long."
She nodded, making a conscious effort to relax. She
was scared, but letting him see it wasn't going to help
matters. He was probably scared, too.
He walked to the door, still talking. "The RPD should be here any time, so if I don't come back right
away, just wait here."
He raised the weapon, putting his other hand on the
knob. "Get ready. As soon as I'm out, move the trunk in front of the door. I'll give a yell when I get back."
Rebecca nodded again, and with a final quick smile,
Chris opened the door and looked both ways before moving out into the hall. She closed the door and
leaned against it, listening. After long seconds of
silence, she heard the rattle of gunfire not far away,
five or six shots-then nothing.
After a few minutes, she moved the trunk to block
part of the door, edging it in front of the hinges so she
could push it out of the way easily. She knelt in front
of it, trying to clear her thoughts as she started
looking through the papers, trying not to feel as young
and unsure as she actually felt.
Sighing, she pulled out a handful of papers and
started to read.
SEVEN
THE LOCK WAS A PIECE OF CAKE, THREE FLAT
tumblers in a single row; Jill could have opened it with
a couple of paper clips. According to the map, the door
would open into a long hall. . ..
Sure enough. She took another long look at the
pocket computer's screen and then slipped it into her
pack, thinking. It looked like there was a back way
out, through several halls and past a series of rooms.
She could look for Wesker and the others along the
way, and maybe secure an escape route at the same
time. She stepped into the narrow corridor, the fully
loaded Beretta in hand.
It was a study in weirdness. The hall wasn't all that
spectacular, the carpet runner and the wallpaper done
in basic tans and browns, the wide windows showing
only the darkness outside. The display chests that
lined the inner wall, though . . .
There were three of them, each topped by a small
lamp, and each prominently displaying a wide array
of bleached human bones on open shelves, inter-
spersed with small items of obscurity. Jill started
down the hall, stopping briefly at each bizarre specta-
cle. Skulls, arm and leg bones, hands and feet. There
were at least three complete skeletons, and amidst the
pale and pitted bones were feathers, clay beads,
gnarled strips of leather.
Jill picked up one of the leather strips and then put
it down quickly, wiping her fingers on her pants. She
couldn't be sure, but it felt like she imagined tanned,
cured human skin would feel, stiff and kind of
greasy.
Crash!
The window behind her exploded inward, a lithe,
sinewy form lunging into the hall, growling and
snapping. It was one of the mutant, killing hounds, its
eyes as red as its dripping hide. It charged her, its teeth as bright and dangerous as the jagged glitter of
glass still falling from the shattered frame.
Backed between two of the chests, Jill fired. The
angle was wrong, the bullet splintering the wood at
her feet as the dog jumped at her, growling deep in its
throat.
It hit her in the thighs, slamming her painfully
against the wall, gnashing to get its jaws at her flesh.
The smell of rotting meat washed over her and she
fired again and again, barely aware that she was
moaning in fear and disgust, a sound as guttural and
primal as the furious, dying shrieks that came from
the canine abomination.
The fifth bullet fired directly into its barrel chest
knocked it away. With a final, almost puppyish yelp it
crumpled to the floor, blood gushing into the tan
carpet.
Jill kept her weapon trained on the still form,
gulping air in huge, shuddery breaths. Its limbs
twitched suddenly, its massive claws beating a brief
tattoo across the wet, red floor before it lay still again.
Jill relaxed, recognizing the movement as a death
spasm, the body releasing life. She'd have bruises, but
the dog was dead.
She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and crouched
down next to it, taking in the strange, exposed muscu-
lature and huge jaws. It had been too dark and hectic
on the run to the house to get a good look at the things
that had killed Joseph, but in the bright light of the
corridor, her initial impression wasn't changed; it
looked like a skinned dog.
She stood up and backed away, warily eyeing the
row of windows in the hall. Obviously they offered no
protection from the hazards outside. The corridor
took a sharp left and she hurried on, past more of the
macabre displays that decorated the inner wall.
The door at the end of the long hall was unlocked. It
opened into another hall, not as well lit as the first but
at least not as creepy, either. The muted, gray-green
wallpaper sported paintings of generic scenery and
gentle landscapes, not a bone or fetish in sight.
The first door on the right was locked, a carving of
armor on the key plate. Jill remembered the list on the
computer, something about knight keys, but decided
not to bother with it for now. According to Trent's
map, there was a room on the other side that didn't
lead anywhere. Besides, if Wesker had come this way,
she didn't imagine that he was locking doors behind
him.
Right, just like it was unlikely that Chris would
disappear; don't assume anything about this place.
The next door she tried opened into a small bath-
room with an antique feel, complete with a ceiling fan
and an old-fashioned, four-footed tub. There was no
sign of recent use.
She stood for a moment in the stale, tiny room,
breathing deeply, feeling the aftermath of the adrena-
line rush she'd had in the corridor. Growing up, she'd
learned how to enjoy the thrill of danger, of sneaking
in and out of strange places with only a handful of
tools and her own wits to keep her safe. Since joining
the S.T.A.R.S., that youthful excitement had faded
away, lost to the realities of back-up and handguns,
but here it was again, unexpected and not unwelcome.
She couldn't lie to herself about the simple joy that
often followed facing death and walking away. She
felt . . . good. Alive.
Let's not have a party just yet, her mind whispered sarcastically. Or have you forgotten that S.T.A.R.S. are being eaten in this hellhole?
Jill stepped back into the silent hallway and edged
around another corner, wondering if Barry had found
Chris and if either of them had run across any of the
Bravos. She felt like she had an advantage with the
maps, and decided that once she'd checked out the
possible escape, she'd go back to the main hall and
wait for Barry. With the information on Trent's
computer, they could search more quickly and thor-
oughly.
The corridor ended with two doors facing each
other. The one on the right was the one she wanted.
She tried the handle and was rewarded with the soft
snick of the bolt retracting.
She stepped into a dark hall and saw one of the
zombies, a hulking, pale shadow standing next to a
door, maybe ten feet away. As she raised her weapon,
the creature started toward her, emitting soft hunger
sounds from its decaying lips. One of its arms hung
limply at its side, and although Jill could see jagged
bone protruding from the shoulder, it still clenched
and unclenched its rotting fist eagerly as it reached
out with its other arm.
The head, aim for the head.
The shots were incredibly loud in the chilly gloom,
the first blowing off its left ear, the second and third
punching holes into its skull just above its pallid
brow. Dark fluids streamed down the peeling face and
it fell to its knees, its flat, lifeless eyes rolling back into
its head.
There was shuffling movement in the shadows at
the back of the hall to the right, exactly where she
meant to go. Jill trained the gun on the darkness and waited for it to move closer, her entire body wired
with tension.
How many of these things are there?
As soon as the zombie cleared the corner, she fired,
the Beretta jumping lightly in her sweating hands
