TWENTY-ONE
CARLOS WAS SITTING WITH HIS BACK TO THE
door eating fruit cocktail out of a can when he heard
Jill stir, the regular, consistent sound of her deep
breathing becoming lighter. She turned her head from
side to side, still asleep, but the movement was the
most deliberate action he'd seen in forty-eight hours.
He stood as quickly as he could, forced to be careful by
the pinch of his tightly taped ribs, and hurried to the
raised altar where she lay.
He picked up the bottle of water at the base of the
dais, and when he stood up again, she opened her eyes.
"Jill? I'm going to give you some water now. Try
and help me out, okay?"
She nodded, and Carlos felt sappy with relief, holding
her head up while she drank a few swallows from
the bottle. It was the first time she had responded
clearly to anything, and her color looked good. For two
days she had drunk when he'd pushed it on her, swallowing
at least but white as a ghost and completely out
of it otherwise.
"Where ... are we?" Jill asked weakly, closing her
eyes as she lay her head back down on the makeshift
pillow, a piece of rolled-up carpet. Her blanket was
made from unburned drapes he'd salvaged from the
foyer.
"The chapel of the clock tower," he said softly, still
smiling. "We've been here since - since the helicopter
crashed."
Jill opened her eyes again, obviously aware and reasonably
focused. She wasn't infected, he'd been so
afraid for a while, but she was okay, she had to be.
"How long?"
Talking seemed to be tiring for her, so Carlos tried to
summarize everything that had happened, to save her
the questions. "The Nemesis shot down the helicopter,
and you and I were both wounded. Your shoulder
was ... injured, but I've been changing the dressings
and it doesn't seem to be infected. We've been here two
days, recuperating, you've been sleeping mostly. It's
October first, I think, the sun set an hour ago and it's
been raining off and on since last night..."
He trailed off, not sure what else he could tell her but
not wanting her to fall asleep again, not right away.
He'd been stuck with his own thoughts for long
enough.
"Oh, I found a case of fruit cocktail, of all things, in
the trunk in that one sitting room - the one with the
chessboard, remember? Water, too, someone was
hoarding, I guess, lucky for us. I didn't want to leave
you alone, I've been, ah, taking care of you." He didn't
add that he'd been cleaning her up, changing the drapes
she lay upon when it was necessary; he didn't want her
to feel embarrassed.
"You're hurt?" she asked, frowning, blinking slowly.
"Couple of fractured ribs, no big deal. Well,
maybe when I have to pull the tape off, that's gonna
hurt like a son of a bitch. All I could find was duct
tape."
She smiled faintly, and Carlos softened his tone, almost
afraid to ask. "How are you doin'?"
"Two days? No more helicopters?" she asked, looking
away, and he felt himself tense slightly. She hadn't
answered his question.
"No more helicopters," he said and noticed for the
first time that the color in her cheeks was overly red.
He touched the side of her neck, and his tension grew;
fever, not too bad, but she hadn't had it the last time
he'd checked, an hour before. "Jill, how do you feel?"
"Not bad. Not bad at all, hardly any pain." Her voice
was flat, inflectionless.
Carlos smiled crookedly. "Bien, si? That's good
news, that means we can pack up and get out of here
soon..."
"I'm infected with the virus," she said, and Carlos
froze, his smile fading.
No. No, she's wrong, it's not possible.
"It's been two days, you can't be," he said firmly,
telling her what he'd been telling himself since he first
woke up. "I saw one of the other soldiers turn into a
zombie, couldn't have been more than two hours from
the time Randy was bit until he changed. If you have it,
something would have happened by now."
Jill carefully rolled onto her side, wincing a little,
closing her eyes again. She sounded incredibly tired.
"I'm not going to argue with you, Carlos. Maybe it's a
different mutation because it came from the Nemesis,
or maybe I picked up some kind of immunity, from
being at the Spencer estate. I don't know, but I have it."
Her voice shook. "I can feel it, I can feel myself getting
worse!"
"Okay, okay, shhh," Carlos said, deciding that he
would leave immediately. He'd take Jill's revolver in
addition to the assault rifle, and definitely a couple of
hand grenades.
The hospital was close, and there was at least one
vaccine sample there, that's what Trent had said. Carlos
had wanted to find the hospital earlier, for supplies, but
he'd been too exhausted and hurt to go looking, at
first - and then he hadn't wanted to risk leaving Jill
alone and unconscious, dangerous for several reasons.
I'll go out front and head west, see if I can find a
sign or something... Trent had also said something
about the hospital not being there for much longer;
Carlos hoped he wasn't too late.
"Try and get back to sleep," Carlos said. "I'm going
to take off for a while, to try and find something that
might help you. I won't be gone long."
Jill already seemed to be half asleep, but she raised
her head and made an effort to be clear, enunciating
carefully. "If you come back and I'm - sicker, I want
you to help me. I'm asking you now, I may not be able
to ask you later. Do you understand?"
Carlos wanted to protest but knew that he'd want the
same thing if he had the disease. Being dead sucked,
but Raccoon was proof that there were worse things.
Like having to shoot someone you care about.
"I understand," he said. "You rest now. I'll be back
soon."
Jill slept, and Carlos started to load up. Just before
he left, he gazed into her sleeping face for a long moment,
silently praying that she'd still be Jill when he
got back.
The hospital turned out to be much closer than he
thought, less than two blocks away.
Nicholai waited for Ken Franklin eagerly, knowing
that the Watchdog's death would mark the beginning of
the end game. Nicholai's growing frustration was about
to come to an end.
If the bastard ever shows up... But no, he was coming,
and then Nicholai would be on track again. He
checked the corner window of the office he'd chosen,
overlooking the dark, empty street - also his escape
route, if the sergeant turned out to be troublesome - frame
tenth time in half as many minutes, willing the errant
Watchdog to hurry.
Nothing had gone as he'd planned, and although he'd
made the best of it, Nicholai was losing his patience.
The search for Davis Chan had been spectacularly unsuccessful;
Nicholai hadn't even caught a glimpse of
him during the two days he'd stayed in the city - and
twice more the elusive soldier had managed to avoid a
confrontation after filing his reports, sending Nicholai
running all over town.
Nicholai had also been planning to head to Umbrella's
"water treatment" facility to get rid of Terence
Foster earlier in the day, but he'd been further sidetracked
in a wild-goose chase - he'd seen an uninfected
woman near the RPD building, a tall, Asian-American
woman wearing a tight, sleeveless red dress and holding
a gun like she knew what to do with it. She'd
slipped into the building and was gone. Nicholai had
searched for nearly four hours but hadn't seen the mystery
woman again.
So, all three of his targets, still alive. He'd been able
to collect some Watchdog information, at least, uncovering
a couple of private lab reports on the strength of
the average zombie, but he'd had enough, enough eating
cold beans out of cans, enough sleeping with one
eye open, enough playing big game hunter. By his
count, he'd killed four Beta Hunters, three giant spiders,
and three brain suckers. And dozens of zombies,
of course, although he didn't really count those as worthy
of note, not anymore. They just kept getting slower
and stickier; Raccoon already smelled like a giant
cesspool, and it was only going to get worse as the
virus carriers continued to decay, turning into great
sludgy piles of malodorous stew.
I'll be gone by then. After all, Franklin will be here
any minute.
After two days of unmet objectives, Nicholai had
come to see Franklin's appointment at the hospital as
something solid, something he could hold on to - a
sure kill. And as he'd passed long, solitary hours immersed
in the growing chaos of uncertainty, the death
of Ken Franklin had become extremely important.
Once he was dead, Nicholai could blow up the hospital;
once the hospital was destroyed, Nicholai could hunt
down Chan and Foster, and then he could leave. Everything
would fall into place as soon as he killed
Franklin.
Even as Nicholai embraced that thought, he heard
footsteps out in the hall. Heart swelling with pleasure,
Nicholai took his position by the window and waited
for Franklin to find him. The cluttered office/supply
room was on the fourth floor, not far from where he'd
killed and hidden Dr. Aquino.
Come along, Sergeant...
When the Watchdog opened the door, Nicholai was
leaning casually in the corner, arms folded. Franklin
was carrying top of the line, a 9mm VP70, and he had it
trained on Nicholai's face in the blink of an eye.
Nicholai didn't move.
"You're not supposed to be here," Franklin said
coolly, his voice deep and deadly. He stepped further
into the room, not taking his gaze - or the semiautomatic
- off of Nicholai.
Time for him to find out who's smarter. Anyone
could stage an ambush, but it took a certain amount of
intelligence and skill to make one's opponent willingly
walk into one. Nicholai feigned a mildly surly nervousness.
"You're right, I'm not. Aquino should be here, but
he stopped filing reports yesterday. They thought he was
too busy, working on the antiviral, but I've been looking
since last night and can't find him." Nicholai had actually
filed several status reports with Dr. Aquino's name
on them since killing him, to keep up appearances.
"Who are you?" Franklin asked. He was tall and well
muscled, with very dark skin and rather delicate-looking
wire rimmed glasses. There was nothing delicate in
the way he looked at Nicholai, however.
Nicholai uncrossed his arms and lowered them very
slowly. "Nicholai Ginovaef, U.B.C.S. ... and Watchdog.
I was tapped to check things out when the doctor
went AWOL. You're Franklin, right? Have you had any
contact with Aquino since your arrival? Did he talk to
you about where he was going to secure the sample, or
give you a combination, or a key?"
Franklin didn't lower his weapon, but he was obviously
confused. "Nobody told me about any change in
plans. Who did you say sent you?"
This part was a risk. Nicholai knew the names of
four men important enough to have made changes to
Umbrella's agenda, and chances were good that one of
them was Franklin's contact and would already have
informed Franklin.
"I didn't say," Nicholai said. "But I guess it's okay to
tell you ... Trent called me in on this."
He'd chosen the man he knew least about, even after
all of his careful research, in the hope that Franklin
wouldn't know anything about him, either. Trent was
an enigma, skulking around the other top brass like
some cryptic shadow. Nicholai didn't even know his
first name.
It worked for the sergeant. Franklin lowered his
weapon, still wary but obviously willing to believe.
"So, you couldn't find Aquino? What about the vaccine?"
Nicholai sighed, shaking his head and then deliberately
looking to his left, a space hidden from Franklin's
view by an overstuffed shelf. "No sign of the
doc ... but this was his office, and there's a wall safe
back here. Do you know anything about getting one of
these things open?"
Nicholai knew that Franklin did - on his personnel
file, safecracking was listed among his skills.
Nicholai didn't give a shit whether or not Franklin
could open the safe; what mattered was that to get to
the safe, the sergeant would have to turn his back on
Nicholai.
I'm better, better at this than Aquino or Chan or this
fool, and this will prove it. I'd never turn my back on
anyone, ever. Yes, that would be unworthy of him...
Franklin nodded, bolstering the VP70 and walking
toward the corner where Nicholai stood. "Yeah, I know
a little. I can take a look at it, anyway."
Nicholai nodded briskly. "Good. I was starting to
think that I was going to be stuck here for a while."
"Maybe that's for the best," Franklin said, stepping
past Nicholai to a small safe inset behind the shelf.
"With the way things are going out there, I've been
thinking about holing up someplace for a while, waiting
until things die down a little."
Nicholai took a silent step closer to Franklin, eyeing
the VP70's unsnapped holster. "Not a bad idea."
Franklin nodded, frowning at the keypad. "Chan is
doing it, he says the info will still be there tomorrow so
why not, right?"
Davis Chan!
Nicholai held very still, deciding - and then he
darted forward and snatched up the 9mm, not willing to
dance for what he wanted. He shoved Franklin at the
same time, pushing him off balance, using the split second
of his recovery time to sight the heavy handgun.
"Chan - tell me where he is, and you live,"
Nicholai barked. With his free hand, he reached into
his pocket and touched the vaccine case, for luck. It
had become something of a talisman for him, a reminder
of how good he was - and it was lucky, he
knew it.
Franklin and now Chan, the only two Watchdogs
with no assigned filing locale. Incredible.
Franklin backed up a step, hands up. "Hey, take it
easy..."
"Where is he?"
Franklin was sweating. "At the radio setup, okay? At
the cemetery. Look, I don't know you, and I don't care
what you're doing..."
"Terrific," Nicholai said, and shot Franklin in the abdomen,
twice.
"Uuh!" Franklin grunted heavily as blood splattered
the wall behind him. The sergeant fell backwards and
landed on his butt, arms still outspread, an expression
of surprise on his dark features. Nicholai was a little
surprised himself; he'd expected better from one of the
soldier dogs.
Nicholai raised the weapon, aiming it at Franklin's
forehead...
... when he heard the door open, boot steps jogging
into the room. Handgun still pointed at the dying
Franklin, Nicholai ducked down and peered through an
opening in the shelf...
... and saw Carlos Oliveira standing there, staring
around wildly and hefting a .357 revolver, obviously
trying to figure out where the shots had come from.
It was a gift from the fates. Nicholai stepped into
view, Carlos's stupid face targeted before the soldier
even realized that there was somebody else in the
room.
"Gotcha," Nicholai whispered.
0 comments
Post a Comment