NINETEEN
JILL STARED IN ASTONISHMENT AS WESKER
suddenly stopped talking and crumpled to the floor
and Barry stepped into view, staring down at
Wesker's body with a look of intense hatred, Colt in
hand.
She crouched down next to Wesker and pried the
Beretta from his fingers, tucking it into her waistband.
Barry turned to look at her, his eyes swimming with
apology. "Jill, I'm so sorry. I never should have
believed him."
Jill stared at him for a moment, thinking about his
daughters. Moira was Becky McGee's age. . .
"It's okay," she said finally. "You came back, that's
what matters."
Barry handed her back her weapons, and they both
gazed down at Wesker's sprawled form, still breathing
but unconscious. He was out cold.
"I don't suppose you have any handcuffs on you?"
Barry asked.
Jill shook her head. "Maybe we should check out
the lab, there's bound to be some cable or cord we can
use. Besides, I'm kind of curious about this 'miracle
of modern science' he was talking about..."
She turned and found the switch that operated the
hydraulic door, noting the biohazard symbol painted
across the front. The door slid open and the two of
them stepped inside.
Wow. . .
It was a huge, high-ceilinged chamber lined with
monitoring consoles, cables snaking across the floor
and connecting to a whole series of standing glass
tubes. There were eight of the tubes lined up in the
center of the room, each of them big enough to hold a
grown man. They were all empty.
Barry reached down and scooped up a handful of
cable, digging into his pocket for a knife while Jill
walked toward the back, gazing at the technical and
medical equipment and stopped, staring, feeling
her jaw drop.
Against the back wall was a much larger tube, at
least eight or nine feet tall, hooked up to its own
computer console and the thing inside filled it, top
to bottom. It was monstrous.
"Jill, I got the cable. I. . ."
Barry stopped next to her, his words faltering as he
saw the abomination. Silently, they both walked toward
it, unable to resist a closer look.
It was tall, but proportionally correct, at least
through the broad, muscular torso and long legs; those
parts appeared human. One of its arms had been
altered into a cluster of massive, dragging claws,
hanging past its knees, while the other seemed ordinary,
if overly large. There was a thick, bloody tumor
protruding from where its heart would be, and Jill
realized, staring at the bulbous mass that it was the
thing's heart; it was pulsing slowly, expanding and
contracting in slow, rhythmic beats.
She stopped in front of the tube, awed by the
abomination. She could see lines of scar tissue snaking
across its limbs, surgical scars. It had no sexual
organs; they'd been cut away. She looked up at its face
and saw that parts of the flesh there had also been
removed; the lips were gone, and it seemed to grin
broadly at her through the sliced red tissue of its face,
all of its teeth exposed.
"Tyrant," Barry said quietly.
Jill glanced over at him, saw him frowning down at
the computer that was hooked to the tube by multiple
cables.
She looked back at the Tyrant, feeling nearly overwhelmed
by pity and disgust. Whatever it was now, it
had once been a man. Umbrella had turned him into a
freakish horror.
"We can't leave it like this," she said softly, and
Barry nodded.
She joined him at the console, looking down at the
myriad switches and buttons. There had to be a
switch that would put an end to its life; it deserved
that much.
There was a set of six red switches in a row along
the bottom and Barry flipped one of them down.
Nothing seemed to happen. He glanced at her, and
she nodded for him to continue. He used the side of
his hand to flip all of them.
There was a sudden, dull thump...
They both whirled around, saw the Tyrant pull back
its human hand and hit the glass again. Cracks
webbed out from the impact, though the glass had to
be several inches thick.
"Oh . . . SHIT!"
Barry grabbed her arm as the creature drew its
bleeding knuckles back for another blow.
"Run!"
They ran, Jill wishing to God that they'd left it
alone, panic welling up from deep inside of her. Barry
slammed his hand down on the door control and it
slid open as behind them, glass shattered.
They stumbled through the door, terrified, Barry
hitting the lock and saw that Wesker was gone.
Wesker stumbled toward the power room, his head
pounding, his limbs feeling strangely distant and
weak. He felt like he was going to throw up.
Goddamn Barry . . .
They'd taken his gun. He'd come to as they'd
walked into the lab and reeled toward the elevator,
cursing them both, cursing Umbrella for creating such
a screwed up mess, cursing himself for not simply
killing the S.T.A.R.S. when he could have.
It's not over. I'm still in control. This is my
game. . .
The sample case was down in the lab, probably
being destroyed right now by one of those idiots.
Tyrant, too. That magnificent creature, powerless
without the adrenaline injections, dead. They'd shoot
him in his sleeping heart, he'd die without ever tasting
battle. . .
Wesker reached the door to the room and leaned
against it, struggling to catch his breath. Blood dribbled
out of his ears and he shook his head, trying to
clear it of the strange fog that had settled into his
brain.
He didn't have the tissue samples, but he could still
complete his mission. It was important, very important
that he complete his mission. It was about
control, and control was his game.
. . . triggering system, watch out for monkeys . . .
The Ma2s, he had to be careful. Wesker opened the
door and pitched forward, the ground seeming too far
away and then too close. The machines were hissing at
him, whining and hissing in the hot, oily air. His hand
found the railing and he pulled himself toward the
back of the room, trying to hurry but finding that his
legs weren't interested.
A claw shot down from above and tore into his
scalp, yanking away a clump of hair. He felt warm
liquid trickle down the back of his neck and stumbled
on, the pain in his head sharper now.
Took my gun, stupid, stupid assholes took my
gun. . .
He reached the door and had just managed to get it
open when something heavy landed on his back,
knocking him into the next room. He fell on the cold
metal floor and a terrible shriek sounded in his ear.
Thick talons punctured the skin on his back and
Wesker slapped at it, at the grinning, screaming thing
that was trying to kill him.
He hit the creature as hard as he could, shoving the
heel of his hand into its throat. It leaped away,
landing on the mesh wall and clambering back up to
the ceiling.
Wesker pulled himself up and stumbled on, fresh
waves of pain and nausea washing over him. The air
was too hot, the turbines loud and relentless in their
spinning, throbbing frenzy, but he could see the
door to the back now, the door that led to the
completion of his mission.
All of the S.T.A.R.S., dead, blown into orbit while I
escape, fly away a rich man. . .
He flung the door open and made his way toward
the small, glowing screen in the back corner. It was
quieter here, cooler. The massive machines that filled
the chamber hummed softly at him, their purpose
quite different than that of the ones outside. These
were the machines that wanted to help him regain his
control.
The noise from the open door behind him seemed
far away as he reached the glowing screen, his fingers
numb as they touched the keyboard beneath.
He found the keys he needed, the code spilling out
across the monitor in soft green after only a few
mistakes. A sexy, quiet voice informed him that the
countdown would begin in thirty seconds. Dizzy, he
tried to remember the setting for the timer. The
system would trigger automatically in five minutes,
but he had to reset it, give himself time to get
reoriented and make his way to the outside.
Behind him, something screamed.
Wesker whirled around, confused-and saw four of
the mesh-monkeys running at him, lashing out with
long, curved hands as they reached him. Terrible pain
shot up through his legs and he fell, crashing to the
hard steel floor.
This can't happen.
One of the creatures jumped onto his chest and
suddenly Wesker couldn't breathe, couldn't even raise
his weak arms to push it away. Another tore into his
left leg, ripping away a thick chunk of flesh with its
hooked claw. The third and fourth screamed in savage
glee, dancing around him like dark, vicious children,
lifting their claws as they pranced on squat legs.
Somehow, there was blood in his eyes, and the
world was spinning away, screams and hisses and
incredible, searing heat blurring his vision, his
mind.
Tyrant has come.
Wesker could feel it, could feel the presence of
something vast and powerful touching him. Grinning
through the pain, he searched for it through the red
haze of his failing vision, wanting more than anything
to see it slaughter his attackers in a glory of perfect
motion, but he could only make out the immense
shadow that seemed to flood over him, through him,
could only imagine that the powerful, magnificent
warrior was reaching down to lift him from his
torment. . .
I control let me seeeee. . .
Darkness stole his hopes away, and Wesker thought
no more.
". . . S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team, Bravo, anybody -
- you can't answer, try to signal! I'm running out of fuel,
do you read? This is Brad! Repeat-S. T.A.R.S. Alpha
team ..."
Rebecca hit the button, talking fast. "Brad! There's
a heliport at the Spencer estate, you have to get to the
heliport! Brad, come in!"
There was a high, whining squeal and Rebecca
heard what must have been the word "copy" - but the
rest was lost.
"I copy?" or, "Do you copy?"
There was no way to know. Frustrated and worried,
Rebecca held on to the radio tightly, hoping that he'd
heard her.
Suddenly, a shrill alarm blared into the silent room
through some hidden speaker in the ceiling. Rebecca
jumped, staring around the cold chamber helplessly.
There was a buzzing click from inside the door that
led to the heliport and she hurried over, grabbing the
handle and pulling it open. It had unlocked.
A cool, female voice began to speak, slowly and
clearly over the jangling alarm.
"The triggering system has now been activated. All
personnel must evacuate immediately or process deactivation.
You have five minutes. The triggering system
has now been activated. . ."
As the recorded message repeated, Rebecca stood
in the open doorway and watched the open ladder
shaft, her blood racing, waiting to see Chris emerge
from the levels below.
He'd only been gone a few minutes, but their time
had just run out.
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