TEN
THE FARTHER AWAY THEY GOT FROM THE
front of the concrete block, the less noxious the air,
for which Rebecca was deeply grateful. She'd been
seconds away from vomiting herself, the smell was
that bad - a greasy, oily stench that seemed almost
tangible, an entity in itself.
As they moved quietly through the well-lit hall, she
found herself thinking again about Nicolas Griffith,
about the story of the Marburg victims and although
there was no proof that he was behind the
mass slaughter of the Umbrella people, she couldn't
shake the feeling that he was responsible.
The corridor led them past several open rooms,
each as barren and sterile as the building they'd come
from. They passed an exit at the far side of the block,
and after another turn in the hall, finally came to a
door marked again with the letter A, and below it,
1-4. There were three triangles beneath the numbers,
each a different color - red, green, and blue.
David opened the door, revealing a much shorter
hall, stark fluorescent light spilling into the stale darkness;
there were two doors, one on either side. Steve
found the lights and turned them on, and Rebecca saw
that there were more of the colored triangles on the
door to their right. The other was blank.
"I'll take the test," David said. "Steve, you and
Rebecca check out the other room, we'll meet back
here."
Rebecca nodded, saw Steve do the same. He looked
a little pale, but seemed steady enough, though he
dropped his gaze when he noticed her looking. She
felt a pang of sympathy for him, realizing that he was
probably embarrassed for losing his lunch.
They opened the unlabeled door and stepped into
yet another windowless room, as stuffy and warm as
the rest of the building. Rebecca turned on the lights
and a rather large office lined with bookshelves flickered
into view. A steel desk sat in one corner next to a
filing cabinet, the empty drawers standing open.
Steve sighed. "Looks like another bust," he said.
"You want the desk or shelves?"
Rebecca shrugged. "Shelves, I guess."
He grinned almost shyly. "Just as well. Maybe I can
find some breath mints or something in one of the
drawers."
Rebecca smiled, glad that he'd made the joke.
"Save me one. I swallowed it down back there, but it
was a close call."
They locked gazes, still smiling and Rebecca felt
a tiny shiver of excitement run through her as the
second stretched, lingering a few beats longer than a
more casual exchange.
Steve looked away first, but his color had returned,
his cheeks slightly pinker than before. He moved to
the desk and Rebecca turned to face a row of books,
feeling a little flushed herself. There was a definite
attraction there, and it seemed to be mutual -
- and it's only about the worst time and place to
consider it, her mind snapped. Secure that shit, pronto.
The books were about what she might've expected,
considering what they knew about the Trisquads and
Umbrella. Chemistry, biology, a whole set of leatherbound
texts on behavior modification, several medical
journals. As Steve rummaged through the desk
behind her, she ran her hand along the row, pushing
the books toward the back of the shelf as she glanced
over the titles. Maybe there was something hidden
behind one of them.
... sociology, Pavlov, psych, psych, pathology ...
She stopped, frowning at a slender black volume
tucked between two larger books. No title. She pulled it
out and felt her heart speed up as she opened the small
book, seeing the spidery handwriting on the lined pages.
She flipped to the front, saw "Tom Athens" written
in neat letters on the inside cover.
One of the guys on the list, one of the researchers!
"Hey, I found a diary," she said. "It belongs to one
of the people from Trent's list, Tom Athens."
Steve looked up from the desk, his dark eyes flashing.
"No shit? Go to the back, what's the last date?"
Rebecca ruffled through the pages to the end, scanning
as she went. "Says July 18, but it doesn't look like
he kept it regular. The one before that is July 9 ..."
"Just read the last entry," Steve said. "Maybe it'll
tell us what was going on."
She walked to the desk and leaned against it,
clearing her throat.
" 'Juty 18, Saturday. It's been a long and ridiculous day,
the end of a long and ridiculous week. I swear to God, I'm
going to beat the crap out of Louis if he calls one more stupid
meeting. Today it was whether or not we should add a new
scenario into the Trisquad program, as if we need another
one. All he really wanted was to get it on paper, and the rest
of it was his usual bullshit - the importance of teamwork, the
need to share information so we can all "stay on the right
track." I mean, Jesus, it's like he can't live with the concept
that a weekly might go out without his name on it. And he
hasn't done dick since the Ma7 disaster, except to try and
convince everyone that it was Chin's fault; so much for not
speaking ill of the dead. Sanctimonious prick."
" 'Alan and I talked over the implants yesterday, that's
going well. He's going to write up the proposal this week,
and we're NOT going to let Louis touch it. With any luck,
we'll get a green light by the end of the month. Alan figures
the White boys are going to want to run it past Birkin,
though God only knows why; B. doesn't give a shit what
we're doing out here, he's off being brilliant again. I have to
admit, I'm looking forward to his next synthesis; maybe we
can work out some of the bugs in the Trisquads."
" 'There was a minor scare in D on Wednesday, in 101.
Somebody left the refrigerator open, and Kim swears that
there are some chemicals missing, though I'm starting to
think she miscounted again. Hard to believe she's in charge
of the infection process, the woman's a dite and she's sloppy
as hell when it comes to maintaining the equipment. I'm
surprised she hasn't managed to infect the entire compound.
God knows there's enough in there to do it."
" 'I should probably get over to D myself, make sure
everything's ready for tomorrow. Got a new batch shipping
in, and Griffith actually asked to watch the process; first
time he's come out of the lab in weeks, first time he's ever
taken an interest in what the rest of us are doing. I know it's
stupid, but I still want him to be impressed; he's as brilliant
as Birkin, in his own creepy way. I think he even intimidates
Louis, and Louis is generally too stupid to scare."
" 'More later.'"
The rest of the pages were blank. Rebecca looked up
at Steve, not sure what to say, her mind working to
glean the relevant bits of information from the rambling
tirade. There was something in there that bothered
her, something that she couldn't quite place.
Missing chemicals. Infection process. The brilliant,
creepy Dr. Griffith. . .
She no longer had any doubt that Griffith had killed
the others, but that wasn't what sent her internal
alarms jangling. It was. . .
"Block D," Steve said, a look of anxious fear
playing across his face. "If we're in A, Karen and John
are in D."
Where there's enough of the T-Virus to infect the entire
compound. Where the infection process took place.
"We should tell David," Rebecca said, and Steve
nodded, both of them moving quickly for the door,
Rebecca hoping desperately that John and Karen
wouldn't find room 101 and that if they did, they
wouldn't touch anything that could hurt them.
The test room was big, three of the walls lined with
open-ended cubicles. Once he'd turned on the lights,
he saw that the tests were clearly numbered and colorcoded,
the symbols painted on the cement floor in
front of each one.
All of the red series was on his left, closest to the
door. He saw brightly colored blocks and simple
shapes on the tables in each cubicle as he walked past,
heading for the back of the room. The green series
lined the wall opposite, though he ignored it entirely.
The back wall was marked with blue triangles, the
number four test in the far right corner.
As he neared the back of the room, he heard a faint
hum of power coming from the blue test area. There
was a small computer on the table in number two, a
keyboard and headset in three. As promised, the
series was activated - though what they were connected
to, he couldn't imagine.
Can't imagine and don't care. Once we solve these
little puzzles, we'll find whatever's been hidden for us
and get out, away from this cemetery. It can't happen
soon enough.
David had seen all he wanted to see of Caliban
Cove. The corpses in the front hall had been bad, but
it was the thoughts that they'd inspired that troubled
him, made him so suddenly eager to get his team out.
The Trisquads were dangerous and deadly, the monster
in the cove's waters had been horrible, but
somewhere in the facility lurked a monster of a
different kind entirely, one that had murdered his
own people and then stacked them like kindling in a
dark place. That kind of insanity chilled him far
worse than the immoral greed of Umbrella, and he
was afraid of what such a man might do to the
handful of soldiers trying to stop him.
We'll find the "material, "probably notes on Umbrella,
perhaps on the virus itself and then break for the
fence, get well away from this madness. Let the Feds
handle the rest. If they're smart, they'll blow up the
entire compound and gather the information from the
ashes...
He stopped in front of the last cubicle, returning his
attention to the task at hand. He wasn't sure what he
was expecting to see, but the set up of test number
four surprised him nonetheless. A table and chair,
utilitarian gray metal. On the table was a pad of
paper, a pencil, and an inexpensive chess set, all of the
pieces in place. As he stepped into the cubicle, he saw
that there was a metal plaque set into the surface of
the table, a string of numbers etched into the steel.
David sat in the chair, peering down at the numbers.
9-22-3//14-26-9-16-8//7-19-22//8-11-12-7
He frowned, looking up at the chess set and then
back at the numbers. There was nothing else to look
at; that was it. He quickly sorted through the clues of
Ammon's message, wondering which was supposed to
be the answer. Was it, "the letters and numbers
reverse," or "don't count"? Since there didn't seem to
be anything relating to time or a rainbow, it had to be
one of the two...
If the lines are in the same order as the tests, this is
the letter and number reversal. But what letters, there
aren't any ...
David smiled suddenly, shaking his head. The
numbers on the plaque didn't go any higher than 26;
it was a code, and a fairly simple one.
He picked up the pencil and quickly jotted down
the letters of the alphabet, then numbered them
backward; A was 26, B, 25, all the way back to Zed, 1.
Glancing back and forth between the plaque and the
paper, he wrote down the numbers and then started to
decipher the message.
R ... E ... X ... M ...
The final letter was a T, and he stared down at the
sentence, then at the chess board. It seemed that
somebody had a sense of humor.
REX MARKS THE SPOT.
"Rex" was Latin for "king."
White always goes first, so . . .
He reached out and touched the white king. As
soon as his finger contacted the piece, it swiveled in
place, turning around to face the back of the board. At
the same time, there was a soft, musical tone from
overhead. He looked up and saw a tiny speaker set
into the ceiling.
Nothing else happened, no flashing lights or secret
passageways opening up behind the wall. Apparently,
he'd passed.
How anti-climactic.
It seemed like an awfully complicated test for something
as supposedly mindless as a Trisquad zombie,
though perhaps the researchers had been making plans
for something else, something intelligent. . .
It was an unsettling thought, and not one he wanted
to ponder. He stood up and turned toward the front of
the room ...
... just as the door burst open, Rebecca and Steve
hurrying in, wearing matching expressions of fear.
"What is it?"
Rebecca held up a book, talking fast. "We found a
journal. It says that the strain of the virus used to
infect the Trisquads is in block D, in room 101.
Maybe everything's fine, but if John and Karen touch
anything that's been contaminated..."
He'd heard enough. "Let's go."
They turned and he strode past them, leading them
back the way they'd come, his thoughts racing. They
had passed an exit on the far side of the building, he
could send Steve and Rebecca to the next block over
while he went to D, just as originally planned, only
much faster, and now carrying the horrible, heavy
fear that two of his people might accidentally uncover
the T-Virus.
It won't happen, they'll be careful, the chances of one
of them getting a cut and then touching something
dangerous in a room that's bound to be marked as
some kind of a laboratory...
The reassuring facts did nothing to ease his mind.
They hurried toward the exit, a deepening knot of
dread settling into the pit of David's stomach.
They stood in the bright corridor at the center of D
block, silently listening for a sound that would tell
them David had come. From their position, they
should be able to hear any one of the three external
doors being used. After securing the building and
finding the test room, she and John had chocked open
all of the passages that led to the block's exits.
Karen checked her watch and then rubbed her eyes,
feeling a bit worn out from all of the night's events,
and still sickened by what they'd found in room 101.
Even John seemed unusually subdued, and definitely
quieter than normal. He hadn't cracked a single joke
since they'd walked back to begin their wait.
Maybe he's thinking about the gurneys, fixed with
bloody restraints. Or the syringes. Or the surgical
equipment heaped in the sink ...
They'd found the test room first, a large chamber
filled with little tables, each marked with numbers
between five and eight; Karen had been somewhat
disappointed to see that the blue series number seven
was just a handful of colored tiles with letters on
them, half of them upside down and unreadable. All
the colors corresponded to a rainbow's, though there
were two extra violet tiles in the heaped pile. Since
they couldn't risk messing with it until David had
completed the first test, she'd reluctantly turned away,
suggesting that they check out the rest of the block.
They'd gone through a couple of offices, empty, and
a cluttered coffee room, where they'd found a box of
incredibly moldy donuts and little else. It had been the
chemical lab that had told them the most about what
kind of place Umbrella had created - and although
Karen didn't believe in ghosts, the room had given her
a feeling like nothing she'd ever experienced before; it
was haunted, plain and simple, haunted by the misery
of fear and the cold, nazi-esque precision of scientists
committing atrocities against their fellow man.
"You thinking about that room?" John asked softly.
Karen nodded, but didn't say anything. John seemed
to sense her unspoken desire not to talk about it, for
which she was thankful. The weight of her good luck
charm was the only other comfort she felt at the
moment, and she longed to take it out, to feel reassured
by memories of her father and successful missions gone
by. Anything to take her mind off the lab room...
The outer door to 101 was clearly marked with a
biohazard symbol and they'd briefly discussed not going
in at all, John arguing against entering a possibly
contaminated environment. Karen had pointed out that
neither of them had any cuts or abrasions, and that they
might find something about the T-Virus to take with
them. The truth was, she couldn't stand to let such an
opportunity pass; she wanted to see what was behind
the closed door, because it was there. Because leaving it
unopened would get under her skin.
John had finally agreed and they'd gone in, stepping
into a small entryway that was draped with sheets of
heavy plastic. There were shower nozzles overhead
and a drain set into the floor; a decon area. A smaller
second door had opened up into the room itself,
leading them into a mad scientist's dream.
Glass, crunching underfoot. A tired smell of anxious
sweat beneath the acrid odor of bleach.
John found the lights and even before the large
room snapped into view, Karen felt her heart start to
pound. There was a dark tension that filled the air, a
sense of foreboding that radiated from the very walls.
It looked like a dozen other lab facilities she'd worked
in; counters and shelves, a couple of metal sinks, a
large, stainless steel refrigeration unit in one corner
with a lock on the handle. And somehow, that was the
worst, that the environment was so familiar, a place
she'd always felt at home.
The few differences were dramatic ones. The room
was dominated by a stainless autopsy table, fitted with
velcro restraints and there were two additional hospital
gurneys next to it, likewise fitted. As she walked
over to look at one of them, she saw the dark, dried
stains at either end; the thin pad was soaked with
blood from where a man's ankles and wrists would be.
In the back of the room was a cage the size of a large
walk-in closet, heavy bars surrounding an unpadded
bench. Next to the cage, several slender poles leaned
against the wall, each a meter or so in length and
tipped with hypodermic needles. They were the kinds
of instruments used to drug wild animals, allowing
the person operating them not to get within reach.
Karen looked down at the gurney, lightly touching
the long-dried stain, wondering what kind of person
could have willingly participated in such an experiment.
The crust of blood was old, powdery, and filled
her with thoughts of what the victims must have
endured, waiting in the cage, perhaps watching as
some gloved madman injected a toxic, mutating virus
into a helpless human being...
It was a bad place, a place of evil deeds. They'd
both felt it, both been affected by the realization of
what had gone on there.
Karen's right eye itched, distracting her from the
terrible remembrance, drawing her back to the present.
She rubbed at it, then looked at her watch again.
It had been only twenty minutes since the team had
split, though it felt longer.
There was a sound of a door opening, followed by
David's excited shout through the corridor. He'd
come in through the west entrance.
"Karen, John!"
John grinned at her, and she felt a wave of relief;
David was okay.
"Here! Keep walking!" John called back. "Take a
right at the tee!"
His footsteps pounded through the hall. In a few
seconds, he appeared at the comer and jogged toward
them, his face tight with concern.
"Is everything. . ." Karen started to ask, but David
cut her off.
"Did you find the laboratory room? Room 101?"
John frowned, his smile fading. "Yeah, it's back the
way you came."
"Did either of you touch anything? Do you have
any cuts, any small wounds that might have come in
contact with anything?"
Their confusion must have shown. David spoke
quickly, looking back and forth between them. "We
found a journal, naming it as the room where they
were infecting the Trisquads."
John smiled again. "Well, no shit. We figured that
much out in about two seconds."
Karen held out her hands, turning them over for
David to see. "Not a scratch."
David exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. "Oh,
thank God. I had the worst feeling all the way over that
something had happened. We found the researchers in
block A; Ammon was right, he killed them and our
'he' has a name now. Rebecca seems certain that it's
Nicolas Griffith. He was the one she recognized from
Trent's list, and he has a rather sordid history, she can
fill you in when we regroup. . ." He shook his head, a
wavering smile on his lips. "I just ... I suppose I let my
imagination run wild for a moment."
John smiled wider. "Jeez, David, I had no idea you
cared. Or that you thought we'd be stupid enough to
stick ourselves with dirty needles in a place like
this."
David laughed, a soft, shaky sound. "Please accept
my sincerest apologies."
"Where are Steve and Rebecca?" Karen asked.
"Probably in the next test area by now. I saw them
safely off to block B before I came here ... did you
find test seven?"
"This way," John said, and as they started down the
hall, he began to recount their run-in with the Trisquads.
Karen followed, rubbing at the maddening, elusive
itch in her right eye. She must have irritated it with all
of the rubbing, it seemed to be getting worse. And to
top things off, she felt a headache coming on.
She wiped at her eye, sighing inwardly at the timing.
She never got headaches unless she was coming down
with something. The swim in the ocean must have set
her up nicely for a cold and from the building throb
in her head, it was going to be a nasty one.
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