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Nothing for cover except this compound, and we'll never make it back to the van, we've got two, three minutes… "We have to get out of here," David said, already running through the things they would have to do if they were to stand a chance, even as they were all running for the door.
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense moments rousing them from their dark cots in the dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without inci– dent. John had still been somewhat wary of a few of them when he'd first herded them into the cafeteria, where Leon was watching the card-players – in partic– ular, two fairly big men who looked like they might have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with deepset eyes who couldn't seem to stop licking his lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds, his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy. There'd been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and no one willing to play hero after John had presented them with a little logic. He'd kept it short and simple:
we're here to find something, we're not planning to hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way while we get out of here. Don't be stupid and you won't get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been enough to convince them that it would be best not to argue. John stood by the door back into the big hall, watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the middle of the large room around a long table. A few looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he didn't want to have to worry about anyone trying to work up a rebellion. In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool, he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot
longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a couple of wire coathangers. "Any trouble?" Leon asked quietly, and John shook his head, keeping his attention on the silent group. "Been nice and quiet," he said. "Where'd you find the chain?" "Toolbox, in one of the rooms."
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm.
"Alright, folks, we're about to take our leave. Wethank you for your patience…" Leon nudged him. "Ask if Reston's here," he whis-pered. John sighed. "You think if he is, he's gonna tell us?"The younger man shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"Stranger things have happened…John cleared his throat and spoke again. "Is a man named Reston in here? We just have a question, we're not going to hurt you."
The men stared at him, at both of them, and John wondered, for just a second, if they knew what they were doing there; if they knew what Umbrella was doing. They didn't look like Nazis, they looked like a bunch of working stiffs. Like guys who put in a hard day and liked to throw back a few beers in the evening. Like – like guys.
And what did Nazis look like? These people are a part of the problem, they're working for the enemy. They're not going to help us… "Blue ain't here." A big bearded man in a T-shirt and boxers, one of the ones John had been keeping an eye on. His voice was gruff and irritable, his face still puffy from sleep. John glanced at Leon, surprised, and saw that the rookie looked the same. "Blue?" John asked. "Is that Reston?"
A man sitting at the end of the table with longish hair and grease-stained hands nodded. "Yeah. And that's Mister Blue to you."
The sarcasm was pointed. There were a couple of dark looks exchanged within the sitting group and a couple of chuckles.
Reston's one of the key guys, Trent said. And just about everybody hates their boss… but so much that they'd talk shit about him to a couple of terrorists?
Reston must be real unpopular.
"Is there anyone else working here who isn't in this room?" Leon asked. "We don't want to be sur– prised…"
The implications were obvious, but it was also obvious that they weren't going to get anything else from the assembled employees. They might hate
Reston, but John could see from the crossed arms and scowls that they wouldn't talk about one of their own. If there was anyone else in the facility, which he doubted. Trent had said it was a small staff… which means it was probably Reston who brought us down, which means we could kill two birds if we find him – get the book and get him to start up the elevator again. We lock Reston in a closet, hook up with David and the girls and get gone before anything else unexpected comes up.
John nodded at Leon, and they backed up to the door. John realized that he didn't want to just walk out, that he felt a kind of sympathy for the men that he'd dragged out of bed. Not a lot, but something. "We're gonna lock the door here," John said, "but you'll be okay until the company sends someone, you got food… and if you don't mind a little advice, listen up – Umbrella ain't the good guys. Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough. They're killers."
The blank stares followed them out of the room. Leon closed the double doors and started to rig up the makeshift lock, threading the chain through the han– dles and bending the hangers. John walked the few steps to the corner and looked down the long gray hall that they'd stepped into from the elevator. They could continue on the way they'd been going to look for Reston, there was a bend in the corridor not far past the staff housing area…… but he's not that way, John thought, remember– ing the sound he'd heard when they'd first arrived.
He's back the way we came, somewhere.
Leon finished securing the doors and joined him, looking a little pale but still game. "So… now we look for Reston?" "Yeah," John said, thinking that the kid was doing pretty well, considering. Not a lot of experience, but he was smart, he had guts, and he didn't clutch under the gun. "You holding up?" Leon nodded. "Yeah. I'm just – do you think they're okay up there?"No, I think they're freezing their asses off waiting for us," John said, smiling, and hoped that was the case – that after locking down the elevator, Reston hadn't released the hounds, or whatever equivalent this place had.
Or called for help…"Let's get this over with," John said, and Leon nodded, as they started back down the hall to see what was what.
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense moments rousing them from their dark cots in the dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without inci– dent. John had still been somewhat wary of a few of them when he'd first herded them into the cafeteria, where Leon was watching the card-players – in partic– ular, two fairly big men who looked like they might have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with deepset eyes who couldn't seem to stop licking his lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds, his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy. There'd been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and no one willing to play hero after John had presented them with a little logic. He'd kept it short and simple:
we're here to find something, we're not planning to hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way while we get out of here. Don't be stupid and you won't get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been enough to convince them that it would be best not to argue. John stood by the door back into the big hall, watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the middle of the large room around a long table. A few looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he didn't want to have to worry about anyone trying to work up a rebellion. In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool, he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot
longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a couple of wire coathangers. "Any trouble?" Leon asked quietly, and John shook his head, keeping his attention on the silent group. "Been nice and quiet," he said. "Where'd you find the chain?" "Toolbox, in one of the rooms."
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm.
"Alright, folks, we're about to take our leave. Wethank you for your patience…" Leon nudged him. "Ask if Reston's here," he whis-pered. John sighed. "You think if he is, he's gonna tell us?"The younger man shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"Stranger things have happened…John cleared his throat and spoke again. "Is a man named Reston in here? We just have a question, we're not going to hurt you."
The men stared at him, at both of them, and John wondered, for just a second, if they knew what they were doing there; if they knew what Umbrella was doing. They didn't look like Nazis, they looked like a bunch of working stiffs. Like guys who put in a hard day and liked to throw back a few beers in the evening. Like – like guys.
And what did Nazis look like? These people are a part of the problem, they're working for the enemy. They're not going to help us… "Blue ain't here." A big bearded man in a T-shirt and boxers, one of the ones John had been keeping an eye on. His voice was gruff and irritable, his face still puffy from sleep. John glanced at Leon, surprised, and saw that the rookie looked the same. "Blue?" John asked. "Is that Reston?"
A man sitting at the end of the table with longish hair and grease-stained hands nodded. "Yeah. And that's Mister Blue to you."
The sarcasm was pointed. There were a couple of dark looks exchanged within the sitting group and a couple of chuckles.
Reston's one of the key guys, Trent said. And just about everybody hates their boss… but so much that they'd talk shit about him to a couple of terrorists?
Reston must be real unpopular.
"Is there anyone else working here who isn't in this room?" Leon asked. "We don't want to be sur– prised…"
The implications were obvious, but it was also obvious that they weren't going to get anything else from the assembled employees. They might hate
Reston, but John could see from the crossed arms and scowls that they wouldn't talk about one of their own. If there was anyone else in the facility, which he doubted. Trent had said it was a small staff… which means it was probably Reston who brought us down, which means we could kill two birds if we find him – get the book and get him to start up the elevator again. We lock Reston in a closet, hook up with David and the girls and get gone before anything else unexpected comes up.
John nodded at Leon, and they backed up to the door. John realized that he didn't want to just walk out, that he felt a kind of sympathy for the men that he'd dragged out of bed. Not a lot, but something. "We're gonna lock the door here," John said, "but you'll be okay until the company sends someone, you got food… and if you don't mind a little advice, listen up – Umbrella ain't the good guys. Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough. They're killers."
The blank stares followed them out of the room. Leon closed the double doors and started to rig up the makeshift lock, threading the chain through the han– dles and bending the hangers. John walked the few steps to the corner and looked down the long gray hall that they'd stepped into from the elevator. They could continue on the way they'd been going to look for Reston, there was a bend in the corridor not far past the staff housing area…… but he's not that way, John thought, remember– ing the sound he'd heard when they'd first arrived.
He's back the way we came, somewhere.
Leon finished securing the doors and joined him, looking a little pale but still game. "So… now we look for Reston?" "Yeah," John said, thinking that the kid was doing pretty well, considering. Not a lot of experience, but he was smart, he had guts, and he didn't clutch under the gun. "You holding up?" Leon nodded. "Yeah. I'm just – do you think they're okay up there?"No, I think they're freezing their asses off waiting for us," John said, smiling, and hoped that was the case – that after locking down the elevator, Reston hadn't released the hounds, or whatever equivalent this place had.
Or called for help…"Let's get this over with," John said, and Leon nodded, as they started back down the hall to see what was what.
TEN
THEY HEADED OUT INTO THE BLACKNESS of the compound, the beat of the helicopter's blades getting closer. Rebecca saw its lights less than a half-mile northwest, saw that it was hovering, shining a spotlight down onto the desert-like plain.
The van, they've spotted the van.
Claire saw it too, but David was looking at the warehouse-type buildings behind them as he unslung his rifle, his intense gaze taking in the layout. Rebecca could hardly see him in the pale moonlight. "They'll have to set down outside the fence," he said. "Follow me, and stay close." He jogged off into the darkness, the burr of the helicopter growing steadily behind them. God, I hope he sees better than I can, Rebecca thought, clutching her nine-millimeter tightly, the metal cold against her numb fingers. She and Claire jogged after him as he headed for one of the dark structures, the second from the left in the line of five. Why he'd picked that one she didn't know, but David would have a reason, he always did. They ran into the corridor of black between the first and second building, fifteen feet of hard-packed arid sediment that stretched ahead of them some indeter– minate distance. The freezing air burned into her lungs, gusting out in clouds of steam she couldn't see. The whackawhacka sound of the 'copter drowned out their footsteps, drowned out most of what David was saying as he stopped, a door on either side of them.
"… to hide until we… can't… back…"
Rebecca shook her head and David gave it up, turning to the left, pointing his weapon at the door of the first building. Rebecca and Claire moved behind him, Rebecca wondering what he was up to; if the people from the helicopter landed to search – which they surely would – the bullet-riddled door would give them away. It looked to be made from some high– density plastic, but wasn't remarkable in any other way – it had a handle and keyhole rather than a card swipe. The building itself was some kind of stucco material, dirty and dusty, and no particular color that she could tell; the one behind them looked the same; there were no windows on either. The helicopter's searchlight was sweeping the fence at the front of the compound, its brightness piercing the cold dark like a brilliant flame. Flurries of dust were swirling up into the light, staining it, and Rebecca thought they had maybe a minute before it found them; the compound just wasn't that big. Bambambambambam! Most of the noise was swallowed up by the roar of the helicopter. Even in the darkness, Rebecca could see the line of holes, the concentration of them near the handle. David stepped forward and gave the door a hard kick, then a second – and it flew inward, a gaping black hole in the wall. The searchlight was moving back through the com-pound, the helicopter's swollen belly passing almost directly overhead as it shone its beam down on the other side of the first building, the thunder of its engine and billowing clouds of dust and making Rebecca feel as though Death were approaching; not death, but Death, some fabled beast of merciless power and relentless intention… David turned and grabbed her and Claire both, pushing them firmly toward the open door. As soon as they were through, he motioned for them to stop and to wait. David pulled his handgun and jogged across the open space, standing close to the second build-ing's door, angling his body and……BAM, the nine-millimeter round, louder than the rifle's.223s but still almost lost, as the helicopter started its sweep up their row and the door blasted inward and David leapt through the opening, just as the blinding light illuminated the ground between them. A half-second later and he would have been caught in the light. The spent casings from David's weapons were thankfully lost in the furor, spinning clouds of dust whipping up and over them and making it hard to breathe. She turned, saw that Claire had tucked her face down into her black sweatshirt, and followed suit. The cold, thick air was filtered through the fleece, and in spite of the deafening noise, Rebecca could hear her heartbeat in her ears, rapid and afraid. A second later, the light was past; a second after that the dust seemed to be settling, it was hard to tell in the black; the sudden absence of light meant their eyes would have to readjust.
"Are you alright?"
Rebecca jumped as David practically screamed in her face, just a shadow in front of her. Claire let out a little shriek. "Sorry!" David called. "Come on! Other building!" Barely able to see, Rebecca stumbled outside, Claire right next to her. David came up behind them, touching their backs, guiding them toward the second building. The 'copter was still moving away from them, north to south, but it would run out of things to look at very soon – and then they'd land and come looking. That the helicopter was from Umbrella was a given; the only question was how many had come, and whether or not they were to be captured first or just killed outright. As they fell through the door to the second build– ing, it dawned on Rebecca what David had done. The Umbrella thugs would see the first bullet-blasted door and assume that their quarry was hiding there.
And he only shot through the keyhole of this one. They'll see it eventually, but it buys us a little more time…
She hoped. The darkness was almost as cold as outside and smelled like dust. A low light flickered on, David hooding his flashlight with one hand, just enough for them to see that they were surrounded by boxes. Big ones, small ones, cardboard and wood, stacked on shelves and on the floor all the way up to the slanted ceiling. In the brief second that David shone the light across the mammoth room, they saw that there had to be thousands of them.
"I'm going to see what I can do about the door and cut the lights," David said. "Find us a place to hide. It's our best option until we know how many there are, what scenario they're employing. They might have spook eyes, the floor's no good – somewhere high up and in a corner. Shelves would be best. Got it?"
They both nodded and the light went out, leaving them in a complete darkness; before, she could at least make out shapes and shadows. Now, Rebecca couldn't see her hand in front of her face. "Which corner?" Claire whispered, as if the chill black nothing they stood in demanded silence. Rebecca reached out and found Claire's hand, placing it against her back. "Left. We go left until we run into something."
She heard a whisper of movement behind them, as David went about his preparations. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca put her hands out in front of her and started to edge forward.
Every door off of the lengthy corridor was locked, with the exception of a utility closet past the elevator; there, they found absolutely nothing of interest, un– less shelves of paper towels and styrene coffee cups were interesting. They'd tried the elevator again, with no luck, and there didn't seem to be a fuse box or override switch anywhere near it. Not surprising, but Leon still felt a pang of distress. The other three were probably really worried…
… and you're not? What if something went wrong up there? Maybe the "test" part of this place is above-ground. And maybe Reston unleashed some of Umbrel-la's warrior specimens up there, and right now Claire is… "What say if we run across one more locked door, we use up our grenades? I've got two of 'em," John said, looking irritated. They'd just tried the ninth door in the silent hall, and were almost to the north– ernmost curve. For all they knew, they'd already passed Reston, or the passage that would lead them to him.
"Let's at least see what's around the corner before we start blowing things up," Leon said, though he was also losing patience. It wasn't that he'd mind damag– ing some Umbrella property, but that just wasn't the priority – reuniting the team was. They'd already decided that if they didn't find him soon, they'd go back to the cafeteria and try to get one of the workers to fix the elevator, and to hell with Reston; the mission would be a bust, but at least they'd all be alive to fight another day.
Assuming we're all still alive now…
They reached the corner and paused, John raising the M-16 and lowering his voice. "I'll cover." Leon nodded, moving closer to the inner wall. "On three. One… two… three…"
He took a running step away from the wall, drop– ping into a crouch and pointing his semi down the west leg of the corridor as John whipped the rifle around the corner. The hall was a lot shorter, no more than sixty feet, dead-ending in an open, doorless room. There was a door on the left…… and somebody moved across the opening at the end of the hall, the darting shape of a man.
Reston.
Leon saw him, a thin guy, not too tall, wearing jeans and a blue work shirt. Mr. Blue, just like they said… "Hold it!" John shouted, and Reston turned, startled and weaponless. He saw the M-16 and jumped away from the double-wide opening, maybe heading for an exit -
– and Leon ran, pumping his arms for speed, John quickly passing him in a full-on sprint. They were inside the room in a flash and there was Reston, pushing desperately at a door on the right. He threw a terrified glance over his shoulder as they barreled into the room, his eyes wide with panic. "It won't open!" He screamed, his voice on the edge of hysteria. "Open the door!"
Who's he talking to?"Give it up, Reston," John growled -
– and behind them, a metal sheet crashed down over the opening, shutting them into the room with a brutal, heavy dang. Leon looked down, saw that the floor was plate steel and felt the first stab of unease. Reston spun around, his hands in the air, his narrow features contorted with fear. "I'm not him, not Reston," he babbled, his pale face slick with sweat -
– and behind them, a face appeared at the window in the metal door, distorted by the thick plexiglass but obviously grinning. An older man, dressed in a dark blue suit.
Oh, no…
The man looked away for a moment, one hand reaching up to touch something Leon couldn't see and a smooth, cultured voice floated into the roomfrom a speaker in the ceiling. "Sorry, Henry," the man said, his moving face warped by the glass. "And allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jay Reston. And whoever you are, I'm very glad to meet you. Welcome to the Planet's test program."
Leon looked at John, who was still pointing his rifle at the near hysterical Henry. John looked back at him, and Leon could see the awareness dawning in his dark eyes, even as it dawned on him.They were in extremely deep shit.
Yes!
Reston laughed giddily. The gunmen were trapped, and the three on the surface were probably already being picked up by the teams – he'd handled his situation, and handled it brilliantly.
Of course it's no fun if there's no one around to appreciate it… but then, I have a captive audience, don't I?"We're not scheduled to go on line for another twenty-three days," Reston said, smiling widely, al– ready imagining the look on Sidney's bloated face.
"At which time, I was going to host the initial run of our carefully designed program for a group of ex-tremely important people. It was going to be speci-men only, we hadn't planned on putting humans through the phases for a while yet, let alone soldiers. But now, thanks to you, I'll be able to show my little party actual footage of what our specimens were created for. By now, your friends on the surface will have been taken, sad to say – but the three of you will suffice, I think. Yes, you'll do quite nicely." Reston laughed again, unable to contain it. "You
may want to kill Henry before you start, though, he'll
only drag you down – and he did lure you in, didn't
he?"
"You bastard!"
Henry Cole pushed away from the wall and flew at the door, pounding on it with his fists. The two-inch metal didn't even rattle in the frame. Reston shook his head, still grinning. "I am sorry, Henry; we'll miss you terribly. You never did finish with the intercom system, did you? Or the audio… at least you hooked up this one, for which I can't thank you enough. Is it clear enough in there? Getting any static?"
Whatever demon had possessed the electrician fled, the man collapsing against the door, breathing rag– gedly. The bigger of the two armed men, the burly dark-skinned one with the rifle, stepped toward the window with a menacing expression.
"You're not gonna get us to go through any tests for you," he said, his deep voice quivering with rage. "Go ahead and kill us, 'cause we're not alone – and Um-brella's going down, whether or not we're around to see it happen." Reston sighed. "Well, you're right about not being around. But as to the rest… you're some of those
S.T.A.R.S. people, aren't you? You and your grass-roots campaign are nothing to us; you're mosquitoes, an annoyance. And you will participate…" "Participate this," he spat, grabbing his crotch. Even through the thick plexi, the gesture was unmis– takable.
Vulgar. Young people today, no respect for their betters… "John, why don't you break out one of those frag grenades?" The other one said coolly, at which point Reston sighed again.
"The walls are plaster-coated steel, and the door will withstand a lot more than you could possibly have. You'd only succeed in blowing yourselves up. It would be a pity, but if you must, you must."
They didn't seem to have a smart reply to that. No one spoke, although Reston could still hear the trou-bled gasps coming from Cole through the intercom. He'd grown tired of goading them anyway; the surface teams would be putting a call in to control soon, and he really should be there. "If you gentlemen will excuse me," he said. "I have other business to attend to – like releasing our pets into their new homes. Rest assured, though, I'll be watching your debut; try to make it through at least two of the phases, if you can."
Reston stepped away from the window to the con– trol panel on the left, and punched in the activation code. One of the men started shouting that they wouldn't go through with it, that he couldn't make them…… and then Reston hit the large green button, the one that simultaneously opened the hatch into One and released a spray of tear gas into the small ante– room from vents in the high ceiling. He stepped back to the window, interested to see how effective the process was. Within seconds, a white haze came pouring down from above, obscuring the three men. Reston heard shouts and coughing, and a second later he heard the hatch lock down, which meant they were through. The pressure plates in the floor thus unencumbered, there was a low hiss as the ventilation system kicked on, clearing the room of mist in under a minute. Nice. He'd have to remember to commend which– ever designer had recommended it. "I'll make a note," Reston said to no one in particular. He smoothed his lapels and turned to walk back to control, excited to see how well the men would fare against the newest additions to the Um– brella family.
The van, they've spotted the van.
Claire saw it too, but David was looking at the warehouse-type buildings behind them as he unslung his rifle, his intense gaze taking in the layout. Rebecca could hardly see him in the pale moonlight. "They'll have to set down outside the fence," he said. "Follow me, and stay close." He jogged off into the darkness, the burr of the helicopter growing steadily behind them. God, I hope he sees better than I can, Rebecca thought, clutching her nine-millimeter tightly, the metal cold against her numb fingers. She and Claire jogged after him as he headed for one of the dark structures, the second from the left in the line of five. Why he'd picked that one she didn't know, but David would have a reason, he always did. They ran into the corridor of black between the first and second building, fifteen feet of hard-packed arid sediment that stretched ahead of them some indeter– minate distance. The freezing air burned into her lungs, gusting out in clouds of steam she couldn't see. The whackawhacka sound of the 'copter drowned out their footsteps, drowned out most of what David was saying as he stopped, a door on either side of them.
"… to hide until we… can't… back…"
Rebecca shook her head and David gave it up, turning to the left, pointing his weapon at the door of the first building. Rebecca and Claire moved behind him, Rebecca wondering what he was up to; if the people from the helicopter landed to search – which they surely would – the bullet-riddled door would give them away. It looked to be made from some high– density plastic, but wasn't remarkable in any other way – it had a handle and keyhole rather than a card swipe. The building itself was some kind of stucco material, dirty and dusty, and no particular color that she could tell; the one behind them looked the same; there were no windows on either. The helicopter's searchlight was sweeping the fence at the front of the compound, its brightness piercing the cold dark like a brilliant flame. Flurries of dust were swirling up into the light, staining it, and Rebecca thought they had maybe a minute before it found them; the compound just wasn't that big. Bambambambambam! Most of the noise was swallowed up by the roar of the helicopter. Even in the darkness, Rebecca could see the line of holes, the concentration of them near the handle. David stepped forward and gave the door a hard kick, then a second – and it flew inward, a gaping black hole in the wall. The searchlight was moving back through the com-pound, the helicopter's swollen belly passing almost directly overhead as it shone its beam down on the other side of the first building, the thunder of its engine and billowing clouds of dust and making Rebecca feel as though Death were approaching; not death, but Death, some fabled beast of merciless power and relentless intention… David turned and grabbed her and Claire both, pushing them firmly toward the open door. As soon as they were through, he motioned for them to stop and to wait. David pulled his handgun and jogged across the open space, standing close to the second build-ing's door, angling his body and……BAM, the nine-millimeter round, louder than the rifle's.223s but still almost lost, as the helicopter started its sweep up their row and the door blasted inward and David leapt through the opening, just as the blinding light illuminated the ground between them. A half-second later and he would have been caught in the light. The spent casings from David's weapons were thankfully lost in the furor, spinning clouds of dust whipping up and over them and making it hard to breathe. She turned, saw that Claire had tucked her face down into her black sweatshirt, and followed suit. The cold, thick air was filtered through the fleece, and in spite of the deafening noise, Rebecca could hear her heartbeat in her ears, rapid and afraid. A second later, the light was past; a second after that the dust seemed to be settling, it was hard to tell in the black; the sudden absence of light meant their eyes would have to readjust.
"Are you alright?"
Rebecca jumped as David practically screamed in her face, just a shadow in front of her. Claire let out a little shriek. "Sorry!" David called. "Come on! Other building!" Barely able to see, Rebecca stumbled outside, Claire right next to her. David came up behind them, touching their backs, guiding them toward the second building. The 'copter was still moving away from them, north to south, but it would run out of things to look at very soon – and then they'd land and come looking. That the helicopter was from Umbrella was a given; the only question was how many had come, and whether or not they were to be captured first or just killed outright. As they fell through the door to the second build– ing, it dawned on Rebecca what David had done. The Umbrella thugs would see the first bullet-blasted door and assume that their quarry was hiding there.
And he only shot through the keyhole of this one. They'll see it eventually, but it buys us a little more time…
She hoped. The darkness was almost as cold as outside and smelled like dust. A low light flickered on, David hooding his flashlight with one hand, just enough for them to see that they were surrounded by boxes. Big ones, small ones, cardboard and wood, stacked on shelves and on the floor all the way up to the slanted ceiling. In the brief second that David shone the light across the mammoth room, they saw that there had to be thousands of them.
"I'm going to see what I can do about the door and cut the lights," David said. "Find us a place to hide. It's our best option until we know how many there are, what scenario they're employing. They might have spook eyes, the floor's no good – somewhere high up and in a corner. Shelves would be best. Got it?"
They both nodded and the light went out, leaving them in a complete darkness; before, she could at least make out shapes and shadows. Now, Rebecca couldn't see her hand in front of her face. "Which corner?" Claire whispered, as if the chill black nothing they stood in demanded silence. Rebecca reached out and found Claire's hand, placing it against her back. "Left. We go left until we run into something."
She heard a whisper of movement behind them, as David went about his preparations. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca put her hands out in front of her and started to edge forward.
Every door off of the lengthy corridor was locked, with the exception of a utility closet past the elevator; there, they found absolutely nothing of interest, un– less shelves of paper towels and styrene coffee cups were interesting. They'd tried the elevator again, with no luck, and there didn't seem to be a fuse box or override switch anywhere near it. Not surprising, but Leon still felt a pang of distress. The other three were probably really worried…
… and you're not? What if something went wrong up there? Maybe the "test" part of this place is above-ground. And maybe Reston unleashed some of Umbrel-la's warrior specimens up there, and right now Claire is… "What say if we run across one more locked door, we use up our grenades? I've got two of 'em," John said, looking irritated. They'd just tried the ninth door in the silent hall, and were almost to the north– ernmost curve. For all they knew, they'd already passed Reston, or the passage that would lead them to him.
"Let's at least see what's around the corner before we start blowing things up," Leon said, though he was also losing patience. It wasn't that he'd mind damag– ing some Umbrella property, but that just wasn't the priority – reuniting the team was. They'd already decided that if they didn't find him soon, they'd go back to the cafeteria and try to get one of the workers to fix the elevator, and to hell with Reston; the mission would be a bust, but at least they'd all be alive to fight another day.
Assuming we're all still alive now…
They reached the corner and paused, John raising the M-16 and lowering his voice. "I'll cover." Leon nodded, moving closer to the inner wall. "On three. One… two… three…"
He took a running step away from the wall, drop– ping into a crouch and pointing his semi down the west leg of the corridor as John whipped the rifle around the corner. The hall was a lot shorter, no more than sixty feet, dead-ending in an open, doorless room. There was a door on the left…… and somebody moved across the opening at the end of the hall, the darting shape of a man.
Reston.
Leon saw him, a thin guy, not too tall, wearing jeans and a blue work shirt. Mr. Blue, just like they said… "Hold it!" John shouted, and Reston turned, startled and weaponless. He saw the M-16 and jumped away from the double-wide opening, maybe heading for an exit -
– and Leon ran, pumping his arms for speed, John quickly passing him in a full-on sprint. They were inside the room in a flash and there was Reston, pushing desperately at a door on the right. He threw a terrified glance over his shoulder as they barreled into the room, his eyes wide with panic. "It won't open!" He screamed, his voice on the edge of hysteria. "Open the door!"
Who's he talking to?"Give it up, Reston," John growled -
– and behind them, a metal sheet crashed down over the opening, shutting them into the room with a brutal, heavy dang. Leon looked down, saw that the floor was plate steel and felt the first stab of unease. Reston spun around, his hands in the air, his narrow features contorted with fear. "I'm not him, not Reston," he babbled, his pale face slick with sweat -
– and behind them, a face appeared at the window in the metal door, distorted by the thick plexiglass but obviously grinning. An older man, dressed in a dark blue suit.
Oh, no…
The man looked away for a moment, one hand reaching up to touch something Leon couldn't see and a smooth, cultured voice floated into the roomfrom a speaker in the ceiling. "Sorry, Henry," the man said, his moving face warped by the glass. "And allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jay Reston. And whoever you are, I'm very glad to meet you. Welcome to the Planet's test program."
Leon looked at John, who was still pointing his rifle at the near hysterical Henry. John looked back at him, and Leon could see the awareness dawning in his dark eyes, even as it dawned on him.They were in extremely deep shit.
Yes!
Reston laughed giddily. The gunmen were trapped, and the three on the surface were probably already being picked up by the teams – he'd handled his situation, and handled it brilliantly.
Of course it's no fun if there's no one around to appreciate it… but then, I have a captive audience, don't I?"We're not scheduled to go on line for another twenty-three days," Reston said, smiling widely, al– ready imagining the look on Sidney's bloated face.
"At which time, I was going to host the initial run of our carefully designed program for a group of ex-tremely important people. It was going to be speci-men only, we hadn't planned on putting humans through the phases for a while yet, let alone soldiers. But now, thanks to you, I'll be able to show my little party actual footage of what our specimens were created for. By now, your friends on the surface will have been taken, sad to say – but the three of you will suffice, I think. Yes, you'll do quite nicely." Reston laughed again, unable to contain it. "You
may want to kill Henry before you start, though, he'll
only drag you down – and he did lure you in, didn't
he?"
"You bastard!"
Henry Cole pushed away from the wall and flew at the door, pounding on it with his fists. The two-inch metal didn't even rattle in the frame. Reston shook his head, still grinning. "I am sorry, Henry; we'll miss you terribly. You never did finish with the intercom system, did you? Or the audio… at least you hooked up this one, for which I can't thank you enough. Is it clear enough in there? Getting any static?"
Whatever demon had possessed the electrician fled, the man collapsing against the door, breathing rag– gedly. The bigger of the two armed men, the burly dark-skinned one with the rifle, stepped toward the window with a menacing expression.
"You're not gonna get us to go through any tests for you," he said, his deep voice quivering with rage. "Go ahead and kill us, 'cause we're not alone – and Um-brella's going down, whether or not we're around to see it happen." Reston sighed. "Well, you're right about not being around. But as to the rest… you're some of those
S.T.A.R.S. people, aren't you? You and your grass-roots campaign are nothing to us; you're mosquitoes, an annoyance. And you will participate…" "Participate this," he spat, grabbing his crotch. Even through the thick plexi, the gesture was unmis– takable.
Vulgar. Young people today, no respect for their betters… "John, why don't you break out one of those frag grenades?" The other one said coolly, at which point Reston sighed again.
"The walls are plaster-coated steel, and the door will withstand a lot more than you could possibly have. You'd only succeed in blowing yourselves up. It would be a pity, but if you must, you must."
They didn't seem to have a smart reply to that. No one spoke, although Reston could still hear the trou-bled gasps coming from Cole through the intercom. He'd grown tired of goading them anyway; the surface teams would be putting a call in to control soon, and he really should be there. "If you gentlemen will excuse me," he said. "I have other business to attend to – like releasing our pets into their new homes. Rest assured, though, I'll be watching your debut; try to make it through at least two of the phases, if you can."
Reston stepped away from the window to the con– trol panel on the left, and punched in the activation code. One of the men started shouting that they wouldn't go through with it, that he couldn't make them…… and then Reston hit the large green button, the one that simultaneously opened the hatch into One and released a spray of tear gas into the small ante– room from vents in the high ceiling. He stepped back to the window, interested to see how effective the process was. Within seconds, a white haze came pouring down from above, obscuring the three men. Reston heard shouts and coughing, and a second later he heard the hatch lock down, which meant they were through. The pressure plates in the floor thus unencumbered, there was a low hiss as the ventilation system kicked on, clearing the room of mist in under a minute. Nice. He'd have to remember to commend which– ever designer had recommended it. "I'll make a note," Reston said to no one in particular. He smoothed his lapels and turned to walk back to control, excited to see how well the men would fare against the newest additions to the Um– brella family.
ELEVEN
COLE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO STUMBLE after the killers, choking and nauseous, his heart sick with dread and hate. He'd been abandoned to death by Reston, the man had even encouraged the assassins to kill him – he no longer knew if they even were assassins, he didn't know who the "stars" were sup– posed to be – he didn't know anything except that his eyes were burning and he couldn't breathe.
At least make it fast, let it be fast and painless…
Through the hatch into One, the door snapping closed behind him. Cole fell back against the cool metal, struggling to catch his breath, gummy tears leaking from beneath his closed lids. He didn't want to see them pull the trigger, he'd rather not have to suffer suspense before he died; dying was plenty enough.
Maybe they'll just leave me here.
The small hope that the thought brought him was stamped out immediately as a big, rough hand latched on to his arm and shook him.
"Hey, wake up!"
Cole reluctantly opened his watering eyes, blinking rapidly. The big black guy was staring down at him, looking mad enough to start hitting. His rifle was pointed at Cole's chest.
"Want to explain what the hell this place is?"
Cole shrank against the door. His voice came out in a stammer. "Phase One. F-forest."The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, forest, I got that. Why, though?" Jesus, he's huge! The guy had muscles on his mus– cles. Cole shook his head, sure that he was about to be severely beaten but not sure what the man was asking. The other one took a step toward the two of them, looking more upset than angry. "John, Reston screwed him over, too. What's your name again? Henry?"
Cole nodded, desperate not to piss anyone off.
"Yeah, Henry Cole, Reston told me you were here to kill him and he told me to stand in there, he was just going to lock you guys up, swear to God I didn't know he was gonna do this…" "Slow down," the smaller man said. "I'm Leon Kennedy, this is John Andrews. We didn't come here to kill Reston…" "Shoulda, though," John rumbled, looking around them. Leon went on as if he hadn't spoken. "… or anyone else. We just wanted something Reston is supposed to have, that's all. Now – what can you tell us about this test program?"
Cole swallowed, wiping at the water on his face. Leon seemed sincere…
… and what are your options here? You can get shot, get left behind, or work with these guys. They've got guns, and Reston said the test specimens were designed to fight people and oh shit how'd I wind up in this mess?
Cole looked around at One, amazed at how different it seemed now that he was locked in, how – menacing. The towering artificial trees, the plastic underbrush and fallen synthetic logs – with the subdued lighting and humidified air, the dark walls and painted ceiling, it almost felt like a real forest at twilight. "I don't know a whole lot," Cole said, looking at Leon. "There are four phases – woods, desert, moun-tains, city. They're all big, each one's like two football fields, side by side, I forgot the exact measurements. Word is that they're supposed to be suitable habitats for these hybrid test animals; they're even gonna stock them with live food, mice and rabbits and such. Umbrella's testing out some kind of disease-control thing, and the test animals are supposed to have similar circulatory systems to humans, something like that, it'll make good study material…"
He trailed off, noticing the look that the two men exchanged when he'd started talking about the test
creatures. "You really believe that, Henry?" John asked, not looking pissed anymore, his expression neutral. "I…" Cole said, then closed his mouth, thinking. About the incredible pay and the don't-ask policy. About the questions from whoever was supervising on any given job…
"Are you happy working here? Do you feel that you're getting paid enough?"
… and about the prison cells… and the restraints. "No," he said, and felt a rush of shame at his deliberate ignorance. He should have known, would have known if he'd had the guts to take a closer look.
"No, I don't. Not anymore."
Both men nodded, and Cole was relieved to see John alter the position of the gun slightly, pointing it away. "So do you know how to get out of here?" John asked. Cole nodded. "Yeah, sure. All of the phases have connecting doors, in alternating corners. They're all latched shut, no keys or anything – except for the last one, Four, it's bolted on the outside." "So the door we'll want is that way?" Leon asked, pointing southwest. They were in the northeast cor– ner. From where they stood, the far wall wasn't even visible, the fake woods were so dense. Cole knew there was at least one decent-sized clearing, but it would still be a hike to get through. Cole nodded.
"Can you tell us about these test animals? What do they look like?" John asked. "I never saw 'em, I was just here to do the wiring -
–cams and conduits, like that." He looked between the two men hopefully. "But how bad could they be, right?"
The expressions on their faces weren't encouraging. Cole started to ask what they could tell him when a loud, metallic clattering filled the moist air, like a giant gate being raised. It came from the back, the west wall, where Cole knew the animal pens were kept and a second later, a shrill, piercing shriek cut through the air, a long and warbling note that was quickly joined by another, and another, and then too many to tell apart. There was a beating sound, too, so huge that for a moment, Cole couldn't place it – and when he did, he felt a little like screaming. Wings. The sound of gigantic wings beating the air.
They were fifteen feet off the ground, atop a double row of wooden crates in one corner of the warehouse.
Even the slightest movement made them sway a little, which made Claire deeply uneasy.
Not enough that John and Leon are gone, or that we're hiding from a bunch of Umbrella goons. No, we have to be stuck on Mount Precarious in a pitch-black icebox. One of us sneezes too hard and we all go down. "This sucks," she whispered, as much to break the tense silence as to vent. The helicopter noise had stopped, but they hadn't heard anyone outside yet either. She was surprised to feel Rebecca's body quaking next to hers, and to hear a muffled giggle; the young biochemist was trying to suppress it, and wasn't having an easy time. Claire grinned, absurdly pleased. A few seconds passed, and Rebecca managed to say, "Yes. You're so right," and then they were both choking back laughter. The boxes teetered gently. "Please," David said, sounding edgy. He was on top of the second stack of crates, on Rebecca's other side. Claire and Rebecca quieted down, and again a waiting silence fell over them. They were in the northeast corner, both on their stomachs, handguns pointed toward the wall across from them in the general direction of the other door. David said there were two; he was facing south, covering the one they'd entered by. The tension-breaking giggle fit had relaxed Claire a little. She was still cold, still afraid for Leon and John, but their situation didn't seem so terrible. Bad, defi– nitely, but she'd been in much worse circumstances.
In Raccoon, I was on my own. There was Sherry to watch out for, we had Mr. X on our trail, we had a shitload of zombies to wade through and were totally lost. At least now I have some idea of what we're up against; even an army of gun-toting creeps isn 't as bad as not knowing what's what…
Outside of the warehouse, a noise. Someone was pulling at the door that she and Rebecca were cover-ing; a quick, rattling shake and then silence again -
–except Claire thought she heard footsteps now, pad-ding against the ground outside.
Checking doors. And if David's lock-rigging isn't convincing, or they happen to look closely…
At least it was David covering them; he was amaz– ing, cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind as she'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just what to do – instantly, no matter what happened. Even now – David had said that they'd probably be doing a straight-across sweep, starting at one end or the other and checking each building in teams. Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over what he'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-if list. But still, just having something to concentrate on was a relief.
If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the door across from where they entered and wait. When we hear them on the other side, we head out and run for the fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pick off the others one at a time as they come through the door, then climb down, then run. If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throws the grenade and then shoot; same if they've got night-vision, the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to return fire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover…
The other variables disappeared as she heard the other door being shaken. Shaken and then kicked. Thunk! The door blew open, a square of pale light appear-ing in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlight pierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, then turning back toward the door. A soft click – and then a whispered curse. "What?" A different voice, also whispering. "Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, come on. They're probably in the other one anyway, they didn't get all the way through the lock on this one." Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were going to search, but they didn't suspect their presence. A second beam appeared, and Claire could see the vaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the two powerful lights, both of them men by the voices. They started to move forward, the beams dancing over the stacks of boxes and crates. Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes, not wanting for either of the men to feel watched; she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Not to look. "I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, and Claire wondered if they had any idea how well sound carried in the open space. We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, but she was scared. At least the zombies hadn't had guns… The lights split, one heading away from them, the other turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least; whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn't realize that people could climb boxes.
Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let us sneak out of this without having to fight! David said that they'd come back for John and Leon when Um– brella had cleared out; he said they'd probably post a guard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would be a lot easier than taking out an entire squad -
–and a light was shining in Claire's face, the blinding beam hitting her eyes. "Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heard something beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as the tower of boxes tipped backwards. Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at the shifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shouts coming from outside, the orange burst of thundering muzzle fire coming from David's weapon…… and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.
When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of Umbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest… "Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to maybe twenty-five, thirty feet and at the very top, John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted on, each as big around as a basketball.
Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet to need that to land on…
The piping screams had stopped, and John didn't hear the beat of wings anymore, but he wondered how long it would be before the birds decided to look for prey. "Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voice cracking. "Dacs." "You're kidding," John breathed, and could see the skinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his periph– eral vision.
"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard."
Cole sounded distinctly terrified. "Let's head for that door," Leon said, alreadyedging into the false, shadowy woods.
Amen to that.
John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying to look up and watch his step at the same time. He tripped almost immediately, one boot kicking against a molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself from going into a full sprawl. "This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole, Henry?" He glanced back and saw that Cole was still hud-dled against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turned up to the sky.
– ceiling, dammit
Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up into the spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said. John walked back, angry and frustrated and seri– ously uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, David and the girls could very well be fighting for their lives on the surface, and he wasn't going to waste time coddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, they couldn't just leave him behind, at least not without making an effort. "Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tapped his arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mild brown eyes were positively glassy with fear. John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He was an electrician, for hell's sake, and it seemed that ignorance had been his only real crime.
"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stay here, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have both had run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is to come with us – and besides, we could use your help, you know more about this place than we do. Okay?" Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just -
– I'm scared." "Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flying part's cool, but they're so weird, got those beady eyes and scaly feet – and have you ever seen a buzzard? They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, and saw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quivery smile. "Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walked back to where Leon was standing, still watching the air above.
"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, and we'll need a clear route so we won't have to worry about tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"
Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale, John could see that he would hold together. For a while, anyway. Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headed roughly southwest, weaving a crooked path through the strange forest. Leon and John followed, John realizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn't make much of a difference.
If you don't look where you're going, you're going to trip, John thought wearily, after the sixth time he ran into a fallen "log." No way around it. The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in an appearance or made any other sound. Just as well; John thought walking through a plastic forest was enough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation, seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth, feeling the moisture in the air, but also being aware that there were no smells of earth or growing things, no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It was a dream-like experience, and an unnerving one. John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on the crisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped. "We're… there's kind of a clearing here," he said. Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?" John stepped forward, peering through the seem– ingly random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. It was at least fifty feet across, but John would rather they go out of their way; being dive-bombed by a pterodactyl didn't sound like fun at all.
"Yeah. Henry, veer right. We're going to…"
The rest of his words were lost as that high, war-bling screech blasted through the unnatural forest, and a brown-gray shape dove into the clearing and flew at them, extending talons a foot across. John saw a wingspan of eight or ten feet, the leathery wings tipped with curved hooks. He saw a screaming, toothed beak and a slender elongated skull, flat black eyes the size of saucers, glittering -
–and he and Leon both opened fire as the creature hit the line of artificial trees in front of them, its huge claws gouging into the solid plastic. It held on, spread-ing its vast membranous wings in a struggle to bal– ance -
– and bambambam, holes punched through the thin flesh, streamers of watery blood trickling down from the openings. The animal screamed, so close that John couldn't hear the bullets, couldn't hear anything but that quavering, high-pitched shriek – and then it dropped, landing on the dark floor, pulling its wings in…… and walking toward them on its elbows, like a bat, moving jerkily through the shredded trees, shrieking in short, sharp barks of sound. Behind it, another dropped into the clearing, gusting odorless wind across them as its wide wings folded closed, its long, pointed beak opening and revealing nubs of grinding teeth.
This is bad, bad, bad…
The lurching animal was less than five feet away when John drew a bead on the bobbing head, on the shiny round eye, and pulled the trigger.
At least make it fast, let it be fast and painless…
Through the hatch into One, the door snapping closed behind him. Cole fell back against the cool metal, struggling to catch his breath, gummy tears leaking from beneath his closed lids. He didn't want to see them pull the trigger, he'd rather not have to suffer suspense before he died; dying was plenty enough.
Maybe they'll just leave me here.
The small hope that the thought brought him was stamped out immediately as a big, rough hand latched on to his arm and shook him.
"Hey, wake up!"
Cole reluctantly opened his watering eyes, blinking rapidly. The big black guy was staring down at him, looking mad enough to start hitting. His rifle was pointed at Cole's chest.
"Want to explain what the hell this place is?"
Cole shrank against the door. His voice came out in a stammer. "Phase One. F-forest."The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, forest, I got that. Why, though?" Jesus, he's huge! The guy had muscles on his mus– cles. Cole shook his head, sure that he was about to be severely beaten but not sure what the man was asking. The other one took a step toward the two of them, looking more upset than angry. "John, Reston screwed him over, too. What's your name again? Henry?"
Cole nodded, desperate not to piss anyone off.
"Yeah, Henry Cole, Reston told me you were here to kill him and he told me to stand in there, he was just going to lock you guys up, swear to God I didn't know he was gonna do this…" "Slow down," the smaller man said. "I'm Leon Kennedy, this is John Andrews. We didn't come here to kill Reston…" "Shoulda, though," John rumbled, looking around them. Leon went on as if he hadn't spoken. "… or anyone else. We just wanted something Reston is supposed to have, that's all. Now – what can you tell us about this test program?"
Cole swallowed, wiping at the water on his face. Leon seemed sincere…
… and what are your options here? You can get shot, get left behind, or work with these guys. They've got guns, and Reston said the test specimens were designed to fight people and oh shit how'd I wind up in this mess?
Cole looked around at One, amazed at how different it seemed now that he was locked in, how – menacing. The towering artificial trees, the plastic underbrush and fallen synthetic logs – with the subdued lighting and humidified air, the dark walls and painted ceiling, it almost felt like a real forest at twilight. "I don't know a whole lot," Cole said, looking at Leon. "There are four phases – woods, desert, moun-tains, city. They're all big, each one's like two football fields, side by side, I forgot the exact measurements. Word is that they're supposed to be suitable habitats for these hybrid test animals; they're even gonna stock them with live food, mice and rabbits and such. Umbrella's testing out some kind of disease-control thing, and the test animals are supposed to have similar circulatory systems to humans, something like that, it'll make good study material…"
He trailed off, noticing the look that the two men exchanged when he'd started talking about the test
creatures. "You really believe that, Henry?" John asked, not looking pissed anymore, his expression neutral. "I…" Cole said, then closed his mouth, thinking. About the incredible pay and the don't-ask policy. About the questions from whoever was supervising on any given job…
"Are you happy working here? Do you feel that you're getting paid enough?"
… and about the prison cells… and the restraints. "No," he said, and felt a rush of shame at his deliberate ignorance. He should have known, would have known if he'd had the guts to take a closer look.
"No, I don't. Not anymore."
Both men nodded, and Cole was relieved to see John alter the position of the gun slightly, pointing it away. "So do you know how to get out of here?" John asked. Cole nodded. "Yeah, sure. All of the phases have connecting doors, in alternating corners. They're all latched shut, no keys or anything – except for the last one, Four, it's bolted on the outside." "So the door we'll want is that way?" Leon asked, pointing southwest. They were in the northeast cor– ner. From where they stood, the far wall wasn't even visible, the fake woods were so dense. Cole knew there was at least one decent-sized clearing, but it would still be a hike to get through. Cole nodded.
"Can you tell us about these test animals? What do they look like?" John asked. "I never saw 'em, I was just here to do the wiring -
–cams and conduits, like that." He looked between the two men hopefully. "But how bad could they be, right?"
The expressions on their faces weren't encouraging. Cole started to ask what they could tell him when a loud, metallic clattering filled the moist air, like a giant gate being raised. It came from the back, the west wall, where Cole knew the animal pens were kept and a second later, a shrill, piercing shriek cut through the air, a long and warbling note that was quickly joined by another, and another, and then too many to tell apart. There was a beating sound, too, so huge that for a moment, Cole couldn't place it – and when he did, he felt a little like screaming. Wings. The sound of gigantic wings beating the air.
They were fifteen feet off the ground, atop a double row of wooden crates in one corner of the warehouse.
Even the slightest movement made them sway a little, which made Claire deeply uneasy.
Not enough that John and Leon are gone, or that we're hiding from a bunch of Umbrella goons. No, we have to be stuck on Mount Precarious in a pitch-black icebox. One of us sneezes too hard and we all go down. "This sucks," she whispered, as much to break the tense silence as to vent. The helicopter noise had stopped, but they hadn't heard anyone outside yet either. She was surprised to feel Rebecca's body quaking next to hers, and to hear a muffled giggle; the young biochemist was trying to suppress it, and wasn't having an easy time. Claire grinned, absurdly pleased. A few seconds passed, and Rebecca managed to say, "Yes. You're so right," and then they were both choking back laughter. The boxes teetered gently. "Please," David said, sounding edgy. He was on top of the second stack of crates, on Rebecca's other side. Claire and Rebecca quieted down, and again a waiting silence fell over them. They were in the northeast corner, both on their stomachs, handguns pointed toward the wall across from them in the general direction of the other door. David said there were two; he was facing south, covering the one they'd entered by. The tension-breaking giggle fit had relaxed Claire a little. She was still cold, still afraid for Leon and John, but their situation didn't seem so terrible. Bad, defi– nitely, but she'd been in much worse circumstances.
In Raccoon, I was on my own. There was Sherry to watch out for, we had Mr. X on our trail, we had a shitload of zombies to wade through and were totally lost. At least now I have some idea of what we're up against; even an army of gun-toting creeps isn 't as bad as not knowing what's what…
Outside of the warehouse, a noise. Someone was pulling at the door that she and Rebecca were cover-ing; a quick, rattling shake and then silence again -
–except Claire thought she heard footsteps now, pad-ding against the ground outside.
Checking doors. And if David's lock-rigging isn't convincing, or they happen to look closely…
At least it was David covering them; he was amaz– ing, cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind as she'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just what to do – instantly, no matter what happened. Even now – David had said that they'd probably be doing a straight-across sweep, starting at one end or the other and checking each building in teams. Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over what he'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-if list. But still, just having something to concentrate on was a relief.
If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the door across from where they entered and wait. When we hear them on the other side, we head out and run for the fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pick off the others one at a time as they come through the door, then climb down, then run. If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throws the grenade and then shoot; same if they've got night-vision, the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to return fire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover…
The other variables disappeared as she heard the other door being shaken. Shaken and then kicked. Thunk! The door blew open, a square of pale light appear-ing in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlight pierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, then turning back toward the door. A soft click – and then a whispered curse. "What?" A different voice, also whispering. "Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, come on. They're probably in the other one anyway, they didn't get all the way through the lock on this one." Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were going to search, but they didn't suspect their presence. A second beam appeared, and Claire could see the vaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the two powerful lights, both of them men by the voices. They started to move forward, the beams dancing over the stacks of boxes and crates. Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes, not wanting for either of the men to feel watched; she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Not to look. "I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, and Claire wondered if they had any idea how well sound carried in the open space. We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, but she was scared. At least the zombies hadn't had guns… The lights split, one heading away from them, the other turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least; whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn't realize that people could climb boxes.
Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let us sneak out of this without having to fight! David said that they'd come back for John and Leon when Um– brella had cleared out; he said they'd probably post a guard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would be a lot easier than taking out an entire squad -
–and a light was shining in Claire's face, the blinding beam hitting her eyes. "Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heard something beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as the tower of boxes tipped backwards. Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at the shifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shouts coming from outside, the orange burst of thundering muzzle fire coming from David's weapon…… and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.
When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of Umbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest… "Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to maybe twenty-five, thirty feet and at the very top, John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted on, each as big around as a basketball.
Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet to need that to land on…
The piping screams had stopped, and John didn't hear the beat of wings anymore, but he wondered how long it would be before the birds decided to look for prey. "Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voice cracking. "Dacs." "You're kidding," John breathed, and could see the skinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his periph– eral vision.
"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard."
Cole sounded distinctly terrified. "Let's head for that door," Leon said, alreadyedging into the false, shadowy woods.
Amen to that.
John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying to look up and watch his step at the same time. He tripped almost immediately, one boot kicking against a molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself from going into a full sprawl. "This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole, Henry?" He glanced back and saw that Cole was still hud-dled against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turned up to the sky.
– ceiling, dammit
Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up into the spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said. John walked back, angry and frustrated and seri– ously uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, David and the girls could very well be fighting for their lives on the surface, and he wasn't going to waste time coddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, they couldn't just leave him behind, at least not without making an effort. "Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tapped his arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mild brown eyes were positively glassy with fear. John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He was an electrician, for hell's sake, and it seemed that ignorance had been his only real crime.
"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stay here, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have both had run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is to come with us – and besides, we could use your help, you know more about this place than we do. Okay?" Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just -
– I'm scared." "Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flying part's cool, but they're so weird, got those beady eyes and scaly feet – and have you ever seen a buzzard? They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, and saw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quivery smile. "Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walked back to where Leon was standing, still watching the air above.
"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, and we'll need a clear route so we won't have to worry about tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"
Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale, John could see that he would hold together. For a while, anyway. Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headed roughly southwest, weaving a crooked path through the strange forest. Leon and John followed, John realizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn't make much of a difference.
If you don't look where you're going, you're going to trip, John thought wearily, after the sixth time he ran into a fallen "log." No way around it. The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in an appearance or made any other sound. Just as well; John thought walking through a plastic forest was enough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation, seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth, feeling the moisture in the air, but also being aware that there were no smells of earth or growing things, no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It was a dream-like experience, and an unnerving one. John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on the crisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped. "We're… there's kind of a clearing here," he said. Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?" John stepped forward, peering through the seem– ingly random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. It was at least fifty feet across, but John would rather they go out of their way; being dive-bombed by a pterodactyl didn't sound like fun at all.
"Yeah. Henry, veer right. We're going to…"
The rest of his words were lost as that high, war-bling screech blasted through the unnatural forest, and a brown-gray shape dove into the clearing and flew at them, extending talons a foot across. John saw a wingspan of eight or ten feet, the leathery wings tipped with curved hooks. He saw a screaming, toothed beak and a slender elongated skull, flat black eyes the size of saucers, glittering -
–and he and Leon both opened fire as the creature hit the line of artificial trees in front of them, its huge claws gouging into the solid plastic. It held on, spread-ing its vast membranous wings in a struggle to bal– ance -
– and bambambam, holes punched through the thin flesh, streamers of watery blood trickling down from the openings. The animal screamed, so close that John couldn't hear the bullets, couldn't hear anything but that quavering, high-pitched shriek – and then it dropped, landing on the dark floor, pulling its wings in…… and walking toward them on its elbows, like a bat, moving jerkily through the shredded trees, shrieking in short, sharp barks of sound. Behind it, another dropped into the clearing, gusting odorless wind across them as its wide wings folded closed, its long, pointed beak opening and revealing nubs of grinding teeth.
This is bad, bad, bad…
The lurching animal was less than five feet away when John drew a bead on the bobbing head, on the shiny round eye, and pulled the trigger.
TWELVE
THE TALLER ONE, JOHN, POINTED HIS AUTO-matic rifle at the Avi and let loose a hail of bullets.
Like a stream of destruction, they hit the Dac's aquiline skull and blew out the other side, dark fluids spattering across the freshly painted trees. Both eyes popped like water balloons.
Damn. Low threshold; it's those hollow bones…
Reston watched as the other gunman pointed his weapon at a second Dac that had landed in the clearing. Even without sound, Reston could see the handgun kick three, four times, hitting the specimen in its narrow chest. The Dac's slender neck curved wildly back and forth, a squiggling dance of death before it sprawled, bleeding, against the ground. He didn't see any more of the animals touch down, but the three men were retreating, stumbling back into the woods. Poor Cole seemed quite undone, his mouth open in a silent howl, his lank brown hair practically plastered to his head with sweat, his limbs quaking. Serves him right for not getting to the audio. The lack of sound was annoying, although he supposed the footage wouldn't suffer for it. People knew what bullets and screams sounded like already. The three were moving out of range, heading west now. Reston switched cameras from the one in the tree to a long shot from the north wall. It was clear that Cole was trying to lead them to the connecting door – although he obviously didn't remember that a second, larger clearing was now in their path. For the moment, though, the Dacs had also pulled back; they generally gravitated toward open spaces. The gunmen had only killed two, which meant that there would be six healthy specimens to greet them in the "meadow." Reston had released all of the creatures into their habitats just after the call had come on the cell line from a Sergeant Steve Hawkinson, the man who was leading the surface effort. He had informed Reston only that two Umbrella teams – nine men, including himself – were starting a sweep of the compound, and that the fugitives' transport had been spotted; the three were still in the area unless they had a second vehicle, a highly unlikely possibility. Reston told him that the entry's camera had been covered by one of them and asked for an update as soon as anything turned up, then settled in to watch the show. He poured himself another brandy as he watched the three weave slowly through the trees, John with his weapon pointed above, the other scanning the shadows around them…
He needs a name, too. We have Henry, John, and Red? His hair is son of reddish.
Not really, but it would do, just as "Dac" worked for the Avis. There was no relation to pterodactyls, of course, and the "Av" was for "Aves," birds – and in fact, the Dacs were closer to bats than anything. There were just too many in the mammal series already. At the request of Jackson himself, the specimen growers had added some new classifications for clarity's sake, using some of the secondary contributors to that series's gene pool. Like the Spitters, who were closer to snakes than to goats, but'd been labeled Ca6s, for Capra, because of the cloven hooves…
… and the Dacs do look like pterodactyls, or at least our modern concept of them, Reston thought, looking at the screen that showed the cage entrance. Two of the animals were still inside. The streamlined, muscular body and the narrow beak, the bone "comb" on the top of the head, the fibrous wings… they were really quite elegant in a brutal sort of way. The two in the massive behind-the-scenes "cave" were clearly agitated by all of the excitement, crawling back and forth on their folded wings and swinging their heads from side to side. Reston didn't know much from the biological end, but he knew that they hunted by motion and scent, and that just two of them could take down a horse in under five minutes.
Not so efficient being shot at, however.
It didn't make a difference, really. The Avis had been created for third-world situations, where ma– chetes still outnumbered rifles. It was too bad that they died so quickly, the handlers would be disap– pointed by the loss – but they would have been tested against firepower eventually anyway.
And speaking of…
The three men were getting close to the clearing, moving out of the north camera's view. That would be where the Dacs would make their play. Reston leaned in to watch, realizing that the scenes he was recording would make his career – and that regard– less of that fact, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
David opened fire as soon as the thug's light found them, hearing the single shot of a weapon down below -
–and felt the splintering of wood to his left, a flurry of splinters spraying his arm. He was too intent on taking out the shooter to stop firing, but he knew with a burst of dread that they were about to fall, that both young women would smash into the concrete if he didn't do something…… and then he was falling, too, the wooden slats beneath him disappearing suddenly, plunging him through the icy dark. David held on to his weapon, pushing his arms out and bending his knees in the half second of blind free fall…… and then his knees connected with cardboard, with an unseen box that collapsed beneath his weight, sparing him the worst of it. Instantly he was on his feet, turning toward the other flashlight, which was still shining out from halfway across the warehouse, the first man already down. No time to check on Rebecca, or Claire – the raised shouts from outside were almost upon them. The torch-bearer went down in the short line of bullets David sent from the M-16, a guided four-foot arc across the darkness behind the light. The flat echoes of the rounds blasted through the alleys be– tween boxes, and as the flashlight dropped, a single grunt of pain and surprise going down with it, David turned the gun toward the open door.
Like a stream of destruction, they hit the Dac's aquiline skull and blew out the other side, dark fluids spattering across the freshly painted trees. Both eyes popped like water balloons.
Damn. Low threshold; it's those hollow bones…
Reston watched as the other gunman pointed his weapon at a second Dac that had landed in the clearing. Even without sound, Reston could see the handgun kick three, four times, hitting the specimen in its narrow chest. The Dac's slender neck curved wildly back and forth, a squiggling dance of death before it sprawled, bleeding, against the ground. He didn't see any more of the animals touch down, but the three men were retreating, stumbling back into the woods. Poor Cole seemed quite undone, his mouth open in a silent howl, his lank brown hair practically plastered to his head with sweat, his limbs quaking. Serves him right for not getting to the audio. The lack of sound was annoying, although he supposed the footage wouldn't suffer for it. People knew what bullets and screams sounded like already. The three were moving out of range, heading west now. Reston switched cameras from the one in the tree to a long shot from the north wall. It was clear that Cole was trying to lead them to the connecting door – although he obviously didn't remember that a second, larger clearing was now in their path. For the moment, though, the Dacs had also pulled back; they generally gravitated toward open spaces. The gunmen had only killed two, which meant that there would be six healthy specimens to greet them in the "meadow." Reston had released all of the creatures into their habitats just after the call had come on the cell line from a Sergeant Steve Hawkinson, the man who was leading the surface effort. He had informed Reston only that two Umbrella teams – nine men, including himself – were starting a sweep of the compound, and that the fugitives' transport had been spotted; the three were still in the area unless they had a second vehicle, a highly unlikely possibility. Reston told him that the entry's camera had been covered by one of them and asked for an update as soon as anything turned up, then settled in to watch the show. He poured himself another brandy as he watched the three weave slowly through the trees, John with his weapon pointed above, the other scanning the shadows around them…
He needs a name, too. We have Henry, John, and Red? His hair is son of reddish.
Not really, but it would do, just as "Dac" worked for the Avis. There was no relation to pterodactyls, of course, and the "Av" was for "Aves," birds – and in fact, the Dacs were closer to bats than anything. There were just too many in the mammal series already. At the request of Jackson himself, the specimen growers had added some new classifications for clarity's sake, using some of the secondary contributors to that series's gene pool. Like the Spitters, who were closer to snakes than to goats, but'd been labeled Ca6s, for Capra, because of the cloven hooves…
… and the Dacs do look like pterodactyls, or at least our modern concept of them, Reston thought, looking at the screen that showed the cage entrance. Two of the animals were still inside. The streamlined, muscular body and the narrow beak, the bone "comb" on the top of the head, the fibrous wings… they were really quite elegant in a brutal sort of way. The two in the massive behind-the-scenes "cave" were clearly agitated by all of the excitement, crawling back and forth on their folded wings and swinging their heads from side to side. Reston didn't know much from the biological end, but he knew that they hunted by motion and scent, and that just two of them could take down a horse in under five minutes.
Not so efficient being shot at, however.
It didn't make a difference, really. The Avis had been created for third-world situations, where ma– chetes still outnumbered rifles. It was too bad that they died so quickly, the handlers would be disap– pointed by the loss – but they would have been tested against firepower eventually anyway.
And speaking of…
The three men were getting close to the clearing, moving out of the north camera's view. That would be where the Dacs would make their play. Reston leaned in to watch, realizing that the scenes he was recording would make his career – and that regard– less of that fact, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
David opened fire as soon as the thug's light found them, hearing the single shot of a weapon down below -
–and felt the splintering of wood to his left, a flurry of splinters spraying his arm. He was too intent on taking out the shooter to stop firing, but he knew with a burst of dread that they were about to fall, that both young women would smash into the concrete if he didn't do something…… and then he was falling, too, the wooden slats beneath him disappearing suddenly, plunging him through the icy dark. David held on to his weapon, pushing his arms out and bending his knees in the half second of blind free fall…… and then his knees connected with cardboard, with an unseen box that collapsed beneath his weight, sparing him the worst of it. Instantly he was on his feet, turning toward the other flashlight, which was still shining out from halfway across the warehouse, the first man already down. No time to check on Rebecca, or Claire – the raised shouts from outside were almost upon them. The torch-bearer went down in the short line of bullets David sent from the M-16, a guided four-foot arc across the darkness behind the light. The flat echoes of the rounds blasted through the alleys be– tween boxes, and as the flashlight dropped, a single grunt of pain and surprise going down with it, David turned the gun toward the open door.