FIFTEEN
JILL STOOD NEXT TO CARLOS AT THE TRAIN'S
controls, looking out as the dark ruins of Raccoon
slowly slipped past. They couldn't see much by the yellowed
beam of the single headlight, but there were numerous
small fires blazing unchecked and a partial
moon shone its cold light down on it all - debrispacked
streets, broken, boarded windows, living shadows
that swayed and wandered aimlessly.
"Keep it slow," Jill said. "If the tracks are blocked
and we're going too fast..."
Carlos shot her an irritated look. "Gee, I hadn't
thought about that. Gracias."
His sarcasm invited a reply, but Jill was too tired to
banter, and her body felt like a single, massive bruise.
"Yeah, okay. Sorry."
The tracks unrolled in front of them as Carlos carefully
handled the controls, slowing to a virtual crawl
with each curve. Jill wanted to sit, maybe go into the
other car with Mikhail and lay down - it was a few
miles to the clock tower and a jogger could easily keep
up with them, but she knew that Carlos was tired, too;
she could at least suffer aching feet along with him for
another few minutes.
By some unspoken agreement, they hadn't discussed
Nicholai yet, perhaps because speculation on where he
was and what he was doing didn't serve any purpose;
whatever he was up to, they were getting out of town.
Assuming they survived, Jill was more committed than
ever to seeing that Umbrella paid for their crimes, and
it was Umbrella, not Nicholai, who held responsibility
for the death of Raccoon.
Her intuition had been good on Nicholai, that he
wasn't ignorant of Umbrella's evils, though she hadn't
suspected the depth of his deception. From what she'd
read in the journal Carlos had found, it appeared that
the company had been prepared for Raccoon to be infected
and had set up a secret team to make reports on
the catastrophe. It was disgusting, but not surprising.
We're dealing with Umbrella, after all. If they can illegally
design genetic viruses and breed killing machines
to inject said viruses into, why not capitalize on
mass murder? Take some notes, document a few fights...
Crash!
Jill stumbled against Carlos as the trolley rocked, the
sound of shattering glass coming from the other car. A
half second later, they heard Mikhail let out a fevered
cry - of fear or pain, Jill couldn't tell.
"Here, take the controls," Carlos said, but she was already
halfway across the car, the heavy revolver in
hand.
"I got it, keep us going," she shouted back, not wanting
to think about what it could be as she dashed toward
the door. For the trolley to shake like that -
- it has to be one of their monsters. And Mikhail
probably can't even sit up on his own.
She pushed the door open and stepped onto the connecting
platform, the heavy clatter of the moving trolley
seeming incredibly loud as she opened the second
door, Mikhail's helplessness in the forefront of her
mind.
Oh, shit.
The elements of the scene were simple, straightforward,
and deadly: a broken window, glass everywhere;
Mikhail, to her left, his back to the wall as he struggled
to get to his feet, using his rifle as a crutch - and the
S.T.A.R.S. killer standing in the middle of the car, misshapen
head thrown back, its giant lipless mouth opening
as it growl-screamed wordlessly. The remaining
windows shook from the strength of its insane cry.
Jill opened fire, each shot a deafening explosion, the
heavy rounds slamming into its upper torso as it continued
to howl. The sheer force of the assault drove it
back a few steps, but if there was any effect otherwise,
she couldn't see it.
On the sixth round, Mikhail's rifle joined in, the
smaller slugs peppering the Nemesis's gigantic legs as
Jill went dry. Mikhail was still slumped against the wall
and his aim was poor, but Jill would take any help she
could get. She grabbed her Beretta - even with a speed
loader the .357 would take too long - and opened up,
going for head shots -
- not working -
- and the Nemesis stopped screaming and fixed its
attention on her, its slitted white eyes like cataracts, its
huge teeth shining and slick. Tentacles snaked around
its hairless, lumpy head.
"Get out!" Mikhail shouted, and Jill spared him a
glance, not even considering the idea as she fired
again - until it registered an instant later that he was
holding a grenade, one shaking finger hooked through
its ring. She recognized the make without thinking
about it - a Czech RG34, Barry had collected antipersonnel
grenades - as she sent a round into the Nemesis's
stitched brow to no effect. Impact grenade, once
the ring was pulled it'd detonate on contact -
- and Mikhail won't make it, it's suicide.
"No, you go, get behind me," she screamed, and the
S.T.A.R.S. killer took one massive step forward, almost
halving the distance between them.
"Get out!" Mikhail ordered again and popped the
ring, an expression of incredible concentration and purpose
on his dead-white face. "I'm dead already! Do it,
now!"
Her Beretta fired once more and was empty.
Jill spun and ran, leaving Mikhail to face the monster
alone.
Carlos heard the yelling amidst the shots as he
worked to bring the trolley to a stop, desperate to help
Jill and Mikhail, but they were in the middle of a relatively
tight curve and the poorly maintained controls
fought his efforts. He was about a second from joining
them anyway when the door behind him crashed open.
Carlos whipped around, one-arming his M16 as he instinctively
kept his other hand on the throttle, and saw
Jill. She practically flew into the car, her expression a
mask of expectant terror, his name forming on her lips -
- and a tremendous shock of fire and sound
bloomed up behind her, pushing her to dive, a clumsy
shoulder roll that was punctuated by the echoing boomcrash
from the second car. Tongues of flame burst
through the back door's window as the floor tilted
wildly. Carlos slammed against the driver's seat, the
chair's arm whacking him mid-thigh hard enough to
bring tears to his eyes.
Mikhail!
Carlos took one faltering step toward the back and
saw only burning pieces of the obliterated second car
dragging behind them, falling away as the trolley
picked up speed. There was no chance that Mikhail
could have survived, and Carlos started having serious
doubts about their own chances as Jill stumbled forward,
her face haunted by whatever she'd seen.
The cable car bit another curve, and then it was out
of control, tossing back and forth like a ship on stormy
seas, except the thunder and lightning were caused by
their car smashing mightily into buildings and autos
alike, sending up great plumes of sparks. Instead of
slowing them down, the trolley seemed to be picking
up speed with each impact, hurtling through the dark in
a series of fiery metal screams.
Carlos fought gravity to grab the throttle, aware that
they'd jumped the tracks, that Mikhail was gone, that
their only hope was the manual brake. If they were very
lucky, the wheels would lock. He yanked back as hard
as he could...
... and nothing happened, nothing at all. They were
screwed.
Jill made it to the front, clutching at chair backs and
support poles as the trolley continued to buck and
screech. Carlos saw her staring at the useless throttle
beneath his fingers, saw despair flash in her eyes, and
he knew that they had to jump.
"The brakes!" Jill shouted.
"No good! We have to bail!"
He turned, grabbed his rifle by the barrel, and used
the locked stock to break out a side window, a sudden
shift of the floor sending the glass shards raining on his
chest. He held on to the slick window frame with one
hand, reached back to grab Jill -
- and saw her drive her elbow into a small glass
panel set low into the console, a look of crazed hope on
her face as she pulled a switch he couldn't see...
SKREEEEEEE
emergency brake
... and incredibly, the trolley was slowing, tipping to
the left a final time before settling back, sliding forward
in a diminishing spray of bright sparks. Carlos closed
his eyes and gripped the useless throttle, tensing, trying
to prepare himself for the impact - and a few seconds
later, a mild, anticlimactic crunch signified their journey's
end; the car had come to rest against a pile of broken
concrete pieces in the middle of a neatly trimmed
lawn, a few shadowy statues and hedges nearby. A final
tremor rattled through the car, and it was over.
Silence, except for the tick of cooling metal. He
opened his eyes, hardly able to credit their nightmare
ride through the city. Next to him, Jill took a shaky
breath. It had all happened so fast, it was a miracle that
he and Jill were still alive.
"Mikhail?" he asked softly.
Jill shook her head. "It was the Tyrant-thing, the
S.T.A.R.S. Nemesis. Mikhail had a grenade, it kept
coming at us and he..."
Her voice broke, and she reached into her pack and
started to reload her weapons, concentrating on the
simple movements. It seemed to calm her. When she
spoke again, her voice was firm.
"Mikhail sacrificed himself when he saw that the
Nemesis was coming after me."
She looked away, out into the dark as a chill wind
drafted through the trolley's shattered windows. Her
shoulders slumped. Carlos wasn't sure what to say. He
stepped toward her, gently touching one abraded shoulder,
and felt her body stiffen beneath his fingers. He quickly
dropped his hand, afraid that he'd offended her somehow,
and then realized that she was staring out at something, a
look of pure amazement on her delicate features.
Carlos followed her gaze, looking out and up to see a
giant, three- or four-story tower looming over them, silhouetted
against a backdrop of clouded night sky.
A glowing white clock face near the top read that it was
almost midnight.
"Somebody loves us, Carlos," Jill said, and Carlos
could only nod mutely.
They had reached the clock tower.
Nicholai walked along the moonlit tracks, not bothering
to conceal himself as he plodded west. He'd be
able to see anything coming and kill it long before it
reached him; he was in a foul mood and almost welcomed
the opportunity to blow the guts out of something,
human or otherwise.
His anger had abated somewhat, giving way to a
rather fatalistic state of mind. It no longer seemed feasible
for him to track down the dying platoon leader
and two young soldiers - basically, there just wasn't
enough time. It would take at least an hour for him to
make it to the clock tower; assuming they could figure
out how to ring the bells, they'd be long gone by the
time he got there.
Nicholai scowled, working to remind himself that his
plans hadn't changed, that he still had an agenda to fulfill.
Four people were unwittingly waiting for him.
After Dr. Aquino, there were the soldiers - Chan and a
Sergeant Ken Franklin - and the factory worker, Foster.
When they were all out of the way, Nicholai still had to
collect their data, arrange a meeting, and 'copter out.
He had plenty to do ... yet he couldn't help feeling
cheated by the circumstances.
He stopped walking, cocking his head to one side. He
heard a crash, an impact of some kind further west, perhaps
even a small explosion muffled by distance. A second
later he felt the slightest of vibrations coming from
the trolley tracks. The tracks ran down the middle of a
main street, anything solid could have given them a jolt -
- but it's them, it's Mikhail and Carlos and Jill
Valentine. They ran into something, or something went
wrong with the engine, or...
Or he didn't know what, but he was suddenly quite
sure that they had encountered trouble. It reinforced for
him the positive feeling he had that he was the one with
skill; they were forced to rely on luck, and not all luck
was good.
Perhaps we will meet again. Anything is possible, especially
in a place like this.
Ahead of him and to the left, from in between an office
building and a fenced lot, came a gurgling groan,
then another. Three infected shambled out into the
open, ten meters or so from where he stood. They were
too far away to make out clearly in the waxy moonlight,
but Nicholai could see that none of them were in
good shape; two were missing arms and the third's legs
had somehow been cut down, so that it seemed to be
walking on its knees, each stumping footstep creating a
noise like someone smacking their lips.
"Uhllg," the closest complained, and Nicholai shot it
through its disintegrating brains. Two more shots and
the other two joined the first, collapsing to the asphalt
in wet thumps.
He felt much better. Whether or not he got an opportunity
to see his duplicitous comrades again - and he
found that he felt strongly that he would - he was the
superior man, and he would triumph in the end.
The awareness filled him with a new energy.
Nicholai broke into a trot, eager to meet whatever challenge
came next.
0 comments
Post a Comment