...no, Steve's okay. He'd be able to take Kinneson in a
heartbeat...
Except that Karen was with him. A very sick Karen,
struggling just to stay upright.
Their jog had slowed to a shag, David and John
both breathing heavily, frowns deepening across their
exhausted faces. David held up a hand, stopping
them.
"I don't think it's this way," he panted. "We should have seen something by now. And the piece of paper
with the key card said southwest, east - I'm not sure,
but I think after that last turn, we're heading west."
John bobbed his head, his short, tight hair glisten-
ing with sweat. "I don't know which way we're going, but I know I think Kinneson's full of shit. The guy
works for Umbrella, for chrissake."
"I agree," Rebecca said, breathing deeply. "I think we should go back. We have to get to the lab, soon. I
don't think..."
Clank!
They froze, staring at each other. From somewhere
farther down the endless tunnel, something made of
heavy metal had just been moved.
"The lab?" Rebecca said hopefully. "Could it..." A low, strange sound cut her off, the words dying in
her throat as the noise picked up strength. It was like
nothing she'd ever heard before - a dog howling,
combined with an off-key whistling whine and the
sound of a newborn baby's desperate cry. It was a
lonely, terrible sound, rising and falling through the
tunnel, finally building to a warbling, mournful
shriek - then it was joined by several others.
She was suddenly absolutely certain that she didn't
want to see what was making that sound, even as
David started backing up, his face pale and eyes wide.
"Run," he said, training his Beretta on the empty passage ahead of them, waiting until they had stum-
bled past before turning to follow.
Rebecca felt a burst of incredible energy as adrena-
line gushed into her body, sent her sprinting through
the shadowy tunnel to escape the rising shrieks of
whatever was behind them. John was just in front of
her, his muscled arms and legs pumping madly, and
she could hear the clattering steps of David on her
heels.
The howls were getting louder, and Rebecca could
feel the stone vibrate beneath her flying feet, the heavy, galloping steps of the shrieking beasts thunder-
ing after them.
- not gonna make it -
Even as she realized that they'd be overtaken, she
heard David gasp out, "Next turn..."
...and as they reached the end of the empty stretch
where the tunnel curved again, Rebecca whirled
around, raising the Beretta in her sweating, shaking
hand, training it back on the last turn they'd taken.
John and David flanked her, gasping, nine-milli-
meters aimed alongside hers. Twenty meters of blank
passage, filled with the now deafening cries of their
unseen pursuers.
As the first of them tore into view, all three of them
fired, slugs ripping into the creature that at first
Rebecca thought was a lioness - then a giant lizard -
- then a dog. She caught only a mad, patchwork vision
of the impossible thing, seeing parts of it that her
mind fit into a whole - the slitted, cat-like pupils. The
giant snake head, a gaping, slavering jaw filled with
bladed teeth. The squat and powerful barrel-chested
body, sand-colored, thick legs bowing in front, mus-
cular, springing haunches propelling it toward them
at an incredible speed...
...and even as the bullets found its strange, reptili-
an flesh, there was another behind it...
...and the first explosive rounds that smacked into
the thick body of the closest creature knocked it off of
its clawed feet, staggered it backward as blooms of
watery blood spattered the tunnel walls...
...and, shaking its head, screaming in ferocious
sorrow, it launched itself at them again.
- oh shit -
Rebecca squeezed the trigger again, four, five, six,
her mind screaming as loudly as the two monstrous
animals that ran at them, eight, nine, ten...
...and the first went down, stayed down, but there
was still the second and now a third, tearing down the
tunnel, and the Beretta only held fifteen rounds.
We're gonna die...
David jumped back, behind the line of thundering
fire. An empty clip skittered across the floor, and then
he was next to her again, aiming and squeezing, the
Beretta jerking smoothly in his practiced hand.
Rebecca counted her last round and stumbled back-
ward, praying that she could do it as fast as David
and saw that the third animal was stumbling
back, its wide chest gushing thin streamers of red. It
collapsed into the puddle of watery fluid it created
and stayed there.
Nothing in the tunnel moved, but there were at least two more around the corner. Their wailing cries
continued to wax and wane through the tunnel, but
they stayed back, out of sight - as if they knew what
had happened to their siblings, and were too smart to
charge into waiting death.
"Fall back," David said hoarsely, and still aiming at the blind corner, they started to edge backward, the
shrieks of the hybrid creatures rolling over them in
lonely, terrible waves.
Griifith moved quickly away from the door when he
heard the key in the lock, not wanting to be too close
to whomever Alan had brought along. He had Thur-
man already standing ready, just in case there were
any sudden moves, but when he saw the young man
and his passive partner step into the lab, he doubted
he'd have any trouble.
What's this? A few too many drinks, perhaps? An
unseen mortal wound?
Griffith smiled, waiting for him to speak or for the
woman to move, his heart full and warm with good
humor. It had been so long since he'd talked to
someone who could respond without prompting, and
the fact that his fine plan had worked made him all
the merrier. Behind him, Alan sealed the door and
stood blankly, holding two weapons on the unlikely
pair.
The young man gazed wide-eyed around the labora-
tory, his dark gaze settling on the wide airlock win-
dow in something like awe. The woman's head was
down, rolling across her chest.
He had the deep, natural tan of a Hispanic, or
perhaps someone from India. Not too tall, but sturdy
enough. Yes, he'd do quite nicely . . . and since this might even have been the one to destroy Athens, there
was a certain poetic justice being served.
The youth's darting gaze finally rested on Griffith,
curious and not altogether as frightened as Griffith
would have liked.
We'll see about that. . .
"Where are we?" the young man asked quietly. "You are in a chemical research laboratory, approx-
imately twenty meters below the surface of Caliban
Cove," Griffith said. "Interesting, yes? Those clever designers even built it inside of a shipwreck, or they
built the shipwreck around the lab, I forget ex..."
"Are you Thurman?"
Such manners!
Griffith smiled again, shaking his head. "No. That fat, hopeless creature standing to your left is Dr.
Thurman. I am Nicolas Griffith. And you might
be...?"
Before the young man could speak, the woman
rolled her head up, a wobbling white face looking
around in fixed, helpless hunger.
An infected one!
"Thurman, take the woman and hold her," Griffith said quickly. He couldn't have her damaging the fine
specimen Alan had managed to catch
but as Thurman grabbed for the female, the
young man resisted, pushing at Louis with fast, angry
hands, a sneer of bravado on his face.
Griffith felt a pulse of distress. "Alan, hit him!" Dr. Kinneson brought his hand up quickly, crack-
ing the struggling youth a smart blow across the back
of his skull; he stopped fighting just long enough for
Thurman to pull the woman away.
"She's gone," Griffith said forcefully, wondering why on earth anyone would want to hang on to one of
those. "Look at her, can't you see she's not human anymore? She's one of Birkin's puppets, one of the
pathetically altered hungry. A zombie. A Trisquad
unit without training."
Even as Griffith spoke, a fascinating turn of events
took place. The woman squirmed around in Thur-
man's grasp and with one quick movement, darted
forward and bit into Louis's face. She pulled back
with a thick, bloody mouthful of his cheek and started
to chew enthusiastically.
"Karen, oh my God, no..."
For as upset as he sounded, the young man didn't
move to do anything about it. For that matter, neither
did Louis. The doctor stood calmly, blood pouring
down his face, watching the T-Virus drone lustily
swallow the piece of tender flesh. Griffith was trans-
fixed.
"Look at that," he said softly. "Not a grimace ot pain, not a flutter of emotion ... smile, Louis!"
Thurman grinned even as the woman lunged for-
ward again, managing to snag his protruding lower
lip. With a wet, tearing sound, the lip ripped away,
exposing an even wider grin. Blood gushed. The
woman chewed.
Amazing. Absolutely breathtaking.
The young man was quivering, his deep tan under-
shot with a sickly pallor. He didn't seem to appreciate
what he was seeing, and Griffith realized that he
probably wouldn't; the woman must have been a
friend.
Too bad. Pearls before swine . . .
"Alan, take hold of our young man, and hold him
tightly."
The youth didn't struggle, too absorbed in the apparent horror that he was experiencing. The female
got another piece of cheek, and Louis's smile wa-
vered, probably from muscle trauma.
As much as Griffith wanted to continue watching,
there was work to be done. The young man's other friends might manage to put down the Ma7s and if
they succeeded with that, they might come looking for
their bright young man.
But by then, he'll be my bright young man...
Griffith walked to a counter and picked up a
measured syringe, tapping the side of it with one
finger. He turned to the silent guest, wondering if he
should reveal his brilliant scheme for catching his
friends. Wasn't that what "villains" always did in
movies? He considered it only briefly, then decided
against it; he'd always considered it a foolish plot
point. And he was far from villainous. It was they who
had invaded his sanctuary, threatened his plans for
creating worldwide peace. There was no question who
the evildoers were in this story.
The young Hispanic was still watching the bizarre
luncheon, his mouth literally hanging open in dismay;
Karen was swallowing Thurman's nose, and making
quite a mess. He'd have to dispose of her before
Louis's arms gave out, though that gave him plenty of
time.
Stepping forward quickly, Griffith jabbed the nee-
dle into the youth's burly arm and depressed the
plunger.
