by S. D. Perry
Can't imagine and don't care. Once we solve these little puzzles, we'll find whatever's been hidden for us and get out, away from this cemetery. It can't happen soon enough.
David had seen all he wanted to see of Caliban Cove. The corpses in the front hall had been bad, but it was the thoughts that they'd inspired that troubled him, made him so suddenly eager to get his team out. The Trisquads were dangerous and deadly, the mon– ster in the cove's waters had been horrible, but somewhere in the facility lurked a monster of a different kind entirely, one that had murdered his own people and then stacked them like kindling in a dark place. That kind of insanity chilled him far worse than the immoral greed of Umbrella, and he was afraid of what such a man might do to the handful of soldiers trying to stop him.
We'll find the "material, "probably notes on Umbrel– la, perhaps on the virus itself and then break for the fence, get well away from this madness. Let the Feds handle the rest. If they're smart, they'll blow up the entire compound and gather the information from the ashes…
He stopped in front of the last cubicle, returning his attention to the task at hand. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, but the set up of test number four surprised him nonetheless. A table and chair, utilitarian gray metal. On the table was a pad of paper, a pencil, and an inexpensive chess set, all of the pieces in place. As he stepped into the cubicle, he saw that there was a metal plaque set into the surface of the table, a string of numbers etched into the steel. David sat in the chair, peering down at the num– bers.
9-22-3//14-26-9-16-8//7-19-22//8-11-12-7
He frowned, looking up at the chess set and then back at the numbers. There was nothing else to look at; that was it. He quickly sorted through the clues of Ammon's message, wondering which was supposed to be the answer. Was it, "the letters and numbers reverse," or "don't count"? Since there didn't seem to be anything relating to time or a rainbow, it had to be one of the two…
If the lines are in the same order as the tests, this is the letter and number reversal. But what letters, there aren't any…
David smiled suddenly, shaking his head. The numbers on the plaque didn't go any higher than 26; it was a code, and a fairly simple one. He picked up the pencil and quickly jotted down the letters of the alphabet, then numbered thembackward; A was 26, B, 25, all the way back to Zed, 1. Glancing back and forth between the plaque and the paper, he wrote down the numbers and then started to decipher the message. R… E… X… M… The final letter was a T, and he stared down at the sentence, then at the chess board. It seemed that somebody had a sense of humor. REX MARKS THE SPOT. "Rex" was Latin for "king."
White always goes first, so…
He reached out and touched the white king. As soon as his finger contacted the piece, it swiveled in place, turning around to face the back of the board. At the same time, there was a soft, musical tone from overhead. He looked up and saw a tiny speaker set into the ceiling. Nothing else happened, no flashing lights or secret passageways opening up behind the wall. Apparently, he'd passed.
How anti-climactic.
It seemed like an awfully complicated test for some– thing as supposedly mindless as a Trisquad zombie, though perhaps the researchers had been making plans for something else, something intelligent… It was an unsettling thought, and not one he wanted to ponder. He stood up and turned toward the front of the room…… just as the door burst open, Rebecca and Steve hurrying in, wearing matching expressions of fear.
"What is it?" Rebecca held up a book, talking fast. "We found a journal. It says that the strain of the virus used to infect the Trisquads is in block D, in room 101. Maybe everything's fine, but if John and Karen touch anything that's been contaminated…" He'd heard enough. "Let's go." They turned and he strode past them, leading them back the way they'd come, his thoughts racing. They had passed an exit on the far side of the building, he could send Steve and Rebecca to the next block over while he went to D, just as originally planned, only much faster, and now carrying the horrible, heavy fear that two of his people might accidentally uncover the T-Virus.
It won't happen, they'll be careful, the chances of one of them getting a cut and then touching something dangerous in a room that's bound to be marked as some kind of a laboratory…
The reassuring facts did nothing to ease his mind. They hurried toward the exit, a deepening knot of dread settling into the pit of David's stomach.
They stood in the bright corridor at the center of D block, silently listening for a sound that would tell them David had come. From their position, they should be able to hear any one of the three external doors being used. After securing the building and finding the test room, she and John had chocked open all of the passages that led to the block's exits. Karen checked her watch and then rubbed her eyes, feeling a bit worn out from all of the night's events, and still sickened by what they'd found in room 101. Even John seemed unusually subdued, and definitely quieter than normal. He hadn't cracked a single joke since they'd walked back to begin their wait.
Maybe he's thinking about the gurneys, fixed with bloody restraints. Or the syringes. Or the surgical equipment heaped in the sink…
They'd found the test room first, a large chamber filled with little tables, each marked with numbers between five and eight; Karen had been somewhat disappointed to see that the blue series number seven was just a handful of colored tiles with letters on them, half of them upside down and unreadable. All the colors corresponded to a rainbow's, though there were two extra violet tiles in the heaped pile. Since they couldn't risk messing with it until David had completed the first test, she'd reluctantly turned away, suggesting that they check out the rest of the block. They'd gone through a couple of offices, empty, and a cluttered coffee room, where they'd found a box of incredibly moldy donuts and little else. It had been the chemical lab that had told them the most about what kind of place Umbrella had created – and although Karen didn't believe in ghosts, the room had given her a feeling like nothing she'd ever experienced before; it was haunted, plain and simple, haunted by the misery of fear and the cold, nazi-esque precision of scientists committing atrocities against their fellow man. "You thinking about that room?" John asked softly. Karen nodded, but didn't say anything. John seemed to sense her unspoken desire not to talk about it, for which she was thankful. The weight of her good luck charm was the only other comfort she felt at the moment, and she longed to take it out, to feel reassured by memories of her father and successful missions gone by. Anything to take her mind off the lab room… The outer door to 101 was clearly marked with a biohazard symbol and they'd briefly discussed not going in at all, John arguing against entering a possibly contaminated environment. Karen had pointed out that neither of them had any cuts or abrasions, and that they might find something about the T-Virus to take with them. The truth was, she couldn't stand to let such an opportunity pass; she wanted to see what was behind the closed door, because it was there. Because leaving it unopened would get under her skin. John had finally agreed and they'd gone in, stepping into a small entryway that was draped with sheets of heavy plastic. There were shower nozzles overhead and a drain set into the floor; a decon area. A smaller second door had opened up into the room itself, leading them into a mad scientist's dream. Glass, crunching underfoot. A tired smell of anxious sweat beneath the acrid odor of bleach. John found the lights and even before the large room snapped into view, Karen felt her heart start to pound. There was a dark tension that filled the air, a sense of foreboding that radiated from the very walls. It looked like a dozen other lab facilities she'd worked in; counters and shelves, a couple of metal sinks, a large, stainless steel refrigeration unit in one corner with a lock on the handle. And somehow, that was the worst, that the environment was so familiar, a place she'd always felt at home. The few differences were dramatic ones. The room was dominated by a stainless autopsy table, fitted with velcro restraints and there were two additional hos– pital gurneys next to it, likewise fitted. As she walked over t
o look at one of them, she saw the dark, dried stains at either end; the thin pad was soaked with blood from where a man's ankles and wrists would be. In the back of the room was a cage the size of a large walk-in closet, heavy bars surrounding an unpadded bench. Next to the cage, several slender poles leaned against the wall, each a meter or so in length and tipped with hypodermic needles. They were the kinds of instruments used to drug wild animals, allowing the person operating them not to get within reach. Karen looked down at the gurney, lightly touching the long-dried stain, wondering what kind of person could have willingly participated in such an experi– ment. The crust of blood was old, powdery, and filled her with thoughts of what the victims must have endured, waiting in the cage, perhaps watching as some gloved madman injected a toxic, mutating virus into a helpless human being…
It was a bad place, a place of evil deeds. They'd both felt it, both been affected by the realization of what had gone on there. Karen's right eye itched, distracting her from the terrible remembrance, drawing her back to the pres– ent. She rubbed at it, then looked at her watch again. It had been only twenty minutes since the team had split, though it felt longer. There was a sound of a door opening, followed by David's excited shout through the corridor. He'd come in through the west entrance.
"Karen, John!"
John grinned at her, and she felt a wave of relief; David was okay."Here! Keep walking!" John called back. "Take a right at the tee!"
His footsteps pounded through the hall. In a few seconds, he appeared at the comer and jogged toward them, his face tight with concern. "Is everything…" Karen started to ask, but David cut her off.
"Did you find the laboratory room? Room 101?"
John frowned, his smile fading. "Yeah, it's back the way you came."
"Did either of you touch anything? Do you have any cuts, any small wounds that might have come in contact with anything?"
Their confusion must have shown. David spoke quickly, looking back and forth between them. "We found a journal, naming it as the room where they were infecting the Trisquads." John smiled again. "Well, no shit. We figured that much out in about two seconds."
Karen held out her hands, turning them over for David to see. "Not a scratch." David exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. "Oh, thank God. I had the worst feeling all the way over that something had happened. We found the researchers in block A; Ammon was right, he killed them and our 'he' has a name now. Rebecca seems certain that it's Nicolas Griffith. He was the one she recognized from Trent's list, and he has a rather sordid history, she can fill you in when we regroup…" He shook his head, a wavering smile on his lips. "I just… I suppose I let my imagination run wild for a moment." John smiled wider. "Jeez, David, I had no idea you cared. Or that you thought we'd be stupid enough to stick ourselves with dirty needles in a place like this." David laughed, a soft, shaky sound. "Please accept my sincerest apologies."
"Where are Steve and Rebecca?" Karen asked. "Probably in the next test area by now. I saw them safely off to block B before I came here… did you find test seven?" "This way," John said, and as they started down the hall, he began to recount their run-in with the Tri-squads. Karen followed, rubbing at the maddening, elusive itch in her right eye. She must have irritated it with all of the rubbing, it seemed to be getting worse. And to top things off, she felt a headache coming on. She wiped at her eye, sighing inwardly at the timing. She never got headaches unless she was coming down with something. The swim in the ocean must have set her up nicely for a cold and from the building throb in her head, it was going to be a nasty one.
ELEVEN
After he'd instructed athens and sent him on his way, he'd prepared the syringes and decided on a place to hide. There was nothing left for him to do but wait. In spite of his earlier feelings of confidence, he was nervous now, pacing through the lab restlessly. What if Athens had forgotten how to load a rifle? What if the enclosure release didn't work, or the intruders had the firepower to stop the Ma7s?
He'd tried to prepare for every possibility, each plan unfolding into a backup, but what if everything failed, if all of them fell through? I'll kill them myself, I'll strangle them with my bare hands! They will not stop me from doing what must be done. They can't – not after all I've accomplished, not after everything I've been through to get to where I am…
For the second time that day, he flashed back to the takeover of the compound… the strange, vivid im– ages of that bright and sunny day less than a month ago. Instead of blocking the thoughts as he'd done before, he let them come, inviting them in to re– mind him of what he was capable of doing when the need arose. He abruptly stopped pacing and moved to a chair, collapsing into it and closing his eyes.
A bright and sunny day…
Once he'd realized what had to be done, he'd planned it for over two weeks, working over each detail tirelessly until he'd been satisfied that every variable had been addressed. He'd spent time reading about the Trisquads and going through the master logs, memorizing the routine of the facility. He'd watched the habits of his colleagues, learned their schedules until he could have recited them backward. He'd stared for hours at the sketches he'd made of each building, walking through them in his mind a thousand times. After careful consideration, he chose a date and several days before, he'd slipped into the Trisquad processing room and stolen several small vials of extremely powerful medication. Kylosynthesine, Mamesidine, Tralphenide – animal tranquilizers and a synthesized narcotic, some of Um– brella's finest work… It had only taken him an afternoon to get the mix the way he'd wanted it, just as he'd hoped. Then he'd waited, much as he was waiting now… The day before his plan was to unfold, he'd watched a Trisquad processing and then asked Tom Athens to come to the lab after dinner to privately discuss some thoughts he'd had on intensifying the suggestibility factor. Athens had been only too happy to accept, had listened eagerly to Griffith's description of the strain he'd already created – couched in hypothetical terms, of course – and after a nice, hot cup of laced coffee, Athens had become the first to experience Griffith's miracle. Griffith smiled, remembering those initial glorious moments, the very first -and truly the most impor– tant test of the strain's effectiveness. He'd told Athens that the only voice he could hear was that of Nicolas Griffith, that all others would be meaningless Babble and the suggestion had taken as easy as that. In the early hours of that fateful morning, he'd played a tape of one of Athens's own lectures for the compli– ant doctor and the doctor had heard nothing but gibberish. If it had failed, Griffith would have aborted the takeover, no one the wiser. He'd had an unfortunate accident in mind if the strain hadn't worked the way it was supposed to; Athens's body would have been found the next day, washed up on the rocky beach. But the incredible success of his creation had proved beyond doubt that it was meant to be, that he really had no choice but to continue…… and so, the kitchen. The drops of sedative in the coffee cups, on the pas tries, injected oh so carefully into the fruit and dissolved into the milk, the juices… Of the nineteen men and women who lived and worked in Caliban Cove, only one regularly skipped breakfast and didn't drink coffee, Kim D'Santo, the ridiculous young woman who worked with the T-Virus; Griffith had sent Athens to slit her throat as she lay sleeping, before the sun came up… and it was a bright and sunny day, cloudless and clear as they gobbled their breakfasts and swallowed their coffee, walking out into the cool morning air, collapsing to the ground, many of them not making it out of the cafeteria before they stumbled and fell, a few crying out that they 'd been poisoned as the words failed them and the drugs sent them to sleep. Griffith frowned, trying to remember what had happened next. He'd selected Thurman, unable to resist the petty pleasure of showing the good doctor what he'd created. Then Alan Kinneson, although he hadn't given the gift to Alan until later, keeping him sedated… He knew the facts: Thurman and Athens had dis– posed of the workers and piled them in block A. Lyle Ammon had managed to keep himself hidden for a time, but had been found by the Trisquads later th
at evening. Griffith had eaten a late supper and gone to bed, waking up early to move papers and software to the lab. These were facts, things that he knew, but for some reason, the reality had blurred and he couldn't actually remember what he had seen, what had transpired for him the rest of that day. Griffith searched through his thoughts, concentrat-ing, but could only find the same hazy and uncertain images: a blinding mid-day sun, bathing the sleeping bodies in red. The scream of a gull over the cove, relentless and wild, calling to the hot wind. A coppery smell of dirt and, and…
…blood on my hands, on the scalpel that glittered wet and sharp and plunged into soft, yielding flesh of faces and bellies and eyes and later, the thundering crash of waves in the dark and the spool of fishing line and Amman, Amman, waving…
His eyes snapped open and the nightmare was over. Shaken, Griffith looked around at the cool, soft light of the laboratory. He must have dozed off for a moment, must have. Yes, that was it. He'd fallen asleep and had a terrible dream. He looked at the clock, saw that only a few mo– ments had passed since he'd sent the two doctors out. He felt a rush of relief, realizing that he hadn't been asleep for very long, but as the relief ebbed, he felt the nervousness slip back into his body, jittering and pulsing anxiety about the intruders that had come to his facility.
