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God, again? The whole city's going to blow up atthis rate… The thought was vague, disoriented, hermind muddled until she remembered to breathe. A deepinhalation and Jill pushed Carlos's arm away and stood,needing to see.The kitchen was blasted, blackened, utensils andcookware everywhere. She saw several canisters lean-ing against the back wall, one of them the obvioussource of the explosion, its smoking metal sides peeledback like jagged petals. Rancid smoke curled up fromthe smoldering body on the floor, the Nemesis laid outlike a fallen giant, its black clothes singed and burnt. Itdidn't move."No offense, but are you batshit?" Carlos asked, star-ing at her as though the question was rhetorical. "Youcould've barbecued us both!"
Jill watched the Nemesis, ignoring him, the.357 aimed at its still legs; its head and upper body were blocked by a low shelf. The blast had been powerful, but after all she'd been through, she knew better than to assume anything.
Shoot, shoot it while it's down, you may not have an-other chance…
The Nemesis twitched, a slight jerk of the fingers on the hand she could see, and Jill's nerve fled. She wanted out, she wanted to be far away before it sat up, before it shook off the effects of the explosion, as it surely would. "We have to get out of here, now," she said, turning to Carlos. Young, good-looking, obviously unnerved by the blast, he hesitated, then nodded, holding his assault rifle tightly to his chest. It looked like an M16, military, and he was dressed for combat – a very good sign. Hope there's more where you came from, Jill thought, heading for the door at a brisk pace, Carlos right behind her. She had a lot of questions for him and realized that he probably had a few for her, too… but they could talk somewhere else. Anywhere else. As soon as they were outside, Jill couldn't stop her-self; she broke into a run, the young soldier pacing her, hurrying through the cool dark of the dead city as she wondered if there was anyplace left where they could be safe. The girl, Jill, ran a full block before slowing down.
She seemed to know where they were going, and it was obvious that she'd had some kind of combat training; cop, maybe, though she sure as hell wasn't in uniform. Carlos was desperately curious but saved his breath, concentrating instead on keeping up with her. From the restaurant they ran downhill, past the the-ater Trent had mentioned, taking a right at a decorative fountain at the end of the block; another half block and Jill signaled at a door on the left for a standard sweep. Carlos nodded, standing to one side of the door, rifle up. Jill pulled the handle and Carlos stepped in, ready to fire at anything that moved, Jill covering him. They were in some kind of a warehouse, at the end of a walkway that T-ed some fifteen meters ahead. It seemed to be clear. "It should be all right," Jill said quietly. "I came through this way a few minutes ago." "Better safe than sorry, though, right?" Carlos said, keeping the rifle up but feeling some of the tension leave his body. She was definitely a pro. They edged into the warehouse, carefully checking it out before saying another word. It was cold and not very well lit, but it didn't smell as bad as most of the rest of the city and by standing at the T junction in the middle of the warehouse, they'd be able to see anything coming well before it got to them. In all, it felt like the safest place he'd been since the helicopter.
"I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind,"
Jill said, finally turning her full attention to him. Carlos opened his mouth and the words just spilled out. "You want to ask me out, right? It's the accent, chicks love the accent. You hear it and you just can't help yourselves."
Jill stared at him, eyes wide, and for a moment hethought he'd made a mistake, that she wouldn't realizehe was kidding. It was a stupid call, joking around inthese circumstances. Just as he was about to apologize,one corner of her mouth lifted slightly."I thought you said you weren't a zombie," she said."But if that's the best you can do, maybe we ought toreevaluate your situation."
Carlos grinned, delighted with her comeback – andsuddenly thought of Randy, of him playing around justbefore they'd landed in Raccoon. His smile faded, andhe saw the bright glitter of humor leave her face, too, asif she'd also remembered where they were and whathad happened.When she spoke again, her tone was much cooler. "Iwas going to ask if you were the same Carlos who sentout a message about an hour ago, hour and a halfmaybe."
"You heard that?" Carlos asked, surprised. "When no one answered, I didn't think…" Be careful who you trust. Trent's words flashed through his mind, reminding him that he had no idea who Jill Valentine was. He trailed off, shrugging indif-ferently.
"I only caught part of it, and I couldn't transmit from where I was," Jill said. "You said something about a platoon, didn't you? Are there other, ah, sol-diers here?" Stick to the basics, and nothing about Trent. "There were, but I think they're all dead now. This whole oper-ation's been a disaster from word go." "What happened?" she asked, studying him intently. "And who are you with, anyway, National Guard? Are they sending backup?"
Carlos watched her in turn, wondering how careful he needed to be. "No reinforcements, I don't think. I mean, I'm sure they'll send someone in eventually, but I'm just a grunt, I don't really know anything – we set down, the zombies attacked. Maybe some of the other guys got away, but so far's I know, you're looking at the last surviving member of the U.B.C.S. That's Um-brella Bio-Hazard Countermea…"
She cut him off, the expression on her face close to disgust. "You're with Umbrella?" Carlos nodded. "Yeah. They sent us in to rescue the civilians." He wanted to say more, to tell her what he suspected – anything to change the look on her face, like she'd just found out he was a rasist or something, but Trent's advice kept repeating, reminding him to be wary. Jill's lips curled. "How 'bout you can the shit? Um-brella's responsible for what happened here, as if you didn't know – where do you get off lying? What are you really doing here? Tell the truth, Carlos, if that's your name."
She was definitely pissed, and Carlos felt a mo-ment's uncertainty, wondering if she was an ally, some-one who knew the truth about Umbrella, but it could also be a trap.
Maybe she works for them and is trying to feel me out, find out where my loyalties are…
Carlos allowed a touch of anger to creep into his own voice. "I'm just a grunt, like I said. I'm – all of us are guns-for-hire. No politics, dig? They don't tell us shit. And at the moment, I'm not interested in what Umbrella is or isn't responsible for. If I see someone who needs help, I'm gonna do my job, but otherwise, I just want to get out."
He glared at her, determined to stay in character.
"And speaking of who-what-why, what are you doing here?" he snapped. "What were you doing in that restaurant? And what was that thing that you blew up?"
Jill held his gaze for another second, then dropped her own, sighing. "I'm trying to get out, too. That thing is one of Umbrella's monsters, it's hunting me, and I doubt very much that it's dead, even now – which means I'm not safe. I thought there might be… I was looking for a kind of key, I thought it might be at the restaurant." "What kind of key?" he asked, but somehow, he thought he already knew.
"It's this jewel, it's part of a locking mechanism to the City Hall gate. There are two jewels, actually, and I've got one already. If I can get the other one, get the gate open, there's a way out of town – a cable car that runs west, out to the suburbs."
Carlos kept his face neutral, but he was jumping be-neath his skin. What had Trent said?
Go west, for one thing… and when I find out wherethe blue gem is, I'll understand their relevance… butwhat does this mean about Jill Valentine? Do I trusther now, or not? What does she know?"No shit," he said, keeping his tone mild. "I sawsomething like that, in the basement at the restaurant. Agreen gem."Jill's eyes widened. "Really? If we can get it… Car-los, we have to go back!"If that's my name," he said, caught somewhere be-tween irritation and amusement. She seemed to leapfrom mood to mood, brisk then funny then angry thenexcited; it was kind of tiring, and he still wasn't surewhether or not he could turn his back on her. Sheseemed to be sincere…"I'm sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "Ishouldn't have said that, it's just – Umbrella and Iaren't on the best of terms. There was a biohazardousincident at one of their labs, here, about six weeks ago.People died. And now this."
Carlos melted a little at the warmth of her hand.Jesus, but he was a sucker for un primor, and she wassomething to look at."Carlos Oliveira," he said, "at your service."Down, boy. Head out of town, says Trent, but are yousure you want to travel with someone who might end upkilling you? You want to clear your head before youtake off with the cuero Miss Valentine.Immediately he started arguing with himself. Yeah,be careful, but are you going to leave her all alone?She said that monster was after her…
He joked about it sometimes, but he wasn't truly a sexist; she could take care of herself, as she'd already proven. And if she was one of Umbrella's spies… well, she deserved what she got, then, didn't she?
"I… I wouldn't feel right about leaving without at least trying to find some of the others," he said, and now that he knew there was a way out, he realized it was true. Even an hour ago, the thought would have been ridiculous; now, armed with Trent's information, everything had changed. He was still scared, sure, but actually knowing something about the situation made him feel less vulnerable somehow. In spite of the risks, he wanted to walk a few more blocks before he left town, make some attempt to help someone. He wanted time to think, to make up his mind.
That… and knowing that she survived means that I can, too. "I saw the gate you're talking about, the one over by the newspaper office, si? Why don't I meet you there… or better yet, at the cable car." Jill frowned, then nodded. "Okay. I'll go back to the restaurant while you look around, and I'll wait for you at the trolley. Once you go through the gate, just follow the path and keep to the left, you'll see signs for Lons-daleYard."
For a few seconds, neither spoke, and Carlos saw, in the careful way she looked at him, that Jill had her own misgivings about him. Her leeriness made him trust her a little more; if she was anti-Umbrella, it made sense that she wouldn't be too hot on hanging out with one of their employees.
Stop debating it and just go, for Christ's sake! "Don't leave without me," Carlos said, meaning for it to come out lightly. He sounded dead serious. "Don't make me wait too long," she returned and smiled, and he thought that maybe she was okay after all. Then she turned and jogged lightly away, back down the walk they'd entered by. Carlos watched her leave, wondering if he was crazy for not going with her – and after a moment, he turned and walked quickly toward the other exit before he could change his mind. For someone who was bleeding like a stuck pig, Mikhail was surprisingly swift. For at least twenty min-utes Nicholai had followed the trail of dark droplets through a blockade, over gravel and asphalt, grass and debris, and still he hadn't sighted the dying man.
Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering…
Nicholai had planned to give up if he wasn't able to find the platoon leader after a few minutes, but the longer he searched, the more determined he became.
He found himself getting angry, too – how dare Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a distance and was leading him back into town; another block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again. Nicholai opened another door, scanned another room, sighed. Mikhail had to know that he was being followed – or he just didn't have the good sense to lay down and die. Either way, it wouldn't, couldn't be long now. Nicholai walked through a small, orderly office, ap-parently attached to a parking garage, the erratic blood trail shining purple on the blue linoleum by the caged bare bulbs overhead. The splatters seemed to be thin-ning; either Mikhail was bleeding out – unlikely, it seemed – or he had found time to staunch his wound. Nicholai gritted his teeth, reassuring himself, He'll be weak, slowing down, perhaps looking for a place to rest. I saw the hit, he can't go on much longer.
He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it. He moved quickly and silently across the cement, edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-sition. He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once. They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they became infected, and he knew that research had been conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer estate…… and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay rate higher than the other organics.
Truly, the half-skinned animal at his feet looked and smelled like a piece of raw meat that had sat in the sun for too long. Accustomed as he was to death, Nicholai still felt his gorge rise at the stench, but he continued to study the creature, certain that the canine had been the target of recent gunplay. Sure enough. Two entry wounds below the torn flap of its left ear… but not from an M16, the holes were much too big. Nicholai backed away, frowning. Some-one besides Mikhail Victor had come through the garage in the last half hour, and probably not a
U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own weapon, probably a handgun… Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the door, perhaps – or perhaps a wounded man, slumped and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on. Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and grinned at the sound of Mikhail's voice, strained and weak, floating past the aging metal.
"No… get away!"
Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground. Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that having no lower body – certainly not a complete diges-tive system – didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.
Do I play the hero, save my leader from being gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show? "Nicholai, help me, please…," Mikhail rasped, rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-ily… funny, for lack of a better term. "Hang on, Mikhail," Nicholai said forcefully. "I'll take care of it!"
He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone. He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly on the asphalt. Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail. "What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.
"Did one of them get you?"
Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me." "Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was following me, too, but – maybe they just thought I was one of them. A zombie." Actually, that's not so far from the truth… Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his performance. "I saw… at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport…"
The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth – that a re-connaissance team would put down first disguised as emergency medical, and no other helicopters would show unless Umbrella gave the word. Since the squad leaders were probably all dead, Nicholai had to wonder if any of the soldiers even knew about the "evacuation," though he supposed it wasn't important. It wouldn't af-fect his plans either way. He found that he wasn't enjoying this game as much as he'd thought he would. Mikhail was too pathetically trusting, it was as much of a challenge as hunting a friendly dog. It was almost shameful to watch, too, the way he surrendered to his pain… "I don't think you're in any shape to travel," Nicholai said coolly.
"It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few minutes…" "No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think…"
Creeaak. Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the
U.B.C.S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.
"Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon Delta. I'm… shit, it's good to see you guys."
Nicholai nodded briskly, annoyed beyond measure as Carlos crouched next to them, checking Mikhail's wound, asking stupid questions. He was ninety-nine percent sure he could kill both of them before they real-ized what was happening, but even one percent was too great a risk considering what was at stake. He would have to wait… but perhaps he could find a way to use these new circumstances to his advantage. And if not… well, people turned their backs on their friends all the time, didn't they? And neither of them had reason to believe Nicholai was anything but. What was the saying, about how an obstacle was only a disguised opportunity? Things were going to be fine.
ELEVEN
TWELVE
Jill watched the Nemesis, ignoring him, the.357 aimed at its still legs; its head and upper body were blocked by a low shelf. The blast had been powerful, but after all she'd been through, she knew better than to assume anything.
Shoot, shoot it while it's down, you may not have an-other chance…
The Nemesis twitched, a slight jerk of the fingers on the hand she could see, and Jill's nerve fled. She wanted out, she wanted to be far away before it sat up, before it shook off the effects of the explosion, as it surely would. "We have to get out of here, now," she said, turning to Carlos. Young, good-looking, obviously unnerved by the blast, he hesitated, then nodded, holding his assault rifle tightly to his chest. It looked like an M16, military, and he was dressed for combat – a very good sign. Hope there's more where you came from, Jill thought, heading for the door at a brisk pace, Carlos right behind her. She had a lot of questions for him and realized that he probably had a few for her, too… but they could talk somewhere else. Anywhere else. As soon as they were outside, Jill couldn't stop her-self; she broke into a run, the young soldier pacing her, hurrying through the cool dark of the dead city as she wondered if there was anyplace left where they could be safe. The girl, Jill, ran a full block before slowing down.
She seemed to know where they were going, and it was obvious that she'd had some kind of combat training; cop, maybe, though she sure as hell wasn't in uniform. Carlos was desperately curious but saved his breath, concentrating instead on keeping up with her. From the restaurant they ran downhill, past the the-ater Trent had mentioned, taking a right at a decorative fountain at the end of the block; another half block and Jill signaled at a door on the left for a standard sweep. Carlos nodded, standing to one side of the door, rifle up. Jill pulled the handle and Carlos stepped in, ready to fire at anything that moved, Jill covering him. They were in some kind of a warehouse, at the end of a walkway that T-ed some fifteen meters ahead. It seemed to be clear. "It should be all right," Jill said quietly. "I came through this way a few minutes ago." "Better safe than sorry, though, right?" Carlos said, keeping the rifle up but feeling some of the tension leave his body. She was definitely a pro. They edged into the warehouse, carefully checking it out before saying another word. It was cold and not very well lit, but it didn't smell as bad as most of the rest of the city and by standing at the T junction in the middle of the warehouse, they'd be able to see anything coming well before it got to them. In all, it felt like the safest place he'd been since the helicopter.
"I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind,"
Jill said, finally turning her full attention to him. Carlos opened his mouth and the words just spilled out. "You want to ask me out, right? It's the accent, chicks love the accent. You hear it and you just can't help yourselves."
Jill stared at him, eyes wide, and for a moment hethought he'd made a mistake, that she wouldn't realizehe was kidding. It was a stupid call, joking around inthese circumstances. Just as he was about to apologize,one corner of her mouth lifted slightly."I thought you said you weren't a zombie," she said."But if that's the best you can do, maybe we ought toreevaluate your situation."
Carlos grinned, delighted with her comeback – andsuddenly thought of Randy, of him playing around justbefore they'd landed in Raccoon. His smile faded, andhe saw the bright glitter of humor leave her face, too, asif she'd also remembered where they were and whathad happened.When she spoke again, her tone was much cooler. "Iwas going to ask if you were the same Carlos who sentout a message about an hour ago, hour and a halfmaybe."
"You heard that?" Carlos asked, surprised. "When no one answered, I didn't think…" Be careful who you trust. Trent's words flashed through his mind, reminding him that he had no idea who Jill Valentine was. He trailed off, shrugging indif-ferently.
"I only caught part of it, and I couldn't transmit from where I was," Jill said. "You said something about a platoon, didn't you? Are there other, ah, sol-diers here?" Stick to the basics, and nothing about Trent. "There were, but I think they're all dead now. This whole oper-ation's been a disaster from word go." "What happened?" she asked, studying him intently. "And who are you with, anyway, National Guard? Are they sending backup?"
Carlos watched her in turn, wondering how careful he needed to be. "No reinforcements, I don't think. I mean, I'm sure they'll send someone in eventually, but I'm just a grunt, I don't really know anything – we set down, the zombies attacked. Maybe some of the other guys got away, but so far's I know, you're looking at the last surviving member of the U.B.C.S. That's Um-brella Bio-Hazard Countermea…"
She cut him off, the expression on her face close to disgust. "You're with Umbrella?" Carlos nodded. "Yeah. They sent us in to rescue the civilians." He wanted to say more, to tell her what he suspected – anything to change the look on her face, like she'd just found out he was a rasist or something, but Trent's advice kept repeating, reminding him to be wary. Jill's lips curled. "How 'bout you can the shit? Um-brella's responsible for what happened here, as if you didn't know – where do you get off lying? What are you really doing here? Tell the truth, Carlos, if that's your name."
She was definitely pissed, and Carlos felt a mo-ment's uncertainty, wondering if she was an ally, some-one who knew the truth about Umbrella, but it could also be a trap.
Maybe she works for them and is trying to feel me out, find out where my loyalties are…
Carlos allowed a touch of anger to creep into his own voice. "I'm just a grunt, like I said. I'm – all of us are guns-for-hire. No politics, dig? They don't tell us shit. And at the moment, I'm not interested in what Umbrella is or isn't responsible for. If I see someone who needs help, I'm gonna do my job, but otherwise, I just want to get out."
He glared at her, determined to stay in character.
"And speaking of who-what-why, what are you doing here?" he snapped. "What were you doing in that restaurant? And what was that thing that you blew up?"
Jill held his gaze for another second, then dropped her own, sighing. "I'm trying to get out, too. That thing is one of Umbrella's monsters, it's hunting me, and I doubt very much that it's dead, even now – which means I'm not safe. I thought there might be… I was looking for a kind of key, I thought it might be at the restaurant." "What kind of key?" he asked, but somehow, he thought he already knew.
"It's this jewel, it's part of a locking mechanism to the City Hall gate. There are two jewels, actually, and I've got one already. If I can get the other one, get the gate open, there's a way out of town – a cable car that runs west, out to the suburbs."
Carlos kept his face neutral, but he was jumping be-neath his skin. What had Trent said?
Go west, for one thing… and when I find out wherethe blue gem is, I'll understand their relevance… butwhat does this mean about Jill Valentine? Do I trusther now, or not? What does she know?"No shit," he said, keeping his tone mild. "I sawsomething like that, in the basement at the restaurant. Agreen gem."Jill's eyes widened. "Really? If we can get it… Car-los, we have to go back!"If that's my name," he said, caught somewhere be-tween irritation and amusement. She seemed to leapfrom mood to mood, brisk then funny then angry thenexcited; it was kind of tiring, and he still wasn't surewhether or not he could turn his back on her. Sheseemed to be sincere…"I'm sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "Ishouldn't have said that, it's just – Umbrella and Iaren't on the best of terms. There was a biohazardousincident at one of their labs, here, about six weeks ago.People died. And now this."
Carlos melted a little at the warmth of her hand.Jesus, but he was a sucker for un primor, and she wassomething to look at."Carlos Oliveira," he said, "at your service."Down, boy. Head out of town, says Trent, but are yousure you want to travel with someone who might end upkilling you? You want to clear your head before youtake off with the cuero Miss Valentine.Immediately he started arguing with himself. Yeah,be careful, but are you going to leave her all alone?She said that monster was after her…
He joked about it sometimes, but he wasn't truly a sexist; she could take care of herself, as she'd already proven. And if she was one of Umbrella's spies… well, she deserved what she got, then, didn't she?
"I… I wouldn't feel right about leaving without at least trying to find some of the others," he said, and now that he knew there was a way out, he realized it was true. Even an hour ago, the thought would have been ridiculous; now, armed with Trent's information, everything had changed. He was still scared, sure, but actually knowing something about the situation made him feel less vulnerable somehow. In spite of the risks, he wanted to walk a few more blocks before he left town, make some attempt to help someone. He wanted time to think, to make up his mind.
That… and knowing that she survived means that I can, too. "I saw the gate you're talking about, the one over by the newspaper office, si? Why don't I meet you there… or better yet, at the cable car." Jill frowned, then nodded. "Okay. I'll go back to the restaurant while you look around, and I'll wait for you at the trolley. Once you go through the gate, just follow the path and keep to the left, you'll see signs for Lons-daleYard."
For a few seconds, neither spoke, and Carlos saw, in the careful way she looked at him, that Jill had her own misgivings about him. Her leeriness made him trust her a little more; if she was anti-Umbrella, it made sense that she wouldn't be too hot on hanging out with one of their employees.
Stop debating it and just go, for Christ's sake! "Don't leave without me," Carlos said, meaning for it to come out lightly. He sounded dead serious. "Don't make me wait too long," she returned and smiled, and he thought that maybe she was okay after all. Then she turned and jogged lightly away, back down the walk they'd entered by. Carlos watched her leave, wondering if he was crazy for not going with her – and after a moment, he turned and walked quickly toward the other exit before he could change his mind. For someone who was bleeding like a stuck pig, Mikhail was surprisingly swift. For at least twenty min-utes Nicholai had followed the trail of dark droplets through a blockade, over gravel and asphalt, grass and debris, and still he hadn't sighted the dying man.
Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering…
Nicholai had planned to give up if he wasn't able to find the platoon leader after a few minutes, but the longer he searched, the more determined he became.
He found himself getting angry, too – how dare Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a distance and was leading him back into town; another block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again. Nicholai opened another door, scanned another room, sighed. Mikhail had to know that he was being followed – or he just didn't have the good sense to lay down and die. Either way, it wouldn't, couldn't be long now. Nicholai walked through a small, orderly office, ap-parently attached to a parking garage, the erratic blood trail shining purple on the blue linoleum by the caged bare bulbs overhead. The splatters seemed to be thin-ning; either Mikhail was bleeding out – unlikely, it seemed – or he had found time to staunch his wound. Nicholai gritted his teeth, reassuring himself, He'll be weak, slowing down, perhaps looking for a place to rest. I saw the hit, he can't go on much longer.
He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it. He moved quickly and silently across the cement, edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-sition. He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once. They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they became infected, and he knew that research had been conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer estate…… and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay rate higher than the other organics.
Truly, the half-skinned animal at his feet looked and smelled like a piece of raw meat that had sat in the sun for too long. Accustomed as he was to death, Nicholai still felt his gorge rise at the stench, but he continued to study the creature, certain that the canine had been the target of recent gunplay. Sure enough. Two entry wounds below the torn flap of its left ear… but not from an M16, the holes were much too big. Nicholai backed away, frowning. Some-one besides Mikhail Victor had come through the garage in the last half hour, and probably not a
U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own weapon, probably a handgun… Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the door, perhaps – or perhaps a wounded man, slumped and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on. Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and grinned at the sound of Mikhail's voice, strained and weak, floating past the aging metal.
"No… get away!"
Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground. Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that having no lower body – certainly not a complete diges-tive system – didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.
Do I play the hero, save my leader from being gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show? "Nicholai, help me, please…," Mikhail rasped, rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-ily… funny, for lack of a better term. "Hang on, Mikhail," Nicholai said forcefully. "I'll take care of it!"
He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone. He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly on the asphalt. Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail. "What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.
"Did one of them get you?"
Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me." "Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was following me, too, but – maybe they just thought I was one of them. A zombie." Actually, that's not so far from the truth… Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his performance. "I saw… at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport…"
The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth – that a re-connaissance team would put down first disguised as emergency medical, and no other helicopters would show unless Umbrella gave the word. Since the squad leaders were probably all dead, Nicholai had to wonder if any of the soldiers even knew about the "evacuation," though he supposed it wasn't important. It wouldn't af-fect his plans either way. He found that he wasn't enjoying this game as much as he'd thought he would. Mikhail was too pathetically trusting, it was as much of a challenge as hunting a friendly dog. It was almost shameful to watch, too, the way he surrendered to his pain… "I don't think you're in any shape to travel," Nicholai said coolly.
"It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few minutes…" "No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think…"
Creeaak. Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the
U.B.C.S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.
"Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon Delta. I'm… shit, it's good to see you guys."
Nicholai nodded briskly, annoyed beyond measure as Carlos crouched next to them, checking Mikhail's wound, asking stupid questions. He was ninety-nine percent sure he could kill both of them before they real-ized what was happening, but even one percent was too great a risk considering what was at stake. He would have to wait… but perhaps he could find a way to use these new circumstances to his advantage. And if not… well, people turned their backs on their friends all the time, didn't they? And neither of them had reason to believe Nicholai was anything but. What was the saying, about how an obstacle was only a disguised opportunity? Things were going to be fine.
ELEVEN
JILL SLID TO A STOP AT THE CITY HALL GATE, both gems held tightly in one sweaty hand. The area was clear, at least as far as she could see, but the restaurant had been empty, the Nemesis gone, and that meant she needed to hurry; she didn't know how, but it was tracking her, and she wanted to get gone. Her blurred dash through the alleyways behind the restaurant had left her short of breath and not a little frightened. She'd nearly tripped over the body of some unlikely creature, one she'd been unable to see in the deepening blackness – but the dark silhouette of multi-ple claws hanging dead in the shadows had been more than enough to keep her moving. It didn't look like anything she'd seen before; that, and the threat of the Nemesis's inevitable pursuit had her hi a mild panic. She used it to lend speed to her efforts, careful to main-tain tight control. She knew from experience that keep-ing in touch with one's animal instincts was a vital part of surviving; a little fear was a good thing, it kept the adrenaline flowing. The ornamental clock was set into a raised dais next to the gate. She fumbled the blue jewel into place, the diamond-shaped glass setting off a faint electrical hum, a circular chain of lights that bordered the jewels flick-ering on. The green diamond went in just as easily, turning the light chain into a complete circle. There was a heavy grinding sound and the gate's two sets of doors slid open, revealing a shadowy path surrounded by overgrown hedges. It didn't look bad from where she stood. She eased into the silent walk, opening her senses. Cool, dark, a mild breeze promising rain the only thing that moved, rustling the trees, brushing leaves, chilling the sweat on her face and arms. She could hear the soft wailing of a distant virus-zombie drift through the air, and she saw the pale smudges of early moonlight on the path stones. Alert but sensing no immediate danger, she stepped further inside, her thoughts turning to Carlos Oliveira. He was telling the truth about being one of Umbrella's hired hands and probably about not knowing what the company was really up to, but he was also holding something back. He wasn't as good a liar as he thought, and his apparent willingness to lie didn't bode well. On the other hand, he didn't come across as devious in any way – a liar who meant well, perhaps, or at least who didn't mean any harm. He was probably just being careful – doing exactly what she was doing. Whatever the case, she didn't have time to do any major interpret-ing, so she was going with her first impression: he was one of the good guys. Whether or not that would be of any help to her was another story; for the moment, she was willing to settle for any ally who didn't have plans to kill her.
But should I be hooking up with anyone? What hap-pens if he gets in the way of the Nemesis, and…
As if on cue she heard it, a malevolent coincidence that seemed unreal, like some deadly joke. "Sstaarrss…" Speak of the devil, oh, shit, where is it? Jill was al-most at the center of the small park, where three trails intersected, and the sound came from somewhere ahead – or was it behind? The acoustics were strange, the tiny courtyard just in front of her making the low, hissing cry seem to come from everywhere. She spun, searching, but the path behind her and the two that stretched away from the open yard disappeared into shadow. Which way… She stepped lightly into the open space, giving herself greater access to escape and room to maneuver, if it came to that. A solid, heavy footstep. Another. Jill cocked her head and there, ahead and to the left, the path that led to the trolley. A thickening darkness, still just out of clear sight.
Go back, newspaper office or back to the station, no, no way I can outrun it but there's the gas station, it has a metal lock-down shutter and there's a shitload of cars, the better to hide…
Ahead and to the right. A simple plan was better than none, and she'd run out of time to consider her options any further. Jill took off, the light patter of her boots lost beneath a sudden clash of motion, the rising howl and dense tread of semisynthetic feet bearing down on the court-yard. She was deeply conscious of herself, of her mus-cles contracting, of the sounds of her heart and breath as she flew over the stones. In an instant, she was at the small gate that led further north, that would take her down a block packed with abandoned cars, past a gas station/repair shop, toward… She couldn't remember. If the street was clear, she could head through the industrial section of town, hope that she didn't run into any of the zombie packs. If blockades had been put up -
– then I'm screwed, and it's too late anyway.
She let her well-trained body do the rest of her think-ing, nimbly slipping through the gate and into a crouch-ing run, carrying her into the relative safety of a maze of gridlocked cars and trucks. She could feel it coming, and she allowed herself to flow into the shadows, to find in herself some primal understanding of her place in the hunt. She was the prey, she had to be as elusive as the Nemesis was determined; if she did it right, she would survive and the creature would go hungry. If
not…No time, no more thinking. The Nemesis was com-ing. Jill moved.
In the parking garage's office, Carlos found a halfcase of bottled water, some duct tape, and a men'sdress shirt still in its package – as close to sterile sup-plies as they were going to get. He immediately set todoing what he could for Mikhail while Nicholai keptwatch, staring out at the broken automobiles in thedark, rifle in hand. The courtyard was silent except forMikhail's harsh breathing and the lonely cry of a dis-tant crow.Carlos didn't know much beyond simple triage, buthe thought the wound wasn't too bad; the bullet hadgone clean through Mikhail's side, not far above hisleft hip bone; an inch or two closer in and hewould've been toast, a shot to the liver or kidneys hisdeath warrant. As it was, his lower intestine hadprobably been pierced; it would kill him eventually,but with prompt medical attention, he should be okayfor now.Carlos cleaned and dressed the wound, taping com-presses on, wrapping strips of the shirt aroundMikhail's torso to keep the pressure up. The platoonleader seemed to be managing the pain well enough,though he was nauseous and dizzy from loss of blood.Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed thatNicholai was moving. He finished layering tape overthe bandages and looked up, saw that the squad leaderhad taken a laptop computer out of his shoulder bagand was tapping at keys, his face a study in concentra-tion. He'd slung his rifle and was crouched next to asmashed pickup truck."Sir – ah, Nicholai, I'm done here," Carlos said,standing. Mikhail had insisted that they drop the for-malities of rank, pointing out that their situation de-manded flexibility. Carlos had agreed, though he hadn'tgotten the impression that Nicholai liked it much; heseemed to be a by-the-book type.Mikhail, pale and bleary-eyed, pushed himself up onhis elbows. "Any way you can use that thing to call forevac?" His voice was weak.Nicholai shook his head, sighing. He closed the lap-top and returned it to his bag. "I found it at the policestation and thought it might be of some use – lists ofblockades, perhaps, or more information about this.disaster."No luck?" Mikhail asked.Nicholai moved toward them, his expression re-signed. "No. I think our best option is to try and make
it to the clock tower."
Carlos frowned. Trent had told him there was sup-posed to be a supply of weapons at a clock tower, and that he should head north from there; between Jill's westbound cable car and this new information, he was starting to feel plagued by coincidences. "Why the clock tower?" Mikhail answered, speaking softly. "Evacuation. It's where we were supposed to take the civilians and signal the transports to come in. The clock tower bells are scheduled to toll by computer, a system that emits a beacon signal when the program is being used. We ring the bells, the 'copters come. Cute, huh?"
Carlos wondered why no one had bothered to in-clude that little nugget of information in their briefing but decided not to ask. It didn't really matter at this point; they had to get to the trolley. He didn't know Nicholai well, but Mikhail Victor was no threat, not in his condition, and he needed to get to a hospital. Trent had said there was one not far from the clock tower.
But Umbrella's eyes and ears…
No. Their stories were the same as his; they'd fought and watched their teammates die, gotten lost, looked for a way out and ended up here. It just felt weird, sud-denly having two more people involved. Trent had him questioning everyone's motives now, wondering who might be involved in the alleged Umbrella conspiracy, worrying about what he could and couldn't say.
Besides, Umbrella screwed them over, too. Why would they want to help the bastards who landed us in this shit? Trent may be telling the truth, but he's not here. They are, and I need them. We need them. Jill couldn't possibly object to having a few soldiers on her side.
"There's a cable car we can use to get out there," Carlos said. "Right to the clock tower, I think. It's close, it runs west… and with all those things out there looking for fresh meat…" "We could use a ride out of town," Nicholai broke in, nodding. "Assuming the tracks are clear. Wonderful. Are you sure it's in operating condition?" Carlos hesitated, then shrugged. "I haven't actually seen it. I ran into a… cop, I guess, a woman, she told me about it. She was on her way there, to see, she said she'd wait for me. I wanted to see if I could find any-one before we left." He felt almost guilty telling them about her, and abruptly he realized that he was letting all of Trent's crazy spy crap get to him. Why keep Jill a secret? Who cared? Mikhail and Nicholai exchanged a look and then both nodded. Carlos was glad. At last, a real plan, a course of action. The only thing worse than being in deep shit was being in deep shit with no direction. "Let's go," Nicholai said. "Mikhail, are you ready?" Mikhail nodded, and together, Carlos and Nicholai lifted him, supporting his weight as evenly as they could. They edged into the parking garage and had al-most made it back to the office when Nicholai let out a mild curse and stopped. "What?" Mikhail closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "The explosives," Nicholai said. "I can't believe I forgot why I even came back this way. After I found Mikhail, I just…" "Explosives?" Carlos asked. "Yes. Just after the zombies attacked, and my squad" – Nicholai swallowed, obviously struggling to maintain his composure -"after the zombies at-tacked, I ended up near a construction site, back in the industrial area. A building was being torn down, I think, and I saw a few discarded boxes with high ex-plosive warnings. There was a locked trailer, I was going to break in but another wave of them came after me." He met Carlos's gaze squarely. "They'd think twice about attacking in groups if we had a few RDX dyna-mite mixes to throw at them. Do you think you can make it to the trolley without me? I can meet you there." "I don't think we should split up," Mikhail said. "We stand a better chance if…" "If we have a way to keep them from getting too close," Nicholai interjected. "We can't afford to run out of ammo, not without something else to back us up. And there are the others to consider, the creatures…"
Carlos didn't think splitting up was such a good idea, either, but remembering that clawed thing from outside the restaurant
– and what about that big feon inside the restau-rant? Jill said it would be coming after her again… "Yeah, okay," Carlos said. "We'll wait for you at the cable car." "Good. I won't be long." Without another word, Nicholai turned and quickly walked away, out of the garage and into the night. Carlos and the pale Mikhail struggled on in silence. They'd gone back through the office and out into the street before Carlos realized that Nicholai hadn't both-ered asking for directions to the trolley. Nicholai had to resist a powerful urge to check the computer again as soon as he was out of sight; he had wasted enough time playing the upstanding squad leader to the two idiot soldiers. It had already been nineteen minutes since Captain Davis Chan had filed a Watchdog status report from the Umbrella medical sales office – about two blocks from the parking garage – and if Nicholai was very lucky, he might catch Chan still in the act, checking updated memos or trying to get through to one of the administrators. Nicholai jogged down a narrow alley plastered with flyers, hopping over several corpses strewn throughout, careful to avoid their upper bodies in case they weren't dead. Sure enough, one of the blasted-looking things near the end of the alley tried to reach around and grab his left boot. Nicholai jumped it with no trouble, smil-ing a little at its frustrated moan. Almost as pathetic as Mikhail. Carlos Oliveira, though. Tougher than he looked, and definitely brighter – no match for him, of course, but Nicholai would want to get rid of him sooner rather than later…… or not. I could bypass that charade entirely. Nicholai pushed through a metal door to his right, into another alley littered with human remains, con-sidering his options as he hurried along. He didn't need to go to the clock tower for any reason, just the hospital – and he didn't have to take the trolley. Toy-ing with Mikhail and now Carlos was enjoyable, but not a necessity. He could even let them live, if he chose… He grinned, turning a corner in the winding alley-way. What fun would that be? No, he was looking for-ward to watching the trust in their eyes crumble, seeing them realize how stupid they'd been… Tic tic tic. Nicholai froze, understanding the sound instantly. Claws on rock, ahead of him, the almost gentle clatter coming from the shadows above and to the left. The only available light was behind him in the walkway's comer, one of those buzzing fluorescent security lamps that barely had the power to show itself; he backed to-ward it, the tics coming faster and closer, the creature still unseen. "Show yourself, then," he growled, frustrated with yet another instance of bad timing. He had to get to the sales office before Chan disappeared, he didn't have time to battle one of Umbrella's freaks, much as he wanted to. Tic tic tic. Two of them! He could hear claws scratching cement to his right, where he'd just been, even as an unholy shriek sounded from the dark in front of him, a sound like madness, like souls being ripped apart…
… and there it was, screaming, leaping from the dark as the other joined in its monstrous song, moving black hell in stereo. Nicholai saw the raised hook claws of the one in front of him, the snapping, dripping mandibles, the gleaming insectile eyes, and knew the other was only a second behind its sibling, preparing to jump even as the first landed. Nicholai opened up, the rattle of automatic fire lost beneath the twin howls, the rounds finding their mark on the first, its scream changing as it shuddered to a stop barely three meters away – and, still firing, Nicholai crouched and fell backwards, rolling up on his right side in a single fluid motion. The second charging animal was less than two meters away when he hit it, bloody divots appearing in its shining black exoskele-ton like flowers in explosive bloom. Like the first, it twitched and spasmed to a halt before collapsing, its shrill cry becoming a gurgle, becoming silence. Nicholai got to his feet, unnerved, not sure of the species – either brain sucker or the more amphibious deimos, another multi-legged breed. He'd expected the viciousness and the attack method, but hadn't under-stood how fast they were.
If I'd been even a second later…
No time to consider it, he was in a hurry. He edged forward, quickly stepping over the dark, oozing sprawl of limbs, breaking into a run as soon as he was past. With each step away from the dead creatures he felt his composure returning, felt a flush of accomplish-ment warm him from the inside out. They were fast, but he was faster – and with such monsters loose in the city, he wouldn't have to worry about Mikhail or Carlos or anyone escaping what they were due. If he didn't get to enjoy the pleasure himself, he could revel in the knowledge that his comrades would certainly fall prey to any one of a dozen horrors, their inadequate reflexes failing them, their lack of skills ensuring their doom. Nicholai tightened his grip on the M16, a rush of ela-tion adding spring to each agile step. Raccoon was no place for the weak. He had nothing to fear.
But should I be hooking up with anyone? What hap-pens if he gets in the way of the Nemesis, and…
As if on cue she heard it, a malevolent coincidence that seemed unreal, like some deadly joke. "Sstaarrss…" Speak of the devil, oh, shit, where is it? Jill was al-most at the center of the small park, where three trails intersected, and the sound came from somewhere ahead – or was it behind? The acoustics were strange, the tiny courtyard just in front of her making the low, hissing cry seem to come from everywhere. She spun, searching, but the path behind her and the two that stretched away from the open yard disappeared into shadow. Which way… She stepped lightly into the open space, giving herself greater access to escape and room to maneuver, if it came to that. A solid, heavy footstep. Another. Jill cocked her head and there, ahead and to the left, the path that led to the trolley. A thickening darkness, still just out of clear sight.
Go back, newspaper office or back to the station, no, no way I can outrun it but there's the gas station, it has a metal lock-down shutter and there's a shitload of cars, the better to hide…
Ahead and to the right. A simple plan was better than none, and she'd run out of time to consider her options any further. Jill took off, the light patter of her boots lost beneath a sudden clash of motion, the rising howl and dense tread of semisynthetic feet bearing down on the court-yard. She was deeply conscious of herself, of her mus-cles contracting, of the sounds of her heart and breath as she flew over the stones. In an instant, she was at the small gate that led further north, that would take her down a block packed with abandoned cars, past a gas station/repair shop, toward… She couldn't remember. If the street was clear, she could head through the industrial section of town, hope that she didn't run into any of the zombie packs. If blockades had been put up -
– then I'm screwed, and it's too late anyway.
She let her well-trained body do the rest of her think-ing, nimbly slipping through the gate and into a crouch-ing run, carrying her into the relative safety of a maze of gridlocked cars and trucks. She could feel it coming, and she allowed herself to flow into the shadows, to find in herself some primal understanding of her place in the hunt. She was the prey, she had to be as elusive as the Nemesis was determined; if she did it right, she would survive and the creature would go hungry. If
not…No time, no more thinking. The Nemesis was com-ing. Jill moved.
In the parking garage's office, Carlos found a halfcase of bottled water, some duct tape, and a men'sdress shirt still in its package – as close to sterile sup-plies as they were going to get. He immediately set todoing what he could for Mikhail while Nicholai keptwatch, staring out at the broken automobiles in thedark, rifle in hand. The courtyard was silent except forMikhail's harsh breathing and the lonely cry of a dis-tant crow.Carlos didn't know much beyond simple triage, buthe thought the wound wasn't too bad; the bullet hadgone clean through Mikhail's side, not far above hisleft hip bone; an inch or two closer in and hewould've been toast, a shot to the liver or kidneys hisdeath warrant. As it was, his lower intestine hadprobably been pierced; it would kill him eventually,but with prompt medical attention, he should be okayfor now.Carlos cleaned and dressed the wound, taping com-presses on, wrapping strips of the shirt aroundMikhail's torso to keep the pressure up. The platoonleader seemed to be managing the pain well enough,though he was nauseous and dizzy from loss of blood.Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed thatNicholai was moving. He finished layering tape overthe bandages and looked up, saw that the squad leaderhad taken a laptop computer out of his shoulder bagand was tapping at keys, his face a study in concentra-tion. He'd slung his rifle and was crouched next to asmashed pickup truck."Sir – ah, Nicholai, I'm done here," Carlos said,standing. Mikhail had insisted that they drop the for-malities of rank, pointing out that their situation de-manded flexibility. Carlos had agreed, though he hadn'tgotten the impression that Nicholai liked it much; heseemed to be a by-the-book type.Mikhail, pale and bleary-eyed, pushed himself up onhis elbows. "Any way you can use that thing to call forevac?" His voice was weak.Nicholai shook his head, sighing. He closed the lap-top and returned it to his bag. "I found it at the policestation and thought it might be of some use – lists ofblockades, perhaps, or more information about this.disaster."No luck?" Mikhail asked.Nicholai moved toward them, his expression re-signed. "No. I think our best option is to try and make
it to the clock tower."
Carlos frowned. Trent had told him there was sup-posed to be a supply of weapons at a clock tower, and that he should head north from there; between Jill's westbound cable car and this new information, he was starting to feel plagued by coincidences. "Why the clock tower?" Mikhail answered, speaking softly. "Evacuation. It's where we were supposed to take the civilians and signal the transports to come in. The clock tower bells are scheduled to toll by computer, a system that emits a beacon signal when the program is being used. We ring the bells, the 'copters come. Cute, huh?"
Carlos wondered why no one had bothered to in-clude that little nugget of information in their briefing but decided not to ask. It didn't really matter at this point; they had to get to the trolley. He didn't know Nicholai well, but Mikhail Victor was no threat, not in his condition, and he needed to get to a hospital. Trent had said there was one not far from the clock tower.
But Umbrella's eyes and ears…
No. Their stories were the same as his; they'd fought and watched their teammates die, gotten lost, looked for a way out and ended up here. It just felt weird, sud-denly having two more people involved. Trent had him questioning everyone's motives now, wondering who might be involved in the alleged Umbrella conspiracy, worrying about what he could and couldn't say.
Besides, Umbrella screwed them over, too. Why would they want to help the bastards who landed us in this shit? Trent may be telling the truth, but he's not here. They are, and I need them. We need them. Jill couldn't possibly object to having a few soldiers on her side.
"There's a cable car we can use to get out there," Carlos said. "Right to the clock tower, I think. It's close, it runs west… and with all those things out there looking for fresh meat…" "We could use a ride out of town," Nicholai broke in, nodding. "Assuming the tracks are clear. Wonderful. Are you sure it's in operating condition?" Carlos hesitated, then shrugged. "I haven't actually seen it. I ran into a… cop, I guess, a woman, she told me about it. She was on her way there, to see, she said she'd wait for me. I wanted to see if I could find any-one before we left." He felt almost guilty telling them about her, and abruptly he realized that he was letting all of Trent's crazy spy crap get to him. Why keep Jill a secret? Who cared? Mikhail and Nicholai exchanged a look and then both nodded. Carlos was glad. At last, a real plan, a course of action. The only thing worse than being in deep shit was being in deep shit with no direction. "Let's go," Nicholai said. "Mikhail, are you ready?" Mikhail nodded, and together, Carlos and Nicholai lifted him, supporting his weight as evenly as they could. They edged into the parking garage and had al-most made it back to the office when Nicholai let out a mild curse and stopped. "What?" Mikhail closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "The explosives," Nicholai said. "I can't believe I forgot why I even came back this way. After I found Mikhail, I just…" "Explosives?" Carlos asked. "Yes. Just after the zombies attacked, and my squad" – Nicholai swallowed, obviously struggling to maintain his composure -"after the zombies at-tacked, I ended up near a construction site, back in the industrial area. A building was being torn down, I think, and I saw a few discarded boxes with high ex-plosive warnings. There was a locked trailer, I was going to break in but another wave of them came after me." He met Carlos's gaze squarely. "They'd think twice about attacking in groups if we had a few RDX dyna-mite mixes to throw at them. Do you think you can make it to the trolley without me? I can meet you there." "I don't think we should split up," Mikhail said. "We stand a better chance if…" "If we have a way to keep them from getting too close," Nicholai interjected. "We can't afford to run out of ammo, not without something else to back us up. And there are the others to consider, the creatures…"
Carlos didn't think splitting up was such a good idea, either, but remembering that clawed thing from outside the restaurant
– and what about that big feon inside the restau-rant? Jill said it would be coming after her again… "Yeah, okay," Carlos said. "We'll wait for you at the cable car." "Good. I won't be long." Without another word, Nicholai turned and quickly walked away, out of the garage and into the night. Carlos and the pale Mikhail struggled on in silence. They'd gone back through the office and out into the street before Carlos realized that Nicholai hadn't both-ered asking for directions to the trolley. Nicholai had to resist a powerful urge to check the computer again as soon as he was out of sight; he had wasted enough time playing the upstanding squad leader to the two idiot soldiers. It had already been nineteen minutes since Captain Davis Chan had filed a Watchdog status report from the Umbrella medical sales office – about two blocks from the parking garage – and if Nicholai was very lucky, he might catch Chan still in the act, checking updated memos or trying to get through to one of the administrators. Nicholai jogged down a narrow alley plastered with flyers, hopping over several corpses strewn throughout, careful to avoid their upper bodies in case they weren't dead. Sure enough, one of the blasted-looking things near the end of the alley tried to reach around and grab his left boot. Nicholai jumped it with no trouble, smil-ing a little at its frustrated moan. Almost as pathetic as Mikhail. Carlos Oliveira, though. Tougher than he looked, and definitely brighter – no match for him, of course, but Nicholai would want to get rid of him sooner rather than later…… or not. I could bypass that charade entirely. Nicholai pushed through a metal door to his right, into another alley littered with human remains, con-sidering his options as he hurried along. He didn't need to go to the clock tower for any reason, just the hospital – and he didn't have to take the trolley. Toy-ing with Mikhail and now Carlos was enjoyable, but not a necessity. He could even let them live, if he chose… He grinned, turning a corner in the winding alley-way. What fun would that be? No, he was looking for-ward to watching the trust in their eyes crumble, seeing them realize how stupid they'd been… Tic tic tic. Nicholai froze, understanding the sound instantly. Claws on rock, ahead of him, the almost gentle clatter coming from the shadows above and to the left. The only available light was behind him in the walkway's comer, one of those buzzing fluorescent security lamps that barely had the power to show itself; he backed to-ward it, the tics coming faster and closer, the creature still unseen. "Show yourself, then," he growled, frustrated with yet another instance of bad timing. He had to get to the sales office before Chan disappeared, he didn't have time to battle one of Umbrella's freaks, much as he wanted to. Tic tic tic. Two of them! He could hear claws scratching cement to his right, where he'd just been, even as an unholy shriek sounded from the dark in front of him, a sound like madness, like souls being ripped apart…
… and there it was, screaming, leaping from the dark as the other joined in its monstrous song, moving black hell in stereo. Nicholai saw the raised hook claws of the one in front of him, the snapping, dripping mandibles, the gleaming insectile eyes, and knew the other was only a second behind its sibling, preparing to jump even as the first landed. Nicholai opened up, the rattle of automatic fire lost beneath the twin howls, the rounds finding their mark on the first, its scream changing as it shuddered to a stop barely three meters away – and, still firing, Nicholai crouched and fell backwards, rolling up on his right side in a single fluid motion. The second charging animal was less than two meters away when he hit it, bloody divots appearing in its shining black exoskele-ton like flowers in explosive bloom. Like the first, it twitched and spasmed to a halt before collapsing, its shrill cry becoming a gurgle, becoming silence. Nicholai got to his feet, unnerved, not sure of the species – either brain sucker or the more amphibious deimos, another multi-legged breed. He'd expected the viciousness and the attack method, but hadn't under-stood how fast they were.
If I'd been even a second later…
No time to consider it, he was in a hurry. He edged forward, quickly stepping over the dark, oozing sprawl of limbs, breaking into a run as soon as he was past. With each step away from the dead creatures he felt his composure returning, felt a flush of accomplish-ment warm him from the inside out. They were fast, but he was faster – and with such monsters loose in the city, he wouldn't have to worry about Mikhail or Carlos or anyone escaping what they were due. If he didn't get to enjoy the pleasure himself, he could revel in the knowledge that his comrades would certainly fall prey to any one of a dozen horrors, their inadequate reflexes failing them, their lack of skills ensuring their doom. Nicholai tightened his grip on the M16, a rush of ela-tion adding spring to each agile step. Raccoon was no place for the weak. He had nothing to fear.
TWELVE
THE STEEL SHUTTER THAT PROTECTED THE front of the machine shop was down and locked, but Jill managed to get in through the garage, picking her way past a side door. The shop was sturdy enough, well protected from the average thief and certainly any zom-bie, but Jill had no doubt that if the Nemesis wanted to get in, it probably could. She'd just have to hope that it hadn't tracked her this far…
… however it does that, exactly. Jill had no idea. Did it smell her? That didn't seem likely, considering her careful, breathless walk to the gas station; she'd dodged from shadow to shadow, hearing the Nemesis's thundering but clumsy progress as it searched for her amongst the crowd of abandoned cars. If it tracked her by scent, it would have caught her… though how did it know who she was, specifi-cally? If another woman her size stumbled across its path, would it mistake that woman for Jill? Jill walked through the well-lit garage, her boots making soft wet noises against the oil-sticky floor, her thoughts wandering as she took in the layout and checked doors. She didn't know how the Nemesis had been programmed to find and kill S.T.A.R.S. or why it seemed to break off its pursuit from time to time, ei-ther; with Brad dead, she was the only S.T.A.R.S. member still in Raccoon.
Unless… Police Chief Irons had been a B team member, some twenty years back, and he was probably still in town…
Jill shook her head. Ridiculous. Chris had dug up enough information on Irons to make it a near certainty that he was working for Umbrella, just as they sus-pected their mysterious Mr. Trent was – the difference being that Trent seemed to want to help them, while Irons was a money-grubbing creep who didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. If Irons was on the Nemesis's hit list, Jill was pretty much okay with that. From the garage, she stepped into a kind of combina-tion office-break room – a soda machine, a small table with a couple of chairs, a cluttered desk. Jill tried the telephone on general principles, receiving the dead air she expected. "Now I wait, I guess," she said to no one in particu-lar, leaning against the counter. If the Nemesis didn't show up after a few moments, she'd slip out again, head back to the trolley. She wondered if Carlos was there yet, and if he'd found any survivors from his pla-toon – what was it? Umbrella Biohazard something. Probably one of their semilegitimate branches; it would be good PR, once the news got out about Raccoon. Umbrella's admin would be able to point to their spe-cial task force, tell the media how quickly and deci-sively they'd acted when they'd realized there'd been an accident.
Except they won't call it an accident, because that could mean negligence on their part; no doubt they've already got a scapegoat lined up and ready to hang, some unlucky yes-man they can frame for the murder of thousands…
Not if she could help it, not if her friends could; one way or another, the truth was going to come out. It had to. Jill noticed a few tools lying around – a set of socket wrenches, a couple of crowbars and it occurred to her that it might be handy to pack a few things for the trol-ley. It'd suck to get there and end up needing a screw-driver or the like, something they'd have to come back for. She was a mechanical illiterate herself, but maybe Carlos had some experience… Thump! Thump! Thump! Jill dropped into a crouch behind the counter as soon as she heard the slow, heavy knocks at the garage's side door, insistent and steady. Nemesis? No, the rappings were loud but not power-ful, it was either a human or… "Uuhh." The gently hungry cry filtered through the door, joined by another, then a third, then a chorus. Virus carriers, and it sounded like a large group of them. Any relief she felt upon realizing that it wasn't the Nemesis quickly faded; a dozen zombies hammer-ing on the door was the equivalent of a flashing neon sign that read GOOD EATS.
And how exactly am I going to sneak out of here now?
Her simple plan, to hide until the Nemesis went away, had pretty much crapped out. She needed a new plan, preferably one she had more than a few seconds to map out.
So come up with something already. Unless you mean to go charging out there and start kicking ass.
Jill sighed, the low gnaw of dread in her stomach so constant that she no longer noticed it. Outside, the de-caying carriers continued to shuffle and cry, beating helplessly against the door. Might as well run through her options; she had a few minutes to kill.
They made it to the trolley without any trouble. Carlos was feeling hopeful as they staggered into the station yard lit by an expanse of merrily burning debris to one side – no zombies, no monsters, and Mikhail didn't seem to be getting any worse. The City Hall gate had been open, a dozen jewels set into a kind of clock on a nearby pedestal, which meant Jill had already gone through. Carlos had expected her to make it, but it was still a relief. "There it is," Mikhail said, and Carlos nodded, squinting as a gust of foul-smelling smoke washed over them. To their right was a grand old building, either the trolley station or the alleged City Hall. In front of them, past a stack of crates that blocked their path, was an old-fashioned trolley car, its red paint slightly faded. As they got closer, Carlos could see that a second car was attached, most of it hidden in the shadow of a building overhang. Jill was probably waiting in one of them. Carlos shoved a few of the crates aside with one hip, Mikhail steadying himself against the station wall. "Almost there," Carlos said. Mikhail smiled weakly. "Bet you'll be glad to dump my ass into a seat." "Be gladder to sit my own ass down. One-way ticket outta here." Mikhail actually managed a laugh. "I heard that." They moved beneath the overhang, Carlos searching the windows of both cars for movement. He didn't see anything; worse, he didn't feel anything. The place seemed totally deserted, still and lifeless.
Hope you 're taking a nap in there, Jill Valentine.
The sliding side door of the first car they reached was locked; to their mutual relief, the second wasn't. After giving the car a once-over to be certain it was empty, Carlos helped Mikhail aboard, getting him set-tled into a window bench seat. As soon as the platoon leader was lying down, he seemed to fall into a half swoon.
"I'm going to check out the second car, then see what I can do to get a few lights on in here," Carlos said. Mikhail grunted in response. Not surprisingly, Jill wasn't in the other car, either, but Carlos did find the electrical controls next to the driver's seat. At the touch of a button, a row of over-head lights switched on, illuminating an aging wood floor and red vinyl padded seats lining both walls. "Where are you, Jill?" Carlos muttered, feeling real worry for her. If something had happened, he was going to feel at least partly responsible for not accom-panying her back to the restaurant. Mikhail was barely conscious when Carlos checked on him, but it was more like sleep than coma. Until a doctor looked at the wound, rest was probably the best thing for him. There was an open control panel at the back of the car, which Carlos knelt to examine. His heart dropped when he saw that it was part of the primary power setup and that a few parts had been removed. He didn't know anything about cable cars, but it didn't take a genius to understand that you couldn't run a machine when the wires had been pulled, particularly on such an ancient system. It looked like there was a missing fuse, too. "Hijo de la chingada," he whispered and heard a feeble laugh behind him.
"I know just enough Spanish to know you shouldn'tkiss your mother with that mouth," Mikhail said."What's wrong?"There's a fuse missing," Carlos said. "And these cir-cuits have got to be shorted out. We'll have to bypassthem if we want to get this thing moving."Just northeast of here…," Mikhail started, but hehad to pause for a few breaths before going on.
"There's a gas station. Repair shop. It was one of thelandmarks on the city map, it's suburbs past that.Probably have equipment there."
Carlos thought about it. He didn't want to leave Mikhail alone, and Jill or Nicholai could show up any minute…… but we ain 't going no place without a power cable and a high amp fuse, and Mikhail's on a downhill slide; what choice have I got? "Yeah, okay," Carlos said lightly, walking over to Mikhail. He gazed down at him, concerned about the high color of his cheeks, the waxy pallor of his brow.
"Guess I'll go check that out – wanna come with?"Ha ha," Mikhail whispered. "Be careful."Carlos nodded. "Try to get some sleep. If anyoneshows up, tell them I'll be right back."
Mikhail was already slipping back into a doze."Sure," he mumbled.Carlos checked Mikhail's rifle to make sure it wasloaded, and he placed it next to the padded bench,within easy reach. He hunted around for something elseto say, some words of reassurance, and finally justturned and walked to the exit. Mikhail wasn't stupid, heknew what the stakes were.
His life, among other things.
Carlos took a deep breath and opened the door, pray-ing that the gas station wasn't too far away.
… however it does that, exactly. Jill had no idea. Did it smell her? That didn't seem likely, considering her careful, breathless walk to the gas station; she'd dodged from shadow to shadow, hearing the Nemesis's thundering but clumsy progress as it searched for her amongst the crowd of abandoned cars. If it tracked her by scent, it would have caught her… though how did it know who she was, specifi-cally? If another woman her size stumbled across its path, would it mistake that woman for Jill? Jill walked through the well-lit garage, her boots making soft wet noises against the oil-sticky floor, her thoughts wandering as she took in the layout and checked doors. She didn't know how the Nemesis had been programmed to find and kill S.T.A.R.S. or why it seemed to break off its pursuit from time to time, ei-ther; with Brad dead, she was the only S.T.A.R.S. member still in Raccoon.
Unless… Police Chief Irons had been a B team member, some twenty years back, and he was probably still in town…
Jill shook her head. Ridiculous. Chris had dug up enough information on Irons to make it a near certainty that he was working for Umbrella, just as they sus-pected their mysterious Mr. Trent was – the difference being that Trent seemed to want to help them, while Irons was a money-grubbing creep who didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. If Irons was on the Nemesis's hit list, Jill was pretty much okay with that. From the garage, she stepped into a kind of combina-tion office-break room – a soda machine, a small table with a couple of chairs, a cluttered desk. Jill tried the telephone on general principles, receiving the dead air she expected. "Now I wait, I guess," she said to no one in particu-lar, leaning against the counter. If the Nemesis didn't show up after a few moments, she'd slip out again, head back to the trolley. She wondered if Carlos was there yet, and if he'd found any survivors from his pla-toon – what was it? Umbrella Biohazard something. Probably one of their semilegitimate branches; it would be good PR, once the news got out about Raccoon. Umbrella's admin would be able to point to their spe-cial task force, tell the media how quickly and deci-sively they'd acted when they'd realized there'd been an accident.
Except they won't call it an accident, because that could mean negligence on their part; no doubt they've already got a scapegoat lined up and ready to hang, some unlucky yes-man they can frame for the murder of thousands…
Not if she could help it, not if her friends could; one way or another, the truth was going to come out. It had to. Jill noticed a few tools lying around – a set of socket wrenches, a couple of crowbars and it occurred to her that it might be handy to pack a few things for the trol-ley. It'd suck to get there and end up needing a screw-driver or the like, something they'd have to come back for. She was a mechanical illiterate herself, but maybe Carlos had some experience… Thump! Thump! Thump! Jill dropped into a crouch behind the counter as soon as she heard the slow, heavy knocks at the garage's side door, insistent and steady. Nemesis? No, the rappings were loud but not power-ful, it was either a human or… "Uuhh." The gently hungry cry filtered through the door, joined by another, then a third, then a chorus. Virus carriers, and it sounded like a large group of them. Any relief she felt upon realizing that it wasn't the Nemesis quickly faded; a dozen zombies hammer-ing on the door was the equivalent of a flashing neon sign that read GOOD EATS.
And how exactly am I going to sneak out of here now?
Her simple plan, to hide until the Nemesis went away, had pretty much crapped out. She needed a new plan, preferably one she had more than a few seconds to map out.
So come up with something already. Unless you mean to go charging out there and start kicking ass.
Jill sighed, the low gnaw of dread in her stomach so constant that she no longer noticed it. Outside, the de-caying carriers continued to shuffle and cry, beating helplessly against the door. Might as well run through her options; she had a few minutes to kill.
They made it to the trolley without any trouble. Carlos was feeling hopeful as they staggered into the station yard lit by an expanse of merrily burning debris to one side – no zombies, no monsters, and Mikhail didn't seem to be getting any worse. The City Hall gate had been open, a dozen jewels set into a kind of clock on a nearby pedestal, which meant Jill had already gone through. Carlos had expected her to make it, but it was still a relief. "There it is," Mikhail said, and Carlos nodded, squinting as a gust of foul-smelling smoke washed over them. To their right was a grand old building, either the trolley station or the alleged City Hall. In front of them, past a stack of crates that blocked their path, was an old-fashioned trolley car, its red paint slightly faded. As they got closer, Carlos could see that a second car was attached, most of it hidden in the shadow of a building overhang. Jill was probably waiting in one of them. Carlos shoved a few of the crates aside with one hip, Mikhail steadying himself against the station wall. "Almost there," Carlos said. Mikhail smiled weakly. "Bet you'll be glad to dump my ass into a seat." "Be gladder to sit my own ass down. One-way ticket outta here." Mikhail actually managed a laugh. "I heard that." They moved beneath the overhang, Carlos searching the windows of both cars for movement. He didn't see anything; worse, he didn't feel anything. The place seemed totally deserted, still and lifeless.
Hope you 're taking a nap in there, Jill Valentine.
The sliding side door of the first car they reached was locked; to their mutual relief, the second wasn't. After giving the car a once-over to be certain it was empty, Carlos helped Mikhail aboard, getting him set-tled into a window bench seat. As soon as the platoon leader was lying down, he seemed to fall into a half swoon.
"I'm going to check out the second car, then see what I can do to get a few lights on in here," Carlos said. Mikhail grunted in response. Not surprisingly, Jill wasn't in the other car, either, but Carlos did find the electrical controls next to the driver's seat. At the touch of a button, a row of over-head lights switched on, illuminating an aging wood floor and red vinyl padded seats lining both walls. "Where are you, Jill?" Carlos muttered, feeling real worry for her. If something had happened, he was going to feel at least partly responsible for not accom-panying her back to the restaurant. Mikhail was barely conscious when Carlos checked on him, but it was more like sleep than coma. Until a doctor looked at the wound, rest was probably the best thing for him. There was an open control panel at the back of the car, which Carlos knelt to examine. His heart dropped when he saw that it was part of the primary power setup and that a few parts had been removed. He didn't know anything about cable cars, but it didn't take a genius to understand that you couldn't run a machine when the wires had been pulled, particularly on such an ancient system. It looked like there was a missing fuse, too. "Hijo de la chingada," he whispered and heard a feeble laugh behind him.
"I know just enough Spanish to know you shouldn'tkiss your mother with that mouth," Mikhail said."What's wrong?"There's a fuse missing," Carlos said. "And these cir-cuits have got to be shorted out. We'll have to bypassthem if we want to get this thing moving."Just northeast of here…," Mikhail started, but hehad to pause for a few breaths before going on.
"There's a gas station. Repair shop. It was one of thelandmarks on the city map, it's suburbs past that.Probably have equipment there."
Carlos thought about it. He didn't want to leave Mikhail alone, and Jill or Nicholai could show up any minute…… but we ain 't going no place without a power cable and a high amp fuse, and Mikhail's on a downhill slide; what choice have I got? "Yeah, okay," Carlos said lightly, walking over to Mikhail. He gazed down at him, concerned about the high color of his cheeks, the waxy pallor of his brow.
"Guess I'll go check that out – wanna come with?"Ha ha," Mikhail whispered. "Be careful."Carlos nodded. "Try to get some sleep. If anyoneshows up, tell them I'll be right back."
Mikhail was already slipping back into a doze."Sure," he mumbled.Carlos checked Mikhail's rifle to make sure it wasloaded, and he placed it next to the padded bench,within easy reach. He hunted around for something elseto say, some words of reassurance, and finally justturned and walked to the exit. Mikhail wasn't stupid, heknew what the stakes were.
His life, among other things.
Carlos took a deep breath and opened the door, pray-ing that the gas station wasn't too far away.