so uneasy: Trent, the S.T.A.R.S.'s apparent collusion
with Umbrella, the possibility of a biohazardous
incident in her home state. Who had been bribed? What had happened at Caliban Cove? What would
they uncover? What did the poem mean?
Not enough data. Not yet.
She'd always prided herself on her lack of imagina-
tion, on her ability to find the truth based on empiri-
cal evidence rather than wild, unsubstantiated intu-
ition. It was the key to success in her field, and though
she was aware that she sometimes came across as
overly clinica - even cold - she accepted who she
was, embracing the kind of peace that was found in
knowing all of the facts. Whether it was examining
blood spray patterns or measuring angles on an entry
wound, there was a deep satisfaction for her in solving
puzzles, in finding out not only why, but how. The
unanswered questions about Caliban Cove were an
affront to her careful thought processes. They went
against her grain, smudging her very ordered sense of
reality - and she knew that she wouldn't find relief
until those questions were put to rest.
She was finished with the weapons. She should
check the utility belts again, make sure everything was
locked down and ready, and then see if David had
anything else for her to do...
Karen hesitated, feeling a trickle of warm sweat
slide down her back. No one was within sight of the
open back door, and she'd already double-checked
every flap and pocket on every belt. With a sudden
rush of something like guilt, she reached into her vest
pocket and pulled out her secret, comforted by the
familiar weight of it in her hand.
God, if the guys knew, I'd never hear the end of it.
It had been given to her by her father, a remnant
from his service in WWII and one of the few items she
had to remember him by—an ancient anti-personnel
shrapnel grenade, called a pineapple because of its
crosshatched exterior. Carrying it was one of her few
unpractical idiosyncrasies, one that made her feel a
little silly. She'd worked hard to present herself as a
thoroughly rational, intelligent woman, not prone to
emotional sentimentality and in most respects, that
was true. But the grenade was her rabbit's foot, and
she never went on a mission without it. Besides, she had half convinced herself that it might come in
handy one day. . .
Yeah, keep telling yourself that. The S.T.A.R.S. have
digitized anti-personnel grenades with timers, even
flash-bangs with computer chips. The pin on this relic
probably couldn't be wrenched out with pliers ...
"Karen, do you need any help?"
Startled, Karen looked up and into Rebecca's ear-
nest young features, the girl leaning into the back of
the van. Her quick gaze fell to the grenade, her eyes
lighting up with sudden curiosity.
"I thought we weren't taking any explosives . . . hey,
is that a pineapple grenade? I've never actually
seen one. Is it live?"
Karen quickly looked around, afraid that one of the
team had overheard, then grinned sheepishly at the
young biochemist, embarrassed by her own embar-
rassment.
It's not like I got caught masturbating, for chrissake;
she doesn 't know me, why the hell would she care if I'm
superstitious?
"Shh! They'll hear us. Come here a sec," she said, and Rebecca obediently crawled into the van, a con-
spiratorial half-smile blooming on her face. In spite of
herself, Karen was absurdly pleased by the young
biochemist's discovery. In the seven years she'd been
with the S.T.A.R.S., no one had ever found out. And
she'd taken an instant liking to the girl.
"It is a pineapple, and we're not taking explosives
in. You can't tell anyone, okay? I carry it for good
luck."
Rebecca raised her eyebrows. "You carry a live grenade around for luck?"
Karen nodded, looking at her seriously. "Yes, and if John or Steve found out, they'd ride me ragged. I
know it's dumb, but it's kind of a secret."
"I don't think it's dumb. My friend Jill has a lucky
hat. . ." Rebecca reached up and touched her head- band, a tied red bandana beneath mousy bangs.
". . . and I've been wearing this for a couple of weeks
practically. I was wearing it when we went into the
Spencer facility."
Her young face clouded slightly, and then she was
smiling again, her light brown gaze direct and sincere.
"I won't say a word."
Karen decided that she definitely liked her. She
tucked the grenade back in her vest, nodding at the
girl. "I appreciate that. So, are we ready out there?" Tiny lines of nervous strain appeared on Rebecca's
face. "Yeah, pretty much. John wants to run another check with the headsets, but other than that, every- thing's done."
Karen nodded again, wishing she could say some-
thing to ease the girl's fear. There wasn't anything to
say. Rebecca had dealt with Umbrella before, and any
words that Karen might mouth would be hollow ones,
might even seem patronizing. She felt some anxiety
herself, she'd be a fool not to, but fear wasn't a state
that she wore often or well. As with most missions,
the overriding feeling she experienced was anticipa-
tion, a kind of cerebral hunger for the truth.
"Go ahead and hand out the weapons, I'll get the
rest," Karen said finally. She could at least give her something to do.
Rebecca helped her unload the equipment as the
sun dipped lower in the heavy summer sky. The winds
off the water grew cooler and the first pale stars
shimmered into view over the Atlantic.
As twilight crept in, they moved down to the water
in an uneasy silence, loading their weapons, stretch-
ing, staring out at the black waters that eddied and
swirled with secrets of their own.
When the last of the daylight melted off the hori-
zon, they were as ready as they were going to get. As
John and David slipped the raft into the lapping
darkness, Karen slipped on a black watchcap and
patted the heavy lump inside her vest for luck, telling
herself that she wouldn't need it.
The truth was waiting. It was time to find out what
was really going on.
SEVEN
STEVE AND DAVID CLIMBED IN, EDGING TO
the front of the six-man raft as Karen and Rebecca
followed. John hopped in last, and at David's signal,
started the motor with the push of a button; it was as
silent as David had promised, only a faint hum that
was almost lost in the sound of gently moving water.
"Let's move," David said quietly. Rebecca took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they started north,
heading for the cove.
Nobody spoke as the shore slid by to their left,
shadowy, jagged shapes in the pallid light of the rising
moon, an immense and whispering void to their right.
Port and starboard, her mind noted randomly. Bow
and stern.
She searched the blackness for a sign that marked
the beginning of the private territory, but couldn't
make out much. It was a lot darker than she'd
expected, and colder. The chill she felt was com-
pounded by the knowledge that beneath them lay an infinite and alien world, teeming with cold-blooded
life.
Rebecca saw a flash of soft light as David raised a
pair of NV binoculars to watch for movement on the
shore. The infrared illuminator's glow spilled across
his face for an instant before he adjusted their posi-
tion, making his features strange and craggy.
Now that they were actually doing it, actually on
their way, she felt better than she had all day. Not
relaxed, by any means—the dread was still there, the
fear of the unknown and for what they might encount-
er—but the feelings of helplessness, the mind-
numbing anxiety she'd lived with since the incident in
Raccoon, had eased, giving way to hope.
We're doing something, taking the offensive instead
of waiting for them to get to us ...
"I see the fence," David said softly, his face a pale smudge in the bobbing dark.
We'll pass the dock next, maybe see the buildings as
the land slopes up to the lighthouse, to the caves ...
Water slopped at the raft, the sound of muted waves
growing as the small craft rocked and shuddered.
Rebecca felt her heart speed up. While she liked
looking at the ocean, she wasn't all that thrilled to be
out in it; as a kid, she'd seen Jaws one time too many.
She kept her focus on the shore, trying to judge how
close they were, and felt as much as saw the land open
up as the tiny raft slipped through the lapping waves.
Maybe twenty meters away, the towering shadows of
trees gave way to a clearing. She could hear water
dashing lightly against the rocky shore, sense flat,
open space on both sides of them now. They had
reached the compound.
"There's the dock," David said. "John, veer star- board, two o'clock."
Rebecca could just make out the faint, man-made
shape of the pier ahead of them, a dark line shifting
on the water. There was the hollow, lonely squeak of
metal rubbing wood, the small dock raised and strain-
ing at its pilings. There were no boats that she could
see.
As the pier slipped past, Rebecca squinted into the
darkness beyond. She could just make out the blocky
outline of a structure behind the floating wood, what
had to be the boathouse or marina for the facility. She
couldn't see any of the other buildings from Trent's
map. There were six more besides the lighthouse, five
of them spaced evenly along the cove, set into two
lines that paralleled the shore - three in front, two
behind. The sixth structure was directly in back of the
lighthouse, and they were all hoping that it was the lab; they'd be able to get what they needed without
going through the whole compound ...
"Boathouse is wood, the others look like con-
crete. I don't ... wait," David's whisper became ur- gent. "Somebody - two, three people, they just went behind one of the buildings."
Rebecca felt a strange relief flood through her, relief
and disappointment and a sudden confusion. If there
were people, maybe the T-Virus hadn't been un-
leashed. But that meant that the buildings would be
occupied, the grounds patrolled, making a covert
operation impossible.
Then why is it so dark? And why does it feel so dead
here, so empty?
"Do we abort?" Karen whispered, and before Da- vid could respond, Steve gasped, a sharp intake of air
that froze Rebecca's blood, her thoughts fluttering
wildly in a spasm of primal fear.
"Three o'clock, big, oh Jesus it's huge ..."
BAM!
The raft was hit, heaved up and over in a fountain
of churning blackness. Rebecca saw a flash of sky,
smelled cold and rotting slime—and was plunged,
splashing, into the turbulent dark waters of the sea.
Water enveloped him, the icy, stinging salt burning
David's eyes and nose as he flailed desperately, lost
and breathless.
—where is it—
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