by S. D. Perry
Besides, I should have searched his office, tried to find something about the S.T.A.R.S. There's nothing here that can tell me anything…
Standing, she took a last look around, wishing that the S.T.A.R.S. office had offered a little more in the way of supplies or information. All she'd found of any use was a discarded fanny pack in the desk behind Chris's; according to the expired library card in one of the pouches, it had belonged to Jill Valentine. Claire had never met her, but Chris had mentioned her a couple of times, said she was good with a gun…
Too bad she didn't leave one behind.
The team had obviously cleared out all of the important stuff after their suspension, although there were still a surprising number of personal items left around, framed pictures and coffee mugs and the like; she'd spotted Barry's desk right away from the partly finished plastic gun model on top. Barry Burton was one of Chris's closest friends, a huge, friendly bear of a man and a serious gun nut. Claire hoped that wherever Chris was, Barry was with him, watching his back. With a rocket launcher.
And speaking of…
On top of everything else, she needed to find another weapon, or more ammo for the nine– millimeter; she had thirteen bullets left, one full clip, and when those were gone, she was SOL. Maybe she should stop and check some of the corpses on the way back to the east wing; even in her panicked run, she'd noticed that some of them were cops, and the hand– gun was an RPD issue. Claire didn't like the idea of touching any of the dead bodies, but running out of firepower was distinctly less desirable – particularly with Mr. X running around. Claire walked toward the door and pushed it open, trying to get her thoughts organized as she stepped back into the dim hall. Leaving the office put a damper on her resolve; she had to suppress a shudder at the still vivid image of Mr. X as she closed the door behind her, suddenly feeling vulnerable again. She turned right and started back toward the library, deciding that she wouldn't think about the giant unless she had to, wouldn't dwell on the memory of those blank, inhuman eyes or the way he'd raised his terrible fist, as if driven to destroy anything in his way…
… so knock it off already. Think about Sherry, think about getting some goddamn ammo or how to handle Irons, if you can find him. Think about trying to stay alive.
Just ahead, the dark wooden hall turned right again and Claire tried to steel herself against the task ahead; if memory served, there was a dead cop around the corner -
– like I can't tell by the smell -
– and she'd have to search him. He hadn't been too disgusting, at least, not that she'd noticed. Claire turned the corner and froze, staring. Her stomach knotted, telling her she was in danger before her senses could. The body that she'd jumped over on the way to the S.T.A.R.S. office was now only a bloody, tangled mass, flesh and broken limbs and shredded uniform. The head was gone, although there was no way to tell if it had been taken away or just smashed into an unrecognizable pulp. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer or an axe to the corpse in the few moments since she'd passed it, beating it into a clotted smear.
But when, how, I didn't hear anything…
Something moved. A shadow, soft and darting over the mashed remains some twenty feet in front of her, and at the same time, Claire heard a strange rasping sound, breathing… and she looked up, still not sure what she was seeing or hearing – that ragged breathing and the tick of talons on wood, the talons themselves, thick and curved, the claws of a creature that couldn't exist. Big, the size of a full-grown man, but the resemblance ended there – and it was so impossible that she could only see it in pieces, her mind struggling to put them together. The inflamed, purplish flesh of the naked, long-limbed creature that clung to the ceiling. The puffed gray-white tissue of the partially exposed brain. The scar-rimmed holes where the eyes should have been.
– not seeing this -
The creature's rounded head dropped back, the wide jaw opening, a ropy stream of dark drool pour– ing out and splattering over what was left of the cop. It extended its tongue, eely and pink, the rough surface shimmering wetly as it slithered out. And out. And out, the snaking tongue uncoiling and whipping from side to side, so long that it actually trailed through the ripped flesh of the corpse. Still frozen, Claire watched in horrified disbelief as the incredible tongue snapped back up, flicking drop-lets of blood through the shadowy air. The entire process had taken only a second, but time had slowed to a crawl, Claire's heart beating so fast that every– thing else was in slow motion – even the creature's drop to the wooden floor, its body flipping in midair so that it landed in a crouch atop the mutilated cop. The creature opened its mouth again and screamed…… and Claire was finally able to move as the bizarre, hollow shriek erupted from the monster, able to point her weapon and fire. The thunder of nine-millimeter rounds drowned out the howl that echoed through the tight hallway, bam-bam-bam…… and still screaming that chilling, trumpeting cry, the creature was thrown back, its claw-tipped arms flailing. Its spasming legs kicked up bloody chunks of the eviscerated body; Claire saw a ragged flap of scalp, one ear still attached, fly across the hall and smack into the wall with a wet slapping sound, sliding down…… and the creature got its legs beneath it somehow and flopped forward in a boneless lunge. It spidered toward her, lightning fast, gripping the wood floor with its terrible claws and howling. Claire fired again, unaware that she was also screaming as three more rounds hit the scuttling thing, ripping through the gray matter that protruded from its open skull. She was going to die, it would be on her in less than a second and its massive talons were only inches from her legs…… and as suddenly as the attack had come, it was over. Every part of the sinewy body quivered and shook as liquid gray dribbled from its burbling head, the thick claws tapping wildly against the wood floor in a frantic tattoo. With a final whispering whine, the creature died. There was no mistaking it this time. She'd blasted through its brain, it wasn't going to get up again. She stared down at the monster, her shocked mind digging for something to relate it to, some animal or even a rumor of an animal that came close, but she gave it up after a few seconds, recognizing it as a lost cause. This was no natural creature, and as close as it was, she could finally smell it – the odor was not as pungent as the zombies', it was a bitter, oily smell, somehow more chemical than animal…
… and it could smell like chocolate-chip cookies, who gives a shit? Raccoon City's got monsters, it's time to stop being so goddamn surprised when you see one of them.
The chiding tone of her mind's voice wasn't partic– ularly convincing. As much as she wanted to feel brave and determined, to step over the monstrous creature and get on with things, she just stood for a moment and for that moment, she thought very seriously about going back to the S.T.A.R.S. office, going inside, and locking the door behind her. She could hide, hide and wait for help, she could be safe…
Decide, then. Do something, one way or another, stop this wavering and whining, because it's not just you anymore. Will Sherry be safe? Do you want to survive at the cost of her life?
The moment passed. Claire took a careful step over the raw red flesh of the creature and crouched down next to the cop's remains, using the muzzle of the handgun to push a torn piece of bloody uniform aside. She swallowed down bile as she poked through the rotten flesh and bone, working not to think about who the cop had been or how he had died. Nothing, and she now had only seven bullets left, but she refused to panic, letting the disappointment fuel her determination instead. If she could search one bloody mess, she could search another. With a last look at the dead animal-thing, Claire stood and walked quickly toward the end of the corridor, her decision made: no hiding and no more running from the fear. At the very least, she could take a few of the monsters with her, raising Sherry's chances of escape. It would be better to die trying than not to try at all. She wouldn't waver again.
FIFTEEN
Leon found ada in the kennel, straining to lever up the rusted manhole cover that the reporter had told them about. She'd
turned up a crowbar from somewhere and had it wedged beneath the thick iron plate, her well-defined biceps lightly sheened with sweat as she worked the bar. She'd managed to raise the cover about an inch, but let it drop back into place as he walked in, the metallic clang loud in the cold, empty room. Before he could say anything, she lay the crowbar on the cement floor and looked up at him with a strained half-smile, brushing at her rust-dirty hands.
"I'm glad you're here. I don't think I'm strong enough to do this by myself…"
He hadn't been sure before, but the helpless look she gave him cinched it; she was playing him, or trying to. He'd known Ada for all of twenty minutes, but he doubted seriously that she'd ever been helpless about anything.
"Looks like you're doing just fine," he said, holster-ing the Magnum but not making any move toward the manhole. He crossed his arms, frowning slightly. He wasn't angry, just curious.
"Besides, what's the hurry? I thought you wanted to talk to the reporter. About John, your Umbrella friend."
The woman-in-distress look melted away and her delicate features turned cool and hard, but not in a bad way; it was as though she was letting her real self show, the strong and self-assured Ada he'd first met. Leon could tell that he'd surprised her by not rushing to her aid and was glad to see it; he had enough to worry about without being manipulated by a mysteri– ous stranger. She'd been very careful to avoid his questions, but it was time for Ms. Wong to explain a few things. Ada stood up, meeting his gaze evenly. "You heard him – he wasn't going to tell us anything. And with this place as dangerous as it is, I don't really want to stand around waiting for him to develop a con-science…" She dropped her gaze, her voice softening."… and I don't even know if John's in Raccoon. But I do know that he's not here – and I want to leave before the station's completely overrun."
It sounded good, but for some reason, he had the feeling that she was holding something back. For a few seconds, he struggled to think of a polite way to get her to open up – then decided to hell with it; under the circumstances, social graces would have to be suspended.
"What's going on, Ada? Do you know something that you're not telling me?"
She looked at him again, and again, he had the feeling that he'd surprised her, but her cool, dark gaze was as unreadable as ever. "I just want to get out of here," she said, and the sincerity of her tone was impossible to deny. If he didn't believe anything else she'd said, he had to believe that much.
And I wish it was that easy, but there's Claire, and even Ben, our asshole friend, and God knows how many others… Leon shook his head. "I can't leave. Like I said, I may be the only cop left around here. If there are still people in the building, I have to at least try to help them. And I think it'd be best if you came with me."
Ada gave him another one of her half-smiles.
"I appreciate your concern, Leon, but I can take care of myself."
He didn't doubt it, but he also didn't want to see her abilities tested. Granted, he was pretty untested himself, but he'd been trained to deal with crisis situations, it was his job.
And be honest with yourself – you lost Claire, you couldn't help Branagh, and Ben Bertolucci could give a rat's ass for your protection skills; you don't want to fail with Ada on top of all that. And you don't want to be alone.
Ada seemed to know what he was thinking. Before he could come up with a convincing argument, she stepped forward and put one slender hand on his arm, the humor fading from her bright eyes.
"I know you want to do your job here, but you said it yourself – we have to find a way out of Raccoon, try and get outside help. And the sewers are probably the best chance we've got…"
The light, gentle touch surprised him and sent an electric flutter through his belly, an unexpected flush of warmth that left him feeling confused and uncer– tain. He managed to keep his reaction from showing, but just barely. Ada continued, frowning thoughtfully. "How about This – help me with the manhole cover, and let's see what's down there. If it looks dangerous, I'll come with you… but if it's not bad – well, we can talk about what to do next."
He wanted to protest, but the truth was, he couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to do and he wanted very much for her to know that he wasn't some overbearing macho type, that he was receptive to compromise…
… and does the name "John" ring a bell? This isn't a date for Chrissake, stop thinking with your hor-mones.
Feeling awkward even thinking about it with her hand still on his arm, Leon stepped away, nodding briskly. Together, they crouched down next to the manhole. Leon picked up the crowbar and jammed one end beneath the lid; as he pulled back, Ada pushed on the bar, and with a heavy grating sound the thick metal plate came up. Leon put his back into it and heaved the lid to one side, clearing the opening -
– and both of them recoiled back from the smell that bellowed out of the dark hole, a choking, dark stench of blood and piss and vomit. "Gah, what is that?" Leon coughed. Ada sat back on her heels, one hand pressed to her mouth. "The bodies from the garage, they must have dumped them down here…"
Before he could ask what she was talking about, a scream of pure terror echoed through the basement halls, filtering through the closed door. The cry went on and on, a man's voice, the panicked scream suddenly changing to a gurgling shriek of pain.
The reporter.
Leon locked gazes with Ada, saw the same startled realization flash across her face and then they were both up and running, pulling out their weapons and sprinting through the door before the echoes died.
I left him, I shouldn't have left him…
They ran down the corridor for the cell block, guilt driving Leon to run faster than he thought he could. Someone or something had gotten to Bertolucci and had passed right behind his back to do it.
Sherry stood in Mr. Irons's office, rubbing at her good luck pendant and wishing that Claire would come back. She had crawled through a dozen dusty tunnels to get away from the monster and to lead it away from Claire, and was pretty sure it had worked – she hadn't heard it again, and had come back to find that Claire had left; if the monster had found her, she would have been dead and ripped apart.
But she's not here. Nobody is…
Sherry sat on the edge of a low table in the middle of the room, wondering what she should do. She'd gotten used to being alone, and hadn't even realized how lonely she'd been, but meeting Claire had changed that. Sherry wanted to see her again, she wanted to be with other people, she wanted her parents so bad that it made her ache. Even Mr. Irons would be okay, although Sherry didn't like him; she'd only met him a couple of times but he was weird, showy and fake – and his office was creepy besides. Still, she'd gladly put up with him if it meant she didn't have to be alone anymore… Footsteps. In the hall outside of the office. Sherry stood up and ran to the open door that led back to the armor room, hoping it was Claire and ready to sprint for cover if it wasn't. She ducked around the door frame and held her breath, staring at the stuffed tiger in the hall and silently praying. The outer door opened and closed. Muffled steps on the carpet, moving slowly, and she tensed to run, at the same time trying to muster up enough courage to sneak a look…
"Sherry?" Claire! "I'm here!"
She ran back into the office and there was Claire,
her whole face lit up with a beaming smile. Sherryflew into her open arms, so happy to see her that she wanted to cry."I was looking for you," Claire said, holding her tightly. "Don't run off like that again, okay?"Claire knelt in front of her, still smiling, but Sherry could see the worry behind the smile and in her cool gray eyes. "I'm sorry," Sherry said. "I had to, or the monster would have come." "What does it look like?" Claire asked, her smile fading. "Does it look – kind of red, with claws?"Sherry swallowed heavily. "The inside-out men! You saw one, didn't you?"
Incredibly, Claire grinned, shaking her head.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I saw, an inside-out man… good description."
She looked at Sherry more
seriously, frowning.
" 'Men'? There are more of them?" Sherry nodded. "Yes, but they aren't anything like the monster. I only saw him once, from behind, but he's a man, a giant man…"Claire seemed excited. "Bald? Wearing a long coat?"No, he had hair, brown hair. And one of his arms was all screwed up, a lot longer than the other one." Claire sighed. "Terrific. Raccoon's got something for everyone, sounds like…"
She reached out and took Sherry's hand, squeezing it. "… and that's all the more reason that you should stay with me. You've done a really good job of taking care of yourself, and you've been very brave, but until we find your parents, I feel like it's my job for now, to watch out for you. And if the monster comes, I’ll just kick its ass, okay?"
Sherry laughed, surprised into it. She liked that Claire didn't talk down to her. She nodded, and Claire squeezed her hand again.
"Good. So we've got zombies, inside-out men, and a monster. And a big bald guy… Sherry, do you know what happened to Raccoon? How this all got started? Anything you can tell me, anything at all – it could be important." Sherry frowned, thinking. "Well, there were a bunch of murders last May, or June I think – like ten people got killed. And then they stopped, but then maybe a week ago, somebody got attacked." Claire nodded encouragingly. "Okay. Did more people start getting attacked, or… what did the police do?"
Sherry shook her head, wishing she could be more
helpful. "I don't know. Right before that girl got attacked, my mother called from work really upset, and told me that I couldn't leave the house. Mrs. Willis – that's our next-door neighbor – she came over and cooked dinner for me, and that's how I heard about that girl. Mom called again the next day, and told me that she and Dad were stuck at the plant and wouldn't be home for a while – and then like three days ago, she called again and told me to come here. I went to see if Mrs. Willis would come with me, but her house was dark and empty. I guess things had already gotten pretty bad by then." Claire was staring at her intently. "You were alone all that time? Even before you got to the station?" Sherry nodded. "Well yeah, but I stay alone a lot. My parents are both scientists; their work is impor-tant, and sometimes they can't stop in the middle of what they're doing. And my mother always says that I'm very self-sufficient, when I want to be." "Do you know what kind of work your parents do? At Umbrella?" Claire was still watching her closely. "They develop cures for things, for diseases," Sher-ry said proudly. "And make medicines, like serums that hospitals use…"
