Страница:
Rebecca was surprised, could see that the others felt the same by their expressions. David had seemed so certain before, so enthusiastic about their chances. The look on his face now told a different story. He seemed almost apologetic about wanting to continue, and looked as though he wanted for one of them to suggest otherwise.
Why the change? What happened?
John spoke first, glancing at the rest of them before looking at David. "Well, we've made it this far. And if there's only one more group of zombies out there, I say we finish up." Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, and we still haven't found the main lab, we don't know why Griffith did this -
–whether he suffered a psychotic break or is actually hiding something. We may not find out, but it's worth a look. Plus, what if he destroys more evidence after we've gone?" "I agree," Steve said. "If the S.T.A.R.S. are as deeply involved with Umbrella as it looks, we're not going to get another chance. This may be our only opportunity to dig up a connection. And we're al-ready so close, the third test is right here – we do that one, we're one step away from finishing." "I'm up for it," Karen said softly. At the strained sound of her voice, Rebecca turned to look at her, noticing for the first time that Karen didn't look so good. Her eyes were bloodshot, her complexion almost a pallor. "Are you okay?" Rebecca asked. Karen nodded, sighing. "Yeah. Headache." Must be a migraine, she looks like hell… "What is it, David?" John asked abruptly. "What's eatin' you? You know something you're not telling us?"
David stared at them for a moment, then shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just – I have a bad feeling. Or rather, a feeling that something bad is going to happen."Little late, don'tcha think?" John said, grinning. "Where were you when we got into the raft?"
David half-smiled in response, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you, John, I'd almost forgotten. So, it's decided then. Let's solve our next puzzle, shall we? Oh, Rebecca, take a look at Karen's eye while we're at it, it's giving her some trouble."
They stood up and moved toward the back of the room, for the table in the northwest corner marked with a blue nine. Steve and Rebecca had already looked when they'd found the room, though there was no clue as to what the test was – a small, blank monitor screen with a ten-key hooked to it sat on the metal table, an enigma. Rebecca motioned for Karen to sit on the chair in front of test ten, the purpose of which also escaped her – it consisted of a circuit board wired to a plank and what looked like a pair of tweezers connected to it by a black wire. She bent down to take a look, frowning. The woman's right eye was extremely irri– tated, the pale blue cornea floating in a sea of red. Her eyelid had a bruised, swollen look. She turned to ask for David's flashlight and saw that as he sat down in front of the scheduled test, the screen flickered on, several lines of type appearing in the center of the monitor. "Some kind of motion sensor…" Steve started to say, but David held up his hand suddenly, reading aloud what had appeared on the screen in a rapid, anxious voice.
" 'As I was going to Saint Ives, I met a man with seven wives, the seven wives had seven sacks, the seven sacks held seven cats, the seven cats had seven kits; kits, cats, sacks, wives, how many were going to Saint Ives?'"
There was a digital readout on the screen, showing
00:49 and counting down. In the time it had taken David to read the question, eleven seconds had al-ready ticked off the clock. David stared at the screen, his thoughts racing furiously as the team leaned in behind him. Tension radiated from them, and David felt a sudden prickle of sweat break out across his forehead. Don't count, that was the clue. But what does it mean? "Twenty-eight," John said quickly. "No, wait, twenty-nine, including the man…" Steve cut him off, talking just as fast. "But if they had seven kittens each, that would be forty-nine plus twenty-one, seventy, seventy-one with the man." "But the message said don't count," Karen said. "If you're not supposed to count – does that mean don't add, or… wait, there's the man with the wives and the speaker, that's another one…"
Thirty-two seconds had elapsed. David's hand hov– ered over the key pad.
Think! Don't count, don't count, don't… "One," Rebecca said quickly. " 'As I was going to Saint Ives' – it doesn't say where the man with the wives was going. That's what it means, the clue –
–don't count anyone except the one who was going to
Saint Ives!"
Yes, it makes sense, a trick question…
They had twenty seconds left. "Anyone disagree?" David asked sharply.No answer. David hit the key, entered it…… and the countdown stopped, sixteen seconds to spare. The screen turned itself off. From somewhere overhead, the now familiar chime sounded. David exhaled, leaning back in the chair.
Thank you, Rebecca!
He turned around to tell her as much, but she was already bending to examine Karen's eye, fixated on her patient. "I need a flashlight," she said, barely glancing around as John handed his to her. She turned it on, shining it into Karen's eye as the rest of them looked on silently, watching them. Karen didn't look well; there were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin had gone from pale to almost sickly.
"It's pretty inflamed… look up. Down. Left and right? Does it feel like there's something rubbing it, or is it more like a burn?"Actually, more like an itch," Karen said. "Like a mosquito bite times ten. I've been scratching it, though, that might be why it's so red."Rebecca turned off the torch, frowning. "I don't see anything. The other one looks irritated, too… did it just start itching all of a sudden, or did you touch it, first?" Karen shook her head. "I don't remember. It just started itching, I guess."
A look of sharp, almost violent intensity flashed across Rebecca's face. "Before or after you were in room 101?"
David felt a cold hand clutch at his heart. Karen suddenly looked worried. "After."Did you touch anything while you were in there, anything at all?" "I don't…"
Karen's red eyes widened in sudden horror, and when she spoke, it was a breathless, quivering whis-per. "The gurney. There was a bloodstain on the gurney and I was thinking about…I touched it. Oh, Jesus, I didn't even think about it, it was dry and I, my hand wasn't cut and oh my God, I got a headache right after my eye started itching."
Rebecca put her hands on Karen's shoulders, squeezing them tightly. "Karen, take a deep breath. Deep breath, okay? It may be that your eye just itches and you have a headache, so don't jump to conclu-sions here, we don't know anything for sure."
Her voice was low and soothing, her manner direct. Karen blew out a shaky breath and nodded. "If her hand wasn't cut…" John started ner-vously. Karen answered him, her pale features composed but her voice trembling slightly. "Viruses can get into the body through mucous membranes. Nose, ears… eyes. I knew that. I knew that but I didn't think about it, I… wasn't thinking about it."
She looked up at Rebecca, and David could see that she was struggling to maintain her composure. "If I am infected, how long? How long before I become… incapacitated?" Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know," she said softly. David felt as though a raging blackness had envel-oped him, a cloud of fear and worry and guilt so vast that it threatened to overwhelm his ability to move, even to think.
My fault. My responsibility. "There's a vaccine, right?" John asked, his dark gaze darting between Karen and Rebecca. "There's a cure, wouldn't they have a shot or something here if someone got it by accident? They'd have to, wouldn't they?" David felt a sudden surge of desperate hope. "Is it possible?" he asked Rebecca quickly. The young biochemist nodded, slowly at first but then eagerly. "Yeah, it's possible. It's probable, they created it." She looked at David seriously, urgently. "We have to find the main lab, where they synthesized the virus, and quickly. If they developed a cure, that's where the information would be…"
Rebecca trailed off, and David could see what she'd left unspoken in her troubled gaze; if there was a cure. If Dr. Griffith hadn't taken the information there, too. If they could find it in time. "Ammon's message," Steve said. "In that note, he said we should destroy the lab, maybe he left us a map, or directions." David stood up, his hope building. "Karen, are you feeling well enough to…" "… Yes," she said, cutting him off, standing up. "Yes, let's go."
Her red eyes were bright with fervent intensity, a mix of despair and wild hope that made David's heart ache to see.
God, Karen, I'm so, so sorry!"Double time," he said, already turning for the door. "Let's move."They quickly jogged for the front of the building, John's jaw clenched, his thoughts a grimly determined loop of angry intention.
No way some goddamn bug is taking Karen down, no chance, and if I find the bastard who set this nightmare up he's Dead, capital D, Dead meat. Not Karen, no way in hell…
They reached the front door and silently drew weapons, checking them, tensely impatient for David to give the signal. Karen, always so cool and collected in times of stress, had a shocked vagueness about her, like she'd just been kicked in the gut and hadn't yet managed to take a breath. It was the same look that John had seen time and again on the faces of disaster Survivors – the haunted disbelief in the eyes, the slack and terrible blankness of expression that spoke of a yawning emptiness deep inside. It hurt him to see her like that, hurt him and made him even angrier. Karen Driver wasn't supposed to look like that. "I lead, John in back, straight line," David said softly. John saw that he looked almost as freaked as Karen, though in a different way. It was guilt gnawing at their captain, he could see it in his reluctant gaze, the tight set of his mouth. John wished he could tell him that blaming himself was wrong, but there wasn't time and he didn't have the right words for it. David would have to take care of himself, just as they all would.
"Ready? Go."
David pushed the door open and then they were slipping through, back into the gentle hiss of waves and the pale blue light of the moon. David, then Karen, Steve, Rebecca, and finally John, crouched and running across the packed dirt of the open compound. There was darkness and the scent of pine, of salt, but John's soldier mind wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know as they pounded through the shadows. There was only anger, and fear for Karen……making the sudden blast of M-16 fire a total surprise.
Shit!
John dove for the ground as the thundering rattle opened up to their right, saw that they were just over halfway to block E as he rolled and started to fire. Then the air was filled with the blast of nine-millime– ter rounds, crashing over the steady pulse of automat– ic rifles.
Can't see, can't target…
He found the muzzle flashes at three o'clock and jerked the Beretta around, squeezing the trigger six, seven, eight times. The stutter of orange-white light blocked the shooters from view but he saw one of the flashes disappear, heard the clatter decrease and a rage overtook him, not the "soldier mind" but a blinding, screaming fury at the diseased attack– ers that far exceeded any he'd ever known. They wanted Karen to die, those numb, brainless night– mares wanted to stop them from saving her.
Not Karen. NOT KAREN.
A strange, feral howl beat at his ears as he pushed away from the dusty earth and then he was standing, running, firing. Only when he heard the shouts of the others, the Berettas except for his holding fire, did he realize that the howl was coming from him. John ran forward, screaming as he fired again and again at the things that meant to slow them up, to kill them, to claim Karen as one of their own. His thoughts were no longer words, just an endless, form– less negative – a denial of their existence and what had created them. He charged ahead, not seeing that they had stopped firing, that they were falling, that the shadows had fallen silent except for the thunder of his semi and the scream that poured from his shaking body. Then he was standing over them and the Beretta had stopped crashing and jumping, even though he still pulled the trigger. Three of them, white where there was no red, decayed flesh bursts covering their pitiful, wasted forms. Click. Click. Click. One of them had a face that was a mass of puckered scar tissue, twisting white risers of gnarled skin except for where a fresh, bloody hole had punched through its forehead. Another, one eye spattered against its withered cheek, pooling viscous fluid in the rotting cup of its ear. Click. Click. The third was still alive. Half of its throat was gone, tattered to pulp, and its mouth opened and closed soundlessly, opened and closed, its filmed dark eyes blinking slowly up at him. Click. He was dry-firing, the scream dying away in his ragged throat. It was the sound of the hammer falling uselessly against hot metal that finally released him from the rage – that, and the slow, helpless blink of the wretched thing at his feet.
It didn't know what it was. It didn't know who they
were. Once it had been a man, and now it was rotting
garbage with a gun and a mission it couldn't possibly
understand.
They took his soul…
"John?"
A warm hand on his back, Karen's voice low and easy next to him. Steve and David stepped into view, staring down at the gaping, blinking shell of humanity in the shaded moonlight, the last remnant of an experiment in madness. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I'm here." David trained his Beretta on the monster's skull and spoke softly. "Stand back." John turned away, started walking back for their last destination with Karen at his side, Rebecca's slight form in front of him. The shot was incredibly loud, a booming crack that seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet.
Not Karen, oh please not one of us. That's no way to go out, no way to die…
Then David and Steve were with them and without speaking, they broke into a jog for block E, moving quickly through the emptiness that had claimed the night. The Trisquads were no more, but the disease that made them might even now be coursing through Karen's body, turning her into a creature with no mind, no soul, doomed to a fate worse than death. John picked up speed, silently swearing to himself that if they found this Dr. Griffith, he was going to be awfully goddamned sorry that they did.
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
Why the change? What happened?
John spoke first, glancing at the rest of them before looking at David. "Well, we've made it this far. And if there's only one more group of zombies out there, I say we finish up." Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, and we still haven't found the main lab, we don't know why Griffith did this -
–whether he suffered a psychotic break or is actually hiding something. We may not find out, but it's worth a look. Plus, what if he destroys more evidence after we've gone?" "I agree," Steve said. "If the S.T.A.R.S. are as deeply involved with Umbrella as it looks, we're not going to get another chance. This may be our only opportunity to dig up a connection. And we're al-ready so close, the third test is right here – we do that one, we're one step away from finishing." "I'm up for it," Karen said softly. At the strained sound of her voice, Rebecca turned to look at her, noticing for the first time that Karen didn't look so good. Her eyes were bloodshot, her complexion almost a pallor. "Are you okay?" Rebecca asked. Karen nodded, sighing. "Yeah. Headache." Must be a migraine, she looks like hell… "What is it, David?" John asked abruptly. "What's eatin' you? You know something you're not telling us?"
David stared at them for a moment, then shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just – I have a bad feeling. Or rather, a feeling that something bad is going to happen."Little late, don'tcha think?" John said, grinning. "Where were you when we got into the raft?"
David half-smiled in response, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you, John, I'd almost forgotten. So, it's decided then. Let's solve our next puzzle, shall we? Oh, Rebecca, take a look at Karen's eye while we're at it, it's giving her some trouble."
They stood up and moved toward the back of the room, for the table in the northwest corner marked with a blue nine. Steve and Rebecca had already looked when they'd found the room, though there was no clue as to what the test was – a small, blank monitor screen with a ten-key hooked to it sat on the metal table, an enigma. Rebecca motioned for Karen to sit on the chair in front of test ten, the purpose of which also escaped her – it consisted of a circuit board wired to a plank and what looked like a pair of tweezers connected to it by a black wire. She bent down to take a look, frowning. The woman's right eye was extremely irri– tated, the pale blue cornea floating in a sea of red. Her eyelid had a bruised, swollen look. She turned to ask for David's flashlight and saw that as he sat down in front of the scheduled test, the screen flickered on, several lines of type appearing in the center of the monitor. "Some kind of motion sensor…" Steve started to say, but David held up his hand suddenly, reading aloud what had appeared on the screen in a rapid, anxious voice.
" 'As I was going to Saint Ives, I met a man with seven wives, the seven wives had seven sacks, the seven sacks held seven cats, the seven cats had seven kits; kits, cats, sacks, wives, how many were going to Saint Ives?'"
There was a digital readout on the screen, showing
00:49 and counting down. In the time it had taken David to read the question, eleven seconds had al-ready ticked off the clock. David stared at the screen, his thoughts racing furiously as the team leaned in behind him. Tension radiated from them, and David felt a sudden prickle of sweat break out across his forehead. Don't count, that was the clue. But what does it mean? "Twenty-eight," John said quickly. "No, wait, twenty-nine, including the man…" Steve cut him off, talking just as fast. "But if they had seven kittens each, that would be forty-nine plus twenty-one, seventy, seventy-one with the man." "But the message said don't count," Karen said. "If you're not supposed to count – does that mean don't add, or… wait, there's the man with the wives and the speaker, that's another one…"
Thirty-two seconds had elapsed. David's hand hov– ered over the key pad.
Think! Don't count, don't count, don't… "One," Rebecca said quickly. " 'As I was going to Saint Ives' – it doesn't say where the man with the wives was going. That's what it means, the clue –
–don't count anyone except the one who was going to
Saint Ives!"
Yes, it makes sense, a trick question…
They had twenty seconds left. "Anyone disagree?" David asked sharply.No answer. David hit the key, entered it…… and the countdown stopped, sixteen seconds to spare. The screen turned itself off. From somewhere overhead, the now familiar chime sounded. David exhaled, leaning back in the chair.
Thank you, Rebecca!
He turned around to tell her as much, but she was already bending to examine Karen's eye, fixated on her patient. "I need a flashlight," she said, barely glancing around as John handed his to her. She turned it on, shining it into Karen's eye as the rest of them looked on silently, watching them. Karen didn't look well; there were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin had gone from pale to almost sickly.
"It's pretty inflamed… look up. Down. Left and right? Does it feel like there's something rubbing it, or is it more like a burn?"Actually, more like an itch," Karen said. "Like a mosquito bite times ten. I've been scratching it, though, that might be why it's so red."Rebecca turned off the torch, frowning. "I don't see anything. The other one looks irritated, too… did it just start itching all of a sudden, or did you touch it, first?" Karen shook her head. "I don't remember. It just started itching, I guess."
A look of sharp, almost violent intensity flashed across Rebecca's face. "Before or after you were in room 101?"
David felt a cold hand clutch at his heart. Karen suddenly looked worried. "After."Did you touch anything while you were in there, anything at all?" "I don't…"
Karen's red eyes widened in sudden horror, and when she spoke, it was a breathless, quivering whis-per. "The gurney. There was a bloodstain on the gurney and I was thinking about…I touched it. Oh, Jesus, I didn't even think about it, it was dry and I, my hand wasn't cut and oh my God, I got a headache right after my eye started itching."
Rebecca put her hands on Karen's shoulders, squeezing them tightly. "Karen, take a deep breath. Deep breath, okay? It may be that your eye just itches and you have a headache, so don't jump to conclu-sions here, we don't know anything for sure."
Her voice was low and soothing, her manner direct. Karen blew out a shaky breath and nodded. "If her hand wasn't cut…" John started ner-vously. Karen answered him, her pale features composed but her voice trembling slightly. "Viruses can get into the body through mucous membranes. Nose, ears… eyes. I knew that. I knew that but I didn't think about it, I… wasn't thinking about it."
She looked up at Rebecca, and David could see that she was struggling to maintain her composure. "If I am infected, how long? How long before I become… incapacitated?" Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know," she said softly. David felt as though a raging blackness had envel-oped him, a cloud of fear and worry and guilt so vast that it threatened to overwhelm his ability to move, even to think.
My fault. My responsibility. "There's a vaccine, right?" John asked, his dark gaze darting between Karen and Rebecca. "There's a cure, wouldn't they have a shot or something here if someone got it by accident? They'd have to, wouldn't they?" David felt a sudden surge of desperate hope. "Is it possible?" he asked Rebecca quickly. The young biochemist nodded, slowly at first but then eagerly. "Yeah, it's possible. It's probable, they created it." She looked at David seriously, urgently. "We have to find the main lab, where they synthesized the virus, and quickly. If they developed a cure, that's where the information would be…"
Rebecca trailed off, and David could see what she'd left unspoken in her troubled gaze; if there was a cure. If Dr. Griffith hadn't taken the information there, too. If they could find it in time. "Ammon's message," Steve said. "In that note, he said we should destroy the lab, maybe he left us a map, or directions." David stood up, his hope building. "Karen, are you feeling well enough to…" "… Yes," she said, cutting him off, standing up. "Yes, let's go."
Her red eyes were bright with fervent intensity, a mix of despair and wild hope that made David's heart ache to see.
God, Karen, I'm so, so sorry!"Double time," he said, already turning for the door. "Let's move."They quickly jogged for the front of the building, John's jaw clenched, his thoughts a grimly determined loop of angry intention.
No way some goddamn bug is taking Karen down, no chance, and if I find the bastard who set this nightmare up he's Dead, capital D, Dead meat. Not Karen, no way in hell…
They reached the front door and silently drew weapons, checking them, tensely impatient for David to give the signal. Karen, always so cool and collected in times of stress, had a shocked vagueness about her, like she'd just been kicked in the gut and hadn't yet managed to take a breath. It was the same look that John had seen time and again on the faces of disaster Survivors – the haunted disbelief in the eyes, the slack and terrible blankness of expression that spoke of a yawning emptiness deep inside. It hurt him to see her like that, hurt him and made him even angrier. Karen Driver wasn't supposed to look like that. "I lead, John in back, straight line," David said softly. John saw that he looked almost as freaked as Karen, though in a different way. It was guilt gnawing at their captain, he could see it in his reluctant gaze, the tight set of his mouth. John wished he could tell him that blaming himself was wrong, but there wasn't time and he didn't have the right words for it. David would have to take care of himself, just as they all would.
"Ready? Go."
David pushed the door open and then they were slipping through, back into the gentle hiss of waves and the pale blue light of the moon. David, then Karen, Steve, Rebecca, and finally John, crouched and running across the packed dirt of the open compound. There was darkness and the scent of pine, of salt, but John's soldier mind wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know as they pounded through the shadows. There was only anger, and fear for Karen……making the sudden blast of M-16 fire a total surprise.
Shit!
John dove for the ground as the thundering rattle opened up to their right, saw that they were just over halfway to block E as he rolled and started to fire. Then the air was filled with the blast of nine-millime– ter rounds, crashing over the steady pulse of automat– ic rifles.
Can't see, can't target…
He found the muzzle flashes at three o'clock and jerked the Beretta around, squeezing the trigger six, seven, eight times. The stutter of orange-white light blocked the shooters from view but he saw one of the flashes disappear, heard the clatter decrease and a rage overtook him, not the "soldier mind" but a blinding, screaming fury at the diseased attack– ers that far exceeded any he'd ever known. They wanted Karen to die, those numb, brainless night– mares wanted to stop them from saving her.
Not Karen. NOT KAREN.
A strange, feral howl beat at his ears as he pushed away from the dusty earth and then he was standing, running, firing. Only when he heard the shouts of the others, the Berettas except for his holding fire, did he realize that the howl was coming from him. John ran forward, screaming as he fired again and again at the things that meant to slow them up, to kill them, to claim Karen as one of their own. His thoughts were no longer words, just an endless, form– less negative – a denial of their existence and what had created them. He charged ahead, not seeing that they had stopped firing, that they were falling, that the shadows had fallen silent except for the thunder of his semi and the scream that poured from his shaking body. Then he was standing over them and the Beretta had stopped crashing and jumping, even though he still pulled the trigger. Three of them, white where there was no red, decayed flesh bursts covering their pitiful, wasted forms. Click. Click. Click. One of them had a face that was a mass of puckered scar tissue, twisting white risers of gnarled skin except for where a fresh, bloody hole had punched through its forehead. Another, one eye spattered against its withered cheek, pooling viscous fluid in the rotting cup of its ear. Click. Click. The third was still alive. Half of its throat was gone, tattered to pulp, and its mouth opened and closed soundlessly, opened and closed, its filmed dark eyes blinking slowly up at him. Click. He was dry-firing, the scream dying away in his ragged throat. It was the sound of the hammer falling uselessly against hot metal that finally released him from the rage – that, and the slow, helpless blink of the wretched thing at his feet.
It didn't know what it was. It didn't know who they
were. Once it had been a man, and now it was rotting
garbage with a gun and a mission it couldn't possibly
understand.
They took his soul…
"John?"
A warm hand on his back, Karen's voice low and easy next to him. Steve and David stepped into view, staring down at the gaping, blinking shell of humanity in the shaded moonlight, the last remnant of an experiment in madness. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I'm here." David trained his Beretta on the monster's skull and spoke softly. "Stand back." John turned away, started walking back for their last destination with Karen at his side, Rebecca's slight form in front of him. The shot was incredibly loud, a booming crack that seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet.
Not Karen, oh please not one of us. That's no way to go out, no way to die…
Then David and Steve were with them and without speaking, they broke into a jog for block E, moving quickly through the emptiness that had claimed the night. The Trisquads were no more, but the disease that made them might even now be coursing through Karen's body, turning her into a creature with no mind, no soul, doomed to a fate worse than death. John picked up speed, silently swearing to himself that if they found this Dr. Griffith, he was going to be awfully goddamned sorry that they did.
THIRTEEN
The e block was no different than the first four they'd encountered, as bland and industrial and stale as the rest of them, a study in concrete efficiency. They moved quickly through the stuffy halls, turning on lights as they went, searching for the room that held the final clue to Dr. Ammon's secret. It didn't take long; almost half of the structure was taken up by an indoor shooting range, where David had found boxes of loaded M-16 mags, but no rifles to go with them. John had asked if he should retrieve the Trisquad's weapons, which Rebecca promptly vetoed. The rifles were hot, probably crawling with virus. Like Karen's blood by now, streams of replicating virions bursting from cells, searching for new cells to attach to and use and destroy… "Here!" Steve called from farther down the wind– ing corridor, and Rebecca hurried toward him, Karen and John not far behind. David was already standing with Steve by the closed door, the red, green, and blue triangles a sign that they'd hit on the right room. Steve's gaze seemed to seek her out, but was blank of all emotion except worry. She didn't mind, noted it only absently. Karen's infection, John's insane run at the Trisquad – there wasn't room in her for anything but the need to find the lab, to find help for Karen. Steve opened the door and they filed inside, Rebecca continuing to watch Karen closely for signs that the virus had progressed and wondering what she should do with the information she'd picked up so far about the amplification time. She didn't really have any doubts that Karen had been exposed, and knew that no one else did, either, but what should she say?
Do I tell her that it might only take hours? Do I pull David aside? If there's a cure, she has to get it before the damage is too great, before it starts to fry her brain – before it dumps so much dopamine into her that she stops being Karen Driver and becomes… something else.
Rebecca didn't know how to handle it. They were already doing all that they could, as fast as they could, and she didn't know enough about the T-Virus to assume anything. She also didn't want to see Karen any more terrified than she was already. The woman was doing her best to control it, but it was obvious that she was on the edge of a breakdown, from the desperation in her bloodred eyes to the growing tremor of her hands. And the Trisquads had almost certainly been injected with much larger amounts than Karen had been exposed to; maybe she had days…
…first symptoms in less than an hour?Don't kid yourself. You have to tell her, to warn her and everyone else of what could happen. Soon.
She pushed the thought aside almost frantically, looking around at the room they'd entered. It was smaller than the test chambers they'd come across, and emptier. There was a long meeting table pushed to the back, a half dozen chairs behind it. In the front of the room was a small shelf coming off the wall, only a few feet long and a foot deep. There were three large buttons on the flat surface, red, green, and blue. The wall behind the shelf was tiled in large, smooth gray tiles made from some kind of industrial plastic. "That's it," Steve said. "Blue to access." With barely a second's hesitation, David walked to the counter and pushed the blue button. A woman's voice spoke coolly from a hidden speaker above, startling them. It was a recording, the bland tone eerily reminding Rebecca of the final moments at the Spencer estate, the triggering system tape.
"Blue series completed. Access reward."
One of the tiles behind the shelf slid away, revealing a dark recess set into the concrete. As David reached into the hidden space, Rebecca felt a surge of frus-trated anger and disgust for Umbrella, for what she realized they had done. It was despicable. All those tests, all that work – set up to dole out treats to T-Virus victims. Get through the red series, good dog, here's your bone… and what was their reward, for making it through the tests? A piece of meat? Drugs, to ease their hunger? Maybe a brand new weapon for them to train with? Jesus, did they even understand what they'd been doing? She saw the same curled sneers of horror and disgust on the faces of the others and saw the same growing dismay as they watched David pull a single tiny item from the recess, what looked like a credit card with a slip of paper stuck to one side. They gathered around him as he held the item up, his dark gaze heavy with an almost manic disappoint– ment. It was a light green key card, the kind used to open electronic doors, blank except for a magnetic strip and the scrawled words on the small square of paper said only: LIGHTHOUSE-ACCESS 135-SOUTHWEST/EAST.
"Handwriting's the same as on Ammon's note," Steve said hopefully. "Maybe the lab is in the light-house…" "One way to find out," John said. "Let's go."He seemed angry, the same look he wore since their discovery of Karen's exposure to the virus. After watching him charge the Trisquad outside, Rebecca almost hoped that they'd come across Dr. Griffith; John would tear him apart. David nodded, slipping the card into his vest. The fear and guilt that he felt were obvious, playing across his features in a constant, twitching mask. "Right. Karen…?"
She nodded, and Rebecca saw that her already pale skin had taken on a waxy tone, as if the top layers were becoming translucent. Even as she watched, Karen started to scratch absently at her arms. "Yeah, I'm good," she said quietly. She has to know. She deserves to know.
Rebecca knew it couldn't wait any longer. Choosing her words carefully, aware of their limited time, she turned to Karen and spoke as calmly as she could.
"Look, I don't know what they've done with the T-Virus here, but there's a chance that you could start to experience more advanced symptoms in a relatively short amount of time. It's important that you tell me, tell all of us how you're doing, physically and psycho-logically. Any changes at all, we need to know, okay?"
Karen smiled weakly, still scratching at her arms.
"I'm scared shitless, how's that? And I'm starting to itch all over…"
She turned her red eyes to David, then to Steve and John before looking back at Rebecca. "If… if I start to act… irrationally, you'll do something, won't you?
You won't let me… hurt anyone?"
A single tear slid down one pale cheek, but she didn't look away, her wet, crimson gaze as firm and strong as it had ever been. Rebecca swallowed, struggling to sound confident and reassuring, awed by the bravery she saw in Karen's eyes – and wondering how much longer that bravery would hold up beneath the roar of the T-Virus running through her veins.
"We're going to find the cure before it comes to that," she said, and hoped that she wasn't telling Karen a lie. "Move out," David said tightly. They moved out. The grounds of the facility were on a definite gentle slant, rising to the north, but as they left the E block and started for the towering black structure that perched over the cove, the curving slope became much steeper. The rocky soil angled up sharply, maybe as much as a thirty-degree incline, making the half kick walk into a hike. David ignored the strain in his back and legs; he was too worried about Karen and too busy tearing away at his own incompetence to bother with physical discomfort. They were closer to the shimmering waters of the cove than they had been since climbing out of them, and the cool, whispering breeze off the moonlit sur– face would have been pleasant on some other night, in some other place. The swaying ripples of soft light and the soothing murmur of waves were almost a mockery of their desperate situation, such a sharp contrast to the chaos inside of him that he found himself almost wishing that there were still Trisquads roaming around.
At least then this would feel like the nightmare it is. And I could do something, I could fight back, defend them against something tangible…
Ahead of them, the rising land curled around to the east, dropping away to a foaming sea far below. The cove itself was fairly calm, but the sound of waves smashing against the cliffs grew louder as they hurried on, approaching where the ocean met towering, cave– riddled rock walls. John had taken the lead, Karen next and then the two younger team members. David brought up the rear, dividing his attention between the compound to their left and behind and the dark structures ahead. Directly in back of the lighthouse was what had to be the dormitory, a long, flat building almost twice the size of the concrete blocks they'd left behind. They hadn't come across quarters for the Umbrella workers anywhere else, and it had the look of a bunkhouse – designed for sleeping and eating, no thought given to aesthetic appeal. They probably should check it out, but David didn't want to waste a moment in their search for the lab. The thought brought on another wave of guilt and angst that he tried unsuccessfully to block out. He needed to be effective, to get them to the laboratory as quickly as possible without floundering in his doubts and emotions, but all he kept thinking, kept wishing was that he'd been infected instead. But you're not, some tiny part of him whispered, Karen's got it and wishing is pointless. It won't cure her and it will cloud your ability to lead.
David ignored the small voice, thinking instead of how badly he'd screwed them all. Who was he, to lead a fight against Umbrella, to clean up the S.T.A.R.S. and bring honor back to the job? He couldn't even keep his people safe, couldn't plan a simple covert op, couldn't even battle the demons of self-doubt and horrified guilt that raged inside of him. They neared the lifeless dorm building, John slow– ing to let the rest of them catch up. David saw that his team was tired, but at least Karen didn't look any worse. In the gentle light of the swollen moon, she seemed pale and somehow fragile. The deathly pallor she'd worn beneath the fluorescents had translated into a soft, porcelain cast, the redness of her gaze turning to shadow. If he hadn't known better…
Ah, but you do. How long now, before that milky skin starts to peel, to flake away? How long before she can't be trusted with a weapon, before you have to restrain her from… Stop it!
He let them catch their breath, turning to get a better look at the lighthouse less than twenty meters away and felt his stomach clench, his heart shudder suddenly for no reason that he could have explained. It was an old lighthouse, a tall, cylindrical outdated building, weathered and dark and as seemingly de– serted as the rest of the compound. Looking at it, he experienced the feeling he'd had earlier of impending doom, of options closing down behind them and the spinning wheel of darkness ahead. "Come on," John said briskly, but David stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head slowly. Not safe. That tiny voice again, familiar yet strange. He stared at the looming tower, feeling lost, feeling uncertain and out of control as the wind swept over them, the waves pounding the cliff. They were wait– ing. It wasn't safe, but they had to go in, they couldn't just stand there and it hit him suddenly, a clear realization of what it was that had gone wrong in his mind. What was really wrong. It wasn't his competence, it wasn't his ability to think or plan or fight. It was something far worse, something he might have noticed much earlier if he hadn't let himself get so wrapped up with guilt.
I stopped trusting my instincts. Without the security of the S.T.A.R.S. behind me, I forgot to listen to that voice – so terrified of making a mistake that I lost my ability to hear, to know what to do. Every time the fear hit me, I pushed through it, I ignored it and I made it that much stronger.
Even as he thought it, as he believed it, he felt the blackness of doubt lift from his exhausted thoughts. The guilt eased back, allowing a kind of clarity to filter through and with it, the tiny voice inside took on a power that he'd almost forgotten it could have. It's not safe, so hit the door fast, two in low, the rest high and covered outside… All of this flashed through his mind in seconds. He turned to look at his team, watching him, waiting for him to lead. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he knew that he could. "I think it's a trap," he said. "John, you and I go in low, I'll take west – Rebecca, I want you and Steve to stand on either side of the door and fire at anything standing; keep firing until we call clear. Sorry, Karen, you'll sit this one out."
They nodded all around and started for the deep shadows that surrounded the ominous tower, David in front, finally feeling as though he was doing some– thing useful. Maybe that spinning destiny was too vast, moving too quickly for them to deny, but he wasn't going to let it run them over without at least putting up a fight. Karen deserved that much. They all did. Karen hung back as they moved into position, leaning against the back wall of the large building behind the lighthouse to watch. She felt winded by the climb up the hill, winded and strange and there was a buzzing in her brain that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let her fully concentrate…
… getting sick. Getting sicker, fast.
It scared her, but somehow it wasn't as bad as it had been. In fact, it wasn't really that scary at all. The initial terror had gone, leaving her with only a memo– ry of the adrenaline rush, like a whiff of a bad dream. The itch was distracting, but not exactly an itch anymore. What had felt like a million bug bites on her skin, each separate and distinct and screaming for relief, had connected. It was the only way she could think to describe the sensation. They had connected, had become a thick blanket over her body that crawled and squirmed, as if her skin had come to life and was scratching itself. It was weird, but not exactly unpleasant…
"Now!"
At the sound of David's voice, Karen focused on the sudden action in front of her, the buzzing hum in her head making it all seem strange, speeded up somehow. The door to the lighthouse crashing open, David and John leaping into the blackness, bullets flashing and booming. The high, whining rattle of an M-16 inside. Steve and Rebecca, ducking and firing, out and in and out again, their bodies blurred by speed, their Berettas dancing like black metal birds. It was happening so fast that it seemed to take a long, long time for it to stop. Karen frowned, wonder– ing how that could be……and then saw David and John step back out into the blue light of the moon, and realized that she was happy to see them. Even with their strange and distorted faces, their long bodies that moved too quickly…
… what's happening to me…
Karen shook her head but the buzzing only seemed to get louder and she was afraid again, afraid that David and John and Steve and Rebecca would leave her behind. They'd leave her behind and she wouldn't have anyone to… to ease her mind. That was bad. David was in front of her, staring at her with eyes like wet, dark cherries. "Karen, are you okay?" At the look on his round and pointed face and the sound of softness in his voice, Karen felt happy again, and knew that she had to tell him the truth. With a tremendous effort, she found the strength to say what had to be said, her voice coming out of the crawling body and the buzzing, sounding as strange to her as the wind. "It's getting worse now," she said. "I don't think right, David. Don't leave me."
John and Rebecca, their hot, hot hands touching her, leading her away and to the darkness of the open door. Her body worked, but her mind was clouded by the trembling buzzing hum. There were things she wanted to tell them, things that drifted through the cloud like flashes of pretty pictures, but the building they moved her to was dark and hot, and there was a body on the floor holding a rifle. His face, she could see. His face wasn't strange; it was white, white and curling, textured like the buzzing and the crawling. It
was a face that made sense. "I got the door," Steve said, looking up and grin-ning, white, white teeth. "One-three-five." There was a keypad next to an open hole, stairs leading down, and Steve's teeth disappeared, his flat face wrinkling.
"Karen…"
"We have to hurry."
"Hang on baby, hang on, we'll be there soon."
Karen let them help her, wondering why their faces looked so strange, wondering why they smelled so hot and good.
Do I tell her that it might only take hours? Do I pull David aside? If there's a cure, she has to get it before the damage is too great, before it starts to fry her brain – before it dumps so much dopamine into her that she stops being Karen Driver and becomes… something else.
Rebecca didn't know how to handle it. They were already doing all that they could, as fast as they could, and she didn't know enough about the T-Virus to assume anything. She also didn't want to see Karen any more terrified than she was already. The woman was doing her best to control it, but it was obvious that she was on the edge of a breakdown, from the desperation in her bloodred eyes to the growing tremor of her hands. And the Trisquads had almost certainly been injected with much larger amounts than Karen had been exposed to; maybe she had days…
…first symptoms in less than an hour?Don't kid yourself. You have to tell her, to warn her and everyone else of what could happen. Soon.
She pushed the thought aside almost frantically, looking around at the room they'd entered. It was smaller than the test chambers they'd come across, and emptier. There was a long meeting table pushed to the back, a half dozen chairs behind it. In the front of the room was a small shelf coming off the wall, only a few feet long and a foot deep. There were three large buttons on the flat surface, red, green, and blue. The wall behind the shelf was tiled in large, smooth gray tiles made from some kind of industrial plastic. "That's it," Steve said. "Blue to access." With barely a second's hesitation, David walked to the counter and pushed the blue button. A woman's voice spoke coolly from a hidden speaker above, startling them. It was a recording, the bland tone eerily reminding Rebecca of the final moments at the Spencer estate, the triggering system tape.
"Blue series completed. Access reward."
One of the tiles behind the shelf slid away, revealing a dark recess set into the concrete. As David reached into the hidden space, Rebecca felt a surge of frus-trated anger and disgust for Umbrella, for what she realized they had done. It was despicable. All those tests, all that work – set up to dole out treats to T-Virus victims. Get through the red series, good dog, here's your bone… and what was their reward, for making it through the tests? A piece of meat? Drugs, to ease their hunger? Maybe a brand new weapon for them to train with? Jesus, did they even understand what they'd been doing? She saw the same curled sneers of horror and disgust on the faces of the others and saw the same growing dismay as they watched David pull a single tiny item from the recess, what looked like a credit card with a slip of paper stuck to one side. They gathered around him as he held the item up, his dark gaze heavy with an almost manic disappoint– ment. It was a light green key card, the kind used to open electronic doors, blank except for a magnetic strip and the scrawled words on the small square of paper said only: LIGHTHOUSE-ACCESS 135-SOUTHWEST/EAST.
"Handwriting's the same as on Ammon's note," Steve said hopefully. "Maybe the lab is in the light-house…" "One way to find out," John said. "Let's go."He seemed angry, the same look he wore since their discovery of Karen's exposure to the virus. After watching him charge the Trisquad outside, Rebecca almost hoped that they'd come across Dr. Griffith; John would tear him apart. David nodded, slipping the card into his vest. The fear and guilt that he felt were obvious, playing across his features in a constant, twitching mask. "Right. Karen…?"
She nodded, and Rebecca saw that her already pale skin had taken on a waxy tone, as if the top layers were becoming translucent. Even as she watched, Karen started to scratch absently at her arms. "Yeah, I'm good," she said quietly. She has to know. She deserves to know.
Rebecca knew it couldn't wait any longer. Choosing her words carefully, aware of their limited time, she turned to Karen and spoke as calmly as she could.
"Look, I don't know what they've done with the T-Virus here, but there's a chance that you could start to experience more advanced symptoms in a relatively short amount of time. It's important that you tell me, tell all of us how you're doing, physically and psycho-logically. Any changes at all, we need to know, okay?"
Karen smiled weakly, still scratching at her arms.
"I'm scared shitless, how's that? And I'm starting to itch all over…"
She turned her red eyes to David, then to Steve and John before looking back at Rebecca. "If… if I start to act… irrationally, you'll do something, won't you?
You won't let me… hurt anyone?"
A single tear slid down one pale cheek, but she didn't look away, her wet, crimson gaze as firm and strong as it had ever been. Rebecca swallowed, struggling to sound confident and reassuring, awed by the bravery she saw in Karen's eyes – and wondering how much longer that bravery would hold up beneath the roar of the T-Virus running through her veins.
"We're going to find the cure before it comes to that," she said, and hoped that she wasn't telling Karen a lie. "Move out," David said tightly. They moved out. The grounds of the facility were on a definite gentle slant, rising to the north, but as they left the E block and started for the towering black structure that perched over the cove, the curving slope became much steeper. The rocky soil angled up sharply, maybe as much as a thirty-degree incline, making the half kick walk into a hike. David ignored the strain in his back and legs; he was too worried about Karen and too busy tearing away at his own incompetence to bother with physical discomfort. They were closer to the shimmering waters of the cove than they had been since climbing out of them, and the cool, whispering breeze off the moonlit sur– face would have been pleasant on some other night, in some other place. The swaying ripples of soft light and the soothing murmur of waves were almost a mockery of their desperate situation, such a sharp contrast to the chaos inside of him that he found himself almost wishing that there were still Trisquads roaming around.
At least then this would feel like the nightmare it is. And I could do something, I could fight back, defend them against something tangible…
Ahead of them, the rising land curled around to the east, dropping away to a foaming sea far below. The cove itself was fairly calm, but the sound of waves smashing against the cliffs grew louder as they hurried on, approaching where the ocean met towering, cave– riddled rock walls. John had taken the lead, Karen next and then the two younger team members. David brought up the rear, dividing his attention between the compound to their left and behind and the dark structures ahead. Directly in back of the lighthouse was what had to be the dormitory, a long, flat building almost twice the size of the concrete blocks they'd left behind. They hadn't come across quarters for the Umbrella workers anywhere else, and it had the look of a bunkhouse – designed for sleeping and eating, no thought given to aesthetic appeal. They probably should check it out, but David didn't want to waste a moment in their search for the lab. The thought brought on another wave of guilt and angst that he tried unsuccessfully to block out. He needed to be effective, to get them to the laboratory as quickly as possible without floundering in his doubts and emotions, but all he kept thinking, kept wishing was that he'd been infected instead. But you're not, some tiny part of him whispered, Karen's got it and wishing is pointless. It won't cure her and it will cloud your ability to lead.
David ignored the small voice, thinking instead of how badly he'd screwed them all. Who was he, to lead a fight against Umbrella, to clean up the S.T.A.R.S. and bring honor back to the job? He couldn't even keep his people safe, couldn't plan a simple covert op, couldn't even battle the demons of self-doubt and horrified guilt that raged inside of him. They neared the lifeless dorm building, John slow– ing to let the rest of them catch up. David saw that his team was tired, but at least Karen didn't look any worse. In the gentle light of the swollen moon, she seemed pale and somehow fragile. The deathly pallor she'd worn beneath the fluorescents had translated into a soft, porcelain cast, the redness of her gaze turning to shadow. If he hadn't known better…
Ah, but you do. How long now, before that milky skin starts to peel, to flake away? How long before she can't be trusted with a weapon, before you have to restrain her from… Stop it!
He let them catch their breath, turning to get a better look at the lighthouse less than twenty meters away and felt his stomach clench, his heart shudder suddenly for no reason that he could have explained. It was an old lighthouse, a tall, cylindrical outdated building, weathered and dark and as seemingly de– serted as the rest of the compound. Looking at it, he experienced the feeling he'd had earlier of impending doom, of options closing down behind them and the spinning wheel of darkness ahead. "Come on," John said briskly, but David stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head slowly. Not safe. That tiny voice again, familiar yet strange. He stared at the looming tower, feeling lost, feeling uncertain and out of control as the wind swept over them, the waves pounding the cliff. They were wait– ing. It wasn't safe, but they had to go in, they couldn't just stand there and it hit him suddenly, a clear realization of what it was that had gone wrong in his mind. What was really wrong. It wasn't his competence, it wasn't his ability to think or plan or fight. It was something far worse, something he might have noticed much earlier if he hadn't let himself get so wrapped up with guilt.
I stopped trusting my instincts. Without the security of the S.T.A.R.S. behind me, I forgot to listen to that voice – so terrified of making a mistake that I lost my ability to hear, to know what to do. Every time the fear hit me, I pushed through it, I ignored it and I made it that much stronger.
Even as he thought it, as he believed it, he felt the blackness of doubt lift from his exhausted thoughts. The guilt eased back, allowing a kind of clarity to filter through and with it, the tiny voice inside took on a power that he'd almost forgotten it could have. It's not safe, so hit the door fast, two in low, the rest high and covered outside… All of this flashed through his mind in seconds. He turned to look at his team, watching him, waiting for him to lead. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he knew that he could. "I think it's a trap," he said. "John, you and I go in low, I'll take west – Rebecca, I want you and Steve to stand on either side of the door and fire at anything standing; keep firing until we call clear. Sorry, Karen, you'll sit this one out."
They nodded all around and started for the deep shadows that surrounded the ominous tower, David in front, finally feeling as though he was doing some– thing useful. Maybe that spinning destiny was too vast, moving too quickly for them to deny, but he wasn't going to let it run them over without at least putting up a fight. Karen deserved that much. They all did. Karen hung back as they moved into position, leaning against the back wall of the large building behind the lighthouse to watch. She felt winded by the climb up the hill, winded and strange and there was a buzzing in her brain that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let her fully concentrate…
… getting sick. Getting sicker, fast.
It scared her, but somehow it wasn't as bad as it had been. In fact, it wasn't really that scary at all. The initial terror had gone, leaving her with only a memo– ry of the adrenaline rush, like a whiff of a bad dream. The itch was distracting, but not exactly an itch anymore. What had felt like a million bug bites on her skin, each separate and distinct and screaming for relief, had connected. It was the only way she could think to describe the sensation. They had connected, had become a thick blanket over her body that crawled and squirmed, as if her skin had come to life and was scratching itself. It was weird, but not exactly unpleasant…
"Now!"
At the sound of David's voice, Karen focused on the sudden action in front of her, the buzzing hum in her head making it all seem strange, speeded up somehow. The door to the lighthouse crashing open, David and John leaping into the blackness, bullets flashing and booming. The high, whining rattle of an M-16 inside. Steve and Rebecca, ducking and firing, out and in and out again, their bodies blurred by speed, their Berettas dancing like black metal birds. It was happening so fast that it seemed to take a long, long time for it to stop. Karen frowned, wonder– ing how that could be……and then saw David and John step back out into the blue light of the moon, and realized that she was happy to see them. Even with their strange and distorted faces, their long bodies that moved too quickly…
… what's happening to me…
Karen shook her head but the buzzing only seemed to get louder and she was afraid again, afraid that David and John and Steve and Rebecca would leave her behind. They'd leave her behind and she wouldn't have anyone to… to ease her mind. That was bad. David was in front of her, staring at her with eyes like wet, dark cherries. "Karen, are you okay?" At the look on his round and pointed face and the sound of softness in his voice, Karen felt happy again, and knew that she had to tell him the truth. With a tremendous effort, she found the strength to say what had to be said, her voice coming out of the crawling body and the buzzing, sounding as strange to her as the wind. "It's getting worse now," she said. "I don't think right, David. Don't leave me."
John and Rebecca, their hot, hot hands touching her, leading her away and to the darkness of the open door. Her body worked, but her mind was clouded by the trembling buzzing hum. There were things she wanted to tell them, things that drifted through the cloud like flashes of pretty pictures, but the building they moved her to was dark and hot, and there was a body on the floor holding a rifle. His face, she could see. His face wasn't strange; it was white, white and curling, textured like the buzzing and the crawling. It
was a face that made sense. "I got the door," Steve said, looking up and grin-ning, white, white teeth. "One-three-five." There was a keypad next to an open hole, stairs leading down, and Steve's teeth disappeared, his flat face wrinkling.
"Karen…"
"We have to hurry."
"Hang on baby, hang on, we'll be there soon."
Karen let them help her, wondering why their faces looked so strange, wondering why they smelled so hot and good.
FOURTEEN
Athens had failed. Dr. Griffith stared at the blinking white light by the door, cursing Athens, cursing Lyle Ammon, cursing his luck. He hadn't told Athens how to get back inside, which could only mean that the intruders had made it past him. Ammon had left them a message or sent them one, it didn't matter – all that mattered was that they were coming and he had to assume that they had the key. He'd torn down the markers weeks ago, but perhaps they had directions, perhaps they'd find him and…
Don't panic, no need for panic. You prepared for this, simply move on, next plan. Division first, twofold effect – less firepower, bait for later… and a chance to see how well Alan can perform.
Griffith turned to Dr. Kinneson and spoke quickly, keeping the instructions clear and simple, the route as easy as possible. Griffith had already worked out the questions they'd probably ask, though he knew there was a chance they'd try for more information. He gave Alan several random phrases to respond with, then gave him the small semi-automatic pistol from Dr. Chin's desk drawer, watching as Alan tucked it beneath his lab coat to make sure it was hidden. The bullet carrier was empty, but he didn't think it was possible to tell, not if the hammer was pulled back. He also gave Alan his key; a risk, but then the entire scenario was a risk. With the fate of the world resting in his hands, he'd take any chance necessary. After Alan had gone, Griffith sat down in a chair to wait for a reasonable amount of time, his gaze wan– dering to the six stainless canisters in restless antici-pation. His plans wouldn't fail; the righteousness of his work would see him through this invasion. If Alan was caught out, there were still the Ma7s, there was still Louis, there were still the syringes and his hiding place, the airlock controls in easy reach.
Past all of that, there was still the sunrise, waiting. Dr. Griffith smiled dreamily.
Karen could still walk, still seemed to understand at least part of what they were saying to her, but the few words she could manage didn't seem to relate to anything. As they'd gone down the stairs from the lighthouse, she'd said "hot" twice. As they'd walked into the wide, dank tunnel at the base of the steps, she'd said, "I don't want," an expression of fear on her deathly pale, searching face. Rebecca was terrified that even if they found a way to reverse the viral load, it would be too late. It had all happened so suddenly, so fast that she could still hardly comprehend it. There'd been a man waiting for them in the darkness of the lighthouse, a trap just as David had intuited. As soon as they'd gone in, he'd opened fire with an automatic rifle, strafing the door from the shadows beneath the wind– ing metal stairs. Thanks to David's plan, it had been over in seconds and as Steve had discovered the access door and punched in the code, Rebecca and John had looked over their waiting attacker, had seen in the narrow beam of John's flashlight that the man had been infected his paper-white skin was flaking and creased with strange, peeling etched lines. He'd looked somehow different than the Trisquad victims she'd seen, less decayed, his open, staring eyes some– how more human… but then David had gone to get Karen and Rebecca's interest had been suddenly and cruelly diverted. It had been the walk up the hill, she'd decided. Even though it shouldn't have made a difference, she couldn't imagine what else might have brought on the amplification so quickly. Somehow, the T-Virus must have responded to the physiological changes of Ka– ren's increased heart rate and circulation, but as they'd led the confused and stumbling woman into the lighthouse, Rebecca had found that she'd stopped caring about how; all she wanted was to get to the lab, to try and salvage what was left of Karen Driver's sanity. The tunnel beneath the lighthouse seemed to lead back toward the compound in a curving, twisting trail, and was carved from the heavy limestone of the cliff. Mining lights were strung along the walls, casting strange shadows as they moved forward, silent and grimly afraid, John and Steve half-pulling Karen between them. Rebecca was last, again feeling a horrible sense of deja vu as they stumbled along, remembering the tunnels beneath the Spencer estate.
The same cold damp emanated from the stone, and she felt the same terrible feelings of moving toward unknown danger, exhausted and afraid of screwing up – of not being able to prevent a disaster. The disaster has already happened, she thought helplessly, watching Karen struggle to keep walking.
We're losing her. In another hour, probably less, she'll be too far gone to ever come back.
As it was, John and Steve shouldn't be touching her. In a single, easy movement she could get at either one of them, biting before they had a chance to let go. Even that concept made her sick with sorrow and an aching, heavy feeling of loss. The tunnel veered to the left, and Rebecca realized they had to be incredibly close to the ocean; the walls seemed to tremble and shake from a muted thunder beyond, and the tunnel was thick with a damp and fishy smell. Parts of the floor seemed too smooth to have been created by human hands, and Rebecca wondered vaguely if the tunnel opened up ahead somewhere, perhaps had once been flooded by the sea… "Bloody hell," David whispered angrily. "Shit." Rebecca looked up. When she saw what was ahead, she felt her last flicker of hope for Karen die.
We'll never find it in time.
The tunnel did open up, a few hundred meters ahead of where David had stopped. It widened con-siderably, in fact and was connected by five smaller tunnels, each branching off in a slightly different direction. "Which way is southwest?" John asked anxiously. Karen leaned against him, her head rolling forward. David's voice was still angry, frustration raising his words to an echo that bounced through the five stone corridors, circling back to fill the cavern.
"I don't know, I thought we were already headed southwest and yet none of these is in direct align-ment, and none head directly east, either."
They moved into the rough-hewn cavern, staring helplessly at the smooth tunnels, each of them strung with lights that disappeared around turns and bends. They had obviously been carved by water, perhaps had once been connected to the sea caves that David had originally meant for them to find. The tunnels weren't as wide as the one they stood in, but were wide enough to accommodate human passage com-fortably enough, and at least three meters high. There was no way to guess which one was used to get to the lab -or if any of them lead to the lab, we don't even know for certain that it's down here…
"If none of them goes east, then we have to pick the one that looks the most likely to go southwest," Steve said quietly. "Besides, east of here is water." Karen mumbled something unintelligible, and Rebecca stepped forward worriedly to see how she was. Though John and Steve still steadied her, she seemed to have no trouble standing on her own. Rebecca touched her clammy, sweating forehead and Karen's rolling eyes fixed on her, glassy and red, the pupils dilated. "Karen, how are you doing?" she asked softly. Karen blinked slowly. "Thirsty," she whispered, her voice bubbling and liquid sounding.
Still responsive, thank God…
Rebecca touched her throat lightly, feeling the rapid, thready pulse beneath her fingers. It was defi– nitely quicker than before, up in the lighthouse. Whatever the virus was doing to her, it wouldn't be much longer before Karen's body gave out. Rebecca turned, feeling desperate and angry, want– ing to scream for somebody to do something and heard the pounding footsteps, echoing up through one of the tunnels. She grabbed for her Beretta, saw John and David do the same as Steve held onto Karen.
Which one, where's it coming from? Griffith? Is it Griffith?
The sound seemed to circle, coming from every-where at once and then Rebecca saw him, appearing from around a comer in the passage second from the right. A stumbling figure, a flapping, dusty lab coat and then he saw them, and even from fifteen meters away, Rebecca could see the stunned and almost hysterical joy that swept across his face. The man ran for them, his short brown hair wild and disheveled, his eyes bright and lips trembling. He wasn't holding any kind of weapon, though Rebecca kept hers raised.
"Oh, thank God, thank God! You have to help me! Dr. Thurman, he's gone mad, we have to get out of here!"
He staggered out of the tunnel and nearly ran into David, apparently oblivious to the pistols trained on him as he babbled on.
"We have to go, there's a boat we can use, we have to get out before he kills us all…"
David shot a glance back, saw that Rebecca and John still had him covered. He tucked the Beretta into his side holster and stepped forward, taking the man's arm.
"Easy, calm down. Who are you, do you work here?" "Alan Kinneson," the man gasped. "Thurman kept me locked up in the lab but he heard you coming and I managed to get away. But he's crazy. You have to help me get to the boat! There's a radio, we can call for help!" The lab! "Which way is the laboratory?" David asked quickly. Kinneson didn't seem to hear him, too panicked by whatever he thought Thurman might do to them.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!" "The laboratory," David repeated. "Listen to me did you just come from there?"
Kinneson turned and pointed to the tunnel that was next to the one he'd come from, the one in the middle.
"The lab is that way…" He pointed back the way he'd come. "…and the boat's down there. These caves are like a maze."
Though he seemed to have calmed slightly as he pointed to the tunnels, when he turned back to face them, he looked as hysterical as he had before. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties at first glance, but David noticed he had deep lines etched at the comers of his eyes and mouth and realized he had to be much older. Whoever he was and however old he was, he was caught in the grip of an almost mindless panic.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!"
David's thoughts raced in time with his pounding heart. This was it, this was their chance -
–we get to the lab, make this Thurman give us the cure and then get out of this place, before anyone else gets hurt.
He turned to look at the others and saw the same hopeful looks that he knew he wore, John and Steve both nodding sharply. Rebecca didn't look as en– thused. She jerked her head back, motioning for David to move out of Kinneson's earshot. "Excuse us a moment," David said, forcing a politeness that he didn't feel. Kinneson was one of the researchers from Trent's list. "We have to hurry!" The man babbled, but he didn't follow as David stepped back toward the others, the four of them leaning together to talk, Karen resting against Steve's arm. Rebecca's voice was hushed and worried. "David, we can't take Karen to the lab if Griffith – if Thurman is there; what if we have to fight?"
John nodded, shooting a glance at the wild-eyed
researcher. "And I don't think we should leave this guy alone, he's likely to take off with our ride home."
David frowned, thinking. Steve was a better shot, but John was stronger. If they had to force Thurman to give them the T-Virus cure, John could probably intimidate him more easily.
"We split up. Steve, you take Karen to the boat, keep an eye on Kinneson. We'll go to the lab, get what we need and then meet you there. Agreed?"
Tight nods, and then David turned, addressing Kinneson.
"We need to get to the laboratory, but our friend Karen isn't well. We'd like for you to take her and an escort to the boat, and wait for us."
Kinneson's eyes seemed to blank out for just a second, the strange, vacant look there and gone so quickly that David wasn't even sure he'd seen it. "We have to hurry," he said quickly, then turned and started back down the passage he'd appeared from, walking at a brisk pace. David felt a sudden worry, staring at Kinneson's rapidly receding back, his dirty lab coat floating out behind him.
He didn't even ask who we are,…
As Steve and Karen started to enter the tunnel, David touched Steve's arm, speaking softly. "Watch him carefully, Steve. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Steve nodded and moved off after the strange Dr. Kinneson, Karen stumbling along next to him. John and Rebecca were already standing in front of the middle passageway, weapons still in hand. The chamber shook as outside, a muffled thunder roared. Without speaking, the three of them started down the gloomy tunnel in a tired but determined jog, ready to face the human monster behind the many tragedies of Caliban Cove.
They turned the first corner, Karen hanging onto his shoulder with a cold and sweating hand and the researcher was just rounding a bend farther ahead, a good hundred meters away. Steve caught a glimpse of fluttering white and the heel of a black loafer, and then he was out of sight, clattering footsteps moving away.
Don't panic, no need for panic. You prepared for this, simply move on, next plan. Division first, twofold effect – less firepower, bait for later… and a chance to see how well Alan can perform.
Griffith turned to Dr. Kinneson and spoke quickly, keeping the instructions clear and simple, the route as easy as possible. Griffith had already worked out the questions they'd probably ask, though he knew there was a chance they'd try for more information. He gave Alan several random phrases to respond with, then gave him the small semi-automatic pistol from Dr. Chin's desk drawer, watching as Alan tucked it beneath his lab coat to make sure it was hidden. The bullet carrier was empty, but he didn't think it was possible to tell, not if the hammer was pulled back. He also gave Alan his key; a risk, but then the entire scenario was a risk. With the fate of the world resting in his hands, he'd take any chance necessary. After Alan had gone, Griffith sat down in a chair to wait for a reasonable amount of time, his gaze wan– dering to the six stainless canisters in restless antici-pation. His plans wouldn't fail; the righteousness of his work would see him through this invasion. If Alan was caught out, there were still the Ma7s, there was still Louis, there were still the syringes and his hiding place, the airlock controls in easy reach.
Past all of that, there was still the sunrise, waiting. Dr. Griffith smiled dreamily.
Karen could still walk, still seemed to understand at least part of what they were saying to her, but the few words she could manage didn't seem to relate to anything. As they'd gone down the stairs from the lighthouse, she'd said "hot" twice. As they'd walked into the wide, dank tunnel at the base of the steps, she'd said, "I don't want," an expression of fear on her deathly pale, searching face. Rebecca was terrified that even if they found a way to reverse the viral load, it would be too late. It had all happened so suddenly, so fast that she could still hardly comprehend it. There'd been a man waiting for them in the darkness of the lighthouse, a trap just as David had intuited. As soon as they'd gone in, he'd opened fire with an automatic rifle, strafing the door from the shadows beneath the wind– ing metal stairs. Thanks to David's plan, it had been over in seconds and as Steve had discovered the access door and punched in the code, Rebecca and John had looked over their waiting attacker, had seen in the narrow beam of John's flashlight that the man had been infected his paper-white skin was flaking and creased with strange, peeling etched lines. He'd looked somehow different than the Trisquad victims she'd seen, less decayed, his open, staring eyes some– how more human… but then David had gone to get Karen and Rebecca's interest had been suddenly and cruelly diverted. It had been the walk up the hill, she'd decided. Even though it shouldn't have made a difference, she couldn't imagine what else might have brought on the amplification so quickly. Somehow, the T-Virus must have responded to the physiological changes of Ka– ren's increased heart rate and circulation, but as they'd led the confused and stumbling woman into the lighthouse, Rebecca had found that she'd stopped caring about how; all she wanted was to get to the lab, to try and salvage what was left of Karen Driver's sanity. The tunnel beneath the lighthouse seemed to lead back toward the compound in a curving, twisting trail, and was carved from the heavy limestone of the cliff. Mining lights were strung along the walls, casting strange shadows as they moved forward, silent and grimly afraid, John and Steve half-pulling Karen between them. Rebecca was last, again feeling a horrible sense of deja vu as they stumbled along, remembering the tunnels beneath the Spencer estate.
The same cold damp emanated from the stone, and she felt the same terrible feelings of moving toward unknown danger, exhausted and afraid of screwing up – of not being able to prevent a disaster. The disaster has already happened, she thought helplessly, watching Karen struggle to keep walking.
We're losing her. In another hour, probably less, she'll be too far gone to ever come back.
As it was, John and Steve shouldn't be touching her. In a single, easy movement she could get at either one of them, biting before they had a chance to let go. Even that concept made her sick with sorrow and an aching, heavy feeling of loss. The tunnel veered to the left, and Rebecca realized they had to be incredibly close to the ocean; the walls seemed to tremble and shake from a muted thunder beyond, and the tunnel was thick with a damp and fishy smell. Parts of the floor seemed too smooth to have been created by human hands, and Rebecca wondered vaguely if the tunnel opened up ahead somewhere, perhaps had once been flooded by the sea… "Bloody hell," David whispered angrily. "Shit." Rebecca looked up. When she saw what was ahead, she felt her last flicker of hope for Karen die.
We'll never find it in time.
The tunnel did open up, a few hundred meters ahead of where David had stopped. It widened con-siderably, in fact and was connected by five smaller tunnels, each branching off in a slightly different direction. "Which way is southwest?" John asked anxiously. Karen leaned against him, her head rolling forward. David's voice was still angry, frustration raising his words to an echo that bounced through the five stone corridors, circling back to fill the cavern.
"I don't know, I thought we were already headed southwest and yet none of these is in direct align-ment, and none head directly east, either."
They moved into the rough-hewn cavern, staring helplessly at the smooth tunnels, each of them strung with lights that disappeared around turns and bends. They had obviously been carved by water, perhaps had once been connected to the sea caves that David had originally meant for them to find. The tunnels weren't as wide as the one they stood in, but were wide enough to accommodate human passage com-fortably enough, and at least three meters high. There was no way to guess which one was used to get to the lab -or if any of them lead to the lab, we don't even know for certain that it's down here…
"If none of them goes east, then we have to pick the one that looks the most likely to go southwest," Steve said quietly. "Besides, east of here is water." Karen mumbled something unintelligible, and Rebecca stepped forward worriedly to see how she was. Though John and Steve still steadied her, she seemed to have no trouble standing on her own. Rebecca touched her clammy, sweating forehead and Karen's rolling eyes fixed on her, glassy and red, the pupils dilated. "Karen, how are you doing?" she asked softly. Karen blinked slowly. "Thirsty," she whispered, her voice bubbling and liquid sounding.
Still responsive, thank God…
Rebecca touched her throat lightly, feeling the rapid, thready pulse beneath her fingers. It was defi– nitely quicker than before, up in the lighthouse. Whatever the virus was doing to her, it wouldn't be much longer before Karen's body gave out. Rebecca turned, feeling desperate and angry, want– ing to scream for somebody to do something and heard the pounding footsteps, echoing up through one of the tunnels. She grabbed for her Beretta, saw John and David do the same as Steve held onto Karen.
Which one, where's it coming from? Griffith? Is it Griffith?
The sound seemed to circle, coming from every-where at once and then Rebecca saw him, appearing from around a comer in the passage second from the right. A stumbling figure, a flapping, dusty lab coat and then he saw them, and even from fifteen meters away, Rebecca could see the stunned and almost hysterical joy that swept across his face. The man ran for them, his short brown hair wild and disheveled, his eyes bright and lips trembling. He wasn't holding any kind of weapon, though Rebecca kept hers raised.
"Oh, thank God, thank God! You have to help me! Dr. Thurman, he's gone mad, we have to get out of here!"
He staggered out of the tunnel and nearly ran into David, apparently oblivious to the pistols trained on him as he babbled on.
"We have to go, there's a boat we can use, we have to get out before he kills us all…"
David shot a glance back, saw that Rebecca and John still had him covered. He tucked the Beretta into his side holster and stepped forward, taking the man's arm.
"Easy, calm down. Who are you, do you work here?" "Alan Kinneson," the man gasped. "Thurman kept me locked up in the lab but he heard you coming and I managed to get away. But he's crazy. You have to help me get to the boat! There's a radio, we can call for help!" The lab! "Which way is the laboratory?" David asked quickly. Kinneson didn't seem to hear him, too panicked by whatever he thought Thurman might do to them.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!" "The laboratory," David repeated. "Listen to me did you just come from there?"
Kinneson turned and pointed to the tunnel that was next to the one he'd come from, the one in the middle.
"The lab is that way…" He pointed back the way he'd come. "…and the boat's down there. These caves are like a maze."
Though he seemed to have calmed slightly as he pointed to the tunnels, when he turned back to face them, he looked as hysterical as he had before. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties at first glance, but David noticed he had deep lines etched at the comers of his eyes and mouth and realized he had to be much older. Whoever he was and however old he was, he was caught in the grip of an almost mindless panic.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!"
David's thoughts raced in time with his pounding heart. This was it, this was their chance -
–we get to the lab, make this Thurman give us the cure and then get out of this place, before anyone else gets hurt.
He turned to look at the others and saw the same hopeful looks that he knew he wore, John and Steve both nodding sharply. Rebecca didn't look as en– thused. She jerked her head back, motioning for David to move out of Kinneson's earshot. "Excuse us a moment," David said, forcing a politeness that he didn't feel. Kinneson was one of the researchers from Trent's list. "We have to hurry!" The man babbled, but he didn't follow as David stepped back toward the others, the four of them leaning together to talk, Karen resting against Steve's arm. Rebecca's voice was hushed and worried. "David, we can't take Karen to the lab if Griffith – if Thurman is there; what if we have to fight?"
John nodded, shooting a glance at the wild-eyed
researcher. "And I don't think we should leave this guy alone, he's likely to take off with our ride home."
David frowned, thinking. Steve was a better shot, but John was stronger. If they had to force Thurman to give them the T-Virus cure, John could probably intimidate him more easily.
"We split up. Steve, you take Karen to the boat, keep an eye on Kinneson. We'll go to the lab, get what we need and then meet you there. Agreed?"
Tight nods, and then David turned, addressing Kinneson.
"We need to get to the laboratory, but our friend Karen isn't well. We'd like for you to take her and an escort to the boat, and wait for us."
Kinneson's eyes seemed to blank out for just a second, the strange, vacant look there and gone so quickly that David wasn't even sure he'd seen it. "We have to hurry," he said quickly, then turned and started back down the passage he'd appeared from, walking at a brisk pace. David felt a sudden worry, staring at Kinneson's rapidly receding back, his dirty lab coat floating out behind him.
He didn't even ask who we are,…
As Steve and Karen started to enter the tunnel, David touched Steve's arm, speaking softly. "Watch him carefully, Steve. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Steve nodded and moved off after the strange Dr. Kinneson, Karen stumbling along next to him. John and Rebecca were already standing in front of the middle passageway, weapons still in hand. The chamber shook as outside, a muffled thunder roared. Without speaking, the three of them started down the gloomy tunnel in a tired but determined jog, ready to face the human monster behind the many tragedies of Caliban Cove.
They turned the first corner, Karen hanging onto his shoulder with a cold and sweating hand and the researcher was just rounding a bend farther ahead, a good hundred meters away. Steve caught a glimpse of fluttering white and the heel of a black loafer, and then he was out of sight, clattering footsteps moving away.