NINE
COMMENTS, DESCRIPTION OF REPORTED MISDEMANDOR-
- 29-087:
Two of the twelve faux gems that are an integral part of the
"clock-lock" at the ornamental main gate of the municipal
complex have been removed, between (approximately) 2100
hours yesterday (September 24) and 0500 hours this morning.
With many local businesses boarded up at this time, looters
have been defacing town property and attempting to take
what they believe to be valuable. This officer believes that the
perp thought the gems were real, and stopped after removing
two (one blue, one green) when he/she realized they were
only glass.
This gate (aka "City Hall" gate) is only one of several entrances/
exits that lead to the municipal complex. The gate is
now locked due to its complicated (and in this officer's opinion,
ridiculous) design, which requires that all gems be present
for the gate to be unlocked. Until the City Parks Department
removes the gate, or until the two gems can be recovered
and reinstalled, this entrance/exit will remain locked.
Due to the lack of available manpower at this time, there is no
choice but to suspend the investigation of this case.
reporting officer Marvin Branagh
Additional comments, case 29-087, M. Branagh Sept. 26
One of the missing gems (blue) has turned up
inside the RPD building. It's 2000 hours. Bill Hansen, deceased
owner of the restaurant Grill 13, was apparently carrying
the fake gem when he came here seeking shelter earlier
this evening. Mr. Hansen died shortly after arriving, killed by
police fire after succumbing to the effects of the cannibal disease.
The gem was found on his person, though I'm
this officer has no way of knowing if he stole it or where the
other gem might be.
With the city now under martial law, no effort will be made
to find the second gem or to put this one back - but with several
of the streets surrounding the municipal complex now
impassable, the need for these gems may at some point become
relevant.
On a personal note: this will be my last written report until
the current crisis has passed. Paperwork doesn't seem - at
this time, the need to document misdemeanors seems secondary
to the enforcement of martial law, nor do I believe myself
to be alone in this assessment.
Marvin Branagh, RPD
Jill put the typed report and handwritten addendum
back into the evidence drawer, sadly wondering if Marvin
was still alive; it seemed unlikely, which was a
thoroughly depressing thought. He was one of the best
officers in the RPD, always nice as hell without sacrificing
a professional demeanor.
Right up to the end, a real pro. Goddamm Umbrella.
She reached into the drawer and took out the diamond-
shaped piece of blue glass, gazing at it thoughtfully.
The rest of the evidence room had been a bust,
the locked cabinets and drawers yielding nothing useful
as far as weapons went; obviously, she wasn't the only
one who'd thought to check it for guns and ammo. The
gem, on the other hand...
Marvin was right about the streets being blocked all
around the City Hall gate; she'd tried to get through the
area once already and had found most of it barricaded.
Not that there was much over there - the gate opened
into a small garden with paved walkways, really a
showcase for a rather boring statue of ex-mayor
Michael Warren. Past that was City Hall, not used for
much since the new courthouse had been built uptown,
and a couple of paths that led north and west, respectively
- an auto shop and a few used-car lots if you
veered north, and to the west...
"Oh, shit, the trolley!"
Why hadn't she thought of it before? Jill felt a rush
of excitement, hampered only slightly by the urge to
slap her forehead. She'd totally forgotten about it. The
old-fashioned two-car train's scenic route was a tourist
thing, the city only ran it summers anymore, but it went
all the way out to the westernmost suburbs, past City
Park and through a few of the more expensive neighborhoods.
There was an allegedly abandoned Umbrella
facility out that way, too, where there might still be
working cars and clear roads. Assuming it was in running
condition, the trolley would be the easiest way out
of the city, hands down.
Except with all the blockades, the only way to get to
it is through that locked gate - and I've only got one of
the jewels.
She didn't have the equipment to take the heavy, oversized
gate down by herself ... but Marvin's report said
that Bill Hansen had had the blue gem, and his restaurant
was only three or four blocks away. There was no
reason to assume he'd had the green one at some point,
too, or that it was at the Grill, but it'd be worth checking
out. If it wasn't there, she was no worse off - but if she
could find it, she might be able to get out of the city
much sooner than she'd expected. With the Nemesis
running around out there, it couldn't be soon enough.
So, it was decided. Jill turned and walked toward
the hall door, slipping the blue gem into her fanny
pack. She wanted to check out the RPD's darkroom
before she left, see if she could find one of the photographer's
vests laying around; she didn't have any speed
loaders for the Colt, and she wanted a few pockets to
carry the loose rounds. While she was at it, she
thought she might as well leave the shotgun behind.
She'd rigged up an over-the-shoulder strap using a belt
she'd taken off a dead man, so carrying it wasn't too
bad, but without shells - and with the .357 as additional
firepower - she didn't see the point in lugging it
around anymore...
She stepped into the hall and took a left, deliberately
not looking at the one slumped body beneath the windows
that faced south. It was a young woman carrier
she'd shot at from the stairs to the second floor, just
around the corner, and she was pretty sure that she'd
known the girl - a secretary/receptionist who worked at
the front desk on weekends, Mary something. The
darkroom faced the opening beneath the stairs; she'd
have to pass within a few feet of the corpse, but she
thought she could avoid looking too closely if she...
CRASH!
Two of the windows imploded, a driving rain of
glass spraying over the receptionist's body, shards of it
slicing at Jill's bare legs. In the same instant, a giant
black mass was hurled inside, bigger than a man, as
big as -
- S.T.A.R.S. killer -
It was all she had time to think. Jill sprinted back the
way she'd come, slamming into the evidence room
door, while behind her, she heard crunching glass as it
rolled to its feet, heard the ugly opening note of its single-
minded cry, "SSstaarsss"
She ran, snatching the heavy revolver from beneath
her waist pack's strap, through the evidence room to
the next door, through that into the patrol squadroom. A
sharp left as soon as she was inside and desks blurred
past, chairs and shelves and an overturned table spattered
with the blood and fluids of at least two cops,
their sprawled bodies reduced to obstacles in her path.
Jill leaped over the twisted legs, hearing the door
open, no, disintegrate behind her, a roar of splinters
and cracking wood that couldn't drown out the Nemesis's
fury.
Go go go faster...
She hit the door running, ignoring the dull blossom
of pain that enveloped her bruised shoulder, twisting to
the right as she pounded into the lobby.
Shhh-BOOM!
A flare of brilliant light and smoke jetted past her,
blowing a jagged, burning hole in the floor not three
feet to her left. Shards of blackened marble and ceramic
tile flew, exploding up and outward in a fountain
of noise and heat.
Jesus, it's armed!
She ran faster, down the ramp into the lower lobby,
remembering that she'd dead-bolted the front doors, the
realization like a punch in the stomach. She'd never get
them open in time, no chance...
... and BOOM, another blast from what had to be a
grenade launcher or bigger, close enough that she could
feel the air part next to her right ear, could hear the
whistle of incredible speed just before the front doors
blasted open in front of her. They hung drunkenly on
bent hinges, swaying and smoldering as she ran
through, the night cool and dark.
"Ssstaaarrrsss! "
Close, too close. Instinctively Jill sacrificed a second
of speed to leap to the side, kicking away from
the ground, dimly aware that Brad's body was gone
and not caring. Even as she landed, the Nemesis
blew past her, barreling through the space she'd occupied
an instant before. Its momentum carried it
several giant steps away, it was fast but too heavy to
stop, its monstrous size giving her the time she
needed. A squeal of rust and she was through the
gates, slamming them, scrabbling the shotgun off her
back.
She turned and rammed the shotgun through the
gates' hoop handles, both of them cracking against the
barrel before she had time to let go, hard enough for
her to realize that the gates wouldn't hold for very
long. Behind the gates, the Nemesis screamed in animal
rage, a demonic sound of bloodlust so strong that
Jill shuddered convulsively. It was screaming for her,
it was the nightmare all over again, she was marked
for death.
She turned and ran, its howl fading into the dark behind
her as she ran and ran.
When Nicholai saw Mikhail Victor, he knew he'd
have to kill him. Technically, there was no reason, but
the opportunity was too enticing to pass up. By some
fluke, the leader of platoon D had managed to survive,
an honor he didn't deserve.
We'll just see about that...
Nicholai was feeling good; he was ahead of the
schedule he'd set for himself, and the rest of his journey
through the sewers had been uneventful. His next
goal was the hospital, which he could reach quickly
enough if he took the cable car in Lonsdale Yard; he
had more than enough time to relax for a few moments,
take a break from his pursuit. Climbing back into the
city and seeing Mikhail across the street, from the roof
of one of Umbrella's buildings - the perfect sniper's
roost - was like some cosmic reward for his work so
far. Mikhail would never know what hit him.
The platoon leader was two stories below, his back
to the wall of a wrecking yard's shack as he changed
rifle magazines. A security light, its bright beam flickering
with the erratic movement of nocturnal insects,
clearly illuminated his position and would make it
impossible for him to see his killer.
Well, you can't have everything; his death will have
to be enough.
Nicholai smiled and raised the M16, savoring the moment.
A cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he studied
his quarry, noting with no small satisfaction the fear on
Mikhail's lined, unknowing face. A head shot? No; on
the off chance that Mikhail had been infected, Nicholai
wouldn't want to miss the resurrection. He had plenty of
time to watch, too. He lowered the barrel a hair, sighting
one of Mikhail's kneecaps. Very painful... but he
would still have use of his arms and would probably fire
blindly into the dark; Nicholai didn't want to risk getting
hit.
Mikhail had finished his rifle inspection and was
looking around as if to plot his next step. Nicholai took
aim and fired, a single shot, extremely happy with his
decision as the platoon leader doubled over, grabbing
his gut and suddenly, Mikhail was gone, around the corner
of the building and into the night. Nicholai could
hear the crunch of gravel fading away.
He cursed softly, clenching his jaw in frustration.
He'd wanted to see the man squirm, see him suffer
from the painful and probably lethal wound. It seemed
that Mikhail's reflexes weren't as poor as he'd
thought.
So, he dies in the dark somewhere instead of where I
can see him. What is it to me? It's not as though I have
nothing else to occupy my time...
It didn't work. Mikhail was badly injured, and
Nicholai wanted to see him die. It would only take a
few minutes to find the trail of blood and track him
down - a child could do it.
Nicholai grinned. And when I find him, I can offer
my assistance, play the concerned comrade - who did
this to you, Mikhail? Here, let me help you...
He turned and hurried to the stairs, imagining the
look on Mikhail's face when he realized who was responsible
for his plight, when he understood his own
failure as a leader and as a man.
Nicholai wondered what he'd done to deserve such
happiness; so far, this had been the best night of his
life.
When their conversation was over, the line went
dead and Carlos walked to one of the booths and sat
down, thinking hard about the things Trent had told
him. If all he'd said was true - and Carlos believed that
it probably was - then Umbrella had a lot to answer for.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Carlos had asked
near the end, his head spinning. "Why me?"
"Because I've seen your records," Trent answered.
"Carlos Oliveira, mercenary for hire - except you only
ever fought the good fight, always on the side of the
oppressed and abused. Twice you risked your life in assassinations,
both successful - one a tyrannical drug
lord and the other a child pornographer, if memory
serves. And you never harmed a civilian, not once. Umbrella
is involved in some extremely immoral practices,
Mr. Oliveira, and you're exactly the kind of person who
should be working to stop them."
According to Trent, Umbrella's T-virus or G-virus,
there were apparently two strains - was created and
used on homemade monsters to turn them into living,
breathing weapons. When humans were exposed to it,
they got the cannibal disease. And Trent said that the
U.B.C.S. administrators knew what they were sending
their people into, and probably did it on purpose - all
in the name of research.
"The eyes and ears of Umbrella are everywhere,"
Trent had said. "As I said before, be careful who you
trust. Truly, no one is safe."
Carlos abruptly stood up from the table and walked
toward the kitchen, lost in thought. Trent had refused to
talk about his own reasons for undermining Umbrella,
though Carlos had gotten the impression that Trent also
worked for them in some capacity; it would explain
why he was so secretive.
He's being careful, covering his ass, but how could
he know so much? The things he told me...
A jumble of facts, some that seemed totally arbitrary
- there was a fake green jewel in a cold storage
locker underneath the restaurant; Trent had said that it
was one of a pair, but had refused to say where the other
one was or why either of them was important.
"Just make sure they end up together," Trent had
said - as if Carlos was going to just happen to come
across the other one. "When you find out where the
blue one is, you'll get your explanation."
For as cryptically useless as that seemed to be, Trent
had also told him that Umbrella kept two helicopters at
the abandoned water treatment plant west and north of
the city. Perhaps most useful of all, Trent had said that
there was a vaccine being worked on at the city hospital,
and while it hadn't been synthesized yet, there was
at least one sample there.
"Although there's a good chance the hospital may
not be there for much longer," he'd said, leaving Carlos
to wonder again how Trent came by his information.
What was supposed to happen to it? And how would
Trent know that?
Trent seemed to think that Carlos's survival was important;
he seemed convinced that Carlos was going to
be a significant part of the fight against Umbrella, but
Carlos still wasn't sure why, or if he even wanted to
join up. At the moment, all he wanted was to get out of
the city ... but for whatever reason Trent had decided
to offer up information, Carlos was glad for the help.
Although a little more would've been nice - keys to
an armored getaway car, maybe, or some kind of antimonster
spray.
Carlos stood in the kitchen, gazing down at the
heavy-looking cover to what was, presumably, the
basement ladder. Trent had told him that there were
probably more weapons at a clock tower, not far from
the hospital; that and the bit about the Umbrella helicopters,
due north from the tower and hospital, definitely
useful...
But why let me come here at all if I'm so goddamn
important? He could've stopped me on the way to the
field office.
A lot of it didn't make sense, and Carlos was willing
to bet money that Trent hadn't told him everything. He
had no choice but to trust him a little, but he was going
to be very careful when it came to depending on Trent's
information.
Carlos crouched next to the basement entrance,
grabbed the handle to the cover, and pulled. It was
heavy, but he could just manage it, leaning back and
using his leg muscles for leverage. Unless the cooks
were body builders, there was probably a crowbar
around somewhere.
The front door to the restaurant opened and closed.
Carlos gently, quietly put the cover aside and turned,
still in a crouch, M16 aimed at the dining room entrance.
He didn't think the zombies were coordinated
enough to open doors, but he had no idea what the
monsters were capable of, or who else might be wandering
the city streets.
Slow, stealthy footsteps moved toward the kitchen.
Carlos held his breath, thinking about Trent, wondering
suddenly if he'd been set up...
... and about the last thing he expected to see was a
.357 revolver come around the corner, held by an attractive
and extremely serious-looking young woman
who moved in fast and low and aimed at Carlos before
he could blink.
For a beat they stared at each other, neither moving,
and Carlos could see in the woman's eyes that she
wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if she thought it necessary.
Since he felt pretty much the same way, he decided
it might be best to introduce himself.
"My name is Carlos," he said evenly. "I'm no zombie.
Take it easy, huh?"
The girl studied him another moment, then nodded
slowly, lowering the revolver. Carlos took his finger off
the rifle's trigger and did the same as they both
straightened up, moving carefully.
"Jill Valentine," she said, and seemed about to say
something else when the back door to the restaurant
crashed open, the thundering sound matched by a guttural,
barely human scream that raised the hairs on the
back of Carlos's neck.
"Sstaarrsss!" whatever it was howled, the cry echoing
through the restaurant, giant footsteps pounding toward
them, relentless and certain.
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