Code Veronica re-6

by Стефани Данелл Перри

  Thank you, Alfred!

  Someone had dumped the contents of a fanny pack on the couch, the pack itself crumpled next to the pile, which included two sterile needles and a syringe, a pack of waterproof matches, half a box of 9mm rounds and a small, half-filled bottle of the same hemostatic stuff Rodrigo had been out of, exactly what she'd been looking for. There were a few other odds and ends in the makeshift survival kit, a pen, a small flat screwdriver, a foil-wrapped condom … at the last, she rolled her eyes, grinning. Interesting, what some people considered absolute necessities. Her grin faded when she noticed the blood stains on the pack, but she still felt better than she had in days. She reloaded the pack and strapped it low around her hips, transferring a few things over from her own woefully tight pockets. She could hardly believe her luck. The medicine was what she'd been most worried about, but it was also an incredible relief to find more ammo. Even a single clip's worth was a godsend. A search of the rest of the room yielded up nothing more, not that she minded. She felt like the end was in sight, an end to this terrible and horrific night.

  Get back to the prison, give the drugs to Rodrigo, then see if Steve's had any luck wrangling us a ride home, she thought happily, stepping out of the room. It had been a hard ride, but compared to Raccoon, this was a picnic…

  The heavy rattle of the closing shutter whipped her around, the moment of happiness blown as the corridor, her exit, was blocked off with a thundering crash. No! Claire ran to the metal shutter, banged it once with her fist, already knowing that there was no chance. She was sealed in, the only possibility of escape now the one door she hadn't yet tried. The one Alfred had fled through. "Welcome, Claire," a voice called out, as snotty and pretentious as she remembered, with the same snide undertone as before. There was an intercom box above one of the vending machines, in the upper corner of the room. Howdy, Alfred, she thought dismally, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her anger or fear. The whole compound was probably wired up for sound, she'd been stupid not to think of it, and just because she didn't see a camera, that didn't mean there wasn't one.

  "You're about to enter a special playground, of sorts," Alfred continued, "and there's a friend of mine I'd like very much for you to meet; I think you'll play well together." Fantastic, can't wait. "Don't die too soon, Claire. I want to enjoy this."

  He laughed, that insane, annoying, distinctly unnatural giggle of his, and then he was gone. Claire stared blankly at the door she was supposed to go through, considering her options. It was probably the best thing Chris had ever taught her, that there were always options; they might all totally suck, but there was always a choice, regardless, and thinking over her alternatives now had a calming effect.

  I can hide in the safe room, live on snack food and pop while I wait for Umbrella to show up. I can sit here and pray that some friendly party will miraculously come to my rescue. I can try to get through the steel shutter, or through one of the walls … with that screwdriver and some elbow grease, I can probably break out in about 10,000 years. I can kill myself. Or I can walk through Alfred'splay ground door, see what there is to see.

  There were a number of variations, but she thought that basically summed things up … and only one of them made any sense. Technically, none of them makes sense! Part of her howled. I should be in my dorm room, eating cold pizza and cramming for some test! Objection noted, she thought dryly, reaching into her new pack for a full clip, tucking another in her bra for fast access. Time to see what Alfred and his underlings had been up to out here, see if Umbrella had finally come up with a formula for the perfect bio-organic warrior. Claire stepped up to the door and paused, wondering

  if she should go into battle with some profound thought about her life, or love, wondering if she was ready to die … and decided that she could worry about all that stuff later. If there wasn't a later, she wouldn't have to worry about it, would she? "Boy, am I smart," she murmured, and pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve.

  SIX

  Everything was perfect. The cameras were set so that he could watch from four different angles, all in full color, the "battle arena" well lit, his chair comfortable. He only regretted that he hadn't had time to return to their private residence, to watch the entertainment with Alexia by his side although that had turned out to be advantageous, as well, a silver lining. The training facility's control room had cameras that could be re-angled with the touch of a button, ensuring the clearest possible view. Alfred smiled, watching as Claire hesitated at the door, quite pleased with how his plan had come to fruition. She'd chased him as he'd hoped, stepped into his trap with hardly a struggle. He hadn't expected her to actually fire at him, but that was easily overlooked in retrospect. And truly, it made the anticipation for her upcoming death all the sweeter, the addition of a personal revenge aspect into the mix. The OR1, a highly developed BOW specifically created for field combat, was one of Alfred's all-time favorites. The An3 Sandworm was impressive, to be sure, the standard Hunter 121s lethal and fast, but the ORls were special the human skeletal structure showed through, particularly in the face and torso, giving them the look of classic Death. Thek skull faces leered out beneath corded ropes of real and synthetic tendon, like a neo grim reaper. They weren't just dangerous; the way they looked was terror inspiring, at the most basic level of instinct. The island employees called them Bandersnatches, a nonsense word from some poem that was strangely fitting, considering thek unique design and function. There were thirty of them at Rockfort, half of those in stasis, though Alfred had only been able to account for eight of them since the attack… … oh! Claire was opening the door. Elated, Alfred focused his full attention on the girl, his left hand on the camera controls, his right hovering over the lock functions for the storage areas. Claire stepped onto the balcony of the large, open, two-story bay with gun in hand, trying to look everywhere at once. Alfred zoomed in on her face, wanting to

  fully appreciate her fear, but was disappointed by her lack of expression. After surmising that she was in no immediate danger, she seemed watchful, no more.

  But when I push this button…

  Alfred snickered, unable to contain his excitement, lightly stroking his right forefinger across the switches for the bay's two shuttered storage closets, one on the balcony, one bordering the freight elevator on the lower floor. At his whim, Claire Redfield would die. True, she wasn't important, her death as meaningless as her life had surely been, but it was the control that mattered, his control.

  And the pain, the exquisite torture, the look in her eyes when she realizes that her existence is at its end…

  Alfred controlled his body as tightly as he controlled his life, and prided himself on his ability to dominate his sexual desires, to feel nothing unless he chose to, but just thinking of Claire's death inspired in him a passion that was beyond physical lust, beyond words, even beyond the simple scope of man's awareness. Alexia knows, Alfred thought, certain that his beautiful sister was watching, too, that she understood what could not be explained. In Claire's death, they would be as close as two people could ever be; it was the wonder of their relationship, the culmination of the Ashford legacy. He couldn't contain himself another moment. As Claire took another cautious step into the center of the room, he first locked the door she'd come through, sealing off her escape and then pressed the button for the second story shutter release. Instantly, the narrow metal shutter not ten feet from where she stood slid open and as Claire stumbled backward, trying to distance herself from the unknown threat, a fully matured Bandersnatch stepped out, ready to engage. It was beautiful, the creature. Between seven and eight feet tall, its face was that of a grinning skeleton, its head set low and menacing. The disproportionately huge upper body supported its primary weapon the right arm, as thick as one of its tree-trunk legs, longer than half its full body length at rest, the hand span big enough to cover an ordinary man's entire chest. Its left arm was withered, tiny and misshapen, but a Bandersnatch only needed the one. Alfred had
hoped for some exclamation from her, a curse or a scream, but she was silent as she retreated to what she believed to be a safe distance. She opened fire almost immediately. The Bandersnatch roared, a rough guttural scream, and then performed its trick. Alfred had seen it a dozen times, but never tired of watching. The massive right arm snapped toward Claire, proba-

  bly fifteen feet away, the engineered muscles hyperextending, the elastic tendons and ligaments stretching… … and it slapped Claire to the ground with scarcely any effort, the girl knocked sprawling before the Bandersnatch's arm snapped back into place.

  Yes, oh, yes!

  Claire crabbed backward as fast as she could, stopping only when her back hit the wall. Alfred zoomed in to see that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out across her face, but she still wore no expression beyond a kind of intense watchfulness. She pulled herself to her feet and sidestepped along the wall, moving fast, obviously not wanting to be knocked off the balcony by the creature's next blow. Alfred grinned, ignoring the disappointment that her apparent lack of terror had brought about. She'd be out of wall in another few seconds, backed into a corner…

  … and then a series of blows, beating her to death against the wall … or a simple neck snap, a grasp of her head and a single, solid shake … or will it toy with her, tossing her around like one of Alexia's ragdolls?

  Alfred leaned in eagerly, changing the angle for one of the cameras, watching as the doomed girl raised her weapon, taking careful aim in spite of her hopeless position…

  … bam!

  The Bandersnatch shrieked even louder than the gunshot, shaking its head wildly, dark fluids rushing from its moving face. It sprayed the balcony walls with ichorous liquid, blood and other things, trying desperately to bring its arm up, to protect or comfort its wound. It all happened so fast, so violently, it was like watching a fountain geyser suddenly explode from a still lake.

  The eyes. She went for its eyes. Bam!

  Claire shot again, and then again, and the Bandersnatch cried out in fury and new pain, still trying to grasp its own injured head as it stumbled around in a weaving circle … and then, to Alfred's shock, it collapsed to the floor, its writhings becoming less and less urgent, its scream becoming a hoarse, dying protest. Stunned with disbelief, Alfred could finally see an emotion on Claire's face pity. She moved to stand over the creature and shot once more, stilling it completely. Then she turned and walked toward the stairs, as casually as if she was walking away from a ladies' luncheon.

  No-no-no-no!

  This was wrong, all wrong, but it wasn't over, not yet. Furious, he stabbed at the other switch, releasing the second creature from its enclosure, the shutter sliding open behind a stack of storage containers on the elevator

  level. You won't be so fortunate this time, he thought desperately, still barely able to credit what he'd just seen. Claire had heard the second door open, but the stack of containers obscured her point of view, hiding the new menace. She was stopped at the foot of the stairs, holding herself very still, scanning for the exact source of the noise. The second Bandersnatch stepped out of its closet and casually reached up, grasping a large metal crate at the top of a ten foot stack of them. It pulled itself up, seemingly without effort and without Claire noticing, her attention too intently fixed on the shadowy corner opposite the stairs. The Bandersnatch reached down for her. Claire saw it coming at the last instant, too late to get out of its way. The creature wrapped its muscular fingers around her head and lifted her up, studying her as a cat studied a mouse. Or a rat, Alfred thought, some of his previous joy returning at the sight of the girl dropping her weapon and struggling to free herself, grasping at the OK1's steel grip with panicked hands –

  – and Alfred's focus was broken at the sound of shattering glass somewhere off screen, and someone was shooting, the sudden flurry of noise and activity making the Bandersnatch shriek, making it drop Claire. What's…?

  The window, Alfred answered himself, watching in horror as the young prisoner, Burnside, threw himself into the camera shot, firing two handguns at once, blasting at the startled creature startled, then screaming in agony as Claire scooped up her weapon and joined the fray. The Bandersnatch tried to attack, its arm whipping out toward the new assailant, but it was driven back by the sheer number of rounds being pumped into its body, finally slumping against a storage container. Dead. Without consciously deciding to do it, Alfred reached for the freight elevator controls, a part of him remembering that there was at least one more OR1 below, as well as a number of virus carriers. The two youths stumbled as the floor beneath their feet began to go down, taking them to the basement of the training facility. There were no working cameras there, but enjoying their deaths was no longer Alfred's primary concern not so long as they died. Can't be, this can't be happening. The OR1s should have dispatched Claire and her meddlesome friend effortlessly, but they were alive and his pets had suffered and died. He tried to convince himself that the two would soon perish in the basement, which had been locked down and isolated since the first viral leak, but suddenly, nothing seemed certain anymore. "Alexia," Alfred whispered, feeling the blood drain

  from his face, feeling his very being flush with shame. He had to make her see that it wasn't his fault, that his trap had worked perfectly, that the impossible had occurred … and he'd have to accept the subsequent coolness in her gaze, the undertone of disappointment in her sweet voice as she reassured him that she understood. The only thing that surpassed his shame was a newfound hatred for Claire Redfield, burning brighter than a thousand burning stars. No sacrifice was too great to secure her torment, hers and that of her shining knight. Until both had offered penitence in flesh and blood, Alfred would not rest. He swore it.

  "Steve, other side," Claire said, the instant the freight elevator began to move. Steve nodded. Claire reloaded and Steve clambered over two of the heavy crates, both Lugers raised. As if by silent agreement, neither of them spoke as the lift descended, both watching intently for what came next. He saved my life, Claire thought wonderingly, watching grease-smeared wall tracks slide past, blood still screaming through her veins from when she'd realized she would die. And Steve Burnside, who she'd written off as a well-intentioned but troubled, barely competent blowhard, had kept that from happening.

  Though he may only have delayed the inevitable…

  She didn't know what Alfred had in mind now, but she wasn't looking forward to meeting any more of his "friends." Two skull-faced, rubber band-armed freaks had been more than enough. She'd been incredibly lucky to get off with a couple of bruises and a sore neck. Claire had expected the elevator to drop them into some sort of BOW holding area, but she was pleasantly disappointed. The massive lift simply came to a stop. There was only one exit that she could see, and although she harbored no illusions about how safe things would be on the other side of that door, it seemed they were out of danger for the moment.

  "Hey, Claire, check it out!"

  Steve climbed back over the boxes, holding what could only be some kind of a submachine gun, boxy, dark and deadly-looking with an extended magazine. "It was behind one of the crates," Steve said happily. He'd already stuck the gold Lugers in his belt. "Nine millimeter, just like the Lugers and the guard weapons. Oh, by the way, here."

  He reached into one of the outside pockets on his camo pants and pulled out three clips for the M93R.

  "I searched a couple of guards on my way back from the dock. I like the Lugers better, and now that I've got this…" He held up the new weapon, grinning, "I don't

  need the extra hardware. You can have the gun, too."

  Claire gratefully accepted the clips and the weapon, not sure how to thank him for what he'd done, determined to try, anyway.

  "Steve … if you hadn't shown up when you did…" "Forget it," he said, shrugging. "We're even now." "Well, thanks all the same," Claire said, smiling warmly. He smiled back, and she saw a flicker of real interest in his gaze, a sincerity there that was quite different than his previo
us posturing. Not sure what to do about it, for him or for herself, she moved the conversation along. "I thought you were going to wait at the dock," she said. "It wasn't really a dock," Steve said, and told her what had happened since they'd separated. The seaplane was terrific news; having to deal with Umbrella's bizarre key fetish yet again wasn't so terrific.

  "…and when I couldn't find them, I thought I'd wander over and see if you'd come across anything like that," he finished, shrugging again, working hard to look nonchalant. "That's when I heard the shots. How 'bout you, anything interesting? Besides meeting up with a couple of Umbrella's monsters, I mean." "I'll say. Do you know anything about Alfred Ashford?" "Only that him and his sister are total fruitcakes," Steve said promptly. "And that the guards are were scared of him. I could tell, the way they avoided talking about him. He sent his own assistant to the infirmary, I heard. There was some whacked-out doctor working there, I guess, a lot of prisoners got taken to the infirmary and never came back. Doesn't take a genius, you know?" Claire nodded, fascinated in spite of herself. "What about the sister?" "I never heard much about her, except she's some kind of shut-in," Steve said. "No one even knows what she looks like. I think her name is Alexia … Alexandra, maybe, I don't remember. Why?"

  She filled him in on her encounters with Alfred, followed by a brief synopsis of where she'd been and what she'd found. When she mentioned that she had the medication she'd been looking for, Steve scowled and then blinked, his face clearly expressing a sudden change of heart.