Resident Evil: Underworld (20 page)

—
eyes, must have hit its eyes. Dammit!
It reeled and fell, not a fatal wound but one that would incapacitate it for a while.

John turned and ran after his companions, no other Hunters in sight—at least Reston didn’t think so. Not that it mattered, they were as good as dead; there was no way they could get through the city without being attacked, nowhere they could hide— though just to be on the safe side, Reston tapped the doorlock for the connecting door back to Three.

No retreat, gentlemen
....

They hadn’t appeared on the screen that showed the street just south of the first camera angle; frowning, Reston switched cameras, using one from a building front—

—and saw a door close, the men seeking sanctuary inside one of the stores. Reston shook his head. That would probably shield them for five minutes, certainly no longer; the 3Ks had the strength to tear down the city, if they so chose, and hunted primarily by sense of smell. They’d track the cowering men, track them and finally put an end to their troublemaking, useless lives.

There wasn’t a camera in the building they’d entered; he’d have to wait for them to reappear, or for the Hunters to drag them out. Reston grinned, his teeth grinding together, impatient, wondering why the 3Ks were taking so goddamn long. It was time for the test to end, time for the Planet to be restored.

The Hunters wouldn’t fail him. He just had to wait a few more minutes.

* * *

They found the way in at the back of the middle building, past the generator room, where they’d put the three snarling guards. It was a total fluke, as they’d only been looking for the controls to unlock the service elevator back in the entry building.

There were four of them, a bank of elevators in a carpeted alcove against the far west wall. They weren’t operational, but there was a two-man lift in the first shaft they opened up, David and Claire prying the doors open with no small effort. Though tired and unwell, the sight of the tiny platform hooked to its own pulley system made Rebecca want to laugh out loud.

They’ll never suspect that we’re coming, we’ll slip in like shadows
.

“Looks as though someone forgot to lock the back door,” David said, a look of triumph on his weary face.

Claire looked at the small square of metal doubtfully. “Will we all fit?”

David didn’t answer right away, turning to look at Rebecca. She knew what he was going to suggest and started digging for a decent argument before he even opened his mouth.

The helicopter could come back, probably will, if they’re injured you’ll need me, what if the guards manage to get out
—

“Rebecca—I need an honest assessment of your condition,” he said, his features carefully neutral.

“I’m tired, I have a headache and a limp—and you need me down there, David, I’m not a hundred percent but I’m not on the verge of collapse, either, and you said yourself that another team is probably on the way—”

David was smiling, holding up his hands. “All
right
, we all go. It will be a tight fit, but the weight shouldn’t be a problem, you’re both small…”

He stepped inside, pulling his flashlight and shining it across the hanging cables, then on the simple control box attached to the lift’s half-railing. “… I think we can manage well enough. Shall we?”

Rebecca and then Claire stepped into the elevator shaft, the makeshift service platform only filling a quarter of the dark space. Cold, open air was above and below, and the rail was only on one side. Claire squirmed uncomfortably against the metal bar; the three of them were pressed tightly together.

“Wish I had a breath mint,” Claire muttered.

“I wish you had breath mint,” Rebecca said, and Claire snickered. Rebecca could feel the movement of Claire’s rib cage against her arm; they were packed in tight.

“Here we go,” David said, and pushed the controls.

The lift started to descend with a huge, buzzing rumble that was so loud Rebecca began having second thoughts about their sneak attack. It was slow, too, inching down at less than half the speed of a normal elevator.

God, this could take forever…

Just the thought made Rebecca feel incredibly weary, the noise of the roaring motor compounding her headache. Standing still made her realize just how sick she really felt, and as the bright square of the open doors slid up, shrinking away as they descended into the dark, Rebecca was suddenly glad that they were huddled together; it gave her an excuse to lean heavily against David, her eyes closed, trying to keep herself together for just a little longer.

They were in trouble, falling into the building and moving to the back wall through the dark, sweating and gasping, Cole expecting the flimsy door to crash open any second.

—
boom, and they come pouring in, screaming, clawing us to shreds before we even see them
—

“Got a plan,” John panted, and Cole felt a flicker of hope, a hope that lasted until John’s next sentence.

“We run like hell for the back wall,” he said firmly.

“Are you nuts?” Leon said. “Did you see that one
jump
, there’s no way we can outrun them—”

John took a deep breath and started talking, low and fast. “You’re right, but you and I are both good shots, we could take out some of the streetlights along the way. Even if they can see in the dark, it’ll be a distraction, stir up some confusion maybe.”

Leon didn’t say anything, and although he couldn’t see his face clearly, Cole saw him rubbing at his shoulder where the creature had smacked him. Slowly, like he was actually considering John’s idea.

They’re both nuts!

Cole struggled to keep the blatant terror out of his voice. “Isn’t there some other option? I mean, we could… we could climb, go across on the rooftops.”

“Buildings are all different heights,” John said. “And I don’t think they’re built to hold much weight.”

“What if we—”

Leon interrupted softly. “We don’t have the ammo, Henry.”

“So we go back to Phase Three, think it over…”

“We’re closer to the southwest corner,” John said, and Cole knew they were right, knew it and hated it, a lot. Still, he searched for some other option, trying to think of some other way. The Hunters were terrible, they were the most terrible things Cole thought he’d ever seen—

—and from somewhere outside, one of them screamed, the screeching, furious sound blasting through the thin walls, and Cole realized that they didn’t have time to come up with a better plan.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” he said, thinking that the very least he could do would be to suck it up and face the inevitable like he actually had guts.

I won’t drag them down,
he thought, and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders a little. If this was the way it had to be, he wasn’t going to shame himself in front of them by turning into a sniveling coward—and he wasn’t going to lower their chances by becoming a burden.

Cole pulled the clip that John had given him out of his pocket and fumbled through swapping it for the empty, his heart pounding—and was a little surprised to find that now that he was committed, that the decision was made, he felt stronger, braver.

I might very well die,
he said to himself, and waited for the rush of horror—but it didn’t come. He’d already be dead if it wasn’t for John and Leon, and maybe this would be his chance to keep one or both of them from getting hurt.

Without another word, the three of them moved for the door, Cole thinking that his life had changed more in the last couple of hours than in the last ten years— and that in spite of how it had come about, he was glad for the change. He felt whole. He felt
real
.

“Ready…” John said, and Cole took a deep breath, Leon grinning at him in the soft light from the window.

“…
now
!”

John yanked the door open and they ran out into the street as all around them, the night was shattered by the savage screams of the Hunters.

* * *

Reston’s eyes glittered. He leaned forward, staring at the screen intently, delighted by the suicidal decision. All three of them, storming out into the dark like lunatics. Like dead men who didn’t have the sense to stop moving.

They ran south, John in the lead, Red and Cole right behind. From a sidewalk to their right, a Hunter leapt out to greet them—

—and there was a flash of light, a brilliant burst of white-orange high above, burning glass like glitter raining down across the street. One of the street-lamps, they’d shot out one of the lamps, and the 3K seemed to go mad as the broken glass pelted down over it. The red-turning-gray Hunter whipped its body around, frenzied and screaming, searching for its attacker—

—and completely ignored the running men. All three were sprinting past, raising weapons, firing into the sky. Firing at more of the lights, and Reston saw another Hunter spring out into the street, almost lost as a shadow among shadows—

—and Cole, Henry
Cole
feinted left then right, slamming the barrel of his gun against the crouching 3Ks head—

—and there was a burst of liquid, of brain and blood projectile gushing from its temple, the electrician firing at point blank range. The Hunter’s arms and legs were spasming, flailing, but it was already dead. Cole jumped away and kept running, catching up to the others as more of the streetlights exploded, glass flying from strobing flashes of white light.

“No,” Reston whispered, unaware that he’d spoken, but quite aware that things were going horribly wrong.

* * *

John ran, paused to fire, ran again. The violent shrieks chased them, the rain of glass and smell of burning metal was coming at them from everywhere—

—and he saw one of them in the street, in front of them at the intersection that would take them to the cage, saw the strange flashing eyes and the open black hole of its screaming mouth—

—save the ammo Jesus it looks just like the street
—

—and he kept running straight at it, taking aim, the thundering rounds of the nine-millimeters behind him, the screaming monster less than ten feet away when he fired.

Now!

A short burst, measured, directly into the howling, unnatural face—

—and it didn’t go down, and although he swerved to avoid it, he didn’t get far enough. Its screeching face seeming inches from his, visible, thick with blood, it swung one impossibly long arm out and slammed it into John’s chest.

The blow crashed into his left pectoral, and John expected to be crushed, thrown through the air, his body shattered—but the creature must have been weakened by the bullets, disoriented, blinded perhaps, because though he could feel his pec contracting in pain—the strike had been brutally solid—he’d taken harder punches. He’d staggered but didn’t fall, then he was past and turning left, headed west.

He shot a look back, saw the others still with him, looked ahead—

—there it is!

The street ended at the painted wall less than a block ahead—and there was an opening set about five feet off the ground, a hole eight feet wide and at least ten feet high—

—and there was another scream to his right, he couldn’t see the camouflaged Hunter but
bam-bam,
Leon or Cole shot at it, the shriek going frantic with rage. John raised the M-16 and took out another streetlight,
ten seconds and we’re there
—

—and a panel of deep blue wall started to slide down over the opening, slow but steady. In seconds, there’d be no escape.

* * *

Reston stabbed frantically at the kennel lock, the gate creeping down on its tracks like a goddamn snail, his hands clammy with sweat, his drunken mind reeling with disbelief.

No no no no
—

He’d closed Two and Three but there’d been a Hunter still inside before, he’d left it open, forgotten— and now the animal was gone and the three men were about to get away. To get away from
him,
from the deaths assigned to them.

Faster!

John was shooting a look back, screaming, Red right behind, Cole almost at his side—

—and there was a Hunter less than twenty feet behind them, gaining ground, its massive body flickering between tan and asphalt, its claws scraping gouges in the street.

Kill them, do it, jump, kill!

John made it to the opening, hands hitting the bottom, vaulting him through in a graceful blur. One hand shot out and Red was there, grabbing it, being jerked inside in an instant—

—and there was Cole, and he was going to make it through, too, the gate wouldn’t close in time and there were hands reaching out to him—-

—and then the Hunter behind him swept its arms down, its talons ripping into Cole’s back, through the shirt and skin, through muscle, perhaps through bone.

The others swept Cole inside as the gate settled closed.

* * *

Cole didn’t scream as they set him down, though he must have been in agony. They placed him on his stomach as gently as they could, Leon feeling sick with sorrow when he saw the shredded mess that had been Cole’s back.

Dying, he’s dying
.

In seconds, he lay in a pool of his own blood. Through the tatters of his wet, crimson shirt, Leon could see the ripped flesh, the torn muscle fibers and the slick shine of bone beneath. The crushed bone. The damage had been done in two long, ragged tears, each starting above the shoulder blades and ending at his lower back. Mortal wounds.

Cole was breathing in low, shallow gasps, his eyes closed, his hands trembling.

Unconscious. Leon looked at John, saw the stricken expression, looked away; there was nothing they could do for him.

They were in a giant mesh cage that stank of wild animal at the end of a long cement hall, one that apparently ran the length of the four testing areas. It was dark, only a few lights on, revealing the kennel in shadows; the cages were separated by partition walls with huge windows, and Leon could just see the one next to them, the Spitters’ home. It was covered in thick, clear plastic, the floor littered with bones.