Jill drew the Python and tried to take aim, but her vi-
sion doubled suddenly and she couldn't focus on the
receding figure as it dragged itself through the fiery
wreckage. She felt light-headed and flushed and
thought it very likely that she'd been infected by the T-
virus.
She didn't have to see the shoulder wound to know it
was bad, she could feel hot blood coursing down her
side, soaking into the waistband of her skirt. She
wished she could believe that the virus was being
washed out of her system, but she couldn't kid herself,
even so direly injured.
For a few seconds she considered the loaded .357
she still held - and then thought of Carlos and knew
she had to wait. She had to help him if she could, she
owed him that much.
Summoning the last of her rapidly draining strength,
Jill started toward Carlos. He lay by the fountain,
groaning and half conscious, hurt, but at least she
couldn't see any blood, maybe he's okay...
It was her last thought before she felt her body be-
tray her by giving up, dropping her to the ground and
putting her into a very deep sleep.
Dark, elsewhere ringing and escape, fire and dark
and bullets, can't hear, Jill running from the fire and
the thing firing, high-explosive missile aimed...
... aimed at my...
... face.
Carlos came to in a rush, confused and hurting and
looking for the fight, for the Nemesis and Jill. She was
in trouble if that thing got hold of her...
It was a quiet, still night, and low fires burned all around, providing a dancing orange light and enough
heat to make him sweat. Carlos forced himself to move,
crawling to his feet and holding his ribs tightly, jaw
clenched from the pain. Fractured or broken, maybe
two of them, but he had to think about Jill now, had to
shake off the effects of the multiple blasts and...
"Oh, no," he said, forgetting about his aching ex-haustion as he hurried toward her. Jill was lying on a
patch of burnt grass, perfectly still except for the steady
ooze of blood from her right shoulder. Still alive, but
maybe not for much longer.
Carlos swallowed his pain and picked her up, the
dead weight of her body making him want to scream in
anger, at the insanity that had unfolded and grown in
Raccoon, that had imposed its merciless grasp on Jill
and on himself. Umbrella, monsters, spies, even
Trent - all of it was crazy, it was a nightmare fairy
tale ... but the blood was real enough.
He held her close, turning, searching. He had to get
her inside, safe, somewhere he could dress her wounds,
where they could both rest for a little while. There was
the chapel in the mostly undamaged west wing; there
were no windows and good locks on the door.
"Don't die, Jill," he said, and hoped she was listen-ing as he carried her across the burning yard.
TWENTY
TIME PASSING. DARK AND DARK, AND FRAG-
ments of a thousand dreams, spinning into focus for a
brief glimpse before spinning away. She was a child at
the beach with her father, the taste of salt on the wind.
She was a gawky teenager, in love for the first time; a
thief, stealing from wealthy strangers as her father had
taught her to do; a student, training for the S.T.A.R.S.,
learning to apply her skills to help people.
Darker. The day her father went to prison for grand
larceny. Lovers she had betrayed, or who had betrayed
her. Feelings of loneliness. And her life in Raccoon
City, the very death of light.
Becky and Priscilla McGee, ages seven and nine, the
first victims. Eviscerated, parts of them eaten. Finding
the crashed Bravo team helicopter outside of the man-
sion; the smell inside, of dust and rot. Learning about
Umbrella's conspiracy and the corruption and collabo-
ration of at least a few S.T.A.R.S. members. The death
of the traitorous team leader, Albert Wesker, and the
Nemesis's final attack.
Several times, half awake, she swallowed cool water
and then slept again, more recent memories taking
over. The lost survivors, the people she'd tried to save, the faces of the children, mostly. All of them, gone.
Brad Vickers's brutal death. Carlos. Nicholai's flat,
emotionless gaze, and Mikhail's sacrifice. And reigning
over it all like the demonic epitome of evil, the beyond
Tyrant monster, the Nemesis, its terrible voice calling
for her, its terrible eyes seeking her wherever she went,
whatever she did.
The most troubling thing, though, was that there was
something happening to her - a distant feeling, because
it was happening to her body and she was very much
asleep, but no less unpleasant for that. It felt like her
veins were heating up and expanding. Like her every
cell was becoming thick and heavy with strange spices,
sticking to the cells around it, all of them boiling
gently. Like her whole body was a vessel filled with
moving wet heat.
Finally, the gentle sound of falling rain lapped at the
edges of her awareness and she yearned to see it, feel
its coolness on her skin, but it was a long, tiring strug-
gle to leave the dark behind. Her body didn't want to,
protesting louder the closer she got to the surface of
gray, the twilight between the dreams and the rain, but
determined, she won out.
After deciding that she was alive, Jill opened her eyes
TWENTY-ONE
CARLOS WAS SITTING WITH HIS BACK TO THE
door eating fruit cocktail out of a can when he heard
Jill stir, the regular, consistent sound of her deep
breathing becoming lighter. She turned her head from
side to side, still asleep, but the movement was the
most deliberate action he'd seen in forty-eight hours.
He stood as quickly as he could, forced to be careful by
the pinch of his tightly taped ribs, and hurried to the
raised altar where she lay.
He picked up the bottle of water at the base of the
dais, and when he stood up again, she opened her eyes.
"Jill? I'm going to give you some water now. Try
and help me out, okay?"
She nodded, and Carlos felt sappy with relief, hold-
ing her head up while she drank a few swallows from
the bottle. It was the first time she had responded
clearly to anything, and her color looked good. For two
days she had drunk when he'd pushed it on her, swal-
lowing at least but white as a ghost and completely out
of it otherwise.
"Where ... are we?" Jill asked weakly, closing her eyes as she lay her head back down on the makeshift
pillow, a piece of rolled-up carpet. Her blanket was
made from unburned drapes he'd salvaged from the foyer.
"The chapel of the clock tower," he said softly, still smiling. "We've been here since - since the helicopter crashed."
Jill opened her eyes again, obviously aware and rea-
sonably focused. She wasn't infected, he'd been so
afraid for a while, but she was okay, she had to be.
"How long?"
Talking seemed to be tiring for her, so Carlos tried to
summarize everything that had happened, to save her
the questions. "The Nemesis shot down the helicopter, and you and I were both wounded. Your shoulder
was ... injured, but I've been changing the dressings
and it doesn't seem to be infected. We've been here two
days, recuperating, you've been sleeping mostly. It's
October first, I think, the sun set an hour ago and it's
been raining off and on since last night..."
He trailed off, not sure what else he could tell her but
not wanting her to fall asleep again, not right away.
He'd been stuck with his own thoughts for long
enough.
"Oh, I found a case of fruit cocktail, of all things, in
the trunk in that one sitting room - the one with the
chessboard, remember? Water, too, someone was
hoarding, I guess, lucky for us. I didn't want to leave
you alone, I've been, ah, taking care of you." He didn't add that he'd been cleaning her up, changing the drapes
she lay upon when it was necessary; he didn't want her
to feel embarrassed.
"You're hurt?" she asked, frowning, blinking slowly. "Couple of fractured ribs, no big deal. Well,
maybe when I have to pull the tape off, that's gonna
hurt like a son of a bitch. All I could find was duct
tape."
She smiled faintly, and Carlos softened his tone, al-
most afraid to ask. "How are you doin'?"
"Two days? No more helicopters?" she asked, look-ing away, and he felt himself tense slightly. She hadn't
answered his question.
"No more helicopters," he said and noticed for the first time that the color in her cheeks was overly red.
He touched the side of her neck, and his tension grew;
fever, not too bad, but she hadn't had it the last time
he'd checked, an hour before. "Jill, how do you feel?"
"Not bad. Not bad at all, hardly any pain." Her voice was flat, inflectionless.
Carlos smiled crookedly. "Bien, si? That's good news, that means we can pack up and get out of here
soon..."
"I'm infected with the virus," she said, and Carlos froze, his smile fading.
No. No, she's wrong, it's not possible.
"It's been two days, you can't be," he said firmly, telling her what he'd been telling himself since he first
woke up. "I saw one of the other soldiers turn into a zombie, couldn't have been more than two hours from
the time Randy was bit until he changed. If you have it,
something would have happened by now."
Jill carefully rolled onto her side, wincing a little,
closing her eyes again. She sounded incredibly tired.
"I'm not going to argue with you, Carlos. Maybe it's a
different mutation because it came from the Nemesis,
or maybe I picked up some kind of immunity, from
being at the Spencer estate. I don't know, but I have it."
Her voice shook. "I can feel it, I can feel myself getting worse!"
"Okay, okay, shhh," Carlos said, deciding that he would leave immediately. He'd take Jill's revolver in
addition to the assault rifle, and definitely a couple of
hand grenades.
The hospital was close, and there was at least one
vaccine sample there, that's what Trent had said. Carlos
had wanted to find the hospital earlier, for supplies, but
he'd been too exhausted and hurt to go looking, at
first - and then he hadn't wanted to risk leaving Jill
alone and unconscious, dangerous for several reasons.
I'll go out front and head west, see if I can find a
sign or something... Trent had also said something about the hospital not being there for much longer;
Carlos hoped he wasn't too late.
"Try and get back to sleep," Carlos said. "I'm going to take off for a while, to try and find something that
might help you. I won't be gone long."
Jill already seemed to be half asleep, but she raised
her head and made an effort to be clear, enunciating
carefully. "If you come back and I'm - sicker, I want you to help me. I'm asking you now, I may not be able
to ask you later. Do you understand?"
Carlos wanted to protest but knew that he'd want the
same thing if he had the disease. Being dead sucked,
but Raccoon was proof that there were worse things.
Like having to shoot someone you care about.
"I understand," he said. "You rest now. I'll be back soon."
Jill slept, and Carlos started to load up. Just before
he left, he gazed into her sleeping face for a long mo-
ment, silently praying that she'd still be Jill when he
got back.
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