TWENTY-EIGHT
ANNETTE BIRKIN CRAWLED OUT FROM BENEATH
the crushing weight of the cold metal, still
holding the gun, the G-Virus gone. As she opened her
mouth to scream her fury, to rail to the Gods at the
injustice of her terrible plight, blood dribbled out
across her lips in a thick streamer of clotted drool.
- mine mine mine -
Somehow, she made it to her feet.
Ada told herself that she didn't deserve Leon Kennedy's
good opinion anyway. She'd never deserved it.
Forgive me . . .
As he ran back across the catwalk from the transport
bay area and swung west, running blind with fear
for her, she stepped out of the hub's shadows and
pointed the Beretta at his back.
"Leon!"
He spun around, and Ada felt her throat lock at the
relief that spread across his face and struggled not
to feel anything more as the joy turned sour, his grin
fading.
Oh, Jesus, forgive me!
"I've been waiting for you," she said, and felt no
pride at how smooth and steady her voice sounded.
How very cold.
The alarms blared, the mechanical voice almost as
icy as hers, telling them that the fail-safe couldn't be
shut down. She didn't have time to let him get used to
the idea, that she was as much a monster as the
Birkin-thing or one of the soulless zombies.
"The G-Virus," she said. "Give it to me."
Leon didn't move. "She was telling the truth," he
said, no anger but more pain than Ada wanted to
hear. "You work for Umbrella."
Ada shook her head. "No. Who I work for is no
concern of yours. I ... I ..."
For the first time in years, since she'd been a very
young girl, Ada felt the sting of tears and suddenly
she hated him for that, for making her hate herself.
"I tried!" she wailed, her composure blown by the
fierce torrent of anger that coursed through her. "I
tried to leave you, back in the factory! And you had to
take it from Birkin, didn't you, you couldn't just leave
it alone!"
She saw pity on his face, and felt the fury pass,
swept away on a wave of sorrow for what she'd lost,
with him; for the part of herself she'd lost a long, long
time ago.
She wanted to tell him about Trent. About the
missions in Europe and Japan, about how she'd
become what she was, about every event in her
miserable, successful life that had brought her to this
place - holding a weapon on a man who'd saved her.
A man she might have cared about, in a different time
and place.
The clock was ticking.
"Hand it over," she said. "Don't make me kill
you."
Leon stared into her eyes, and said, simply, "No."
A second gone, then another.
Ada lowered the Beretta.
Leon steeled himself for the shot, for the bullet
from Ada's gun that would kill him...
... and she slowly lowered the weapon, her shoulders
sagging, a tear running down one porcelain
cheek.
Leon blew out his held breath, feeling too many
things, a jumble of sadness and betrayal - and pity,
for the tortured struggle in her beautiful dark gaze
and a shot rang out from the shadows behind
her. Ada's eyes went wide, her mouth falling open as
she pitched forward, the gun hitting the floor, her
body hitting the rail and flipping over.
"Ada, no!"
He ran and dove, and somehow she caught the rail
as he grabbed her wrist, her body dangling over the
bottomless dark, blood spouting from her hanging,
shattered shoulder.
"Ada, hold on!"
* * *
"Mine," Annette whispered.
She raised the handgun again, intending to shoot
the other, to take back what was hers, to make them
all pay...
... and the gun was too heavy, it was falling, and she
was falling with it. Together, they fell to the dark
metal, the dark, the dark spinning up into her mind
and finally taking her pain away.
William...
It was her very last thought before she went to sleep.
The door opened into a room filled with screaming
machines, the howls and hisses of the humming,
rattling giants drowning out the shrill call of the alarm
warning.
Claire ran, pulling and pushing Sherry along, looking
desperately for a way out, knowing that the
monster was close.
What does he want, why us?
There, a platform in the corner some six feet off the
floor, a stack of crates pushed to one side just beneath
it.
"This way!" Claire screamed, and they ran, past the
rows of shuddering metal consoles, heat pouring from
the machines as Claire pushed Sherry up and then
climbed after her.
Crash!
She turned, saw that the massive creature was
ripping through the door across the room, striding
into the screaming heat and searching, searching...
At the end of the platform, a double metal hatch.
They dashed for it, Claire not thinking of anything
but how to get away, how to destroy a thing that had
survived all that it had...
... the door was unlocked, and they ran onto another
platform; the heat in the shadowy chamber was
searing, terrible...
... and a dead end. Claire saw that before they'd
taken a half-dozen running strides into the massive
room. They were on the overseer's platform in a
foundry, the boiling heat rising up from the heavy
smelting vats below.
She had twelve bullets, split between two guns.
Claire stumbled to the edge of the platform, Sherry
next to her, the electric orange of the molten metal
bathing them in its fevered glow. Hot enough to burn
anything...
How? How do I make him jump?
"Sherry, go over there!"
She pointed to the farthest corner of the platform,
and Sherry shook her head, her small face trembling
with fear.
"Do it! Now!" Claire shouted, and with a cry of
terror, Sherry ran, her locket banging against the open
flaps of the denim vest -
- not a locket -
- and Sherry screamed, and Claire turned, and
Mr. X was coming.
He walked into the chamber, as stiff and huge and
impossible as when she'd first seen him, the eerie
orange light turning him into even more of a nightmare.
Claire stood her ground, jamming Irons's gun
into her shorts, the half-formed plan running through
her frightened mind. It probably wouldn't work but
she had to try -
- he reaches for me, I jump over the railing, I grab
on, he falls -
Mr. X turned his blank gaze toward her as he took
his floor-shaking, measured steps, the black bullet
holes in his face and throat just pockets of shadow in
the smooth, terrible pumpkin light...
... and he turned toward Sherry, and raised his fists,
and started for her.
"Hey! Hey, I'm here!" Claire screamed, and he
didn't hear her, didn't see her, his entire monstrous
being focused on the cowering, sobbing girl huddled
against the far wall, clutching her locket...
... and Claire knew what he wanted. The half
remembered phrases from both Sherry and Annette
came together in a flash of awareness, forming the
answer.
G-Virus, rip her apart, good luck charm.
Not a locket.
"Sherry, he wants the necklace! Throw it to me!"
If she was wrong, they were both dead. Mr. X
closed in on the girl, blocking her from Claire's
view...
... and the pendant, the G-Virus pendant that Annette
Birkin had inflicted on her young daughter came
flying through the heated dark, hitting the floor in
front of Claire's feet.
Mr. X reeled around, following the path of the
thrown pendant with his black eyes, forgetting Sherry
the second the necklace left her grasp. It was true.
Good girl!
Claire scooped it up, waving it at the monster,
feeling a rush of incredible anger and malicious glee
as the bloated giant started toward her with unwavering
intent, fists raising again, his lifeless features fixed
on the glittering pendant.
"You want this?" Claire taunted, the words spilling
out of the fury, for the wasted bullets, for the fear that
she and Sherry had suffered. "Yeah? Then come and
get it, you miserable, mindless freak!"
The monster was less than five feet away when
Claire turned and threw it into the bubbling, burning
hot pool, the necklace disappearing into the melted
iron...
... and the superman creature that had terrorized
them throughout the endless night walked straight
into the rail, the metal bars snapping in his allpowerful
wake...
... and plunged silently into the giant vat, a great
wave of sizzling metal sloshing over the blackened
sides, spontaneous eruptions of flame dancing up
from the dark shape of his body as he disappeared
beneath the surface of the molten lake.
Triumph, sweet and wonderful - and then the cool
voice of the recording changed suddenly, wiping away
the joy of seeing Mr. X take a lava bath.
Over the shrill blasts of the mechanical sirens.
"There are five minutes to reach minimum safe
distance. All remaining personnel should evacuate
immediately. Please report to the bottom platform.
Repeat, please report to the bottom platform. Repeat..."
Sherry was at her side, and Claire grabbed her
hand, and they ran.
The pain was incredible, and Ada closed her eyes,
wondering if she would die from it.
"Ada, hang on! Just hang on, I'll pull you up!"
Through the throbbing, pounding sirens that assaulted
her ears, Ada heard the countdown for the
fail-safe start to run. Five minutes.
He tries to save me, we both die.
Leon's grip was strong, the determination in his
panicked, pleading voice almost as strong as her own
will. Almost, but not quite.
Ada turned her face up to his, saw that in spite of it
all, he still wanted her to survive, he wanted to help
her up and carry her away to the safety of escape.
Not this time. Not for me. . .
Her life had been about selfishness, about ego and
greed. She'd seen a lot of good people die, and
somewhere along the way, she'd lost the ability to
care - telling herself that even the effort was a waste
of time and a sign of weakness.
And I was wrong, I was selfish and wrong and now
it's too late.
Not too late. Whatever waited beneath her, the
decision was made.
"Leon, go down, west, and find the cargo room,
past the row of plastic chairs. You'll need the disk,
it's in my ... pouch..."
"Ada, I have it! Cargo disk, right, I have it, I found
it - don't talk, just hold on, let me help you!" He
fumbled at the rail, trying to maintain his grip.
Talking was a horrible effort, but she had to finish,
had to tell him before time ran out.
"The code is 345. Get to the elevator, Leon. Take it
down. The subway tunnel leads out. Have to run
full throttle . . . and watch out for Birkin, the Gcarrier,
he . . . he's changing by now. Got it?"
Leon nodded, his blazing blue eyes filling her up.
"Live," she said, and it was a good word, a word to
go out on. She was tired, and the mission was
wrapped, and Leon would live.
She let go of the railing, and Leon screamed her
name, and the sound of it followed her down into the
dark like a bittersweet good-bye.
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