Another look and the line was closer now, the three
dark figures taking shape. John got off another shot,
ducked behind the open door ... and when he looked
again, there were only two standing.
Snap.
Behind him.
John whirled around and saw them, two of them,
ten feet away at the northeast corner of the building.
Both held automatic rifles.
But made no move to fire.
He felt panic then, a screaming, whining beast in
his gut that threatened to devour him from the inside
out -
- holy shit.
The fusillade of the M-16s was still approaching,
but he could see only the creatures that stood there,
watching him with blank and rubbery eyes, wobbling
on unsteady legs. The one on the left had only half a
face; from the nose down was a liquid, pulpy mass of
tissue, chunks of dark wetness hanging from strings of
elastic flesh. The one on the right looked intact at first,
if deathly white and dirty ... until he saw the ex-
ploded mass of its belly, the limp, dripping snake of
intestine flopped out against his bloody shirt.
- won't engage until team A finishes -
John stepped backward into the warm dark of the
building, using one distant arm to hold the door open
against the pair that still fired. He leaned out and
aimed as carefully as he could manage, squashing the
panic as best he could. Neither of the creatures moved to defend themselves, only stood there, teetering on
rotting legs, watching him.
Bam! Bam!
Two clean head shots, explosively loud over the
continuing rattle of the M-16s. Before they'd even hit
the ground, John heard another nine-millimeter thun-
dering through the darkness, drowning the automatic
fire.
Karen...
He shot another glance around the door and saw
the crumpling figures of the engaged team a hundred
feet away, one of them still firing as it fell, its rattling
rifle aimed uselessly at the sky. Karen crouched out
from between the buildings, handgun still pointed at
the spasming shooter, her back to John.
- teams won't engage -
"Don't shoot him! Over here, leave him!"
She turned, a lithe and graceful spin, sprinting to
meet him. As soon as she was through, he pulled the
door closed, the crack of the automatic muted to a
dull popping sound.
John sagged against the door as Karen fumbled for
the lock, his brain still screaming at him that he'd
seen the impossible, that he'd just killed two dead
men, that there was nowhere he could put that
information that wouldn't drive him insane -
- can't be, didn't believe, didn't believe it before,
didn 't know and they were DEAD they were ROTTING
and they were -
Karen's ragged whisper broke the warm dark, broke
through the cycling chain of his spinning, dizzying
thoughts.
"Hey, John, was it good for you?"
He blinked, the words registering slowly.
"Going first, I mean," she added. "Was it every- thing you hoped it would be?"
He felt a creeping amazement take the place of the
whirling, terrible thoughts, the confusion ebbing, the
waters of his mind becoming clear again.
"That's not funny," he said.
After a beat, they both started to laugh.
TEN
THE FARTHER AWAY THEY GOT FROM THE
front of the concrete block, the less noxious the air,
for which Rebecca was deeply grateful. She'd been
seconds away from vomiting herself, the smell was
that bad - a greasy, oily stench that seemed almost
tangible, an entity in itself.
As they moved quietly through the well-lit hall, she found herself thinking again about Nicolas Griffith,
about the story of the Marburg victims and al-
though there was no proof that he was behind the
mass slaughter of the Umbrella people, she couldn't
shake the feeling that he was responsible.
The corridor led them past several open rooms,
each as barren and sterile as the building they'd come
from. They passed an exit at the far side of the block,
and after another turn in the hall, finally came to a
door marked again with the letter A, and below it,
1-4. There were three triangles beneath the numbers,
each a different color - red, green, and blue.
David opened the door, revealing a much shorter
hall, stark fluorescent light spilling into the stale dark-
ness; there were two doors, one on either side. Steve
found the lights and turned them on, and Rebecca saw
that there were more of the colored triangles on the
door to their right. The other was blank.
"I'll take the test," David said. "Steve, you and Rebecca check out the other room, we'll meet back
here."
Rebecca nodded, saw Steve do the same. He looked
a little pale, but seemed steady enough, though he
dropped his gaze when he noticed her looking. She
felt a pang of sympathy for him, realizing that he was
probably embarrassed for losing his lunch.
They opened the unlabeled door and stepped into
yet another windowless room, as stuffy and warm as
the rest of the building. Rebecca turned on the lights
and a rather large office lined with bookshelves flick-
ered into view. A steel desk sat in one corner next to a
filing cabinet, the empty drawers standing open.
Steve sighed. "Looks like another bust," he said. "You want the desk or shelves?"
Rebecca shrugged. "Shelves, I guess."
He grinned almost shyly. "Just as well. Maybe I can find some breath mints or something in one of the
drawers."
Rebecca smiled, glad that he'd made the joke.
"Save me one. I swallowed it down back there, but it
was a close call."
They locked gazes, still smiling and Rebecca felt
a tiny shiver of excitement run through her as the
second stretched, lingering a few beats longer than a
more casual exchange.
Steve looked away first, but his color had returned,
his cheeks slightly pinker than before. He moved to
the desk and Rebecca turned to face a row of books,
feeling a little flushed herself. There was a definite
attraction there, and it seemed to be mutual -
- and it's only about the worst time and place to consider it, her mind snapped. Secure that shit, pronto. The books were about what she might've expected,
considering what they knew about the Trisquads and
Umbrella. Chemistry, biology, a whole set of leather-
bound texts on behavior modification, several medi-
cal journals. As Steve rummaged through the desk
behind her, she ran her hand along the row, pushing
the books toward the back of the shelf as she glanced
over the titles. Maybe there was something hidden
behind one of them.
... sociology, Pavlov, psych, psych, pathology ...
She stopped, frowning at a slender black volume
tucked between two larger books. No title. She pulled it
out and felt her heart speed up as she opened the small
book, seeing the spidery handwriting on the lined pages.
She flipped to the front, saw "Tom Athens" written
in neat letters on the inside cover.
One of the guys on the list, one of the researchers!
"Hey, I found a diary," she said. "It belongs to one of the people from Trent's list, Tom Athens."
Steve looked up from the desk, his dark eyes flash-
ing. "No shit? Go to the back, what's the last date?" Rebecca ruffled through the pages to the end, scan-
ning as she went. "Says July 18, but it doesn't look like he kept it regular. The one before that is July 9 ..."
"Just read the last entry," Steve said. "Maybe it'll tell us what was going on."
She walked to the desk and leaned against it,
clearing her throat.
" 'Juty 18, Saturday. It's been a long and ridiculous day,
the end of a long and ridiculous week. I swear to God, I'm
going to beat the crap out of Louis if he calls one more stupid
meeting. Today it was whether or not we should add a new
scenario into the Trisquad program, as if we need another
one. All he really wanted was to get it on paper, and the rest
of it was his usual bullshit - the importance of teamwork, the
need to share information so we can all "stay on the right
track." I mean, Jesus, it's like he can't live with the concept
that a weekly might go out without his name on it. And he
hasn't done dick since the Ma7 disaster, except to try and
convince everyone that it was Chin's fault; so much for not
speaking ill of the dead. Sanctimonious prick."
" 'Alan and I talked over the implants yesterday, that's
going well. He's going to write up the proposal this week,
and we're NOT going to let Louis touch it. With any luck,
we'll get a green light by the end of the month. Alan figures
the White boys are going to want to run it past Birkin,
though God only knows why; B. doesn't give a shit what
we're doing out here, he's off being brilliant again. I have to
admit, I'm looking forward to his next synthesis; maybe we
can work out some of the bugs in the Trisquads."
" 'There was a minor scare in D on Wednesday, in 101.
Somebody left the refrigerator open, and Kim swears that
there are some chemicals missing, though I'm starting to
think she miscounted again. Hard to believe she's in charge
of the infection process, the woman's a dite and she's sloppy
as hell when it comes to maintaining the equipment. I'm
surprised she hasn't managed to infect the entire com-
pound. God knows there's enough in there to do it."
" 'I should probably get over to D myself, make sure
everything's ready for tomorrow. Got a new batch shipping
in, and Griffith actually asked to watch the process; first
time he's come out of the lab in weeks, first time he's ever
taken an interest in what the rest of us are doing. I know it's
stupid, but I still want him to be impressed; he's as brilliant
as Birkin, in his own creepy way. I think he even intimidates
Louis, and Louis is generally too stupid to scare."
" 'More later.'"
The rest of the pages were blank. Rebecca looked up
at Steve, not sure what to say, her mind working to
glean the relevant bits of information from the ram-
bling tirade. There was something in there that both-
ered her, something that she couldn't quite place.
Missing chemicals. Infection process. The brilliant,
creepy Dr. Griffith. . .
She no longer had any doubt that Griffith had killed
the others, but that wasn't what sent her internal
alarms jangling. It was. . .
"Block D," Steve said, a look of anxious fear
playing across his face. "If we're in A, Karen and John are in D."
Where there's enough of the T-Virus to infect the entire
compound. Where the infection process took place.
"We should tell David," Rebecca said, and Steve nodded, both of them moving quickly for the door,
Rebecca hoping desperately that John and Karen
wouldn't find room 101 and that if they did, they
wouldn't touch anything that could hurt them.
The test room was big, three of the walls lined with
open-ended cubicles. Once he'd turned on the lights,
he saw that the tests were clearly numbered and color-
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