NINETEEN
ONE MINUTE, IRONS WAS STANDING IN FRONT
of her, staring into her eyes with a terrible, wrenching
sorrow...
... and in the next, he was gone. Yanked into a hole
in the floor by an arm that she only caught a glimpse
of, a muscular, dripping arm with foot-long claws. It
whipped out of sight, taking Irons with it into the
darkness below.
There was another scream from the creature, a
powerful, lusty howl that was matched and then
surpassed by the intensity of Irons's terrified shriek.
Frozen by the piercing screams, Claire could only
listen, shock and relief and fear for herself battling
through her as the horrible cries swept up through the
open hole, pounding her ears in the cold, dismal
dungeon that Irons had created...
... until his cries burbled to a stop, only a second or
two later and the slurping, meaty, wet noises began.
Claire moved. She scooped up the handgun that
Irons had dropped and ran around the table in the
middle of the room, not wanting to be grabbed and
pulled under like he had.
It killed him, it killed him and he was going to kill
me...
The reality of what had just happened, what would
have happened, hit her all at once, turning her limbs
into rubber. Claire forced herself a few more steps
away from the open pit and collapsed against one
sweating stone wall, taking in great, whooping breaths
of the bitterly scented air.
He had been planning to kill her, but not right
away. She'd seen the way his mad gaze had crawled
over her body, heard the eager anticipation in his
crazy laugh.
There was a low, grunting sound from the corner, a
bestial sound, the growl of a well-fed lion. Claire
turned, raising the heavy gun, astounded that she
could feel any more horror...
... and something burst up from the hole, something
with flailing arms, and Claire fired, the shot
going wide. A glass bottle on a shelf exploded as the
thing hit the floor...
... and it was Irons, but only half of him. He had
been neatly bisected, cut in two by the thing that had
snatched him; everything below the fleshy waist was
gone, trails of torn skin and muscle hanging down
over the oozing pool of blood that had replaced his
legs.
Claire backed toward the door, the weapon still
trained on the opening and heard the creature, the
monster scream again, an echoing howl that faded
away, falling away into some distance that she
couldn't imagine. A second later, she couldn't hear it
at all; it was gone.
Sherry's monster. That was Sherry's monster.
She edged slowly toward the mangled corpse of
Chief Irons, toward the empty, yawning blackness of
the hole, but it wasn't all blackness. She could see
light filtering up from somewhere, enough to see that
there was another floor below, what looked like the
metal grid pattern of a catwalk and a ladder leading
toil.
A subbasement. . . a way out?
She stepped back from the opening, her thoughts
racing and disorganized, trying to absorb the information
along with what Irons had told her. Chris
wasn't in Raccoon, the S.T.A.R.S. were gone - a
wonderful, terrible relief, because it meant he was
safe, but also that he wasn't about to come running in
to save the day. There had been a spill at Umbrella,
which explained the zombies, at least, but what he'd
said about Birkin, about Birkin's virus . . . was that
Sherry's father?
And maybe the zombies are the result of some
laboratory accident, but what about all the other
things, Mr. X and the inside-out men?
The way Irons had ranted about Umbrella suggested
that while the accident was unexpected, the
pharmaceutical company wasn't some innocent victim.
What had he called it?
"T-Virus," she said softly, and shivered. "There
was Birkin's new virus, and there was the TVirus..."
The zombie disease had a name. And you didn't
name something unless you knew something about it,
which meant...
... which meant she didn't know what it meant. All
she knew was that she and Sherry needed to get out of
Raccoon, and the subbasement might be a way. It
wasn't a dead end, the monster that had killed Irons
had gone somewhere . . .
. . . and do you really want to follow it, with Sherry?
It could come back - and if it actually is looking for
her. . .
Not a happy thought, but then, neither was hitting
the streets, and the station was already crawling with
God knew what other creatures. Claire checked the
clip of the weapon Irons had held on her, counting
seventeen bullets. Not enough to face off with the
things in the station, but maybe enough to keep a
monster at bay. . .
It was a chance, but she was willing to take it. Claire
took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, collecting
herself. She needed to keep it together, for Sherry's
sake if not for her own.
She turned, looking down at the mangled remains
of the police chief. It was a terrible way to have died,
but she couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry. He had
been ready to rape and torture her, he had laughed
when she'd pleaded for her life, and now he was dead;
she wasn't happy about it, but she wasn't going to
shed any tears, either. Her only feeling about it was
that she should cover him up before she brought
Sherry down with her; the girl had seen enough
violence for one lifetime.
You and me both, kiddo, Claire thought tiredly, and
started to look around for something to drape over
the dead Chief Irons.
Leon caught up to her in the cold industrial hallway
that led to the sewer entrance, a few steps up from the
flooded subbasement. She'd run ahead to plant the
keys that would get them into the sewers, not wanting
to have to explain how she'd come by them; she'd just
managed to toss them into the boiler room before his
footsteps sounded on the metal steps behind her.
At least I don't have to fake being out of breath. . .
Ada could see by the look on his face that she
needed to smooth things over; she started talking the
second he stepped into the shadowy corridor.
"I'm sorry I ran," she said, offering him a nervous
smile. "I hate spiders."
Leon frowned, studying her - and looking into his
searching blue gaze, Ada realized she was going to
have to do better than that. She took a step closer to
him, not close enough to be invasive but enough so
that he could feel the heat of her body. Maintaining
eye contact, she tilted her head back to emphasize the
height difference between them; it was a little thing,
but in her experience, men generally responded well
to the little things.
"I guess I'm just in a hurry to get out of here," she
said quietly, losing the smile. "I hope I didn't worry
you."
He dropped his gaze, but not before she saw a
flicker of interest - confused and self-conscious, but
definitely interest. Which made it all the more surprising
when he stepped away.
"Well, you did. Don't do it again, okay? I may not
be much of a cop, but I'm trying - and God only
knows what we're going to run into down here."
He met her gaze again, speaking softly. "I came
with you because I want to help, I want to do my
job - and I can't do that if you go charging ahead.
Besides," he added, smiling a little, "if you run off,
who's going to help me?"
It was Ada's turn to look away. Leon was playing it
straight with her, openly admitting to his fears and
his response to her not-so-subtle flirtation had been to
step back and tell her that he wanted to be a good cop.
Interested, but not a fool for his tool. . . and man
enough to tell me that he's unsure of his abilities.
She was forced to smile back, but it was a shaky
affair. "I'll do my best," she said.
Leon nodded and turned to inspect the hallway,
letting the conversation drop - much to Ada's relief.
She wasn't sure what she thought of him, but was
uncomfortably aware that her respect for him was
growing; not a good thing, considering the circumstances.
There wasn't much to see in the damp, poorly lit
hall; two doorways and a dead end. The boiler room,
where she'd tossed the keys - or plugs, rather - was
directly in front of them, the sewer disposal entrance
in a back comer; according to the sign on the wall, the
other door opened into a storage closet.
Ada followed as Leon walked to the closest of the
two doors, the storage room, hanging back as he
pushed it open with his Magnum and stepped inside.
Boxes, a table, a trunk; nothing important, but at least
no creepy-crawlies. After a quick search, he stepped
back into the hall and they moved toward the boiler
room.
"How'd you learn to shoot like that, anyway?" Leon
asked as they stopped in front of the door. His tone
was casual, but she thought she detected more than
casual curiosity. "You're pretty good. Were you in the
military or something . . . ?"
Nice try, Officer.
Ada smiled, falling into her carefully rehearsed
character. "Paintball, believe it or not. I mean, I went
target-shooting some when I was a teenager, with my
uncle, but never got into it much. And then a few
years ago, a friend at work - we're both buyers at an
art gallery in New York - dragged me to one of those
weekend survival retreats, and we had a blast. You
know, hiking, rock-climbing, stuff like that - and
paintball. It's great, we go up every couple of
months . . . although I never thought I'd have to use it
for real."
She could actually see him buy it, see that he
wanted to buy it. It probably answered a few questions
that he'd been hesitant to ask.
"Well, you're better than a lot of the guys I graduated
the academy with. Really. So, you ready to get on
with this?"
Ada nodded. Leon pushed the door to the boiler
room open, scanning the ancient, rusting machinery
in the wide empty space before ushering her inside.
She made a point of not looking down, wanting Leon
to find the small wrapped package that she'd tossed in
a few moments earlier.
She hadn't gotten a good look before. The room,
shaped like a sideways "H," was fitted with corroded
railings and two massive old boilers, one on either
side. Fluorescent lights sputtered overhead, the few
that still worked casting strange shadows across the
metal pipes that ran down the water-marked walls.
The door that led into the sewer system was in the far
left corner, a heavy-looking hatch next to an inset
panel.
"Hey. . ." Leon crouched down, picking up the
bundle of plugs that would open the hatch. "Looks
like somebody dropped something. . ."
Before Ada could go through the charade of asking
him what he'd found, she heard a noise. A soft,
slithery noise, coming from the area in the right back
corner, neatly blocked from view by one of the
boilers.
Leon heard it, too. He stood up quickly, dropping
the bundle and raising the shotgun. Ada pointed her
Beretta toward the sound, remembering how the door
had been slightly ajar when she'd come up from the
subbasement.
Oh, hell. The implant.
She knew it even before it crawled into sight - and
was shocked anyway. The little bugger had grown, and
it had grovmfast, easily twenty times its former size in
half as many minutes - and it was still growing,
apparently at an exponential rate. In the few seconds
it took for the creature to move into the middle of the
room, it went from the size of a small dog to the
size - and bulk - of a ten-year-old child.
The shape had changed, was changing, too. It was
no longer the alien tadpole that had chewed its way
out of Bertolucci. The tail was gone, and the creature
that inched its way across the rusting floor had
developed limbs, stretching arms folding out of its
rubbery flesh. Claws popped out of the tan and
swimming skin that swirled over its body, accompanied
by a sound like gristle being punctured. Muscular
legs unfurled, liquid that snapped into sinewy
shape as its stuttering crawl became smoother, almost
feline. . .
The shotgun and Beretta sounded at the same time,
a string of massive blasts peppered with the higher
whine of the nine-millimeter. The creature was still
shifting, standing, mutating into a humanoid shape
and its response to the booming shots that smacked
into its twisting flesh was to open its mouth and
vomit, a grunting projectile scream of rotten green
bile that hit the floor and started moving. The stream
that gushed from its wide, flat face was alive and the
dozen or so crab-like creatures that tumbled out of the
monster's gaping mouth like liquid seemed to know
exactly where the threat was to their fetid, mutant
womb. The skittering, multi-legged animals swarmed
toward Ada and Leon in a silent wave as the implant
monster took one massive step forward, pulsing cords
standing out on its impossibly long, thick neck.
Leon had the heavier firepower. "Got 'em!" Ada
shouted, already targeting and shooting at the closest
of the tiny, bilious green crabs. They were fast, but she
was faster; she pointed and squeezed, pointed and
squeezed, and the baby monsters exploded into small
fountains of dark, ichorous fluid, dying as silently as
they'd come.
Leon blasted again and again with the shotgun, but
Ada couldn't spare a glance to see how he was faring
with the mother beast. Five of the crawling babies left,
three more rounds and she'd be dry. . .
. . .and she heard the shotgun clatter to the floor,
heard the deeper but less powerful fire of the .50 AE
rounds resounding through the metal room as she
picked off" two more of the spidering creatures, and
her weapon clicked empty.
Without stopping to think, Ada let go of the Beretta
and dropped to the floor. She grabbed the shotgun by
the barrel, rolling up into a crouch beneath Leon's
line of fire, and swung the weapon down, hard. Two of
the mutant animals were smashed into goo by the
heavy stock, but the third, the last of them, sprang
forward in an unexpected burst of speed
and landed on her thigh, catching hold with
needle-sharp claws. Ada dropped the shotgun, crying
out as the animal scuttled up her leg, the warm, damp
weight of it making her frantic with disgust.
Off get it OFF. . .
She fell backwards, slapping at the creature that
had already reached her shoulder and was skittering
toward her face, toward her mouth...
... and then Leon was grabbing her, roughly pulling
her up with one hand as he snatched at the animal
with the other. Ada stumbled against him, clutching
at his waist to keep from falling. The bug clung
tenaciously to the tight fabric of her dress, but Leon
had a good grip. He tore it away, shouting as he flung
the flailing thing across the room.
"The Magnum!"
The weapon was stuck in Leon's belt. Ada jerked it
free, saw the creature land near the giant, motionless
heap that had birthed it, blasted to death by Leon...
... and fired, managing to get a clean shot despite
how off-balance she was, how deeply unnerved she
was by how close she'd come to being implanted. The
heavy round clanged against the floor, rust chips
spattering up and the creature was blown into an
ugly stain against the back wall. Obliterated.
Nothing moved, and the two of them just stood for
a moment, leaning against each other like survivors of
some sudden, terrible accident - which, in a way,
they were. The entire firefight had taken place in less
than a minute, and they had come out unscathed,
but Ada wasn't going to kid herself about how close it
had been, or what they had just managed to destroy.
G-Virus.
She was sure of it; the T-Virus couldn't have
created such a complicated creature, not without a
team of surgeons - and they'd seen it growing; how
big, how powerful would the creature have become if
they hadn't walked in when they had? The beast
might have been some early G-strain experiment, but
what if it had been the result of a leak? What if there
were more of them?
The sewers, the factory, the underground levels -
- dark, shadowy places, secret places, where anything
could be growing . . .
Whatever the situation, the trip to the labs wasn't
looking like a walk anymore and Ada was suddenly
very glad that Leon had decided to come along. Since
he was so goddamn insistent on going first, if something
attacked, she'd have a better chance of surviving...
"Are you okay? Did it hurt you?"
Leon, one arm still supporting her, looking into her
eyes with a heartfelt concern. Ada realized that she
could smell him, a clean, soapy smell, and pushed
herself away. She handed the Magnum back to him
and straightened her dress, studiously inspecting it for
rips to avoid looking at him.
"Thanks, I'm fine. Don't sweat it."
It came out harsher than she meant it to, but she
was rattled, and not just by the implant's vicious
attack. She glanced at him, and wasn't sure how to
feel when she saw that her response had caught him
off guard. He blinked slowly, and a kind of coolness
settled into his gaze, indicating a strength of character
that she hadn't bothered to give him credit for.
"Paintball, huh?" he said mildly, and without another
word, he turned to pick up the package she'd
planted.
Ada stared after him, telling herself how absolutely
ridiculous it was to care what he thought of her. They
were about to embark on a journey in which she
might have to desert him, or watch him sacrifice his
life in order to save her own . . .
. . . or kill him myself. Let's not forget that, friends
and neighbors. So who gives a shit if he thinks I'm an
ungrateful bitch?
Straight up. She should thank him, for reminding
her.
Ada stooped down to retrieve the shotgun, feeling
like she needed to do a better job of keeping her
priorities straight and feeling an emptiness inside
that she hadn't noticed in a long, long time.
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