ResidentEvil-Nemesis [Chapter: 16]

SIXTEEN

THE TROLLEY'S DOOR WAS JAMMED, SO JILL

and Carlos had to climb out of a window, Carlos looking

as drained as Jill felt. It was a frankly weird coincidence

that the trolley had ended up exactly where they

needed to go, but then the last several hours - hell,

weeks - had been weird. Jill thought it would serve her

well to stop letting things surprise her.

The clock tower yard seemed empty of life, nothing

moving but a thin haze of oily smoke boiling up from

the cable car's electrical system. They walked to the

unused decorative fountain in front of the main doors,

gazing up at the giant clock and the small belfry that

topped the tower, Jill's thoughts heavy with images of

Mikhail Victor. She'd never even been properly introduced

to the man who'd saved her life, but she thought

that they'd lost a valuable ally. The strength of character

it took to die so that another might live ... heroic

was the only word that fit.

Maybe he even killed the Nemesis, it was practically

on top of him when the grenade went off ... Wishful

thinking, probably, but she could hope.

"So, I guess we try to find the bell mechanism,"

Carlos said. "Do you think it's safe to split up, or

should we..."

Caw!

The harsh cry of a crow cut him off, and Jill felt a

fresh surge of adrenaline pump new life into her veins.

She grabbed Carlos's hand as a fluttering sound filled

the dark from above and around them, the sound of

birds' wings pushing air.

The hall of portraits at the mansion, watched from

above by dozens of shiny black eyes as they waited to

attack. And Forest Speyer, from the Bravo team, Chris

said he'd been ripped apart by dozens, perhaps hundreds

of them.

"Come on!" She pulled at Carlos, remembering the

relentless viciousness of the altered, oversized crows at

the Spencer estate. Carlos seemed to know better than

to ask questions as a dozen more hoarse cries pierced

the air. They ran around the fountain to the front doors

of the tower.

Locked.

"Cover me!" Jill shouted, reaching into her pack for

her lockpick tools, the wheeling cries closing in on

them...

... and Carlos threw himself at the doors, hitting the

heavy old wood hard enough that splinters flew. He

jogged back a few paces and ran at them again, bam...

... and they crashed inward, Carlos following through

to trip and sprawl across the tastefully tiled floor, Jill

quickly stepping in behind him. She grabbed the door

handles and slammed the doors closed not a second too

soon. There were two audible thumps from the other

side, joined by a chorus of angry screeching and the

brush of dark wings, and then they were retreating, the

sounds fading away. Jill sagged against the doors, exhaling

heavily.

God, is it ever going to stop? Do we have to face off

with every demonic asshole in the city before we 're allowed

to leave?

"Zombie birds? Are you kidding me?" Carlos said,

pushing himself to his feet as Jill manually bolted the

doors. She didn't bother answering him, turning to take

in the clock tower's grand lobby instead.

It reminded her of the Spencer mansion's foyer, the

low lights and Gothic scrollwork giving it a kind of

shabbily elegant atmosphere. A wide marble staircase

dominated the large room, leading up to a second-floor

landing with stained-glass windows. There were doors

on either side of the room, a couple of polished wood

tables in front of them, and to their left...

Jill sighed inwardly and felt something inside tighten

a little. She hadn't expected the clock tower to be some

kind of untouched sanctuary, even as far out of town as

it was, but she realized that she had hoped - a hope lost

at the sight of more death.

The scene told a story, a kind of mystery. Five male

corpses, all of them dressed in somewhat military garb.

Three of them lay next to the tables, apparently victims

of a virus carrier; the carrier's bullet-riddled body was

nearby. The victims' flesh had been gnawed, their skulls

crushed and empty. The fifth corpse, a young man, had

shot himself in the head, presumably after dispatching

the zombie. Had he killed himself out of despair at the

sight of his half-eaten friends? Had he been responsible

somehow? Or had he known the virus carrier well, and

taken his life after being forced to kill it?

No way we can ever know. It's just another handful

of lives lost in some untold tragedy, one among this

city's thousands.

Carlos moved closer to the bodies, frowning. From

the grim look on his face, she got the impression that

he knew who they were. He crouched down and pulled

a blood-streaked duffel bag out from in between two of

them, drawing a trail of red across the tile. Jill could

hear metal touching metal inside, and it was obviously

heavy, Carlos's bicep straining to lift the bag.

"Is that what I think it is?" Jill asked.

Carlos took the bag to one of the tables and eased the

contents out. Jill felt a sudden, unexpected burst of glee

at what was there; she hurried to the table, hardly able

to believe their luck.

A half dozen hand grenades like the one Mikhail had

used, RG34s; eight M16 thirty-round magazines,

loaded as far as she could tell; and, more than she could

have hoped for, a US M79 grenade launcher with a

handful of fat 40mm cartridges.

"Weapons at the clock tower," Carlos said thoughtfully.

Before Jill could ask what he meant, he picked up

one of the rifle grenades and whistled softly.

"Buckshot loads," he said. "One of these would have

blasted the living shit out of that Nemesis espantajo."

Jill raised her eyebrows. " 'Espantajo'?"

"Literally, a scarecrow," Carlos said, "but it's used

like weirdo, or freak."

Appropriate. Jill nodded toward the men who had

carried the weapons. "Do you recognize these people?"

Carlos shrugged uncomfortably, handing her three of

the hand grenades. "They're all U.B.C.S., I've seen

them around, but I don't - I didn't know them. They

were just dumb grunts, they probably had no idea what

they were getting into when they joined Umbrella, or

when we were sent here. Like me."

He seemed angry and a little sad, and he abruptly

changed the topic, suddenly remembering how close

they were to escaping Raccoon City. "Do you want to

carry the grenade gun?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Jill said, smiling. She

could use a weapon that would, as Carlos so colorfully

put it, blast the living shit out of the Nemesis freak.

"Now all we have to do is find a button somewhere,

push it, and wait for our taxi to arrive."

Carlos smiled faintly in turn, tucking M16 mags into

his vest pockets. "And try not to end up dead, like

everyone else in this goddamn place."

Jill had no response to that. "Upstairs?"

Carlos nodded. Armed and ready, they started up.

The clock tower's second floor was really only a balcony

that overlooked the front room. It ran along three

sides of the building, and there was a single door where

it ended, which had to lead to another set of staks - to

the belfry, if Carlos remembered the term correctly.

Where the bells were.

Almost over, this is almost over, almost over...

He let the repeating thought drive away almost everything

else, too fatigued to consider his feelings of anger and

sorrow and fear, aware that his breaking point wasn't

all that far off. He could sort through his emotions once

they left Raccoon behind.

The balcony itself was as richly adorned as the

lobby, blue tiles that matched the blue of the stainedglass

windows, an arched overhang supported by

white columns. They could see almost all of the fine

balcony from the top of the stairs, and it appeared to

be clear, not a zombie or monster in sight. Carlos

breathed easier and saw that Jill also seemed more at

ease. She carried the Colt Python and wore the

grenade gun on her back, using Carlos's belt as a

sling.

How did Trent know there would be weapons here?

Did he know I'd be taking them from dead men?

Carlos realized suddenly that he was overestimating

Trent's reach. There had to be another cache of

weapons somewhere in the building, that was all, he

and Jill had just happened across the duffel bag. The alternative

- that Trent had somehow known about the

dead soldiers - was too bizarre to consider.

They started down the first leg of the balcony side by

side, Carlos wondering what Jill would say if he told

her about Trent. She'd probably think he was kidding,

the whole thing was so spy-novel mysterious...

Something moved. Ahead of them and around the

first corner, something on the ceiling, a flash of dark

movement. Carlos stepped to the railing and leaned out

to look, but, whatever it was, it was either hidden behind

one of the hanging arches or something that his

exhausted brain had come up with to keep him awake.

"What?" Jill whispered at his shoulder, holding her

revolver ready.

Carlos searched a few seconds longer and then shook

his head, turning away. "Nothing, I guess, thought I

saw something on the ceiling, but..."

"Shit!"

Carlos swung around as Jill jerked her weapon up,

pointing at the ceiling just in front of them as a creature

the size of a large dog skittered in their direction, a

thing with a humped body and multiple legs, its thickly

furred feet thumping stickily across the ceiling faster

than seemed possible.

Jill unloaded three rounds into it before Carlos could

blink, but not before he registered what he was looking

at. It was a spider, big enough for Carlos to see his own

reflection in its shining eyes as it crashed to the floor.

Dark fluids spouted from its back as it thrashed its multicolored

legs in the air, ichorous blood pooling beneath

it. The wild, silent dance lasted only a second or two

before it curled into itself, dead.

"I hate spiders," Jill said, a look of revulsion on her

face as she started forward again, scanning the ceiling.

"All those legs, that bloated stomach ... yuck."

"You've seen these before?" Carlos asked, unable to

look away from the closed fist of its body.

"Yeah, at the Umbrella lab in the woods. Not alive,

though, the ones I saw were dead."

Jill's apparent calm as they skirted the dead spider

and continued on reminded Carlos how lucky he was to

have hooked up with her. He'd come across a lot of

tough men in his experiences, but he doubted very

much that any one of them, put in her position, would

be handling themselves as capably as Jill Valentine.

The rest of the balcony was clear, although Carlos

uncomfortably noted a shitload of webbing on the ceiling,

mounds of the thick white stuff accumulated in

every corner; he didn't care much for spiders, either.

When they reached the door and swept their way

through, Jill going in low, Carlos was relieved to be

outside again.

They'd come out on a wide ledge in front of the

tower itself, a barren space surrounded by an ancient

railing, a couple of defunct spotlights, and a few

dead plants. There was a doorlike opening set a story

higher up in the tower but no way to get to it. It

seemed like a dead end, nowhere to go but back the

way they'd come. Carlos sighed; at least the crows,

if that's what they were, had migrated somewhere

else.

"So what now?" Carlos asked, looking out over the

dark courtyard, at the still smoking wrecked trolley car.

When Jill didn't answer, Carlos turned and saw her

standing by a copper plaque he hadn't noticed, set into

the stone face of the tower. She reached into her bag

and produced a wrapped set of lockpicks.

"You give up way too easy," Jill said, selecting a few

pieces from the bundle. "Watch for crows, and I'll see

what I can do about getting us a ladder."

Carlos covered her, vaguely wondering if there was

anything she couldn't do, smelling rain on the cold

wind that blew across the ledge. A moment later there

was a series of clicks followed by a low hum of hidden

machinery, and a narrow metal ladder descended from

just beneath the opening above.

"How do you feel about standing guard for another

few minutes?" Jill asked, smiling.

Carlos grinned, feeling her excitement; it really was

almost over. "You got it."

Jill quickly scaled the ladder and disappeared

through the open door above. She called down an allclear

a second later, and for the next several minutes,

Carlos paced the ledge, thinking about what he was

going to do after they were rescued. He wanted to talk

to Trent again, about what needed to be done to stop

Umbrella; whatever it took, he was there.

I bet he'd be interested in talking to Jill, too. When

the 'copters come, we play stupid until they let us go,

then plan out our next step - after a good meal and a

shower and about twenty-four hours of sleep, ofcourse...

He was so fixated on their deliverance from Raccoon

that he didn't notice Jill's expression at first as she descended

the ladder, didn't really think about the fact

that there weren't any bells tolling. He smiled at

her ... and then felt his heart sink, understanding that

their trial wasn't over yet.

"There's a gear missing from the bell mechanism,"

she said, "and we have to have it to make them ring.

The good news is, I'm willing to bet that it's somewhere

in the building."

Carlos arched an eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"I found this next to one of the other gears," Jill said

and handed him a tattered postcard.

The picture on the front was of three paintings hung

in a row, each piece incorporating a clock. Carlos

flipped the card over and saw "St. Michael Clock

Tower, Raccoon City" in fine print on the upper left

corner. Below that was a printed line of verse, which

Jill said out loud.

" 'Give your soul to the goddess. Put your hands together

to pray before her.' "

Carlos stared at her. "Are you suggesting that we

pray for the missing gear?"

"Ha ha. I'm suggesting that the gear is wherever

these clocks are."

Carlos handed the card back. "You said that was the

good news - what's the bad?"

Jill smiled sourly, an entirely humorless expression.

"I doubt that the gear is going to be laying out in plain

sight. It's some kind of puzzle, like the ones I ran

across at the Spencer estate - and a few of those almost

got me killed."

Carlos didn't ask. For the moment, at least, he didn't

want to know.