He'd seen it, an immense and pebbled plain of flesh
surging up from the black at the second of impact.
The surface pulled at him and he kicked against the
dragging depths, terrified. His head broke through to
air and an ominous quiet.
— where's the team—
David whirled around, gasping, heard a spluttering
cough to his left.
"Get to shore," he panted, turning in a circle, trying to find their position, to find the creature's, cursing
himself for a fool.
Missing fishermen, haunted waters, stupid, stupid.
The raft was ten meters behind him, upside down,
disturbed water splashing at its sides. The force of the
attack had thrown them clear, actually knocking them
closer to land. He saw two bobbing shapes, faces
between him and the shore, heard more splashing as
another joined them. He couldn't see the unnatural
thing that had hit the raft but expected to feel the bite
any second, the cold puncture of dagger teeth tearing
him to pieces.
"Get to shore," he called again, his heart thunder- ing, his legs heavy and vulnerable, kicking, obvious. Can't go in, three, where's four?
"David ..."
John's terrified shout, from beyond the floating raft.
"Here! John, this way, come this way, follow my
voice!"
John started toward him as David tread water,
propelling himself backward toward the rocky beach
and shouting all the while. He saw the top of John's
head appear, saw his arms pumping frantically
through the murky water.
"... follow me, I'm over here, we have to get ..."
A giant, pale shadow rose up smoothly behind the
soldier, at least three meters across, rounded and
dripping and impossible. Time jerked to a crawl, the
events unfolding in front of him in a slow motion
dream. David saw thick, tapering tentacles on either
side near the top of the rising shadow, saw a rounded
slash in the corpse-colored slickness -
- not tentacles, feelers -
- and realized that he was seeing the underbelly of
a monstrous animal that couldn't possibly exist, a
bottom feeder as big as a house. The black slash of its
mouth hissed open, revealing clusters of peg-like,
grinding teeth, each the size of a man's fist.
When it came down, John would be swallowed up
by the massive jaws. Or crushed. Or plowed into the
icy deep, a drowning meal for the creature.
In the instant it took him to absorb the facts, he was
already screaming.
"Dive! Dive!"
Time skipped forward and the beast was falling
forward, arching over, its long, thick serpent's body
dwarfing the raft, its shadow enveloping the frantic
swimmer. David caught a glimpse of bulbous, rolling
eyes the size of beach balls -
- and it crashed down, sending explosive plumes
of water high into the air, blotting out the stars in
sheets of foaming spray. Before David could draw
breath, a tremendous wave knocked into him, driving
him violently backward through the bubbling dark-
ness.
There was rushing movement, a sense of helpless
speed as he struggled against the force that tore at his
limbs, struggled to find air in the sweeping torrent.
Kicking wildly, he surged upward through the liquid
veil, felt cold air slap at his skin and warm, human
hands yanking at his shoulders. He inhaled convul-
sively as his boots scraped against rock and Karen's
ragged voice spoke behind him.
"Got him ..."
Staggering against the slimy rocks, David let him- self be dragged backward until he found his balance
and could turn around. Wet figures were reaching out,
Steve and Rebecca. . .
Oh my God, John . . .
"I'm okay," David gasped, stumbling forward, his knees cracking numbly against larger rocks that his
blurred gaze denied him from seeing. "John, does anyone see him?"
Nobody answered. He blinked away salt, reeling
around to face the splashing darkness, the settling
waves slapping at their feet.
"John ..." he called, as loud as he dared, searching, seeing nothing at all. His heart was as cold as his
body, as heavy as the sodden weight of his Kevlar
vest.
—no life jackets, would've seen him by now—
He called again, hope dwindling. "John!"
A choking, strangled voice from the rocks to their
left. "What?"
David sagged in relief, taking a deep breath as
John's dripping figure staggered out of the shadows.
Steve lunged forward, grabbing the taller man's arm
and helping him lean against the rocks.
"I dove," John rasped out.
David turned and looked up, past the sliver of
pebbled, boulder-strewn beach to the darkness of the
compound. They were at the bottom of a short,
angled drop, in plain sight. The shock of the mon-
strous fish - if it could be called that - was suddenly
unimportant in the light of that realization. They
were out of the water now.
Have they heard us? Seen? Won't make the caves
now, can't stay here ...
"The marina," he breathed, turning south,
"quickly!"
The team stumbled past him, Karen taking the
lead, the others following close. No one seemed
seriously injured, a miracle all its own. David jogged
after John, assessing the situation as his aching legs
carried him through the rocky dark.
Get to cover, bar the door, regroup, get to the fence.
The ground rose steeply in front of them, the pier
looming into view ahead. As they clambered up over
rocks, David heard a muffled clatter of metal, saw
Rebecca hugging the black, dripping shape of the
ammo pack to her chest. He felt a wisp of new hope
for their chances; if they could just make it inside, somewhere safe . . .
The building was ahead on their right, silent and
dark, a closed door facing the wooden dock. There
was no way to know if it was empty, and though barely ten meters away, the distance was open and
flat, weathered planking, not even a pebble to block
them from view.
No choice.
"Stay low," he whispered, and then they were
crouching their way to the structure, Karen reaching
the door first, pushing it open. No light spilled out, no
alarm sounded. Steve and Rebecca piled in behind
her, then John, then David, stumbling into the dark,
closing the wooden door after him with a wet, cold
shoulder.
"Stop where you are," he said softly, fumbling for the halogen torch on his belt. Besides the gulping
breaths of his team, the room was still, but there was
a horrid smell in the close air, a fading stench of
something long dead. . .
The thin beam of light cut through the black,
revealing a large and mostly empty windowless room.
Ropes and life preservers hung from wooden pegs, a
workbench ran the length of one wall, a few saw
horses, cluttered shelves.
—my God—
The light froze on the room's other door, directly
across from the one they'd entered. The narrow beam
played across the source of the smell, highlighting
bare bone and a tattered, oily-stained lab coat. Dried
strings of muscle dripped in streamers from a grin-
ning face.
A corpse had been nailed to the door, one hand
fixed in a welcoming wave. From the look, it had been
dead for weeks.
Steve felt his gorge rise into his throat. He swal-
lowed it down, looking away, but the grotesque image
was already fixed in his mind - the eyeless face and
peeling tissue, the carefully splayed fingers pinned
into place...
Jesus, is that some kind of a joke? Steve felt dizzy, still out of breath from the nightmarish swim, the
sloshing climb over the rocks, the horror of the
Umbrella sea monster. The dried, sour smell of rot
wasn't helping.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then David
cupped one hand over the light and started talking,
his voice low but amazingly even.
"Check your belts and drop your clips. I want
status, now, injuries then equipment. Take a deep
breath, everyone. John?"
John's solemn voice rumbled through the shadows
to Steve's left, accompanied by sounds of wet, fum-
bling movement. Karen and Rebecca were to his
right, David still by the door.
"I got fish slime on me, but I'm okay. I've got my
weapon but my light's gone. So are the radios."
"Rebecca?"
Her voice was wavering but quick. "I'm fine - uh, my weapon's here, and the flashlight, the med kit...
oh, and I've got the ammo."
Steve checked himself out as she spoke, unholster-
ing his Beretta and ejecting the wet mag, slipping it
into a pocket. There was an empty spot on his belt
where his light should have been.
"Steve?"
"Yeah, no injuries. Weapon but no light."
"Karen?"
"Same."
David's fingers shifted over the muted beam, allow-
ing a shallow glow to spill into the room. "No one's hurt and we're still armed; things could be a lot worse.
Rebecca, pass out the clips, please. The fence can't be
more than fifty meters south from here, and there are
enough trees for cover, provided no one has seen us
yet. This operation is called, we're getting out of
here."
Steve accepted three loaded magazines from
Rebecca, nodding his thanks. He slapped one into the
semi, chambering a round automatically.
Great, fine, let's blow. That insane creature nearly
eating us, now Mr. Death dropping a casual wave, like
he was put there to say hello...
Steve wasn't easily frightened, but he knew a bad
situation when he saw it. He admired the S.T.A.R.S.
deeply, had wanted to go in on the operation to help
make things right, but with their boat gone and the
initial plan shot to shit, nailing Umbrella could wait.
David stepped closer to the decomposed figure, a
look of disgust curling his features in the shadowy
orange glow of the light. "Karen, Rebecca, come take a look at this. John, take Rebecca's torch, you and
Steve see if you can find anything useful."
Rebecca handed her flashlight to John, who nodded
at Steve. The two men walked to one end of the long
workbench, the soft voices of the others carrying
across the still air.
"The T-Virus didn't do this," Rebecca said. "Pat- tern of decay's all wrong..."
Silence, then Karen spoke. "See that? David, give me the light for a sec..."
John hooded their flashlight with one large hand,
playing the beam across the dirty planks of the
counter. A broken coffee mug. A pile of greasy nuts
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