them had reason to believe Nicholai was anything but.
What was the saying, about how an obstacle was
only a disguised opportunity? Things were going to be
fine.
ELEVEN
JILL SLID TO A STOP AT THE CITY HALL GATE,
both gems held tightly in one sweaty hand. The area
was clear, at least as far as she could see, but the restau-
rant had been empty, the Nemesis gone, and that meant
she needed to hurry; she didn't know how, but it was
tracking her, and she wanted to get gone.
Her blurred dash through the alleyways behind the
restaurant had left her short of breath and not a little
frightened. She'd nearly tripped over the body of some
unlikely creature, one she'd been unable to see in the
deepening blackness - but the dark silhouette of multi-
ple claws hanging dead in the shadows had been more
than enough to keep her moving. It didn't look like
anything she'd seen before; that, and the threat of the
Nemesis's inevitable pursuit had her hi a mild panic.
She used it to lend speed to her efforts, careful to main-
tain tight control. She knew from experience that keep-
ing in touch with one's animal instincts was a vital part
of surviving; a little fear was a good thing, it kept the
adrenaline flowing.
The ornamental clock was set into a raised dais next
to the gate. She fumbled the blue jewel into place, the
diamond-shaped glass setting off a faint electrical hum,
a circular chain of lights that bordered the jewels flick-
ering on. The green diamond went in just as easily,
turning the light chain into a complete circle. There
was a heavy grinding sound and the gate's two sets of
doors slid open, revealing a shadowy path surrounded
by overgrown hedges.
It didn't look bad from where she stood. She eased
into the silent walk, opening her senses. Cool, dark, a
mild breeze promising rain the only thing that moved,
rustling the trees, brushing leaves, chilling the sweat on
her face and arms. She could hear the soft wailing of a
distant virus-zombie drift through the air, and she saw
the pale smudges of early moonlight on the path stones.
Alert but sensing no immediate danger, she stepped
further inside, her thoughts turning to Carlos Oliveira.
He was telling the truth about being one of Umbrella's
hired hands and probably about not knowing
what the company was really up to, but he was also
holding something back. He wasn't as good a liar as he
thought, and his apparent willingness to lie didn't bode
well.
On the other hand, he didn't come across as devious
in any way - a liar who meant well, perhaps, or at least
who didn't mean any harm. He was probably just being
careful - doing exactly what she was doing. Whatever
the case, she didn't have time to do any major interpret-
ing, so she was going with her first impression: he was
one of the good guys. Whether or not that would be of
any help to her was another story; for the moment, she
was willing to settle for any ally who didn't have plans
to kill her.
But should I be hooking up with anyone? What hap-
pens if he gets in the way of the Nemesis, and...
As if on cue she heard it, a malevolent coincidence
that seemed unreal, like some deadly joke.
"Sstaarrss..."
Speak of the devil, oh, shit, where is it? Jill was al-most at the center of the small park, where three trails
intersected, and the sound came from somewhere
ahead - or was it behind? The acoustics were strange,
the tiny courtyard just in front of her making the low,
hissing cry seem to come from everywhere. She spun,
searching, but the path behind her and the two that
stretched away from the open yard disappeared into
shadow.
Which way... She stepped lightly into the open
space, giving herself greater access to escape and room
to maneuver, if it came to that.
A solid, heavy footstep. Another. Jill cocked her
head and there, ahead and to the left, the path that led to
the trolley. A thickening darkness, still just out of clear
sight.
Go back, newspaper office or back to the station, no,
no way I can outrun it but there's the gas station, it has
a metal lock-down shutter and there's a shitload of
cars, the better to hide...
Ahead and to the right. A simple plan was better than
none, and she'd run out of time to consider her options
any further.
Jill took off, the light patter of her boots lost beneath
a sudden clash of motion, the rising howl and dense
tread of semisynthetic feet bearing down on the court-
yard. She was deeply conscious of herself, of her mus-
cles contracting, of the sounds of her heart and breath
as she flew over the stones. In an instant, she was at the
small gate that led further north, that would take her
down a block packed with abandoned cars, past a gas
station/repair shop, toward...
She couldn't remember. If the street was clear, she
could head through the industrial section of town, hope
that she didn't run into any of the zombie packs. If
blockades had been put up -
- then I'm screwed, and it's too late anyway.
She let her well-trained body do the rest of her think-
ing, nimbly slipping through the gate and into a crouch-
ing run, carrying her into the relative safety of a maze
of gridlocked cars and trucks. She could feel it coming,
and she allowed herself to flow into the shadows, to
find in herself some primal understanding of her place
in the hunt. She was the prey, she had to be as elusive
as the Nemesis was determined; if she did it right, she
would survive and the creature would go hungry. If not...
No time, no more thinking. The Nemesis was com-ing. Jill moved.
In the parking garage's office, Carlos found a half
case of bottled water, some duct tape, and a men's
dress shirt still in its package - as close to sterile sup-
plies as they were going to get. He immediately set to
doing what he could for Mikhail while Nicholai kept
watch, staring out at the broken automobiles in the
dark, rifle in hand. The courtyard was silent except for
Mikhail's harsh breathing and the lonely cry of a dis-
tant crow.
Carlos didn't know much beyond simple triage, but
he thought the wound wasn't too bad; the bullet had
gone clean through Mikhail's side, not far above his
left hip bone; an inch or two closer in and he
would've been toast, a shot to the liver or kidneys his
death warrant. As it was, his lower intestine had
probably been pierced; it would kill him eventually,
but with prompt medical attention, he should be okay
for now.
Carlos cleaned and dressed the wound, taping com-
presses on, wrapping strips of the shirt around
Mikhail's torso to keep the pressure up. The platoon
leader seemed to be managing the pain well enough,
though he was nauseous and dizzy from loss of blood.
Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed that
Nicholai was moving. He finished layering tape over
the bandages and looked up, saw that the squad leader
had taken a laptop computer out of his shoulder bag
and was tapping at keys, his face a study in concentra-
tion. He'd slung his rifle and was crouched next to a
smashed pickup truck.
"Sir - ah, Nicholai, I'm done here," Carlos said, standing. Mikhail had insisted that they drop the for-
malities of rank, pointing out that their situation de-
manded flexibility. Carlos had agreed, though he hadn't
gotten the impression that Nicholai liked it much; he
seemed to be a by-the-book type.
Mikhail, pale and bleary-eyed, pushed himself up on
his elbows. "Any way you can use that thing to call for evac?" His voice was weak.
Nicholai shook his head, sighing. He closed the lap-
top and returned it to his bag. "I found it at the police station and thought it might be of some use - lists of
blockades, perhaps, or more information about this.
disaster."
"No luck?" Mikhail asked.
Nicholai moved toward them, his expression re-
signed. "No. I think our best option is to try and make it to the clock tower."
Carlos frowned. Trent had told him there was sup-
posed to be a supply of weapons at a clock tower, and
that he should head north from there; between Jill's
westbound cable car and this new information, he was
starting to feel plagued by coincidences. "Why the clock tower?"
Mikhail answered, speaking softly. "Evacuation. It's where we were supposed to take the civilians and
signal the transports to come in. The clock tower
bells are scheduled to toll by computer, a system that
emits a beacon signal when the program is being
used. We ring the bells, the 'copters come. Cute,
huh?"
Carlos wondered why no one had bothered to in-
clude that little nugget of information in their briefing
but decided not to ask. It didn't really matter at this
point; they had to get to the trolley. He didn't know
Nicholai well, but Mikhail Victor was no threat, not in
his condition, and he needed to get to a hospital. Trent
had said there was one not far from the clock tower.
But Umbrella's eyes and ears...
No. Their stories were the same as his; they'd fought
and watched their teammates die, gotten lost, looked
for a way out and ended up here. It just felt weird, sud-
denly having two more people involved. Trent had him
questioning everyone's motives now, wondering who
might be involved in the alleged Umbrella conspiracy,
worrying about what he could and couldn't say.
Besides, Umbrella screwed them over, too. Why
would they want to help the bastards who landed us in
this shit? Trent may be telling the truth, but he's not
here. They are, and I need them. We need them. Jill couldn't possibly object to having a few soldiers on her
side.
"There's a cable car we can use to get out there,"
Carlos said. "Right to the clock tower, I think. It's close, it runs west ... and with all those things out
there looking for fresh meat..."
"We could use a ride out of town," Nicholai broke in, nodding. "Assuming the tracks are clear. Wonderful. Are you sure it's in operating condition?"
Carlos hesitated, then shrugged. "I haven't actually seen it. I ran into a ... cop, I guess, a woman, she told
me about it. She was on her way there, to see, she said
she'd wait for me. I wanted to see if I could find any-
one before we left." He felt almost guilty telling them about her, and abruptly he realized that he was letting
all of Trent's crazy spy crap get to him. Why keep Jill a
secret? Who cared?
Mikhail and Nicholai exchanged a look and then both nodded. Carlos was glad. At last, a real plan, a
course of action. The only thing worse than being in
deep shit was being in deep shit with no direction.
"Let's go," Nicholai said. "Mikhail, are you ready?" Mikhail nodded, and together, Carlos and Nicholai
lifted him, supporting his weight as evenly as they
could. They edged into the parking garage and had al-
most made it back to the office when Nicholai let out a
mild curse and stopped.
"What?" Mikhail closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "The explosives," Nicholai said. "I can't believe I forgot why I even came back this way. After I found
Mikhail, I just..."
"Explosives?" Carlos asked.
"Yes. Just after the zombies attacked, and my
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