tightly crossed, her stare fixed on the elevator doors. She watched and waited, her anxiety building, a part of her be-
lieving completely that he wasn't coming as alarms blared
through the mostly empty hanger, echoing back at her.
Don't leave me, Chris, she thought, clutching herself tighter. She thought of Steve, remembering the laugh at-
tack he'd inspired back on the island. How he'd looked
at her like she was crazy.
Come now, Chris, she thought, closing her eyes and wishing it as hard as she could. She couldn't lose him,
too, her heart wouldn't be able to stand it.
There was one minute to reach minimum safe distance.
When the building started to rumble beneath her feet,
she thought she might cry, but there were no tears. She
went back to watching the elevator door instead, certain
now that he was gone - so sure that when the door
opened, when he stepped out, she thought she might be
hallucinating.
"Chris?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, and he was running toward her, splashes of blood and some-
thing else smeared across his face and arms, and that
was when she understood that he was real. She wouldn't
have hallucinated him with goop on his face.
"Chris!"
"Get in," he commanded, and Claire jumped into the second seat, happy and scared and anxious, lonely and
relieved, wishing that Steve was with them and sad that
he wasn't. There were more feelings, seeming dozens,
but at the moment, she couldn't handle any of them. She
pushed them aside and didn't think at all, didn't feel
anything but hope.
Chris tucked them in tight and started pushing but-
tons, the small jet roaring to life. Above them, the ceil-
ing slid apart, the storm clouds breaking up overhead as
he lifted them out of the hanger, smooth and easy. A few
seconds later, they were blasting away, leaving the
dying facility behind.
Chris's shoulders relaxed, and he wiped his hand
across his forehead, trying to rub off the sour-smelling
gunk.
"I could use a shower," he said lightly, and the tears finally welled up, spilling over her lower lashes.
Chris, I thought I'd lost you, too...
"Don't leave me alone again, okay?" she asked, doing what she could to keep the tears out of her voice.
Chris hesitated, and she instantly knew why, knew
that it wasn't over for either of them. That was too much
to ask.
"Umbrella," she said, and Chris was nodding.
"We have to settle this, once and for all," he said tightly. "We have to, Claire."
Claire didn't know what to say, finally opting not to say anything. When the explosion came a moment later,
she didn't look. She closed her eyes instead, leaning
back into her seat, and hoped that when she finally slept,
she wouldn't dream.
EPILOGUE
MILES AWAY, WESKER HEARD THE EXPLOSION,
and could see the smoke rising shortly afterward, thick
black plumes of it. He thought about circling the jet
back, but decided against it; there was no point. If
Alexia wasn't dead, his people would find out soon
enough; hell, the world would find out soon enough.
"I hope you were in there, Redfield," he said softly, smiling a little. Of course he was; Chris wasn't bright
enough or fast enough to have gotten out in time...
... although he might be lucky enough.
Wesker had to concede that much; Redfield had the
luck of the devil.
It was a shame about Alexia turning him down. She'd
been something, terrifying and evil, but definitely some-
thing. His employers weren't going to be happy when
he came back without her, and he couldn't blame them;
they'd shelled out plenty for the Rockfort attack, and
he'd practically promised them results.
They'll live. If they don't like it, they can find them-
selves a new boy. Trent, on the other hand...
Wesker grimaced, not looking forward to their next
meeting. He owed the man. After the Spencer fiasco,
Trent had - quite literally - pulled his ass out of the
fire, and arranged for him to be fixed up, better
than new. And he'd been responsible for Wesker's
introduction to his current employers, men with
real aspirations for power, and the means to ob-
tain it.
And...
And he'd never admit to it out loud, but Trent scared
him. He was so smooth, well-mannered and soft-spo-
ken, but with a glitter in his eyes that made him always
seem to be laughing, like everything was a joke and he
was the only one who got it. In Wesker's experience, the
ones who laughed were the most dangerous; they didn't
feel like they had anything to prove, and were usually at
least slightly insane.
I'm just glad we're on the same side, Wesker assured himself, believing it because he wanted to. Because
going up against someone like Trent was a bad, bad
plan.
Well. He could worry about Trent later, after he'd
made the proper apologies to the proper agents. At least
Boyscout Redfield was dead, and he was still alive and kicking, working for the side that was going to win
when all was said and done.
Wesker smiled, looking forward to the end. It was
going to be spectacular.
The sun had come out and was reflecting against the
snow, creating a brilliant radiance, blinding in its perfec-
tion. The small plane shot away, its shadow chasing it
across the sparkling plains
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