ResidentEvil-Nemesis [Chapter: 14]

FOURTEEN

ALTHOUGH THERE WAS PROBABLY A LOT THEY

could talk about, Jill didn't feel like it and neither did Carlos.

They had to get a power cable, get back to the trolley,

and not get killed in the process - not exactly the time for

small talk, even if the streets did seem to be clear. And

after the near death experience they'd just shared running

from the gas station, Carlos couldn't imagine chatting.

What would we talk about, anyway? The weather?

How many of her friends are dead? How about whether

or not that Tyrant-thing is going to pop up and kill her

anytime soon, or maybe the top ten reasons she doesn't

like Nicholai...

Jill was obviously uncomfortable with Nicholai almost

certainly because of her feelings about Umbrella

and Carlos thought Nicholai didn't like her

much, either, though he wasn't sure why; the squad

leader had been perfectly polite, if a little brisk. Carlos

liked that Jill wasn't like that with him, suspicious and

challenging, but the animosity between her and

Nicholai made him a little nervous. As cliched as it

was, they needed to stick together if they meant to survive.

In any case, Jill wasn't volunteering to discuss her

feelings on the topic, and Carlos was busy debating

himself about whether or not to tell the others about

Trent, and they both were watching their asses. They

walked in silence from the trolley back into downtown

and were almost back to the garage when Carlos saw

someone he recognized.

The dead man was propped in the corner of a winding

alley, not far from the grotesque bodies of two

Umbrella creatures that Carlos had passed twice already

in the past couple of hours, like the thing he'd

killed by the restaurant; from the look of his corpse,

he'd been there awhile - which meant Carlos had

passed him by as well, never noticing. It was kind of

distressing to realize he didn't even look at their faces

anymore, but he was a little too surprised to hang on to

the feeling.

"Hey, I've met this guy," he said, crouching next to

him, trying to remember the name - Hennessy? Hennings,

that was it. Tall, dark hair, a thin scar that ran

from one corner of his mouth to his chin. Single gunshot

wound to the head, no obvious signs of decay...

... and what the hell is he doing here?

Jill had been walking a few steps ahead of Carlos.

She turned and walked back, surreptitiously checking

her watch.

"I'm sorry about your friend, but we really have to

get going," she said gently.

Carlos shook his head and started to pat the body

down, searching for extra ammo or some ID. "No, we

weren't friends. I met him at the field office right after I

was hired, he worked for another U.B.C.S. branch, I

think. The guy's a spook, ex-military, and he definitely

didn't come to Raccoon with us ... hola, what's this?"

Carlos pulled a small, leather-bound book about the

size of a paperback out of Hennings's jacket lining and

opened it. A journal. He flipped to the back and saw

that the last entry was dated only the day before yesterday.

"This could be important," he said, standing up. "I'm

sure Nicholai knew him, he'll want to see this."

Jill frowned. "If it's important, maybe you should

look at it now. Maybe it ... maybe he mentioned

Nicholai or Mikhail."

The last was delivered lightly, but Carlos understood

what she was getting at, and he didn't like it much.

"Look, Nicholai's kind of standoffish, but you don't

know him. He lost his entire squad today, men he's

probably known and worked with for years, so why

don't you give him a break?"

Jill didn't flinch. "Why don't you look through that

book while I go get the power cable? You say this

man's some kind of agent, that he works for Umbrella

and that technically he shouldn't be here. I want to

know what he had to say in his final hours, don't you?"

Carlos glared at her for another moment, then nodded

reluctantly, letting the tension go. She was right; if

there was something definitive in Hennings's notes

about what was happening in Raccoon, it might be of

use to them.

"Fine. Just grab every cable you can find and hurry

back, okay?"

Jill nodded and was gone a second later, disappearing

into the shadows without a sound. Amazing, how

quiet she was; that took serious training. Although he

didn't know much about them, Carlos had heard of the

S.T.A.R.S., heard they were supposed to be good; Jill

Valentine certainly proved it.

"Let's see what you have to say for yourself, Hennings,"

Carlos muttered, flipped open the journal, and

started to read the final entry.

I didn't know it was going to be like this. I owe them everything,

but I would have turned this down if I had known. It's

the screaming, I can't take it anymore and who gives a crap

if my cover's blown? Everybody's going to die, it doesn't matter.

The streets are filled with screaming and that doesn't

matter, either.

When the company saved my ass two years ago, they told

me that I was going to be working on the dark side, which was

fine by me. I was about to be executed, I would have agreed to

ten years of shit shoveling, and what the rep told me didn't

sound too bad - me and some other cons were going to be

trained as troubleshooters, dealing with illegal aspects of their

research. They have their legit organizations already, couple of

paramilitary units, the biohazard boys, a pretty decent environmental

protection crew. Our job was going to be cleaning

up messes before too many people noticed, and making sure

the people who did notice never got a chance to talk about it.

Six months of intensive training and I was ready for anything.

Our first assignment was to get rid of some test subjects

who'd gone into hiding. These people wanted to go public

about the drug they'd been injected with, it was supposed to

slow down the aging process but it gave all of them cancer. It

took awhile, but we got all of them. I'm not proud of myself

for that, or for anything else I did in the last year and a half,

but I learned to live with it.

I was specially selected for Operation Watchdog. They

planted a bunch of us here right after the first spill, just in

case, but not everyone was chosen to be a Watchdog. They said

I was more committed than the others, that I wouldn't crumble

watching others die. Hooray for me. I worked in a warehouse

for two weeks as an inventoiy specialist, waiting for something

to happen, bored out of my goddamn skull - and then everything

happened at once, and I haven't slept for three days and

everyone keeps screaming until the flesh eaters get to them,

and then they either die or they also start to eat.

I tried to get hold of some of the others, the plants, but I

can't find anyone. I only know a few of them anyway, four of

the people selected as Watchdogs - Terry Foster, Martin, that

spooky Russian, the hospital doc with the glasses. Maybe

they're dead, maybe they escaped, maybe they have yet to be

sent in. I don't care. I haven't made a report since day before

yesterday, and Umbrella can blow it out their ass and burn in

hell. I'm sure I'll see them there.

I've chosen to pull the trigger myself, a head shot so I

won't come back. I wish they'd left me to be executed, I deserved

that. Nobody deserves this.

I'm sorry. If anyone finds this, believe that much.

The rest of the pages were blank.

Carlos knelt next to Hennings in a kind of numb

haze and examined his cold right hand for gunshot

residue. It was there. Somebody must have taken the

gun later...

"Carlos?"

He looked up and saw Jill holding a handful of cables,

a look of curious concern on her dirty, pretty

face.

"That spooky Russian." How many could there possibly

be? Carlos didn't know what a Watchdog was, but

he thought that Nicholai had some explaining to do

and that it might be a good idea to get back to Mikhail

as soon as possible.

"I think I owe you an apology," Carlos said, his

stomach suddenly in knots. Nicholai had found Mikhail

just after he'd been shot, allegedly by some random

stranger...

"What for?" Jill asked.

Carlos tucked the journal into a vest pocket, taking a

last look at Hennings, feeling disgust and pity and a

building anger at Umbrella, at Nicholai, at himself

for being so naive.

"I'll explain on the way back," he said, gripping his

assault rifle so tightly that his hands started to tremble,

the anger continuing to rise in him like a black flood.

"Nicholai will be waiting for us."

After installing the new fuse in the trolley's control

panel, Nicholai decided to wait inside the station for

Carlos and Jill to return. Many of the first-floor windows

were broken, and it was dark inside; he'd be able

to hear any private, last-minute conversation between

them as they entered the yard. Nicholai had no doubt

that Jill would have a few words of warning for Carlos

regarding Umbrella, perhaps about Nicholai directly,

and the truth was, he just couldn't help himself; he

wanted to know what the S.T.A.R.S. woman had to say,

what paranoid drivel she'd spout, and how Carlos

would react. He'd rejoin them a minute or so after they

boarded the trolley, say he was checking the building

for supplies or something, and see what developed

from there.

Do we take a ride, or will I be traveling alone? Perhaps

we'll stay together for the night, foraging for

food, taking turns at standing guard. I could kill them

in their sleep; I could entice both of them to accompany

me to the hospital to engage the Hunters; I could

disappear, and allow them to evacuate thinking that

their dear friend had been lost.

Nicholai smiled, a cool night draft from a shattered

pane breezing across his face. In a very real way, their

lives were in his hands. It was a powerful feeling, even

intoxicating, to have that kind of control. What had

started out as a primarily financial venture had evolved

into something new, something he had no words for,

a game, but so much more. An understanding of human

destiny like nothing he'd ever experienced. He'd always

known that he was different, that societal boundaries

didn't apply to him in the same way that others

understood them; coming to Raccoon was an amplification

of that, it was like an alternate reality in which they

were the strangers, the outsiders, and he was the only

one who really knew what was going on. For the first

time in his life, he felt free to do as he liked.

Nicholai heard the gate from the alleyway creak

open, slowly, stealthily, and he backed away from the

window. A second later, the two young soldiers stepped

into view, moving almost as silently as himself. He

noted with some surprise that they were sweeping the

yard, as if they expected trouble.

Perhaps they met up with the Tyrant-creature.

That would certainly spice things up, if Jill was being

tracked, although Nicholai meant to let the seeker have

her if it showed up. It would kill anyone stupid enough

to get in its way; Nicholai would happily step aside.

Jill was slightly ahead of Carlos, and as they cautiously

edged forward, Nicholai saw that she carried

several cables slung over one shoulder. Maybe he

would keep them around awhile, they were proving to

be successful at running errands.

"All clear," Carlos whispered, and Nicholai smiled to

himself. He could hear them perfectly.

"He has to be back by now, if he didn't run into one

of the creatures," Jill whispered.

Nicholai's smile faltered a little. It was impossible,

but ... were they sweeping for him?

"I say we approach like we don't know anything,"

Carlos said, keeping his voice low. "Get on board, get

on either side of him, make him give up the rifle. He

carries a knife, too."

What is this, what's changed? Nicholai was confused,

uncertain. What can they possibly know?

Jill was nodding. "Let me ask the questions. I know

more background on Umbrella, I think I have a better

chance of convincing him that we know all about this

Watchdog mission. If he thinks we already know..."

"...then he won't bother hiding anything," Carlos

finished. "Okay. Let's do it. Keep your weapon ready,

just in case he's planning a surprise party."

Jill nodded again, and they both straightened up,

Carlos shouldering his rifle. They started toward the

trolley, no longer bothering to keep quiet.

The fury that overtook Nicholai was so passionate,

so all encompassing, that for a moment he was literally

blinded by it. Flashes of red and black pounded

through his brain, thoughtless and violent, and the only

thing that kept him from running out into the yard and

murdering them both was the distant awareness that

they were prepared for his attack. He almost did it anyway,

the urge, the need to hurt them so strong that the

consequences seemed unimportant. It took all of his

control to stand still, to stand and shake and not scream

his rage.

After some indeterminate time, he heard the trolley's

engine roar to life, the sound finally getting through to

him. His mind began to work again, but he could only

think simply, as though his anger was too great for

complexity of thought.

They knew he wasn't telling the truth. They knew

something about Operation Watchdog, and they knew

he was involved, so he was their enemy now. There

would be no consummation of the careful groundwork

he'd laid, no development of trust for comrade

Nicholai. It had all been a waste of his time ... and to

add insult to injury, he was now going to have to walk

to the hospital.

Nicholai ground his teeth together, drowning, the

impotent hatred like a diseased secret that was crushing

him from the inside out. They had done this to

him, stolen his sense of control as though they had a

right to it.

My plans, my money, my decision. Mine, not theirs,

mine - After a moment the mantra started to work,

calming him slightly, the words soothing in their truth.

Mine, I decide, me.

Nicholai took several deep breaths and fixated on the

only thing that could bring him relief as he heard the

trolley slowly rumble away.

He'd find a way to make them sorry. He'd make

them beg for mercy, and laugh while they screamed.