SIXTEEN
THROUGH THE ROOMS AND HALLS OF A MANSION,
Claire had run, afraid to hear him scream again,
afraid not to because she didn't know where to look.
Past the plushly decorated halls she found herself in a
prison area, cells on either wall, the environment cold
and dark once more. A lone virus carrier reached for her
from behind bars, wailing.
"Steve!"
Her voice echoed back at her, full of tension and fear,
but Steve didn't answer. There was a thick metal door to
her right, different than the others, reinforced by bands
of steel. She opened it, stepping into a small, bare room
that opened into a much larger one.
"Steve!"
No answer, but the bigger room was long and dimly
lit, a kind of huge hall, and she couldn't see what was at
the other end. She saw that there was a suspended gate
between the small room and the hall, which definitely
gave her pause. She looked around and found a piece of
broken wood on the floor, then wedged it between the
outer door and its frame, not wanting to end up locked
inside.
She hurried into the giant hall, intimidating, oversized
statues of knights lining the heavily shadowed
walls, her anxiety growing with every passing second.
Where was he, why had he screamed?
She was halfway down the hall when she saw him,
slumped in a chair at the far end, some kind of restraining
bar across his chest.
Oh, God...
Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the
bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched
in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very
young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could
see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious.
She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it
wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his
arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.
"Claire!"
"Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened?
How did you get here?"
Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move
it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like
Alfred - she injected me with something, she said she
was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she
was going to get it right this time..."
He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't
moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she
and Alfred were pretty close after all..."
Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with
color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling.
"What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because
his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to
fists, his eyes wild and terrified.
"Cuh ... Claire ..."
His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a
growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes
ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came
out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious.
"No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and
Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall,
standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head
dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was
turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoulder,
two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a
giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes
turned red and animal.
The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its
mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and
sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all
she was worth.
The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe,
the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel
the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found
more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster.
The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast
and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead...
... and the gate was coming down, was about to lock
her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter,
she had to go faster still or she was dead...
... and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the
shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the
floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed
behind her.
The monster roared, began swinging the axe with
abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In
shock, Claire watched it break through three of them,
bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, before
she realized she could get out.
Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly,
and stood up, took a single step toward her escape...
... and then something broke through the wall with a
crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her
like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles.
The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would
break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her
tightly in its rubbery grasp.
Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor,
pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held
her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate.
It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her
apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and
over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through.
She was making noises in the grip of the thing that
held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and excited,
that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her.
It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd
told her, promised her -
- you can get the next one -
- I will -
- and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her
skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he remembered.
Claire.
Steve lifted the axe again, strong, he was so strong, and
slammed it down into the tentacle, slicing through.
In a spray of green fluid, the thick coil snapped and
hit him in the chest, throwing him into the wall before
retreating. He felt and heard ribs break, felt the boil of
his blood cooling, felt his strength going away.
The pain came, sharp and dull and everywhere, but he
opened his eyes and she was there, she was safe, she
was reaching for his hand. Claire Redfield, reaching for
his hand with tears in her eyes.
The monster was gone.
She reached out to hold his hand and he lifted it to his
face, to his beautiful, dying face, laying it across his cheek.
"You're warm," he whispered.
"Hang on," she said, pleading, the knot in her throat
choking her, "please, my brother came and he'll take us
with him, please don't die!"
Steve's eyes were fluttering, as though he were trying
very hard to stay awake.
"I'm glad your brother came," he whispered, his
voice fading. "And I'm glad I met you. I ... I love you."
On the last word, his head fell forward, his chest
falling and not rising again, and then Claire was alone.
Steve was gone.
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