ELEVEN
AFTER HE'D INSTRUCTED ATHENS AND SENT
him on his way, he'd prepared the syringes and
decided on a place to hide. There was nothing left for
him to do but wait. In spite of his earlier feelings of
confidence, he was nervous now, pacing through the
lab restlessly. What if Athens had forgotten how to
load a rifle? What if the enclosure release didn't work,
or the intruders had the firepower to stop the Ma7s?
He'd tried to prepare for every possibility, each plan
unfolding into a backup, but what if everything
failed, if all of them fell through?
I'll kill them myself, I'll strangle them with my bare
hands! They will not stop me from doing what must be
done. They can't - not after all I've accomplished, not
after everything I've been through to get to where I
am . . .
For the second time that day, he flashed back to the
takeover of the compound ... the strange, vivid images
of that bright and sunny day less than a month
ago. Instead of blocking the thoughts as he'd done
before, he let them come, inviting them in to remind
him of what he was capable of doing when the
need arose. He abruptly stopped pacing and moved to
a chair, collapsing into it and closing his eyes.
A bright and sunny day...
Once he'd realized what had to be done, he'd
planned it for over two weeks, working over each
detail tirelessly until he'd been satisfied that every
variable had been addressed. He'd spent time reading
about the Trisquads and going through the master
logs, memorizing the routine of the facility. He'd
watched the habits of his colleagues, learned their
schedules until he could have recited them backward.
He'd stared for hours at the sketches he'd made of
each building, walking through them in his mind a
thousand times. After careful consideration, he chose
a date and several days before, he'd slipped into the
Trisquad processing room and stolen several small
vials of extremely powerful medication.
Kylosynthesine, Mamesidine, Tralphenide - animal
tranquilizers and a synthesized narcotic, some of Umbrella's
finest work. . .
It had only taken him an afternoon to get the mix
the way he'd wanted it, just as he'd hoped. Then he'd
waited, much as he was waiting now. . .
The day before his plan was to unfold, he'd watched
a Trisquad processing and then asked Tom Athens to
come to the lab after dinner to privately discuss some
thoughts he'd had on intensifying the suggestibility
factor. Athens had been only too happy to accept, had
listened eagerly to Griffith's description of the strain
he'd already created - couched in hypothetical terms,
of course - and after a nice, hot cup of laced coffee,
Athens had become the first to experience Griffith's
miracle.
Griffith smiled, remembering those initial glorious
moments, the very first -and truly the most important
test of the strain's effectiveness. He'd told
Athens that the only voice he could hear was that of
Nicolas Griffith, that all others would be meaningless
Babble and the suggestion had taken as easy as that.
In the early hours of that fateful morning, he'd played
a tape of one of Athens's own lectures for the compliant
doctor and the doctor had heard nothing but gibberish.
If it had failed, Griffith would have aborted the
takeover, no one the wiser. He'd had an unfortunate
accident in mind if the strain hadn't worked the way
it was supposed to; Athens's body would have been
found the next day, washed up on the rocky beach.
But the incredible success of his creation had proved
beyond doubt that it was meant to be, that he really
had no choice but to continue. . .
. .. and so, the kitchen. The drops of sedative in the
coffee cups, on the pas tries, injected oh so carefully into
the fruit and dissolved into the milk, the juices . . .
Of the nineteen men and women who lived and
worked in Caliban Cove, only one regularly skipped
breakfast and didn't drink coffee, Kim D'Santo, the
ridiculous young woman who worked with the
T-Virus; Griffith had sent Athens to slit her throat as
she lay sleeping, before the sun came up. . .
. . . and it was a bright and sunny day, cloudless and
clear as they gobbled their breakfasts and swallowed
their coffee, walking out into the cool morning air,
collapsing to the ground, many of them not making it
out of the cafeteria before they stumbled and fell, a few
crying out that they 'd been poisoned as the words failed
them and the drugs sent them to sleep.
Griffith frowned, trying to remember what had
happened next. He'd selected Thurman, unable to
resist the petty pleasure of showing the good doctor
what he'd created. Then Alan Kinneson, although he
hadn't given the gift to Alan until later, keeping him
sedated...
He knew the facts: Thurman and Athens had disposed
of the workers and piled them in block A. Lyle
Ammon had managed to keep himself hidden for a
time, but had been found by the Trisquads later that
evening. Griffith had eaten a late supper and gone to
bed, waking up early to move papers and software to
the lab. These were facts, things that he knew, but
for some reason, the reality had blurred and he
couldn't actually remember what he had seen, what
had transpired for him the rest of that day.
Griffith searched through his thoughts, concentrating,
but could only find the same hazy and uncertain
images: a blinding mid-day sun, bathing the sleeping
bodies in red. The scream of a gull over the cove,
relentless and wild, calling to the hot wind. A coppery
smell of dirt and, and...
...blood on my hands, on the scalpel that glittered
wet and sharp and plunged into soft, yielding flesh of
faces and bellies and eyes and later, the thundering
crash of waves in the dark and the spool of fishing line
and Amman, Amman, waving...
His eyes snapped open and the nightmare was over.
Shaken, Griffith looked around at the cool, soft light of
the laboratory. He must have dozed off for a moment,
must have. Yes, that was it. He'd fallen asleep and had
a terrible dream.
He looked at the clock, saw that only a few moments
had passed since he'd sent the two doctors out.
He felt a rush of relief, realizing that he hadn't been
asleep for very long, but as the relief ebbed, he felt
the nervousness slip back into his body, jittering and
pulsing anxiety about the intruders that had come to
his facility.
They won't stop me. It's mine.
Griffith stood up and started to pace restlessly, back
and forth, waiting.
The "time rainbow" test, number seven, took only
a moment longer to complete than test number four,
what David had started to think of as the "chess test."
John and Karen had shown him to the small table in
the big room, standing behind him as he'd uprighted
the colored tiles and laid them out. Beneath the heap
of nine rainbow-shaded pieces was an elongated indentation,
perhaps a foot long and two inches across;
it was clear that just seven of the tiles would fit.
Seven colors in the rainbow, seven tiles. Simple. So
why are there nine of them?
David ordered the pieces by their colors, placing
them in a row beneath the indentation. Each bore a
different letter on the top, inked in black. Red, orange,
yellow, green, blue, indigo and three violet tiles
with three different letters.
"Is it supposed to spell something?" John asked.
Going from left to right, the first six tiles read, J F M
A M J.
"Not in English," Karen said mildly.
The three violet pieces were J, M and P.
David sighed. "It's one of those where you have to
figure out the next in the series," he said. "Apparently
relating to time. Any thoughts?"
John and Karen both stared down at the puzzle,
studying the letters; he wondered if they were as tired
as he was starting to feel. John seemed distinctly less
chipper than usual, and Karen looked fairly wiped
out, her skin pale and gaze somewhat distant.
Of course they're tired, but at least they're making
an attempt. . .
David looked back at the colored pieces and tried to
focus, but couldn't seem to manage a single coherent
idea. It had been an awfully long day, periods of
intense concentration interspersed with violent rushes
of adrenaline. He'd run through fear, self-doubt, determination
and then fear again, plus a handful of less
clear-cut emotions. Now he just felt frazzled, waiting
to see what would come next...
John grinned suddenly, a triumphant light in his
eyes. "The letters stand for the months - January,
February, March, April, May, June - July. It's J, the
last letter is J."
"Brilliant," David said. He started to place the tiles
in the indentation as John nudged Karen with his
elbow, still grinning. "And you thought all I was good
for was easy sex."
As usual, Karen didn't bother answering. Relieved
to be through the second test, David pushed the last
piece into place. There was a faint click and the
rainbow lowered very slightly, perhaps a millimeter.
From above them, a gentle chime sounded from a
speaker, this one hidden by a fluorescent bar.
"That all I get?" John quipped. "No parade?"
David stood up, smiling tiredly. "I felt the same
way with the other one. We should get moving, see
how Steve and Rebecca are making out."
"Interesting way of putting it, David," John said,
chuckling. "Nice one."
It took David a moment to get it, though Karen
rolled her eyes almost immediately, then scratched
at them. When she took her hand away, David saw
that her right eye was extremely bloodshot. The left
was also slightly discolored, though not as badly.
She noticed his scrutiny and smiled at him, shrugging.
"I irritated it somehow. It itches, but it's fine."
"Don't rub it, you'll make it worse," David said,
leading them toward the door. "And have Rebecca
take a look when we get across."
They walked back into a connecting corridor and
started for the back exit, David steeling himself for
another dash across the compound. By his count,
they'd managed to take down three of the Trisquads
in full; three men outside of the boathouse and a
fourth on the run to the first building, then John and
Karen's five between blocks C and D.
Useful information, if you happen to know how
many of the squads there were to begin with.
He ignored the inner sarcasm as they reached the
metal door, Karen leaning back to turn off the overhead
light. They pulled out weapons and took deep
breaths, preparing and David felt a familiar sensation
wash over him, one that he'd experienced before
in tight situations but had never been able to name. It
wasn't a feeling so much as a state of existence and
although not a religious man, it was the closest thing
he'd found to a belief in fate, a sense that there were
patterns at play beyond the realm of human influence.
Whatever was going to happen, whatever was already
happening even as they readied themselves to
step back outside - all of the deciding factors were
now firmly in place, interlocking like pieces of a
puzzle. He felt it with a certainty that denied reason.
It was as though a great wheel of chance that determined
outcome, that would show them life or death,
success or failure, had been set into motion and was
now spinning toward its inevitable conclusion - only
instead of slowing down, the wheel would turn steadily
faster, speeding up as it revealed to them what the
cosmos had planned.
In the past, he'd often found comfort in the sudden
awareness of that spinning wheel, the undefinable
sense that the outcome had been decided and all
anyone could do was watch it unfold. When he'd been
a child and his father had been on one of his drunken,
abusive rampages, the belief in a bigger picture had
sometimes been the only thing that saved him from
total despair. This time, though ... this time, it felt
like a terrible thing, a dark and whirling carnival ride
that they had boarded by mistake, not realizing the
truth until it was too late, that they couldn't go back,
and there was no avoiding whatever lay ahead.
We hang on, then. We do what we can.
David stepped to the door, flicking the Beretta's
safety off. Whether or not they had any control over
what was to come, Rebecca and Steve were waiting.
The test room was quiet except for the soft hum
from the machines marked with blue numbers, nine
through twelve, and the occasional rustle of a turning
page as Rebecca went through Athens's journal. Steve
sat on the edge of a table and watched her read, his
thoughts restless and uneasy as they waited for the
others to show up. His chest ached mildly, both from
the small caliber round he'd taken earlier and the
anxious build of worry for John and Karen.
After a quick look at the other rooms in the
building, they'd both agreed that the test room was
the place to wait. It seemed that block B of the
Umbrella facility was mostly devoted to surgical
aspects of the bio-weapons research, the rooms all
white and steel, ominously stark and unpleasant.
Although the building was as stuffy and warm as the
others they'd been in, Steve had felt a physical chill as
they'd passed the empty operating rooms - as if the
chambers themselves had taken on the characteristics
of the T-Virus creatures. Cold and lifeless and somehow
mindlessly black with purpose. . .
Rebecca looked up, her eyes flashing with excitement.
"Listen to this:
'"They're still waiting for our feedback on expansion
ever since Griffith revved up the amp time. 'We've got the
space for up to twenty units, but I'm going to hold strong on
a max of twelve; we wouldn't be able to concentrate on
training more than four squads at a time. Ammon said he'll
back me up if there's any hassle.'"
Steve nodded, half dismayed and half relieved by
the information. They'd already knocked one of the
Trisquads out of the running, plus seriously wounded
or killed a couple of the individuals on another team;
that was good. On the other hand, it meant that there
were still a couple of the squads roaming around out
there - unless they're currently "engaged" with David
and the others. . .
He scowled inwardly, grasping for something else
to think about.
"Do you know what that means, 'revved up the
amp time'?"
Rebecca nodded slowly, worry creasing her brow.
"I'm pretty sure he means that Griffith sped up the
amplification process. Amplification is the term for a
virus's spread through a host."
That didn't sound like something he wanted to
think about either. By some unspoken agreement,
they hadn't talked about the possibility of John or
Karen being infected since David had left.
"Great. You find anything else in there?"
She shook her head. "Not really. He mentions the
Ma7s a couple of times, but nothing more specific
than that they're a T-Virus experiment that didn't
work. And he's definitely kind of an asshole."
"Kind of?"
Rebecca smiled briefly. "Okay, that's an understatement.
He's a money-hungry, amoral bastard."
Steve nodded, thinking about the partial report
they'd found on the Trisquads and for that matter,
the very existence of the facility. Calling the T-Virus
victims "units," setting up operating rooms and aptitude
tests to run them through like rats in a maze -
- it's like they can't acknowledge that they're performing
their experiments on human beings, on real
people...
"How could they do this?" he asked softly, as much
to himself as to Rebecca. "How did they sleep at
night?"
Rebecca gazed at him solemnly, as if she had an
answer but wasn't sure how to say it. Finally, she
sighed. "When you specialize in one field, particularly
when it's a field that demands linear thinking and a
very defined focus on only one tiny element of something
- it's kind of hard to explain, but it's frighteningly
easy to get lost in that single element, to forget
there's a world outside of that element. When you
spend your days looking into a microscope, surrounded
by numbers and letters and processes...
some people get lost. And if they were unstable to
begin with, the ambition to pursue that element can
take over, making everything else unimportant."
Steve saw what she was getting at and was impressed
anew with how thoughtful she was, how
clearly she communicated herself...
... all that and a smile that lights up a room; if -
- when we get out of this, I'm moving to Raccoon City.
Or I'll at least find out if she's seeing anyone...
There was a sound from somewhere in the building,
footsteps. Steve pushed himself off the table and
walked quickly to the door.
He leaned out into the corridor and heard David's
voice calling through the empty block.
"In the back!" Steve shouted, then waited, anxiously
watching the corner in the hall for David to
walk into view, John and Karen both healthy and
smiling beside him. Rebecca moved to stand next to
Steve, and he saw the same concern and hope written
across her delicate features.
Instinctively, he groped for her hand, feeling a
tingling jolt as their fingers touched, half expecting
her to pull away, but she didn't, leaning against him
instead as she held his hand gently, her skin soft and
warm on his.
John's booming voice preceded him down the corridor,
loud and full of bright good humor. "Get your
clothes on, kids, you've got company!"
She dropped his hand quickly, but the look that she
flashed him more than made up for it - a sweet and
wistful expression that made his heart skip a beat,
but there was a maturity there, too, a realization of
the circumstances they were in, an acknowledgment
of priorities.
No more until we're out of here.
He nodded slightly, and they turned to wait for the
others.
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