NINE
COLE WAS POKING IDLY THROUGH A BOX OF
bipolar transistors, thinking that he was an idiot; he
should be sleeping. It had to be close to midnight,
he'd been breaking his ass all day for Mr. Blue, and
he'd have to drag said ass out of bed in another six
hours to do the same. He was tired and sick to death
of being picked on just because the last happy asshole
to go through the Planet with a toolbox had done
everything wrong.
It's not my fault, he thought sullenly, that the
dumbass didn't connect the leads on the MOSFETs
before he installed 'em. And his outdoor conduits are
crappy, he didn't figure on the Planet's inductive
load ... incompetent jerkoff...
Maybe he was being harsh, but he wasn't feeling
particularly forgiving after the day he'd had. Mr. Blue
had distinctly told him to get to the surface cams
first - and then chased him down and insisted he'd
told him to take care of the intercom system first.
Cole knew he was full of shit - along with everyone
else working at the Planet - but Reston was one of the
top guys, a real heavy-hitter, when he said jump, you
jumped, and there was never a question of who was
right. Cole had only worked for Umbrella for a year,
but he'd made more money in that year than he had
in the five before combined; he was not gonna be the
one to piss off Mr. Blue (so-called because of his
perpetual blue suit) and get himself canned.
You sure about that? After all you've seen in the last
few weeks?
Cole put the box of transistors down and rubbed at
his eyes; they felt hot and itchy. He hadn't been
sleeping all that well since coming to work at the
Planet. It wasn't that he was some bleeding-heart
type, he didn't give much of a shit what Umbrella
wanted to do with their money. But...
... but it's hard to feel good about this place. It's bad
news. It's a freak show.
In his year with Umbrella, he'd wired a chem lab on
the west coast for power, installed a bunch of new
circuit breakers for a think tank on the other coast,
and generally done a lot of maintenance work wherever
they shipped him. Incredible pay, not too hard,
and the people he usually worked with were decent
enough - mostly blue-collar types doing the same
kind of stuff he was doing. And all he had to do outside
of the work was promise not to talk about
whatever he saw; he'd signed a contract to that effect
when he'd first hired on, and had never had a problem
with it. But then, he'd never seen the Planet.
When Umbrella called you out on a job, they didn't
explain anything. It was just, "fix that," and you fixed
it and got paid. Even within the working crews,
discussions about the job site's purpose were heavily
discouraged. Word got around, though, and Cole
knew enough about the Planet to think that he maybe
didn't want to work for Umbrella anymore.
There were the creatures, for one thing, the test
animals. He hadn't actually seen them, or the thing
they were calling Fossil, the frozen freak, but he'd
heard them, a couple of times. Once, in the middle of
the night, a screeching, howling sound that had
chilled him to the bone, a sound like a bird, screaming.
And then there was the day in Phase Two,
realigning one of the video cameras, when he'd heard
a strange chattering sound, like nails being tapped on
hollow wood, but the sound was animal, too. Alive.
He'd heard that they were specially created for Umbrella,
some kind of genetic hybrids that would be
better for studying, but hybrids of what? All of the
creatures had bizarre and unpleasant nicknames, too.
He'd heard the "research" guys talking about them on
more than one occasion.
Dacs. Scorps. Spitters. Hunters. Sound like a fun
bunch - for a horror movie.
Cole crawled to his feet, stretching his tired muscles,
still thinking unhappy thoughts. There was Reston,
of course; the guy was a grade-A tyrant, and of
the worst kind - the kind with a lot of power and not
a lot of patience. Cole was used to working with
managerial types, but Mr. Blue was way too high on
the food chain for his comfort zone. The man was
intimidating as all hell.
But that's not the worst, is it?
He sighed, looking around at the dozen cells that
lined the room, six on either side. No, the worst was
right in front of him. Each cell had a cot, a toilet, a
sink - and restraining straps on the walls and attached
to the beds. And the cell block was less than
twenty feet from the "foyer" of the first environment,
where the doors had locks on the outside.
After this one, I do some serious thinking about my
priorities; I've got enough saved to take a break, get
some perspective. . .
Cole sighed again. That was fine, for later. For now,
though, he had to try and catch some sleep. He turned
and walked to the door, slapping the lights off as he
opened it...
... and there was Reston. Hurrying around the
corner where the main corridor turned toward the
elevators, looking extremely upset.
Oh, hell, what now?
Reston saw him and practically ran to him, his blue
suit uncharacteristically rumpled, his pale gaze darting
left and right.
"Henry," he gasped, and stopped in front of him,
breathing hard. "Thank God. You have to help me.
There are two men, assassins, they broke in and
they're here to kill me, and I need your help."
Cole was as much taken aback by his demeanor as
by what he said; he'd never seen Blue with a hair out
of place, or without that small, smug smile that was
the sole property of the incredibly wealthy.
"I ... what?"
Reston took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.
"I'm sorry. I just - the Planet has been invaded; there
are two men here, looking for me. They mean to kill
me, Henry. I recognize them from a thwarted attempt
on my life not six months ago; they've posted a man
on the surface by the door, and I'm trapped, they'll
find me and..."
He broke off, gasping, and was he trying not to cry?
Cole stared at him, thinking he called me Henry.
"Why are they trying to kill you?" He asked.
"I was the chair for a hostile takeover last year, a
packaging company - the man we bought out was
unstable, he swore he'd get me. And now they're here,
right now they're locking up everyone in the cafeteria
- but they're only after me. I've called for help
but they won't get here in time. Please, Henry will
you help me? I ... I'll make it worth your while, I
promise you. You'll never have to work again, your
children will never have to work..."
The open plea in Reston's eyes was disconcerting; it
stopped Cole from mentioning that he didn't have
any children. The man was terrified, his lined face
quivering, his silver-shot hair sticking up in tufts.
Even without the monetary offer, Cole would have
offered to help.
Maybe.
"What do you want me to do?"
Reston half-smiled in relief, actually reaching out
to grasp Cole's arm. "Thank you, Henry. Thank you,
I ... I'm not sure. If you could - they only want me, so
if you could distract them somehow..."
He frowned, his lips trembling, then looked past
Cole to the small room that marked the entrance to
the environments. "That room! It has a lock on the
outside, and opens into One - if you could lure them
to you, slip into One ... I could lock them inside,
lock down the entire room as soon as you were out.
You could go straight through to Four and out to the
medical area, I'd unlock it for you as soon as they're
trapped."
Cole nodded uncertainly. It should work, except...
"Won't they know I'm not you? I mean, they'll have
a picture of you or something, won't they?"
"They won't be able to tell. They'll only see you for
a second, when they come around the corner, and
then you'll be gone. As soon as they get inside, I'll hit
the controls - I can hide in the cell block."
Reston's pale eyes were swimming, overbright with
unshed tears. The guy was desperate - and as plans
went, it wasn't a bad one.
"Yeah, okay," he said, and the look of gratitude on
the older man's face was almost heartwarming.
Almost. If he were a decent human being it would be.
"You won't regret this, Henry," Reston said, and
Cole nodded, not sure what else to say.
"You'll be fine, Mr. Reston," he said finally, uncomfortably.
"Don't worry."
"I'm sure you're right, Henry," Reston said, and
turned, and walked into the dark cell block without
another word.
Cole stood there for a second, then shrugged inwardly
and started for the little room, nervous but
also a little peeved. Mr. Blue was scared, but he was
still pretty much an asshole.
No "Don't you worry either, Henry," or, "Be careful."
Not even a "Good luck, hope they don't shoot you
by mistake."
He shook his head, stepping into the small room. At
least if he helped out the big Blue he'd probably be
able to sleep in, maybe even quit the Planet and
Umbrella for good. God knew he needed the rest; he'd
been having a hell of a time sleeping...
Rebecca found the camera, at least. A lens no bigger
than a quarter was hidden in the southwest corner,
just an inch from the ceiling. She'd called David over
and he'd covered it with his hand, wishing that he'd
done a more thorough check before leading his team
inside. He'd been stupid, and John and Leon were
almost certainly gone because of it.
Claire had found a roll of tape in her diggings,
though little else. David taped the hole over, wondering
what they were going to do. It was cold, so cold
that he didn't know how much longer their reflexes
would still be good. The codes weren't working, the
sealed entrance would take more than they had to
open it up, and two of his team were somewhere
in the facility below, perhaps wounded, perhaps
dying...
... or infected. Infected like Steve and Karen were
infected, suffering, losing their humanity...
"Stop it," Rebecca said to him, and he stepped
down from the table they'd pushed to the corner, half
knowing what she meant but not ready to admit it.
Rebecca had a way of drawing him out at the worst
possible times.
"Stop what?"
Rebecca stepped closer to him, staring up into his
face, hooding her flashlight with one small hand.
"You know what. You've got that look, I can see it;
you're telling yourself that this is your fault. That if
you'd done something differently, they'd still be
here."
He sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but this isn't
the appropriate..."
"Yes it is," she interrupted. "If you're going to
blame yourself, you won't think as clearly. We're not
in the S.T.A.R.S. anymore, and you're not anyone's
captain. It's not your fault."
Claire had walked over to join them, her gray gaze
curious and searching in spite of the worry that still
pinched her delicate features. "You think this is your
fault? It's not. I don't think that."
David threw up his hands. "My God, alright! It's
not my fault, and we can all spend some time analyzing
what I'm accountable for if and when we get out of
this; for now, though, can we please concentrate on
what's in front of us?"
Both young women nodded, and while he was glad
to have stopped the therapy session before it got
started, he realized that he didn't know what the next
thing was - what tasks to give them beyond what
they'd already done, how they were going to resolve
their crisis, what to say or how to say it. It was a
dreadful moment; he was used to having something to
fight against, something to react to or shoot at or plan
for, but their situation seemed to be static, unchanging.
There wasn't a clear path for them to follow, and
that was even worse than the guilt he felt about his
lack of foresight.
And just at that moment, he heard the distant buzz
of an approaching helicopter, the faraway thrum that
could be nothing else - and although it was a solution
of sorts, it was the worst one possible.
Nothing for cover except this compound, and we'll
never make it back to the van, we've got two, three
minutes...
"We have to get out of here," David said, already
running through the things they would have to do if
they were to stand a chance, even as they were all
running for the door.
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense
moments rousing them from their dark cots in the
dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without incident.
John had still been somewhat wary of a few of
them when he'd first herded them into the cafeteria,
where Leon was watching the card-players - in particular,
two fairly big men who looked like they might
have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with
deepset eyes who couldn't seem to stop licking his
lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds,
his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and
then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy.
There'd been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and
no one willing to play hero after John had presented
them with a little logic. He'd kept it short and simple:
we're here to find something, we're not planning to
hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way
while we get out of here. Don't be stupid and you
won't get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been
enough to convince them that it would be best not to
argue.
John stood by the door back into the big hall,
watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the
middle of the large room around a long table. A few
looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked
tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he
didn't want to have to worry about anyone trying to
work up a rebellion.
In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool,
he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had
been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot
longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a
couple of wire coathangers.
"Any trouble?" Leon asked quietly, and John shook
his head, keeping his attention on the silent group.
"Been nice and quiet," he said. "Where'd you find
the chain?"
"Toolbox, in one of the rooms."
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm.
"Alright, folks, we're about to take our leave. We
thank you for your patience..."
Leon nudged him. "Ask if Reston's here," he whispered.
John sighed. "You think if he is, he's gonna tell us?"
The younger man shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"
Stranger things have happened. . .
John cleared his throat and spoke again. "Is a man
named Reston in here? We just have a question, we're
not going to hurt you."
The men stared at him, at both of them, and John
wondered, for just a second, if they knew what they
were doing there; if they knew what Umbrella was
doing. They didn't look like Nazis, they looked like a
bunch of working stiffs. Like guys who put in a hard
day and liked to throw back a few beers in the
evening. Like - like guys.
And what did Nazis look like? These people are a
part of the problem, they're working for the enemy.
They're not going to help us...
"Blue ain't here." A big bearded man in a T-shirt
and boxers, one of the ones John had been keeping an
eye on. His voice was gruff and irritable, his face still
puffy from sleep.
John glanced at Leon, surprised, and saw that the
rookie looked the same. "Blue?" John asked. "Is that
Reston?"
A man sitting at the end of the table with longish
hair and grease-stained hands nodded. "Yeah. And
that's Mister Blue to you."
The sarcasm was pointed. There were a couple of
dark looks exchanged within the sitting group and a
couple of chuckles.
Reston's one of the key guys, Trent said. And just
about everybody hates their boss . . . but so much that
they'd talk shit about him to a couple of terrorists?
Reston must be real unpopular.
"Is there anyone else working here who isn't in this
room?" Leon asked. "We don't want to be surprised..."
The implications were obvious, but it was also
obvious that they weren't going to get anything else
from the assembled employees. They might hate
Reston, but John could see from the crossed arms and
scowls that they wouldn't talk about one of their own.
If there was anyone else in the facility, which he
doubted. Trent had said it was a small staff. . .
. . . which means it was probably Reston who
brought us down, which means we could kill two birds
if we find him - get the book and get him to start up
the elevator again. We lock Reston in a closet, hook up
with David and the girls and get gone before anything
else unexpected comes up.
John nodded at Leon, and they backed up to the
door. John realized that he didn't want to just walk
out, that he felt a kind of sympathy for the men that
he'd dragged out of bed. Not a lot, but something.
"We're gonna lock the door here," John said, "but
you'll be okay until the company sends someone, you
got food ... and if you don't mind a little advice,
listen up - Umbrella ain't the good guys. Whatever
they're paying you, it isn't enough. They're killers."
The blank stares followed them out of the room.
Leon closed the double doors and started to rig up the
makeshift lock, threading the chain through the handles
and bending the hangers. John walked the few
steps to the corner and looked down the long gray hall
that they'd stepped into from the elevator. They could
continue on the way they'd been going to look for
Reston, there was a bend in the corridor not far past
the staff housing area...
... but he's not that way, John thought, remembering
the sound he'd heard when they'd first arrived.
He's back the way we came, somewhere.
Leon finished securing the doors and joined him,
looking a little pale but still game. "So ... now we
look for Reston?"
"Yeah," John said, thinking that the kid was doing
pretty well, considering. Not a lot of experience, but
he was smart, he had guts, and he didn't clutch under
the gun. "You holding up?"
Leon nodded. "Yeah. I'm just - do you think
they're okay up there?"
"No, I think they're freezing their asses off waiting
for us," John said, smiling, and hoped that was the
case - that after locking down the elevator, Reston
hadn't released the hounds, or whatever equivalent
this place had.
Or called for help. . .
"Let's get this over with," John said, and Leon
nodded, as they started back down the hall to see
what was what.
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