleared, or a dog growlingthrough a mouthful of blood---and they were trapped,
cut off from escape, the terrible sounds coming to-ward them from both sides.
Getting back into the compound was remarkablyeasy. Rebecca needed help getting over the fence, butwith each passing minute, she seemed to be improv-ing, her balance and coordination sharpening. Davidwas more relieved than he cared to admit, and almostas pleased with Umbrella's guard, or lack thereof.Three men, two at the fence and another at the van; itwas pathetic.
They'd started back as soon as the helicopter hadlifted and headed south, stretching frozen muscles asthey moved silently through the dark. When they'dcome within a few hundred yards, David had left theothers for a quick recon, then come back and ledthe two shivering women over the fence and into thecompound. Before they could take out the watchmen,David knew they needed to get to a safe place out ofthe cold, to go over their procedure and better assessRebecca's condition; he chose the most obvious of thebuildings, the middle structure. It boasted two satel-lite dishes and a series of antennae, plus a shieldedconduit running down one side. If he was right, if itwas a communications relay, it was exactly wherethey wanted to be.
And if I'm wrong, there are two others to check; onewill be a generator room, it's bound to have some sortof climate control. I can leave them there and do thesabotage work solo. . . .
They'd scaled the fence from the south, Davidamazed at how poorly Umbrella had planned for theirre-entry. The two men covering the perimeter were
stationed at the front and back, as if there was nochance that anyone would enter from another direc-tion. As soon as they were inside, David led them tothe far side of the last building in line, then motionedfor a huddle,
"Middle building," he whispered. "Should be un-locked, if it's what I think it is. The lights will be on,though. I'll go inside, then signal for you to follow; ifyou hear shots, get inside as quick as you can. Stayclose to the buildings and stay low when we cross.Yes?"
Claire and Rebecca both nodded, Rebecca leaningon Claire; other than a limp, she seemed to be doingwell. She'd said she was still dizzy and that her headhurt, but the confused and erratic thoughts that hadso frightened him earlier had apparently passed.
David turned and eased along the wall of thestructure closest to the fence, hugging the shadows,frequently glancing back to be sure both women werekeeping up. They reached the end facing west andslipped around, David first, checking for the westguard's position. It was almost too dark to see, butthere was a density of shadow against the metal meshthat marked him. David raised the M-16 and pointedit at him, prepared to fire if they were seen.
Too bad we can't just shoot him now . . . but a shotwould alert the others, and while David wasn't con-cerned with the fence men, the one posted at the vancould be a problem; he was far enough away that hemight radio before corning in to check.
These two will be easy enough, but how to approachhim? There was no cover if the man at the minispotted them coming---
That could wait; they had work to do before worry-ing about the guards. Crouching, David waved Claireand Rebecca across, the M-16 trained on the shadowyfigure at the fence. He held his breath as they slippedacross the open space, but they managed it withhardly a sound.
As soon as they were across, David followed, hisyears of training allowing him to move as silently as aghost. Once they were cloaked by the building'sshadow, David relaxed a bit, the worst of it over. Theycould cross to the middle building in the thick blackof the corridor between the structures.
In less than a minute, they'd reached the crossingpoint. Nodding at the women to stay back, Davidwent across, stopping at the closed door to theirdestination. He touched the icy metal of the handleand pushed it down, nodding to himself as he heardthe tiny click of the unlocked door.
/f'j communications, then; the team leader wouldhave left it open for the men posted, access to a satelliteuplink in case we returned. A calculated guess, but agood one.
It was time to pray for a bit of luck; if the lights wereon, opening the door would be like a beacon toanyone even glancing in their direction. The guardshad been facing away from the compound when he'dreconned, but that didn't mean much.
A deep breath, and David pushed the door open,registering that the light was low as he slid inside andclosed it behind him. He leaned against the door andcounted ten, then relaxed, inhaling the warm airthankfully as he studied the interior. The warehouse-type structure had apparently been divided into
rooms---and the one he'd stepped into was packedwith computer equipment, thick cables trailing acrossthe floor and up the walls, dish connectors . . .
. . . everything that links this facility to the worldoutside. . . .
David hit the wall switch, turning off the singleceiling light, and grinning, opened the door forRebecca and Claire to join him.
"Back against the wall!" Leon shouted, and Coledid it before he even knew why. The phlegmy rattlingsounds seemed to be coming from somewhereahead---
---and then he saw the creature coming slowlytoward them from behind, making it impossible toretreat, and barely held back a scream. It stoppedfifteen or twenty feet away, and Cole still couldn'tseem to get a good look; it was just too bizarre.
Oh, Jesus, what is it?
It was four-legged, with split hooves, like a ram orgoat, and was about the same size---but there was nofur, no horns, nothing else that even remotely resem-bled a natural development. Its slender body wascoated with tiny reddish-brown scales, like a snake'sskin, but dull instead of shiny; at first glance, it lookedlike it was covered in dried blood. Its head wassomehow amphibian, like a frog's---an earless flatface, small dark eyes that bulged out at the sides, atoo-wide mouth---except there were pointed teethsticking up from a protruding lower jaw, a bulldog'sjaw, its head also covered in the dried-blood scales.
The thing opened its mouth, exposing only a fewsharp teeth, upper and lower, none of them in the
front---and that terrible wet rattling sound came fromthe darkness of its throat, the bizarre call matched byothers, somewhere on the other side of the artificialmountaintop.
The call built, going louder and deeper as the thingraised its head, turning its hideous face to theceiling---
---and in one sudden, jerking motion, it dropped itshead and spat at them. A thick, tarry blob of reddishsemiliquid s/M$"flew at them, at Leon, across the wideopen space---
---and Leon raised his arm to block it even as Johnstarted to shoot, stepping away from the wall andspraying the monster---
---Spitter---
---with bullets. The goop hit Leon's arm, wouldhave hit his face if he hadn't blocked, and in responseto the hail of clattering rounds, the Spitter turned andjumped up the sculpted mountain---in long, easyjumps that took it to the top in seconds, that didn'tdenote panic or pain or any stress at all. It loped backabout twenty feet, then skipped nimbly back down tothe ground, stopping in front of the connecting hatch.As if it knew it was blocking their escape.
And it didn't even flinch, holy shit---
The multiple cries from just out of sight didn't getany louder, but they didn't retreat, either. The gar-gling noises stopped, one at a time, the lack of targetsgiving them no reason; suddenly, it was silent again,as quiet as it had been when they'd entered.
"What the good goddamn was that?" John said,grabbing another magazine from his pack, his expres-sion one of total incredulity.
"Wasn't even hurt," Cole whispered, holding thenine-millimeter so tight that his fingers started to gonumb. He barely noticed, watching as Leon touchedthe thick, wet handful of maroon goop on his sleeve---
---and hissed in pain, drawing his hand back as ifhe'd been burned.
"Stuff's toxic," he said, quickly wiping his fingerson his shirt and holding them up. The tips of theindex and middle fingers on his left hand had gone anangry, inflamed red. He immediately stuck his hand-gun in his belt and pulled the black shirt off, carefullyavoiding contact with the acidic ooze, dropping it tothe stone floor.
Cole felt sick. If Leon hadn't blocked.. . .
"Okay-okay-okay," John breathed, his brow fur-rowed. 'This is bad, we want out of here as fast aspossible . .. you say there's a bridge?"
"Yeah, goes over the, uh, trench," Cole saidquickly. "Like twenty feet across, I didn't see howdeep it was."
"Come on," John said. He started walking towardwhere the path turned out of sight, striding quickly.Cole followed, Leon right behind. John stopped aboutten feet short of the turn and backed against the wallagain, glancing at Leon.
"You want to cover, or me?" Leon asked softly.
"Me," John said. "I step out first, draw their fire.You run, Henry, right behind him---and head down,got it? Get across, get to the door---if you can, helpme out---"
John's face was solemn. "---if you can't, you can't."
Cole felt a by-now-too-familiar rush of shame.
They're protecting me, they don't even know me and Igot them into this ... if he could do something toreturn the favor, he would, although he was suddenlyquite sure that he'd never be able to even things out;he owed these guys his life, a couple times overalready.
"Ready?" John asked.
"Wait---" Leon turned and jogged back to wherehe'd dropped the sweatshirt. The Spitter by the hatchstood as silent and immobile as a statue, watchingthem. Leon scooped up the shirt and hurried back,slipping a pocket knife out of his pack. He cut off theoffending sleeve, letting it fall, then handed the rest toJohn.
"If you're gonna be standing still, keep your facecovered," Leon said. "Since they don't seem to noticebullets, you won't need to see, to shoot. Once we'reacross, I'll give a yell. And if it's not safe, I'll---"
The rattling, peremptory calls had started up again,making Cole think of cicadas for some reason, thealmost mechanical ree-ree-ree sound of cicadas on ahot summer night. He swallowed hard, trying topretend to himself that he was ready.
"Outta time," John said. "Get ready to go---"
He held up the sweatshirt, then---astoundingly---grinned at Leon. "My man, you must invest in astronger deodorant; you stink like a dead dog."
Without waiting for a response, John put the shirtover his head, holding it open at the bottom so hecould see the floor. He jogged out into the open, hisface down, Cole and Leon both tensing---
---and there was a rapid patpatpatpat, and the black
material over John's face was suddenly dripping withgreat strings of the poison red snot, and he jerked hishand at them---
---and Leon said, "Now!" and Cole ran, headdown, seeing only Leon's boots sprinting in front ofhim, a blur of gray rock, his own thin legs as hesprinted. He heard a gurgling cry to his left andducked down even farther, terrified---
---and there was the thump of wood in front of him,and then he was on the bridge, flat wooden slatsrippling underfoot, tied with scrawny twine. He sawthe vee-shaped gorge underneath, saw that it wasdeep, that it had been dug into the earth beneath thePlanet, forty, fifty feet---
---and then he was back on gray land, beforevertigo could even occur to him. He ran, thinking ofhow wonderful it was that all he needed to thinkabout was Leon's boots, his heart hammering againsthis breastbone.
Seconds or minutes later, he didn't know, the bootsslowed, and Cole dared to look up. The wall, the walland there was the hatch! They'd made it!
"John, go!" Leon screamed, taking a few runningsteps back the way they'd come, his semi up andready. "Go!"
Cole turned, saw John rip off the black hood, sawthe handful of Spitters grouped loosely in front ofhim, six, seven of them, calling once more. John torethrough their ranks, and at least two of them spat, butJohn was fast, fast enough that only a tiny bit hit hisshoulder, at least as far as Cole could tell. Themonstrous creatures started after him in their jump-ing, hopping movements, not as fast but close.
Run run run!
Cole pointed the nine-millimeter in the direction ofthe Spitters, ready to shoot if he thought he could geta clear shot, as John hit the bridge---
---and disappeared. The bridge collapsed, and Johndisappeared.
SIXTEEN
JOHN FELT THE BRIDGE DROP AN INCH ORtwo about a half second before the ropes snapped. Heinstinctively put his hands out, still running, thinkinghe'd make it---
---and then he was falling, his knees slamming intoa moving wall of wooden slats, his hands clenchingthe second they touched solid---
---and all he heard was a whoosh sound, and thenthe knuckles of his right hand crashed into rock, andhe was dangling over a very deep chasm, a slat ofloose wood in his left hand. He'd managed to grip oneof the pieces still attached to the now hanging bridge;both ties that had anchored it to the north side of therift had snapped.
John dropped the useless slat, hearing it clatter tothe bottom of the chasm along with several otherpieces that had come untied. He reached up to get abetter grip---
---and thwack, a gob of red mucous suddenlyappeared in front of him, less than a foot to the rightof his face, sliding down the chasm wall in a meltingrope.
---shit on toast---
Bambambam, someone was shooting a nine-millimeter, and the rising rattle of Spitters gettingready to spit told him that he definitely needed to getout.
He reached up again, his biceps flexing, strainingagainst the fabric of his sweatshirt as he grabbed oneof the slats above and pulled himself up. Above, moreshots, closer, and a shout from Leon that was cut oiFas more bullets thundered.
Kick ass, boys, I'm coming---
Hand over hand was a bitch, particularly withbleeding knuckles and an automatic rifle hangingfrom his neck, but he thought he was doing prettywell, reaching up for the next handhold---
---and hot wetness hit the back of his right hand,and it hurt, it was like acid, burning---
---and he let go, flinging the gelid acid away,wiping at his shirt wildly. He held on to the shudder-ing bridge with his left, but just barely, the pain like afire, maddening. It was all he could do to resist hisnatural instinct, to clutch at the screaming wound---and with the way his fingers were starting to tingle,he thought he might not have that much longer toworry about it.
"He's right here!"
A cracked, hysterical shout from directly above.John tilted his head back, saw Cole crouched at the lip
of the chasm, his work shirt pulled up over his nose,his gaze frantic and scared.
"John, give me your hand!" He screamed, andreached down as far as he could, flakes of concretefalling from beneath his sliding boots. If he saidanything else, it was lost in another series of explo-sive rounds as Leon worked to hold the Spitters atbay.
It only took a split-second for John to react toCole's command, and in that instant he understoodthat he was going to get out. Henry Cole stood all offive-eight and probably weighed one-fifty sopping wet.With his clothes on. What was more, he looked likesome mad turtle hunkered down in the shell of hisshirt.
Too goddamn funny. Funny, and touching in anidiotic way, and although his hand still hurt like a sonof a bitch, he'd actually forgotten to feel it for asecond or two.
John grinned, ignoring Cole's trembling fingers,forcing himself to concentrate on pulling himself upwith his injured hand. There were more rattling criesfrom behind him but no spit-bombs for the moment.
"Tell Leon to use the grenade," he gasped, and Coleturned, shouting over another burst from Leon'ssemi.
". . . says grenade! John says use a grenade!"
"Not yet!" Leon screamed back. "Get clear!"
Thwap-wap, two more globs flew across the chasm,one hitting Cole's boot, the other only inches fromJohn's sweating face.
Put on the power, John---With a final, deeply feltgrunt, John grabbed the wood at the very top and
pulled himself up, pulled and then was pushing down,bringing his knee up to climb out.
"I'm good, go!"
Cole the mad turtle needed no further incentive. Hetook off running as Leon continued to cover for John,as John crouch-ran toward him, jamming his injuredhand into his pack and pulling out his last grenade---he'd already popped the pin when he saw that Leonhad his grenade in hand.
"Do it!" John yelled, reaching Leon, Leon windingback and then lobbing the powerful explosive at theSpitters, throwing high. Then both of them wererunning, John shooting a look back to see that three,four of the animals had already leapt into the chasm.
No time to think. John threw low, threw as hard ashe could, his grenade disappearing into the rift asLeon's landed in front of the others---
---and they were diving and rolling, the blastsalmost simultaneous, KA-WHAM-WHAM, the soundof powdered rock raining down, an incredibly high-pitched squealing coming from somewhere---
"You got 'em! You got 'em!"
Cole was standing in front of them, a look ofunabashed glee and not a little awe on his narrowface. John sat up, Leon next to him, both turning backto see.
They hadn't killed all of them. Two of the four stillon the other side of the chasm were mostly intact,alive---but blind and broken, their legs splintered,black fluid obscuring whatever was left of their facesas they squealed in fury, the sound like a guinea pigbeing stepped on. The other two must have beendirectly in front of the blast; they were just bleeding,
shattered bags, bones sticking up from the liquid pileslike---like broken bones. From the manmade gorgethere were more of the screaming squeals, and noth-ing leapt out to attack. For all intents and purposes, itwas over.
John crawled to his feet, studying the back of hishand. Contrary to how it felt, the skin hadn't meltedoff. There were a few small blisters forming and theflesh looked scorched, but he wasn't bleeding.
"You okay?" Leon asked, standing and brushing athis clothes, his youthful features looking a lot lessyouthful to John.
I'm not calling him a rookie anymore.
John shrugged. "Think I broke a nail, but I'll live."
He saw that Cole was still beaming at them, hisbody shaking with the adrenaline aftermath; heseemed at a loss for words, and John had a suddenclear memory of how he'd felt after his first battle, thefirst in which he'd acted bravely. How helplesslyelated he'd been. How incredibly alive.
"Henry, you're a funny guy," John said, clap-ping his hand on the smaller man's shoulder andsmiling.
The electrician grinned uncertainly, and the threeof them started for Four, leaving the furious squealsof the dying animals behind.
When the dust cleared and the three men were stillalive, Reston slammed his fist against the console inanger and rising dread, his stomach lurching, his eyeswide with disbelief.
"No, no, no, you stupid shits, you're dead!"His voice was a little slurred, but he was too
shocked to give it much notice, too upset. Theywouldn't survive the Hunters, he knew that---
---but they weren't going to survive the Ca6s, either.
Reston couldn't believe that they'd made it this far;he couldn't believe that of the twenty-four specimensthey'd encountered, all but one Dae had been lefteither dead or dying. Most of all, he couldn't believethat he'd let it continue, that his pride and ambitionhad kept him from doing what he should have done inthe first place. It wasn't that he was out of his league,he was in the inner circle, he was past that kind ofinsecurity---but he should have talked to Sidney, atleast, or even Duvall; not for advice, but to cover allof his bases. After all, he couldn't be held totallyresponsible if he'd had counsel from one of the other,older members. . . .
It wasn't too late. He'd put a call in, explain hisplan, explain that he had some concerns---he couldsay that the intruders were only in Two, that wouldhelp, he could fix the video times later . .. and theHunters had been tested before, after a fashion, notthe 3Ks but the 121s. There had been some loosed atthe Spencer estate; from the data recovered, he knewthat the three men would be killed in Four. Even ifthey weren't, they wouldn't be able to get out, andwith the backup from the home office, he'd be mostlyin the clear.
Satisfied that it was the right decision, Restonreached under the console and picked up the phone.
"Umbrella, Special Divisions and---"
---and silence. The smooth female voice at theother end was cut off in mid-sentence, without even ahiss of static.
"This is Reston," he said sharply, aware that a coldhand was settling around his heart, squeezing. "Hel-lo? This is Reston!"
Nothing; then he suddenly realized that the qualityof light in the room had changed, brightening. Heturned in his chair, hoping desperately that it wasn'twhat it seemed to be---
---and the row of monitors that showed the surfacewere all spitting snow. All seven, off-line---and onlyseconds later, before Reston could even digest whathad happened, all seven went black.
"Hello?" He whispered into the dead phone, hiswhiskey breath hot and bitter against the mouthpiece.Silence.
He was alone.
Andrew "Killer" Berman was goddamn cold, coldand bored and wondering why the Sarge had evenbothered putting anyone on the van. The bad guysweren't coming back, they were long gone---and evenif they did decide to come back, they sure as hellweren't going to try to get to their vehicle. It'd besuicide.
Either they had a backup car or they're frozen solidout on the plain somewheres. This is total bullshit.
Andy pulled his scarf up around his ears, thenreadjusted his grip on the M41. Fifteen pounds of rifledidn't sound like much, but he'd been standing for along goddamn time. If the Sarge didn't get back soon,he was going to get into the van for a while, rest hisfeet, get out of the cold; they weren't paying himenough to freeze his balls off in the dark.
He leaned against the back bumper and wonderedagain if Rick was okay; he didn't really know theother guys who'd been cut up by the frag, but RickShannon was his bud, and he'd been all bloody whenthey'd loaded him into the 'copter.
Those assholes come back here, I'll show 'embloody. . . .
Andy sneered a grin, thinking that they didn't callhim Killer for nothing. He was an excellent goddamnshot, best on his team, the result of a lifetime of deerhunting.
And also cold, bored, tired, and irritable. Dumbassduty. If the trio of dickheads showed up, he'd eat hisown hat.
He was still thinking that when he heard the soft,pleading voice come out of the dark.
"Help me, please---don't shoot, please help me,I've been shot---"
A breathy, feminine voice. A sexy voice, and Andygrabbed his flashlight and turned it out into the black,finding the voice's owner not thirty feet away.
A girl, dressed in tight black, stumbling towardhim. She was unarmed and injured, favoring one leg,her pale face open and vulnerable beneath the brightlight.
"Hey, hold it," Andy said, although not tooharshly. She was young, he was only twenty-three butshe looked even younger, just legal maybe. And anicely stacked legal, at that.
Andy lowered the machine gun slightly, thinkinghow nice it would be to help out a lady in distress. Shemight be with the three criminals, probably was, but
she obviously wasn't a threat to him; he could justhold on to her until the helicopter came back. Andmaybe she'd be grateful for the help . . .
... and hey, playing the hero's a good way to earnpoints, big time. Nice guys might finish last, but theycertainly get laid an awful lot along the way.
The girl limped up to him and Andy turned theflashlight away from her face, not wanting to blindher. Putting just the right note of sincerity into hisvoice---chicks dug that shit---he took a step towardher, holding one hand out.
"What happened? Here, let me help---"
A dark, heavy thing slammed into him from theside, hard, knocking him to the ground and knockingthe wind right out of him. Before he even knew whathappened, a light was shining in his face, and the M41was being pried out of his hands as he struggled tobreathe.
"Don't move and I won't shoot," a man said, a Brit,and Andy felt the cold muzzle of a gun against theside of his neck. He froze, not daring to move amuscle.
Oh, shit!
Andy looked up, saw the girl holding the rifle, hisrifle, gazing down at him. She didn't look so helplessanymore.
"Bitch," he snarled, and she smiled a little, shrug-ging-
"Sorry. If it's any consolation, your two friends fell
for it too."
He heard another woman's voice from behind him,soft and amused. "And hey, you get to warm up. Thegenerator room's nice and toasty."
Killer was not amused, and as they pulled him tohis feet and started marching him toward the com-pound, he swore to himself that it was the last timehe'd ever underestimate a chick---and while he didn'thave plans to eat his own hat, he was certainly goingto remember this the next time he thought he wasbored.
SEVENTEEN
PHASE FOUR WAS INDEED A CITY, AND LEONdecided that it was the weirdest thing he'd seen so far,hands down. The first three phases had been bizarre,unreal, but they'd also been obviously fake---thesterile woods, the white walls of the desert, thesculpted mountain. At no point had he forgotten thatthe environments were manufactured.
This, though . . . it's not some counterfeit organichabitat; this is how it's supposed to look.
Four was several square blocks of a city at night. Atown, really, none of the buildings over three stories,but it was a town---streetlights, curbs, stores andapartment houses, parked cars and asphalt streets.They'd stepped off of a mountain and into Home-town, U.S.A.
There were only two things wrong with it, at least atfirst glance---the colors and the atmosphere. Thebuildings were all either brick red or a kind of dusky
tan color; they looked unfinished, and the few parkedcars that Leon could see all seemed to be black; it washard to tell in the thick shadows.
And the atmosphere. . . .
"Spooky," John said quietly, and Leon and Coleboth nodded. Backs against the door, they surveyedthe silent town and found it completely unnerving.
Like a bad dream, one of those where you're lost andyou can't find anyone and everything feels wrong. . . .
It wasn't like a ghost town, it didn't have the air ofan abandoned place, a place that had outlived itsusefulness; no one had ever lived there, no one everwould. No cars had driven down its streets, nochildren had played on its corners, no life had called ithome . . . and the blank, unlife feeling was---spooky.
The hatch had opened up onto a street that ran eastto west, dead-ending just to their left in a wall paintedmidnight blue. From where they stood, they could seeall the way down one wide, paved road that wentsouth, ending in darkness some indeterminate dis-tance ahead, a grid of intersecting streets along theway. The soft light from the streetlamps cast longshadows, just bright enough to see by and too dark tosee clearly.
There was a car just in front of them, parked infront of a tan two-story structure. John walked acrossto it and rapped on its hood. Leon could hear thehollow link sound beneath his hand; an empty shell.
John walked back, scanning the shadows warily.
"So ... Hunters," he said, and Leon had a suddenrealization that was almost as freaky as the lifelessblocks stretched out in front of them.
"The nicknames are all descriptive," he said, ejecting the clip from his semi to count the rounds. Fiveleft, and only one more full mag, though John still hada couple---no, he only had one, Cole had the other.And unless Leon was mistaken, John only had one fullmagazine left for the M-16; thirty rounds, and what-ever was still in the rifle.
No more grenades, almost out of ammo....
"So?" Cole asked, and John answered, his gazenarrowing as he spoke, his expression even morewatchful as he searched the heavy darkness of everycorner, every window.
"Think about it," John said. "Pterodactyls, scorpi-ons, spitting animals ... Hunters."
"I---oh." Cole blinked, looking around them withnew fear. "That's not good."
"You say the exit's bolted?" Leon asked.
Cole nodded, and John shook his head at the sametime.
"And like an asshole, I used the last grenade," hesaid softly. "No chance at blowing the door."
"If you hadn't, we'd be dead," Leon said. "And itprobably wouldn't have worked anyway, not if it's thesame kind of setup as the entrance."
John sighed heavily, but nodded. "Guess we canburn that bridge when we come to it."
They were all quiet for a moment, a profoundlyuncomfortable silence that Cole finally broke.
"So ... ears and eyes open and stick close," he saidtentatively, a question more than a statement.
John raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Not bad. Hey,what are you doing with your life if we make it outtahere? Want to join the cause, stick it to Umbrella?"
Cole grinned nervously. "If we make it out, ask meagain."
As ready as they were going to be, they startedsouth, walking slowly down the middle of the street,the dark buildings watching them with blank glasseyes. Although all of them tried to move quietly, theempty town seemed to echo back the soft sounds oftheir boots on asphalt, even their breathing. None ofthe buildings had signs or decorations, and there wereno lights inside as far as Leon could tell. The oppres-sive, lifeless feeling gave him an unpleasant flash ofthe night he'd driven into Raccoon for his first day onthe RPD, after Umbrella had spilled their virus.
Except the streets there smelled like death andcannibals roamed through the dark, crows were feedingon corpses, it was a city in its death throes... .
About midway down the block, John held up onehand, snapping Leon back to the present.
"Just a sec," he said, and jogged over to one of the"stores" on the left, a glass-fronted construct thatreminded Leon of a pastry shop, the kind that alwayshad wedding cakes in their windows. John peered inthrough the glass, then tried the door. To Leon'ssurprise, it opened; John leaned inside for a longsecond, then closed it and jogged back.
"No counters or anything, but it's a real room," hesaid, his voice low. "There's a back wall and aceiling."
"Maybe the Hunters are hiding out in one ofthem," Leon said.
Yeah, more scared of us than we are of them,wouldn't that be nice. We should be so lucky---
"That's it!" Cole said too loudly, then immediatelydropped his voice, flushing. "How we can get out,maybe. The, uh, animals were all kept in cages orkennels or something behind the back walls. I don'tknow about the other phases, but there's a hall thatruns around Four, I've seen the door to this one's, it'smaybe twenty feet from the southwest corner. It hasto be easier than the exit; I mean, it'd be locked, butprobably not reinforced."
John was nodding, and Leon thought it sounded ahell of a lot more plausible than trying to get througha hatch bolted from the outside.
"Good," John said, "good call. Let's see if wecan---"
Something moved. Something in the shadows of atan two-story building on the right, something thatshut John up and had all of them aiming into thedarkness, tense and alert. Ten seconds passed, thentwenty---and whatever it was seemed to be holdingperfectly still. Or...
. . . or, we didn't see anything at all.
"Nothing there," Cole whispered, and Leon startedto lower the nine-millimeter uncertainly, thinkingthat it had looked as though something was moving---
---and then the something they couldn't seescreamed, a shrill and terrible shriek like some kindof terrible bird, like a feral beast in a blind rage---
---and the darkness itself moved---Leon stillcouldn't see it clearly, it was like a shadow, a part of abuilding that was in motion, but he saw the tiny,shining eyes, light-colored and at least seven feet offthe ground, and the dark and ragged talons that nearly
touched the asphalt, and he realized that it was achameleon as it sprang toward them, still screaming.
Reston hurried back toward the control room, theweight of the sidearm against his hip making him feela little better. He'd feel better still if he made it backin time to watch the Hunters slaughter the three men,although he'd settle for just seeing the dead bodies.
That would be perfectly fine, no problem so long asthey die.
Reston wanted a drink, he wanted to get back tocontrol, lock himself in and wait for Hawkinson tocome back. He'd felt a moment of near-hysteria whenhe'd realized that communications had gone down,but nothing had changed, not really. The elevator wasstill locked off and the incompetent sergeant would beback with the helicopter in no time at all; if it was thesurface trio who'd cut the outside lines---which hehad no doubts about, not really---Hawkinson wouldhandle them. If by some small chance it was actually atechnical problem, a new electrician would bebrought in as soon as he missed his morning report.
Not being able to contact his colleagues had beenthe distressing part, but he'd decided that it couldwork to his advantage; who wouldn't be impressed,that in such nerve-wracking circumstances he'd stillmanaged to handle things? All things considered,trapping the invaders in the test program was his onlyrecourse. No one would blame him, or at least notoverly much.
Retrieving the .38 revolver from his room hadeased his mind even more; he'd brought it to thePlanet mostly because it had been a gift from Jackson,
and though he knew very little about guns, he knewthat all he had to do with the .38 was pull the trigger.The heavy handgun practically shot itself, therewasn't even a safety switch to fuss with....
Reston was halfway back to control when it oc-curred to him that he should have let the workmenout of the cafeteria; he'd walked right past the lockeddoor, twice, and hadn't thought of it. Too muchbrandy perhaps. He considered going back for aboutone heartbeat, deciding that they could damn wellwait; making certain that the 3Ks were acting as theyshould was much more important. Besides, he meantto fire the whole worthless lot as soon as he'd reestab-lished contact with the home office; not one of themhad even tried to protect the Planet or their employer.
Control, ahead on the right. Reston broke into ajog, rounding the corner to the offshoot and hurryingthrough the door. There was movement on one of thescreens, and he ran to the chair, both excited andanxious to see the men fall. It was nothing to beashamed of, they were in the wrong, after all---
---and they weren't dead, not one of them, butReston saw that now it was only a matter of moments.All three men were shooting at one of the Hunters,and as he watched, a second loped on to the scene,still as black as the car it must have been standing by.
Red spun to his right, shooting at the new threat,but the 3K wasn't to be put off by a few puny bullets;with a single massive leap, the Hunter closed the gapbetween them, twenty feet with one powerful thrust.They could do almost thirty, Reston knew from thepreliminary data---
---and now Cole was firing at it, too, as John
continued to blast at the first, already the deep gray ofthe asphalt. The first had taken a lot, fire from allthree men; as Reston watched, it turned and sprangoff of the screen, out of sight.
The second was still a deep shining black, perfectlydefined as it raised one muscular arm to swat at thebullets hammering its body. Huge, a naked, sexlesshumanoid shape, the towering beast with the sloping,reptilian skull and three-inch talons threw back itshead and howled. Reston knew the sound, his mindfilling it in for the silently screaming creature as itstarted to disappear into the street, the match nearperfect, as it swung its arm again and Red wasknocked sprawling.
Yes!
John stepped in front of his fallen comrade andblasted at the fading monster, as Cole pulled Red tohis feet, the two men backing away. There was somevocal interchange---
---and the two ran off the screen, headed south . . .had the creature been hurt? John stopped firing andthere was blood pouring from somewhere, coveringthe 3K's face, its chest---
---eyes, must have hit its eyes. Dammit! It reeledand fell, not a fatal wound but one that wouldincapacitate it for a while.
John turned and ran after his companions, no otherHunters in sight---at least Reston didn't think so. Notthat it mattered, they were as good as dead; there wasno way they could get through the city without beingattacked, nowhere they could hide---though just to beon the safe side, Reston tapped the doorlock for theconnecting door back to Three.
No retreat, gentlemen. . . .
They hadn't appeared on the screen that showedthe street just south of the first camera angle; frown-ing, Reston switched cameras, using one from abuilding front---
---and saw a door close, the men seeking sanctuaryinside one of the stores. Reston shook his head. Thatwould probably shield them for five minutes, cer-tainly no longer, the 3Ks had the strength to teardown the city, if they so chose, and hunted primarilyby sense of smell. They'd track the cowering men,track them and finally put an end to their trouble-making, useless lives.
There wasn't a camera in the building they'd en-tered; he'd have to wait for them to reappear, or forthe Hunters to drag them out. Reston grinned, histeeth grinding together, impatient, wondering why the3Ks were taking so goddamn long. It was time for thetest to end, time for the Planet to be restored.
The Hunters wouldn't fail him. He just had to waita few more minutes.
They found the way in at the back of the middlebuilding, past the generator room, where they'd putthe three snarling guards. It was a total fluke, as they'donly been looking for the controls to unlock theservice elevator back in the entry building.
There were four of them, a bank of elevators in acarpeted alcove against the far west wall. Theyweren't operational, but there was a two-man lift inthe first shaft they opened up, David and Claireprying the doors open with no small effort. Thoughtired and unwell, the sight of the tiny platform hooked
to its own pulley system made Rebecca want to laughout loud.
They'll never suspect that we're coming, we'll slip inlike shadows.
"Looks as though someone forgot to lock the backdoor," David said, a look of triumph on his wearyface.
Claire looked at the small square of metal doubt-fully. "Will we all fit?"
David didn't answer right away, turning to look atRebecca. She knew what he was going to suggest andstarted digging for a decent argument before he evenopened his mouth.
The helicopter could come back, probably will, ifthey're injured you'll need me, what if the guardsmanage to get out---
"Rebecca---I need an honest assessment of yourcondition," he said, his features carefully neutral.
"I'm tired, I have a headache and a limp---and youneed me down there, David, I'm not a hundredpercent but I'm not on the verge of collapse, either,and you said yourself that another team is probablyon the way---"
David was smiling, holding up his hands. "All right,we all go. It will be a tight fit, but the weight shouldn'tbe a problem, you're both small. .. ."
He stepped inside, pulling his flashlight and shiningit across the hanging cables, then on the simplecontrol box attached to the lift's half-railing. "... Ithink we can manage well enough. Shall we?"
Rebecca and then Claire stepped into the elevatorshaft, the makeshift service platform only filling aquarter of the dark space. Cold, open air was above
and below, and the rail was only on one side. Clairesquirmed uncomfortably against the metal bar; thethree of them were pressed tightly together.
"Wish I had a breath mint," Claire muttered.
"I wish you had breath mint," Rebecca said, andClaire snickered. Rebecca could feel the movement ofClaire's rib cage against her arm; they were packed intight.
"Here we go," David said, and pushed the controls.
The lift started to descend with a huge, buzzingrumble that was so loud Rebecca began having secondthoughts about their sneak attack. It was slow, too,inching down at less than half the speed of a normalelevator.
God, this could take forever. ...
Just the thought made Rebecca feel incrediblyweary, the noise of the roaring motor compoundingher headache. Standing still made her realize just howsick she really felt, and as the bright square of theopen doors slid up, shrinking away as they descendedinto the dark, Rebecca was suddenly glad that theywere huddled together; it gave her an excuse to leanheavily against David, her eyes closed, trying to keepherself together for just a little longer.
EIGHTEEN
THEY WERE IN TROUBLE, FALLING INTO THEbuilding and moving to the back wall through thedark, sweating and gasping, Cole expecting the flimsydoor to crash open any second.
---boom, and they come pouring in, screaming,clawing us to shreds before we even see them---
"Got a plan," John panted, and Cole felt a flicker ofhope, a hope that lasted until John's next sentence.
"We run like hell for the back wall," he said firmly.
"Are you nuts?" Leon said. "Did you see that onejump, there's no way we can outrun them---"
John took a deep breath and started talking, lowand fast. "You're right, but you and I are both goodshots, we could take out some of the streetlights alongthe way. Even if they can see in the dark, it'll be adistraction, stir up some confusion maybe."
Leon didn't say anything, and although he couldn'tsee his face clearly, Cole saw him rubbing at his
shoulder where the creature had smacked him.Slowly, like he was actually considering John's idea.
They're both nuts!
Cole struggled to keep the blatant terror out of hisvoice. "Isn't there some other option? I mean, wecould ... we could climb, go across on the rooftops."
"Buildings are all different heights," John said."And I don't think they're built to hold muchweight."
"What if we---"
Leon interrupted softly. "We don't have the ammo,Henry."
"So we go back to Phase Three, think it over. . . ."
"We're closer to the southwest corner," John said,and Cole knew they were right, knew it and hated it, alot. Still, he searched for some other option, trying tothink of some other way. The Hunters were terrible,they were the most terrible things Cole thought he'dever seen---
---and from somewhere outside, one of themscreamed, the screeching, furious sound blastingthrough the thin walls, and Cole realized that theydidn't have time to come up with a better plan.
"Okay, yeah, okay," he said, thinking that the veryleast he could do would be to suck it up and face theinevitable like he actually had guts.
/ won't drag them down, he thought, and took adeep breath, straightening his shoulders a little. If thiswas the way it had to be, he wasn't going to shamehimself in front of them by turning into a snivelingcoward---and he wasn't going to lower their chancesby becoming a burden.
Cole pulled the clip that John had given him out ofhis pocket and fumbled through swapping it for theempty, his heart pounding---and was a little surprisedto find that now that he was committed, that thedecision was made, he felt stronger, braver.
I might very well die, he said to himself, and waitedfor the rush of horror---but it didn't come. He'dalready be dead if it wasn't for John and Leon, andmaybe this would be his chance to keep one or both ofthem from getting hurt.
Without another word, the three of them moved forthe door, Cole thinking that his life had changed morein the last couple of hours than in the last ten years---and that in spite of how it had come about, he wasglad for the change. He felt whole. He felt real.
"Ready . . ." John said, and Cole took a deepbreath, Leon grinning at him in the soft light from thewindow.
". . . now!"
John yanked the door open and they ran out intothe street as all around them, the night was shatteredby the savage screams of the Hunters.
Reston's eyes glittered. He leaned forward, staringat the screen intently, delighted by the suicidal deci-sion. All three of them, storming out into the dark likelunatics. Like dead men who didn't have the sense tostop moving.
They ran south, John in the lead, Red and Coleright behind. From a sidewalk to their right, a Hunterleapt out to greet them---
---and there was a flash of light, a brilliant burst of
white-orange high above, burning glass like glitterraining down across the street. One of the street-lamps, they'd shot out one of the lamps, and the 3Kseemed to go mad as the broken glass pelted downover it. The red-turning-gray Hunter whipped itsbody around, frenzied and screaming, searching forits attacker---
---and completely ignored the running men. Allthree were sprinting past, raising weapons, firing intothe sky. Firing at more of the lights, and Reston sawanother Hunter spring out into the street, almost lostas a shadow among shadows---
---and Cole, Henry Cole feinted left then right,slamming the barrel of his gun against the crouching3Ks head---
---and there was a burst of liquid, of brain andblood projectile gushing from its temple, the electri-cian firing at point blank range. The Hunter's armsand legs were spasming, flailing, but it was alreadydead. Cole jumped away and kept running, catchingup to the others as more of the streetlights exploded,glass flying from strobing flashes of white light.
"No," Reston whispered, unaware that he'd spo-ken, but quite aware that things were going horriblywrong.
John ran, paused to fire, ran again. The violentshrieks chased them, the rain of glass and smell ofburning metal was coming at them from every-where---
---and he saw one of them in the street, in front ofthem at the intersection that would take them to the
cage, saw the strange flashing eyes and the open blackhole of its screaming mouth---
---save the ammo Jesus it looks just like the street---
---and he kept running straight at it, taking aim, thethundering rounds of the nine-millimeters behindhim, the screaming monster less than ten feet awaywhen he fired.
Now!
A short burst, measured, directly into the howling,unnatural face---
---and it didn't go down, and although he swervedto avoid it, he didn't get far enough. Its screechingface seeming inches from his, visible, thick withblood, it swung one impossibly long arm out andslammed it into John's chest.
The blow crashed into his left pectoral, and Johnexpected to be crushed, thrown through the air, hisbody shattered---but the creature must have beenweakened by the bullets, disoriented, blinded per-haps, because though he could feel his pec contractingin pain---the strike had been brutally solid---he'dtaken harder punches. He'd staggered but didn't fall,then he was past and turning left, headed west.
He shot a look back, saw the others still with him,looked ahead---
---there it is!
The street ended at the painted wall less than ablock ahead---and there was an opening set about fivefeet off the ground, a hole eight feet wide and at leastten feet high---
---and there was another scream to his right, hecouldn't see the camouflaged Hunter but bam-bam,
Leon or Cole shot at it, the shriek going frantic withrage. John raised the M-16 and took out anotherstreetlight, ten seconds and we're there---
---and a panel of deep blue wall started to slidedown over the opening, slow but steady. In seconds,there'd be no escape.
Reston stabbed frantically at the kennel lock, thegate creeping down on its tracks like a goddamn snail,his hands clammy with sweat, his drunken mindreeling with disbelief.
No no no no---
He'd closed Two and Three but there'd been aHunter still inside before, he'd left it open, forgot-ten---and now the animal was gone and the three menwere about to get away. To get away from him, fromthe deaths assigned to them.
Faster!
John was shooting a look back, screaming, Redright behind, Cole almost at his side---
---and there was a Hunter less than twenty feetbehind them, gaining ground, its massive body flick-ering between tan and asphalt, its claws scrapinggouges in the street.
Kill them, do it, jump, kill!
John made it to the opening, hands hitting thebottom, vaulting him through in a graceful blur. Onehand shot out and Red was there, grabbing it, beingjerked inside in an instant---
---and there was Cole, and he was going to make itthrough, too, the gate wouldn't close in time and therewere hands reaching out to him---
---and then the Hunter behind him swept its armsdown, its talons ripping into Cole's back, through theshirt and skin, through muscle, perhaps through bone.
The others swept Cole inside as the gate settledclosed.
Cole didn't scream as they set him down, though hemust have been in agony. They placed him on hisstomach as gently as they could, Leon feeling sickwith sorrow when he saw the shredded mess that hadbeen Cole's back.
Dying, he's dying.
In seconds, he lay in a pool of his own blood.Through the tatters of his wet, crimson shirt, Leoncould see the ripped flesh, the torn muscle fibers andthe slick shine of bone beneath. The crushed bone.The damage had been done in two long, ragged tears,each starting above the shoulder blades and ending athis lower back. Mortal wounds.
Cole was breathing in low, shallow gasps, his eyesclosed, his hands trembling.
Unconscious. Leon looked at John, saw the strickenexpression, looked away; there was nothing they coulddo for him.
They were in a giant mesh cage that stank of wildanimal at the end of a long cement hall, one thatapparently ran the length of the four testing areas. Itwas dark, only a few lights on, revealing the kennel inshadows; the cages were separated by partition wallswith huge windows, and Leon could just see the onenext to them, the Spitters' home. It was covered inthick, clear plastic, the floor littered with bones.
The Hunters' cage was empty, at least thirty feet
wide and twice as long, a couple of low troughs at themesh walls. It was a cold and lonely place to die, butat least he was out, he wasn't feeling any---
"Turn... me, over," Cole whispered. His eyeswere open, his lips quivering.
"Hey, lie easy," John said gently. "You're gonna befine, Henry, just stay where you are, don't move,okay?"
"Bull, shit," Cole said. "Roll me over, I'm,dying..."
John locked gazes with Leon, who nodded reluc-tantly. He didn't want to cause Cole any more pain,but he didn't want to refuse him; he was dying, theyshould give him anything they could.
Carefully, slowly, John lifted Cole and turned him.Cole moaned when his back touched the floor, hiseyes wide and rolling, but seemed to feel some reliefafter a moment. Maybe the cold ... or maybe he waspast the point of pain, going numb.
"Thanks," he whispered, a blood bubble poppingon his pale lips.
"Henry, try to rest now," Leon said softly, wantingto cry. The man had tried so hard to be brave, to keepup with them ...
"Fossil," Cole said, his gaze fixing on Leon's. "In,tube. Guys said---if it got, out, it'd---destroy every.Thing. In the ... lab room. West. Understand?"
Leon nodded, understanding perfectly. "An Um-brella creature in the lab room. Fossil. You want us tolet it out."
Cole closed his eyes, his waxy face so still that Leonthought it might be over---but he spoke again, quietlyenough that they had to lean in to hear him.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Good."Cole took one last breath, letting it out---and hischest didn't rise again.
Within minutes of Cole's death, the two men fig-ured out how to escape from the Hunter cage. Restonstared at the screen, feeling nothing, determined notto be surprised. They simply weren't human, that wasall; once he'd accepted that, there was nothing to besurprised at any longer.
The feeding troughs had been wedged firmly intolong, narrow gaps in the steel mesh so that thehandlers could feed the specimens without enteringthe cage; enough of the trough was outside so that onecould simply drop food in, the animals taking it fromtheir side. That the 3Ks might try to pull the feedingcontainers inside or push them out wasn't a concern,since the gaps were much too narrow for their bodies.
But not for human bodies... or for theirs, whateverthey are.
John and Red both started to kick at the trough,and as it started to edge out, Reston picked up hisrevolver and stood, turning away from the screens.There was no point in watching. He'd failed, thePlanet's tests had proved too easy and he would beseverely disciplined for what he'd done, perhapskilled. But he wasn't ready to die, not yet---and not attheir hands.
But the elevator, the surface people. . . .
It wasn't safe to go up, either. The compound wasprobably overrun with these S.T.A.R.S. soldiers bynow, they'd cut him off and now were just waiting fortheir two boys to drive him out. . . .
Can't go up, can't kill them, not enough time. . . thecafeteria!
His employees would help him. Once he freedthem, once he explained things, they'd rally aroundhim, protect him from harm. The specifics wouldhave to be edited, of course, but he could work thatout on his way.
Have to go now, they'll be out soon, out and lookingfor me. Looking to avenge Cole, perhaps. Looking tomake me sorry, when I only did my job, what any manwould do.. ..
Somehow, he doubted they'd understand. Restonwalked out, already working through his story, won-dering how things had gone so terribly awry.
NINETEEN
FROM THE KENNEL, THEY STEPPED OUT IN-to a clean and sterile hallway and turned left---west---moving quickly through the deserted corridor. Neitherof them spoke; there was nothing to say until theyfound what Cole had called Fossil, until they coulddecide if he'd had the right idea.
For the first time since they'd come to the Planet,John didn't feel like making any jokes. Cole had beena good guy, he'd done his best to make up for luringthem into the test program, he'd done what they toldhim to do---and now he was gone, brutally savaged,dying in blood and pain on the floor of a cage.
Reston. Reston would pay for it, and if the best wayto get to him was to unleash some Umbrella monster,so be it. A fitting justice.
Screw the code book. If Fossil's as badass as Coleseemed to think, we release it and let the workers go
and get out. Let it tear this place apart. Let it haveReston....
The hall curved right, then straightened out, con-tinuing west. When they turned the corner, they sawthe door on the right---and somehow, John just knewthat it was Cole's lab room. He felt it.
He was right, after a fashion. The metal dooropened---after they'd used a nine-millimeter key---into a small laboratory with counters and computers,which then opened into a surgical theater, all gleam-ing steel and porcelain. The door set into the backwall of the operating room was the one Cole hadmeant for them to find---and when they saw thecreature, John could see why he'd insisted on tellingthem about it, even with his last gasping breaths. If itwas even half as vicious as it looked, the Planet washistory.
"Christ," Leon said, and John couldn't think ofanything to add to that. They moved slowly towardthe giant cylinder that sat in the corner of the largeroom, past the steel autopsy table and trays of shiningequipment, finally stopping in front of the tube. Thelights in the room were off, but there was a directionallight aimed at the container from the ceiling, illumi-nating the thing. The Fossil.
The tube was fifteen feet high and at least ten indiameter, filled with a clear red liquid---and envel-oped in the fluid, attached to tubes and wires that ranthrough the top, was a monster. A nightmare.
John imagined that it was called Fossil because ofwhat it looked like, at least partly---some kind of adinosaur, though not one that had ever walked the
Earth. The ten-foot-tall creature was some pale color,its pebbled flesh a glowing pink because of the redliquid that surrounded it. There was no tail, but it hadthe thick skin and powerful legs of a dino. It wasobviously built to walk upright, and though it had thesmall eyes and heavy, rounded snout of a carnivorousdinosaur, a T. Rex or velociraptor, it also had long,thickly muscled arms and hands with slender, grasp-ing fingers. As impossible as it was, it looked like themutant offspring of a man and a dinosaur.
What were they thinking? Why---why make some-thing like this?
It was asleep, or in some kind of coma, but it wasdefinitely alive. Connected to a thin hose was a small,clear mask that covered its nostril slits, and a band ofplastic was tied around its thick snout to hold thegiant jaws closed. John couldn't see them, but he hadno doubt that there were rows of pointed teeth in thecreature's wide and curving mouth. Its beady eyeswere covered by some inner eyelid, a thin layer ofpurpled skin, and they could actually see the slow riseof its thick chest, the gently bobbing motions of itsmassive body in the red goo.
There was a clipboard hanging on the wall next tothe Fossil, above a small monitor screen where thingreen lines blipped silently across in fading pulses.Leon picked the clipboard up, flipping through thepages as John just stared, awed and disgusted. One ofits spidery hands twitched, the eight-inch fingerscurling into a loose fist.
"Says here that it's slated for autopsy in three and ahalf weeks," Leon said, scanning. " 'Specimen will
remain in stasis,' blah blah blah . . . 'when it will beinjected with a lethal dose of Hyptheion prior todissection.'"
John glanced back at the autopsy table, saw thefolded steel leaves on either side and three bone sawstucked underneath. The table had apparently beenbuilt to accommodate larger animals.
"Why keep it alive at all?" John asked, turning backto the sleeping Fossil. It was hard not to look; thecreature was compelling, horrid and marvelous, anaberration that demanded attention.
"Maybe so the organs will be fresh," Leon said,then took a deep breath. "So ... do we do it?"
That's the million dollar question, isn't it? We won'thave the codes---but Umbrella will have one less play-ground for their twisted science. And maybe one lessadministrator.
"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I think we do."
The men listened to him in silence, their facesthoughtful as they absorbed the horror that hadinvaded the Planet. The invasion from above, his callfor help, how the gunmen had knocked him out afterkilling Henry Cole in cold blood. They asked noquestions, just sat and drank coffee---someone hadmade coffee---and watched him speak. No one of-fered him a cup.
"... and once I recovered, I came here," Restonsaid, and ran a shaking hand through his hair, wincingappropriately. He didn't have to fake the tremors."I---they're still out there, somewhere, perhaps plant-ing explosives, I don't know . . . but we can stop themif we work together."
He could see in their blank eyes that it wasn'tworking, he wasn't inspiring them to act. He wasn'tthe best with people, but he could read them wellenough.
They're not buying, work the Henry angle. . . .
Reston's shoulders slumped, a quiver creeping intohis voice. "They just shot him," he said, staring downin stunned sorrow. "He was begging, pleading forthem to let him live, and they---they shot him."
"Where's the body?"
Reston looked up, saw that Leo Yan had spoken,one of the 3Ks' two handlers. Yan had no expressionat all, leaning against the edge of the table with hisarms crossed.
"What?" Reston asked, looking confused but know-ing exactly what Yan was talking about. Think, dam-mit, should have thought of this already---
"Henry," someone else said, and Reston saw it wasTom Something-or-other, from construction. Hisgruff voice was openly skeptical. "They shot him, theyknocked you out---so he's still by the cell block,right?"
"I---I don't know," Reston said, feeling too hot,feeling dehydrated from so much brandy. Feeling asthough he might not be able to recover from theunexpected question. "Yes, he must be, unless theymoved him for some reason. I woke up confused,dizzy, I wanted to get to you immediately, to makesure none of you had been injured. I didn't see if hewas still there. . . ."
They stared at him, a sea of rough faces that wereno longer so neutral. Reston saw disbelief and disrespect, anger---and in the eyes of one or two, he sawwhat might have been hatred.
Why, what have I done to inspire such contempt? I'mtheir manager, their employer, I pay their goddamnwages---
One of the mechanics stood up from the table andaddressed the rest of them, ignoring Reston com-pletely. It was Nick Frewer, the one who seemed themost popular among the men.
"Who says we get outta here?" Nick said. "Tommy,you got the keys for the truck?"
Tom nodded. "Sure, but not for the gate or thestorage shed."
"I got those," said Ken Carson, the cook. He stoodup, too, and then most were standing, stretching andyawning, draining their cups.
Nick nodded. "Good. Everyone go pack up, be atthe elevator in five---"
"Wait!" Reston said, unable to believe what he washearing, that they would walk away from their moralduty, from their obligations. That they could ignorehim. "There are more on the surface, they'll kill you!You have to help me!"
Nick turned and looked at him, his gaze calm andinsufferably patronizing. "Mr. Reston, we don't haveto do anything. I don't know what's really going on,but I believe you're a liar---and I may not speak foreveryone, but I know I'm not getting paid enough tobe your bodyguard."
He smiled suddenly, his blue eyes sparkling. "Be-sides which, they're not after us."
Nick turned and walked away, and Reston brieflyconsidered shooting him---but he only had six bullets
and no doubts that the men would turn on him if heinjured one of their working-class pack. He thoughtabout telling them that their lives were over, that hewouldn't forget their treachery, but he didn't want towaste his breath. And he didn't have time.
Hide.
It was all there was to do.
Reston turned his back on the insubordinates andhurried out, his mind grasping for places to go,rejecting them as too obvious, too exposed---
---and then he had it. The bank of elevators,around the corner from the medical facilities. It wasperfect. No one would think to look in an elevator carthat didn't even work, he could pry one open and besafe inside. At least for a while, until he thought ofsomething else he could do.
Sweating in spite of the cool gray stillness that wasthe main corridor, Reston turned right and started torun.
After what seemed like hours of going downthrough the dark, of the cold and uncomfortablehuddle on the deafeningly loud servicing lift, they hitbottom.
Or top, depending on how you look at it, Clairethought absently, looking down through the openpanel as David's flashlight played across the plushinterior, as the roaring motor wound down to silence.They'd landed on top of an elevator car, empty exceptfor a stepladder pushed to one side.
They stepped off of the metal square, Claire re-lieved to be back on a reasonably solid surface. Ridingdown through an open elevator shaft where one false
move could send you crashing to your death wasn'ther idea of a good time.
"Think anyone heard us?" Claire asked, and sawDavid's silhouette shrug.
"If they were within a thousand feet of this thing,yes," he said. "Wait, I'll get the stepstool. . . ."
Claire turned on her flashlight as David sat, grab-bing the edges of the open panel and lowering himselfdown. As he moved the small ladder into place,Rebecca turned her flashlight on, and Claire caught aglimpse of her face.
"Hey, you okay?" She asked, worried. Rebeccalooked sick, too pale and with dark, purplish halfcircles beneath her eyes.
"Yeah. I've been better, but I'll survive," she saidlightly.
Claire wasn't convinced, but before she could pur-sue it any further, David called up to them.
"Alright---let your feet hang down, I'll guide themto the steps and then lift you down."
Claire motioned for Rebecca to go first, decidingthat if she couldn't function, she'd probably saysomething. As David helped Rebecca down, though,it occurred to Claire that she wouldn't say anything.
I'd want to help, and I wouldn't want to be leftbehind; I'd keep going if it killed me. . . .
Claire pushed the thoughts aside, lowering herselfdown through the elevator's roof. Rebecca wasn't asstubborn as she was, and she was a medic. She wasfine.
As soon as she was down, David nodded at Claireand the two of them pulled at the cold metal doors,
Rebecca holding her semi aimed loosely at the widen-ing gap. When they'd managed to push the heavydoors a couple of feet apart, David stepped out first,then motioned for them to follow.
Wow.
She wasn't sure what she expected, but the gray hallof subtly lit concrete wasn't it. It stretched right,ending in a door, and left, a sharp turn about twentyfeet from the elevator that headed east. Claire wasn'tsure about the directions, but she knew that theelevator that had trapped Leon and John was roughlysoutheast---assuming it had gone straight down,anyway.
It was quiet, perfectly still and quiet. David tiltedhis head to the left, indicating that they would headthat way, and Claire and Rebecca both nodded.
Might as well start at the elevator, see if we canfigure out which way they headed. . . .
Claire glanced at Rebecca again, not wanting tostare but uneasy about her health; she really didn'tlook so good, and as Rebecca turned toward the hall'scorner, Claire hung back a little. She caught David'sgaze, nodding slightly toward the young medic,frowning.
He hesitated, then nodded in turn, and she saw thathe wasn't blind to her condition. At least there wasthat---
---and Rebecca let out a sharp cry of surprise,already at the corner---
---as a man in a blue suit leapt forward and grabbedher, knocking her gun out of her hand, putting arevolver to the side of her head. He locked one arm
around her throat, tight, and turned wild, sweaty eyesin their direction, his finger on the trigger, a tremblinggrin on his aging face.
"I'll kill her! I'll do it! Don't make me do it!"
Rebecca clutched at his arm and he squeezed eventighter, his hands shaking, his blue eyes darting backand forth between David and Claire. Rebecca's eyesclosed a little, her fingers dropping away, and Clairerealized that she was too weak, that she was on theverge of collapse as it was.
"You people aren't going to kill me, just stay away!Stay away or I'll kill her!"
The barrel of the revolver was pressed to her skull;if David or she made a move. . . .
They watched helplessly as the madman startedbacking around them, dragging Rebecca with himtoward the door at the end of the hall.
TWENTY
IT WAS FRIGHTENINGLY EASY TO BRING FOS-sil out of stasis. In a matter of moments, Leon hadgotten into the monitoring program and figured outhow to drain the giant cylinder. According to thedigital timer that popped up on the screen, it wouldonly take about five minutes once he entered thecommand.
Man, anyone working here could have done it, atany time. For such a paranoid company, Umbrella suretakes chances. . . .
"Hey, look at this," John said, and Leon turnedfrom the small computer, glancing warily at themonster. Even after surviving the hell of Raccoon,after fighting zombies and mammoth spiders andeven a giant alligator, it was probably the strangestthing he'd ever seen.
John was standing at the wall across the room,staring up at a laminated picture. As Leon got closer,
he saw that it was a map of the Planet, each areaneatly labeled. The testing facility had a fairly simplelayout, basically a giant corridor that surrounded thefour phases, most of the rooms and offices on off-shoots from the main hall.
John tapped a small square at the east, just acrossfrom where the service elevator was. "Says 'test con-trol/monitor room,'" he said, "and it's on the way out."
"You think Reston's holed up there?" Leon asked.
John shrugged. "If he was watching us in the testprogram, that's where he would have been---what I'minterested in is if he happened to leave his little blackbook lying around."
"Wouldn't hurt to check," Leon said. "It'll take thetube about five minutes to drain, we'd have time---as-suming the elevator's not a problem."
John turned around to look at Fossil, asleep in itsgel womb. "You think it'll actually wake up?"
Leon nodded. The stats that had been listed in thesimple monitoring program all seemed to match up,its heart rate and respiration indicating deep sleep; noreason it wouldn't wake up once the warm nutrientbath was drained.
And it'll probably wake up cold, pissed, and hun-gry. ...
"Yeah," he said. "And we want to be gone when itdoes."
John smiled a little, not his usual grin but a smile,anyway. "Then let's get gone," he said softly.
Leon walked back to the computer, bathed in palered light from the stasis tube. Fossil floated peace-fully, a sleeping giant. A monstrosity, created by
monstrous people and living a useless life in a placebuilt for death.
Take it all down, Leon thought, and hit the "Enter"key. The timer started its count; they had five minutes.
David thought it was probably Reston, although therewas no way to be sure. It didn't matter, all he caredabout was how to get Rebecca away from him, and asthe crazed man in the blue suit backed to the door,David realized that there was nothing he could do.
Not yet.
"Just go away! Leave me alone!" The man---Res-ton---shouted, and then he was gone. Rebecca wasgone, and the weak, listless way she'd looked at thembefore the door closed scared David badly.
"What do we do?"
He looked at Claire, saw the anxiety and fear on herface, and made himself take a deep breath, blowing itout slowly. They wouldn't be able to do anything ifthey panicked---
---and we could very well get her killed.
"Stay calm," he said, feeling anything but. "Wedon't know the floor plan, we can't circle aroundbehind him . . . we'll have to follow."
"But he---"
"Yes, I know what he said," David interrupted."There's no alternative at this point. We let them get asafe distance, then follow, look for an opening."
And hope that he's not as unstable as he looks.
"Claire---this is stealth work, we can't afford tomake a sound. Perhaps it would be better if you stayedhere\_\_\_\_"
Claire shook her head, a look of determination inher gray eyes. "I can do it," she said, firmly andclearly. She had no doubts, and though untrained,she'd proven herself to be quick and steady.
David nodded and they walked to the door to wait,two minutes unless we hear an exit, crack the door forsound---
He forced himself to take another deep breath,cursing himself for letting Rebecca come with them.She was exhausted and injured, she wouldn't be ableto fight if he decided to tighten his arm a bit moreabout her throat....
No. Hang on, Rebecca. We're coming, and we canwait all night for him to make a slip, to find ouropportunity.
They waited, David praying that Reston wouldn'thurt her, swearing that he'd cut out the man's liverand feed it to him if he did.
They looked for the elevator, not sprinting throughthe endless gray hall, but not taking their time aboutit, either. The cafeteria was empty, and a half-minutecheck of the bunk rooms satisfied John that theworkers had gone. There were clear signs that the guyshad been in a hurry to grab their shit and get out.
Hope Reston's still here, though....
As they ran north down the main corridor, Johndecided that if Mr. Blue was still in the control room,he'd knock him out. A good solid punch to the templewould do it, and if he didn't wake up before Fossilstarted to roam, too bad.
They ran past the small offshoot that connected thecontrol room to the main hall, both of them panting,
both of them aware that they needed a workingelevator a hell of a lot more than they needed to screwwith Reston. As Leon had said, they didn't want to bearound for the Planet's grand finale.
The open panel in the wall and the small lightabove the "In use" sign were enough to make Johngrin like a kid, the relief a cool and sweeping wave;they'd taken a big risk deciding to let Fossil out beforesecuring their escape route.
Leon hit the recall button, looking just as relieved."Two, two-and-a-half minutes," he said, and Johnnodded.
"Just a quick look," he said, and turned backtoward the small passage across the hall. Leon was outof ammo, but John still had a few rounds in the M-16in case Reston did anything stupid.
They hurried to the door at the end of the hall andfound it unlocked. John went first, sweeping the largeroom with the rifle, then whistling in awe at the setup.
"Damn," he said softly. A line of black leather chairsfaced an entire wall of screens. Deep red plush carpet.A shining silver console, sleek and ultramodern, a tablethat looked like solid white marble behind it.
At least we don't have to dig through any clutter. ...
Except for a coffee mug and a silver flask on theconsole, there was nothing to see. No papers or officestuff, no personal items, no secret code books.
"Probably ought to get going," Leon said. "I'mestimating time here, I'd hate to be a couple minutesoff."
"Yeah, okay. Let's---"
There was movement on one of the wall screens,midway through the second row from the top. John
stepped closer to the monitor, wondering who the hellit could be, the employees got out and that's twopeople, can't be---
"Oh, shit," John said, and felt his stomach drop, asickening plunge that seemed to go on and on, hishorrified gaze fixed to the screen.
Reston, with a gun. Dragging Rebecca through somehall, his arm around her throat. Rebecca's feet half-dragging on the floor, her head hanging, her arms slack.
"Claire!"
John glanced away, saw Leon staring at a secondmonitor, saw David and Claire, armed, movingquickly down another featureless corridor.
"Can we refill the tube?" John barked, his gut stilllurching, feeling more terrified by the sight of theirfriends than he had all night, that miserable bastard'sgot 'becca---
"I don't know," Leon said quickly, "we can try, butwe've gotta go now--- "
John stepped back from the wall, searching thepictures for one of the laboratory area, his exhaustionfalling away as fresh adrenaline pounded into hissystem.
There, a dark room, a single light in the cornerpointed at the tube, at the moving, thrashing thinginside. In seconds, dripping hands plunged throughthe clear matter, tearing, shattering, a massive, pallid,reptilian leg stepping through.
Too late: Fossil was out.
TWENTY-ONE
THE CREATURE DESIGNATED TYRANT SERIESReH1a, more commonly known as Fossil, was moti-vated purely by instinct and it only had one: eat. Allof its actions stemmed from that single, primal urge.If there was something between it and food, Fossildestroyed it. If something attacked, tried to stop itfrom food, Fossil killed it. There was no reproductiveimpulse, because Fossil was the only member of itsspecies.
Fossil woke hungry. It sensed food, picking up onelectrical charges in the air, scents, distant heat---anddestroyed the thing that held it. The environment wasunfamiliar to Fossil, but not important; there wasfood, and it was hungry.
At ten feet tall and weighing roughly a thousandpounds, the wall that stood between Fossil and fooddidn't stop it for long. Past that was another wall, andthen another---and the rich feels and smells of food
were very close, so close that Fossil experienced theclosest thing it had to an emotion: it wanted, a state ofbeing that went beyond hunger, a powerful extensionof its instinct that encouraged it to move faster. Fossilwould eat almost anything, but living food alwaysmade it want.
The wall that stopped it from food was thicker andharder than the others, but not so much that it couldstop Fossil. It ripped through the layers of substanceand was in a strange place, nothing organic there butthe moving, screeching food.
Food ran at it, hard to see but smelling quite strongly.Food raised a claw and swiped at Fossil, crying in fury,its desire to attack and kill; Fossil knew this because ofthe smell. Within seconds, Fossil was surrounded byfood, and again, it wanted. The animals that were foodhowled and screamed, dancing and leaping, and Fossilreached out and picked up the closest.
Food had sharp talons, but Fossil's hide was thick.Fossil bit into the food, tearing a great chunk from thewrithing body, and was fulfilled. Its sense of purposewas met so long as it chewed and swallowed, hotblood dripping down its throat, hot flesh rippingbetween its teeth.
The other food animals continued to attack, mak-ing it easy for Fossil to eat. Fossil ate all of the foodanimals in a short period of time, and its metabolismused the food almost as quickly, giving Fossilstrength to find more food. It was an extremelysimple process, one that continued as long as Fossilwas awake.
Finished with the dark and cavernous room thathad housed the screaming food, Fossil licked blood offits fingers and opened its senses, searching for its nextmeal. In seconds, it knew that there was more, livingand moving close by.
Fossil wanted. Fossil was hungry.
TWENTY-TWO
THE GIRL WAS SICK, HER SKIN CLAMMY, HERattempts to get away from him pathetic and weak.Reston wished he could get rid of her, just drop herand run, but he didn't dare. She was his ticket throughthe forces on the surface; surely they wouldn't kill oneof their own.
Still, he wished the stupid girl wasn't so ill; she wasslowing him down, hardly able to walk, and he had nochoice but to continue dragging her along, norththrough the back corridor, then east at the far cornerof the facility, heading for the connecting door to thecell block. From the cells the service elevator was atwo-minute walk.
Almost there, almost done with this impossible,incredible night, not much farther. . . .
He was an extremely important man, he was arespected member of a group that had more moneyand power than most countries, he was Jay Walling---
ford Reston---and here he was being hunted in hisown facility, forced to take a hostage, to hold a gun tothe head of a sick girl and sneak out like somecriminal; it was ludicrous, just unbelievable.
"Too tight," the girl whispered, her voice strangledand rasping.
"Too bad," he answered, continuing to drag heralong by her slender throat, her head tucked throughhis arm; she should have thought of that before shedecided to invade the Planet.
He pulled her through the door that led into the cellblock, feeling better with each step he took. Each wasanother step closer to escape, to survival. He wouldnot be gunned down by some pious, self-righteousgroup of visionless thugs; he'd kill himself first.
Past the empty cells, almost to the door---and thegirl stumbled, falling into him so hard that she almostknocked him down. She gripped him tightly, trying toregain her balance, and Reston felt a sudden insanerush of anger at her, of rage.
Stupid bitch, assassin, spy, I should shoot you righthere, now, blow your slack, stupid brain across thewalls---
He regained control before he could pull the trigger,but the loss of composure frightened him a little. Itwould have been a mistake, and a costly one.
"Do that again and I'll kill you," he said coldly, andkicked at the door that led into the main hall, pleasedat the merciless quality of his voice. He soundedstrong, like a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill if itserved his purposes---which, he was coming to dis-cover, was what he was.
Through the door and into the hall---
"Let her go, Reston!"
John and Red were at the corner, both of them withweapons trained on him. Blocking the path to theelevator.
Immediately, Reston dragged the girl back, they'djust have to go back into the cell block while hedecided how to handle---
"Forget it," Red growled. "They're right behindyou, we saw them tailing you. You're trapped."
Reston pushed the gun barrel against the girl'shead, desperate, I've got the hostage, they can't, theyhave to let me go---
"I'll kill her!" He backed up again, moving towardthe anteroom of the test program, the girl staggeringto stay on her feet.
"And then we'll kill you," John said, not a whisperof lie in his deep voice. "If you hurt her, we'll hurtyou. Let her go and we leave."
Reston reached the closed metal door and reachedaround for the control panel, hitting the button thatwould unlock the gate and the hatch into One.
"You can't possibly expect me to believe that," hesneered as the sheet metal slid up; there was only oneDae left alive and he'd left their kennel open---/ canclimb, I can still get away from them, it's not too late!
At that second, the door to the cell block openedand the other two stepped out---stepped in betweenthe gunmen and him, and he acted before he had timeto think, taking his chance.
Reston pushed the girl away, hard, throwing hertoward all four of them and he jumped left in thesame motion, hitting the hatch with his shoulder. The
door into One flew open and he was through, slam-ming it closed. There was a bolt and he threw it, thethe metal making a sound like music.
As long as he stayed away from the clearings, he wassafe. They couldn't touch him.
Strong hands caught her before she could crash intothe ground---and she could breathe again---and Johnand Leon were alive ... the relief was an ocean ofwarmth rising up over her, making her feel evenweaker than she already was. The extended chokeholdhad taken most of what little strength she'd had. Infact, now that she thought about it, Rebecca felt anawful lot like death on two legs; like crap on a cracker,as she used to say when she was a child. .. .
Claire held her steady---it was Claire's stronghands that she'd felt---and everyone gathered aroundher, John picking her up easily. Rebecca closed hereyes, relaxing into her exhaustion.
"Are you alright?" David asked, and she nodded,relieved and happy that they were together again, thatno one had been hurt---
---no one but me, anyway---
---and she knew that once she had a chance to rest,she'd be fine.
"We have to get out of here, now," Leon said, anurgency in his voice that made Rebecca open her eyes,the warm and sleepy feelings instantly gone.
"What is it?" David asked, his voice going just assharp.
John turned and started carrying her down the hall,quickly, calling back over his shoulder. "We'll tell youon the way up, but we've gotta go ASAP, no joke."
"John?" She said, and he looked down at her,throwing her a small smile, his dark eyes telling adifferent story.
"We'll be fine," he said, "you just relax, startmaking up stories to tell us about your war wounds."
She'd never seen him look so uneasy, and shestarted to tell him that she was wounded, notstupid---
---when a tremendous, thundering crash came fromsomewhere ahead, a sound like walls being torndown, like glass exploding, like a bull in a chinashop---
---and John spun around, running back the waythey'd come---then she couldn't see but heard Claire'sgasp, heard David say, "Oh, my God," in breathlessdisbelief, and felt her tired heart start to pound infear.
Something very bad was coming.
TWENTY-THREE
GODDAMMIT, NOT FAST ENOUGH---
In a cloud of dust and rubble, cracked concrete andplaster, Fossil burst into the hall across from theelevator like a vision of hell. Its snout and hands werered, splashes of violent color against its sickly whiteskin, its giant, impossible body filling the corridor.
"Clip!" Leon screamed, not taking his gaze fromthe looming monster, still a hundred feet in front ofthem and not nearly far enough. He drew his emptyH&K and ejected the clip, barely aware that it wasClaire who handed him another as Fossil took a steptoward them---
---and David was firing the M-16, the clatter ofrounds blasting through the long hall, Fossil takinganother huge step forward as Leon slapped the cliphome. John was suddenly next to him, grabbing a riflemag from David, Claire on David's other side, all ofthem targeting the creature.
Leon found the monster's right eye and squeezedthe trigger, the roar of his nine-millimeter lost in thecombined explosive firepower, all of them firing---
---bambambam, the sounds blending together,deafening, Fossil tilting its head to one side as ifcurious, taking another step into the wall of bullets.
"Fall back!" David shouted, and Leon backed up astep, horrified by Fossil's lack of wounds. If they werecausing it any pain at all Leon couldn't see it, but itwas all they had. He tried for the eye again---
---and heard Claire screaming something, glancedaway long enough to see that she had a grenade out,that she was handing it to David.
"Go, go, go!" David shouted, and John grabbedLeon's arm and they turned and ran, Claire pacingthem, Leon praying that they were far enough awaynot to be hit by the shreds of hot metal.
Claire ran, terrified, thinking that she'd never seenanything like it. A blood-painted fishbelly nightmare,a curved grin of wickedly sharp teeth and its hands,the too-long fingers stained red---
---what is it, how is it---
"Fire in the hole!" David screamed, and Clairepushed off the cement, trying to fly, seeing in thatairborne second Rebecca's pale, strained face, the girlslumped against the back wall still a hundred feetaway---
---and BOOM, she was flying, John to her right, awarm body falling against her back---and they all hitthe floor, Claire trying to take it on the shoulder,landing too heavily on her arm instead.
Ow ow ow!
David had thrown himself against her, either onpurpose or from the blast, and as she sat up, turning,she saw him grimace in pain. She saw two, three piecesof dark metal stuck to his back, pinning the black fleeceto his skin, and reached out to help him---
---and saw the monster still standing. Brushing atits chest and belly, at the blackened patches from thefrag grenade. A few shards had pierced its flesh, butshe thought---it was hard to tell from its silence---from the way it took another step toward them itlooked seemingly unfazed. It opened its mouth, itsheavy lizard jaws---exposing strings of some un-known meat stuck between its jagged teeth. Silently, ittook another step forward, grinning its carnivorousgrin, and Claire imagined that she could smell thebloody meat of its breath, of whatever lay rotting inits guts---
SNAP OUT OF IT!
She crawled to her feet, ignoring the pain in herarm, reaching down to grab David's outstretchedhand and pull him up. The second he was on his feetshe pointed her nine-millimeter and started to fireagain, knowing it wasn't enough, not knowing whatelse to do.
Four points of injury, all in his upper back, allburning and sharp. David hissed air between histeeth, decided the pain bearable, and put it aside untilfurther notice. The freakish monster wasn't down, itmay have slowed but it wasn't stopping, and theydidn't have anything bigger to throw at it than whatthey'd already tried.
Run, we'll have to run---
Even as he thought it, he was opening his mouth toshout, to be heard over John and Leon and Claire asthey emptied their weapons, the rounds as useless asthe grenade had been.
"John, get Rebecca! Fall back, we can't stop it!"
John was gone, Leon and Claire sidling backwards,firing just as he was --- on the slim chance that it wasdoing some damage, that one of the rounds might hitsomething that could be hurt.
"David, we could go through the test, reinforcedsteel!" John shouted, and David wasn't sure what hewas talking about but he understood "reinforcedsteel." It probably wouldn't stop the mutant animal,but it might slow it down enough for them to regroup,to work out some plan.
"Do it!" David shouted, and the monster took two,three strides toward them, apparently no longer inter-ested in a hesitant approach. At that speed, it wouldbe on them in scant seconds.
"Run, after John!" He screamed, and gave Leonand Claire a heartbeat of cover before he turned andran after them.
Steel, reinforced steel --- A mantra that loopedthrough his racing thoughts as he sprinted, Claire andLeon turning the corner, the cement curve whippingpast him as he saw Rebecca and John in the room atthe end of the hall. The room where the madman hadgone.
"David, hit the buttons, close the door!" Johnshouted, and David saw the controls, the small lightsabove the rounded knobs, and veered toward them,still at a dead run.
Claire and Leon were inside. David shot his arm
out and slammed his open hand into the largestbutton on the panel, hoping he'd chosen the rightone---
---and he was through, even as a sheet of metalguillotined the air behind him, close enough for himto feel it on the back of his neck.
He spun around just in time to see the heavy whitebody of the hybrid creature slam into the door, itschest smashing against the thick, warped window setinto the thick metal. The door shivered in its tracks,and David could see that it wouldn't stand for long.
Please hold, just for a moment---
He turned, saw Leon at the smaller hatch on thesouth wall, saw the horror in his eyes, the colorleached from his face, his trembling hand on thedoor's lever.
"Locked," he said, and outside, the monstersmashed into the door again.
Reston heard the noise when he was trying to figureout how to climb into the Av kennel. The pen wasabout twelve feet off the ground, an open hole in thewall, and there was no ladder; the closest tree was agood seven feet away, impossible---but his only otherway out of the test was the way he'd come, and hedidn't dare go back out into the main hall. He'd aboutmade up his mind to attempt climbing the tree to trythe jump when the rending crashes had seeped intothe room from Phase Two.
Reston walked toward the connecting door, curiousin spite of his fear. The phases were heavily sound-proofed; a noise like that could only be from a bomb,or a wrecking crew ...
... which means bomb. They've planted explosivesafter all, the monsters.
Reston waited by the door for a moment, but didn'thear anything else. The lone Dae let out a cry fromsomewhere across the chamber, the fight apparentlytaken out of it with the loss of its siblings; it hadn'ttried to attack.
Explosives....
Phase Two was directly behind control, a double-thick wall between them, which had to mean thatthe renegades had blown up the control center, themost important---and most expensive---room in thePlanet. They couldn't have chosen a better target;the facility was practically worthless with controldestroyed.
But perhaps they've given me another way out...
Reston wasn't going to make any bets as to whetheror not the barbarous mercenaries had finally gone,leaving the broken remains of the Planet behind---
---but if they have....
If they had, he'd be able to walk out. Maybe justwalk away---and not just from the Planet, but fromWhite Umbrella. He was reasonably certain thatJackson would kill him for what had happened ...but not if Reston disappeared.
A few hundred thousand to Hawkinson, a ride to asafe place....
It could work, if he timed it right, if he changed hisname and identity and went far, far away. It wouldwork.
Nodding to himself, he cracked open the door toTwo, not sure what to expect---but it was still asurprise to see the massive, gaping holes in two of the
desert's walls and the cement and wood and steelblown to pieces; each ragged opening was at least tenfeet across, perhaps twenty feet high. He didn't seesmoke anywhere, but imagined that the saboteurs hadused some high-tech compound, some material thatscum like that always seemed to have access to.
The heat was still high, and the lights were blazing,but it was definitely cooler with the new ventilation---and though he stood for long seconds listening, hedidn't hear a sound that might indicate their pres-ence. Unless it was some kind of trap....
Reston shook his head, amused by his own para-noia. Now that he'd decided to be free, to leavebehind the ruins of his life, he felt a kind of elation. Asense of new possibilities, even of rebirth. They weregone, their mission accomplished, the Planet wasted.
Reston walked across the hot sands, stepping overthe pieces of Scorp scattered about, finally climbingthe shifting dune to peer into the hole.
My God, they managed to get everything, didn'tthey?
The destruction was nearly total, the gaping holealmost exactly where the monitor wall had been.Thick shards of glass, bits of wire and circuitry, afaint scent of ozone---that was all that was left of thebrilliantly designed video-retrieval system. Four ofthe leather chairs had been knocked off their weldedmounts, the one-of-a-kind marble table had actuallycracked in two---and in the northeast corner of theroom there was another giant, ragged hole sur-rounded by debris.
And through that hole. . ..
Reston could actually see the elevator. The working, running elevator, the lights engaged, the platformrecalled.
Was it a trap? It seemed too good to be true---butthen he heard a distant pounding, somewhere off bythe cell block, and thought that luck was finally withhim; the employees had left, the sound could only bethe blasted ex-S.T.A.R.S. team. Far enough away thathe'd be halfway to the surface before they could makeit back.
Reston grinned, amazed that it would end like this;it seemed so anticlimactic somehow, so mundane . . .
. . . and am I complaining? No, no complaints. Notfrom me.
Reston stepped through the hole, moving carefullyto avoid the sharp glass.
The battle with the food animals had made ithungry, had made it crave; that there was a strongwall in Fossil's way made it only more eager to eat, tofulfill its purpose. It pounded at the strong obstacle,feeling the matter shift, becoming less rigid---
---and although it wouldn't take much more to getat the animals, Fossil suddenly smelled new food.Back the way it had come, food, open and exposed,nothing between it and Fossil.
It would come back after it had eaten. Fossil turnedaway and ran, hungry and wanting, determined to eatbefore the food could move away.
As soon as Fossil turned and ran, John started tokick at the steel door, realizing that it was their onlychance. The incredible beating that the monster had
given it made it easy, the thick metal half off its tracksalready.
Claire and Leon started kicking. In seconds, they'dknocked it far enough from the metal indentation thatit fell off, clattering to the floor---and seconds afterthat, they were running, running for the elevator,David carrying Rebecca and all of them silent. Fossilwould be back, they all knew it, and they didn't standa chance against it.
"NO! NO! NO!"
A man, screaming, and as John rounded the corner,he saw that it was Reston, saw him sprinting down thelong corridor, Fossil closing fast.
They ran, John wondering how long it would takethe monster to eat an entire human. And as theyreached the elevator, leapt through the doors, Leonpulling the gate down---
---they all heard the wailing scream rise to aninhuman pitch---and then cut off sharply, stopped bya heavy wet crunch.
The elevator started to rise.
TWENTY-FOUR
REBECCA WAS FALLING ASLEEP, THE LULL OFthe elevator as soothing as the sound of David'sheartbeat. As tired as she was, she lifted one incredi-bly heavy hand to the flat black book tucked into thewaistband of her pants. Reston hadn't even noticed,apparently hadn't suspected that she could fake a fallwith the best of them.
She thought about telling the others, breaking thetired silence in the rising elevator to give them thenews, then decided it could wait; they deserved apleasant surprise.
Rebecca closed her eyes, resting. They still had along way to go, but the tide was turning; Umbrellawould pay for its crimes. They would see to it.
EPILOGUE
WITH DAVID AND JOHN SUPPORTING YOUNGRebecca, and Leon and Claire smiling at one anotherlike lovers, the five weary soldiers trudged off the screenand out into the gently blossoming Utah morning.
Sighing, Trent leaned back in his chair, idly twistinghis onyx ring. He hoped they'd take a day or two torest before heading to their next great battle . . . per-haps the last great battle; they deserved a bit of restafter all they'd suffered. Really, if any one of themsurvived what was surely ahead, he'd have to see thatthey were amply rewarded.
Assuming I'm still in a position to bequeathe gifts ...
He would be, of course. If and when Jackson andthe others finally figured out what part he was playing,he'd have to disappear---but there were half a dozencompletely untraceable identities for him to choosefrom seeded around the world, each of them ex-tremely wealthy. And White Umbrella didn't have the
resources to track him down. They had money andpower, true, but they simply weren't smart enough.
I've managed to get this far, haven't I?
Trent sighed again, reminding himself not.to gloat,at least not yet. It wouldn't pay to be overconfident,he knew; better men than he had died at the hands ofUmbrella. In any case, either he'd be dead or theywould. End of problem, one way or the other.
He stood up, stretching his arms over his head andshrugging the tension from his shoulders; the satellite"pirate" had allowed him to see and hear almost all ofit, and it had been a long and eventful night. A fewhours sleep, that was what he needed. He'd arrangedto be out of touch until about noon, but then he'dhave to put a call in to Sidney---and the old tea-drinker would be nearly frantic by then, along withthe rest of them. The mysterious Mr. Trent's serviceswould be desperately sought after, and he'd have tocatch the next plane out; as much as he wanted towatch Hawkinson return and fumble through puttingFossil down, he needed the sleep more.
Trent turned off the screens and walked from hisoperations room---a living room with a few ratherexpensive adjustments---into the kitchen, which wasjust a kitchen. The small house in upstate New Yorkwas his sanctuary if not his home; it was from here thathe conducted most of his work. Not the grandiosescheming he did on White Umbrella's behalf, but hisreal work. Were anyone to check, they'd find the three-room Victorian to be owned by a little old lady namedMrs. Helen Black. A private joke, one all his own.
Trent opened the refrigerator and took out a bottleof mineral water, thinking of how Reston had looked
in his last moment, staring into the face of his owndemise. Lovely work, that, using Fossil against him; itwas really too bad about Cole. The man could havebeen an asset to the small but growing resistance.
Carrying the water upstairs, Trent used the bath-room and then walked down a short hall, wonderinghow much longer he had. In the first few weeks of hiscontact with White Umbrella, he'd half-expected tobe called into Jackson's office and summarily shot atany given moment. But the weeks had stretched intomonths, and he hadn't caught even a whisper ofdoubt---from any of them.
In the bedroom, he laid out his clothes for the flightand then undressed, deciding that he would pack whilehe had his coffee, after calling Sidney. Turning off thelight, Trent slipped into bed and sat for a moment,sipping at his bottled water, going over his meticulousplans for the next few weeks. He was tired, but his life'sgoal was finally within reach; it wasn't so easy to fallasleep when one was about to realize the culminationof three decades of planning and dreaming, of a wishso long-held that it had become who he was. . . .
The final strokes, though. There were still severalthings that had to happen before he could finish, andmost of those had to do with how well his rebels fared.He had faith in them, but there was always a chancethat they might fail---in which case, he'd have to startover again. Not from scratch, but it would be a serioussetback.
Eventually, though. . . .
Trent smiled, setting his water on the nightstand andsliding beneath the thick down comforter. Eventually,the evil of White Umbrella would be exposed to the
light of day. Killing the players would be easier, but hewouldn't be satisfied with their deaths; he wanted tosee them destroyed, financially and emotionally, theirlives taken from them in every practical sense. Andwhen that day came, when the leaders had finishedwatching their precious handiwork crumble to ash, hewould be there. He'd be there to dance in the cemeteryof their dreams, and it would be a fine day indeed.
As he so often did, Trent went over the speech in hismind, the speech that he'd spent a lifetime practicingfor that day. Jackson and Sidney would have to bethere, as well as the European "boys" and the finan-ciers from Japan, Mikami and Kamiya. They all knewthe truth, they had been coconspirators in thetreachery....
I stand in front of them, smiling, and I say, "A littlebackground, in case any of you have forgotten.
"Early in Umbrella's history---before there was sucha thing as White Umbrella---there was a scientistworking in their research and development sectornamed James Darius. Dr. Darius was an ethical andcommitted microbiologist, who, along with his lovelywife, Helen---a doctor of pharmacology, in fact---spent untold hours developing a tissue-repair synthesisfor their employers, one that James had created him-self. This synthesis that took up so much of theDariuses' time was a brilliantly designed viral complexthat---if properly developed---had the potential togreatly reduce human suffering, even one day to wipeout death by traumatic injury.
"Both James and Helen had the highest of hopes fortheir work---and they were so responsible, so loyal andtrusting, that they went to Umbrella immediately, once
they realized the potential of what they were designing.And Umbrella, Inc. also realized the potential. Exceptwhat they saw was a financial nosedive if such a miraclewere to be released. Imagine all the money that apharmaceutical company would lose if millions of peoplestopped dying each year; but then, imagine what moneycould be made if this viral complex could be designed tofit a military application. Imagine the power.
"With incentives like that, Umbrella really had nochoice. They took the synthesis from Darius, they tookthe notes and research, and they turned it all over to abrilliant young scientist by the name of WilliamBirkin, barely out of his teens and already the head ofhis own lab. Birkin was one of them, you see. A manwith the same vision, the same lack of morals, a manthey could use. And with their own puppet in place,they realized that having the good Doctors Dariusaround could prove to be inconvenient.
"So, there was a fire. An accident, it was said, aterrible tragedy---two scientists and three loyal assis-tants all burned up. Too bad, so sad, case closed---andso began the division of Umbrella known as WhiteUmbrella. Bioweapons research. A playground for thefilthy rich and their toadies, for men who'd lost any-thing resembling a conscience a long, long time ago. "Ismile again. "For men like you.
"White Umbrella had thought of everything, or sothey believed. What they hadn't considered---eitherbecause they were too shortsighted or ignorantly dis-missive---was the young son of James and Helen, theironly child, away at boarding school when his parentswere burned alive. Perhaps they simply forgot abouthim. But Victor Darius didn't forget. In fact, Victor
grew up thinking about what Umbrella had done, dareI say obsessing over it. There came a time when Victorcould think of nothing else, and that was when hedecided to do something about it.
"To avenge his mother and father, Victor Dariusknew he would have to be extremely clever and very,very careful. So he spent years just planning. And moreyears learning what he needed to know, and even moremaking the right contacts, moving in the right circles,being as devious and underhanded as his foe. And oneday, he murdered Umbrella, just as they murdered hisparents. It wasn't easy, but he was determined, andhe'd devoted his entire life to the project."
I grin. I say, "Oh, and did I mention that VictorDarius changed his name? It was a bit of a risk, but hedecided to go with his father's middle name, or at leastpart of it. James Trenton Darius wasn't using itanymore, after all."
The speech always changed a little, but the essen-tials stayed the same. Trent knew that he would neverhave the opportunity to deliver it to all of them atonce, but it was the idea that had kept him going, allthese many years. On nights when he'd been soenraged that he couldn't sleep, the retelling of thestory had come to be a kind of bitter lullaby; heimagined the looks on their tired old faces, the horrorin their faded eyes, their trembling indignation at hisbetrayal. Somehow, the vision always soothed his furyand gave him some small peace.
Soon. After Europe, my friends. . . .
The thought followed him down into the dark, tothe sweet, dreamless sleep of the righteous.

