across the bridge, remembering that it went down into
one of the treatment center's dumping grounds...
"Drop it, you bitch!"
Behind her. Ada halted, feeling a pain inside - the
pain of a hearty slap to the ego. The second time she'd
screwed up, badly, in as many minutes, but there
was no way she was going to obey Annette's hysterical
command. The woman's aim was for shit and Ada
tensed, preparing to drop, to spin and fire...
Barn-ping!
The shot hit the floor next to Ada's right foot,
glancing off the rusting bridge. Annette had her.
Ada dropped the Beretta, raising her hands slowly,
turning to face the scientist.
Jesus, I deserve to die for this. . .
Annette Birkin walked toward her, a Browning
nine-millimeter trembling wildly in one outstretched
hand. Ada winced inwardly at the sight of that
shaking gun, but saw a possible opportunity as An-
nette moved closer, finally coming to a stop less than
ten feet in front of her.
Too close. Too close, and she's right on the edge of a
total collapse, isn't she?
"Who are you? What's your name?!"
Ada swallowed heavily, putting a stutter into her
voice. "Ada, Ada Wong. Please don't shoot, please, I haven't done anything..."
Annette frowned, backing up a step. "Ada...
Wong. I know that name - Ada, that was John's
girlfriend's name..."
Ada's mouth dropped open. "Yes, John Howe! But ... how did you know? Do you know where he is?"
The disheveled scientist glared at her. "I know because John worked with my husband, William.
You've heard of him, of course - William Birkin, the
man responsible for the creation of the T-Virus."
Annette fairly glowed with a mix of pride and
despair as she spoke, giving Ada hope; it was a
weakness that she could use. Ada had read the files on
William Birkin - read about his steady climb through
Umbrella's hierarchy, the advances in virology and
genetic sequencing... and about the scientific ambi-
tion that had made him a veritable sociopath. It
looked as though his wife was operating on a similar
plane - which meant that the Mrs. would have no
problem pulling the trigger.
Play it dumb, and don't give her a reason to doubt it.
"T-Virus? What's..." Ada blinked, then widened her eyes. "Doctor Birkin? Wait, the Doctor Birkin, the biochemist?"
She saw a flash of pleasure cross Annette's face,
but then it was gone, and there was only despair.
Despair and the flickering of bitter madness, deep in
her bloodshot eyes.
"John Howe is dead," she said coldly, "he died three months ago at the Spencer estate. My condo-
lences, but then, you're about to join him, aren't
you? You're not going to take the G-Virus away from
me, you can't have it!"
Ada started to shake all over. "G-Virus? Please, I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You know," Annette snarled. "Umbrella sent you to steal it, you can't lie to me! William's dead to me
now, Umbrella took him from me, they forced him to
use it! They forced him..."
She trailed off, her gaze suddenly far away. Ada
Tensed, but then Annette was back, her eyes welling
up with tears, the weapon pointed at Ada's face.
"A week ago, they came," she whispered. "They came to take it, and they shot my William when he
wouldn't give them the samples. They took the case,
they took all of the finals, both series - except for the
one that he managed to keep, the G-Virus..."
Annette's voice raised into a shout suddenly, a
pathetic and somehow pleading shout. "He was dy- ing, don't you see? He didn't have any choice!"
Ada understood. She understood all of it. "He
injected himself, didn't he?"
The scientist nodded, her limp blond hair falling
across her eyes, her voice a whisper again. "It revi- talizes cellular function. It ... it changed him. I didn't
see - what he did, but I saw the bodies of the men
who tried to kill him, afterwards ... and I heard the
screams."
Ada took a step closer, reaching out as if to comfort
her, her own features set into a mask of sympathy,
but Annette thrust the gun at her again. Even in her
sorrow, she wasn't going to let Ada get any closer.
But it's almost close enough...
"I'm so sorry," Ada said, lowering her arms. "So the G-Virus, it leaked, it changed all of Raccoon..."
Annette shook her head. "No. When the Umbrella assassins were stopped, the case was broken. The
T-Virus leaked - the lab workers hit by the airborne
were contained, but there were rats, you see. Rats in
the sewers..."
She paused, her lips trembling. "... unless Wil- liam, my sweet William has started to reproduce.
Implanting embryos, replicating ... it shouldn't be time for that yet, but I..."
She broke off, her eyes narrowing, the madness
sweeping over her again as visibly as a crashing wave.
High color flared in her pale cheeks, her red-rimmed
eyes glossy with paranoia.
Get ready...
"You can't have it!" Annette screamed, spittle
flying from her cracked lips. "He gave his life to keep it from you, you're a spy and you can't have it..."
Ada ducked and leapt, pistoning both of her arms
beneath Annette's, shoving the gun up and away from
both of them. The Browning discharged, sending a
round clanging off the ceiling as they fought for
control of the weapon. Annette was physically weaker,
but she was driven by demons of hatred and loss, the
edge of insanity lending her strength -
- but no sense -
Ada let go of the gun suddenly and Annette stum-
bled, not prepared for the unexpected move. She
crashed against the railing of the bridge and Ada
charged, driving her elbow into Annette's lower belly,
hitting her beneath her center of balance
and Annette half-turned, her mouth an open
darkness of surprise, her arms pinwheeling for bal-
ance - and she plummeted over the railing, silently,
not a sound until the dull thump as her body hit the
floor some twenty feet below.
"Shit," Ada hissed, stepping to the rail and looking down. She lay there, facedown and motionless, the
gun still clenched in one thin white hand.
That's just great. Walk into an ambush, not once but
twice for hell's sake, then kill the one crazy bitch who
can tell you where the samples are...
A low moan floated up from Annette Birkin's
body and she moved, hunching her back, trying to
roll onto her side.
Shit shit shit!
Ada turned and ran across the bridge, scooping up
the Beretta as she hurried for what looked like a
control panel next to the fan shaft ladder. She'd have
to lower the bridge, get to Annette before she could
crawl away...
... except the panel was for the fan, and as another
painful moan - a slightly louder moan - echoed up
through the chamber, Ada knew she didn't have much
time.
The dump, I can go through the dump, circle back
around through one of the tunnels...
Even as she thought it, she was jogging for the west
ladder, hoping that the pitiful scientist was injured
enough to stay down for a minute or two. There was a small balcony at the end of the bridge that looked
over the dump, and the metal ladder hung down from
an opening at the far right. Ada lowered herself down
as quickly as she could, dropping the last several feet
onto a cement landing.
The dumping area was a large boxy room, the walls
heaped with industrial debris - smashed crates, rust-
ing pipes, wire-encrusted panels, and rotting card-
board. She stepped off the landing and into almost
three feet of black sludge, the cold, gooey muck rising
up to her thighs. She didn't care, she only wanted to
get to the lady Birkin, to bring an end to her time in
Raccoon -
- except something moved. Beneath the opaque
and stinking liquid, something big moved. Ada saw
what might have been a reptilian spine slice through
the murk in front of her, saw and heard a stack of
boards topple into the water some ten feet away in the
same instant.
You gotta be kidding me. . .
Whatever it was, it was big enough to change her
mind about the hurry she was in to get to Annette.
Ada backed to the platform and boosted herself up,
never taking her gaze from the indeterminate shape as
it curled back through the lapping sludge...
... and rose up in a sudden, violent spray of dark-
ness, coming straight at her. Ada raised the Beretta
and started to fire.
There was a tiny elevator platform in one corner of
the empty conference room, a square of metal that
apparently went down. Claire hurried toward it, fetid
water dripping from her clothes, feeling horribly lost
and anxious to keep moving, to find Sherry.
Please be alive, baby, please...
She'd found the drainage hole, but no Sherry and
after agonizingly long moments of screaming into the
rushing water, of trying to squeeze into the tiny hole,
she'd forced herself to abandon the effort. Sherry was
gone, maybe drowned, maybe not, but unless the
flow of water suddenly decided to reverse itself, she
wasn't coming back.
Claire found the controls for the one-man lift and
punched a button. A hidden motor whirred and the
lift descended, inching down through the floor, proba-
bly taking her to some other empty hall, some other
blank and unknown room - or worse, directly into
the path of yet another unnatural creature.
She clenched her damp hands in frustration as the
lift slid slowly down, wishing that it was faster, that
there was some way to speed up her search. She felt like she was running blind, taking whatever path was
in front of her; from the tunnel where Sherry had
been lost, she'd found a dimly lit corridor and then
the unadorned and somehow sterile conference room.
It was like an endless funhouse - sans fun - and she
was feeling pretty shitty for bringing Sherry into it; if
the girl was dead, it would be her fault...
She shut down the futile thinking before it got any
farther, making herself focus. Self-recrimination was
a killer, and she couldn't afford it. The elevator was
lowering into a hall, and she crouched down, pointing
Irons's heavy gun in front of her as her new surround-
ings rose into view.
The concrete corridor had another lift at the other
end, and was intersected by a second hall, maybe
forty feet away and next to the junction there was a
body propped against one cement wall, what looked
like a cop...
She felt a mix of shock and distress, her eyes
widening as she took in the cop's slack features, the
hair color, the build...
... that's ... Leon?
Before the lift hit the floor, Claire jumped off and
ran toward the crumpled figure. It was Leon, and he
wasn't moving, either unconscious or dead, but no,
he was breathing, and as she crouched in front of him,
his eyes flickered open. His hand was high on his left
arm, his fingers wet with blood.
Claire?" His blue eyes seemed clear, tired but aware.
"Leon! What happened, are you okay?"
"I got shot, must've blacked out for a minute..."
He carefully took his hand away, exposing a small
ragged hole just above his armpit, oozing red. It
looked painful, but at least it wasn't gushing.
Wincing, Leon pulled the shredded fabric of his
uniform over the hole and put his hand back over it.
"Hurts like all hell, but I think I'll survive - Ada,
where's Ada?"
The last was delivered almost frantically, Leon
struggling to push himself away from the wall. With a
soft groan, he fell back, obviously in no shape to
move.
"Lie still, just rest for a minute," Claire said.
"Who's Ada?"
"I met her at the station," he said. "I couldn't find you, and we heard that you can get out of Raccoon
through the sewers. The city's not safe, there was
some kind of a leak at the Umbrella lab, and Ada
wanted to leave right away. Somebody shot at us, and
I got hit - Ada went after the shooter, down that hall, she said it was a woman..."
He shook his head as if to clear it, then frowned up
at her. "I have to find her. I don't know how long I was out, but not more than a couple of minutes, she
can't have gone far..."
He started to sit forward again and Claire stopped
him, pushing him back gently. "I'll go. I ... I was with this little girl, and she's lost somewhere in the sewers.
Maybe I can find both of them."
Leon hesitated - then nodded, resigning himself to
his injury. "How's your ammo?"
"Uh, seven in this one..." She patted the weapon
that she'd taken from the squad car, tucked in her
belt. It suddenly seemed like a million years ago, that
wild ride. "...and seventeen in this one."
She held up Irons's gun, and Leon nodded again,
his head rolling back tiredly. "Okay, that's good. I should be able to follow in a few minutes... be
careful, alright? And good luck."
Claire stood up, wishing that they had more time.
She wanted to tell him about Chris, about Irons and
Mr. X and the T-Virus, she wanted to find out what
he knew about Umbrella, or if he knew the way out of
the sewers,
but this Ada might be facing down a sniper right
now, and Sherry could be anywhere. Anywhere at all.
Leon had closed his eyes. Claire turned and started
down the intersecting hall, wondering if any of them
had a chance to make it out of this madness alive.
TWENTY-TWO
ANNETTE HURT ALL OVER. SHE SAT UP SLOW-
ly, feeling sick from the seeming hundreds of aches
and pains that yammered for her attention. Her neck
and stomach hurt, she'd jammed her right wrist, both
knees felt like they were swelling, but it was the
sharp pain in her right side that was the worst,
because she thought she might have cracked or even
broken a rib.
You horrible, horrible woman...
Annette leaned back, supporting her strained neck
with her uninjured hand, but saw only metal and
shadow; Ada Wong, the bitch from Umbrella, had
apparently run away. She'd pretended not to know
anything, but Annette wasn't stupid; Ada was proba-
bly already on her way to the lab or coming after
her, anxious to finish her off.
Umbrella, Umbrella did this...
Annette crawled to her feet, using the rage to
overcome the pain. She had to get out, to get to the laboratory before the spies did, but oh, she hurt so
very much! The stabbing sensation in her gut was
terrible, a knife sawing at her insides, and the lab
seemed a million miles away . . .
. . . can't let them steal his work. . . .
She staggered toward the door to the cavernous
room, one arm wrapped around her burning chest
and stopped, tilting her head to one side, listening.
Shots. Echoing through the chill air, coming from
the adjacent dumping grounds and a second later,
she heard a thundering hiss, more shots, splashing -
- Annette grinned, a tight, humorless grin. Perhaps
she'd get to the lab first, after all.
The bridge, lower the bridge, don't let her es-
cape. . .
Tired and aching, Annette stumbled to the hydrau-
lic's controls and activated the span's descent. The
powerful hum of the bridge's motors drowned out the
noises of whatever battle was being waged, the plat-
form rotating down and locking into place with a
heavy clang.
Annette pushed herself away from the wall, falling
against the console by the door. She found the
switches for the ventilation fan and flicked them up,
still smiling grimly as the whining start-up high
overhead grew into a dull roar. Ada had run into
trouble in the dump, and Annette wasn't going to let
her just climb back out of it; with the bridge lowered
and the shaft blocked, Ms. Wong would have to fight
her way through.
Hope it's a pack of tickers, you bitch, I hope they're
tearing you to pieces in there...
Annette turned away from the console and fell,
the pain and dizziness too much, her bruised and
swelling knees hitting the floor and sending fresh
needles of agony through her legs...
... and the door in front of her opened. Annette
raised the gun but wasn't able to aim, expending what
