by S. D. Perry
–no life jackets, would've seen him by now– He called again, hope dwindling. "John!"A choking, strangled voice from the rocks to their left. "What?"David sagged in relief, taking a deep breath as John's dripping figure staggered out of the shadows. Steve lunged forward, grabbing the taller man's armand helping him lean against the rocks. "I dove," John rasped out. David turned and looked up, past the sliver of pebbled, boulder-strewn beach to the darkness of the compound. They were at the bottom of a short, angled drop, in plain sight. The shock of the mon– strous fish – if it could be called that – was suddenlyunimportant in the light of that realization. Theywere out of the water now.
Have they heard us? Seen? Won't make the caves
now, can't stay here…
"The marina," he breathed, turning south,
"quickly!"
The team stumbled past him, Karen taking the lead, the others following close. No one seemed seriously injured, a miracle all its own. David jogged after John, assessing the situation as his aching legs carried him through the rocky dark. Get to cover, bar the door, regroup, get to the fence. The ground rose steeply in front of them, the pier looming into view ahead. As they clambered up over rocks, David heard a muffled clatter of metal, saw Rebecca hugging the black, dripping shape of the ammo pack to her chest. He felt a wisp of new hope for their chances; if they could just make it inside, somewhere safe…
The building was ahead on their right, silent and dark, a closed door facing the wooden dock. There was no way to know if it was empty, and though barely ten meters away, the distance was open and flat, weathered planking, not even a pebble to block them from view.
No choice. "Stay low," he whispered, and then they were crouching their way to the structure, Karen reaching the door first, pushing it open. No light spilled out, no alarm sounded. Steve and Rebecca piled in behind her, then John, then David, stumbling into the dark, closing the wooden door after him with a wet, cold shoulder. "Stop where you are," he said softly, fumbling for the halogen torch on his belt. Besides the gulping breaths of his team, the room was still, but there was a horrid smell in the close air, a fading stench of something long dead… The thin beam of light cut through the black, revealing a large and mostly empty windowless room. Ropes and life preservers hung from wooden pegs, a workbench ran the length of one wall, a few saw horses, cluttered shelves.
–my God–
The light froze on the room's other door, directly across from the one they'd entered. The narrow beam played across the source of the smell, highlighting bare bone and a tattered, oily-stained lab coat. Dried strings of muscle dripped in streamers from a grin– ning face. A corpse had been nailed to the door, one hand fixed in a welcoming wave. From the look, it had been dead for weeks. Steve felt his gorge rise into his throat. He swal-lowed it down, looking away, but the grotesque image was already fixed in his mind – the eyeless face and peeling tissue, the carefully splayed fingers pinned into place… Jesus, is that some kind of a joke? Steve felt dizzy, still out of breath from the nightmarish swim, the sloshing climb over the rocks, the horror of the Umbrella sea monster. The dried, sour smell of rot wasn't helping. For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then David cupped one hand over the light and started talking, his voice low but amazingly even.
"Check your belts and drop your clips. I want status, now, injuries then equipment. Take a deep breath, everyone. John?"
John's solemn voice rumbled through the shadows to Steve's left, accompanied by sounds of wet, fum-bling movement. Karen and Rebecca were to his right, David still by the door.
"I got fish slime on me, but I'm okay. I've got my weapon but my light's gone. So are the radios." "Rebecca?" Her voice was wavering but quick. "I'm fine – uh, my weapon's here, and the flashlight, the med kit… oh, and I've got the ammo."
Steve checked himself out as she spoke, unholster– ing his Beretta and ejecting the wet mag, slipping it into a pocket. There was an empty spot on his belt where his light should have been.
"Steve?"
"Yeah, no injuries. Weapon but no light."
"Karen?"
"Same."
David's fingers shifted over the muted beam, allow– ing a shallow glow to spill into the room. "No one's hurt and we're still armed; things could be a lot worse. Rebecca, pass out the clips, please. The fence can't be more than fifty meters south from here, and there are enough trees for cover, provided no one has seen us yet. This operation is called, we're getting out of here."
Steve accepted three loaded magazines from Rebecca, nodding his thanks. He slapped one into the semi, chambering a round automatically.
Great, fine, let's blow. That insane creature nearly eating us, now Mr. Death dropping a casual wave, like he was put there to say hello…
Steve wasn't easily frightened, but he knew a bad situation when he saw it. He admired the S.T.A.R.S. deeply, had wanted to go in on the operation to help make things right, but with their boat gone and the initial plan shot to shit, nailing Umbrella could wait. David stepped closer to the decomposed figure, a look of disgust curling his features in the shadowy orange glow of the light. "Karen, Rebecca, come take a look at this. John, take Rebecca's torch, you and Steve see if you can find anything useful."
Rebecca handed her flashlight to John, who nodded at Steve. The two men walked to one end of the long workbench, the soft voices of the others carrying across the still air. "The T-Virus didn't do this," Rebecca said. "Pat-tern of decay's all wrong…" Silence, then Karen spoke. "See that? David, give me the light for a sec…"
John hooded their flashlight with one large hand, playing the beam across the dirty planks of the counter. A broken coffee mug. A pile of greasy nuts and bolts on top of a laminated tide chart. An electric screwdriver, dusty and dented, a couple of bits on a stained rag.
Nothing, there's nothing here. We should get out before someone comes looking…
John opened a drawer and rummaged through it while Steve tried to make out what was on an over– head shelf. Behind them, Karen spoke again.
"He wasn't dead when they nailed him up, though I'd say he was close. Definitely unconscious. There's no smearing, suggesting he didn't struggle… and there are slide marks, here and here; I'd say he was shot by the back door and dragged over."
John had finished digging through the drawer and they moved on, boots squelching against the wood floor. A set of socket wrenches. A cheap radio. A crumpled paper bag next to a pencil nub. Something snagged at Steve's thoughts and he stopped, looking at the paper bag. The pencil… He picked up the crunched ball, smoothing out the wrinkles and turning it over. There were several lines written near the bottom, scrawled and jerky. "Hey, we found something," John called quietly, shining the light on the writing as the others hurried over. Steve read it aloud, squinting at the faintly penciled words under the wobbling beam. There was no punctuation; he did his best to work out the pauses as he went.
"… 'July 20. Food was drugged, I'm sick, I hid the material for you, sent data. Boats are sunk and he let the…"
Steve frowned, unable to make out the word.
Tris… tri-squads? " 'Boats are sunk and he let the Trisquads out – dark now, they'll come, I think he killed the rest -stop him -God knows what he means to do. Destroy the lab – find Krista, tell her I'm sorry, Lyle is sorry. I wish…'"
There was nothing more. "Ammon's message," Karen said softly. "Lyle Ammon."
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who was hanging on the door. The sagging, seeping Mr. Death had an identity now, for what it was worth. And the message that Trent had given David was so weird because the poor guy had apparently been doped up when he sent it. "Nice to put a face to the name, huh?" John cracked, but not even he smiled. The desperate little note had an ominous ring to it, with or without the brutal murder to back it up.
What's a Trisquad? Who's "he"?
"Maybe we should look around a little more."
Rebecca began hesitantly, but David was shaking his head.
&
nbsp; "I think it's best if we leave this for now. We'll…"
He broke off as heavy, plodding footsteps sounded across the wood deck, just outside the door they'd come through. Everyone froze, listening. More than one set, and whoever they were, they were making no effort to hide their approach. They stopped at the door and stayed there, no rattling knob, no crashing kick, no other sound. Waiting. David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen and then to the other door, hung with the grisly remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out, Karen first. They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve winc– ing at every shifting creak they created, breathing through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming from in front of them, to the left, coming from the direction of their escape.
EIGHT
Karen jumped back as bullets cracked into the door. Chunks of rotten flesh spattered up from Ammon's body; the corpse danced and waved in a shuddering, jerking rhythm of macabre motion. David snatched at the coat of the dead man and yanked, but the door was pinned open by the clatter– ing fire and whoever was shooting was coming closer, the explosive shots louder, the splinters of flesh and wood pelting them with greater force. They were trapped, both exits blocked. Rebecca clutched her Beretta in one shaking hand, watching for a signal from David. He pointed roughly northwest, into the compound, shouting to be heard over the whining, spitting clatter of the automatic fire.
"Rebecca, other door! John, Karen, next building, secure! Steve, we cover! Go!"
As one, Steve and David leaped out and started to fire, the booming rounds punctuating the lighter hail of deadly ammo. John and Karen charged out at a full run, were instantly swallowed up by the shadows. Rebecca spun and trained her weapon on the back door, her heart pounding in her throat. The walls trembled and shook. "Die, Jesus, why won't they die?" Steve screamed behind her, a strain of disbelief and terror in his voice that made her blood run cold.
… zombies?
Without looking away from the rectangle of dark wood, Rebecca shouted as loud as she could, her voice cracking over the relentless spray of the automatics.
"Head shots! Aim for the head!"
There was no way to know if they'd heard her, the rifle or rifles kept pounding, approaching. Her thoughts raced to understand, images of the T-Virus victims flitting through her mind. They'd been mind– less, slow, inhuman and accidental, not on purpose -not with purpose.
"Rebecca, let's go!"
There was still the sound of an automatic rifle firing, but the boathouse no longer shook from the impact of its force. She shot a glance back, saw Steve still shooting at something, saw David motioning at her to move. She sidled for the open door, catching a sickening, up-close look at the bullet-riddled corpse still hanging there. The head had caved in like a rotting pumpkin, teeth shattered, gummy flecks of tissue radiating out from behind the skull. The waving hand was no longer connected to the rotting arm, the radius and ulna blown away. It dangled there like some obscene decoration, beckoning… Steve fired once more and the auto's clatter ceased. He raised the weapon, his eyes wide and shocked as he opened his mouth to say something…… and the back door crashed open, bullets flying through the dark in a blaze of orange fire. David pushed her roughly through the front and she ran, the responding crack of nine-millimeter rounds resonat– ing behind her.
– get to the building, get to cover -
She sprinted through the shadows, her wet shoes thumping across packed, rocky dirt, her searching gaze finding the outline of a massive, concrete block and the spindly trees that surrounded it in the dark– ness ahead.
"Here."
She veered toward the call, saw John's muscular form silhouetted by pale starlight at the corner of the building. As she neared him, she saw the open door, Karen standing in the entry with her weapon trained back toward the boathouse. Bullets still sang through the shadows. "Get in!" Karen shouted, stepping out of the way, and Rebecca ran past her, not slowing until she was inside. She fell into a table in the pitch black, cracking one hip painfully against the edge. Turning, she saw Karen firing, heard John yelling,
"Come on, come on…"
… and Steve pounded through the door, gasping. He pulled to a stop before crashing into her, one hand clutching his chest. Rebecca moved to the door and grasped the cool thickness, her mind absently registering that the ma– terial was steel as David hurtled through, shouting.
"Karen, John!"
Karen backed into the darkness, weapon still raised. There were three more sharp reports from a Beretta and then John slipped inside, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. Rebecca slammed the door, her fingers finding a deadbolt switch. The soft snick of the lock was barelyaudible against the ringing in her ears. Outside, the bullets stopped. There were no shouts between the attackers, no alarms, no barking of dogs or screaming of wounded. The sudden silence was total, broken only by the deep, shuddering breathing in the warmand muggy darkness. A halogen beam flickered on, revealing the shocked faces of the team as David shone it around their retreat. A midsize room, crowded with desks and computer equipment. There were no windows. "Did you see that?" Steve gasped, addressing no one in particular. "God, they wouldn't go down, did you see that?"
Nobody answered, and though they were out of immediate danger, Rebecca didn't feel her adrenaline slowing, didn't feel her heart settling back to anything approaching normal; it seemed that Umbrella had found a new application for the T-Virus. And like it or not, we're going to have to deal with the consequences. They were trapped in Caliban Cove. And in this facility, the creatures had guns. David took a final deep breath and exhaled it heavily, flashing the torch's light toward the door. "I'd say we've been spotted," he said, hoping that he didn't sound as despairing as he felt. "Might as well see what we've gotten into. Rebecca, would you turn on the lights?"
She flipped the wall switch and the room snapped into blinding brilliance, overhead fluorescents pulsing to life. Blinking against the sudden glare, David surveyed the team, saw that Steve had one hand pressed to his chest.
"Are you hit?" "Vest stopped it," he said, but he seemed more out of breath than the others, his face paler than it should have been. Rebecca glanced at David with a questioning gaze. He nodded at her.
Doesn 't appear that we have anywhere else to go… "Check him out. Anyone else?"
Nobody answered as Rebecca stepped up to Steve, motioning for him to take off the vest. David turned and looked around the room, measuring it against the memory of Trent's map and what little he'd seen from outside. There were a half dozen cheap metal desks, each with a computer and bits of clutter on top. The cement walls were undecorated and plain. There was another door on the west wall that had to lead deeper into the building. "Karen, secure that," he said. They could check out the rest of the site once they'd decided what to do.
Once you've decided, Captain; perhaps you'd like to send them out for a swim? It can't be any worse than what you've already managed…
David ignored the inner voice, perfectly aware of how badly he'd underestimated the situation. The team didn't need to see him wallow in self-doubt, it wouldn't help anything. The question was, what now? "Let's talk," he said. "It doesn't look like we're facing an accident after all. What did the note say? The food was drugged, and something about a 'he' killing the others… is it possible that we're not looking at a T-Virus spill?"
Rebecca looked up from her examination of Steve's chest, the computer expert sitting on one of the desks in front of her. Steve winced as Rebecca's fingers circled the darkening bruise on his right pectoral. She smiled guiltily at him, shaking her head.
"You're okay. Nothing's broken."
She turned back to David, the smile falling away.
"Yeah. If there'd been a release, that guy on the door, Ammon, would've been affected. But the Trisquads -
– if they're the result of experiments with the T-Virus, they'd have rotted away by now. It's been ov
er three weeks since he wrote that note, we should be looking at piles of mush. Either it's a different virus, or someone's been taking care of them. Enzyme upkeep, maybe some kind of refrigeration…"
David nodded slowly, following her reasoning.
"And if that 'someone' had gone mad and killed everyone, why bother?" "That corpse, waving at us," Karen said thought-fully. "And the creature or creatures in the cove. It'slike he expected people to come…"…but didn't mean for us to get very far," John finished. The line from the note ran through David's mind, the words following the plea to stop "him."
'God knows what he means to do.'…
Steve had slipped his shirt back on, shivering from the damp cloth. "So what do we do now?" David didn't answer him, not sure what to say. He felt so drained, so exhausted and uncertain… "I… our options are to get out or go deeper," he said softly. "Considering what's happened so far, I don't feel comfortable making that call. What do you want to do?"
David looked warily from face to face, expecting to see anger and disdain; he'd let them down, led them into a perilous situation without a contingency plan, all because he couldn't stand to see the S.T.A.R.S. tarnished. And now that they were trapped, he didn't know what to do. The expressions they wore, as a group, were thought– ful and intent. He was surprised to see Karen actually smile, and when she spoke, her tone was brightly eager.
"Since you're asking, I want to figure this out. I want to know what happened here." Rebecca was nodding. "Yeah, me, too. And I still want to get a look at the T-Virus."I wanna pick off a few more of those Tri-boys," John said, grinning. "Man, zombies with M-16s, night of the living death squad."
Steve sighed, pushing his wet bangs off his fore-head. "Might as well keep looking; going back out isn't exactly safe. It's not the way I would've liked, but getting dirt on Umbrella was the original plan… yeah, I want to nail these bastards."
David smiled, feeling properly embarrassed at him– self. He hadn't just underestimated the situation, he'dsorely underestimated his team. "What do you want?" Rebecca asked suddenly."Really?"
