keep them at bay long enough to reach cover.
He spun and fired the last round in his clip.
"Empty!"
Ejecting the spent magazine, he fumbled for anoth-
er one tucked into his belt as both Barry and Chris
took up the defense, firing past him and into the
closing pack. Wesker slapped in the fresh clip as they
reached the edge of the overgrown clearing and
plunged into another dark stand of trees.
They stumbled and dodged through the woods,
tripping on uneven ground as the killer dogs came on.
Lungs aching for air, Wesker imagined that he could
smell the fetid, rotting meat stench of the beasts as
they narrowed the distance and he somehow found
the capacity to run faster.
We should be there by now, gotta be dose...
Chris saw it first through the thinning shadows of
trees, the looming monstrosity back-lit by an early
moon. "There! Run for that house!"
It looked abandoned from the outside, the weath- ered wood and stone of the giant mansion crumbling
and dark. The full size of the structure was cloaked by
the shadowy, overgrown hedges that surrounded it,
isolating it from the forest. A massive outset front
porch presented double doors, their only option for
escape.
Wesker actually heard the snap of powerful jaws
behind him and fired at the sound, intuitively squeez-
ing the trigger as he ran for the front of the mansion.
A gurgling yelp and the creature fell away, the howls
of its siblings louder than ever, raised to a fever pitch
by the thrill of the chase.
Jill reached the doors first, slamming into the heavy
wood with one shoulder as she snatched at the han-
dles. Amazingly, they crashed open; brightness spilled
out across the stone steps to the porch, lighting their
path. She turned and started firing, providing cover as
the three gasping men ran for the opening in the
darkness.
They piled into the mansion, Jill diving in last and
Barry throwing his considerable bulk against the
door, wedging it closed against the snarls of the
creatures. He collapsed against it, face red and sweat-
ing, as Chris found the entry's steel deadbolt and slid
it home.
They'd made it. Outside, the dogs howled and
scrabbled uselessly at the heavy doors.
Wesker took a deep breath of the cool, quiet air that
filled the well-lit room and exhaled sharply. As he'd
already known, the Spencer house wasn't abandoned.
And now that they were here, all his careful planning
was for nothing.
Wesker silently cursed Brad Vickers again and
wondered if they were any better off inside than
out. . .
FIVE
JILL TOOK IN THEIR NEW SURROUNDINGS AS
she caught her breath, feeling like she was a character
in a nightmare that had just taken a turn into grand
fantasy. Wild, howling monsters, Joseph's sudden
death, a terrifying run through the dark woods-and
now this.
Deserted, huh?
It was a palace, pure and simple, what her father
would have called a perfect score. The room they had
escaped into was the epitome of lavish. It was huge,
easily bigger than Jill's entire house, tiled in gray-
flecked marble and dominated by a wide, carpeted
staircase that led to a second-floor balcony. Arched marble pillars lined the ornate hall, supporting the
dark, heavy wood balustrade of the upper floor.
Fluted wall sconces cast funnels of light across walls
of cream, trimmed in oak and offset by the deep burnt
ocher of the carpeting. In short, it was magnificent.
"What is this?" Barry muttered. No one answered him.
Jill took a deep breath and decided immediately
that she didn't like it. There was a sense of... wrong-
ness to the vast room, an atmosphere of vague oppres-
sion. It felt haunted somehow, though by who or
what, she couldn't say.
Beats the hell out of getting eaten by mutant dogs,
though, gotta give it that much. And on the trail of that thought, God, poor Joseph! There hadn't been time to mourn him, and there wasn't time now-but he
would be missed.
She walked toward the stairs clutching her hand-
gun, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpet that
led from the front door. There was an antique
typewriter on a small table to the right of the steps, a
blank sheet of paper spooled into the works. A
strange bit of a decorum. The expansive hall was
otherwise empty.
She turned back toward the others, wondering what
their take on all this was. Barry and Chris both looked
uncertain, their faces flushed and sweaty as they
surveyed the room. Wesker was crouched by the front
door, examining one of the latches.
He stood up, his dark shades still in place, seeming
as detached as ever. "The wood around the lock is splintered. Somebody broke this door open before we
got here."
Chris looked hopeful. "Maybe the Bravos?"
Wesker nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. Help should be on the way, assuming our 'friend' Mr.
Vickers bothers to call it in."
His voice dripped sarcasm, and Jill felt her own
anger kindling. Brad had screwed up big time, had
almost cost them their lives. There was no excuse for
what he'd done.
Wesker continued, walking across the room toward
one of the two doors on the west wall. He rattled the
handle, but it didn't open. "It's not safe to go back out. Until the cavalry shows up, we might as well take
a look around. It's obvious that somebody's been
keeping this place up, though why and for how
long . . ."
He trailed off, walking back toward the group.
"How are we set for ammo?"
Jill ejected the clip from her Beretta and counted: three rounds left, plus the two loaded magazines on
her belt. Thirty-three shots. Chris had twenty-two left,
Wesker, seventeen. Barry had two racked speed load-
ers for his Colt, plus an extra handful of loose
cartridges tucked into a hip pouch, nineteen rounds in
all.
Jill thought about all they'd left back on the heli-
copter and felt another rush of anger toward Brad.
Boxes of ammunition, flashlights, walkie-talkies,
Shotguns - not to mention medical supplies. That
Beretta that Joseph had found out in the field, the
pale, blood-spattered fingers still wrapped around
it - a S.T.A.R.S. team member dead or dying, and
thanks to Brad, they didn't even have a band-aid to
offer.
Thump!
A sound of something heavy sliding to the floor,
somewhere close by. In unison, they turned toward
the single door on the east wall. Jill was suddenly
reminded of every horror movie she'd ever seen; a
strange house, a strange noise . . . she shivered, and
decided that she was most definitely going to kick
Brad's narrow ass when they got out of here.
"Chris, check it out and report back ASAP,"
Wesker said. "We'll wait here in case the RPD comes knocking. You run into any trouble, fire your weapon
and we'll find you."
Chris nodded and started toward the door, his
boots clacking loudly against the marble floor.
Jill felt that sense of foreboding wash over her
again. "Chris?"
His hand on the knob, he turned back, and she
realized that there was nothing she could tell him that
made any sense. Everything was happening so fast,
there was so much wrong with this situation that she
didn't know where to start.
And he's a trained professional, and so are you. Start
acting like it.
"Take care," she said finally. It wasn't what she wanted to say, but it'd have to be enough.
Chris gave her a lopsided grin, then raised his
Beretta and stepped through the doorway. Jill heard
the ticking of a clock and then he was gone, closing
the door behind him.
Barry caught her gaze and smiled at her, a look that
told her not to worry, but Jill couldn't shake the
sudden certainty that Chris wouldn't be coming back.
* * *
Chris swept the room, taking in the stately elegance
of the environment as he realized he was alone;
whoever had made the noise, they weren't here.
