Ada sat back on her heels, one hand pressed to her
mouth. "The bodies from the garage, they must have dumped them down here..."
Before he could ask what she was talking about, a scream of pure terror echoed through the basement
halls, filtering through the closed door. The cry went
on and on, a man's voice, the panicked scream
suddenly changing to a gurgling shriek of pain.
The reporter.
Leon locked gazes with Ada, saw the same startled
realization flash across her face and then they were
both up and running, pulling out their weapons and
sprinting through the door before the echoes died.
I left him, I shouldn't have left him. . .
They ran down the corridor for the cell block, guilt
driving Leon to run faster than he thought he could.
Someone or something had gotten to Bertolucci
and had passed right behind his back to do it.
Sherry stood in Mr. Irons's office, rubbing at her
good luck pendant and wishing that Claire would
come back. She had crawled through a dozen dusty
tunnels to get away from the monster and to lead it
away from Claire, and was pretty sure it had
worked - she hadn't heard it again, and had come
back to find that Claire had left; if the monster had
found her, she would have been dead and ripped
apart.
But she's not here. Nobody is. . .
Sherry sat on the edge of a low table in the middle
of the room, wondering what she should do. She'd
gotten used to being alone, and hadn't even realized
how lonely she'd been, but meeting Claire had
changed that. Sherry wanted to see her again, she
wanted to be with other people, she wanted her
parents so bad that it made her ache. Even Mr. Irons
would be okay, although Sherry didn't like him; she'd
only met him a couple of times but he was weird,
showy and fake - and his office was creepy besides.
Still, she'd gladly put up with him if it meant she
didn't have to be alone anymore. . .
Footsteps. In the hall outside of the office.
Sherry stood up and ran to the open door that led
back to the armor room, hoping it was Claire and
ready to sprint for cover if it wasn't. She ducked
around the door frame and held her breath, staring at
the stuffed tiger in the hall and silently praying.
The outer door opened and closed. Muffled steps on
the carpet, moving slowly, and she tensed to run, at
the same time trying to muster up enough courage to
sneak a look...
"Sherry?"
Claire!
"I'm here!"
She ran back into the office and there was Claire, her whole face lit up with a beaming smile. Sherry
flew into her open arms, so happy to see her that she
wanted to cry.
"I was looking for you," Claire said, holding her tightly. "Don't run off like that again, okay?"
Claire knelt in front of her, still smiling, but
Sherry could see the worry behind the smile and in
her cool gray eyes.
"I'm sorry," Sherry said. "I had to, or the monster would have come."
"What does it look like?" Claire asked, her smile fading. "Does it look - kind of red, with claws?" Sherry swallowed heavily. "The inside-out men! You saw one, didn't you?"
Incredibly, Claire grinned, shaking her head.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I saw, an inside-out
man . . . good description."
She looked at Sherry more seriously, frowning.
" 'Men'? There are more of them?"
Sherry nodded. "Yes, but they aren't anything like the monster. I only saw him once, from behind, but
he's a man, a giant man..."
Claire seemed excited. "Bald? Wearing a long coat?"
"No, he had hair, brown hair. And one of his arms
was all screwed up, a lot longer than the other one."
Claire sighed. "Terrific. Raccoon's got something for everyone, sounds like..."
She reached out and took Sherry's hand, squeezing
it. ". . . and that's all the more reason that you should stay with me. You've done a really good job of taking
care of yourself, and you've been very brave, but
until we find your parents, I feel like it's my job for
now, to watch out for you. And if the monster comes,
I’ll just kick its ass, okay?"
Sherry laughed, surprised into it. She liked that
Claire didn't talk down to her. She nodded, and
Claire squeezed her hand again.
"Good. So we've got zombies, inside-out men, and
a monster. And a big bald guy . . . Sherry, do you
know what happened to Raccoon? How this all got
started? Anything you can tell me, anything at all - it
could be important."
Sherry frowned, thinking. "Well, there were a
bunch of murders last May, or June I think - like ten
people got killed. And then they stopped, but then
maybe a week ago, somebody got attacked."
Claire nodded encouragingly. "Okay. Did more people start getting attacked, or ... what did the
police do?"
Sherry shook her head, wishing she could be more helpful. "I don't know. Right before that girl got attacked, my mother called from work really upset,
and told me that I couldn't leave the house. Mrs.
Willis - that's our next-door neighbor - she came
over and cooked dinner for me, and that's how I
heard about that girl. Mom called again the next day,
and told me that she and Dad were stuck at the plant
and wouldn't be home for a while - and then like
three days ago, she called again and told me to come
here. I went to see if Mrs. Willis would come with me,
but her house was dark and empty. I guess things had
already gotten pretty bad by then."
Claire was staring at her intently. "You were alone all that time? Even before you got to the station?"
Sherry nodded. "Well yeah, but I stay alone a lot. My parents are both scientists; their work is impor-
tant, and sometimes they can't stop in the middle of
what they're doing. And my mother always says that
I'm very self-sufficient, when I want to be."
"Do you know what kind of work your parents do?
At Umbrella?" Claire was still watching her closely. "They develop cures for things, for diseases," Sher- ry said proudly. "And make medicines, like serums that hospitals use..."
She trailed off, noticing that Claire seemed dis-
tracted suddenly, her gaze far away. It was a look she
had seen plenty of times before, on both of her
parents' faces - and it meant that they weren't really
listening anymore. But as soon as she stopped talking,
Claire refocused on her, reaching out to pat her on the
shoulder - and for some stupid reason, that made
Sherry want to cry again.
Because she's listening to me. Because she wants to
watch out for me now.
"Your mother's right," Claire said gently, "you're very self-sufficient, and that you've made it this far
means that you're also very strong. That's good,
because we're both going to have to be strong, to make
it out of here."
Sherry felt her eyes go wide. "What do you mean? Leave the station? But there are zombies all over the
place, and I don't know where my parents are, what if
they need help or they're looking for me..."
"Sweetie, I'm sure your folks are just fine," Claire said quickly. "They're probably still at the plant, hiding and safe, just like you were - waiting for
people to come from outside of the city, to, to make
everything better..."
"You mean kill everything," Sherry said. "I'm
twelve, you know, I'm not a baby."
Claire smiled. "Sorry. Yeah, to kill everything. But until the good guys come, we're on our own. And the
best thing we can do, the smartest thing, is to get out
of their way - to get as far out of their way as possible.
You're right, the streets aren't safe, but maybe we can
get a car. . ."
It was Claire's turn to trail off. She stood up and
walked toward the big desk at the far end of the office,
looking around as she went.
"Maybe Chief Irons left his car keys here, or
another weapon, something we can use..."
Claire saw something on the floor behind the desk.
She crouched down and Sherry hurried after her, as
much to stay close as to see what she'd found. She
already knew that she didn't want to lose her again,
no matter what else happened.
"There's blood here," Claire said softly, so softly that Sherry thought she hadn't meant to say it out
loud.
"So?"
Claire looked up at the plain tan wall, frowning,
then back down at the big drying splotch of red on the
floor. "It's still wet, for one thing. And see the way it's just kind of cut off? There should be some on the wall
here..."
She rapped on the dark wood trim that lined the
wall, then on the wall itself. There was an obvious
difference; a dull thump from the trim, but the wall
sounded hollow.
"Is there a room back there?" Sherry asked.
"I don't know, it sounds like it. And it would
explain where he took ... where he took off to earli-
er. Chief Irons."
She glanced up at Sherry as she started to feel along
the baseboards, running her hands up the wall and
pushing at it. "Sherry, look around the desk, see if you can find like a switch or a lever. My guess is it
would be hidden somewhere, maybe in one of the
drawers. . ."
Sherry started to move behind the desk and
tripped, her foot sliding on a handful of pencils that
she hadn't seen. She grabbed at the desktop, trying to
catch her balance, but still came down pretty hard on
her bare knees.
"Ow!"
Claire was next to her right away, putting an arm
around her shoulders. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I just ... hey! Look!"
Her bruised knees forgotten, Sherry pointed at the
switch under the top drawer of the desk, set into a
small metal plate. It looked like a light switch, but it
had to be for the secret door, she just knew it. ;
I found it!
Claire reached out and flipped the switch and
behind them, a section of the wall a few feet across
slid smoothly upwards, disappearing into the ceiling
and exposing a dimly lit room lined with oversized
bricks. Cool, damp air breezed into the office; it was a
secret passage, just like in the movies.
Together, they stood and stepped toward the open-
ing, Claire holding Sherry back with one arm until
she'd looked first. The small room was totally
empty - three brick walls and a stained wood floor,
and only about half the size of the office. The fourth
wall was dominated by a big old-fashioned elevator
gate, the kind that pushed to one side.
"Are we going to take it?" Sherry asked. She was excited but nervous, too.
Claire had taken her gun out. She crouched down
next to Sherry and smiled, but it wasn't a happy
smile, and Sherry knew what was coming before
Claire said a word.
"Sweetie, I think it would be safest if I went and
looked around first, and you stayed here..."
"But you said we should stay together! You said we
could find a car and leave! What if the monster comes
back and you're not here, or you get killed?"
Claire hugged her, but Sherry felt almost sick with
helpless anger. She was going to tell her not to worry,
that the monster wouldn't come, that nothing bad
would happen and then she was going to leaveanyway.
Stupid grownup lies...
Claire leaned back, smoothing Sherry's hair away
from her face. "I don't blame you for being scared. I'm scared, too. This is a bad situation and hon-
estly, I don't know what's going to happen. But I want
to do the right thing by you, and that means that I'm
not going to take you into a situation where you could
get hurt, not if I can help it."
Sherry swallowed back tears, trying again. "But I want to come with you . . . what if you don't come
back?"
"I'm going to come back," Claire said firmly,
"I promise. And if ... if I don't, I want you to hide again,
like before. Somebody will come, help is going to
come soon, and they'll find you."
At least she was being honest; Sherry didn't like it,
not at all, but at least there was that and from the
look on her face, Sherry could see that there was
nothing she could say to change her mind. She could
be a baby about it, or she could accept it.
"Be careful," she whispered, and Claire hugged her again before standing and moving toward the eleva-
tor. She pushed a button next to the gate and there
was a low, soft hum; after a few seconds an elevator
car rose into view, coming to a gentle stop. Claire
pulled the gate open and stepped inside, turning for a
last look at Sherry.
"Stay here, sweetie," she said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Sherry forced herself to nod and Claire let the
gate close. She touched something inside the elevator
and the car went down, her smiling, strong face
descending out of sight, leaving Sherry by herself in
the cold, dark passage.
Sherry sat down on the dusty floor and hugged her
knees close to her body, rocking herself slowly. Claire
was brave and smart, she'd be back soon, she had to
come back soon. . .
"I want my mommy," Sherry whispered, but there was nobody to hear. She was alone again, the thing
she wanted least of all.
But I'm strong. I'm strong, and I can wait.
She rested her chin on one knee, touching the
necklace her mother had given her for good luck, and
started to wait for Claire to come back.
SIXTEEN
ANNETTE BIRKIN SAT IN THE LABORATORY
monitor room, exhausted, staring up at the wall of
video screens centered over the surveillance console.
She'd been there for what felt like years, waiting for
William to appear, and was starting to think that he
never would. She'd give it a little longer, but if she
didn't see him soon, she'd have to do another search.
Goddamn technology . . .
It was a brand-new system, less than a month old -
- twenty-five screens with a channel control that should
have allowed her to see any and every part of the
facility. A brilliant security advance - except only
eleven of the screens still worked at all, and over half
of those would only show static, an endless dance of
electric snow. Of the five she could still get a clear
picture from, all she could see - all there was to see -
- were dead, rotting bodies and the occasional Re3,
either feasting or sleeping. . .
"Lickers. You called them lickers, because of their
tongues..."
She thought she'd been past the worst of the pain,
but the lonely sound of her own voice in the cold,
cavernous chamber and the realization that there
would be no answer - that there would never be an answer again - brought on a fresh, knifing wave of
grief. William was gone, he was gone and she was
talking to no one at all.
Annette lowered her head to the console, closing
her weary eyes. At least there were no more tears;
she'd wept an ocean of them in the days since Um-
brella had come for the G-Virus, but was simply too
spent to cry anymore. Now there was only pain,
interspersed with fits of violent, helpless fury over
what Umbrella had done.
Another month, maybe two, and we would have
given it to them. We would have turned it over without
a fight, and William would have made the executive
board and we would have been happy. Everyone would
have been happy. . .
There was a faint squealing from one of the muted
security screens. Annette looked up, hoping and
dreading at once, but it was just a licker, one floor
up in the surgical bay. It had dropped from its ceiling
roost to snack on one of the techs, howling stupidly to
itself as it ripped into the corpse's guts. The dead man
looked like Don Weller, one of the chemical plant go-
betweens, but she couldn't tell for certain; he was
almost as mutilated and inhuman looking as the Re3
that was eating him.
She watched the licker feed, watched the small
screen but didn't really see; her mind wandered,
running over what was left for her to do. She'd
already wiped all of the computers and locked in the
countdown codes; the lab was ready, and her escape
route was secured. But she couldn't finish things until
she saw him again, saw that he was back in the
Umbrella facility. Destroying the lab wouldn't solve
anything if he wasn't in the blast zone; they would
find him, and extract the virus from his blood . . .
. . . and Umbrella won't have it. I'll die before I let
them have it, so help me God.
Her only consolation in all of this mad, horrible
