simple control panel, power switch, a dial for entering
approximate weight, buttons for back and forth, a tiny
readout screen, an emergency shutoff. Claire hit the
power switch, twisting the weight dial to the maximum
limit, just under three tons.
She shot a look at the creature, still at a safe distance,
and saw that it was only a step or two from being in the
direct path of the platform. Her hand hovered over the
blue switch that would move it forward, that should
send it bulleting down the hold at an incredible speed.
With only a few pounds of empty container where three
tons was expected, it would mow the creature down like
a blade of grass.
Almost... almost.. . now!
When the creature was standing almost directly on
the track, Claire punched the button - and nothing hap-
pened, nothing at all.
Shit! She fumbled for the power switch again, maybe she hadn't turned it on - and she saw what was on the
little readout screen, and groaned aloud. The simple in-
structions read, "Charging for load - wait for tone."
Good God, how long will that be?
The creature was still twenty feet away, walking al-
most directly along the track. She might not get a better
shot at it, because another blow could very well mean
her death, but if she stayed where she was and the crea-
ture got to her before the platform was charged, she'd be trapped between the wall and the storage crates. It
would bludgeon her into pulp against the cockpit door.
Better to run for it
Better to stay put.
Claire hesitated a touch too long, and the creature was
in motion again. It swept toward her like a natural disas-
ter and it was too late, not even tune to turn around and
flee into the cockpit...
ping!
... and it brought its spiked left hand down just as
Claire slammed the switch, her eyes squeezed closed,
sure that the world was about to disappear in a blizzard
of pain...
... as the creature shot away from her, roaring, the
empty crates lifting it off its feet, powering it away. Be-
fore she could begin to accept that the plan was work-
ing, the creature used one of its incredible bursts of
speed and got in front of the barreling container, just
enough to get some leverage, to push against it -
- but Claire didn't wait to see which force was
greater. She opened fire again, two, three bullets hitting
it in the head, bouncing harmlessly off its armored
skull, but distracting it, too. The creature struggled an-
other half second and then it and the two crates were
gone, plunging into the dusky sky.
Claire stared out at the passing stream of atmosphere
for a time, knowing she should feel limp with relief,
that she'd killed the monster, that she'd survived another
Umbrella disaster, that they were finally, finally
safe ... but she was simply wrung out, any possibility
for strong emotion having flown out the back along with
Mr. X's big brother.
"Please, let it be over," she said softly, and then turned and opened the door back into the cockpit.
As she hopped the two steps up to the pilot area,
Steve glanced back her, frowning. "What happened? Is everything okay?"
Claire nodded, flopping down in the seat next to him,
absolutely beat. "Yeah. Score one more for the good guys. Oh, the rear cargo hatch is gone."
"Are you kidding?" Steve asked.
"Nope," Claire said, and yawned widely, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. "Hey, I'm going to rest my eyes for a minute. If I fall asleep, wake me up in five,
okay?"
"Sure," Steve said, still looking confused. "The hatch is gone?"
Claire didn't answer him, the dark already rushing up
to claim her, her body melting into the seat...
... and then Steve was shaking her, repeating her
name over and over again.
"Claire! Claire!"
"Yeah," she mumbled, sure she hadn't slept as she cracked her eyes open, wondering why Steve would
want to torture her like this - until she saw his expres-
sion, and a bolt of alarm jolted her awake.
"What, what is it?" she asked, sitting up straight. Steve looked really worried. "Like a minute ago, we changed direction and then the controls suddenly locked
down," he said. "I don't know what it is, there's no radio but everything else is still working fine - except I can't
steer, or alter altitude or speed. It's like it's stuck on
autopilot."
Before she could say a word, there was a crackling
static sound from a small video monitor mounted close to
the ceiling of the cockpit, one Claire hadn't noticed be-
fore. Flickering distortion lines spread out across the
screen, but the picture, when it came in, was clear enough.
Alfred!
He was also flying, it seemed, belted into the front
seat of a two-man fighter jet, or something similar. He
still had smears of makeup on his face, his eyes rimmed
in black, and when he spoke, it was in Alexia's voice.
"My apologies," he purred, "but I can't let you escape now. It seems you've eluded another of my playthings -
- naughty, naughty."
"Cross-dressing freak," Steve snapped, but Alfred ei- ther didn't hear him or didn't care.
"Enjoy the ride," Alfred said, giggling, and with a final buzz of static, the screen went blank.
Claire stared at Steve, who stared back helplessly, and
then they both looked out over the sea of clouds, watch-
ing silently as the first shafts of sunlight broke through.
Steve was dreaming about his father when he started
awake suddenly, afraid for some reason, the dream slip-
ping away even as he remembered where he was. Claire
made a soft, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and
nuzzled closer, her head against his left shoulder, her
breath warm against his chest.
Oh, Steve thought, afraid to move, not wanting to wake her up. They'd fallen asleep side-by-side leaning
Claire slammed the switch, her eyes squeezed closed,
sure that the world was about to disappear in a blizzard
of pain...
... as the creature shot away from her, roaring, the
empty crates lifting it off its feet, powering it away. Be-
fore she could begin to accept that the plan was work-
ing, the creature used one of its incredible bursts of
speed and got in front of the barreling container, just
enough to get some leverage, to push against it -
- but Claire didn't wait to see which force was
greater. She opened fire again, two, three bullets hitting
it in the head, bouncing harmlessly off its armored
skull, but distracting it, too. The creature struggled an-
other half second and then it and the two crates were
gone, plunging into the dusky sky.
Claire stared out at the passing stream of atmosphere
for a time, knowing she should feel limp with relief,
that she'd killed the monster, that she'd survived another
Umbrella disaster, that they were finally, finally
safe ... but she was simply wrung out, any possibility
for strong emotion having flown out the back along with
Mr. X's big brother.
"Please, let it be over," she said softly, and then turned and opened the door back into the cockpit.
As she hopped the two steps up to the pilot area,
Steve glanced back her, frowning. "What happened? Is everything okay?"
Claire nodded, flopping down in the seat next to him,
absolutely beat. "Yeah. Score one more for the good guys. Oh, the rear cargo hatch is gone."
"Are you kidding?" Steve asked.
"Nope," Claire said, and yawned widely, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. "Hey, I'm going to rest my eyes for a minute. If I fall asleep, wake me up in five,
okay?"
"Sure," Steve said, still looking confused. "The hatch is gone?"
Claire didn't answer him, the dark already rushing up
to claim her, her body melting into the seat...
... and then Steve was shaking her, repeating her
name over and over again.
"Claire! Claire!"
"Yeah," she mumbled, sure she hadn't slept as she cracked her eyes open, wondering why Steve would
want to torture her like this - until she saw his expres-
sion, and a bolt of alarm jolted her awake.
"What, what is it?" she asked, sitting up straight. Steve looked really worried. "Like a minute ago, we changed direction and then the controls suddenly locked
down," he said. "I don't know what it is, there's no radio but everything else is still working fine - except I can't
steer, or alter altitude or speed. It's like it's stuck on
autopilot."
Before she could say a word, there was a crackling
static sound from a small video monitor mounted close to
the ceiling of the cockpit, one Claire hadn't noticed be-
fore. Flickering distortion lines spread out across the
screen, but the picture, when it came in, was clear enough.
Alfred!
He was also flying, it seemed, belted into the front
seat of a two-man fighter jet, or something similar. He
still had smears of makeup on his face, his eyes rimmed
in black, and when he spoke, it was in Alexia's voice.
"My apologies," he purred, "but I can't let you escape now. It seems you've eluded another of my playthings -
- naughty, naughty."
"Cross-dressing freak," Steve snapped, but Alfred ei- ther didn't hear him or didn't care.
"Enjoy the ride," Alfred said, giggling, and with a final buzz of static, the screen went blank.
Claire stared at Steve, who stared back helplessly, and
then they both looked out over the sea of clouds, watch-
ing silently as the first shafts of sunlight broke through.
Steve was dreaming about his father when he started
awake suddenly, afraid for some reason, the dream slip-
ping away even as he remembered where he was. Claire
made a soft, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and
nuzzled closer, her head against his left shoulder, her
breath warm against his chest.
Oh, Steve thought, afraid to move, not wanting to wake her up. They'd fallen asleep side-by-side leaning
against the cockpit wall, and had apparently moved
closer together at some point. He had no idea what time
it was, or how long they'd slept, but they were still in the
air, muted sunlight still coming in through the windows.
They'd talked for a while after Alfred had taken con-
trol of the plane, but not about what they were going to
do at the end of their hijacked ride. Claire had remarked
that since they couldn't do anything about it, there was
no point in worrying. Instead, they'd eaten - Claire had
nabbed a few packs of vending machine nuts, for which Steve would be eternally grateful - and done their best
to wash up using a little of the bottled water, and then
talked. Really talked.
She'd told him about going to Raccoon City to find
Chris, and everything that had happened there and what
she knew about Umbrella and Trent the spy-guy ... and
she'd told him a lot of other stuff, too. She was in col-
lege, and two years older than him, and she rode a mo-
torcycle but was probably going to give it up because of
how dangerous it was. She liked to dance so she liked
dance music, but she also liked grange, and she thought
politics were mostly boring, and cheeseburgers were her
favorite food. She was totally, incredibly cool, the
coolest girl he'd ever met - and even better, she'd actu-
ally been interested in what he had to say. She'd laughed
at a lot of his jokes, and thought it was cool that he ran
track, and when he'd talked some about his parents,
she'd listened without getting all pushy.
And she's so smart, and beautiful...
He looked down at her, at her tousled hair and long
lashes, his heart pounding even though he was trying to
relax. She moved again, shifting in her sleep, her head
tilting back a little and her slightly parted lips were
suddenly close enough for him to kiss, all he had to do
was tip his face down a few inches, and he wanted to so
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