Страница:
Chris and Rebecca were both nodding, and again Barry felt nearly overwhelmed by guilt. God, if only they weren't so trusting.
"But to do that, we have to find all of these crests.
Jill might've turned up another one by now, maybe
both of them…"
… I can only pray…
"Do you know where she is?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, thinking fast. "I'm pretty sure, but this place is kind of a maze… why don't you wait in the main hall while I go get her? That way we can organize our search, do a more thorough job." He smiled, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. "Though if we don't turn up soon, keep looking for more of those pieces. The back door is at the end of the west wing corridors, first floor."
Chris just stared at him for a moment, and Barry could see the questions forming in his bright gaze, questions that Barry wouldn't be able to answer: Why split up at all? What about finding the missing cap– tain? How could he be certain that the back door was an escape?
Please, please just do as I say. "Okay," Chris said reluctantly. "We'll wait, but if she's not where you think she is, come back and get us. We stand a better chance of making it through this place if we stick together."
Barry nodded, and before Chris could say anything more, he turned and jogged away down the dim hall. He'd seen the hesitation in Chris's eyes, heard the uncertainty in his voice and with his final words, Barry had felt himself wanting desperately to warn his friend of Wesker's betrayal. Leaving was the only way to keep himself from saying something he might regret, something that might get his family killed. As soon as he heard the door back to the balcony close, he picked up speed, taking the corners at a full run. There was a dead zombie near the door that led to the stairs, and Barry leaped over it, the stench falling away as he ducked through the connecting passage. He took the back stairs three at a time as his conscience yammered mercilessly away at him, re– minding him of his treachery.
You're a liar, Barry, using your friends the way Wesker's using you, playing on their trust. You could've told them what was really going on, let them help you put a stop to it.
Barry shook the thoughts away as he reached the door to the covered walk, slamming the heavy metal aside. He couldn't risk it, wouldn 't – what if Wesker had been nearby, had overheard? The captain had Barry's family to blackmail him with, but once Chris and the others knew the truth, what was to stop Wesker from just killing them? If he helped Wesker destroy the evidence, the S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't be able to prove anything, the captain could just let them all walk away. Barry reached the diagram next to the back door and stopped, staring. Relief flooded through him, cool and sweet. Three of the four openings were filled, the sun, wind, and star crests in place. It was over.
He can get to the lab now, call off his people, he doesn 't need us anymore! I can go back in and keep the team busy while he does whatever he has to do, the RPD will show eventually and we can forget this ever happened.
He was so elated that he didn't register the muted footsteps on the stone path behind him, didn't realize that he wasn't alone anymore until Wesker's smooth voice spoke up beside him.
"Why don't you finish the puzzle, Mr. Burton?"
Barry jumped, startled. He glared at Wesker, loath– ing the smug, bland face behind the sunglasses. Wesker smiled, nodding his head at the copper crest in Barry's hand. "Yeah, right," Barry muttered darkly, and slipped the final piece into place. There was a thick metallic sound from inside the door, ka-chink and Wesker walked past him, pushing the door open to reveal a small, well-used tool shed. Barry peered inside, saw the exit at the opposite wall. There was no diagram set next to it, no more crazy puzzles to figure out. Kathy and the girls were safe. With a low bow, Wesker motioned for Barry to step inside the shed, still smiling.
"Time's short, Barry, and there's still a lot for us to do." Barry stared at him, confused. "What do you mean? You can get to the lab now." "Well, there's been a slight change of plans. See, it turns out that I need to find something else, and I have an idea of where it might be, but there are some dangers involved… and you've done such a good job so far, I want you to come along."
Wesker's smile transformed into a shark-like grin, a cold, pitiless reminder of what was at stake.
"In fact, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to insist on it."
After a long, terrible moment, Barry nodded helplessly.
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
"But to do that, we have to find all of these crests.
Jill might've turned up another one by now, maybe
both of them…"
… I can only pray…
"Do you know where she is?" Chris asked. Barry nodded, thinking fast. "I'm pretty sure, but this place is kind of a maze… why don't you wait in the main hall while I go get her? That way we can organize our search, do a more thorough job." He smiled, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. "Though if we don't turn up soon, keep looking for more of those pieces. The back door is at the end of the west wing corridors, first floor."
Chris just stared at him for a moment, and Barry could see the questions forming in his bright gaze, questions that Barry wouldn't be able to answer: Why split up at all? What about finding the missing cap– tain? How could he be certain that the back door was an escape?
Please, please just do as I say. "Okay," Chris said reluctantly. "We'll wait, but if she's not where you think she is, come back and get us. We stand a better chance of making it through this place if we stick together."
Barry nodded, and before Chris could say anything more, he turned and jogged away down the dim hall. He'd seen the hesitation in Chris's eyes, heard the uncertainty in his voice and with his final words, Barry had felt himself wanting desperately to warn his friend of Wesker's betrayal. Leaving was the only way to keep himself from saying something he might regret, something that might get his family killed. As soon as he heard the door back to the balcony close, he picked up speed, taking the corners at a full run. There was a dead zombie near the door that led to the stairs, and Barry leaped over it, the stench falling away as he ducked through the connecting passage. He took the back stairs three at a time as his conscience yammered mercilessly away at him, re– minding him of his treachery.
You're a liar, Barry, using your friends the way Wesker's using you, playing on their trust. You could've told them what was really going on, let them help you put a stop to it.
Barry shook the thoughts away as he reached the door to the covered walk, slamming the heavy metal aside. He couldn't risk it, wouldn 't – what if Wesker had been nearby, had overheard? The captain had Barry's family to blackmail him with, but once Chris and the others knew the truth, what was to stop Wesker from just killing them? If he helped Wesker destroy the evidence, the S.T.A.R.S. wouldn't be able to prove anything, the captain could just let them all walk away. Barry reached the diagram next to the back door and stopped, staring. Relief flooded through him, cool and sweet. Three of the four openings were filled, the sun, wind, and star crests in place. It was over.
He can get to the lab now, call off his people, he doesn 't need us anymore! I can go back in and keep the team busy while he does whatever he has to do, the RPD will show eventually and we can forget this ever happened.
He was so elated that he didn't register the muted footsteps on the stone path behind him, didn't realize that he wasn't alone anymore until Wesker's smooth voice spoke up beside him.
"Why don't you finish the puzzle, Mr. Burton?"
Barry jumped, startled. He glared at Wesker, loath– ing the smug, bland face behind the sunglasses. Wesker smiled, nodding his head at the copper crest in Barry's hand. "Yeah, right," Barry muttered darkly, and slipped the final piece into place. There was a thick metallic sound from inside the door, ka-chink and Wesker walked past him, pushing the door open to reveal a small, well-used tool shed. Barry peered inside, saw the exit at the opposite wall. There was no diagram set next to it, no more crazy puzzles to figure out. Kathy and the girls were safe. With a low bow, Wesker motioned for Barry to step inside the shed, still smiling.
"Time's short, Barry, and there's still a lot for us to do." Barry stared at him, confused. "What do you mean? You can get to the lab now." "Well, there's been a slight change of plans. See, it turns out that I need to find something else, and I have an idea of where it might be, but there are some dangers involved… and you've done such a good job so far, I want you to come along."
Wesker's smile transformed into a shark-like grin, a cold, pitiless reminder of what was at stake.
"In fact, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to insist on it."
After a long, terrible moment, Barry nodded helplessly.
THIRTEEN
My dearest Alma, I sit here trying to think of where to begin, of how to explain in a few simple words all that's happened in my life since we last spoke, and already I fail. I hope this letter finds you well and whole, and that you will forgive the tangents of my pen; this isn't easy for me. Even as I write, I can feel the simplest of concepts slipping away, lost to feelings of despair and confusion, but I have to tell you what's in my heart before I can rest. Be patient, and accept that what I tell you is the truth. The entire story would take hours for me to tell you, and time is short, so accept these things as fact: last month there was an accident in the lab and the virus we were studying escaped. All my colleagues who were infected are dead or dying, and the nature of the disease is such that those still living have lost their senses. This virus robs its victims of their humanity, forcing them in their sickness to seek out and destroy life. Even as I write these words, I can hear them, pressing against my locked door like mindless, hungry animals, crying out like lost souls. There aren't words true enough, deep enough to describe the sorrow and shame that I feel knowing that I had a hand in their creation. I believe that they feel nothing now, no fear or pain, but that they can't experience the horror of what they've become doesn't free me of my terrible burden. I am, in part, responsible for this nightmare that surrounds me. In spite of the guilt that is burned into my very being, that will haunt my every breath, I might have tried to survive, if only to see you again. But my best efforts only delayed the inevitable; I am infected, and there is no cure for what will follow – except to end my life before I lose the only thing that separates me from them. My love for you. Please understand. Please know that I'm sorry. Martin Crackhorn
Jill sighed, laying the crumpled paper gently on the desk. The creatures were victims of their own re– search. It seemed she'd had the right idea about what had happened in the mansion, though reading the heartfelt letter put a serious damper on any pride she might have taken from her deduction skills. After placing the sun crest, she'd decided that the upstairs office merited a closer look and with a little digging, she'd found the final scrawled testament of Crack– horn, tucked in a drawer. Crackhorn, Martin Crackhorn – that was one of the names on Trent's list… Jill frowned, walking slowly back to the office door. For some reason, Trent wanted the S.T.A.R.S. to figure out what had happened at the mansion before anyone else did, but with as much as he obviously knew about it, why not just tell them outright? And what did he stand to gain by telling them anything at all? She stepped through the office's small foyer and back out into the hall, still frowning. Barry had been acting strange before, and she needed to find out why. Maybe she could get a straight answer if she just asked him outright…or maybe not. Either way, it'll tell me something. Jill stopped by the back stairs, taking a deep breath and realized that something was different. She looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out what it was her senses were telling her. It's warmer. Just a little, but it's definitely warmer. And the air isn't quite as stale… Like someone had opened a window. Or maybe a door. Jill turned and jogged down the stairs, suddenly anxious to check the puzzle lock. Reaching the bot-tom of the steps, she saw that the door connecting one hall to the next was standing open. She could hear crickets singing faintly, feel the fresh night air wafting toward her through the frigid mustiness of the house. She hurried to the darker corridor and hooked a right, trying not to get her hopes up. Another sharp right and she could see the door that led to the covered walkway standing open.
Maybe that's all it is, it doesn't mean the puzzle's solved.
Jill broke into a run, feeling the clean warmth of summer air against her skin as she rounded the corner in the stone path and let out a short, triumphant laugh as she saw the four placed crests next to the open door. A warm breeze was flowing through the room that the puzzle had unlocked, a small storage shed for gardening tools. The metal door on the wall opposite was standing open, and Jill could see moonlight playing across a brick wall just past the rusted hinges. Barry had been right, the door led outside. They'd be able to get help now, find a safe route through the woods or at least signal.
But if Barry found the missing pieces, why didn't he come looking for me?
Jill's grin faded as she stepped into the shed, absently taking in the dusty boxes and barrels that lined the gray stone walls. Barry had known where she was, had suggested himself that she take the second floor of the west wing… So maybe it wasn 't Barry who opened the door. True, it could've been Chris or Wesker or one of the Bravos. If that was the case, she should probably go back in and look for Barry. Or investigate a little first, make sure it's worth the effort. It was a bit of a rationalization, but she had to admit to herself that the thought of returning to the mansion with a possible escape in front of her wasn't all that enticing. She unholstered her Beretta and walked toward the outer door, her decision made. The first thing she noticed was the sound of rushing water over the soft forest noises that filled the cooling air, like a waterfall. The second and third were the bodies of the two dogs that lay across the irregular stone path, shot to death.
Pretty safe bet that one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this way…
Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the open space was a barred iron gate just past an island of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal gate a few feet high.
Stairs going down maybe?
Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that direction. There was a sudden sound of water splashing wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise. She reached the end of the stone path and leaned over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open courtyard, twenty feet below. The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked down and across the wide yard just in time to see a shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that cascaded down the west wall.
What the hell?
She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing things– which meant that the rushing water concealed a secret passage.
Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I didn't get enough of that inside.
The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but nothing happened. She'd have to get down another way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got farther away.
Unless…
Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset square only three feet across and open on the side facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in a minute or less, using her back and legs to support her weight. As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in preparation for the climb, a disturbing thought oc– curred to her -if the person who'd gone through the waterfall was one of the S.T.A.R.S., how had they known that the passage was even there?
Good question, and not one she wanted to linger over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate open and carefully started down the shaft.
They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before heading through the winding halls of the west wing and finding the open back door. They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper and its four engraved crests. Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried. Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's what he meant to do.
But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble, how did the piece I gave him end up here?
He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it from him, he could've placed it himself and then been injured somehow… the possibilities seemed end– less, and none of them good. Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and looked at Rebecca. "Whatever happened to Barry, we should go ahead. This may be the only way off the estate." Rebecca smiled a little. "Fine by me. It just feels good to get out of there, you know?" "Yeah, no kidding," he said, with feeling. He hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left it. The difference was truly amazing. They walked through the tidy storage room and stopped at the back door, both of them breathing deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chew– ing at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was anything she needed to know, anything that would help her if they were forced into a combat situation.
S.T.A.R.S. training covered all the basics, but shoot-ing at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from the real thing. He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying desperately not to show it. The captain for the mis– sion had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled him aside just before they went in, looked him up and down, and given him the single best piece of advice he'd ever received. "Son," she'd said, "no matter what happens when the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants."
It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the statement so totally weird that he'd literally been forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room for it.
"What are you grinning about?"
Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow, he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the dangers they faced didn't shoot back. "Long story. Come on, let's go."
They moved out into the calm night air, crickets and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left. Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a lonely, faraway sound.
Speaking of dogs…
There were a couple of them sprawled out across the stones, soft moonlight glistening against their wet, sinewy bodies. Chris edged up to one of them and crouched down, touching its flank. He quickly pulled his hand back, scowling; the mutant dog was sticky and warm, like it had been sheathed in a thick layer of mucous. He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants. "Hasn't been dead long," he said quietly. "Less than an hour, anyway."
There was a rusted iron gate just past some hedges in front of them. Chris nodded at Rebecca and as they walked toward it, the sound of rushing water in-creased to a dull roar. Chris pushed at the gate and it swung open on violently squealing hinges, revealing a huge, cut stone reservoir, easily the size of a couple of swimming pools put together. Deep shadows draped and hung at every side, caused by the seemingly solid walls of murky green trees and lush vegetation that threatened to break through the bordering rails. They moved forward, stopping at the edge of the massive pool. It was apparently in the slow process of being drained, the turbulent noise caused by the narrow flow of water through a raised gate on the east side. There wasn't a complete path around the reser– voir, but Chris saw that there was a walkway bisecting the pool itself, about five feet below water level. There were bolted ladders at both sides, and the path had obviously been submerged until quite recently, the stones dark with dripping algae. Chris studied the unusual setup for a moment, wondering how anyone got across when it wasn't being drained. Another mystery to add to the growing list. Without speaking, they climbed down and hurried across, boots squelching against the slimy stones, a clammy humidity enveloping them. Chris quickly scaled the second ladder, reaching down to help Rebecca up. The heavily shaded path was littered with branches and pine needles and appeared to border the east end of the reservoir, passing over the open floodgate. They started toward the forced waterfall and had only gotten a few feet when it started to rain. Plop. Plop, plop. Chris frowned, an inner voice informing him coolly that he shouldn't be able to hear raindrops over the roar of the draining water. He looked up and saw a twisted branch fall from the stretching foliage hanging over the rail, a branch that hit the stones and slid smoothly away -
– that's not a branch -
– and there were dozens of them already on the ground, twisting across the dark stones, hissing and writhing as they fell from the trees overhead. He and Rebecca were surrounded by snakes.
"Oh, shit!"
Startled, Rebecca turned to look at Chris and felt cold terror shoot through her, her heart squeezed in its icy grip as she took in the path behind him. The ground had come to life, black shapes coiling toward their feet and dropping from above like living rain. Rebecca started to raise her gun, realizing numbly that there were too many even as Chris roughly grabbed her arm.
"Run!"
They stumbled forward, Rebecca crying out invol– untarily as a thick, writhing body fell across her shoulder, a touch of cool scales against her arm as it slid heavily off and hit the stones. The path zig-zagged and they ran through the shifting shadows, heels crunching down on rubbery, moving flesh, throwing them off balance. Snakes darted forward to strike at their passing boots as they ran over a steel grate, black, foaming water thunder– ing below, the sound of their boots hitting metal lost to the liquid roar. Ahead of them, the stones were clearer, but the path also dropped off sharply, a small elevator plat– form marking its end. There was no place left to go. They crowded on to the tiny platform and Rebecca snatched at the controls, her breath coming in pan– icked gasps. Chris turned and fired repeatedly, the shots blasting over the crash of water as Rebecca found the operating button and slammed it down. The platform shuddered and started to descend, slipping down past rock walls toward a massive, empty courtyard below. Rebecca turned, raising the Beretta to help Chris and felt her jaw drop, her throat locking at the gruesome scene. There had to be hundreds of them, the path almost completely hidden by the slithering creatures, hissing and squirming in an alien frenzy as they struck wildly at each other. By the time she managed to unfreeze, the loathsome sight had risen past eye level and was gone. The ride seemed to last forever, both of them staring up at the edge of the path they'd left behind, tensely, breathlessly waiting for the bodies to start falling. When the lift was within a few feet of the bottom, they both jumped off, stumbling quickly away from the wall. They both leaned against the cool rock, gasping. Rebecca took in the courtyard they'd escaped to in between shuddering breaths, letting the sound of the splashing waterfall soothe her nerves. It was a huge, open space made out of brick and stone, the colors washed out and hazy in the frail light. The water from the reservoir above tumbled down into two stone pools nearby, and there was a single gate across from them. And no snakes. She took a final deep breath and blew it out, then turned to Chris.
"Were you bit?" He shook his head. "You?"
"No," she said. "Though if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not go back that way. I'm more of a cat-person, really."
Chris stared at her for a moment and then grinned, pushing away from the wall. "Funny, I would've figured you for lab rats. I…"
Beep-beep.
The radio!
Rebecca grabbed at the unit hooked to her belt, the snakes suddenly forgotten. It was the sound she'd been hoping to hear ever since they'd found Richard. They were being hailed, maybe by searchers. She thumbed the receiver and held the radio up so they could both hear. Static crackled through the tinny speaker along with the soft whine of a wavering signal.
"… this is Brad!… Alpha team… read? If… can hear this…"
His voice disappeared in a burst of static. Rebecca hit the transmit button and spoke quickly.
"Brad? Brad, come in!"
The signal was gone. They both listened for a moment longer, but nothing else came through. "He must have gotten out of range," Chris said. He sighed, walking farther out into the open yard and gazing up at the dark, overcast sky. Rebecca clipped the silent radio back to her belt, still feeling more hopeful than she had all night. The pilot was out there somewhere, circling around and looking for them. Now that they were clear of the mansion, they'd be able to hear him signal. Assuming he comes back. Rebecca ignored the thought and walked over to join Chris, who had found another tiny elevator platform, tucked in the corner across from the water– fall. A quick check showed it to be without power. Chris turned toward the gate, slapping a fresh clip into his Beretta. "Shall we see what's behind door number one?"
It was a rhetorical question. Unless they wanted to go back through the snakes, it was their only option. Just the same, Rebecca smiled and nodded, wanting to make sure he knew she was ready and hoping desperately that if anything else happened, she would be.
Jill sighed, laying the crumpled paper gently on the desk. The creatures were victims of their own re– search. It seemed she'd had the right idea about what had happened in the mansion, though reading the heartfelt letter put a serious damper on any pride she might have taken from her deduction skills. After placing the sun crest, she'd decided that the upstairs office merited a closer look and with a little digging, she'd found the final scrawled testament of Crack– horn, tucked in a drawer. Crackhorn, Martin Crackhorn – that was one of the names on Trent's list… Jill frowned, walking slowly back to the office door. For some reason, Trent wanted the S.T.A.R.S. to figure out what had happened at the mansion before anyone else did, but with as much as he obviously knew about it, why not just tell them outright? And what did he stand to gain by telling them anything at all? She stepped through the office's small foyer and back out into the hall, still frowning. Barry had been acting strange before, and she needed to find out why. Maybe she could get a straight answer if she just asked him outright…or maybe not. Either way, it'll tell me something. Jill stopped by the back stairs, taking a deep breath and realized that something was different. She looked around uncertainly, trying to figure out what it was her senses were telling her. It's warmer. Just a little, but it's definitely warmer. And the air isn't quite as stale… Like someone had opened a window. Or maybe a door. Jill turned and jogged down the stairs, suddenly anxious to check the puzzle lock. Reaching the bot-tom of the steps, she saw that the door connecting one hall to the next was standing open. She could hear crickets singing faintly, feel the fresh night air wafting toward her through the frigid mustiness of the house. She hurried to the darker corridor and hooked a right, trying not to get her hopes up. Another sharp right and she could see the door that led to the covered walkway standing open.
Maybe that's all it is, it doesn't mean the puzzle's solved.
Jill broke into a run, feeling the clean warmth of summer air against her skin as she rounded the corner in the stone path and let out a short, triumphant laugh as she saw the four placed crests next to the open door. A warm breeze was flowing through the room that the puzzle had unlocked, a small storage shed for gardening tools. The metal door on the wall opposite was standing open, and Jill could see moonlight playing across a brick wall just past the rusted hinges. Barry had been right, the door led outside. They'd be able to get help now, find a safe route through the woods or at least signal.
But if Barry found the missing pieces, why didn't he come looking for me?
Jill's grin faded as she stepped into the shed, absently taking in the dusty boxes and barrels that lined the gray stone walls. Barry had known where she was, had suggested himself that she take the second floor of the west wing… So maybe it wasn 't Barry who opened the door. True, it could've been Chris or Wesker or one of the Bravos. If that was the case, she should probably go back in and look for Barry. Or investigate a little first, make sure it's worth the effort. It was a bit of a rationalization, but she had to admit to herself that the thought of returning to the mansion with a possible escape in front of her wasn't all that enticing. She unholstered her Beretta and walked toward the outer door, her decision made. The first thing she noticed was the sound of rushing water over the soft forest noises that filled the cooling air, like a waterfall. The second and third were the bodies of the two dogs that lay across the irregular stone path, shot to death.
Pretty safe bet that one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this way…
Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the open space was a barred iron gate just past an island of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal gate a few feet high.
Stairs going down maybe?
Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that direction. There was a sudden sound of water splashing wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise. She reached the end of the stone path and leaned over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open courtyard, twenty feet below. The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked down and across the wide yard just in time to see a shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that cascaded down the west wall.
What the hell?
She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing things– which meant that the rushing water concealed a secret passage.
Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I didn't get enough of that inside.
The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but nothing happened. She'd have to get down another way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got farther away.
Unless…
Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset square only three feet across and open on the side facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in a minute or less, using her back and legs to support her weight. As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in preparation for the climb, a disturbing thought oc– curred to her -if the person who'd gone through the waterfall was one of the S.T.A.R.S., how had they known that the passage was even there?
Good question, and not one she wanted to linger over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate open and carefully started down the shaft.
They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before heading through the winding halls of the west wing and finding the open back door. They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper and its four engraved crests. Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried. Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's what he meant to do.
But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble, how did the piece I gave him end up here?
He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it from him, he could've placed it himself and then been injured somehow… the possibilities seemed end– less, and none of them good. Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and looked at Rebecca. "Whatever happened to Barry, we should go ahead. This may be the only way off the estate." Rebecca smiled a little. "Fine by me. It just feels good to get out of there, you know?" "Yeah, no kidding," he said, with feeling. He hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left it. The difference was truly amazing. They walked through the tidy storage room and stopped at the back door, both of them breathing deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chew– ing at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was anything she needed to know, anything that would help her if they were forced into a combat situation.
S.T.A.R.S. training covered all the basics, but shoot-ing at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from the real thing. He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying desperately not to show it. The captain for the mis– sion had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled him aside just before they went in, looked him up and down, and given him the single best piece of advice he'd ever received. "Son," she'd said, "no matter what happens when the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants."
It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the statement so totally weird that he'd literally been forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room for it.
"What are you grinning about?"
Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow, he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the dangers they faced didn't shoot back. "Long story. Come on, let's go."
They moved out into the calm night air, crickets and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left. Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a lonely, faraway sound.
Speaking of dogs…
There were a couple of them sprawled out across the stones, soft moonlight glistening against their wet, sinewy bodies. Chris edged up to one of them and crouched down, touching its flank. He quickly pulled his hand back, scowling; the mutant dog was sticky and warm, like it had been sheathed in a thick layer of mucous. He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants. "Hasn't been dead long," he said quietly. "Less than an hour, anyway."
There was a rusted iron gate just past some hedges in front of them. Chris nodded at Rebecca and as they walked toward it, the sound of rushing water in-creased to a dull roar. Chris pushed at the gate and it swung open on violently squealing hinges, revealing a huge, cut stone reservoir, easily the size of a couple of swimming pools put together. Deep shadows draped and hung at every side, caused by the seemingly solid walls of murky green trees and lush vegetation that threatened to break through the bordering rails. They moved forward, stopping at the edge of the massive pool. It was apparently in the slow process of being drained, the turbulent noise caused by the narrow flow of water through a raised gate on the east side. There wasn't a complete path around the reser– voir, but Chris saw that there was a walkway bisecting the pool itself, about five feet below water level. There were bolted ladders at both sides, and the path had obviously been submerged until quite recently, the stones dark with dripping algae. Chris studied the unusual setup for a moment, wondering how anyone got across when it wasn't being drained. Another mystery to add to the growing list. Without speaking, they climbed down and hurried across, boots squelching against the slimy stones, a clammy humidity enveloping them. Chris quickly scaled the second ladder, reaching down to help Rebecca up. The heavily shaded path was littered with branches and pine needles and appeared to border the east end of the reservoir, passing over the open floodgate. They started toward the forced waterfall and had only gotten a few feet when it started to rain. Plop. Plop, plop. Chris frowned, an inner voice informing him coolly that he shouldn't be able to hear raindrops over the roar of the draining water. He looked up and saw a twisted branch fall from the stretching foliage hanging over the rail, a branch that hit the stones and slid smoothly away -
– that's not a branch -
– and there were dozens of them already on the ground, twisting across the dark stones, hissing and writhing as they fell from the trees overhead. He and Rebecca were surrounded by snakes.
"Oh, shit!"
Startled, Rebecca turned to look at Chris and felt cold terror shoot through her, her heart squeezed in its icy grip as she took in the path behind him. The ground had come to life, black shapes coiling toward their feet and dropping from above like living rain. Rebecca started to raise her gun, realizing numbly that there were too many even as Chris roughly grabbed her arm.
"Run!"
They stumbled forward, Rebecca crying out invol– untarily as a thick, writhing body fell across her shoulder, a touch of cool scales against her arm as it slid heavily off and hit the stones. The path zig-zagged and they ran through the shifting shadows, heels crunching down on rubbery, moving flesh, throwing them off balance. Snakes darted forward to strike at their passing boots as they ran over a steel grate, black, foaming water thunder– ing below, the sound of their boots hitting metal lost to the liquid roar. Ahead of them, the stones were clearer, but the path also dropped off sharply, a small elevator plat– form marking its end. There was no place left to go. They crowded on to the tiny platform and Rebecca snatched at the controls, her breath coming in pan– icked gasps. Chris turned and fired repeatedly, the shots blasting over the crash of water as Rebecca found the operating button and slammed it down. The platform shuddered and started to descend, slipping down past rock walls toward a massive, empty courtyard below. Rebecca turned, raising the Beretta to help Chris and felt her jaw drop, her throat locking at the gruesome scene. There had to be hundreds of them, the path almost completely hidden by the slithering creatures, hissing and squirming in an alien frenzy as they struck wildly at each other. By the time she managed to unfreeze, the loathsome sight had risen past eye level and was gone. The ride seemed to last forever, both of them staring up at the edge of the path they'd left behind, tensely, breathlessly waiting for the bodies to start falling. When the lift was within a few feet of the bottom, they both jumped off, stumbling quickly away from the wall. They both leaned against the cool rock, gasping. Rebecca took in the courtyard they'd escaped to in between shuddering breaths, letting the sound of the splashing waterfall soothe her nerves. It was a huge, open space made out of brick and stone, the colors washed out and hazy in the frail light. The water from the reservoir above tumbled down into two stone pools nearby, and there was a single gate across from them. And no snakes. She took a final deep breath and blew it out, then turned to Chris.
"Were you bit?" He shook his head. "You?"
"No," she said. "Though if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not go back that way. I'm more of a cat-person, really."
Chris stared at her for a moment and then grinned, pushing away from the wall. "Funny, I would've figured you for lab rats. I…"
Beep-beep.
The radio!
Rebecca grabbed at the unit hooked to her belt, the snakes suddenly forgotten. It was the sound she'd been hoping to hear ever since they'd found Richard. They were being hailed, maybe by searchers. She thumbed the receiver and held the radio up so they could both hear. Static crackled through the tinny speaker along with the soft whine of a wavering signal.
"… this is Brad!… Alpha team… read? If… can hear this…"
His voice disappeared in a burst of static. Rebecca hit the transmit button and spoke quickly.
"Brad? Brad, come in!"
The signal was gone. They both listened for a moment longer, but nothing else came through. "He must have gotten out of range," Chris said. He sighed, walking farther out into the open yard and gazing up at the dark, overcast sky. Rebecca clipped the silent radio back to her belt, still feeling more hopeful than she had all night. The pilot was out there somewhere, circling around and looking for them. Now that they were clear of the mansion, they'd be able to hear him signal. Assuming he comes back. Rebecca ignored the thought and walked over to join Chris, who had found another tiny elevator platform, tucked in the corner across from the water– fall. A quick check showed it to be without power. Chris turned toward the gate, slapping a fresh clip into his Beretta. "Shall we see what's behind door number one?"
It was a rhetorical question. Unless they wanted to go back through the snakes, it was their only option. Just the same, Rebecca smiled and nodded, wanting to make sure he knew she was ready and hoping desperately that if anything else happened, she would be.
FOURTEEN
JILL STOOD AT THE EDGE OF A YAWNING, open pit in the dank tunnel, staring helplessly at the door on the other side. The pit was too wide to safely jump and there was no way to climb down, at least none that she could see. She'd have to go back and try the door by the ladder. Her frustrated sigh turned into a shiver. The damp chill emanating from the stone walls would have been bad enough without her being dripping wet. Great secret passage. To use it, you have to catch pneumonia. A glint of metal caught her gaze as she turned, feet squelching in her boots. She peered down at it, brushing a wet strand of hair out of her eyes. It was a small iron plate set into the stone, a six-sided hole about the size of a quarter at the center. She looked back at the door thoughtfully.
Maybe it works as a bridge, or lowers stairs…?
It didn't matter, since she didn't have whatever tool it required, it was as good as a dead end. Besides, it was unlikely that whoever she'd seen walking through the waterfall had managed to get across. Jill walked back through the twisting passage to-ward the entrance to the tunnel, still in awe of what she'd found behind the curtain of water. It appeared that there was a whole network of tunnels running beneath the estate. The walls were rough and uneven, chunks of sandy limestone protruding at odd angles-but the sheer amount of work that had gone into creating the underground path was mind– boggling. She reached the metal door next to the ladder, having to make a conscious effort not to let her teeth chatter as a cold draft swept down from the courtyard above. The sound of the waterfall was strangely muted. The steady, echoing rhythm of water dripping to the rock floor was much louder, giving the tunnels a somewhat medieval feel… She pulled the door open and froze, feeling a rush of mixed emotions as Barry Burton whirled around to face her, revolver in hand. Surprise won.
"Barry?"
He quickly lowered his weapon, looking as shocked as she felt and just about as wet, too. His T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, his short hair plastered to his skull.
"Jill! How did you get down here?" "Same way you did, apparently. But how did you know?" He held up his hand, shushing her. "Listen." They stood in tense silence, Jill looking up and down the stone corridor and failing to hear whatever Barry had heard. There were metal doors at either end, cast in shadow by the dim utility lights overhead. "I thought I heard something," he said finally. "Voices…"
Before she could ask any questions, he turned and faced her, smiling uneasily. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, but I heard somebody walking out in the garden and had to take a look. I found this place by accident, kind of tripped and fell in… anyway. I'm glad you're here. Let's check around, see what we can dig up."
Jill nodded, but decided to keep a close eye on Barry for awhile. Maybe she was paranoid, but in spite of his words, he didn't seem all that happy to see her… Watch and wait, her mind whispered. For now, there was nothing else she could do. Barry led them toward the door to the right, hold– ing his Colt up. He pulled the handle, revealing another gloomy tunnel. A few steps in to the right was another metal door and across from it, the passage veered sharply into almost complete darkness. Barry motioned at the door and Jill nodded. He pushed it open and the two of them moved in to another silent corridor. Jill sighed inwardly as she studied the bare rocky walls, wishing that she had a piece of chalk with her. The tunnel they were in now looked pretty much like all the rest of them, turning left up ahead. She already felt lost, and hoped that there weren't too many more twists and turns. "Hello? Who's there!" A deep, familiar voice shouted from somewhere ahead of them, the words echoing through the passage. "Enrico?" Jill called out. "Jill? Is that you?"
Excited, Jill ran the last few steps to the corner and around, Barry right behind her. The Bravo team leader was still alive, had somehow ended up down here. Jill rounded the next corner and saw him sitting against the wall, the tunnel widening out and ending in a shadowy alcove.
"Hold it! Stop right there!"
She froze, staring at the Beretta he had pointed at her. He was injured, blood seeping from his leg and puddling on the floor. "Are you with anyone, Jill?" His dark eyes were narrowed with suspicion, the black bore of his semi– automatic unwavering.
"Barry's here, too – Enrico, what happened? What's this about?"
As Barry stepped out from behind the corner, Enrico stared at them both for a long moment, his gaze darting back and forth nervously and then he sagged, lowering his gun as he fell back against the stones. Barry and Jill hurried over, crouching down next to the wounded Bravo. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I had to make sure…"
It was as though defending himself had taken his last bit of strength. Jill took his hand gently, alarmed at how pale he was. Blood oozed from his thigh, his pants soaked with it. "This whole thing was a set-up," he breathed, turning his watering gaze toward her. "I got lost, I climbed the fence, saw the tunnels… found the paper… Umbrella knew, all along…"
Barry looked stricken, his face almost as white as Enrico's. "Hang on, Rico. We'll get you out of here, you just have lie still."Enrico shook his head, still looking at Jill. "There's a traitor in the S.T.A.R.S.," he whispered. "He told me…"
Bam! Bam! Enrico's body jumped as two holes suddenly ap– peared in his chest, blood pulsing out of them in violent spurts. Through the resounding echo of the shots, running footsteps clattered away down the corridor behind them. Barry launched to his feet and sprinted around the corner as Jill helplessly squeezed Enrico's twitching hand, her heart pounding and sick. He slumped over, dead before he touched the cold stone floor. Her mind flooded with questions as Barry's pursu– ing footsteps faded away, silence settling once again over the deep shadows. What paper had the Bravo found? When Enrico had said "traitor" she'd imme– diately thought of Barry, acting so strangely, but he'd been right beside her when the shots had been fired.
So who did this? Who was Trent talking about? Who did Enrico see?
Feeling lost and alone, Jill held his cooling hand and waited for Barry to come back.
Rebecca was going through an old trunk pushed against one wall of the room they'd entered, shuffling through stacks of papers and frowning while Chris checked out the rest of the room. A single, rumpled cot, a desk, and a towering, ancient bookshelf were the only other pieces of furniture. After the cold, alien splendor of the mansion, Chris was absurdly grateful to be in simpler surroundings. They'd come to a house at the end of the long, winding path from the courtyard, much smaller and infinitely less intimidating than the mansion. The hall they'd stepped into was plain, undecorated wood, as were the two small bedrooms they'd discovered just off the silent corridor. Chris figured they'd found a bunkhouse for some of the mansion's employees. He had noticed the thick, unmarked dust in the hallway on their way in with a sinking resignation, realizing that none of the other S.T.A.R.S. had made it out of the main house. With no way for him and Rebecca to get back, all they could do was try to find the back door and go for help. Chris didn't like it, but there weren't any other options. After a brief perusal of the shelves, Chris walked to the battered wooden desk and pulled at the top drawer; it was locked. He bent down and felt along the bottom of the drawer, grinning as his fingers touched a thick piece of tape.
Don't people ever watch movies? The key's always stuck under the drawer.
He peeled the tape away and came up with a tiny silver key. Still grinning, he unlocked the drawer and pulled it open. There was a deck of playing cards, a few pens and pencils, gum wrappers, a crumpled pack of ciga– rettes – junk, mostly, the kind of stuff that always seemed to accumulate in desk drawers…
Bingo!
Chris picked up the key ring by its leather tag, pleased with himself. If finding the exit was this easy, they'd be on their way back to Raccoon in no time. "Looks like we just got a break," he said softly, holding up the keys. The leather tag had the word "Alias" burned into one side, the number "345" written on the back in smudged ball-point pen. Chris didn't know the significance of the number, but he remembered the nickname from the diary he'd found in the mansion. Thank you, Mr. Alias. Assuming the keys were for the bunkhouse, they were that much closer to getting off the estate. Rebecca was still sitting by the trunk, surrounded by papers, envelopes, even a few grainy photos that she'd pulled out. She seemed totally absorbed in whatever she was reading, and when Chris walked over to join her, she looked up at him with eyes clouded by worry.
"You find something?"
Rebecca held up the piece of paper she was reading.
"A couple of things. Listen to this: 'Four days since the accident and the plant at Point 42 is still growing and mutating at an incredible rate…'"
She skipped ahead, skimming the page with one finger as she spoke. "It calls this thing Plant 42, and says its root is in the basement… here. 'Shortly after the accident, one of the infected members of the research team became violent and broke the water tank in the basement, flooding the entire section. We think some trace chemicals used in the T-virus tests contaminated the water and contributed to Plant 42's radical mutations. A number of shoots have already been traced to different parts of the building, but the main plant now hangs from the ceiling in the large conference room on the first floor… “ " 'We've determined that Plant 42 has become sensitive to movement and is now carnivorous. In close proximity to humans, it uses tentacular, prehen-sile vines to entrap its prey while leechlike adap-tations latch onto exposed skin and draw fatal quantities of blood; several members of the staff have already fallen victim to this.' It's dated May twenty-first, signed Henry Sarton."
Chris shook his head, wondering again how some– one could invent a virus like the one they had come across. It seemed to infect everything it touched with madness, transforming its carrier into a deadly carni– vore, hungry for blood.
God, now a man-eating plant…
Chris shuddered, suddenly twice as glad that they'd be leaving soon. "So it infects plants, too," he said. "When we report this, we'll have to…" "No, that's not it," she said. She handed him a photo, her expression grim. It was a blurry snapshot of a middle-aged man wearing a lab coat. He was standing stiffly in front of a plain wooden door, and Chris realized that it was the very door they'd come through not ten minutes ago, the front entrance to the bunkhouse. He flipped the picture over, squinting at the tiny script on the back. "H. Sarton, January '98, Point 42." He stared at Rebecca, finally understanding her fearful gaze. They were standing in Point 42. The carnivorous plant was here.
Wesker stood in the darkness of the unlit tunnel, his irritation growing as he listened to Barry stumble through the echoing corridors. Jill wouldn't wait forever, and the raging Mr. Burton couldn't seem to grasp that Enrico's killer had simply slid into the shadows just around the corner, the most obvious place there was.
Come on, come on…
Since they'd left the house, he'd finally started to feel like things were going in his favor. He'd remem-bered the underground room near the entrance to the labs, and was almost certain that the wolf medal would be there. And the tunnels were clear. He had expected the 121s to be out, but apparently no one had messed with the passage mechanisms since the accident. They'd split up to search for the lever that worked the passages and it had been in plain sight, propped up next to the very mechanism that it controlled. Everything would have been perfect, except god– damned Enrico Marini had wandered along, happen– ing across a very important paper that Wesker had accidentally dropped – his orders, straight from the head of White Umbrella. And then to complicate matters, Jill had blundered into the tunnels before Wesker could finish taking care of the problem. Wesker sighed inwardly. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. In truth, this whole aifair had been a massive headache from the beginning. At least the underground security hadn't been activated – though he'd had no way of knowing that until they'd reached the tunnels, and having dragged Barry along as insur– ance, he now had to deal with the consequences. If the money wasn't so good. He grinned. Who was he kidding? The money was great. After what felt like years, Barry huffed into the dark room, blindly waving his revolver around. Wesker tensed, waiting for him to walk past the generator's alcove. This part could be tricky – Barry and Enrico had been close. As Barry stormed past the small chamber, Wesker stepped out behind him and jammed the muzzle of his Beretta into Barry's lower back, hard. At the same time, he started talking, low and fast.
"I know you want to kill me, Barry, but I want you to think about what you're doing. I die, your family dies. And right now, it looks like Jill may have to die, too, but you can stop it. You can put a stop to all the killing."
Barry had stopped moving as soon as the gun touched him, but Wesker could hear the barely con– tained rage in his voice, the pure, driving hatred. "You killed Enrico," he snarled. Wesker pushed the gun deeper into his back. "Yes. But I didn't want to. Enrico found some information
he shouldn't have, he knew too much. And if he'd told Jill what he knew about Umbrella, I'd have had to kill her, too." "You're going to kill her anyway. You're going to kill all of us."
Wesker sighed, allowing a pleading note to creep into his voice. "That's not true! Don't you get it –
–I just want to get to the laboratory and get rid of the evidence before anyone finds it! Once that material is destroyed, there's no reason for anyone else to get hurt. We can all just… walk away."
Barry was silent, and Wesker could tell that he wanted to believe him, wanted desperately to believe that things could be that simple. Wesker let him waver for a moment before pressing on.
"All I want you to do is keep Jill busy, keep her and anyone else you run into away from the labs, at least for a little while. You'll be saving her life and I swear to you that as soon as I get what I need, you and your family will never hear from me again."
He waited. And when Barry finally spoke, Wesker knew he had him.
"Where are the labs?" Good boy!
Wesker lowered the gun, keeping his expression blank just in case Barry had good night vision. He pulled a folded paper out of his vest and slipped it into Barry's hand, a map from the tunnels to the first basement level.
"If for some reason you can't keep her away, at least go with her. There are a lot of doors with locks on the outside down there; worse comes to worst, you can lock her up until it's over. I mean it, Barry, no one else has to get hurt. It's all up to you."
Wesker stepped back quickly, reaching for the lever with the six-sided tip that he'd left next to the generator. He watched Barry for a few seconds longer, saw the sag in the big man's shoulders, the submissive hang of his head. Satisfied, Wesker turned and walked out of the room. On the very slight chance that any of the S.T.A.R.S. made it to the lab, Mr. Burton would ensure that there wouldn't be any more trouble. He hurried back through the entrance tunnel, si-lently congratulating himself on getting things back under control as he headed toward the first passage mechanism. He'd have to move fast from here on out; there were a few things he'd neglected to mention to Barry – like the experimental security detachment that would be released into the tunnels once he turned that lever for the first time…
Sorry, Barry. Slipped my mind.
It would be interesting to see how his team fared with the 121s, the Hunters. Watching the S.T.A.R.S. pit their strength and agility against the creatures would be quite a show and sadly, one that he'd have to miss. It was too bad, really. The Hunters had been caged for a long time; they'd be very, very hungry.
Maybe it works as a bridge, or lowers stairs…?
It didn't matter, since she didn't have whatever tool it required, it was as good as a dead end. Besides, it was unlikely that whoever she'd seen walking through the waterfall had managed to get across. Jill walked back through the twisting passage to-ward the entrance to the tunnel, still in awe of what she'd found behind the curtain of water. It appeared that there was a whole network of tunnels running beneath the estate. The walls were rough and uneven, chunks of sandy limestone protruding at odd angles-but the sheer amount of work that had gone into creating the underground path was mind– boggling. She reached the metal door next to the ladder, having to make a conscious effort not to let her teeth chatter as a cold draft swept down from the courtyard above. The sound of the waterfall was strangely muted. The steady, echoing rhythm of water dripping to the rock floor was much louder, giving the tunnels a somewhat medieval feel… She pulled the door open and froze, feeling a rush of mixed emotions as Barry Burton whirled around to face her, revolver in hand. Surprise won.
"Barry?"
He quickly lowered his weapon, looking as shocked as she felt and just about as wet, too. His T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, his short hair plastered to his skull.
"Jill! How did you get down here?" "Same way you did, apparently. But how did you know?" He held up his hand, shushing her. "Listen." They stood in tense silence, Jill looking up and down the stone corridor and failing to hear whatever Barry had heard. There were metal doors at either end, cast in shadow by the dim utility lights overhead. "I thought I heard something," he said finally. "Voices…"
Before she could ask any questions, he turned and faced her, smiling uneasily. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't wait for you, but I heard somebody walking out in the garden and had to take a look. I found this place by accident, kind of tripped and fell in… anyway. I'm glad you're here. Let's check around, see what we can dig up."
Jill nodded, but decided to keep a close eye on Barry for awhile. Maybe she was paranoid, but in spite of his words, he didn't seem all that happy to see her… Watch and wait, her mind whispered. For now, there was nothing else she could do. Barry led them toward the door to the right, hold– ing his Colt up. He pulled the handle, revealing another gloomy tunnel. A few steps in to the right was another metal door and across from it, the passage veered sharply into almost complete darkness. Barry motioned at the door and Jill nodded. He pushed it open and the two of them moved in to another silent corridor. Jill sighed inwardly as she studied the bare rocky walls, wishing that she had a piece of chalk with her. The tunnel they were in now looked pretty much like all the rest of them, turning left up ahead. She already felt lost, and hoped that there weren't too many more twists and turns. "Hello? Who's there!" A deep, familiar voice shouted from somewhere ahead of them, the words echoing through the passage. "Enrico?" Jill called out. "Jill? Is that you?"
Excited, Jill ran the last few steps to the corner and around, Barry right behind her. The Bravo team leader was still alive, had somehow ended up down here. Jill rounded the next corner and saw him sitting against the wall, the tunnel widening out and ending in a shadowy alcove.
"Hold it! Stop right there!"
She froze, staring at the Beretta he had pointed at her. He was injured, blood seeping from his leg and puddling on the floor. "Are you with anyone, Jill?" His dark eyes were narrowed with suspicion, the black bore of his semi– automatic unwavering.
"Barry's here, too – Enrico, what happened? What's this about?"
As Barry stepped out from behind the corner, Enrico stared at them both for a long moment, his gaze darting back and forth nervously and then he sagged, lowering his gun as he fell back against the stones. Barry and Jill hurried over, crouching down next to the wounded Bravo. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I had to make sure…"
It was as though defending himself had taken his last bit of strength. Jill took his hand gently, alarmed at how pale he was. Blood oozed from his thigh, his pants soaked with it. "This whole thing was a set-up," he breathed, turning his watering gaze toward her. "I got lost, I climbed the fence, saw the tunnels… found the paper… Umbrella knew, all along…"
Barry looked stricken, his face almost as white as Enrico's. "Hang on, Rico. We'll get you out of here, you just have lie still."Enrico shook his head, still looking at Jill. "There's a traitor in the S.T.A.R.S.," he whispered. "He told me…"
Bam! Bam! Enrico's body jumped as two holes suddenly ap– peared in his chest, blood pulsing out of them in violent spurts. Through the resounding echo of the shots, running footsteps clattered away down the corridor behind them. Barry launched to his feet and sprinted around the corner as Jill helplessly squeezed Enrico's twitching hand, her heart pounding and sick. He slumped over, dead before he touched the cold stone floor. Her mind flooded with questions as Barry's pursu– ing footsteps faded away, silence settling once again over the deep shadows. What paper had the Bravo found? When Enrico had said "traitor" she'd imme– diately thought of Barry, acting so strangely, but he'd been right beside her when the shots had been fired.
So who did this? Who was Trent talking about? Who did Enrico see?
Feeling lost and alone, Jill held his cooling hand and waited for Barry to come back.
Rebecca was going through an old trunk pushed against one wall of the room they'd entered, shuffling through stacks of papers and frowning while Chris checked out the rest of the room. A single, rumpled cot, a desk, and a towering, ancient bookshelf were the only other pieces of furniture. After the cold, alien splendor of the mansion, Chris was absurdly grateful to be in simpler surroundings. They'd come to a house at the end of the long, winding path from the courtyard, much smaller and infinitely less intimidating than the mansion. The hall they'd stepped into was plain, undecorated wood, as were the two small bedrooms they'd discovered just off the silent corridor. Chris figured they'd found a bunkhouse for some of the mansion's employees. He had noticed the thick, unmarked dust in the hallway on their way in with a sinking resignation, realizing that none of the other S.T.A.R.S. had made it out of the main house. With no way for him and Rebecca to get back, all they could do was try to find the back door and go for help. Chris didn't like it, but there weren't any other options. After a brief perusal of the shelves, Chris walked to the battered wooden desk and pulled at the top drawer; it was locked. He bent down and felt along the bottom of the drawer, grinning as his fingers touched a thick piece of tape.
Don't people ever watch movies? The key's always stuck under the drawer.
He peeled the tape away and came up with a tiny silver key. Still grinning, he unlocked the drawer and pulled it open. There was a deck of playing cards, a few pens and pencils, gum wrappers, a crumpled pack of ciga– rettes – junk, mostly, the kind of stuff that always seemed to accumulate in desk drawers…
Bingo!
Chris picked up the key ring by its leather tag, pleased with himself. If finding the exit was this easy, they'd be on their way back to Raccoon in no time. "Looks like we just got a break," he said softly, holding up the keys. The leather tag had the word "Alias" burned into one side, the number "345" written on the back in smudged ball-point pen. Chris didn't know the significance of the number, but he remembered the nickname from the diary he'd found in the mansion. Thank you, Mr. Alias. Assuming the keys were for the bunkhouse, they were that much closer to getting off the estate. Rebecca was still sitting by the trunk, surrounded by papers, envelopes, even a few grainy photos that she'd pulled out. She seemed totally absorbed in whatever she was reading, and when Chris walked over to join her, she looked up at him with eyes clouded by worry.
"You find something?"
Rebecca held up the piece of paper she was reading.
"A couple of things. Listen to this: 'Four days since the accident and the plant at Point 42 is still growing and mutating at an incredible rate…'"
She skipped ahead, skimming the page with one finger as she spoke. "It calls this thing Plant 42, and says its root is in the basement… here. 'Shortly after the accident, one of the infected members of the research team became violent and broke the water tank in the basement, flooding the entire section. We think some trace chemicals used in the T-virus tests contaminated the water and contributed to Plant 42's radical mutations. A number of shoots have already been traced to different parts of the building, but the main plant now hangs from the ceiling in the large conference room on the first floor… “ " 'We've determined that Plant 42 has become sensitive to movement and is now carnivorous. In close proximity to humans, it uses tentacular, prehen-sile vines to entrap its prey while leechlike adap-tations latch onto exposed skin and draw fatal quantities of blood; several members of the staff have already fallen victim to this.' It's dated May twenty-first, signed Henry Sarton."
Chris shook his head, wondering again how some– one could invent a virus like the one they had come across. It seemed to infect everything it touched with madness, transforming its carrier into a deadly carni– vore, hungry for blood.
God, now a man-eating plant…
Chris shuddered, suddenly twice as glad that they'd be leaving soon. "So it infects plants, too," he said. "When we report this, we'll have to…" "No, that's not it," she said. She handed him a photo, her expression grim. It was a blurry snapshot of a middle-aged man wearing a lab coat. He was standing stiffly in front of a plain wooden door, and Chris realized that it was the very door they'd come through not ten minutes ago, the front entrance to the bunkhouse. He flipped the picture over, squinting at the tiny script on the back. "H. Sarton, January '98, Point 42." He stared at Rebecca, finally understanding her fearful gaze. They were standing in Point 42. The carnivorous plant was here.
Wesker stood in the darkness of the unlit tunnel, his irritation growing as he listened to Barry stumble through the echoing corridors. Jill wouldn't wait forever, and the raging Mr. Burton couldn't seem to grasp that Enrico's killer had simply slid into the shadows just around the corner, the most obvious place there was.
Come on, come on…
Since they'd left the house, he'd finally started to feel like things were going in his favor. He'd remem-bered the underground room near the entrance to the labs, and was almost certain that the wolf medal would be there. And the tunnels were clear. He had expected the 121s to be out, but apparently no one had messed with the passage mechanisms since the accident. They'd split up to search for the lever that worked the passages and it had been in plain sight, propped up next to the very mechanism that it controlled. Everything would have been perfect, except god– damned Enrico Marini had wandered along, happen– ing across a very important paper that Wesker had accidentally dropped – his orders, straight from the head of White Umbrella. And then to complicate matters, Jill had blundered into the tunnels before Wesker could finish taking care of the problem. Wesker sighed inwardly. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. In truth, this whole aifair had been a massive headache from the beginning. At least the underground security hadn't been activated – though he'd had no way of knowing that until they'd reached the tunnels, and having dragged Barry along as insur– ance, he now had to deal with the consequences. If the money wasn't so good. He grinned. Who was he kidding? The money was great. After what felt like years, Barry huffed into the dark room, blindly waving his revolver around. Wesker tensed, waiting for him to walk past the generator's alcove. This part could be tricky – Barry and Enrico had been close. As Barry stormed past the small chamber, Wesker stepped out behind him and jammed the muzzle of his Beretta into Barry's lower back, hard. At the same time, he started talking, low and fast.
"I know you want to kill me, Barry, but I want you to think about what you're doing. I die, your family dies. And right now, it looks like Jill may have to die, too, but you can stop it. You can put a stop to all the killing."
Barry had stopped moving as soon as the gun touched him, but Wesker could hear the barely con– tained rage in his voice, the pure, driving hatred. "You killed Enrico," he snarled. Wesker pushed the gun deeper into his back. "Yes. But I didn't want to. Enrico found some information
he shouldn't have, he knew too much. And if he'd told Jill what he knew about Umbrella, I'd have had to kill her, too." "You're going to kill her anyway. You're going to kill all of us."
Wesker sighed, allowing a pleading note to creep into his voice. "That's not true! Don't you get it –
–I just want to get to the laboratory and get rid of the evidence before anyone finds it! Once that material is destroyed, there's no reason for anyone else to get hurt. We can all just… walk away."
Barry was silent, and Wesker could tell that he wanted to believe him, wanted desperately to believe that things could be that simple. Wesker let him waver for a moment before pressing on.
"All I want you to do is keep Jill busy, keep her and anyone else you run into away from the labs, at least for a little while. You'll be saving her life and I swear to you that as soon as I get what I need, you and your family will never hear from me again."
He waited. And when Barry finally spoke, Wesker knew he had him.
"Where are the labs?" Good boy!
Wesker lowered the gun, keeping his expression blank just in case Barry had good night vision. He pulled a folded paper out of his vest and slipped it into Barry's hand, a map from the tunnels to the first basement level.
"If for some reason you can't keep her away, at least go with her. There are a lot of doors with locks on the outside down there; worse comes to worst, you can lock her up until it's over. I mean it, Barry, no one else has to get hurt. It's all up to you."
Wesker stepped back quickly, reaching for the lever with the six-sided tip that he'd left next to the generator. He watched Barry for a few seconds longer, saw the sag in the big man's shoulders, the submissive hang of his head. Satisfied, Wesker turned and walked out of the room. On the very slight chance that any of the S.T.A.R.S. made it to the lab, Mr. Burton would ensure that there wouldn't be any more trouble. He hurried back through the entrance tunnel, si-lently congratulating himself on getting things back under control as he headed toward the first passage mechanism. He'd have to move fast from here on out; there were a few things he'd neglected to mention to Barry – like the experimental security detachment that would be released into the tunnels once he turned that lever for the first time…
Sorry, Barry. Slipped my mind.
It would be interesting to see how his team fared with the 121s, the Hunters. Watching the S.T.A.R.S. pit their strength and agility against the creatures would be quite a show and sadly, one that he'd have to miss. It was too bad, really. The Hunters had been caged for a long time; they'd be very, very hungry.
FIFTEEN
BARRY HAD BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG. Jill had no idea how extensive the tunnels were, but from what she'd seen they all looked alike. Barry could be lost, trying to find his way back. Or he could have found the murderer, and without any backup… He might not come back at all. In any case, staying put wasn't going to help any-thing. She stood up, taking a last look at the Bravo's pale face and silently wishing him peace before walk– ing away. What did he find out that got him killed? Who was it? Enrico had only managed to get out that the traitor was a he, but that didn't exactly narrow things down; except for herself and the rookie, the Raccoon
S.T.A.R.S. were all male. She could rule out Chris, since he'd been convinced from the start that there was something weird going on and now Barry, who'd been with her when Marini died. Brad Vickers simply wasn't the type to do anything dangerous, and Joseph and Kenneth were dead – which leaves Richard Aiken, Forest Speyer, and Albert Wesker. None of them seemed likely, but she had to at least consider the possibility. Enrico was dead. And she no longer doubted that Umbrella had one of the
S.T.A.R.S. in their pocket. When she got to the door, she quickly leaned down and tightened her damp boot laces, preparing herself. Whoever had shot the Bravo could have just as easily taken her and Barry out – and since he hadn't, she could only figure that he didn't want to kill anyone else, and wouldn't be looking for more targets. As– suming that he was still in the underground system, she'd have to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to find him; the tunnels were perfect sound conductors, amplifying even the tiniest sound. She eased open the metal door, listening, and then edged out into the dim tunnel, staying close to the wall. In front of her, the corridor was unlit. She opted to head back the way she'd come instead; the darkness was a perfect spot for an ambush. She didn't want to find out she was wrong about the killer's intentions by
taking a bullet. A low, grinding rumble reverberated through the heavy stone walls, a sound like something big moving. Jill instinctively used the sound as cover, taking several sliding steps forward and reaching the next metal door just as the rumbling stopped. She slipped back out into the tunnel where she'd run into Barry, gently closing the door behind her.
What the hell was that? It sounded like an entire wall moving!
She shuddered, remembering the descending ceil– ing of that room in the house. Maybe the tunnels were rigged, too; she needed to watch every step. The idea of being crunched to death by some bizarre mecha– nism underground…
Like the one next to that pit, with the hexagonal hole?
She nodded slowly, deciding that she needed to go take another look at those doors she couldn't get to before. Maybe the killer had the tool it required, and the noise she'd heard had come from him operating it. She could be wrong, but there was no harm in checking.
And at least I won't get lost.
She reached for the door that would lead her back and stopped, her head cocked to catch the strange sound coming from the tunnel behind her. It was a rusty hinge? Some kind of a bird, maybe? It was loud, whatever it was… Thump. Thump. Thump. That sound she knew. Footsteps, headed in her direction, and it was either Barry or someone built like him. They were heavy, plodding, but too far apart, too… deliberate.
Get out of here. Now!
Jill grabbed at the metal latch and ran into the next tunnel, no longer caring how much noise she made. Although she sometimes misread them, her instincts were never wrong and they were telling her that whoever or whatever was making that sound, she didn't want to be there when it showed up. She took several running steps down the stone corridor, away from the ladder that led back to the courtyard and then forced herself to slow down, taking a deep breath. She couldn't just go sprinting ahead, either; there were other dangers than the one she'd left behind. Behind her, the door opened. Jill turned, raising her Beretta and stared in hor-ror at the thing standing there. It was huge, shaped like a man, but the resemblance stopped there. Na– ked but sexless, its entire muscular body was covered with a pebbled, amphibious skin, shaded a dark green. It was hunched over so that its impossibly long arms almost touched the floor, both its hands and feet tipped with thick, brutal claws. Tiny, light-colored eyes peered out at her from a flat reptilian skull. It turned its strange gaze toward her, dropped its wide – hinged jaw and let out a tremendous, high– pitched screech like nothing she'd ever heard before, the sound echoing around her, filling her with mortal terror. Jill fired, three shots that smacked into the crea– ture's chest and sent it reeling backwards. It stum– bled, fell against the tunnel wall and with another terrible shriek it sprang at her, pushing off the stones with powerful legs, its claws outstretched and grasping. She fired again and again as it flew toward her, the bullets tearing into its puckered flesh, ribbons of dark blood coiling away and it landed in a heaving crouch only a few feet in front of her, screaming, one massive arm snaking out to swipe at her legs. A musky, moldy animal smell washed over her, a smell like dark places and feral rage.
S.T.A.R.S. were all male. She could rule out Chris, since he'd been convinced from the start that there was something weird going on and now Barry, who'd been with her when Marini died. Brad Vickers simply wasn't the type to do anything dangerous, and Joseph and Kenneth were dead – which leaves Richard Aiken, Forest Speyer, and Albert Wesker. None of them seemed likely, but she had to at least consider the possibility. Enrico was dead. And she no longer doubted that Umbrella had one of the
S.T.A.R.S. in their pocket. When she got to the door, she quickly leaned down and tightened her damp boot laces, preparing herself. Whoever had shot the Bravo could have just as easily taken her and Barry out – and since he hadn't, she could only figure that he didn't want to kill anyone else, and wouldn't be looking for more targets. As– suming that he was still in the underground system, she'd have to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to find him; the tunnels were perfect sound conductors, amplifying even the tiniest sound. She eased open the metal door, listening, and then edged out into the dim tunnel, staying close to the wall. In front of her, the corridor was unlit. She opted to head back the way she'd come instead; the darkness was a perfect spot for an ambush. She didn't want to find out she was wrong about the killer's intentions by
taking a bullet. A low, grinding rumble reverberated through the heavy stone walls, a sound like something big moving. Jill instinctively used the sound as cover, taking several sliding steps forward and reaching the next metal door just as the rumbling stopped. She slipped back out into the tunnel where she'd run into Barry, gently closing the door behind her.
What the hell was that? It sounded like an entire wall moving!
She shuddered, remembering the descending ceil– ing of that room in the house. Maybe the tunnels were rigged, too; she needed to watch every step. The idea of being crunched to death by some bizarre mecha– nism underground…
Like the one next to that pit, with the hexagonal hole?
She nodded slowly, deciding that she needed to go take another look at those doors she couldn't get to before. Maybe the killer had the tool it required, and the noise she'd heard had come from him operating it. She could be wrong, but there was no harm in checking.
And at least I won't get lost.
She reached for the door that would lead her back and stopped, her head cocked to catch the strange sound coming from the tunnel behind her. It was a rusty hinge? Some kind of a bird, maybe? It was loud, whatever it was… Thump. Thump. Thump. That sound she knew. Footsteps, headed in her direction, and it was either Barry or someone built like him. They were heavy, plodding, but too far apart, too… deliberate.
Get out of here. Now!
Jill grabbed at the metal latch and ran into the next tunnel, no longer caring how much noise she made. Although she sometimes misread them, her instincts were never wrong and they were telling her that whoever or whatever was making that sound, she didn't want to be there when it showed up. She took several running steps down the stone corridor, away from the ladder that led back to the courtyard and then forced herself to slow down, taking a deep breath. She couldn't just go sprinting ahead, either; there were other dangers than the one she'd left behind. Behind her, the door opened. Jill turned, raising her Beretta and stared in hor-ror at the thing standing there. It was huge, shaped like a man, but the resemblance stopped there. Na– ked but sexless, its entire muscular body was covered with a pebbled, amphibious skin, shaded a dark green. It was hunched over so that its impossibly long arms almost touched the floor, both its hands and feet tipped with thick, brutal claws. Tiny, light-colored eyes peered out at her from a flat reptilian skull. It turned its strange gaze toward her, dropped its wide – hinged jaw and let out a tremendous, high– pitched screech like nothing she'd ever heard before, the sound echoing around her, filling her with mortal terror. Jill fired, three shots that smacked into the crea– ture's chest and sent it reeling backwards. It stum– bled, fell against the tunnel wall and with another terrible shriek it sprang at her, pushing off the stones with powerful legs, its claws outstretched and grasping. She fired again and again as it flew toward her, the bullets tearing into its puckered flesh, ribbons of dark blood coiling away and it landed in a heaving crouch only a few feet in front of her, screaming, one massive arm snaking out to swipe at her legs. A musky, moldy animal smell washed over her, a smell like dark places and feral rage.