kill two more people, and he started to calm down.
Being able to express his anger would be constructive;
it wasn't healthy to keep feelings bottled up.
The Watchdog operation was his interest. The vac-
cine had been an extra, a gift - so in a way, he hadn't
really lost anything.
Nicholai told himself that several times on his way to
get Davis Chan; it made him feel better, though not as
good as when he remembered that he'd had his hunting
knife sharpened just before he'd come to Raccoon. He
was sure Chan would appreciate it.
TWENTY-THREE
WHEN JILL WOKE UP, IT WAS STILL RAINING
outside, and she felt like herself again. Weak, thirsty,
and hungry, definitely in pain from her shoulder wound
and about a thousand lesser aches, but herself. The
sickness was gone.
Disoriented and a little confused, she sat up slowly
and looked around, trying to piece together what had
happened. She was still in the clock tower chapel, and
Carlos was crashed out on one of the front pews. She
remembered telling him that she had the virus, and him
saying that he was going to get something...
... but I was sick, I had the disease ... and I don't just feel better now, I absolutely don't have it anymore.
How could...
"Oh my God," she whispered, seeing the syringe and empty vial on the organ bench next to the altar, sud-
denly understanding what had happened, if not how.
Carlos had found an antidote.
Jill sat for a moment, slightly overwhelmed by the
mix of emotions that hit her - shock, gratitude, a reluc-
tance to believe she was actually okay. Her happiness at
being alive and reasonably well was tempered by guilt,
that she should have been cured when so many others
had died. She wondered whether or not there was more
of the antidote but found she couldn't consider that too
carefully; the thought that there might be gallons of it
lying around somewhere when tens of thousands had
died was simply obscene.
Finally, she eased herself off her sickbed and stood,
carefully stretching, checking herself over. Considering
all that had happened, she was surprised at how well-
off she was. Except for her right shoulder, she had no
serious injuries, and after drinking some water, she ac-
tually felt awake and able to move around without any
trouble.
Over the next couple of hours, Jill ate three cans of
fruit cocktail, drank a half gallon of water, and reloaded
and wiped down all of the weapons. She also cleaned
herself up, as much as she could, with bottled water and a dirty sweatshirt. Carlos didn't stir once, deeply
asleep - and from the way he was curled up and hold-
ing his left side, she thought that his trip to the hospital
had probably been rough.
Jill also gave a great deal of thought to what they
would do next. They couldn't stay. They didn't have the
supplies or ammo to keep themselves alive indefinitely,
and they had no way of knowing when - or even if, she
didn't want to take it for granted anymore - rescue was
coming. As hard as it was to believe, it seemed that
Umbrella had managed to keep a lid on what had hap-
pened, and if they could do it for this long, it might be
several more days before the story broke. To add to the
pressure, she also couldn't convince herself that the
Nemesis was dead; once it had recuperated, it would be
coming back. They were incredibly lucky that it hadn't
attacked already.
Before she'd hooked up with Carlos, she had tenta-
tively planned to head for the abandoned Umbrella-
owned plant north of the city. She'd come to believe
that there was no such thing as a deserted Umbrella fa-
cility - they loved their secret operations too much
and thought that they might have kept the roads clear
around the plant so their employees could get out. It
was still worth a shot, and it was also the best she could
come up with. Besides, the fastest way out of town
from their current position was straight past the facility.
Carlos continued to sleep, perfectly still except for
the rise and fall of his chest, his face slack from exhaus-
tion ... and once Jill had decided on a course of action,
she watched him for a little while and realized that she
had to leave him behind. It was a much harder decision
to make, but only because she didn't want to be alone, a
selfish reason at best. The truth of it was, he was hurting
because he'd gotten in between her and the Nemesis,
and she couldn't put him in that position again.
I'll go check out the plant, maybe find a radio and
call for help. If things look good, safe, I can come back
for him. If they look shitty ... well, I guess I'll just
come back if I can. The facility was barely a mile away if she remembered right, she could get there by cutting
through Memorial Park, just behind the clock tower, a
very short trip. It was just after two in the morning,
she'd be able to get there and back well before dawn.
With any luck, Carlos would still be asleep when she
returned, perhaps bearing good news.
She decided to leave him a note in case something
happened to her so he'd know the route, at least. She
couldn't find a pen or pencil, but she uncovered an an-
cient manual typewriter, of all things, beneath a stack
of hymnbooks. She used the back of a fruit cocktail label for paper. The soft clack of keys was as soothing
to her as the rain that continued to patter down on the
roof, sounds that made her very glad to be alive.
She took the grenade gun even though there was only
one round left - Carlos must have found the one she'd
dropped in the yard - remembering the damage it had in-
flicted on the S.T.A.R.S. killer. She also took the Beretta,
but she left the revolver for Carlos so that he'd have some-
thing a little heavier than the assault rifle. Just in case.
Jill left the note on the altar, where Carlos would see
it as soon as he woke up, and she crouched next to him,
reaching out to touch his cool brow. He was definitely
out, not even a twitch as she brushed his duty hair off
his forehead, wondering how she could ever thank him
for all he'd done.
"Sleep well," she whispered, and before she could change her mind, she stood up and turned away, hurry-
ing to the door and not looking back.
There was a cabin behind the small cemetery in
Memorial Park, ostensibly used for tool storage. It had
been taken over as one of several Umbrella receiver
stations for the duration of the Raccoon outbreak -
- kind of a rest stop for operatives, each in a private place
where they could organize files without being seen and
get general updates from Umbrella, if they didn't have
immediate access to a computer.
Nicholai had not planned to stop by any of the re-
ceiver stations; he thought they were an unnecessary
risk on Umbrella's part, even as well hidden as they
were - the setup at the cemetery cabin was behind a
false wall. Umbrella didn't want anyone tracking sig-
nals coming out of the city, so the stations were set to
receive only, another precaution, but Nicholai still
thought they were dangerous. If he wanted to trap an
agent, he'd stake out one of the receiver stations.
Or if I wanted to kill one. Although in this case, I
only have to walk in ... or wait for a little while.
He stood in the shadows of a large monument a few
meters from the false room, thinking of how fine it was
going to be to kill Captain Chan. Nicholai had consid-
ered just barging through the concealed door and shoot-
ing him, but he needed to relax, to get into a better
frame of mind. Chan would come out for a bathroom
break or a smoke sooner or later, and by allowing his
anticipation to build, Nicholai was able to let go of
some of his more unpleasant emotions. He didn't do it
often; he wasn't crazy or anything, and he generally
preferred to keep things moving along - but sometimes,
savoring the suspense before an intimate killing was
just the thing to lift him out of a depression.
Nicholai watched the door - actually a hinged corner
of the building - enjoying the cool rain in spite of how
miserable he knew he'd be later, running around in wet
clothes. He was going to take someone's life. Things
had been a little out of control for a few moments,
when he'd realized he'd lost the vaccine, but who was
in control now? Davis Chan was about to die and
Nicholai was the only one who knew it, because he had
decided Chan's fate.
And Carlos is dead, I caused that. And Mikhail, and
three Watchdogs so far. He couldn't really make a claim on Jill Valentine, but Nicholai had enjoyed the
stricken look on Carlos's face when he'd suggested it.
What counted, though, the only thing that had ever re-
ally mattered, was that his enemies were dead and he
was still walking.
When Davis Chan stepped out into the rain a few mo-
ments later, Nicholai had released most of his negative
feelings of self-pity and undirected frustration. And by
the tune his knife had finished with Chan, fifteen min-
utes later, he was his old self again. Chan, of course, no
longer resembled anything human, but Nicholai sin-
cerely thanked the remains for getting him back on track.
0250 hours October 2
Carlos:
I've gone to the water treatment facility directly northeast
from the clock tower, a mile give or take. Umbrella owns it,
there may be resources there that we can use. I'll be back as
soon as I take a look around. Wait here for me, for at least a
few hours. If I'm not back by morning, you should probably try to get out on your own.
I'm grateful to you, for a lot of things. Stay here and get
some rest, please. I shouldn't be long.
Jill
Carlos read the curled paper twice more, then
grabbed his vest and stood up, checking his watch.
She'd been gone less than a half hour. He could still
catch up with her.
Staying wasn't an option. She'd left him behind ei-
ther because he was injured or because she didn't want
to put him in further danger ... neither of which was
acceptable to him. And he'd never had a chance to tell
her what Trent had said, about there being helicopters
at an Umbrella facility northwest of town, but northeast
from where they were now, after the trolley ride. Obvi-
ously the same place.
"You may kick ass all over Umbrella's monsters, but
can you pilot a helicopter?" Carlos mumbled, locking a new mag to the M16. If only she'd waked him up...
He headed for the door, as ready as he was going to be, trying not to breathe too deeply. It hurt, but he'd
manage. He'd been in worse pain and still gotten things
done; once, he'd walked six klicks on a fractured ankle,
and it didn't get a whole lot worse than that.
Carlos didn't waste time trying to convince himself
that wanting to share Trent's info was why he was going
after her. He couldn't stand by and do nothing, that was
all. She was trying to protect him, he could appreciate
the sentiment, but he just couldn't stay there and...
Nicholai. He's out there and she doesn 't know.
He suddenly felt sick thinking of that mad glimmer
in Nicholai's eyes. Carlos hurried out of the chapel and
into the moonlit rain. He had to find her.
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