by John Shirley
I defy you.
But inside, she squirmed in fear, waiting for the assault, the scream that screamed for her…
And it came like an invisible bolt, a crack of lightning in the form of sound, an electrocution that never ended—shrilling, screaming, shrieking—till it filled all time and space.
Blood ran from Alice’s nose. Blood trickled from her ears.
She tried to remain standing but found herself on her knees, keeling over, writhing at the pain in her head, pitching into darkness.
Alice woke on the cot, ears ringing.
She lay there in rigid dread. Could she bear it one more time? She was dehydrated, hungry, her belly churning, her head throbbing…
She sat up.
The lights dimmed—and went out.
No.
But the light up above didn’t go on. No silhouette appeared in the window.
No Jill Valentine.
Not yet.
A light, just one spotlight, illuminated a steel drawer that came sliding out from the wall. Alice stood up, feeling weak and wobbly, and walked over to the illuminated drawer. In it she found a black Umbrella Corporation combat outfit, neatly folded, as well as a pair of boots. Her size. She picked up the battle suit. Under the outfit was a bottle of liquid. On the bottle was a label: HYDRATION AND NUTRITION.
It might be poison—or it might be a drug. But she was parched, and weak. She’d been, what, days? Yes, days without a drink, or food. She had to take a chance. She opened the bottle, and drank deeply, feeling enormously better after just a few swigs. The liquid was a little thick, a little sweet, and it tasted of vitamins. She waited to see if it would make her sick.
It didn’t. It restored her.
She drank the rest, dropped the bottle in the drawer, then pulled on the black outfit. It fit perfectly, of course. But there were no shoes—she was left barefoot.
A slight click sounded behind her. She turned her head to see the door opening, just a little.
She spun on her heels—and waited. No one came through the door. It was as if the unlocked portal was an invitation.
An invitation to escape—or into a trap? Into something even worse?
If someone was helping her escape, why were they doing it? What was their agenda?
She had no options. She had to find out…
So she took a deep breath, and walked to the door, slipped out into the corridor.
Alice looked to the right, and saw only a seemingly endless, white corridor. She looked left—and found the same view. Made of milky glass lit from behind, the corridor walls seemed almost alive, as if, once more, the light streaming from the walls was aware of her, watching her.
She heard nothing except for a hint, a faint hum that might be air filtration. She could hear her own breathing, it was so quiet.
She’d half expected someone out here, to meet her, to explain why they’d released her. But there was no one. And yet they had to be there… behind those glowing walls.
Jill Valentine sat on her barracks bunk, near a squad of other, subordinate Umbrella troopers; they all wore the leather masks and breathing apparatus of lower-echelon troops. They sat calmly, waiting for activation. Near them leaned their weapons—combat rifles, loaded and ready in case of need.
They all had the metal and glass scarabs on their chests. The scarab was the comforting node of Umbrella’s control; the source of the peace Jill felt, when she was in “neutral” like this; the source of the reward of hot stimulation she felt when it was time to act.
She felt that stimulation now, as a soft alarm bell sounded, and the room’s lights pulsed in warning. The scarab she wore over her bosom began to glow.
Against the milky-white walls stood various types of equipment, including a bank of surveillance monitors.
The scarab glowed, the alarm sounded, and Jill obediently stood up, marching smartly to the surveillance computer. The other troopers stood, as well, their scarabs pulsing with life. They snatched up their weapons and waited for her orders.
Jill touched the corner of the monitor, activating the “scan for irregularities” surveillance system. The system immediately provided an image of Alice, seen from a high angle, walking quickly down the long, seemingly empty corridor. She was wearing a black Umbrella combat suit. That was wrong, Jill knew. She should not have had access to it. She wasn’t far from her interrogation cell—how had she acquired the outfit?
The HUD style interface that projected images on the edge of Jill’s retina lit up with scrolling letters:
ESCAPED FUGITIVE APPREHEND DR DESTROY
Jill received her orders.
“She got out!” she snapped. “Scramble the security team!”
Striding down that endless corridor, looking for an exit, Alice was encouraged by what appeared to be the corridor’s end, at last, not too far up ahead.
She hadn’t seen anyone else yet. The only sound was her breathing, her steps on the floor. Until…
Something else. A faint noise.
The sound got louder—it was distant, but getting closer, until it sounded like a giant’s footsteps. THOOM, THOOM, THOOM, THOOM. And it was coming from behind.
She turned and saw a laser grid, accompanying the booming sound, filling the corridor section by section.
THOOM.
Another section filled with the lethal beams.
THOOM.
Another section, and it seemed to Alice that she could hear the sizzle of the beams, coming ever closer. She turned and ran, knew instinctively that she didn’t want to be caught by even one of the beams in the grid…
Even though she had her back to them, she could feel them, hot on her heels.
Suddenly she reached the end of the corridor—and the door. She sprinted, jerked the door open just as the grid caught up with her, and she ran into…
Tokyo. At night.
Specifically, Shibuya Scramble. She was in the Times Square of Tokyo, where numerous major streets intersected, neon lights burned like hot emotions against the night, and JumboTrons flashed with endless advertisements,
Alice had been here, shopping, before the coming of the Undead, and it was just as she remembered it… except for one thing. There were no people. No cars, no traffic. The only movements were on the gigantic JumboTron screens, digitally capturing laughing faces, happy faces, coy faces, sexy faces… giant twodimensional people beaming down on the otherwise lifeless intersection.
But the Scramble wasn’t quite empty, because Alice was there, walking into the empty street—and marveling.
At least the Undead should be here. The electricity probably shouldn’t be on—not now. Not most of it. The buildings should be damaged, some of them burned, wrecked by the apocalyptic coming of the Undead.
But they weren’t—everything here was pristine, as if waiting for the crowd to come back.
Maybe there was a drug in that drink after all.
But she didn’t feel drugged. She touched the roof of a parked car. It was cold metal, very real indeed. Her bare feet felt the rough, cold concrete beneath them.
Walk/Don’t Walk signs flashed for vanished pedestrians. The traffic lights changed, as if hopeful that they might attract traffic.
Alice glanced behind her at the featureless building from which she’d come. The door was closed. There was no information there.
Then she walked to the center of the deserted Shibuya Scramble and stood there, alone, shivering in the chilly night, dwarfed by the city that was Tokyo. It was as if she were the last woman on Earth. She didn’t believe she was alone in the world—not for a moment—but she almost wished it were true. A world vacant of people might be better than a world overrun by the Undead.
The lights flashed, the signs blinked, the spotless buildings gleamed. She’d seen Tokyo destroyed. This… could not… be here.
On the edge of the Scramble was a small Tokyo police cruiser, parked against the curb. Alice walked over to the cop car, and tried the door. Locked.
&n
bsp; Not for long.
Off to one side was a bicycle rack, with a dozen lonely-looking bicycles neatly stored. There was an empty slot, and lying across the metal of the slot was a bicycle chain with a large metal lock still attached. She picked it up, swung it experimentally. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing—almost like a chain mace.
She went back to the cruiser and swung the chain, hard, smashing the lock into the side window on the driver’s side of the vehicle, shattering it. She pulled some excess glass out of the way, then reached through, unlocked the door, and opened it. Sliding into the seat, she did a quick search and found a .45 automatic stuck between the cushions; a nice Glock with a good heft to it. She could feel by the weight that it was fully loaded. She located a spare magazine on the floor, and stuck that in a pocket.
There was a police jacket in the back. She pulled it on and got out of the car, the gun in one hand, bicycle chain in the other.
Something chill struck her cheek. She touched it— water. She looked up and more struck her face. It was raining.
Suddenly the doors to every department store burst open, all at once, as if choreographed—and the Scramble began to fill up with busy people, who seemed serenely intent on their own personal missions. They were just the sort of people Alice had once seen, here in Tokyo. Dour salarymen in suits and young women in fashion finery and strolling girls in more conservative secretarial wear and teen girls with earphones, looking J-pop, and young men with spiky hair…
Cars swung around the corner, and suddenly there was traffic. Within seconds the streets were choked with pedestrians and vehicles, cars and cabs and trucks.
The rain was coming down more heavily, tapping on car roofs. Umbrellas sprouted throughout the crowd. Alice noticed that the rain seemed oddly warm—anyway, “room temperature.”
“Who did this?”
It was a cop. The angry uniformed officer pointed at his car, and the broken glass of his window. He didn’t seem to notice Alice.
A teen girl—in a mix of J-pop and kawaii styles— was walking by, frowning as if contemplating some inner conundrum. She was soaking from the rain, one of the few people who, like Alice, was without an umbrella. Something about her was fascinating. The girl’s eyes seemed unfocussed and distant.
She stopped at the center of the Scramble, in a crosswalk, and stood there, arms hanging at her sides. A businessman walked by, and glanced at the J-pop girl—who suddenly lunged at the salaryman, knocking him to the ground.
Then she was tearing at his throat with her teeth, so that blood sprayed… to be washed away in the heavy rain.
7
The crowd panicked.
They ran helter-skelter away from her, dropping their packages, bags, and umbrellas in terror.
The businessman was already transforming into the Undead. He came to his feet—his eyes had gone milky white. He stared at a confused kogal—a young woman dressed like a sexy Japanese schoolgirl—who hadn’t seen what the others were running from.
Without warning he lunged at her, bit deeply into her shoulder, ripping through fabric and skin with his teeth.
Women in the crowd screamed; men ran.
The panic quickly reached a fever pitch, and the sickness of the Undead spread with remarkable alacrity. Now the kogal spread it, leaping onto a man’s back and biting him; and the J-pop girl birthed another Undead, and that one made another…
Alice backed away, gun in one hand, chain in the other—and suddenly the fleeing crowd parted around her, leaving her exposed. She was the only one not actually running.
The Undead, as one, instantly turned toward her.
The J-pop girl raised her arm, pointed, and unleashed an unearthly howl. Majini tentacles exploded from her mouth, whipping frenetically. The salaryman and the kogal flanked her and lumbered toward Alice.
Other Undead, awakening from a momentary death, transformed with radical speed, getting to their feet and turning their milky eyes toward her. There were too many to fight with a gun and a chain.
A strange creaking, evolving into a rumbling, came from behind Alice. She turned, prepared to run, and saw a 109 Department Store building. It was beginning to split open, the front halves of the big structure parting like giant doors. Blinding white light shafted out from within—where nothing else was visible.
There was nowhere else to go. Once more, she accepted the unspoken invitation, and fled into the light.
Pursued by the crowd of Undead, Alice sprinted into the building, blinking, eyes adjusting to the burst of luminescence—it was like the corridor of milky, glowing glass she had left behind, but taller and wider.
She didn’t run into the building alone—the Undead were close behind her. She heard their clumsy but relentless feet, their gasping and burbling and the clacking of their jaws.
A corridor appeared out of the glare, but before she was halfway down its length, she heard an Undead pelting up behind her; lunging, pushing her off balance. Alice stumbled against a wall, then had to turn and face her adversary.
The Undead J-pop girl was out in front of the crowd of Alice’s pursuers. Having only just died, her young body was just as strong as in life—and far more relentless. There was no time to get a bead on her head. Alice spun, swinging the chain, her motion making it difficult for the creature to grab her. The chain’s lock connected solidly with the girl’s face, breaking bone. The jaw sagged down, coming to rest askew.
But she kept coming, oblivious to pain, clawing at Alice with long, brightly painted fingernails— fingernails with glitter on them. Her broken jaw wagged back and forth.
Alice shot her in the forehead, stepped out of the way as she fell, swung the chain around the neck of the salaryman, yanked it hard to pull him off balance so he fell on his face. She fired past him at the kogal, the round tearing off a chunk of her skull but not nailing her brain. The kogal leapt at her—Alice dodged, and the girl sprawled atop the salaryman, knocking him down.
Four more Undead—two men and two women— came next. Behind them, about thirty paces back, surged a horde of the things, too many to count.
Alice fired at the closer group, blowing a heavyset blowsy housewife’s head apart. The creature went down, and right in the path of three that were following her. They tripped over her, as Alice had hoped, ending in a confused tangle of limbs and snapping jaws.
Something grabbed Alice’s ankle, and she looked down to see the kogal gnashing at her leg. At that moment she was grateful for the boots. The salaryman was like a crushed beetle, limbs wriggling, trying to stand. Alice kicked the Undead girl in the face, stepped back, and fired, aiming carefully so that the .45 slug smashed through her forehead, penetrating and angling down into the salaryman’s spine.
There was the sound of clomping feet, bubbling snarls, and she turned to see the three Undead she’d tripped up, double-time marching toward her, side by side. Alice fired three times, from right to left, woman-man-man. The tall woman took one right between the eyes, spun around, and fell; the chubby little man at her side took one in the mouth, and fell backward; the third one, a big man, bald, perhaps a sumo wrestler, merely lost an ear.
And kept coming.
Alice sidestepped and jerked hard on the chain that was still wrapped around the salaryman’s neck, pulling it taut between her and the paralyzed creature, snapping his neck and creating a tripwire of steel links. The sumo stumbled over the links and went down with an impact that shook the floor. She shot him in the back of the head, then spun and emptied her gun at the onrushing horde, knocking several more of them down.
She pulled the chain free—and ran, just paces ahead of the horde. There were too many of them to fight. She sprinted full out, and up ahead saw an opening in the wall.
Not a good time to look a gift horse in the mouth, she mused.
The horde dropped back a little, but still followed relentlessly. If she slipped and fell, they’d be on her. But she reached the opening and darted through. As soon as she did, twin do
ors slid shut from both sides, slamming together at the center. Immediately she could feel a lock clicking into place.
The Undead pounded on the door, but the door held…
That was the good part. The bad part was that she found herself in complete and utter darkness.
Jill Valentine led her team of troopers down the corridor to the interrogation room. The lights were strobing on and off at random, all along the hallways. She carried a flashlight, played it on the partly open door to the chamber Alice had escaped.
But how?
Jill opened the door wider and looked inside. The room was empty except for the cot and the paper gown Alice had discarded. A drawer was open, extending from the wall—yet it shouldn’t have been openable. Nor should the door—not from the inside.
She went to the drawer. There was nothing in it but an empty plastic bottle. So they’d even given her something to revitalize her.
The monitor had shown Alice wearing a black Umbrella combat outfit—one that fit her remarkably well. Who had loaded it into the drawer? Jill went back to the door, and examined it. She saw no marks, no sign that anything had been used to pry it open, or even to get to the locking mechanism. Someone had to have helped her get out. Someone on the inside.
The strobing irritated Jill.
“Get these lights back online,” she said to her second.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice muffled by the mask. The trooper jogged off to locate the building generator, in search of an override switch.
“And contact Control!” she called after him. “Find out what the hell’s going on.”
But she had a strong feeling they knew no more than she did.
The relentless hammering continued, unabated.
Get a clue, Alice thought, as she put a fresh magazine in the Glock. That door’s not designed so you can break it with your fists. Now—where was she? She turned, trying to make out something in the darkness—but to no avail. It was total.
Until it wasn’t.
Across the ceiling, lights flickered on.
