past the point of pain, going numb.
"Thanks," he whispered, a blood bubble popping on his pale lips.
"Henry, try to rest now," Leon said softly, wanting to cry. The man had tried so hard to be brave, to keep
up with them...
"Fossil," Cole said, his gaze fixing on Leon's. "In, tube. Guys said ... if it got, out, it'd ... destroy every.
Thing. In the ... lab room. West. Understand?"
Leon nodded, understanding perfectly. "An Um- brella creature in the lab room. Fossil. You want us to
let it out."
Cole closed his eyes, his waxy face so still that Leon
thought it might be over, but he spoke again, quietly
enough that they had to lean in to hear him.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Good."
Cole took one last breath, letting it out - and his
chest didn't rise again.
Within minutes of Cole's death, the two men fig-
ured out how to escape from the Hunter cage. Reston
stared at the screen, feeling nothing, determined not
to be surprised. They simply weren't human, that was
all; once he'd accepted that, there was nothing to be
surprised at any longer.
The feeding troughs had been wedged firmly into
long, narrow gaps in the steel mesh so that the
handlers could feed the specimens without entering
the cage; enough of the trough was outside so that one
could simply drop food in, the animals taking it from
their side. That the 3Ks might try to pull the feeding
containers inside or push them out wasn't a concern,
since the gaps were much too narrow for their bodies.
But not for human bodies ... or for theirs, whatever
they are.
John and Red both started to kick at the trough,
and as it started to edge out, Reston picked up his
revolver and stood, turning away from the screens.
There was no point in watching. He'd failed, the
Planet's tests had proved too easy and he would be
severely disciplined for what he'd done, perhaps
killed. But he wasn't ready to die, not yet - and not at
their hands.
But the elevator, the surface people. . .
It wasn't safe to go up, either. The compound was
probably overrun with these S.T.A.R.S. soldiers by
now, they'd cut him off and now were just waiting for
their two boys to drive him out. . .
Can't go up, can't kill them, not enough time. . . the
cafeteria!
His employees would help him. Once he freed
them, once he explained things, they'd rally around
him, protect him from harm. The specifics would
have to be edited, of course, but he could work that
out on his way.
Have to go now, they'll be out soon, out and looking
for me. Looking to avenge Cole, perhaps. Looking to
make me sorry, when I only did my job, what any man
would do...
Somehow, he doubted they'd understand. Reston
walked out, already working through his story, won-
dering how things had gone so terribly awry.
NINETEEN
FROM THE KENNEL, THEY STEPPED OUT IN-
to a clean and sterile hallway and turned left - west -
- moving quickly through the deserted corridor. Neither
of them spoke; there was nothing to say until they
found what Cole had called Fossil, until they could
decide if he'd had the right idea.
For the first time since they'd come to the Planet,
John didn't feel like making any jokes. Cole had been
a good guy, he'd done his best to make up for luring
them into the test program, he'd done what they told
him to do - and now he was gone, brutally savaged,
dying in blood and pain on the floor of a cage.
Reston. Reston would pay for it, and if the best way
to get to him was to unleash some Umbrella monster,
so be it. A fitting justice.
Screw the code book. If Fossil's as badass as Cole
seemed to think, we release it and let the workers go
and get out. Let it tear this place apart. Let it have
Reston...
The hall curved right, then straightened out, con-
tinuing west. When they turned the corner, they saw
the door on the right - and somehow, John just knew
that it was Cole's lab room. He felt it.
He was right, after a fashion. The metal door
opened - after they'd used a nine-millimeter key -
- into a small laboratory with counters and computers,
which then opened into a surgical theater, all gleam-
ing steel and porcelain. The door set into the back
wall of the operating room was the one Cole had
meant for them to find - and when they saw the
creature, John could see why he'd insisted on telling
them about it, even with his last gasping breaths. If it
was even half as vicious as it looked, the Planet was
history.
"Christ," Leon said, and John couldn't think of anything to add to that. They moved slowly toward
the giant cylinder that sat in the corner of the large
room, past the steel autopsy table and trays of shining
equipment, finally stopping in front of the tube. The
lights in the room were off, but there was a directional
light aimed at the container from the ceiling, illumi-
nating the thing. The Fossil.
The tube was fifteen feet high and at least ten in
diameter, filled with a clear red liquid - and envel-
oped in the fluid, attached to tubes and wires that ran
through the top, was a monster. A nightmare.
John imagined that it was called Fossil because of
what it looked like, at least partly some kind of a
dinosaur, though not one that had ever walked the
Earth. The ten-foot-tall creature was some pale color,
its pebbled flesh a glowing pink because of the red
liquid that surrounded it. There was no tail, but it had
the thick skin and powerful legs of a dino. It was
obviously built to walk upright, and though it had the
small eyes and heavy, rounded snout of a carnivorous
dinosaur, a T-Rex or velociraptor, it also had long,
thickly muscled arms and hands with slender, grasp-
ing fingers. As impossible as it was, it looked like the
mutant offspring of a man and a dinosaur.
What were they thinking? Why - why make some-
thing like this?
It was asleep, or in some kind of coma, but it was
definitely alive. Connected to a thin hose was a small,
clear mask that covered its nostril slits, and a band of
plastic was tied around its thick snout to hold the
giant jaws closed. John couldn't see them, but he had
no doubt that there were rows of pointed teeth in the
creature's wide and curving mouth. Its beady eyes
were covered by some inner eyelid, a thin layer of
purpled skin, and they could actually see the slow rise
of its thick chest, the gently bobbing motions of its
massive body in the red goo.
There was a clipboard hanging on the wall next to
the Fossil, above a small monitor screen where thin
green lines blipped silently across in fading pulses.
Leon picked the clipboard up, flipping through the
pages as John just stared, awed and disgusted. One of
its spidery hands twitched, the eight-inch fingers
curling into a loose fist.
"Says here that it's slated for autopsy in three and a
half weeks," Leon said, scanning. " 'Specimen will remain in stasis,' blah blah blah . . . 'when it will be
injected with a lethal dose of Hyptheion prior to
dissection.'"
John glanced back at the autopsy table, saw the folded steel leaves on either side and three bone saws
tucked underneath. The table had apparently been
built to accommodate larger animals.
"Why keep it alive at all?" John asked, turning back to the sleeping Fossil. It was hard not to look; the
creature was compelling, horrid and marvelous, an
aberration that demanded attention.
"Maybe so the organs will be fresh," Leon said, then took a deep breath. "So ... do we do it?"
That's the million dollar question, isn't it? We won't
have the codes - but Umbrella will have one less play-
ground for their twisted science. And maybe one less
administrator.
"Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I think we do."
The men listened to him in silence, their faces
thoughtful as they absorbed the horror that had
invaded the Planet. The invasion from above, his call
for help, how the gunmen had knocked him out after
killing Henry Cole in cold blood. They asked no
questions, just sat and drank coffee - someone had
made coffee - and watched him speak. No one of-
fered him a cup.
"... and once I recovered, I came here," Reston said, and ran a shaking hand through his hair, wincing
appropriately. He didn't have to fake the tremors.
"I . . . they're still out there, somewhere, perhaps plant-
ing explosives, I don't know . . . but we can stop them
if we work together."
He could see in their blank eyes that it wasn't
working, he wasn't inspiring them to act. He wasn't
the best with people, but he could read them well
enough.
They're not buying, work the Henry angle. . .
Reston's shoulders slumped, a quiver creeping into
his voice. "They just shot him," he said, staring down in stunned sorrow. "He was begging, pleading for them to let him live, and they - they shot him."
"Where's the body?"
Reston looked up, saw that Leo Yan had spoken,
one of the 3Ks' two handlers. Yan had no expression
at all, leaning against the edge of the table with his
arms crossed.
"What?" Reston asked, looking confused but know- ing exactly what Yan was talking about. Think, dam- mit, should have thought of this already...
"Henry," someone else said, and Reston saw it was Tom Something-or-other, from construction. His
gruff voice was openly skeptical. "They shot him, they knocked you out - so he's still by the cell block,
right?"
"I . . . I don't know," Reston said, feeling too hot, feeling dehydrated from so much brandy. Feeling as
though he might not be able to recover from the
unexpected question. "Yes, he must be, unless they moved him for some reason. I woke up confused,
dizzy, I wanted to get to you immediately, to make
sure none of you had been injured. I didn't see if he
was still there. . ."
They stared at him, a sea of rough faces that were
no longer so neutral. Reston saw disbelief and disre-
spect, anger and in the eyes of one or two, he saw
what might have been hatred.
Why, what have I done to inspire such contempt? I'm
their manager, their employer, I pay their goddamn
wages...
One of the mechanics stood up from the table and
addressed the rest of them, ignoring Reston com-
pletely. It was Nick Frewer, the one who seemed the
most popular among the men.
"Who says we get outta here?" Nick said. "Tommy, you got the keys for the truck?"
Tom nodded. "Sure, but not for the gate or the storage shed."
"I got those," said Ken Carson, the cook. He stood up, too, and then most were standing, stretching and
yawning, draining their cups.
Nick nodded. "Good. Everyone go pack up, be at the elevator in five..."
"Wait!" Reston said, unable to believe what he was hearing, that they would walk away from their moral
duty, from their obligations. That they could ignore him. "There are more on the surface, they'll kill you! You have to help me!"
Nick turned and looked at him, his gaze calm and
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