NINE
THERE WASN'T A CURSE WORD STRONG ENOUGH
to accurately express her dismay. Claire instantly
dropped the useless weapon and ran, dodging to the
right, not wanting to end up trapped in the corner, unable
to believe that she hadn't thought to check the goddamn
weapon. There were six or seven crates stacked against
the wall near the cockpit door but no cover there, on either
side; the thing would have her penned in.
Go go go!
As she scurried along the right wall, the lumbering
creature slowly turning to follow, she grabbed the
semi from under her belt and flicked the safety off by
feel, afraid to look away from it. It stumped toward
her on tree trunk legs, eerily focused on her every
step.
The cargo hold wasn't all that big, maybe thirty-five
feet long and twelve wide. Too soon, she was at the rear
of the plane, icy air suddenly pulling at her, working to
suck her out into the clouds. Crouching, trying not to
think about a misstep, Claire darted across the open
space and reached the other wall, grabbing at a raised
ridge of metal with trembling fingers.
The creature was still almost twenty feet away. Claire
held onto the wall, waiting for it to draw closer before
running again. At least it was slow, there was that much,
but she had to come up with something, she couldn't
keep going around in circles.
She was watching the creature, could see it clearly...
... but what happened next was like some optical illusion. It
dropped its silvery head slightly -
- and was suddenly five feet away, the distance
closed in a fraction of a second, and it was bringing its
right arm down, parting the air with an audible whoosh,
knives flashing...
Claire didn't think, she moved, her stomach suddenly
in her throat, her own action a blur to herself. For a split
second she was only a body, ducking and sprinting...
... and then she was on the other side of the plane, all the
way up by the stacked crates, looking back as the creature
slowly, slowly turned.
Aw, shit on this! The plane would survive a few holes.
She opened fire, sent eight 9mm rounds in a tight grouping
right at the center of its chest - and all of them hit.
She saw the black-rimmed holes open up near where its
heart would be if it was human, no blood but moist, dark
tissue was exposed, forming spongy lumps around the
wounds. The creature stopped in its tracks - and started
again in about two seconds, one slow step after another,
its focus unchanged.
A stab of panic hit her, gotta get out of here it's going
to kill me, get Steve, another gun maybe...
No, she couldn't, and it wouldn't help, it would only
make things worse. Mr. X had been programmed for a
single purpose, to obtain a virus sample; she suspected
that this creature was after her specifically, and if she
left the hold, the creature would just tear through the
hatch, killing her and Steve. At least this way, he might
have a chance. And 9mm was the heaviest firepower on
board - if it could take eight rounds in the chest, another
gun wasn't going to make a difference.
Try for a head shot, like the one-armed monster.
She could try, but she had the feeling that something
that didn't bleed probably wouldn't go blind, either. Its
eyes were strange, perhaps they weren't even used for
sight ... and there was also the fact that they were on a
moving plane, one that shook and wavered; without a
scope, how was she supposed to target, let alone hit?
All that passed through her mind in about a second
and then she was moving again, edging toward the back
of the plane once more - afraid to run, afraid to stand
still, wondering how long she had before it ran at her
again and what she would do then...
... and it lowered its head like it had done before, and
again, Claire's body reacted, but an idea was forming,
too. She pushed away from the wall and ran toward it,
angling her path, if this doesn't work I'm dead...
... and she felt the chill of its strange flesh as it rocketed
past her, was so close that she could smell its rotten
meat smell - and then they were on opposite ends of the
open space and it was slowly, mechanically turning
around. It had worked, but barely; if it had been an inch
closer, if she'd been a half step slower, it would already
be over.
Guns didn't work, she couldn't leave, so the creature
had to go, but how? The air stream at the hold's open
end was strong, but if she could duck past it, no way it
would nab the weighty monstrosity ... she had to knock
it off-balance, maybe bait it to the opening and trip it up
somehow, she wasn't strong enough to push it...
Think, damnit! It was starting toward her again, one
step, two. She looked away long enough to scan the
floor near the opening, looking for something it might
stumble over, maybe the hydraulic track...
The hydraulic track.
Used to push heavy crates to the rear of the plane, to
be unloaded. In fact, two of the empty crates were sitting
on the metal platform at the start of the track, just a
few steps from the door to the cockpit. The controls
were set into the outer wall, right in front of the door.
Too slow, there's no way. Except it was slow because
it carried a heavy load; if there was only an empty container
or two on the platform, how fast would it go then?
She had to get to the controls, had to see...
There was a blur of movement, and then the spiked
mace was coining around, ripping toward the side of her
head. Claire jumped forward, instinctively sidestepped,
but not quite fast enough. The spikes didn't get her but
its powerful forearm did, bashing painfully into her ear,
knocking her off her feet.
Instantly, the creature crouched and brought its right
arm down, but she was already in motion, rolling the second
she hit the floor. The hand blades hit the deck and
sparks flew, the creature howling in rage as Claire sprang
to her feet, trying not to notice her throbbing ear or the
tiny black dots that swarmed at the edges of her vision.
She ran for the hydraulic controls instead, as the creature
rose to its feet, its movements mechanical again, as emotionless
as it had been furious only seconds before.
A few running steps and she was looking down at a
simple control panel, power switch, a dial for entering
approximate weight, buttons for back and forth, a tiny
readout screen, an emergency shutoff. Claire hit the
power switch, twisting the weight dial to the maximum
limit, just under three tons.
She shot a look at the creature, still at a safe distance,
and saw that it was only a step or two from being in the
direct path of the platform. Her hand hovered over the
blue switch that would move it forward, that should
send it bulleting down the hold at an incredible speed.
With only a few pounds of empty container where three
tons was expected, it would mow the creature down like
a blade of grass.
Almost... almost.. . now!
When the creature was standing almost directly on
the track, Claire punched the button - and nothing happened,
nothing at all.
Shit! She fumbled for the power switch again, maybe
she hadn't turned it on - and she saw what was on the
little readout screen, and groaned aloud. The simple instructions
read, "Charging for load - wait for tone."
Good God, how long will that be?
The creature was still twenty feet away, walking almost
directly along the track. She might not get a better
shot at it, because another blow could very well mean
her death, but if she stayed where she was and the creature
got to her before the platform was charged, she'd be
trapped between the wall and the storage crates. It
would bludgeon her into pulp against the cockpit door.
Better to run for it
Better to stay put.
Claire hesitated a touch too long, and the creature was
in motion again. It swept toward her like a natural disaster
and it was too late, not even tune to turn around and
flee into the cockpit...
ping!
... and it brought its spiked left hand down just as
Claire slammed the switch, her eyes squeezed closed,
sure that the world was about to disappear in a blizzard
of pain...
... as the creature shot away from her, roaring, the
empty crates lifting it off its feet, powering it away. Before
she could begin to accept that the plan was working,
the creature used one of its incredible bursts of
speed and got in front of the barreling container, just
enough to get some leverage, to push against it -
- but Claire didn't wait to see which force was
greater. She opened fire again, two, three bullets hitting
it in the head, bouncing harmlessly off its armored
skull, but distracting it, too. The creature struggled another
half second and then it and the two crates were
gone, plunging into the dusky sky.
Claire stared out at the passing stream of atmosphere
for a time, knowing she should feel limp with relief,
that she'd killed the monster, that she'd survived another
Umbrella disaster, that they were finally, finally
safe ... but she was simply wrung out, any possibility
for strong emotion having flown out the back along with
Mr. X's big brother.
"Please, let it be over," she said softly, and then
turned and opened the door back into the cockpit.
As she hopped the two steps up to the pilot area,
Steve glanced back her, frowning. "What happened? Is
everything okay?"
Claire nodded, flopping down in the seat next to him,
absolutely beat. "Yeah. Score one more for the good
guys. Oh, the rear cargo hatch is gone."
"Are you kidding?" Steve asked.
"Nope," Claire said, and yawned widely, suddenly
overwhelmed with fatigue. "Hey, I'm going to rest my
eyes for a minute. If I fall asleep, wake me up in five,
okay?"
"Sure," Steve said, still looking confused. "The hatch
is gone?"
Claire didn't answer him, the dark already rushing up
to claim her, her body melting into the seat...
... and then Steve was shaking her, repeating her
name over and over again.
"Claire! Claire!"
"Yeah," she mumbled, sure she hadn't slept as she
cracked her eyes open, wondering why Steve would
want to torture her like this - until she saw his expression,
and a bolt of alarm jolted her awake.
"What, what is it?" she asked, sitting up straight.
Steve looked really worried. "Like a minute ago, we
changed direction and then the controls suddenly locked
down," he said. "I don't know what it is, there's no radio
but everything else is still working fine - except I can't
steer, or alter altitude or speed. It's like it's stuck on
autopilot."
Before she could say a word, there was a crackling
static sound from a small video monitor mounted close to
the ceiling of the cockpit, one Claire hadn't noticed before.
Flickering distortion lines spread out across the
screen, but the picture, when it came in, was clear enough.
Alfred!
He was also flying, it seemed, belted into the front
seat of a two-man fighter jet, or something similar. He
still had smears of makeup on his face, his eyes rimmed
in black, and when he spoke, it was in Alexia's voice.
"My apologies," he purred, "but I can't let you escape
now. It seems you've eluded another of my playthings -
- naughty, naughty."
"Cross-dressing freak," Steve snapped, but Alfred either
didn't hear him or didn't care.
"Enjoy the ride," Alfred said, giggling, and with a
final buzz of static, the screen went blank.
Claire stared at Steve, who stared back helplessly, and
then they both looked out over the sea of clouds, watching
silently as the first shafts of sunlight broke through.
Steve was dreaming about his father when he started
awake suddenly, afraid for some reason, the dream slipping
away even as he remembered where he was. Claire
made a soft, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and
nuzzled closer, her head against his left shoulder, her
breath warm against his chest.
Oh, Steve thought, afraid to move, not wanting to
wake her up. They'd fallen asleep side-by-side leaning
against the cockpit wall, and had apparently moved
closer together at some point. He had no idea what time
it was, or how long they'd slept, but they were still in the
air, muted sunlight still coming in through the windows.
They'd talked for a while after Alfred had taken control
of the plane, but not about what they were going to
do at the end of their hijacked ride. Claire had remarked
that since they couldn't do anything about it, there was
no point in worrying. Instead, they'd eaten - Claire had
nabbed a few packs of vending machine nuts, for which
Steve would be eternally grateful - and done their best
to wash up using a little of the bottled water, and then
talked. Really talked.
She'd told him about going to Raccoon City to find
Chris, and everything that had happened there and what
she knew about Umbrella and Trent the spy-guy ... and
she'd told him a lot of other stuff, too. She was in college,
and two years older than him, and she rode a motorcycle
but was probably going to give it up because of
how dangerous it was. She liked to dance so she liked
dance music, but she also liked grange, and she thought
politics were mostly boring, and cheeseburgers were her
favorite food. She was totally, incredibly cool, the
coolest girl he'd ever met - and even better, she'd actually
been interested in what he had to say. She'd laughed
at a lot of his jokes, and thought it was cool that he ran
track, and when he'd talked some about his parents,
she'd listened without getting all pushy.
And she's so smart, and beautiful...
He looked down at her, at her tousled hair and long
lashes, his heart pounding even though he was trying to
relax. She moved again, shifting in her sleep, her head
tilting back a little and her slightly parted lips were
suddenly close enough for him to kiss, all he had to do
was tip his face down a few inches, and he wanted to so
bad that he actually started to do it, lowering his mouth
toward hers...
"Mmmm," she murmured, still totally asleep, and he
stopped, pulling back, his heart beating even faster. He
totally wanted to but not like that, not if she didn't want
him to. He thought she did, but she'd also told him a little
about her friend Leon, too, and he wasn't so sure that
they were just friends.
Feeling tortured, having her so close but not his, he
was relieved when she rolled away from him a few seconds
later. He stood up, stretching stiff legs, and walked
to the front of the plane, wondering if the reserve fuel
tank had been tapped yet, the thought of dealing with
that crazy Ashford asshole once again drying up the last
of his positive feelings. He hoped that Claire would
sleep awhile longer, she'd been so tired...
... until he saw what was outside, and read the heading,
and realized that their altitude had dropped considerably.
The plane was starting to pitch some, bucking,
and no wonder. On the map reader next to the compass
was an approximate latitude-longitude for their position.
"Claire, wake up! You gotta come see this!"
A few seconds later she was at his side, rubbing her
eyes - which widened considerably when she looked
out the window. There was a near blizzard of ice and
snow pounding down, extending as far as they could see.
"We're over the Antarctic," Steve said.
"As in the South Pole?" Claire asked, incredulous.
She grabbed the back of the copilot seat as the plane
roller-coastered. "Penguins and killer whales, all that?"
"I don't know about the wildlife, but we're at a latitude
of 82.17 South," Steve said. "Definitely the bottom
of the world. And I'm not positive, but I think we're
coming in for a landing. We're slowing down, anyway."
Maybe Alfred's plan was to drop them in the middle
of nowhere and let them freeze to death. Not flashy, but
it would certainly do the trick. Steve wished he could
get his bare hands on the guy for just a minute, just one.
He wasn't much of a fighter, but Alfred would melt like
a cream puff.
"We must be headed for that," Claire said, pointing
right, and Steve squinted, barely able to see through the
storm ... and then he saw the other planes, and the
long, low buildings that she had spotted, only a few
minutes away.
"You think it's one of Umbrella's?" Steve asked,
knowing before she nodded that it had to be. Where else?
The plane's nose continued to dip down, carrying
them to whatever Alfred had in mind, but Steve was actually
a little relieved. Meeting up with Umbrella again
sucked, of course, but at least someone else would be in
charge, and not every Umbrella employee was as
shrink-wrapped as Alfred. He couldn't imagine that
everyone would drop what they were doing to kiss Alfred's
ass, either. Maybe he and Claire could find someone
to bargain with, or bribe somehow...
They were closing in for a first pass, the ride getting
squirrelly, the wings probably heavy with ice - when
Steve realized that they were way too low, too low and too
fast. The landing gear had dropped at some point, but there
was no way they could land at their speed and altitude.
"Pull up, pull up..." Steve said, watching the buildings
get big too quickly, feeling prickles of sweat breaking
out all over. He slid into the pilot's chair, grabbing
the yoke and pulling back - and nothing happened.
Oh, man.
"Belt up, we're going to crash!" Steve shouted, grabbing
for his own belt as Claire jumped into her seat, the
buckles snapping shut just as they touched down
and alarms started shrieking as the landing gear
crumpled and tore away, the plane's belly slamming into
the ground. The cabin bounced wildly, the seat belts the
only thing keeping them from hitting the roof. Claire let
out a yelp as a wave of snow crashed into the windshield,
and there was a giant metal SCREECH behind
them as the tail or a wing ripped away -
- and enough of the churning snow pack fell away
from the glass for them to see the building in front of
them, the out of control plane sliding for it, smoke coming
from somewhere, they were going to hit and...
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