ResidentEvil-CalibanCove [Chapter: 07]

SEVEN

STEVE AND DAVID CLIMBED IN, EDGING TO

the front of the six-man raft as Karen and Rebecca

followed. John hopped in last, and at David's signal,

started the motor with the push of a button; it was as

silent as David had promised, only a faint hum that

was almost lost in the sound of gently moving water.

"Let's move," David said quietly. Rebecca took a

deep breath and let it out slowly as they started north,

heading for the cove.

Nobody spoke as the shore slid by to their left,

shadowy, jagged shapes in the pallid light of the rising

moon, an immense and whispering void to their right.

Port and starboard, her mind noted randomly. Bow

and stern.

She searched the blackness for a sign that marked

the beginning of the private territory, but couldn't

make out much. It was a lot darker than she'd

expected, and colder. The chill she felt was compounded

by the knowledge that beneath them lay an

infinite and alien world, teeming with cold-blooded

life.

Rebecca saw a flash of soft light as David raised a

pair of NV binoculars to watch for movement on the

shore. The infrared illuminator's glow spilled across

his face for an instant before he adjusted their position,

making his features strange and craggy.

Now that they were actually doing it, actually on

their way, she felt better than she had all day. Not

relaxed, by any means—the dread was still there, the

fear of the unknown and for what they might encounter—

but the feelings of helplessness, the mindnumbing

anxiety she'd lived with since the incident in

Raccoon, had eased, giving way to hope.

We're doing something, taking the offensive instead

of waiting for them to get to us ...

"I see the fence," David said softly, his face a pale

smudge in the bobbing dark.

We'll pass the dock next, maybe see the buildings as

the land slopes up to the lighthouse, to the caves ...

Water slopped at the raft, the sound of muted waves

growing as the small craft rocked and shuddered.

Rebecca felt her heart speed up. While she liked

looking at the ocean, she wasn't all that thrilled to be

out in it; as a kid, she'd seen Jaws one time too many.

She kept her focus on the shore, trying to judge how

close they were, and felt as much as saw the land open

up as the tiny raft slipped through the lapping waves.

Maybe twenty meters away, the towering shadows of

trees gave way to a clearing. She could hear water

dashing lightly against the rocky shore, sense flat,

open space on both sides of them now. They had

reached the compound.

"There's the dock," David said. "John, veer starboard,

two o'clock."

Rebecca could just make out the faint, man-made

shape of the pier ahead of them, a dark line shifting

on the water. There was the hollow, lonely squeak of

metal rubbing wood, the small dock raised and straining

at its pilings. There were no boats that she could

see.

As the pier slipped past, Rebecca squinted into the

darkness beyond. She could just make out the blocky

outline of a structure behind the floating wood, what

had to be the boathouse or marina for the facility. She

couldn't see any of the other buildings from Trent's

map. There were six more besides the lighthouse, five

of them spaced evenly along the cove, set into two

lines that paralleled the shore - three in front, two

behind. The sixth structure was directly in back of the

lighthouse, and they were all hoping that it was the

lab; they'd be able to get what they needed without

going through the whole compound ...

"Boathouse is wood, the others look like concrete.

I don't ... wait," David's whisper became urgent.

"Somebody - two, three people, they just went

behind one of the buildings."

Rebecca felt a strange relief flood through her, relief

and disappointment and a sudden confusion. If there

were people, maybe the T-Virus hadn't been unleashed.

But that meant that the buildings would be

occupied, the grounds patrolled, making a covert

operation impossible.

Then why is it so dark? And why does it feel so dead

here, so empty?

"Do we abort?" Karen whispered, and before David

could respond, Steve gasped, a sharp intake of air

that froze Rebecca's blood, her thoughts fluttering

wildly in a spasm of primal fear.

"Three o'clock, big, oh Jesus it's huge ..."

BAM!

The raft was hit, heaved up and over in a fountain

of churning blackness. Rebecca saw a flash of sky,

smelled cold and rotting slime—and was plunged,

splashing, into the turbulent dark waters of the sea.

Water enveloped him, the icy, stinging salt burning

David's eyes and nose as he flailed desperately, lost

and breathless.

—where is it—

He'd seen it, an immense and pebbled plain of flesh

surging up from the black at the second of impact.

The surface pulled at him and he kicked against the

dragging depths, terrified. His head broke through to

air and an ominous quiet.

— where's the team—

David whirled around, gasping, heard a spluttering

cough to his left.

"Get to shore," he panted, turning in a circle, trying

to find their position, to find the creature's, cursing

himself for a fool.

Missing fishermen, haunted waters, stupid, stupid.

The raft was ten meters behind him, upside down,

disturbed water splashing at its sides. The force of the

attack had thrown them clear, actually knocking them

closer to land. He saw two bobbing shapes, faces

between him and the shore, heard more splashing as

another joined them. He couldn't see the unnatural

thing that had hit the raft but expected to feel the bite

any second, the cold puncture of dagger teeth tearing

him to pieces.

"Get to shore," he called again, his heart thundering,

his legs heavy and vulnerable, kicking, obvious.

Can't go in, three, where's four?

"David ..."

John's terrified shout, from beyond the floating raft.

"Here! John, this way, come this way, follow my

voice!"

John started toward him as David tread water,

propelling himself backward toward the rocky beach

and shouting all the while. He saw the top of John's

head appear, saw his arms pumping frantically

through the murky water.

"... follow me, I'm over here, we have to get ..."

A giant, pale shadow rose up smoothly behind the

soldier, at least three meters across, rounded and

dripping and impossible. Time jerked to a crawl, the

events unfolding in front of him in a slow motion

dream. David saw thick, tapering tentacles on either

side near the top of the rising shadow, saw a rounded

slash in the corpse-colored slickness -

- not tentacles, feelers -

- and realized that he was seeing the underbelly of

a monstrous animal that couldn't possibly exist, a

bottom feeder as big as a house. The black slash of its

mouth hissed open, revealing clusters of peg-like,

grinding teeth, each the size of a man's fist.

When it came down, John would be swallowed up

by the massive jaws. Or crushed. Or plowed into the

icy deep, a drowning meal for the creature.

In the instant it took him to absorb the facts, he was

already screaming.

"Dive! Dive!"

Time skipped forward and the beast was falling

forward, arching over, its long, thick serpent's body

dwarfing the raft, its shadow enveloping the frantic

swimmer. David caught a glimpse of bulbous, rolling

eyes the size of beach balls -

- and it crashed down, sending explosive plumes

of water high into the air, blotting out the stars in

sheets of foaming spray. Before David could draw

breath, a tremendous wave knocked into him, driving

him violently backward through the bubbling darkness.

There was rushing movement, a sense of helpless

speed as he struggled against the force that tore at his

limbs, struggled to find air in the sweeping torrent.

Kicking wildly, he surged upward through the liquid

veil, felt cold air slap at his skin and warm, human

hands yanking at his shoulders. He inhaled convulsively

as his boots scraped against rock and Karen's

ragged voice spoke behind him.

"Got him ..."

Staggering against the slimy rocks, David let himself

be dragged backward until he found his balance

and could turn around. Wet figures were reaching out,

Steve and Rebecca. . .

Oh my God, John . . .

"I'm okay," David gasped, stumbling forward, his

knees cracking numbly against larger rocks that his

blurred gaze denied him from seeing. "John, does

anyone see him?"

Nobody answered. He blinked away salt, reeling

around to face the splashing darkness, the settling

waves slapping at their feet.

"John ..." he called, as loud as he dared, searching,

seeing nothing at all. His heart was as cold as his

body, as heavy as the sodden weight of his Kevlar

vest.

—no life jackets, would've seen him by now—

He called again, hope dwindling. "John!"

A choking, strangled voice from the rocks to their

left. "What?"

David sagged in relief, taking a deep breath as

John's dripping figure staggered out of the shadows.

Steve lunged forward, grabbing the taller man's arm

and helping him lean against the rocks.

"I dove," John rasped out.

David turned and looked up, past the sliver of

pebbled, boulder-strewn beach to the darkness of the

compound. They were at the bottom of a short,

angled drop, in plain sight. The shock of the monstrous

fish - if it could be called that - was suddenly

unimportant in the light of that realization. They

were out of the water now.

Have they heard us? Seen? Won't make the caves

now, can't stay here ...

"The marina," he breathed, turning south,

"quickly!"

The team stumbled past him, Karen taking the

lead, the others following close. No one seemed

seriously injured, a miracle all its own. David jogged

after John, assessing the situation as his aching legs

carried him through the rocky dark.

Get to cover, bar the door, regroup, get to the fence.

The ground rose steeply in front of them, the pier

looming into view ahead. As they clambered up over

rocks, David heard a muffled clatter of metal, saw

Rebecca hugging the black, dripping shape of the

ammo pack to her chest. He felt a wisp of new hope

for their chances; if they could just make it inside,

somewhere safe . . .

The building was ahead on their right, silent and

dark, a closed door facing the wooden dock. There

was no way to know if it was empty, and though

barely ten meters away, the distance was open and

flat, weathered planking, not even a pebble to block

them from view.

No choice.

"Stay low," he whispered, and then they were

crouching their way to the structure, Karen reaching

the door first, pushing it open. No light spilled out, no

alarm sounded. Steve and Rebecca piled in behind

her, then John, then David, stumbling into the dark,

closing the wooden door after him with a wet, cold

shoulder.

"Stop where you are," he said softly, fumbling for

the halogen torch on his belt. Besides the gulping

breaths of his team, the room was still, but there was

a horrid smell in the close air, a fading stench of

something long dead. . .

The thin beam of light cut through the black,

revealing a large and mostly empty windowless room.

Ropes and life preservers hung from wooden pegs, a

workbench ran the length of one wall, a few saw

horses, cluttered shelves.

—my God—

The light froze on the room's other door, directly

across from the one they'd entered. The narrow beam

played across the source of the smell, highlighting

bare bone and a tattered, oily-stained lab coat. Dried

strings of muscle dripped in streamers from a grinning

face.

A corpse had been nailed to the door, one hand

fixed in a welcoming wave. From the look, it had been

dead for weeks.

Steve felt his gorge rise into his throat. He swallowed

it down, looking away, but the grotesque image

was already fixed in his mind - the eyeless face and

peeling tissue, the carefully splayed fingers pinned

into place...

Jesus, is that some kind of a joke? Steve felt dizzy,

still out of breath from the nightmarish swim, the

sloshing climb over the rocks, the horror of the

Umbrella sea monster. The dried, sour smell of rot

wasn't helping.

For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then David

cupped one hand over the light and started talking,

his voice low but amazingly even.

"Check your belts and drop your clips. I want

status, now, injuries then equipment. Take a deep

breath, everyone. John?"

John's solemn voice rumbled through the shadows

to Steve's left, accompanied by sounds of wet, fumbling

movement. Karen and Rebecca were to his

right, David still by the door.

"I got fish slime on me, but I'm okay. I've got my

weapon but my light's gone. So are the radios."

"Rebecca?"

Her voice was wavering but quick. "I'm fine - uh,

my weapon's here, and the flashlight, the med kit...

oh, and I've got the ammo."

Steve checked himself out as she spoke, unholstering

his Beretta and ejecting the wet mag, slipping it

into a pocket. There was an empty spot on his belt

where his light should have been.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, no injuries. Weapon but no light."

"Karen?"

"Same."

David's fingers shifted over the muted beam, allowing

a shallow glow to spill into the room. "No one's

hurt and we're still armed; things could be a lot worse.

Rebecca, pass out the clips, please. The fence can't be

more than fifty meters south from here, and there are

enough trees for cover, provided no one has seen us

yet. This operation is called, we're getting out of

here."

Steve accepted three loaded magazines from

Rebecca, nodding his thanks. He slapped one into the

semi, chambering a round automatically.

Great, fine, let's blow. That insane creature nearly

eating us, now Mr. Death dropping a casual wave, like

he was put there to say hello...

Steve wasn't easily frightened, but he knew a bad

situation when he saw it. He admired the S.T.A.R.S.

deeply, had wanted to go in on the operation to help

make things right, but with their boat gone and the

initial plan shot to shit, nailing Umbrella could wait.

David stepped closer to the decomposed figure, a

look of disgust curling his features in the shadowy

orange glow of the light. "Karen, Rebecca, come take

a look at this. John, take Rebecca's torch, you and

Steve see if you can find anything useful."

Rebecca handed her flashlight to John, who nodded

at Steve. The two men walked to one end of the long

workbench, the soft voices of the others carrying

across the still air.

"The T-Virus didn't do this," Rebecca said. "Pattern

of decay's all wrong..."

Silence, then Karen spoke. "See that? David, give

me the light for a sec..."

John hooded their flashlight with one large hand,

playing the beam across the dirty planks of the

counter. A broken coffee mug. A pile of greasy nuts

and bolts on top of a laminated tide chart. An electric

screwdriver, dusty and dented, a couple of bits on a

stained rag.

Nothing, there's nothing here. We should get out

before someone comes looking...

John opened a drawer and rummaged through it

while Steve tried to make out what was on an overhead

shelf. Behind them, Karen spoke again.

"He wasn't dead when they nailed him up, though

I'd say he was close. Definitely unconscious. There's

no smearing, suggesting he didn't struggle ... and

there are slide marks, here and here; I'd say he was

shot by the back door and dragged over."

John had finished digging through the drawer and

they moved on, boots squelching against the wood

floor. A set of socket wrenches. A cheap radio. A

crumpled paper bag next to a pencil nub.

Something snagged at Steve's thoughts and he

stopped, looking at the paper bag. The pencil...

He picked up the crunched ball, smoothing out the

wrinkles and turning it over. There were several lines

written near the bottom, scrawled and jerky.

"Hey, we found something," John called quietly,

shining the light on the writing as the others hurried

over. Steve read it aloud, squinting at the faintly

penciled words under the wobbling beam. There was

no punctuation; he did his best to work out the pauses

as he went.

". . . 'July 20. Food was drugged, I'm sick, I hid the

material for you, sent data. Boats are sunk and he let

the. . ."

Steve frowned, unable to make out the word.

Tris . . . tri-squads?

" 'Boats are sunk and he let the Trisquads out - dark

now, they'll come, I think he killed the rest -stop him -

God knows what he means to do. Destroy the lab - find

Krista, tell her I'm sorry, Lyle is sorry. I wish . . .'"

There was nothing more.

"Ammon's message," Karen said softly. "Lyle

Ammon."

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who

was hanging on the door. The sagging, seeping Mr.

Death had an identity now, for what it was worth.

And the message that Trent had given David was so

weird because the poor guy had apparently been

doped up when he sent it.

"Nice to put a face to the name, huh?" John

cracked, but not even he smiled. The desperate little

note had an ominous ring to it, with or without the

brutal murder to back it up.

What's a Trisquad? Who's "he"?

"Maybe we should look around a little more."

Rebecca began hesitantly, but David was shaking his

head.

"I think it's best if we leave this for now. We'll..."

He broke off as heavy, plodding footsteps sounded

across the wood deck, just outside the door they'd

come through. Everyone froze, listening. More than

one set, and whoever they were, they were making no

effort to hide their approach. They stopped at the

door and stayed there, no rattling knob, no crashing

kick, no other sound. Waiting.

David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen

and then to the other door, hung with the grisly

remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out,

Karen first.

They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve wincing

at every shifting creak they created, breathing

through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench

and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence

was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming

from in front of them, to the left, coming from the

direction of their escape.