ve got one already. If I can get the other one, get the
gate open, there's a way out of town - a cable car that
runs west, out to the suburbs."
Carlos kept his face neutral, but he was jumping be-
neath his skin. What had Trent said?
Go west, for one thing .. . and when I find out where
the blue gem is, I'll understand their relevance ... but
what does this mean about Jill Valentine? Do I trust
her now, or not? What does she know?
"No shit," he said, keeping his tone mild. "I saw something like that, in the basement at the restaurant. A
green gem."
Jill's eyes widened. "Really? If we can get it ... Car-los, we have to go back!"
"If that's my name," he said, caught somewhere be-tween irritation and amusement. She seemed to leap
from mood to mood, brisk then funny then angry then
excited; it was kind of tiring, and he still wasn't sure
whether or not he could turn his back on her. She
seemed to be sincere...
"I'm sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "I shouldn't have said that, it's just - Umbrella and I
aren't on the best of terms. There was a biohazardous
incident at one of their labs, here, about six weeks ago.
People died. And now this."
Carlos melted a little at the warmth of her hand.
Jesus, but he was a sucker for un primor, and she was
something to look at.
"Carlos Oliveira," he said, "at your service."
Down, boy. Head out of town, says Trent, but are you
sure you want to travel with someone who might end up
killing you? You want to clear your head before you
take off with the cuero Miss Valentine.
Immediately he started arguing with himself. Yeah, be careful, but are you going to leave her all alone?
She said that monster was after her...
He joked about it sometimes, but he wasn't truly a
sexist; she could take care of herself, as she'd already
proven. And if she was one of Umbrella's spies ... well,
she deserved what she got, then, didn't she?
"I ... I wouldn't feel right about leaving without at
least trying to find some of the others," he said, and now that he knew there was a way out, he realized it
was true. Even an hour ago, the thought would have
been ridiculous; now, armed with Trent's information,
everything had changed. He was still scared, sure, but
actually knowing something about the situation made
him feel less vulnerable somehow. In spite of the risks,
he wanted to walk a few more blocks before he left
town, make some attempt to help someone. He wanted
time to think, to make up his mind.
That ... and knowing that she survived means that I
can, too.
"I saw the gate you're talking about, the one over by
the newspaper office, si? Why don't I meet you
there ... or better yet, at the cable car."
Jill frowned, then nodded. "Okay. I'll go back to the restaurant while you look around, and I'll wait for you
at the trolley. Once you go through the gate, just follow
the path and keep to the left, you'll see signs for Lons-
daleYard."
For a few seconds, neither spoke, and Carlos saw, in
the careful way she looked at him, that Jill had her own
misgivings about him. Her leeriness made him trust her
a little more; if she was anti-Umbrella, it made sense
that she wouldn't be too hot on hanging out with one of
their employees.
Stop debating it and just go, for Christ's sake!
"Don't leave without me," Carlos said, meaning for it to come out lightly. He sounded dead serious.
"Don't make me wait too long," she returned and smiled, and he thought that maybe she was okay after
all. Then she turned and jogged lightly away, back
down the walk they'd entered by.
Carlos watched her leave, wondering if he was crazy
for not going with her - and after a moment, he turned
and walked quickly toward the other exit before he
could change his mind.
For someone who was bleeding like a stuck pig,
Mikhail was surprisingly swift. For at least twenty min-
utes Nicholai had followed the trail of dark droplets
through a blockade, over gravel and asphalt, grass and
debris, and still he hadn't sighted the dying man.
Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering...
Nicholai had planned to give up if he wasn't able to
find the platoon leader after a few minutes, but the
longer he searched, the more determined he became.
He found himself getting angry, too - how dare
Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he
think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To
frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a
distance and was leading him back into town; another
block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again.
Nicholai opened another door, scanned another
room, sighed. Mikhail had to know that he was being
followed - or he just didn't have the good sense to lay
down and die. Either way, it wouldn't, couldn't be
long now.
Nicholai walked through a small, orderly office, ap-
parently attached to a parking garage, the erratic blood
trail shining purple on the blue linoleum by the caged
bare bulbs overhead. The splatters seemed to be thin-
ning; either Mikhail was bleeding out - unlikely, it
seemed - or he had found time to staunch his wound.
Nicholai gritted his teeth, reassuring himself, He'll be weak, slowing down, perhaps looking for a place to
rest. I saw the hit, he can't go on much longer.
He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the
cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease
and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A
weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it.
He moved quickly and silently across the cement,
edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows
of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in
a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-
sition.
He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once.
They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they
became infected, and he knew that research had been
conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer
estate...
... and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay
rate higher than the other organics.
Truly, the half-skinned animal at his feet looked and
smelled like a piece of raw meat that had sat in the sun
for too long. Accustomed as he was to death, Nicholai
still felt his gorge rise at the stench, but he continued to
study the creature, certain that the canine had been the
target of recent gunplay.
Sure enough. Two entry wounds below the torn flap
of its left ear... but not from an M16, the holes were
much too big. Nicholai backed away, frowning. Some-
one besides Mikhail Victor had come through the
garage in the last half hour, and probably not a
U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own
weapon, probably a handgun...
Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft
sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the
door, perhaps - or perhaps a wounded man, slumped
and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on.
Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and
grinned at the sound of Mikhail's voice, strained and
weak, floating past the aging metal.
"No ... get away!"
Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the
smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast
wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-
cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground.
Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped
against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His
pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook
wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-
self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its
rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its
progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that
having no lower body - certainly not a complete diges-
tive system - didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.
Do I play the hero, save my leader from being
gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show?
"Nicholai, help me, please...," Mikhail rasped,
rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found
he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be
grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-
ily ... funny, for lack of a better term.
"Hang on, Mikhail," Nicholai said forcefully. "I'll take care of it!"
He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot
heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section
of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone.
He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and
the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly
on the asphalt.
Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail.
"What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.
"Did one of them get you?"
Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-
hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me."
"Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was
following me, too, but - maybe they just thought I was
one of them. A zombie."
Actually, that's not so far from the truth... Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his
performance.
"I saw ... at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport..."
The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-
ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the
civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth - that a re-
connaissance team would put down first disguised as
emergency medical, and no other helicopters would
show unless Umbrella gave the word. Since the squad
leaders were probably all dead, Nicholai had to wonder
if any of the soldiers even knew about the "evacuation,"
though he supposed it wasn't important. It wouldn't af-
fect his plans either way.
He found that he wasn't enjoying this game as much
as he'd thought he would. Mikhail was too pathetically
trusting, it was as much of a challenge as hunting a
friendly dog. It was almost shameful to watch, too, the
way he surrendered to his pain...
"I don't think you're in any shape to travel," Nicholai said coolly.
"It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some
blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few
minutes..."
"No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think..."
Creeaak.
Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next
to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the
U.B.C.S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when
he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.
"Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon
Delta. I'm ... shit, it's good to see you guys."
Nicholai nodded briskly, annoyed beyond measure as
Carlos crouched next to them, checking Mikhail's
wound, asking stupid questions. He was ninety-nine
percent sure he could kill both of them before they real-
ized what was happening, but even one percent was too
great a risk considering what was at stake. He would
have to wait ... but perhaps he could find a way to use
these new circumstances to his advantage.
And if not ... well, people turned their backs on
their friends all the time, didn't they? And neither of
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