Oh, God…
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious. She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
"Claire!"
"Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened?
How did you get here?"
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred – she injected me with something, she said she was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she
was going to get it right this time…"
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all…"
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling. "What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
"Cuh… Claire…"
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious. "No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall, standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoul– der, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes turned red and animal. The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all she was worth. The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe, the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster. The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead…… and the gate was coming down, was about to lock her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter, she had to go faster still or she was dead…… and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed behind her. The monster roared, began swinging the axe with abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In shock, Claire watched it break through three of them, bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, be– fore she realized she could get out. Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly, and stood up, took a single step toward her escape…… and then something broke through the wall with a crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles. The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her tightly in its rubbery grasp. Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor, pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate. It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through. She was making noises in the grip of the thing that held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and ex– cited, that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her. It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd told her, promised her -
– you can get the next one – I will
– and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he re-membered.
Claire.
Steve lifted the axe again, strong, he was so strong, and slammed it down into the tentacle, slicing through. In a spray of green fluid, the thick coil snapped and hit him in the chest, throwing him into the wall before retreating. He felt and heard ribs break, felt the boil of his blood cooling, felt his strength going away. The pain came, sharp and dull and everywhere, but he opened his eyes and she was there, she was safe, she was reaching for his hand. Claire Redfield, reaching for his hand with tears in her eyes. The monster was gone. She reached out to hold his hand and he lifted it to his face, to his beautiful, dying face, laying it across his cheek. "You're warm," he whispered. "Hang on," she said, pleading, the knot in her throat choking her, "please, my brother came and he'll take us with him, please don't die!"
Steve's eyes were fluttering, as though he were trying very hard to stay awake. "I'm glad your brother came," he whispered, his voice fading. "And I'm glad I met you. I… I love you."On the last word, his head fell forward, his chest falling and not rising again, and then Claire was alone. Steve was gone.
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
EPILOGUE
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious. She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
"Claire!"
"Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened?
How did you get here?"
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred – she injected me with something, she said she was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she
was going to get it right this time…"
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all…"
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling. "What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
"Cuh… Claire…"
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious. "No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall, standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoul– der, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes turned red and animal. The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all she was worth. The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe, the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster. The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead…… and the gate was coming down, was about to lock her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter, she had to go faster still or she was dead…… and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed behind her. The monster roared, began swinging the axe with abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In shock, Claire watched it break through three of them, bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, be– fore she realized she could get out. Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly, and stood up, took a single step toward her escape…… and then something broke through the wall with a crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles. The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her tightly in its rubbery grasp. Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor, pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate. It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through. She was making noises in the grip of the thing that held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and ex– cited, that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her. It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd told her, promised her -
– you can get the next one – I will
– and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he re-membered.
Claire.
Steve lifted the axe again, strong, he was so strong, and slammed it down into the tentacle, slicing through. In a spray of green fluid, the thick coil snapped and hit him in the chest, throwing him into the wall before retreating. He felt and heard ribs break, felt the boil of his blood cooling, felt his strength going away. The pain came, sharp and dull and everywhere, but he opened his eyes and she was there, she was safe, she was reaching for his hand. Claire Redfield, reaching for his hand with tears in her eyes. The monster was gone. She reached out to hold his hand and he lifted it to his face, to his beautiful, dying face, laying it across his cheek. "You're warm," he whispered. "Hang on," she said, pleading, the knot in her throat choking her, "please, my brother came and he'll take us with him, please don't die!"
Steve's eyes were fluttering, as though he were trying very hard to stay awake. "I'm glad your brother came," he whispered, his voice fading. "And I'm glad I met you. I… I love you."On the last word, his head fell forward, his chest falling and not rising again, and then Claire was alone. Steve was gone.
SEVENTEEN
CHRIS RAN, KNOWING THAT THEIR TIME WAS short as long as Alexia Ashford was alive, afraid that she might already have gotten to Claire. "Claire!" he shouted, banging his fist on every door he passed. It didn't matter, his shouting; if Alexia was even half as powerful as he suspected, she already knew where he was… and where Claire was. Please, please don't hurt her, he thought, the thought repeating itself as he ran down another hall, through a door, another hall, and another. He didn't know if any-thing could stop Alexia, but if he could find Claire and get them to the evac elevator, he meant to try and trigger the self-destruct system before leaving. Alexia was halfway to omnipotence and purely evil, she was an apocalypse waiting to happen, and she had to be stopped.
"Claire!"
Through a familiar hallway, another Spencer estate copy, through a door that opened into some kind of shad– owy prison, holding cells lining the walls. He had to find her, if he couldn't, he couldn't leave. He wanted Alexia dead, but he wouldn't endanger Claire's life, not for any-thing, and getting her out took absolute priority -
– and somebody was crying behind one of the closed doors. Chris stopped running and listened, trying not to breathe, tuning out the relentless banging of a virus car-rier locked in another cell. Another gasping wail…
Claire, oh, thank God you're alive!
He ripped open the door, ready to hurt anything even close to her – and saw her sitting on the floor, sobbing, her arms wrapped around a young man, his naked body bruised and pitiful. He was dead.
Ah, shit.
It could only be Steve, Claire's friend, and though he was sorry for the boy he'd never met, Chris's heart was breaking for her. She looked so fragile, so alone…… something else to lay at Alexia's doorstep. Chris had no doubt that Steve had died because of that crazy bitch. But as much as he wanted to sit down and comfort Claire, to hold her hand and let her grieve, he knew they had to get out. "We have to go now, Claire," he said, as gently as pos– sible and was relieved when she nodded, carefully lay– ing her friend down, closing his eyes with one trembling hand. She kissed him on the forehead and then stood up. "Okay," she said, nodding again. "I'm ready." She didn't look back, and in spite of everything, he was proud of her. She was strong, stronger than he would have been if he'd been asked to leave someone he'd cared about. Together, they ran back into the hall, Chris figuring that they had to be close to the southwest corner of the building, where he'd landed the jet and seen the emer– gency evacuation elevator. The self-destruct system was presumably close enough to the elevator to make a fast escape possible; if they could just get to that elevator, he'd check every floor on the way up. There were stairs at the south end of the hall, and Chris ran for them, Claire at his side. He could feel the seconds ticking past as they hurried up the steps, felt like time was closing in on them, that Alexia was finished playing. Through the door at the top of the stairs, running out onto a giant metal grid platform – and Chris laughed out loud when he looked behind them, saw the nondescript doors of the emergency elevator. "What?" Claire asked. He motioned at the doors, grinning. "That'll take us straight to the jet."
Claire nodded, not smiling but she looked relieved.
"Good. Let's go."
Chris had turned back to look at the wall across from the hit. "I've got to check something first," he said, wanting to take a closer look at the corner door, it looked Like a security door. "You go, I'll be right there." "Forget it," Claire said firmly. She walked after him, her eyes red from crying but her chin set and deter– mined. "No way we're splitting up again." Chris leaned down to look at the door's locking mechanism and sighed, standing back up. They were probably at the self-destruct system already; the lock was complicated and unique, requiring a key he didn't have. Besides which, to the right of the door was a locked-down grenade launcher of some kind, one he didn't recognize, the bar holding it down labeled emer-gency release only. Just as well, we should get out while we still can, he thought, but wasn't happy about it. How much more powerful would Alexia become before another chance like this one? "Hey, hey, wait a sec," Claire said, and began rum-maging through the small pack around her waist. Before he could ask, she was holding up a slender metal key, shaped like a dragonfly. There was no question that it would fit the lock. "I found it back at Rockfort," she said, bending over and pressing it into the indentation. It fit perfectly, the lock releasing with a solid metallic clink.
"You're going to set off the self-destruct, aren't you," Claire said, not really a question. "Do you have the code?"
Chris didn't really answer, thinking that there were an amazing number of coincidences in life, and sometimes, they worked to one's advantage. "Code Veronica," he said softly, and pulled the door open, ready to take it all down, understanding that it was meant to be.
"Claire!"
Through a familiar hallway, another Spencer estate copy, through a door that opened into some kind of shad– owy prison, holding cells lining the walls. He had to find her, if he couldn't, he couldn't leave. He wanted Alexia dead, but he wouldn't endanger Claire's life, not for any-thing, and getting her out took absolute priority -
– and somebody was crying behind one of the closed doors. Chris stopped running and listened, trying not to breathe, tuning out the relentless banging of a virus car-rier locked in another cell. Another gasping wail…
Claire, oh, thank God you're alive!
He ripped open the door, ready to hurt anything even close to her – and saw her sitting on the floor, sobbing, her arms wrapped around a young man, his naked body bruised and pitiful. He was dead.
Ah, shit.
It could only be Steve, Claire's friend, and though he was sorry for the boy he'd never met, Chris's heart was breaking for her. She looked so fragile, so alone…… something else to lay at Alexia's doorstep. Chris had no doubt that Steve had died because of that crazy bitch. But as much as he wanted to sit down and comfort Claire, to hold her hand and let her grieve, he knew they had to get out. "We have to go now, Claire," he said, as gently as pos– sible and was relieved when she nodded, carefully lay– ing her friend down, closing his eyes with one trembling hand. She kissed him on the forehead and then stood up. "Okay," she said, nodding again. "I'm ready." She didn't look back, and in spite of everything, he was proud of her. She was strong, stronger than he would have been if he'd been asked to leave someone he'd cared about. Together, they ran back into the hall, Chris figuring that they had to be close to the southwest corner of the building, where he'd landed the jet and seen the emer– gency evacuation elevator. The self-destruct system was presumably close enough to the elevator to make a fast escape possible; if they could just get to that elevator, he'd check every floor on the way up. There were stairs at the south end of the hall, and Chris ran for them, Claire at his side. He could feel the seconds ticking past as they hurried up the steps, felt like time was closing in on them, that Alexia was finished playing. Through the door at the top of the stairs, running out onto a giant metal grid platform – and Chris laughed out loud when he looked behind them, saw the nondescript doors of the emergency elevator. "What?" Claire asked. He motioned at the doors, grinning. "That'll take us straight to the jet."
Claire nodded, not smiling but she looked relieved.
"Good. Let's go."
Chris had turned back to look at the wall across from the hit. "I've got to check something first," he said, wanting to take a closer look at the corner door, it looked Like a security door. "You go, I'll be right there." "Forget it," Claire said firmly. She walked after him, her eyes red from crying but her chin set and deter– mined. "No way we're splitting up again." Chris leaned down to look at the door's locking mechanism and sighed, standing back up. They were probably at the self-destruct system already; the lock was complicated and unique, requiring a key he didn't have. Besides which, to the right of the door was a locked-down grenade launcher of some kind, one he didn't recognize, the bar holding it down labeled emer-gency release only. Just as well, we should get out while we still can, he thought, but wasn't happy about it. How much more powerful would Alexia become before another chance like this one? "Hey, hey, wait a sec," Claire said, and began rum-maging through the small pack around her waist. Before he could ask, she was holding up a slender metal key, shaped like a dragonfly. There was no question that it would fit the lock. "I found it back at Rockfort," she said, bending over and pressing it into the indentation. It fit perfectly, the lock releasing with a solid metallic clink.
"You're going to set off the self-destruct, aren't you," Claire said, not really a question. "Do you have the code?"
Chris didn't really answer, thinking that there were an amazing number of coincidences in life, and sometimes, they worked to one's advantage. "Code Veronica," he said softly, and pulled the door open, ready to take it all down, understanding that it was meant to be.
EIGHTEEN
THE BOY WAS DEAD, BUT THE GIRL WASN'T. And now the young man was trying to destroy Alexia's home, and it wasn't a game or an experiment or some– thing to observe, he had to die, in pain and misery. How had he dared to consider such a thing? He should be on his knees in front of her, a worthless supplicant for her to do with as she wished, how dare he? Alexia saw the siblings walking away from their treacherous deed, felt them wishing to leave as the auto– mated sequence began, lights and sounds flashing, sys– tems shutting down throughout the terminal. Their perfidy was useless, of course. She would be able to stop the destruct sequence with a minimum of effort, using her control over the organic to sever every con– nection in the facility, but it was the thought behind the act that so infuriated her. He had witnessed the glory of her capabilities, he had seen it and fled in terror… and yet he could fancy himself worthy to take a life such as hers? Alexia gathered herself, drawing all of her power in, becoming complete. She knew that the young man had picked up a weapon that had been sitting next to the keyboard, a revolver that someone had left behind. She didn't object, knowing that the firearm would give him hope, and that for a victory to be complete, the victor had to take everything. She would take his hope, she would take his sister's life and then she would take his. When she was whole, she imagined herself becoming liquid, traveling through the structure of her surroundings as easily as the organic extensions she controlled, and then she was doing so, moving to confront the interlopers. They were startled, as if they'd expected to succeed. She slid out from inside her organic carrier, unfolding herself, turning to look into their dull eyes, their winc– ing sheep's faces. She watched them watch her, curious in spite of her anger. They argued in front of her, he insisting that he would "handle" things, that the girl should flee. The girl ac-cepted, but reluctantly, insisting in turn that he should survive. Following that ludicrous statement, the girl turned and ran for the elevator. Alexia moved to intercept, raising her hand to smite the girl…… and a perforation opened in her flesh, distracting her. A bullet had entered her body. She turned and smiled at him, at the gun in his hand, and reached into herself, pulling the bullet out and tossing it toward him. As gratifying as his expression was, the girl was gone by the time she turned back. It was time to expand her boundaries, Alexia decided. To show him what she was, what she could do… and to put the fear of God into him, because as she closed her eyes, imagining, wishing, she stopped being Alexia Ashford and became Wrath, divine and merciless.
NINETEEN
"THE SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE HAS BEEN activated," a recording intoned, reverberating through the room, crowding out the rest of its message. "You have four minutes thirty seconds to reach minimum safe distance."
Combined with the sirens and flashing emergency lights, Chris was on sensory overload before the fight even began. Alexia raised her hand to hit Claire, and Chris fired, the.357 bucking in his hand, the shot blasting over the self-destruct alarms, deafeningly explosive. Yes! A clean hit, right through the gut, and Claire was already at the elevator, pushing the button, stepping in– side…… but instead of bleeding, instead of faltering even a step, Alexia smiled at him. She lifted one of her slender gray hands and pushed it into her body, the flesh meld– ing seamlessly, flowing like water. A second later she held up the round he'd nailed her with and gently tossed it in his direction. Bad, this is very, very bad, Chris thought numbly, and then she started to change. The lithe gray female crouched on the metal grid and her liquid flesh started to tremble, to form tiny peaks and dips all across her body, the tissue bubbling, ex– panding. The peaks became mountains, the dips, val– leys, all of it gray and swelling as her limbs started to fold in on themselves. Her arms curved over and joined the growing mass, the legs disappearing into it, the tex– ture turning rough and striated, veins like cables rising, and she kept swelling. Her head rolled down and be-came part of the giant, rounded body of her, gray be– coming muscle-tissue red, the purple and blue of blood vessels networking across like a tide.
"You have four minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance," someone said, but Chris barely heard her, he was backing away, becoming more and more convinced that this was not going to end well. The elevator was blocked, and she just kept getting bigger. Thick tentacles pushed out from beneath the elephan– tine mass, undulating like waves, spreading out across the platform. Chris's back hit a wall, stopping him, and the thing, the massive, tumorous thing suddenly rose up as if unbending from some non-existent waist, spread– ing giant wings, a dragonfly's wings, raising a contorted and deformed half human face. The face opened its mouth and a gigantic roaring shriek spilled out, the wings trembling from the raw power of the sound – and then it spit at him, a thin stream of yellow green bile that splashed on the plat– form at his feet, and began to eat through the metal. "Shit!" Chris shouted, and barely jumped out of the way as one of the tentacles slashed forward. He had to watch the mouth and tentacles at the same time…… and from rounded, quivering pink spheres that had grown up around the base of the giant body, moving things began to crawl out. Chris ran to the farthest corner from the Alexia-thing and raised the.357, not sure where to shoot. The small subcreatures were landing on the platform, some like flat, rounded rocks with tentacles, some like beetles, some like nothing he'd ever seen before, and they were all coming toward him, moving fast.
The eyes, if you can't kill it maybe you can blind it…
but the eyes were already blind, round gray holes with darkness underneath, and he'd already seen how effec– tive bullets were against her flesh. That decided it for him. Chris took aim and fired…… and the pulsating, bloated creature was screaming again, this time in pain, one of her wings fluttering down to the platform. A few of the small organisms had reached him, one of the beetle creatures leaping onto his leg, trying to climb up. Disgusted, he brushed it off, but there was another to take its place, and a third. A tentacle flew at his face, shot from one of the rounded stone shapes. Chris blocked it, but barely.
Move!
"You have three minutes thirty seconds to reach min-
imum safe distance."
Chris ran along the back wall, reached the other cor-ner in front of the creature and targeted again, trying for another wing. The shot went high, but the next one hit. It howled, the broken wing hanging from shredded connecting tissue, and then spit again, the stream of bile missing his face by inches. The thing now had only its two uppermost wings, and though he knew he'd hurt it, it didn't seem to have suffered anything close to serious injury.
And I have two rounds left.
There had to be something he could do, some way to stop it, the self-destruct was going to blow all of them to hell and it would be his fault. He leaped away as another tentacle whipped out from the creature's base, trying to think, this was a goddamn emergency and he had to think…
… emergency release only.
The bloated monster shrieked. More of the beetles were jumping at him but he ignored them, having only to turn his head to see the inset weapon next to the door, the one with the lockdown bar. A grenade or rocket launcher, whatever it was, it was beautiful, but the bar was still down, it hadn't released.
"You have two minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance."
Ka-chunk. The bar flipped up. Chris snatched it out, lifting and aiming it at the crea– ture's swollen guts. He didn't know what it would do but he hoped it was good, he hoped it would shut that bitch down. There was no safety, nothing to chamber. Chris pulled the trigger…… and a fury of white light and heat leaped from the barrel, blowing into the fat belly like an arrow into a bal– loon. The effect was huge, the explosion monstrous. A fountain of blood and gray jelly splatted out from the gaping, ragged hole, backsplattering onto his face, but he only had eyes for the screaming Alexia beast as its flesh and bone form gave out, deflating… The upper body of the creature was trying to pull free from the dying mass, the two wings flailing frantically at the air, but with only two, it couldn't free itself… and so it was dying, he knew because he could see its blood draining away, because the color of its horrid flesh was changing, turning ashy, the subcreatures shriv– eling, because of the absolute, complete hatred on its face… and the absolute surprise. As the Alexia monster fell silent and began to sag, her features dripping, Chris heard that he had one minute left.
Claire.
He dropped the incendiary launcher and ran.
Combined with the sirens and flashing emergency lights, Chris was on sensory overload before the fight even began. Alexia raised her hand to hit Claire, and Chris fired, the.357 bucking in his hand, the shot blasting over the self-destruct alarms, deafeningly explosive. Yes! A clean hit, right through the gut, and Claire was already at the elevator, pushing the button, stepping in– side…… but instead of bleeding, instead of faltering even a step, Alexia smiled at him. She lifted one of her slender gray hands and pushed it into her body, the flesh meld– ing seamlessly, flowing like water. A second later she held up the round he'd nailed her with and gently tossed it in his direction. Bad, this is very, very bad, Chris thought numbly, and then she started to change. The lithe gray female crouched on the metal grid and her liquid flesh started to tremble, to form tiny peaks and dips all across her body, the tissue bubbling, ex– panding. The peaks became mountains, the dips, val– leys, all of it gray and swelling as her limbs started to fold in on themselves. Her arms curved over and joined the growing mass, the legs disappearing into it, the tex– ture turning rough and striated, veins like cables rising, and she kept swelling. Her head rolled down and be-came part of the giant, rounded body of her, gray be– coming muscle-tissue red, the purple and blue of blood vessels networking across like a tide.
"You have four minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance," someone said, but Chris barely heard her, he was backing away, becoming more and more convinced that this was not going to end well. The elevator was blocked, and she just kept getting bigger. Thick tentacles pushed out from beneath the elephan– tine mass, undulating like waves, spreading out across the platform. Chris's back hit a wall, stopping him, and the thing, the massive, tumorous thing suddenly rose up as if unbending from some non-existent waist, spread– ing giant wings, a dragonfly's wings, raising a contorted and deformed half human face. The face opened its mouth and a gigantic roaring shriek spilled out, the wings trembling from the raw power of the sound – and then it spit at him, a thin stream of yellow green bile that splashed on the plat– form at his feet, and began to eat through the metal. "Shit!" Chris shouted, and barely jumped out of the way as one of the tentacles slashed forward. He had to watch the mouth and tentacles at the same time…… and from rounded, quivering pink spheres that had grown up around the base of the giant body, moving things began to crawl out. Chris ran to the farthest corner from the Alexia-thing and raised the.357, not sure where to shoot. The small subcreatures were landing on the platform, some like flat, rounded rocks with tentacles, some like beetles, some like nothing he'd ever seen before, and they were all coming toward him, moving fast.
The eyes, if you can't kill it maybe you can blind it…
but the eyes were already blind, round gray holes with darkness underneath, and he'd already seen how effec– tive bullets were against her flesh. That decided it for him. Chris took aim and fired…… and the pulsating, bloated creature was screaming again, this time in pain, one of her wings fluttering down to the platform. A few of the small organisms had reached him, one of the beetle creatures leaping onto his leg, trying to climb up. Disgusted, he brushed it off, but there was another to take its place, and a third. A tentacle flew at his face, shot from one of the rounded stone shapes. Chris blocked it, but barely.
Move!
"You have three minutes thirty seconds to reach min-
imum safe distance."
Chris ran along the back wall, reached the other cor-ner in front of the creature and targeted again, trying for another wing. The shot went high, but the next one hit. It howled, the broken wing hanging from shredded connecting tissue, and then spit again, the stream of bile missing his face by inches. The thing now had only its two uppermost wings, and though he knew he'd hurt it, it didn't seem to have suffered anything close to serious injury.
And I have two rounds left.
There had to be something he could do, some way to stop it, the self-destruct was going to blow all of them to hell and it would be his fault. He leaped away as another tentacle whipped out from the creature's base, trying to think, this was a goddamn emergency and he had to think…
… emergency release only.
The bloated monster shrieked. More of the beetles were jumping at him but he ignored them, having only to turn his head to see the inset weapon next to the door, the one with the lockdown bar. A grenade or rocket launcher, whatever it was, it was beautiful, but the bar was still down, it hadn't released.
"You have two minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance."
Ka-chunk. The bar flipped up. Chris snatched it out, lifting and aiming it at the crea– ture's swollen guts. He didn't know what it would do but he hoped it was good, he hoped it would shut that bitch down. There was no safety, nothing to chamber. Chris pulled the trigger…… and a fury of white light and heat leaped from the barrel, blowing into the fat belly like an arrow into a bal– loon. The effect was huge, the explosion monstrous. A fountain of blood and gray jelly splatted out from the gaping, ragged hole, backsplattering onto his face, but he only had eyes for the screaming Alexia beast as its flesh and bone form gave out, deflating… The upper body of the creature was trying to pull free from the dying mass, the two wings flailing frantically at the air, but with only two, it couldn't free itself… and so it was dying, he knew because he could see its blood draining away, because the color of its horrid flesh was changing, turning ashy, the subcreatures shriv– eling, because of the absolute, complete hatred on its face… and the absolute surprise. As the Alexia monster fell silent and began to sag, her features dripping, Chris heard that he had one minute left.
Claire.
He dropped the incendiary launcher and ran.
TWENTY
CLAIRE FELT LIKE SHIT, AND THERE WAS nothing she could do about it. Steve was dead, and Chris would either come or he wouldn't, and whatever hap– pened, everything was going to blow up pretty soon, and she had no say in any of it.
"You have two minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance," the computer politely informed her, and Claire extended her middle finger toward the closest speaker. If there was a hell, she knew what they played in the ele– vators instead of music. There was only one jet where the elevator had let her out, and Claire sat on the railing in front of it, her arms tightly crossed, her stare fixed on the elevator doors. She
watched and waited, her anxiety building, a part of her be– lieving completely that he wasn't coming as alarms blared through the mostly empty hanger, echoing back at her.Don't leave me, Chris, she thought, clutching herself tighter. She thought of Steve, remembering the laugh at– tack he'd inspired back on the island. How he'd looked at her like she was crazy.Come now, Chris, she thought, closing her eyes and wishing it as hard as she could. She couldn't lose him,too, her heart wouldn't be able to stand it.There was one minute to reach minimum safe distance.When the building started to rumble beneath her feet, she thought she might cry, but there were no tears. She went back to watching the elevator door instead, certain now that he was gone – so sure that when the door opened, when he stepped out, she thought she might be hallucinating."Chris?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, and he was running toward her, splashes of blood and some– thing else smeared across his face and arms, and that was when she understood that he was real. She wouldn't have hallucinated him with goop on his face.
"Chris!"Get in," he commanded, and Claire jumped into the second seat, happy and scared and anxious, lonely and relieved, wishing that Steve was with them and sad that he wasn't. There were more feelings, seeming dozens, but at the moment, she couldn't handle any of them. She pushed them aside and didn't think at all, didn't feel anything but hope.Chris tucked them in tight and started pushing but– tons, the small jet roaring to life. Above them, the ceil– ing slid apart, the storm clouds breaking up overhead as he lifted them out of the hanger, smooth and easy. A fewseconds later, they were blasting away, leaving the dying facility behind.Chris's shoulders relaxed, and he wiped his hand across his forehead, trying to rub off the sour-smelling gunk."I could use a shower," he said lightly, and the tears finally welled up, spilling over her lower lashes.
Chris, I thought I'd lost you, too…"Don't leave me alone again, okay?" she asked, doing what she could to keep the tears out of her voice.Chris hesitated, and she instantly knew why, knew that it wasn't over for either of them. That was too much to ask."Umbrella," she said, and Chris was nodding."We have to settle this, once and for all," he said tightly. "We have to, Claire."Claire didn't know what to say, finally opting not to
say anything. When the explosion came a moment later, she didn't look. She closed her eyes instead, leaning back into her seat, and hoped that when she finally slept, she wouldn't dream.
"You have two minutes to reach minimum safe dis-tance," the computer politely informed her, and Claire extended her middle finger toward the closest speaker. If there was a hell, she knew what they played in the ele– vators instead of music. There was only one jet where the elevator had let her out, and Claire sat on the railing in front of it, her arms tightly crossed, her stare fixed on the elevator doors. She
watched and waited, her anxiety building, a part of her be– lieving completely that he wasn't coming as alarms blared through the mostly empty hanger, echoing back at her.Don't leave me, Chris, she thought, clutching herself tighter. She thought of Steve, remembering the laugh at– tack he'd inspired back on the island. How he'd looked at her like she was crazy.Come now, Chris, she thought, closing her eyes and wishing it as hard as she could. She couldn't lose him,too, her heart wouldn't be able to stand it.There was one minute to reach minimum safe distance.When the building started to rumble beneath her feet, she thought she might cry, but there were no tears. She went back to watching the elevator door instead, certain now that he was gone – so sure that when the door opened, when he stepped out, she thought she might be hallucinating."Chris?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, and he was running toward her, splashes of blood and some– thing else smeared across his face and arms, and that was when she understood that he was real. She wouldn't have hallucinated him with goop on his face.
"Chris!"Get in," he commanded, and Claire jumped into the second seat, happy and scared and anxious, lonely and relieved, wishing that Steve was with them and sad that he wasn't. There were more feelings, seeming dozens, but at the moment, she couldn't handle any of them. She pushed them aside and didn't think at all, didn't feel anything but hope.Chris tucked them in tight and started pushing but– tons, the small jet roaring to life. Above them, the ceil– ing slid apart, the storm clouds breaking up overhead as he lifted them out of the hanger, smooth and easy. A fewseconds later, they were blasting away, leaving the dying facility behind.Chris's shoulders relaxed, and he wiped his hand across his forehead, trying to rub off the sour-smelling gunk."I could use a shower," he said lightly, and the tears finally welled up, spilling over her lower lashes.
Chris, I thought I'd lost you, too…"Don't leave me alone again, okay?" she asked, doing what she could to keep the tears out of her voice.Chris hesitated, and she instantly knew why, knew that it wasn't over for either of them. That was too much to ask."Umbrella," she said, and Chris was nodding."We have to settle this, once and for all," he said tightly. "We have to, Claire."Claire didn't know what to say, finally opting not to
say anything. When the explosion came a moment later, she didn't look. She closed her eyes instead, leaning back into her seat, and hoped that when she finally slept, she wouldn't dream.
EPILOGUE
MILES AWAY, WESKER HEARD THE EXPLOSION, and could see the smoke rising shortly afterward, thick black plumes of it. He thought about circling the jet back, but decided against it; there was no point. If Alexia wasn't dead, his people would find out soon enough; hell, the world would find out soon enough. "I hope you were in there, Redfield," he said softly, smiling a little. Of course he was; Chris wasn't bright enough or fast enough to have gotten out in time…… although he might be lucky enough. Wesker had to concede that much; Redfield had the luck of the devil. It was a shame about Alexia turning him down. She'd been something, terrifying and evil, but definitely some– thing. His employers weren't going to be happy when he came back without her, and he couldn't blame them; they'd shelled out plenty for the Rockfort attack, and he'd practically promised them results.
They'll live. If they don't like it, they can find them-selves a new boy. Trent, on the other hand…
Wesker grimaced, not looking forward to their next meeting. He owed the man. After the Spencer fiasco, Trent had – quite literally – pulled his ass out of the fire, and arranged for him to be fixed up, better than new. And he'd been responsible for Wesker's introduction to his current employers, men with real aspirations for power, and the means to ob– tain it.
And…
And he'd never admit to it out loud, but Trent scared him. He was so smooth, well-mannered and soft-spo– ken, but with a glitter in his eyes that made him always seem to be laughing, like everything was a joke and he was the only one who got it. In Wesker's experience, the ones who laughed were the most dangerous; they didn't feel like they had anything to prove, and were usually at least slightly insane. I'm just glad we're on the same side, Wesker assured himself, believing it because he wanted to. Because going up against someone like Trent was a bad, bad plan. Well. He could worry about Trent later, after he'd made the proper apologies to the proper agents. At least Boyscout Redfield was dead, and he was still alive and kicking, working for the side that was going to win when all was said and done. Wesker smiled, looking forward to the end. It was going to be spectacular. The sun had come out and was reflecting against the snow, creating a brilliant radiance, blinding in its perfec-tion. The small plane shot away, its shadow chasing it across the sparkling plains.
They'll live. If they don't like it, they can find them-selves a new boy. Trent, on the other hand…
Wesker grimaced, not looking forward to their next meeting. He owed the man. After the Spencer fiasco, Trent had – quite literally – pulled his ass out of the fire, and arranged for him to be fixed up, better than new. And he'd been responsible for Wesker's introduction to his current employers, men with real aspirations for power, and the means to ob– tain it.
And…
And he'd never admit to it out loud, but Trent scared him. He was so smooth, well-mannered and soft-spo– ken, but with a glitter in his eyes that made him always seem to be laughing, like everything was a joke and he was the only one who got it. In Wesker's experience, the ones who laughed were the most dangerous; they didn't feel like they had anything to prove, and were usually at least slightly insane. I'm just glad we're on the same side, Wesker assured himself, believing it because he wanted to. Because going up against someone like Trent was a bad, bad plan. Well. He could worry about Trent later, after he'd made the proper apologies to the proper agents. At least Boyscout Redfield was dead, and he was still alive and kicking, working for the side that was going to win when all was said and done. Wesker smiled, looking forward to the end. It was going to be spectacular. The sun had come out and was reflecting against the snow, creating a brilliant radiance, blinding in its perfec-tion. The small plane shot away, its shadow chasing it across the sparkling plains.