ng himself of the terminal's layout, he'd realized the
peasant couple could only be in one or two places. He'd
taken a sniper rifle from the armory at one of the other
buildings, a 30.06 bolt action Remington with a magni-
fying scope, a delightful toy, and was determined to try
it out. He couldn't have Claire and her little friend
showing up at some inopportune moment, mangling the
celebration...
Suddenly, Alfred started to laugh, a gem of an idea
occurring to him. The monstrosity had to eat ... why
not bring it the two commoners? Claire Redfield had
brought destruction down upon Rockfort, had attempted
to soil the Ashford name, just as the monstrosity had, in away.
It will consume the enemy agents, an observance in
honor of Alexia's return ... and then we'll have a pri-
vate family reunion, just the three of us.
At the sound of his laughter, the monstrosity became
agitated, pulling at its chains with such force that Alfred
stopped laughing. It let out another tremendous, linger-
ing roar, straining to be free, but Alfred thought the re-
straints would hold a bit longer.
"I'll be back soon," Alfred promised, hefting his rifle and walking away, wondering what Claire would think
about meeting his and Alexia's father under such un-
usual circumstances - namely, her own bloody death.
The monstrosity was drawn to body heat and the smell
of terror, Alfred liked to believe, very much looking for-
ward to watching a helpless Claire stalked through the
dark.
As Alfred started up the stairs to the second basement
level, Alexander Ashford screamed again, as he'd done
fifteen years before when his own children had drugged
him and stolen his life.
ELEVEN
THEY PUSHED OUT INTO THE DARK, STEVE
ahead of Claire, leaving the office door open. There was
just enough light to see where the hall branched right,
which was all the light they needed.
- right, walk, door on the right, walk, steps to the left -
It looped through his mind, the directions simple but
he didn't want to make even a tiny mistake. The image of
what Claire had pulled off his back was still fresh in his
mind, and they didn't know what else the moths could do.
Two strides forward and the first moth came at them,
a whitish, silent blur, and Steve opened up.
Bam-bam-bam! Three shots and the flapping thing disintegrated, soft plop sounds as the pieces hit the
floor, and here came the rest, fluttering out from the cor-
ridor he and Claire wanted. They flew on a dusty wave
of rot smell, shadowy, flopping shapes ... and what was
that, the thick, hanging, man-size thing webbed against
the ceiling?
- don't think about it, now, go now -
"Now!" Steve said, and Claire ran out from behind him, darting to the right and down the hall as he opened
fire again, two- and three-round bursts.
Feathery pieces of wing and warm, repulsive goo
rained down as he fired into the whirling dark shapes
overhead, splashing him, making him gag, the moths
dying as silently as they attacked. He felt one of them in
his hair, felt something warm and wet touch his scalp, and frantically brushed at the top of his head, firing,
knocking a sticky egg case away.
"Open!" Claire shouted, much closer than he expected, and though he'd planned to back down the hall, firing as
he went, the feel of that crap in his hair was the last straw.
He ducked, covered his head with one arm, and sprinted.
He saw her silhouette in a doorway on the right and
plunged ahead, running directly into her outstretched
arm. Claire grabbed a handful of his shirt and jerked him
inside, slamming the door closed behind them - and then
turned and started firing, blocking his body with hers.
"Hey, what's..."
Bam! Bam! The room was huge, the shots echoing from faraway corners.
There was a trace of light coming from somewhere,
but Steve heard them before he saw them. Zombies,
moaning and gasping, three or four of them closing in
on their position. He could only make out their outlines,
staggering and weaving forward, saw two of them go
down but two more moving in to take their place.
"I'm okay!" he called out between rounds, and Claire stepped aside, shouting for him to take the right flank.
Steve targeted and fired, blinking and squinting
against the dark, trying to get head shots. He took down
three of them, then a fourth, so close that he felt blood
splashing his hand. He immediately wiped it against his
pants, praying that he didn't have any open cuts, that he
wouldn't run out of ammo, but there was another zom-
bie, and another...
... and then Claire was pulling him again and he
stopped firing, let her lead him through the dark toward
where the mining room was supposed to be. Behind them,
zombies shuffled and wailed, giving slow motion chase.
He tripped over a warm body and stepped on another,
feeling something crunch underfoot, but as helpless and
afraid as he felt, it was nothing to suddenly hearing Claire
cry out in pain, to feel her fingers leave his arm.
"Claire!" Terrified, Steve reached out for her, felt only air...
"Watch your step, I stubbed my goddamn toe," Claire said irritably, no more than two feet away, and he felt his
knees go weak. He could also feel a cold metal railing
against his right shoulder - the steps to the mining
room. They'd made it.
Together, they climbed the few steps, Claire still in
front and when she opened the door, real light spilled
out in shafts, piercing the blackness.
"Praise Jesus," Steve muttered, holding the door from behind as Claire stepped inside...
... and before he could follow, he heard that disturbed,
girlish giggling that he'd come to know and hate, and Claire had slipped one hand behind her back and was
motioning him to freeze. He let go of the door and she
didn't move, letting it settle on her hip as Alfred said
something and she slowly raised both her hands.
It seemed Alfred had gotten the drop on Claire...
... but not on me, Steve thought, unaware that he was wearing a tight, grim smile. Alfred had a lot to answer
for, but Steve was pretty certain that in another minute
or two, he wasn't going to be saying much of anything,
ever again.
He had her. As he'd surmised, they - well, she had
come to see about the tunnel, the one exit from the ter-
minal that didn't require a key. She wasn't a stupid girl,
by no means, but he was superior, in intellect and strat-
egy. Among other things.
Still standing in the doorway, Claire raised her
hands, her expression annoyingly blank. Why wasn't
she afraid?
"Drop your weapon," Alfred snapped, his finger on the rifle's trigger. His voice, naturally amplified by the
mining pit that took up most of the floor, emanated
throughout the icy chamber, sounding authoritative and
a bit cruel. He liked the strong sound of it, and knew it
was effective when she let the handgun drop from her
fingers without hesitating.
"Kick it toward me," he commanded, and she did so, the weapon clattering across the concrete. He didn't
pick it up, instead kicking it beneath the rail to his left,
both of them listening to her only hope bounce away
over frozen rocks, lost to the depths of the icy pit.
How wonderful, to exert such control!
"What happened to your traveling companion?" he asked, sneering. "Has he met with an accident? Oh, and step away from the door, if you don't mind. And keep
your hands when I can see them."
Claire edged forward, the door mostly closing behind
her, and he saw a flash of some unhappy emotion cross
her face, knew immediately that he'd scored a point.
Less of a hot meal for father, it seemed, but he doubted
the monstrosity would complain.
"He's dead," she said simply. "What happened to Alexia? Or am I speaking to Alexia - you know, you
two look so much alike..."
"Shut your mouth, little girl," Alfred snarled. "You don't deserve to say her name. You already know that
it's time for her return, that's why your people attacked
Rockfort, to lure her out - or were you hoping to kill her
outright, to cut short her first breath?"
Claire acted confused, determined to keep up her pre-
tense, it seemed, but Alfred didn't want to hear any
more of her lies. The game was losing interest for him. In the face of Alexia's imminent triumph, everything
had paled by comparison.
"I already know it all," he snapped, "so don't bother. Now, if you'll come with me..."
Claire suddenly looked up and right, to the raised
platform where the tunnel began.
"Look out!" she shrieked, collapsing as Alfred spun around, seeing only the massive ice digger machine, the
tunnel's dark entrance...
... and the door had crashed open behind Claire, the
boy diving in and landing on his side, pointing a weapon
at him, at him.
Furious, Alfred swung the rifle and pulled the trigger,
three, four times, but he hadn't had enough time to tar-
get properly, the explosive shots going wide...
... and it was as though a giant hand suddenly shoved
Alfred backward, taking his breath away, the boy firing
and then clicking on empty, out of bullets.
Alfred stumbled back another step and opened his
mouth to laugh, ready to kill them both and, and the rifle
wasn't in his hands anymore, he'd dropped it for some
reason, and his laugh was only a wet, painful cough -
- and something gave way behind his back, and then
he was falling into the mining pit. He landed on a thick
crust of ice and started to get up, but there was a great,
searing pain in his chest. Was it possible that he'd been
shot?
With barely a sound, the ice gave way all around him
and he screamed, falling, he had to see her once more,
had to touch her but he could hear his father screaming,
too, coming for him, and then everything was lost in
pain and dark.
The sound of the terrible, monstrous howl that had
risen up to meet Alfred's got them moving, Claire paus-
ing just long enough to grab the Remington before
climbing after Steve to the high platform. With Steve on
empty and her own gun kicked into the pit, it was their
only weapon.
They clambered into the cab of the huge yellow ma-
chine parked in front of the slanted, rising tunnel, Steve
taking the wheel - and again, they heard that deep, in-
sane scream, and it was definitely closer, the monster
prisoner loose somewhere inside.
Steve flipped a bunch of switches, nodding and mum-
bling to himself as he went. Claire listened as she
checked the rifle - only six rounds - gathering that the
machine's digging device, an enormous screw-looking
thing, actually heated up to melt the ice. She didn't care
what it did, as long as it got them out before the monster
came looking for them.
With the heavy machine humming to life, Steve ex- plained that the tunnel was probably unfinished because
the workers would have had to go slowly and without
using the heating element, to avoid flooding half the fa-
cility,
"But we don't," he said, grinning. "What do you say we make a lake?"
"Go for it," she said, grinning back at him, wishing she felt a little more enthusiastic. God, they were getting out,
and with Alfred Ashford finally dead, there was no one
standing in their way. So why was she still so uncertain?
It's that shit he was babbling about his sister...
Crazy, yeah, but it had brought up the one question she still didn't have an answer for - why had Rockfort been attacked?
Steve jammed on the throttle and the machine lurched
forward. There weren't seat belts, so Claire put one
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