reward, for making it through the tests? A piece of
meat? Drugs, to ease their hunger? Maybe a brand new
weapon for them to train with? Jesus, did they even
understand what they'd been doing?
She saw the same curled sneers of horror and
disgust on the faces of the others and saw the same
growing dismay as they watched David pull a single
tiny item from the recess, what looked like a credit
card with a slip of paper stuck to one side.
They gathered around him as he held the item up,
his dark gaze heavy with an almost manic disappoint-
ment. It was a light green key card, the kind used to
open electronic doors, blank except for a magnetic
strip and the scrawled words on the small square of
paper said only:
LIGHTHOUSE-ACCESS 135-SOUTHWEST/EAST.
"Handwriting's the same as on Ammon's note,"
Steve said hopefully. "Maybe the lab is in the light- house. . ."
"One way to find out," John said. "Let's go."
He seemed angry, the same look he wore since their
discovery of Karen's exposure to the virus. After
watching him charge the Trisquad outside, Rebecca
almost hoped that they'd come across Dr. Griffith;
John would tear him apart.
David nodded, slipping the card into his vest. The
fear and guilt that he felt were obvious, playing across
his features in a constant, twitching mask. "Right. Karen . . . ?"
She nodded, and Rebecca saw that her already pale
skin had taken on a waxy tone, as if the top layers
were becoming translucent. Even as she watched,
Karen started to scratch absently at her arms. "Yeah, I'm good," she said quietly.
She has to know. She deserves to know.
Rebecca knew it couldn't wait any longer. Choosing
her words carefully, aware of their limited time, she
turned to Karen and spoke as calmly as she could.
"Look, I don't know what they've done with the
T-Virus here, but there's a chance that you could start
to experience more advanced symptoms in a relatively
short amount of time. It's important that you tell me,
tell all of us how you're doing, physically and psycho-
logically. Any changes at all, we need to know, okay?"
Karen smiled weakly, still scratching at her arms.
"I'm scared shitless, how's that? And I'm starting to
itch all over. . . ."
She turned her red eyes to David, then to Steve and
John before looking back at Rebecca. "If ... if I start to act ... irrationally, you'll do something, won't you?
You won't let me ... hurt anyone?"
A single tear slid down one pale cheek, but she
didn't look away, her wet, crimson gaze as firm and
strong as it had ever been.
Rebecca swallowed, struggling to sound confident
and reassuring, awed by the bravery she saw in Karen's
eyes - and wondering how much longer that bravery
would hold up beneath the roar of the T-Virus running
through her veins.
"We're going to find the cure before it comes to
that," she said, and hoped that she wasn't telling Karen a lie.
"Move out," David said tightly.
They moved out.
The grounds of the facility were on a definite gentle
slant, rising to the north, but as they left the E block
and started for the towering black structure that
perched over the cove, the curving slope became
much steeper. The rocky soil angled up sharply,
maybe as much as a thirty-degree incline, making the
half kick walk into a hike. David ignored the strain in
his back and legs; he was too worried about Karen
and too busy tearing away at his own incompetence to
bother with physical discomfort.
They were closer to the shimmering waters of the
cove than they had been since climbing out of them,
and the cool, whispering breeze off the moonlit sur-
face would have been pleasant on some other night,
in some other place. The swaying ripples of soft light
and the soothing murmur of waves were almost a
mockery of their desperate situation, such a sharp
contrast to the chaos inside of him that he found
himself almost wishing that there were still Trisquads
roaming around.
At least then this would feel like the nightmare it is.
And I could do something, I could fight back, defend
them against something tangible...
Ahead of them, the rising land curled around to the
east, dropping away to a foaming sea far below. The
cove itself was fairly calm, but the sound of waves
smashing against the cliffs grew louder as they hurried
on, approaching where the ocean met towering, cave-
riddled rock walls. John had taken the lead, Karen
next and then the two younger team members. David
brought up the rear, dividing his attention between
the compound to their left and behind and the dark
structures ahead.
Directly in back of the lighthouse was what had to
be the dormitory, a long, flat building almost twice
the size of the concrete blocks they'd left behind.
They hadn't come across quarters for the Umbrella workers anywhere else, and it had the look of a
bunkhouse - designed for sleeping and eating, no
thought given to aesthetic appeal. They probably
should check it out, but David didn't want to waste a
moment in their search for the lab.
The thought brought on another wave of guilt and
angst that he tried unsuccessfully to block out. He
needed to be effective, to get them to the laboratory as
quickly as possible without floundering in his doubts
and emotions, but all he kept thinking, kept wishing
was that he'd been infected instead.
But you're not, some tiny part of him whispered, Karen's got it and wishing is pointless. It won't cure her
and it will cloud your ability to lead.
David ignored the small voice, thinking instead of
how badly he'd screwed them all. Who was he, to lead
a fight against Umbrella, to clean up the S.T.A.R.S.
and bring honor back to the job? He couldn't even
keep his people safe, couldn't plan a simple covert
op, couldn't even battle the demons of self-doubt
and horrified guilt that raged inside of him.
They neared the lifeless dorm building, John slow-
ing to let the rest of them catch up. David saw that his
team was tired, but at least Karen didn't look any
worse. In the gentle light of the swollen moon, she
seemed pale and somehow fragile. The deathly pallor
she'd worn beneath the fluorescents had translated
into a soft, porcelain cast, the redness of her gaze
turning to shadow. If he hadn't known better . . .
Ah, but you do. How long now, before that milky
skin starts to peel, to flake away? How long before she
can't be trusted with a weapon, before you have to
restrain her from...
Stop it!
He let them catch their breath, turning to get a
better look at the lighthouse less than twenty meters
away and felt his stomach clench, his heart shudder
suddenly for no reason that he could have explained.
It was an old lighthouse, a tall, cylindrical outdated
building, weathered and dark and as seemingly de-
serted as the rest of the compound. Looking at it, he
experienced the feeling he'd had earlier of impending
doom, of options closing down behind them and the
spinning wheel of darkness ahead.
"Come on," John said briskly, but David stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head slowly.
Not safe. That tiny voice again, familiar yet strange.
He stared at the looming tower, feeling lost, feeling
uncertain and out of control as the wind swept over
them, the waves pounding the cliff. They were wait-
ing. It wasn't safe, but they had to go in, they couldn't just stand there and it hit him suddenly, a clear realization of
what it was that had gone wrong in his mind. What
was really wrong. It wasn't his competence, it wasn't
his ability to think or plan or fight. It was something
far worse, something he might have noticed much
earlier if he hadn't let himself get so wrapped up with
guilt.
I stopped trusting my instincts. Without the security
of the S.T.A.R.S. behind me, I forgot to listen to that
voice - so terrified of making a mistake that I lost my
ability to hear, to know what to do. Every time the fear
hit me, I pushed through it, I ignored it and I made it
that much stronger.
Even as he thought it, as he believed it, he felt the
blackness of doubt lift from his exhausted thoughts.
The guilt eased back, allowing a kind of clarity to
filter through and with it, the tiny voice inside took
on a power that he'd almost forgotten it could have.
It's not safe, so hit the door fast, two in low, the rest
high and covered outside. . .
All of this flashed through his mind in seconds. He
turned to look at his team, watching him, waiting for
him to lead. And for the first time in what felt like an
eternity, he knew that he could.
"I think it's a trap," he said. "John, you and I go in low, I'll take west - Rebecca, I want you and Steve to
stand on either side of the door and fire at anything
standing; keep firing until we call clear. Sorry, Karen,
you'll sit this one out."
They nodded all around and started for the deep
shadows that surrounded the ominous tower, David
in front, finally feeling as though he was doing some-
thing useful. Maybe that spinning destiny was too
vast, moving too quickly for them to deny, but he
wasn't going to let it run them over without at least
putting up a fight.
Karen deserved that much. They all did.
Karen hung back as they moved into position,
leaning against the back wall of the large building
behind the lighthouse to watch. She felt winded by the
climb up the hill, winded and strange and there was a
buzzing in her brain that wouldn't go away, wouldn't
let her fully concentrate...
... getting sick. Getting sicker, fast.
It scared her, but somehow it wasn't as bad as it had
been. In fact, it wasn't really that scary at all. The
initial terror had gone, leaving her with only a memo-
ry of the adrenaline rush, like a whiff of a bad dream.
The itch was distracting, but not exactly an itch
anymore. What had felt like a million bug bites on her
skin, each separate and distinct and screaming for relief, had connected. It was the only way she could
think to describe the sensation. They had connected,
had become a thick blanket over her body that
crawled and squirmed, as if her skin had come to life
and was scratching itself. It was weird, but not exactly
unpleasant...
"Now!"
At the sound of David's voice, Karen focused on
the sudden action in front of her, the buzzing hum in
her head making it all seem strange, speeded up
somehow. The door to the lighthouse crashing open,
David and John leaping into the blackness, bullets
flashing and booming. The high, whining rattle of an
M-16 inside. Steve and Rebecca, ducking and firing,
out and in and out again, their bodies blurred by
speed, their Berettas dancing like black metal birds.
It was happening so fast that it seemed to take a
