from there.
Do we take a ride, or will I be traveling alone? Per-
haps we'll stay together for the night, foraging for
food, taking turns at standing guard. I could kill them
in their sleep; I could entice both of them to accom-
pany me to the hospital to engage the Hunters; I could
disappear, and allow them to evacuate thinking that
their dear friend had been lost.
Nicholai smiled, a cool night draft from a shattered
pane breezing across his face. In a very real way, their
lives were in his hands. It was a powerful feeling, even
intoxicating, to have that kind of control. What had
started out as a primarily financial venture had evolved
into something new, something he had no words for,
a game, but so much more. An understanding of human
destiny like nothing he'd ever experienced. He'd al-
ways known that he was different, that societal bound-
aries didn't apply to him in the same way that others
understood them; coming to Raccoon was an amplifica-
tion of that, it was like an alternate reality in which they
were the strangers, the outsiders, and he was the only
one who really knew what was going on. For the first
time in his life, he felt free to do as he liked.
Nicholai heard the gate from the alleyway creak
open, slowly, stealthily, and he backed away from the
window. A second later, the two young soldiers stepped
into view, moving almost as silently as himself. He
noted with some surprise that they were sweeping the
yard, as if they expected trouble.
Perhaps they met up with the Tyrant-creature.
That would certainly spice things up, if Jill was being
tracked, although Nicholai meant to let the seeker have
her if it showed up. It would kill anyone stupid enough to get in its way; Nicholai would happily step aside.
Jill was slightly ahead of Carlos, and as they cau-
tiously edged forward, Nicholai saw that she carried
several cables slung over one shoulder. Maybe he
would keep them around awhile, they were proving to
be successful at running errands.
"All clear," Carlos whispered, and Nicholai smiled to himself. He could hear them perfectly.
"He has to be back by now, if he didn't run into one
of the creatures," Jill whispered.
Nicholai's smile faltered a little. It was impossible,
but ... were they sweeping for him?
"I say we approach like we don't know anything,"
Carlos said, keeping his voice low. "Get on board, get on either side of him, make him give up the rifle. He
carries a knife, too."
What is this, what's changed? Nicholai was con-fused, uncertain. What can they possibly know? Jill was nodding. "Let me ask the questions. I know more background on Umbrella, I think I have a better
chance of convincing him that we know all about this
Watchdog mission. If he thinks we already know..."
"...then he won't bother hiding anything," Carlos finished. "Okay. Let's do it. Keep your weapon ready, just in case he's planning a surprise party."
Jill nodded again, and they both straightened up,
Carlos shouldering his rifle. They started toward the
trolley, no longer bothering to keep quiet.
The fury that overtook Nicholai was so passionate,
so all encompassing, that for a moment he was literally
blinded by it. Flashes of red and black pounded
through his brain, thoughtless and violent, and the only
thing that kept him from running out into the yard and
murdering them both was the distant awareness that
they were prepared for his attack. He almost did it any-
way, the urge, the need to hurt them so strong that the
consequences seemed unimportant. It took all of his
control to stand still, to stand and shake and not scream
his rage.
After some indeterminate time, he heard the trolley's
engine roar to life, the sound finally getting through to
him. His mind began to work again, but he could only
think simply, as though his anger was too great for
complexity of thought.
They knew he wasn't telling the truth. They knew
something about Operation Watchdog, and they knew
he was involved, so he was their enemy now. There
would be no consummation of the careful groundwork
he'd laid, no development of trust for comrade
Nicholai. It had all been a waste of his time ... and to
add insult to injury, he was now going to have to walk to the hospital.
Nicholai ground his teeth together, drowning, the
impotent hatred like a diseased secret that was crush-
ing him from the inside out. They had done this to
him, stolen his sense of control as though they had a
right to it.
My plans, my money, my decision. Mine, not theirs,
mine - After a moment the mantra started to work, calming him slightly, the words soothing in their truth.
Mine, I decide, me.
Nicholai took several deep breaths and fixated on the
only thing that could bring him relief as he heard the
trolley slowly rumble away.
He'd find a way to make them sorry. He'd make
them beg for mercy, and laugh while they screamed.
FIFTEEN
JILL STOOD NEXT TO CARLOS AT THE TRAIN'S
controls, looking out as the dark ruins of Raccoon
slowly slipped past. They couldn't see much by the yel-
lowed beam of the single headlight, but there were nu-
merous small fires blazing unchecked and a partial
moon shone its cold light down on it all - debris-
packed streets, broken, boarded windows, living shad-
ows that swayed and wandered aimlessly.
"Keep it slow," Jill said. "If the tracks are blocked and we're going too fast..."
Carlos shot her an irritated look. "Gee, I hadn't thought about that. Gracias."
His sarcasm invited a reply, but Jill was too tired to
banter, and her body felt like a single, massive bruise.
Yeah, okay. Sorry."
The tracks unrolled in front of them as Carlos care-
fully handled the controls, slowing to a virtual crawl
with each curve. Jill wanted to sit, maybe go into the
other car with Mikhail and lay down - it was a few
miles to the clock tower and a jogger could easily keep
up with them, but she knew that Carlos was tired, too;
she could at least suffer aching feet along with him for
another few minutes.
By some unspoken agreement, they hadn't discussed
Nicholai yet, perhaps because speculation on where he
was and what he was doing didn't serve any purpose;
whatever he was up to, they were getting out of town.
Assuming they survived, Jill was more committed than
ever to seeing that Umbrella paid for their crimes, and
it was Umbrella, not Nicholai, who held responsibility
for the death of Raccoon.
Her intuition had been good on Nicholai, that he
wasn't ignorant of Umbrella's evils, though she hadn't suspected the depth of his deception. From what she'd
read in the journal Carlos had found, it appeared that
the company had been prepared for Raccoon to be in-
fected and had set up a secret team to make reports on
the catastrophe. It was disgusting, but not surprising.
We're dealing with Umbrella, after all. If they can il-
legally design genetic viruses and breed killing ma-
chines to inject said viruses into, why not capitalize on
mass murder? Take some notes, document a few fights...
Crash!
Jill stumbled against Carlos as the trolley rocked, the
sound of shattering glass coming from the other car. A
half second later, they heard Mikhail let out a fevered
cry - of fear or pain, Jill couldn't tell.
"Here, take the controls," Carlos said, but she was al-ready halfway across the car, the heavy revolver in
hand.
"I got it, keep us going," she shouted back, not want-ing to think about what it could be as she dashed to-
ward the door. For the trolley to shake like that -
- it has to be one of their monsters. And Mikhail
probably can't even sit up on his own.
She pushed the door open and stepped onto the con-
necting platform, the heavy clatter of the moving trol-
ley seeming incredibly loud as she opened the second
door, Mikhail's helplessness in the forefront of her
mind.
Oh, shit.
The elements of the scene were simple, straightfor-
ward, and deadly: a broken window, glass everywhere;
Mikhail, to her left, his back to the wall as he struggled
to get to his feet, using his rifle as a crutch - and the
S.T.A.R.S. killer standing in the middle of the car, mis-
shapen head thrown back, its giant lipless mouth open-
ing as it growl-screamed wordlessly. The remaining
windows shook from the strength of its insane cry.
Jill opened fire, each shot a deafening explosion, the
heavy rounds slamming into its upper torso as it contin-
ued to howl. The sheer force of the assault drove it
back a few steps, but if there was any effect otherwise,
she couldn't see it.
On the sixth round, Mikhail's rifle joined in, the
smaller slugs peppering the Nemesis's gigantic legs as
Jill went dry. Mikhail was still slumped against the wall
and his aim was poor, but Jill would take any help she
could get. She grabbed her Beretta - even with a speed
loader the .357 would take too long - and opened up,
going for head shots -
- not working -
- and the Nemesis stopped screaming and fixed its
attention on her, its slitted white eyes like cataracts, its huge teeth shining and slick. Tentacles snaked around
its hairless, lumpy head.
"Get out!" Mikhail shouted, and Jill spared him a glance, not even considering the idea as she fired
again - until it registered an instant later that he was
holding a grenade, one shaking finger hooked through
its ring. She recognized the make without thinking
about it - a Czech RG34, Barry had collected antiper-
sonnel grenades - as she sent a round into the Neme-
sis's stitched brow to no effect. Impact grenade, once
the ring was pulled it'd detonate on contact -
- and Mikhail won't make it, it's suicide.
"No, you go, get behind me," she screamed, and the S.T.A.R.S. killer took one massive step forward, almost
halving the distance between them.
"Get out!" Mikhail ordered again and popped the ring, an expression of incredible concentration and pur-
pose on his dead-white face. "I'm dead already! Do it, now!"
Her Beretta fired once more and was empty.
Jill spun and ran, leaving Mikhail to face the monster
alone.
Carlos heard the yelling amidst the shots as he
worked to bring the trolley to a stop, desperate to help
Jill and Mikhail, but they were in the middle of a rela-
tively tight curve and the poorly maintained controls
fought his efforts. He was about a second from joining
them anyway when the door behind him crashed open.
Carlos whipped around, one-arming his M16 as he in-
stinctively kept his other hand on the throttle, and saw
Jill. She practically flew into the car, her expression a
mask of expectant terror, his name forming on her lips -
- and a tremendous shock of fire and sound
bloomed up behind her, pushing her to dive, a clumsy
shoulder roll that was punctuated by the echoing boom-
crash from the second car. Tongues of flame burst
through the back door's window as the floor tilted
wildly. Carlos slammed against the driver's seat, the
chair's arm whacking him mid-thigh hard enough to
bring tears to his eyes.
Mikhail!
Carlos took one faltering step toward the back and
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