"Basement door?" David whispered.
Barry's gruff voice was soft and strained. "Yeah." No good, it would be posted. They'd have to get out
through the second floor.
"We go through the park," he whispered quickly. "Jill, get to Chris and prepare to lay cover on my
signal. Barry, Rebecca, as soon as we start, hit the stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll
follow. Ready? Go."
Jill was already moving around the couch, disap-
pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and
Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough
to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He
stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool
against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase
would be damaging.
He crept toward the yawning blackness of the
opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris
were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs.
To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps.
To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long
hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.
They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins
the rest of the strike force should rush the front
door. . .
David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they
were dead. Away from the faint light from the win-
dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned
close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low
as possible.
"Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris
could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly,
no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of
the corridor. On my mark ... now!"
The three of them sprang into position, Chris and
Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the
left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the
count ticking.
... five... four...
Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the
stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the
Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was
only a foot away from the door when someone kicked
it open.
Bam!
His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and
he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He
dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the
base.
...two ...
He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots
as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a
strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit-
ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling
to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and
out of the line of fire. Their time was up.
David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way
Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a
sound like an explosion behind him. The front door
was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds
tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team
sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't
killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead
by now.
Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired
twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door,
hoping he'd bought the S.T.A.R.S. enough time to
escape.
Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're
gone.
It was going to be close.
Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart
pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that
chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.
Come on, come on. . .
Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's
hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed
through the open window. Jill was the first to reach
the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a
touch, Chris following close behind.
Bam! Bam!
The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed
brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was
in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a
sweaty ghost.
"This way. . ."
Rebecca turned and ran for the window, David at
her side. Jill had already gone and Chris was halfway
out, Barry gripping one of his hands as he struggled to
balance himself.
Please God, let there be a mattress, a pile of leaves. . .
BOOM!
The crash of the front door flying open was fol-
lowed by heavy footsteps and muffled male voices,
angry and commanding. Chris disappeared through
the window and then Barry was reaching for her, his
mouth a grim line. She jammed her pistol back in its
holster and stepped to the window.
Barry's warm hand on her back, Rebecca crawled
onto the sill and looked down. There were hedges
against the side of the house, lush and thick and
impossibly far below. She caught a glimpse of Jill,
standing on the lawn, aiming her weapon toward the
front of the house and Chris looking up at them, his
face tight with strain:
—don't think just do it—
Rebecca slid out the window, Barry's strong fingers finding her hand. Her shoulder groaned as gravity did
its work, Barry leaning out to give her less of a drop,
her body suspended in mid-air.
He let go and before she could feel real terror, she
hit the bushes. There was small pain, twigs and
branches scratching at her bare legs, and then Chris
was pulling her out, lifting her easily from the twining
hedges.
"Take the back," he breathed, his attention already fixed back on the window.
Rebecca snatched the revolver out as she stepped
onto the lawn, turning to face the shadows that made
up the backyard. To her left, a dark stand of trees
stood maybe twenty meters away, silent and still.
Hurry, hurry. . .
There was a thundering rattle of bullets inside the
house and a thrashing thump in the bushes to her
right, but she didn't turn, intent on her assigned task.
A movement, by the corner of the house. Rebecca
didn't hesitate, sending two shots into the thickening
of shadow, Barry's .38 jerking in her hands. The
figure crumpled, falling forward just enough for her to
see that she'd hit a man clutching a rifle and that he
wasn't going to get up again.
—never shot anybody before—
"Move!" Chris shouted, and Rebecca jerked her head around, saw Barry climb out of the bushes and
stumble toward them. There was a shout from the
window, followed by a burst from an automatic rifle.
Rebecca actually felt the bullets hit the ground near
her feet, tearing up chunks of overgrown lawn. Dirt
pelted her legs.
Shit!
David and Jill fired back as they ran for the trees,
Chris leading the way. The shooter either ducked or
was shot; the dull clatter of the rifle fell silent. As they
reached the first of the wooded shadows, Rebecca
heard the wail of approaching sirens—followed
closely by shouts and running steps across Barry's
front porch. Seconds later, there was a squeal of tires.
Rebecca stumbled through the brushy copse, dodg-
ing between narrow, gnarled trunks, trying to keep the
others in sight. The revolver felt too heavy in her slick
grasp and her entire body seemed to be pounding, her
legs shaking, her breathing sharp and shallow. Every-
thing had happened so fast. She'd known they were in
danger, that Umbrella wanted them out of the way,
but knowing something wasn't the same as really
believing it, as believing that violent strangers would
break into Barry's home and try to take their
lives. . .
. . . and I may have taken one of theirs instead.
The thought that she might have killed some-
one . . . she forced it away before it could take hold, concentrating on the pale shape of Chris's T-shirt
ahead. Her conscience would have to wait until she
had time to think it through.
Ahead of them, the thick woods opened into
a clearing, playground equipment gleaming dully in the
pallid light. Chris slowed to a jog and then stopped
where the line of trees ended, turning back to search
the shadows for the rest of them.
Rebecca caught up to him, Barry and Jill just
behind her, all of them breathing heavily and looking
as stunned and sober as Rebecca felt.
"David, where's David?" Chris gasped, and as they all turned, straining to see past the dark, reaching
branches, Rebecca saw one of the shadows to their left
move. A stealthy, sliding movement.
"Look out!"
She dropped to the ground even as she yelled, fresh
terror surging through her system. . .
. . . and the shadow fired at them, twice, the shots
muted compared to the explosive thunder at the
house. There was a third shot, louder, closer, and the
shadow stumbled and fell, crashing against a tree
before collapsing silently to the dirt. Except for the
rising moan of sirens, the park was again still.
Rebecca slowly raised her head, craning to look
over her shoulder and saw David, standing, still
pointing his Beretta at the fallen shooter. Jill and
Chris were crouched next to her, both of them holding
their weapons out, staring around them with wide,
searching gazes . . .
. . . and on her other side, Barry was sprawled on the
ground, his face pressed to the blanket of dried pine
needles and long dead leaves.
He wasn't moving.
FOUR
THERE WAS DARKNESS FOR AN INDETERMI-
nate time, silent and complete and then there were
voices, drawing him up through the black depths of
his limbo, voices that his floating mind couldn't
identify at first. From somewhere far away, he heard
sirens.
he's been hit
oh my God
see if it's clear
wait I can 't find the wound help me—Barry? Barry,
can
"Barry, can you hear me?"
Rebecca. Barry opened his eyes and then closed
them immediately, wincing as the throbbing pain
wrapped around his skull. There was another pain in
his left arm, sharp and insistent but not as complete
as the ache in his head. He'd had acquaintance with
both kinds of pain before.
Got shot, met up with a tree... or some asshole
with a baseball bat.
0 Comments