again. What did you find?"
Rebecca flushed slightly and took the papers back
from him. "Sorry. Basically, there's a lot of, uh, stuff in here on viral infection."
Chris nodded. "That I understand; a virus . . ." He quickly flipped through the journal, counting
the dates from the first report of the accident in the
lab. "On May eleventh, there was some kind of spill or outbreak in a laboratory on this estate. Within
eight or nine days, whoever wrote this had turned into
one of those creatures out there."
Rebecca's eyes widened. "Does it say when the first symptoms appeared?"
"Looks like . . . within twenty-four hours, he or she
was complaining of itchy skin. Swelling and blisters
within forty-eight hours."
Rebecca paled. "That's . . . wow."
Chris nodded. "Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Is there any way to tell if we could be infected?"
"Not without more information. All of that..."
Rebecca motioned at the trunk full of papers, "...is pretty old, ten years plus, and there's nothing specific
about application. Though an airborne with that kind
of speed and toxicity ... if it was still viable, all of
Raccoon City would probably be infected by now. I
can't be positive, but I doubt it's still contagious."
Chris was relieved for himself and the rest of the
S.T.A.R.S., but the fact that the "zombies" were all
victims of a disease - it was depressing, whether it
was a disaster of their own making or not.
"We have to find the others," he said. "If one of them should stumble across the lab without knowing
what's there ..."
Rebecca looked stricken at the thought, but nodded
gamely and moved quickly toward the door. Chris
decided that, with a little experience, she'd make a
first-rate S.T.A.R.S. member; she obviously knew her chemistry, and even without a gun, she was willing to
leave the relative safety of the storage room in order
to help the rest of the team.
Together, they hurried through the dark, wooded
hallway, Rebecca sticking close to his side. When they
reached the door back to the first hallway, Chris
checked his Beretta and then turned to Rebecca.
"Stay close. The door we want is to the right and at
the end of the hall. I'll probably have to shoot the
lock, and I'm pretty sure there's a zombie or two
wandering around, so I'll need you to watch my
back."
"Yes, sir," she said quietly, and Chris grinned in spite of the situation. Technically, he was her
superior - still, it was weird to have it pointed out.
He opened the door and stepped through, training
his gun on the shadows straight ahead and then down
the hall to the right. Nothing moved.
"Go," he whispered, and they jogged down the corridor, quickly stepping over the fallen creature
that blocked their path. Rebecca turned to face the
open stretch behind them as Chris rattled the door
knob, hoping vainly that it had unlocked itself.
No such luck. He backed away from the door and
took careful aim. Firing at a locked door wasn't as
easy or safe as it looked in the movies; a ricochet off of
metal at such close range could kill the shooter "Chris!" He glanced over his shoulder and saw a shambling
figure at the other end of the hall, moving slowly
toward them. Even in the dim light, Chris could see
that one of its arms was missing. The distinctive odor
of decay wafted toward them as the zombie moaned
thickly, stumbling forward.
Chris turned back to the door and fired, twice. The
frame splintered, the inset metal square of the lock
revealed in a spray of wood chips. He jerked at the
knob and the lock gave up, the door swinging open.
He turned and grabbed at Rebecca's arm, hustling
her through the doorway as he pointed the Beretta
back down the hall. The creature had made it halfway,
but was stopped at the lifeless body of the zombie that
Chris had killed earlier. Even as Chris watched in
horror and disgust, the one-armed zombie dropped
to its knees and plunged its remaining hand into
the other's crushed skull. It moaned again, a wet,
phlegmy sound, and brought a handful of slushy gray
matter to its eager lips.
Oh, man.
Chris shuddered involuntarily and hurriedly step-
ped through to join Rebecca, closing the door on the
gruesome scene. Rebecca was pale but seemed com- posed, and again, Chris admired her courage; she was
young but tough, tougher than he'd been at eigh-teen.
He took in the hall at a glance, immediately notic-
ing the changes. To their right about twenty feet away
was a corpse of one of the creatures, the top of its
head blown away. It lay face up, the deep sockets of its
eyes filled with blood. To their left were the two doors
that Chris hadn't tried when he'd first come to
investigate. The one at the very end of the hall was
standing open, revealing deep shadows.
At least one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this way, proba-
bly looking for me.
"Follow me," he said softly, and moved toward the open door, holding the Beretta tightly. He wanted to
get back to the main hall with Rebecca, but the fact
that one of his team must have gone through the
opening deserved a quick look.
As they passed the closed door on the right,
Rebecca hesitated. "There's a picture of a sword next to the lock," she whispered.
He kept his attention on the darkness just past the
open door, but realized as she spoke that there were
too many ways for them to get side-tracked. He didn't
think the rest of the team was still waiting for him,
but his original orders had been to report back to the
lobby; he shouldn't be leading an unarmed rookie
into unknown territory without at least checking.
Chris sighed, lowering his weapon. "Let's get back to the main hall," he said. "We can come back and check it out later."
Rebecca nodded and together they walked back
toward the dining room, Chris hoping against hope
that someone would be there to meet them.
Barry pointed his Colt toward the crawling ghoul
and fired, the heavy round splattering the thing's
mushy skull into liquid even as it reached for his boot.
Tiny drops of wetness splashed his face as the zombie
spasmed and died. Scowling, Barry wiped at his skin
with the back of his hand. The tiny white tiles of the
kitchen wall got it much worse, rivulets of red cours-
ing down the grouted tracks and pooling to the faded
brown linoleum. Still, it was pretty disgusting.
Barry lowered the revolver, feeling the ache in his
left shoulder. The door upstairs had been solidly
locked, he had the bruises to prove it and staring
down at the zombie hash in front of him, he realized
that he was going to have to go back up and break
down another one. If he hadn't been certain before,
he was now - Chris hadn't come this way. If he had, the crawling creature would already have been his-
tory.
So where the hell are you, Chris?
Of the three locked doors, Barry had picked the one
at the end of the hall on pure instinct. He'd ended up
in a dark, silent hall that led past an empty elevator
shaft and down a narrow set of stairs. The bare white
kitchen at the bottom had seemed deserted, the
counters thick with dust and corrosion stains on the
walls - no sign of recent use, no sign of Chris, and
the single door across from the sink had been locked.
He'd been about to leave when he'd noticed the trails
of disturbed dust on the floor and followed them.
Sighing heavily, Barry stepped over the stinking
monster, a final check before he headed back up for
door number two. There were some stacked crates
and the same old-fashioned elevator shaft, also emp-
ty. He didn't bother with the call button since the one
upstairs hadn't worked. Besides, judging from the rust
on the metal grate, no one had used it in quite awhile.
He turned back the way he'd come, wondering how
Jill was making out. The sooner they could get away,
the better. Barry had never disliked any place as much
as he did this mansion. It was cold, it was dangerous,
and it smelled like a meat locker that had been
unplugged for a week. He generally wasn't the type to
frighten easily or let his imagination get out of hand,
but he half-expected to see some white-sheeted spook
rattling chains every time he turned around.
There was a distant echoing clatter behind him.
Barry spun, a knot of dread in his gut as he pointed
his weapon randomly at the empty air, his eyes wide
and mouth dry. There was another metallic clatter,
followed by a low, throbbing hum of machinery.
Barry took a deep breath and blew it out slowly,
getting a hold of himself. Not a disembodied spirit, after all; someone was using the elevator.
Who? Chris and Wesker are missing and Jill's in the
other wing. .. .
