saw only burning pieces of the obliterated second car
dragging behind them, falling away as the trolley
picked up speed. There was no chance that Mikhail
could have survived, and Carlos started having serious
doubts about their own chances as Jill stumbled for-
ward, her face haunted by whatever she'd seen.
The cable car bit another curve, and then it was out
of control, tossing back and forth like a ship on stormy
seas, except the thunder and lightning were caused by their car smashing mightily into buildings and autos
alike, sending up great plumes of sparks. Instead of
slowing them down, the trolley seemed to be picking
up speed with each impact, hurtling through the dark in
a series of fiery metal screams.
Carlos fought gravity to grab the throttle, aware that
they'd jumped the tracks, that Mikhail was gone, that
their only hope was the manual brake. If they were very
lucky, the wheels would lock. He yanked back as hard
as he could...
... and nothing happened, nothing at all. They were
screwed.
Jill made it to the front, clutching at chair backs and
support poles as the trolley continued to buck and
screech. Carlos saw her staring at the useless throttle
beneath his fingers, saw despair flash in her eyes, and
he knew that they had to jump.
"The brakes!" Jill shouted.
"No good! We have to bail!"
He turned, grabbed his rifle by the barrel, and used
the locked stock to break out a side window, a sudden
shift of the floor sending the glass shards raining on his
chest. He held on to the slick window frame with one
hand, reached back to grab Jill -
- and saw her drive her elbow into a small glass
panel set low into the console, a look of crazed hope on
her face as she pulled a switch he couldn't see...
SKREEEEEEE
emergency brake
... and incredibly, the trolley was slowing, tipping to
the left a final time before settling back, sliding forward
in a diminishing spray of bright sparks. Carlos closed
his eyes and gripped the useless throttle, tensing, trying
to prepare himself for the impact - and a few seconds
later, a mild, anticlimactic crunch signified their jour-
ney's end; the car had come to rest against a pile of bro-
ken concrete pieces in the middle of a neatly trimmed
lawn, a few shadowy statues and hedges nearby. A final
tremor rattled through the car, and it was over.
Silence, except for the tick of cooling metal. He
opened his eyes, hardly able to credit their nightmare
ride through the city. Next to him, Jill took a shaky
breath. It had all happened so fast, it was a miracle that
he and Jill were still alive.
"Mikhail?" he asked softly.
Jill shook her head. "It was the Tyrant-thing, the S.T.A.R.S. Nemesis. Mikhail had a grenade, it kept
coming at us and he..."
Her voice broke, and she reached into her pack and
started to reload her weapons, concentrating on the simple movements. It seemed to calm her. When she
spoke again, her voice was firm.
"Mikhail sacrificed himself when he saw that the
Nemesis was coming after me."
She looked away, out into the dark as a chill wind
drafted through the trolley's shattered windows. Her
shoulders slumped. Carlos wasn't sure what to say. He
stepped toward her, gently touching one abraded shoulder,
and felt her body stiffen beneath his fingers. He quickly
dropped his hand, afraid that he'd offended her somehow,
and then realized that she was staring out at something, a
look of pure amazement on her delicate features.
Carlos followed her gaze, looking out and up to see a
giant, three- or four-story tower looming over them, sil-
houetted against a backdrop of clouded night sky.
A glowing white clock face near the top read that it was
almost midnight.
"Somebody loves us, Carlos," Jill said, and Carlos could only nod mutely.
They had reached the clock tower.
Nicholai walked along the moonlit tracks, not both-
ering to conceal himself as he plodded west. He'd be
able to see anything coming and kill it long before it
reached him; he was in a foul mood and almost wel-
comed the opportunity to blow the guts out of some-
thing, human or otherwise.
His anger had abated somewhat, giving way to a
rather fatalistic state of mind. It no longer seemed fea-
sible for him to track down the dying platoon leader
and two young soldiers - basically, there just wasn't
enough time. It would take at least an hour for him to
make it to the clock tower; assuming they could figure
out how to ring the bells, they'd be long gone by the
time he got there.
Nicholai scowled, working to remind himself that his
plans hadn't changed, that he still had an agenda to ful-
fill. Four people were unwittingly waiting for him.
After Dr. Aquino, there were the soldiers - Chan and a
Sergeant Ken Franklin - and the factory worker, Foster.
When they were all out of the way, Nicholai still had to
collect their data, arrange a meeting, and 'copter out.
He had plenty to do ... yet he couldn't help feeling
cheated by the circumstances.
He stopped walking, cocking his head to one side. He
heard a crash, an impact of some kind further west, per-
haps even a small explosion muffled by distance. A sec-
ond later he felt the slightest of vibrations coming from
the trolley tracks. The tracks ran down the middle of a
main street, anything solid could have given them a jolt -
- but it's them, it's Mikhail and Carlos and Jill Valentine. They ran into something, or something went
wrong with the engine, or...
Or he didn't know what, but he was suddenly quite
sure that they had encountered trouble. It reinforced for
him the positive feeling he had that he was the one with
skill; they were forced to rely on luck, and not all luck
was good.
Perhaps we will meet again. Anything is possible, es-
pecially in a place like this.
Ahead of him and to the left, from in between an of-
fice building and a fenced lot, came a gurgling groan,
then another. Three infected shambled out into the
open, ten meters or so from where he stood. They were
too far away to make out clearly in the waxy moon-
light, but Nicholai could see that none of them were in
good shape; two were missing arms and the third's legs
had somehow been cut down, so that it seemed to be
walking on its knees, each stumping footstep creating a
noise like someone smacking their lips.
"Uhllg," the closest complained, and Nicholai shot it through its disintegrating brains. Two more shots and
the other two joined the first, collapsing to the asphalt
in wet thumps.
He felt much better. Whether or not he got an oppor-
tunity to see his duplicitous comrades again - and he
found that he felt strongly that he would - he was the
superior man, and he would triumph in the end.
The awareness filled him with a new energy.
Nicholai broke into a trot, eager to meet whatever chal-
lenge came next.
SIXTEEN
THE TROLLEY'S DOOR WAS JAMMED, SO JILL
and Carlos had to climb out of a window, Carlos look-
ing as drained as Jill felt. It was a frankly weird coinci-
dence that the trolley had ended up exactly where they
needed to go, but then the last several hours - hell,
weeks - had been weird. Jill thought it would serve her
well to stop letting things surprise her.
The clock tower yard seemed empty of life, nothing
moving but a thin haze of oily smoke boiling up from
the cable car's electrical system. They walked to the
unused decorative fountain in front of the main doors,
gazing up at the giant clock and the small belfry that
topped the tower, Jill's thoughts heavy with images of
Mikhail Victor. She'd never even been properly intro-
duced to the man who'd saved her life, but she thought
that they'd lost a valuable ally. The strength of charac-
ter it took to die so that another might live ... heroic
was the only word that fit.
Maybe he even killed the Nemesis, it was practically
on top of him when the grenade went off ... Wishful thinking, probably, but she could hope.
"So, I guess we try to find the bell mechanism,"
Carlos said. "Do you think it's safe to split up, or should we..."
Caw!
The harsh cry of a crow cut him off, and Jill felt a
fresh surge of adrenaline pump new life into her veins.
She grabbed Carlos's hand as a fluttering sound filled
the dark from above and around them, the sound of
birds' wings pushing air.
The hall of portraits at the mansion, watched from
above by dozens of shiny black eyes as they waited to
attack. And Forest Speyer, from the Bravo team, Chris
said he'd been ripped apart by dozens, perhaps hun-
dreds of them.
"Come on!" She pulled at Carlos, remembering the relentless viciousness of the altered, oversized crows at
the Spencer estate. Carlos seemed to know better than
to ask questions as a dozen more hoarse cries pierced
the air. They ran around the fountain to the front doors
of the tower.
Locked.
"Cover me!" Jill shouted, reaching into her pack for her lockpick tools, the wheeling cries closing in on
them...
... and Carlos threw himself at the doors, hitting the
heavy old wood hard enough that splinters flew. He
jogged back a few paces and ran at them again, bam...
... and they crashed inward, Carlos following through
to trip and sprawl across the tastefully tiled floor, Jill
quickly stepping in behind him. She grabbed the door
handles and slammed the doors closed not a second too
soon. There were two audible thumps from the other
side, joined by a chorus of angry screeching and the
brush of dark wings, and then they were retreating, the
sounds fading away. Jill sagged against the doors, ex-
haling heavily.
God, is it ever going to stop? Do we have to face off
with every demonic asshole in the city before we 're al-
lowed to leave?
"Zombie birds? Are you kidding me?" Carlos said, pushing himself to his feet as Jill manually bolted the
doors. She didn't bother answering him, turning to take
in the clock tower's grand lobby instead.
It reminded her of the Spencer mansion's foyer, the
low lights and Gothic scrollwork giving it a kind of
shabbily elegant atmosphere. A wide marble staircase
dominated the large room, leading up to a second-floor
landing with stained-glass windows. There were doors on either side of the room, a couple of polished wood
tables in front of them, and to their left...
Jill sighed inwardly and felt something inside tighten
a little. She hadn't expected the clock tower to be some
kind of untouched sanctuary, even as far out of town as
it was, but she realized that she had hoped - a hope lost
at the sight of more death.
The scene told a story, a kind of mystery. Five male
corpses, all of them dressed in somewhat military garb.
Three of them lay next to the tables, apparently victims
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