ELEVEN
COLE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO STUMBLE
after the killers, choking and nauseous, his heart sick
with dread and hate. He'd been abandoned to death
by Reston, the man had even encouraged the assassins
to kill him - he no longer knew if they even were
assassins, he didn't know who the "stars" were supposed
to be - he didn't know anything except that his
eyes were burning and he couldn't breathe.
At least make it fast, let it be fast and painless. . .
Through the hatch into One, the door snapping
closed behind him. Cole fell back against the cool
metal, struggling to catch his breath, gummy tears
leaking from beneath his closed lids. He didn't want to
see them pull the trigger, he'd rather not have to suffer
suspense before he died; dying was plenty enough.
Maybe they'll just leave me here.
The small hope that the thought brought him was
stamped out immediately as a big, rough hand latched
on to his arm and shook him.
"Hey, wake up!"
Cole reluctantly opened his watering eyes, blinking
rapidly. The big black guy was staring down at him,
looking mad enough to start hitting. His rifle was
pointed at Cole's chest.
"Want to explain what the hell this place is?"
Cole shrank against the door. His voice came out in
a stammer. "Phase One. F-forest."
The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, forest, I got that.
Why, though?"
Jesus, he's huge! The guy had muscles on his muscles.
Cole shook his head, sure that he was about to be
severely beaten but not sure what the man was asking.
The other one took a step toward the two of them,
looking more upset than angry. "John, Reston screwed
him over, too. What's your name again? Henry?"
Cole nodded, desperate not to piss anyone off.
"Yeah, Henry Cole, Reston told me you were here to
kill him and he told me to stand in there, he was just
going to lock you guys up, swear to God I didn't know
he was gonna do this..."
"Slow down," the smaller man said. "I'm Leon
Kennedy, this is John Andrews. We didn't come here
to kill Reston..."
"Shoulda, though," John rumbled, looking around
them.
Leon went on as if he hadn't spoken. "... or anyone
else. We just wanted something Reston is supposed to
have, that's all. Now - what can you tell us about this
test program?"
Cole swallowed, wiping at the water on his face.
Leon seemed sincere...
... and what are your options here? You can get shot,
get left behind, or work with these guys. They've got
guns, and Reston said the test specimens were designed
to fight people and oh shit how'd I wind up in this mess?
Cole looked around at One, amazed at how different
it seemed now that he was locked in, how - menacing.
The towering artificial trees, the plastic underbrush
and fallen synthetic logs - with the subdued lighting
and humidified air, the dark walls and painted ceiling,
it almost felt like a real forest at twilight.
"I don't know a whole lot," Cole said, looking at
Leon. "There are four phases - woods, desert, mountains,
city. They're all big, each one's like two football
fields, side by side, I forgot the exact measurements.
Word is that they're supposed to be suitable habitats
for these hybrid test animals; they're even gonna stock
them with live food, mice and rabbits and such.
Umbrella's testing out some kind of disease-control
thing, and the test animals are supposed to have
similar circulatory systems to humans, something like
that, it'll make good study material..."
He trailed off, noticing the look that the two men
exchanged when he'd started talking about the test
creatures.
"You really believe that, Henry?" John asked, not
looking pissed anymore, his expression neutral.
"I..." Cole said, then closed his mouth, thinking.
About the incredible pay and the don't-ask policy.
About the questions from whoever was supervising on
any given job...
"Are you happy working here? Do you feel that
you're getting paid enough?"
... and about the prison cells ... and the restraints.
"No," he said, and felt a rush of shame at his
deliberate ignorance. He should have known, would
have known if he'd had the guts to take a closer look.
"No, I don't. Not anymore."
Both men nodded, and Cole was relieved to see John
alter the position of the gun slightly, pointing it away.
"So do you know how to get out of here?" John
asked.
Cole nodded. "Yeah, sure. All of the phases have
connecting doors, in alternating corners. They're
all latched shut, no keys or anything - except for
the last one, Four, it's bolted on the outside."
"So the door we'll want is that way?" Leon asked,
pointing southwest. They were in the northeast corner.
From where they stood, the far wall wasn't even
visible, the fake woods were so dense. Cole knew
there was at least one decent-sized clearing, but it
would still be a hike to get through.
Cole nodded.
"Can you tell us about these test animals? What do
they look like?" John asked.
"I never saw 'em, I was just here to do the wiring -
- cams and conduits, like that." He looked between the
two men hopefully. "But how bad could they be,
right?"
The expressions on their faces weren't encouraging.
Cole started to ask what they could tell him when a
loud, metallic clattering filled the moist air, like a giant
gate being raised. It came from the back, the west wall,
where Cole knew the animal pens were kept
and a second later, a shrill, piercing shriek cut
through the air, a long and warbling note that was
quickly joined by another, and another, and then too
many to tell apart.
There was a beating sound, too, so huge that for a
moment, Cole couldn't place it - and when he did, he
felt a little like screaming.
Wings. The sound of gigantic wings beating the air.
They were fifteen feet off the ground, atop a double
row of wooden crates in one corner of the warehouse.
Even the slightest movement made them sway a little,
which made Claire deeply uneasy.
Not enough that John and Leon are gone, or that
we're hiding from a bunch of Umbrella goons. No, we
have to be stuck on Mount Precarious in a pitch-black
icebox. One of us sneezes too hard and we all go down.
"This sucks," she whispered, as much to break the
tense silence as to vent. The helicopter noise had
stopped, but they hadn't heard anyone outside yet
either.
She was surprised to feel Rebecca's body quaking
next to hers, and to hear a muffled giggle; the young
biochemist was trying to suppress it, and wasn't
having an easy time. Claire grinned, absurdly pleased.
A few seconds passed, and Rebecca managed to say,
"Yes. You're so right," and then they were both
choking back laughter. The boxes teetered gently.
"Please," David said, sounding edgy. He was on top
of the second stack of crates, on Rebecca's other side.
Claire and Rebecca quieted down, and again a
waiting silence fell over them. They were in the
northeast corner, both on their stomachs, handguns
pointed toward the wall across from them in the
general direction of the other door. David said there
were two; he was facing south, covering the one they'd
entered by.
The tension-breaking giggle fit had relaxed Claire a
little. She was still cold, still afraid for Leon and John,
but their situation didn't seem so terrible. Bad, definitely,
but she'd been in much worse circumstances.
In Raccoon, I was on my own. There was Sherry to
watch out for, we had Mr. X on our trail, we had a
shitload of zombies to wade through and were totally
lost. At least now I have some idea of what we're up
against; even an army of gun-toting creeps isn 't as bad
as not knowing what's what...
Outside of the warehouse, a noise. Someone was
pulling at the door that she and Rebecca were covering;
a quick, rattling shake and then silence again -
- except Claire thought she heard footsteps now, padding
against the ground outside.
Checking doors. And if David's lock-rigging isn't
convincing, or they happen to look closely. . .
At least it was David covering them; he was amazing,
cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind as
she'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just what
to do - instantly, no matter what happened. Even
now - David had said that they'd probably be doing a
straight-across sweep, starting at one end or the other
and checking each building in teams.
Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over what
he'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-if
list. But still, just having something to concentrate on
was a relief.
If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay
quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the door
across from where they entered and wait. When we
hear them on the other side, we head out and run for
the fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pick
off the others one at a time as they come through the
door, then climb down, then run.
If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throws
the grenade and then shoot; same if they've got nightvision,
the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to return
fire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover...
The other variables disappeared as she heard the
other door being shaken. Shaken and then kicked.
Thunk!
The door blew open, a square of pale light appearing
in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlight
pierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, then
turning back toward the door.
A soft click - and then a whispered curse.
"What?" A different voice, also whispering.
"Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, come
on. They're probably in the other one anyway, they
didn't get all the way through the lock on this one."
Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were going
to search, but they didn't suspect their presence.
A second beam appeared, and Claire could see the
vaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the two
powerful lights, both of them men by the voices. They
started to move forward, the beams dancing over the
stacks of boxes and crates.
Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes,
not wanting for either of the men to feel watched;
she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Not
to look.
"I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, and
Claire wondered if they had any idea how well sound
carried in the open space.
We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, but
she was scared. At least the zombies hadn't had
guns...
The lights split, one heading away from them, the
other turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least;
whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn't
realize that people could climb boxes.
Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let us
sneak out of this without having to fight! David said
that they'd come back for John and Leon when Umbrella
had cleared out; he said they'd probably post a
guard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would be
a lot easier than taking out an entire squad -
- and a light was shining in Claire's face, the
blinding beam hitting her eyes.
"Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then
bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heard
something beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as the
tower of boxes tipped backwards.
Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at the
shifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shouts
coming from outside, the orange burst of thundering
muzzle fire coming from David's weapon...
... and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went
tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.
When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the
shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't
like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of
Umbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest...
"Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the
plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was
also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above
where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep
twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to
maybe twenty-five, thirty feet and at the very top,
John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted
on, each as big around as a basketball.
Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet to
need that to land on . . .
The piping screams had stopped, and John didn't
hear the beat of wings anymore, but he wondered
how long it would be before the birds decided to look
for prey.
"Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voice
cracking. "Dacs."
"You're kidding," John breathed, and could see the
skinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his peripheral
vision.
"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard."
Cole sounded distinctly terrified.
"Let's head for that door," Leon said, already
edging into the false, shadowy woods.
Amen to that.
John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying to
look up and watch his step at the same time. He
tripped almost immediately, one boot kicking against
a molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself from
going into a full sprawl.
"This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole, Henry?"
He glanced back and saw that Cole was still huddled
against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turned
up to the sky.
- ceiling, dammit -
Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up into
the spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said.
John walked back, angry and frustrated and seriously
uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, David
and the girls could very well be fighting for their lives
on the surface, and he wasn't going to waste time
coddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, they
couldn't just leave him behind, at least not without
making an effort.
"Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tapped
his arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mild
brown eyes were positively glassy with fear.
John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He was
an electrician, for hell's sake, and it seemed that
ignorance had been his only real crime.
"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stay
here, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have both
had run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is to
come with us - and besides, we could use your help,
you know more about this place than we do. Okay?"
Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just -
- I'm scared."
"Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flying
part's cool, but they're so weird, got those beady eyes
and scaly feet - and have you ever seen a buzzard?
They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, and
saw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quivery
smile.
"Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walked
back to where Leon was standing, still watching the
air above.
"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you
lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, and
we'll need a clear route so we won't have to worry
about tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"
Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale,
John could see that he would hold together. For a
while, anyway.
Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headed
roughly southwest, weaving a crooked path through
the strange forest. Leon and John followed, John
realizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn't
make much of a difference.
If you don't look where you're going, you're going to
trip, John thought wearily, after the sixth time he ran
into a fallen "log." No way around it.
The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in an
appearance or made any other sound. Just as well;
John thought walking through a plastic forest was
enough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation,
seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth,
feeling the moisture in the air, but also being aware
that there were no smells of earth or growing things,
no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It was
a dream-like experience, and an unnerving one.
John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on the
crisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped.
"We're ... there's kind of a clearing here," he said.
Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?"
John stepped forward, peering through the seemingly
random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. It
was at least fifty feet across, but John would rather
they go out of their way; being dive-bombed by a
pterodactyl didn't sound like fun at all.
"Yeah. Henry, veer right. We're going to..."
The rest of his words were lost as that high, warbling
screech blasted through the unnatural forest,
and a brown-gray shape dove into the clearing and
flew at them, extending talons a foot across.
John saw a wingspan of eight or ten feet, the
leathery wings tipped with curved hooks. He saw a
screaming, toothed beak and a slender elongated
skull, flat black eyes the size of saucers, glittering -
- and he and Leon both opened fire as the creature
hit the line of artificial trees in front of them, its huge
claws gouging into the solid plastic. It held on, spreading
its vast membranous wings in a struggle to balance
-
- and bambambam, holes punched through the
thin flesh, streamers of watery blood trickling down
from the openings. The animal screamed, so close that
John couldn't hear the bullets, couldn't hear anything
but that quavering, high-pitched shriek - and then it
dropped, landing on the dark floor, pulling its wings
in...
... and walking toward them on its elbows, like a bat,
moving jerkily through the shredded trees, shrieking
in short, sharp barks of sound. Behind it, another
dropped into the clearing, gusting odorless wind across
them as its wide wings folded closed, its long, pointed
beak opening and revealing nubs of grinding teeth.
This is bad, bad, bad...
The lurching animal was less than five feet away
when John drew a bead on the bobbing head, on the
shiny round eye, and pulled the trigger.
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