Two
CLAIRE SNAPPED THE LIGHTER CLOSED AT
the base of the covered stairs and took a deep breath, try-
ing to psych herself up for whatever came next. The chill
of the dark corridor behind her pressed at her back like an
icy hand, but still she hesitated, the knife haft sweaty be-
neath her fingers as she slipped the warm lighter into her
vest pocket. She wasn't particularly looking forward to
ascending into the unknown, but she had nowhere else to
go, not unless she meant to go back to the cell. She could
smell oily smoke, and she guessed that the flickering
shadows at the top of the wide cement steps meant fire.
But what's up there? This is an Umbrella facility...
What if it was like Raccoon City, what if the attack on
the island had unleashed a virus, or some of the animal
abominations that Umbrella kept creating? Or was
Rockfort only a prison for their enemies? Maybe the
prisoners had rioted, maybe things had only been bad
from Rodrigo's point of view...
... maybe you could walk up the goddamn stairs and find out instead of guessing all day, hmm?
Her pulse thumping, Claire forced herself to take the
first step up, vaguely wondering why movies always
made it seem so easy, to bravely throw oneself into proba-
ble danger. After Raccoon, she knew better. Maybe she
didn't have much of a choice about what she had to do,
but that didn't mean she wasn't scared. Considering the
circumstances, only a complete moron wouldn't be afraid.
She climbed slowly, opening her senses as new adren-
aline flushed her system, replaying the brief glimpse
she'd had of the small graveyard when the guards had
led her through. No help there, she'd only seen a few headstones, remembered them as bizarrely ornate for a
prison cemetery. There was definitely a fire close to the
top of the stairs, but apparently not a big one - there was
no heat filtering down, only a cool and humid breeze
that carried the pervasive smoke smell. It seemed quiet,
and as she neared the top, she heard drops of rain hiss-
ing as they met the flames, an oddly comforting sound.
As she emerged from the stairwell, she saw the
source of the fire, only meters away. A helicopter had
crashed, a large portion of it merrily burning amid a
thick, smoking haze. To her left was a wall, another just
past the flaming wreck; to her right, the open space of
the cemetery, gloomy and shrouded by the increasing
rain and the oncoming night.
Claire squinted into the rainy dusk and made out a
number of dark shapes, though none of them seemed to
be moving; more headstones, she thought. A whisper of relief edged through her anxiety; whatever had hap-
pened seemed to be over.
Amazing, she thought, that she could possibly be re-
lieved to be alone in a cemetery at night. Even six
months ago, her imagination would have conjured up all
sorts of horrible things. It appeared that ghosts and
cursed souls just didn't cut it on the scary meter any-
more, not after her run-ins with Umbrella.
She took a right on the U-shaped path, moving
slowly, remembering how she'd been led through the
graveyard before being pushed to the stairs. She thought
she could make out what looked like a gate past the line
of graves in the center of the yard, or at least an open
space in the far wall...
... and suddenly she was flying, the sound of an ex-
plosion behind her assaulting her ears, WHUMP, a wave
of broiling heat throwing her into the mud. The wet twi-
light was suddenly brighter, the reek of burning chemi-
cals stinging her nose and eyes. She landed without
grace but managed not to stab herself with the combat
knife, all of it happening so fast that she barely had time
to register confusion.
... don't think I'm hurt ... helicopter's fuel tank must
have blown...
"Unnnh..."
Claire was on her feet instantly, the soft, pitiful, un-
mistakable moan inspiring a near panic of action, the
sound joined by another, and another. She spun around
and saw the first one stumbling toward her from what
was left of the burning helicopter, a man, his clothes
and hair on fire, the skin of his face blistering and
black.
She turned again and saw two more of them crawling
up from the mud, their faces a sickening gray-white, their skeletal fingers grasping in her direction, clutching
air as they reeled toward her.
Shit! Just as in Raccoon, Umbrella's viral synthesis had effectively turned them into zombies, stealing their
humanity and their lives.
She didn't have time for disbelief or dismay, not with
three of them closing in, not when she realized that there
were others farther along the path. They staggered out
from the shadows, slack, brutalized faces all turning
slowly toward her, mouths hanging open, their gazes
blank and unchanging. Some wore shreds of uniforms,
camo or plain gray, guards and prisoners. There had
been a spill, after all.
"Uhhhh..."
"Ohhh..."
The overlapping cries epitomized great longing, each
plaintive wail that of a starving man looking at a feast.
Goddamn Umbrella for what they'd done! It was be-
yond tragic, the transformation from human into mind-
less, dying creatures, decaying as they walked. The
inevitable fate of each virus carrier was death, but she
couldn't let herself mourn for them, not now, her pity
limited by the need to survive.
Go go go NOW!
Her assessment and analysis lasted less than a second
and then she was moving, no plan except to get away.
With the path blocked in both directions, she leaped for
the center of the graveyard, clambering over the marble
slabs that marked the resting places of the true dead. Her
wet, muddy jeans clung to her legs, hampering her, her
boots slipping against the smooth headstones, but she
managed to climb up and balance her weight between
two of them, out of reach for the moment.
For the second! You gotta get out of here, fast. The knife was no good, she didn't dare get close enough to use
it - a single healthy bite from one of those things and
she'd end up joining their ranks, if they didn't eat her first.
The one with the blackened face was nearest, his hair
melted away, part of his shirt still smoldering. He was
close enough for her to smell the greasy, nauseating
smell of burnt flesh, overlaid by the stench of the fuel
that had cooked it. She had ten, fifteen seconds at most
before he'd be close enough to grab for her.
She shot a glance at the southeast corner of the yard,
her arms out for balance. There were only two of them
between her and the exit, but that was two too many,
she'd never make it past both of them. She knew from
Raccoon that they were slow, and that their reasoning
skills were zip - they saw prey, they moved toward it in
a straight line, regardless of what was in the way. If she
could just bait them away from the gate...
Good idea, except there were too many on the
ground, six or seven of them, she'd end up surrounded...
.. but not if you stay on the headstones.
There were multiple zombies to either side of the cen-
ter row of graves, but only one standing at the end of the
line, directly in front of her ... and that one barely func-
tional, an eye gouged out, an arm broken and hanging.
It was a risky plan, one stumble and she was toast, but
the burned man was already reaching for her ankle with
his charred and shaking hands, rain sizzling on his up-
turned face.
Claire leaped, arms wheeling as she landed with both
feet on the narrow top of the next stone slab in line. She
started to pitch forward, jerking and swiveling her body
to maintain her center of gravity, but it was no good, she
was going to fall -
- and without thinking, she quickly jumped again,
then again, using the uneven stones like rocks in a river,
using her lack of balance to propel her forward. An
ashen-faced virus carrier snatched at her lower legs,
moaning in feverish hunger, but she was already past it,
leaping to the next headstone. She didn't have time to
consider how she was going to stop, which was just as
well - because the unlikely path ran out one jump later
and her next leap was into a sloppy shoulder roll against
the muddy ground a meter below.
Oof, a hard drop, but she followed through and came up on her feet, just barely, her legs sliding unsteadily in
the muck. The one-eyed zombie lurched toward her,
gurgling, within easy reach, but she quickly stumbled
around it, keeping on its blind side, the knife ready. The
creature attempted to turn, to find its meal once more,
but she easily stayed out of its limited sight.
She risked a glance away from her awkward, shuf-
fling dance and saw the other zombies closing in. The
rain intensified, sluicing the mud off of her.
It's working, just another few seconds...
Frustrated by its lack of success, the half-blinded car-
rier pawed at the air with its one good arm. The dirty,
blackened nails scraped across her chest and the zombie
moaned anxiously, scrabbling at the wet denim, but it
couldn't get a solid grip.
God, it's touching me.
With a wordless cry of fear and disgust Claire slashed
out with the knife, deep, nearly bloodless cuts opening
up across its wrist. The zombie continued to clutch at
her, oblivious to the damage she was doing as it stag-
gered closer, and Claire decided that it was time to
leave.
She pulled her arms back, hands fisted, and then drove
them forward into the creature's chest, pushing as hard as she could. She turned again to the center line of graves as
the creature fell backward, the others much closer now.
How she managed to climb back up so quickly she
didn't know; one second she was on the ground, the next
she was on top of beveled granite. She saw that the exit
was clear, the zombies now loosely grouped near the
west wall.
Her hopping second journey along the headstones
was only slightly more controlled than the first, each
leap like a leap of faith, that she wouldn't slip and seri-
ously injure herself. The rain was tapering off, and she
could hear the wet, sucking sounds of their plodding,
slow-motion chase clearly; unless one of them suddenly
remembered how to jog, they were too far away to catch
up to her.
Now I just have to pray that the door isn't secured,
she thought dizzily, jumping down from the last head-
stone. The gate was standing open, but the door just past
it wasn't; if it turned out to be locked, she was probably
doomed.
Three giant strides from where she landed, she was
through the gate and reaching for the handle of a dented
metal door, the exit set into the stone wall. It clicked
open smoothly and she held the knife ready, hoping that
if there were more carriers on the other side, at least the
odds might be better. Behind her, the chemical cannibals
lamented their loss, moaning loudly as she stepped
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