"All I want you to do is keep Jill busy, keep her and
anyone else you run into away from the labs, at least
for a little while. You'll be saving her life and I
swear to you that as soon as I get what I need, you and
your family will never hear from me again."
He waited. And when Barry finally spoke, Wesker
knew he had him.
"Where are the labs?"
Good boy!
Wesker lowered the gun, keeping his expression
blank just in case Barry had good night vision. He
pulled a folded paper out of his vest and slipped it
into Barry's hand, a map from the tunnels to the first
basement level.
"If for some reason you can't keep her away, at least
go with her. There are a lot of doors with locks on the
outside down there; worse comes to worst, you can
lock her up until it's over. I mean it, Barry, no one
else has to get hurt. It's all up to you."
Wesker stepped back quickly, reaching for the lever
with the six-sided tip that he'd left next to the
generator. He watched Barry for a few seconds longer,
saw the sag in the big man's shoulders, the submissive
hang of his head. Satisfied, Wesker turned and walked
out of the room. On the very slight chance that any of
the S.T.A.R.S. made it to the lab, Mr. Burton would
ensure that there wouldn't be any more trouble.
He hurried back through the entrance tunnel, si-
lently congratulating himself on getting things back
under control as he headed toward the first passage
mechanism. He'd have to move fast from here on out;
there were a few things he'd neglected to mention to
Barry - like the experimental security detachment
that would be released into the tunnels once he turned
that lever for the first time. . .
Sorry, Barry. Slipped my mind.
It would be interesting to see how his team fared
with the 121s, the Hunters. Watching the S.T.A.R.S.
pit their strength and agility against the creatures
would be quite a show and sadly, one that he'd have
to miss.
It was too bad, really. The Hunters had been caged
for a long time; they'd be very, very hungry.
FIFTEEN
BARRY HAD BEEN GONE FOR TOO LONG.
Jill had no idea how extensive the tunnels were, but
from what she'd seen they all looked alike. Barry
could be lost, trying to find his way back. Or he could
have found the murderer, and without any backup ...
He might not come back at all.
In any case, staying put wasn't going to help any-
thing. She stood up, taking a last look at the Bravo's
pale face and silently wishing him peace before walk-
ing away.
What did he find out that got him killed? Who was it?
Enrico had only managed to get out that the traitor
was a he, but that didn't exactly narrow things down;
except for herself and the rookie, the Raccoon
S.T.A.R.S. were all male. She could rule out Chris,
since he'd been convinced from the start that there
was something weird going on and now Barry,
who'd been with her when Marini died. Brad Vickers
simply wasn't the type to do anything dangerous, and
Joseph and Kenneth were dead - which leaves
Richard Aiken, Forest Speyer, and Albert Wesker.
None of them seemed likely, but she had to at least
consider the possibility. Enrico was dead. And she no
longer doubted that Umbrella had one of the
S.T.A.R.S. in their pocket.
When she got to the door, she quickly leaned down
and tightened her damp boot laces, preparing herself.
Whoever had shot the Bravo could have just as easily
taken her and Barry out - and since he hadn't, she
could only figure that he didn't want to kill anyone
else, and wouldn't be looking for more targets. As-
suming that he was still in the underground system,
she'd have to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to
find him; the tunnels were perfect sound conductors,
amplifying even the tiniest sound.
She eased open the metal door, listening, and then
edged out into the dim tunnel, staying close to the
wall. In front of her, the corridor was unlit. She opted
to head back the way she'd come instead; the darkness
was a perfect spot for an ambush. She didn't want to
find out she was wrong about the killer's intentions by taking a bullet.
A low, grinding rumble reverberated through the
heavy stone walls, a sound like something big moving.
Jill instinctively used the sound as cover, taking
several sliding steps forward and reaching the next
metal door just as the rumbling stopped. She slipped
back out into the tunnel where she'd run into Barry,
gently closing the door behind her.
What the hell was that? It sounded like an entire
wall moving!
She shuddered, remembering the descending ceil-
ing of that room in the house. Maybe the tunnels were
rigged, too; she needed to watch every step. The idea
of being crunched to death by some bizarre mecha-
nism underground. . .
Like the one next to that pit, with the hexagonal hole?
She nodded slowly, deciding that she needed to go
take another look at those doors she couldn't get to
before. Maybe the killer had the tool it required, and
the noise she'd heard had come from him operating it.
She could be wrong, but there was no harm in
checking.
And at least I won't get lost.
She reached for the door that would lead her back
and stopped, her head cocked to catch the strange
sound coming from the tunnel behind her. It was
a rusty hinge? Some kind of a bird, maybe? It was loud,
whatever it was. . .
Thump. Thump. Thump.
That sound she knew. Footsteps, headed in her
direction, and it was either Barry or someone built
like him. They were heavy, plodding, but too far
apart, too . . . deliberate.
Get out of here. Now!
Jill grabbed at the metal latch and ran into the next
tunnel, no longer caring how much noise she made.
Although she sometimes misread them, her instincts
were never wrong and they were telling her that
whoever or whatever was making that sound, she
didn't want to be there when it showed up.
She took several running steps down the stone
corridor, away from the ladder that led back to the
courtyard and then forced herself to slow down,
taking a deep breath. She couldn't just go sprinting
ahead, either; there were other dangers than the one
she'd left behind.
Behind her, the door opened.
Jill turned, raising her Beretta and stared in hor-
ror at the thing standing there. It was huge, shaped
like a man, but the resemblance stopped there. Na-
ked but sexless, its entire muscular body was covered with a pebbled, amphibious skin, shaded a dark
green. It was hunched over so that its impossibly long
arms almost touched the floor, both its hands and feet
tipped with thick, brutal claws. Tiny, light-colored
eyes peered out at her from a flat reptilian skull.
It turned its strange gaze toward her, dropped its
wide - hinged jaw and let out a tremendous, high-
pitched screech like nothing she'd ever heard before,
the sound echoing around her, filling her with mortal
terror.
Jill fired, three shots that smacked into the crea-
ture's chest and sent it reeling backwards. It stum-
bled, fell against the tunnel wall and with another terrible shriek it sprang at her, pushing off the stones with powerful legs,
its claws outstretched and grasping.
She fired again and again as it flew toward her, the
bullets tearing into its puckered flesh, ribbons of dark
blood coiling away and it landed in a heaving crouch
only a few feet in front of her,
screaming, one massive arm snaking
out to swipe at her legs. A musky, moldy animal smell
washed over her, a smell like dark places and feral
rage.
-Jesus why won't it die-
Jill trained the Beretta on the back of its skull and
emptied the clip. Even as the green flesh splattered
away and bone splintered, she continued to fire, the
hot slugs ripping into the pulpy, pinkish mass of its
brain.
Click. Click. Click.
No more bullets. She lowered the weapon, her
entire body shaking. It was over, the creature was
dead, but it had taken almost an entire clip, fifteen
nine-millimeter rounds, the last seven or eight at close
range. . .
Still staring at the fallen monster, she ejected the
empty magazine and loaded a fresh clip before hol-
stering the Beretta. She reached back and unstrapped
the Remington, taking comfort in the solid, balanced
weight of the shotgun.
What the hell were you people working on out here?
It seemed that the Umbrella researchers had invented
more than just a virus - something just as deadly, but
with claws. . .
And there could be more of them.
She'd never had a more horrifying thought. Hold-
ing the Remington close, Jill turned and ran.
Chris and Rebecca walked down a long, wooden
hallway, warily glancing up with every other step.
There was what looked like dried, dead ivy poking out of every crack and crevice where the walls met the
ceiling, a bone-colored growth that scaled across the
planks like a fungus. It looked harmless, but after
what Rebecca had read to him about Plant 42, Chris
kept himself ready to move quickly.
After going through the rest of the papers in the
trunk, Rebecca had come up with a report on some
kind of an herbicide that could apparently be mixed
in Point 42, called V-Jolt. She'd brought it along,
though Chris doubted it would be useful. All he
wanted was to find the exit, and if they could avoid
the killer plant, so much the better.
The front hall had been clear of the growth, though
Chris wasn't prepared to call it secured. Besides the
two bedrooms by the front door, there had been a rec
room that had been distinctly creepy. Chris had
looked inside and immediately felt his internal alarms
going off, though he hadn't known why; there'd been
no danger that he could see, just a bar and a couple of
tables. In spite of the seeming calm, he had closed the
door quickly and they'd moved on. His gut feeling
was enough of a reason to leave it alone.
They stopped in front of the only door in the long,
meandering stretch of hallway, both of them still
glancing nervously at the scaling ivy near the ceiling
