and bolts on top of a laminated tide chart. An electric
screwdriver, dusty and dented, a couple of bits on a stained rag.
Nothing, there's nothing here. We should get out
before someone comes looking...
John opened a drawer and rummaged through it
while Steve tried to make out what was on an over-
head shelf. Behind them, Karen spoke again.
"He wasn't dead when they nailed him up, though
I'd say he was close. Definitely unconscious. There's
no smearing, suggesting he didn't struggle ... and
there are slide marks, here and here; I'd say he was
shot by the back door and dragged over."
John had finished digging through the drawer and
they moved on, boots squelching against the wood
floor. A set of socket wrenches. A cheap radio. A
crumpled paper bag next to a pencil nub.
Something snagged at Steve's thoughts and he
stopped, looking at the paper bag. The pencil...
He picked up the crunched ball, smoothing out the
wrinkles and turning it over. There were several lines
written near the bottom, scrawled and jerky.
"Hey, we found something," John called quietly, shining the light on the writing as the others hurried
over. Steve read it aloud, squinting at the faintly
penciled words under the wobbling beam. There was
no punctuation; he did his best to work out the pauses
as he went.
". . . 'July 20. Food was drugged, I'm sick, I hid the
material for you, sent data. Boats are sunk and he let
the. . ."
Steve frowned, unable to make out the word.
Tris . . . tri-squads?
" 'Boats are sunk and he let the Trisquads out - dark
now, they'll come, I think he killed the rest -stop him -
God knows what he means to do. Destroy the lab - find
Krista, tell her I'm sorry, Lyle is sorry. I wish . . .'"
There was nothing more.
"Ammon's message," Karen said softly. "Lyle
Ammon."
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who
was hanging on the door. The sagging, seeping Mr.
Death had an identity now, for what it was worth.
And the message that Trent had given David was so
weird because the poor guy had apparently been
doped up when he sent it.
"Nice to put a face to the name, huh?" John
cracked, but not even he smiled. The desperate little
note had an ominous ring to it, with or without the
brutal murder to back it up.
What's a Trisquad? Who's "he"?
"Maybe we should look around a little more."
Rebecca began hesitantly, but David was shaking his head.
"I think it's best if we leave this for now. We'll..."
He broke off as heavy, plodding footsteps sounded
across the wood deck, just outside the door they'd
come through. Everyone froze, listening. More than
one set, and whoever they were, they were making no
effort to hide their approach. They stopped at the
door and stayed there, no rattling knob, no crashing
kick, no other sound. Waiting.
David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen
and then to the other door, hung with the grisly
remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out,
Karen first.
They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve winc-
ing at every shifting creak they created, breathing
through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench
and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence
was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming
from in front of them, to the left, coming from the
direction of their escape.
EIGHT
KAREN JUMPED BACK AS BULLETS CRACKED
into the door. Chunks of rotten flesh spattered up from
Ammon's body; the corpse danced and waved in a
shuddering, jerking rhythm of macabre motion.
David snatched at the coat of the dead man and
yanked, but the door was pinned open by the clatter-
ing fire and whoever was shooting was coming
closer, the explosive shots louder, the splinters of flesh
and wood pelting them with greater force. They were
trapped, both exits blocked.
Rebecca clutched her Beretta in one shaking hand,
watching for a signal from David. He pointed roughly
northwest, into the compound, shouting to be heard
over the whining, spitting clatter of the automatic fire.
"Rebecca, other door! John, Karen, next building,
secure! Steve, we cover! Go!"
As one, Steve and David leaped out and started to
fire, the booming rounds punctuating the lighter hail
of deadly ammo.
John and Karen charged out at a full run, were
instantly swallowed up by the shadows. Rebecca spun
and trained her weapon on the back door, her heart
pounding in her throat. The walls trembled and
shook.
"Die, Jesus, why won't they die?" Steve screamed behind her, a strain of disbelief and terror in his voice
that made her blood run cold.
. . . zombies?
Without looking away from the rectangle of dark
wood, Rebecca shouted as loud as she could, her voice
cracking over the relentless spray of the automatics.
"Head shots! Aim for the head!"
There was no way to know if they'd heard her, the
rifle or rifles kept pounding, approaching. Her
thoughts raced to understand, images of the T-Virus
victims flitting through her mind. They'd been mind-
less, slow, inhuman and accidental, not on purpose -not with
purpose.
"Rebecca, let's go!"
There was still the sound of an automatic rifle
firing, but the boathouse no longer shook from the
impact of its force. She shot a glance back, saw Steve
still shooting at something, saw David motioning at
her to move.
She sidled for the open door, catching a sickening,
up-close look at the bullet-riddled corpse still hanging
there. The head had caved in like a rotting pumpkin,
teeth shattered, gummy flecks of tissue radiating out
from behind the skull. The waving hand was no longer
connected to the rotting arm, the radius and ulna
blown away. It dangled there like some obscene
decoration, beckoning...
Steve fired once more and the auto's clatter ceased.
He raised the weapon, his eyes wide and shocked as
he opened his mouth to say something ...
... and the back door crashed open, bullets flying
through the dark in a blaze of orange fire. David
pushed her roughly through the front and she ran, the
responding crack of nine-millimeter rounds resonat-
ing behind her.
- get to the building, get to cover -
She sprinted through the shadows, her wet shoes
thumping across packed, rocky dirt, her searching
gaze finding the outline of a massive, concrete block
and the spindly trees that surrounded it in the dark-
ness ahead.
"Here."
She veered toward the call, saw John's muscular
form silhouetted by pale starlight at the corner of the
building. As she neared him, she saw the open door,
Karen standing in the entry with her weapon trained
back toward the boathouse. Bullets still sang through
the shadows.
"Get in!" Karen shouted, stepping out of the way, and Rebecca ran past her, not slowing until she was
inside. She fell into a table in the pitch black, cracking
one hip painfully against the edge.
Turning, she saw Karen firing, heard John yelling,
"Come on, come on..."
... and Steve pounded through the door, gasping.
He pulled to a stop before crashing into her, one hand
clutching his chest.
Rebecca moved to the door and grasped the cool
thickness, her mind absently registering that the ma-
terial was steel as David hurtled through, shouting.
"Karen, John!"
Karen backed into the darkness, weapon still
raised. There were three more sharp reports from a
Beretta and then John slipped inside, his jaw
clenched, his nostrils flaring.
Rebecca slammed the door, her fingers finding a
deadbolt switch. The soft snick of the lock was barely
audible against the ringing in her ears. Outside, the
bullets stopped. There were no shouts between the
attackers, no alarms, no barking of dogs or screaming
of wounded. The sudden silence was total, broken
only by the deep, shuddering breathing in the warm
and muggy darkness.
A halogen beam flickered on, revealing the shocked
faces of the team as David shone it around their
retreat. A midsize room, crowded with desks and
computer equipment. There were no windows.
"Did you see that?" Steve gasped, addressing no one in particular. "God, they wouldn't go down, did you see that?"
Nobody answered, and though they were out of
immediate danger, Rebecca didn't feel her adrenaline
slowing, didn't feel her heart settling back to anything
approaching normal; it seemed that Umbrella had
found a new application for the T-Virus. And like it or
not, we're going to have to deal with the consequences.
They were trapped in Caliban Cove. And in this
facility, the creatures had guns.
David took a final deep breath and exhaled it
heavily, flashing the torch's light toward the door.
"I'd say we've been spotted," he said, hoping that he didn't sound as despairing as he felt. "Might as well see what we've gotten into. Rebecca, would you
turn on the lights?"
She flipped the wall switch and the room snapped
into blinding brilliance, overhead fluorescents pulsing
to life. Blinking against the sudden glare, David
surveyed the team, saw that Steve had one hand
pressed to his chest.
"Are you hit?"
"Vest stopped it," he said, but he seemed more out of breath than the others, his face paler than it should
have been.
Rebecca glanced at David with a questioning gaze.
He nodded at her.
Doesn 't appear that we have anywhere else to go...
"Check him out. Anyone else?"
Nobody answered as Rebecca stepped up to Steve,
motioning for him to take off the vest. David turned
and looked around the room, measuring it against the
memory of Trent's map and what little he'd seen from
outside. There were a half dozen cheap metal desks,
each with a computer and bits of clutter on top. The
cement walls were undecorated and plain. There was
another door on the west wall that had to lead deeper
into the building.
"Karen, secure that," he said. They could check out the rest of the site once they'd decided what to do
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