Use it to your advantage. Keep them off their guard. "Ms. Redfield, and Mr. Burnside," Alexia said, her chin held high, her tone as dignified as the Ashford name required, "we meet at last. My brother tells me that you've caused quite a lot of trouble."
Claire stepped toward her, the barrel of her gun lowering slightly as she searched Alexia's face. Alexia stepped back involuntarily, repelled by her dripping clothes and forward manner, but kept her eye on Claire's weapon. The girl was too intent on her study, as was the young man, who had crowded in behind Claire. Alexia moved back another step. She was cornered, trapped between her dressing table and the foot of her bed, but again, it was to her advantage. When they've been lulled into thinking I'm not a danger… "You're Alexia Ashford?" The boy asked, amazed or awed, his mouth open. "I am." She wouldn't be able to tolerate such rudeness for much longer, not from one so far beneath her. Claire nodded slowly, still looking into her eyes boldly, impertinently. "Alexia … where's your brother?" Alexia turned to look at Alfred and startled, because he was nowhere in the room. He'd left her to confront these people by herself. No, it can't be, he'd never desert me like this… Movement to her right, but she realized as she
turned to look that it was only the mirror, and… and… Alfred was looking back at her. It was her face, lips painted and lashes curled, but his hair, his jacket. She raised her right hand to her mouth, shocked, and Alfred did the same, watching her. Feeling her astonishment. As if they were one. Alexia screamed, dropping the rifle, forgetting all about the two trespassers as she pushed past them, not caring if they shot her or not. She ran for the door that connected her room to Alfred's, screaming again as she spotted the long, blond wig on the floor, the beautiful gown crumpled next to it. Weeping, she pushed through the door, a revolving panel, fleeing across Alfred's room –
my room
– not sure where she was going as she stumbled through the corridor, running for the stairs. It was over, it was all over, everything ruined, everything a lie. Alexia had gone away and never come back, and he had … she was… The twins suddenly knew what had to be done, the answer shining through the spinning blackness of their mind, showing them the way. They reached the stairs and headed down with plans forming, understanding that it was time, that they truly would be together now because it was finally time. But first, they'd destroy it all. "Holy shit," Steve said, and when he couldn't think of anything else to say, he repeated it. "So Alexia was never here," Claire said, wearing the same dumbfounded expression that he suspected was on his own face. She walked over and picked up the wig, shaking her head. "Do you think she ever existed at all?" "Maybe as a kid," Steve said. "There was this older guard at the prison who said he'd seen her once, like twenty years ago. Back when Alexander Ashford ran things." For a few seconds, they just stared around the room, Steve thinking about how Alfred had looked when he'd seen himself in the mirror. It had been so pathetic, he'd almost felt bad for the guy.
Thinking all this time that his sister lived here probably the only person in the world who didn't think he was a total prick and it turns out he doesn 't even have that…
Claire shook herself like she'd had a sudden chill and got them back on track. "We'd better look for those keys before one of the twins comes back."
She nodded toward the narrow ladder at the head of the bed. It led up to an open square in the ceiling. "I'm
going to look up there, you check around here."
Steve nodded, and as Claire disappeared through the opening in the ceiling, he started to open drawers and rifle through them. "You wouldn't believe what's up here," Claire called down, just as Steve discovered a drawer full of silky lingerie, panties and bras and a bunch of other stuff he couldn't begin to guess at. "Ditto," he called back, wondering what lengths Alfred had gone to in order to play Alexia. He decided he didn't really want to know. He heard Claire thumping around overhead as he went to the dressing table and started to dig. A lot of makeup and perfume and jewelry, but no proofs or emblems, not even a house key.
"Nothing yet, but … hey, there's another ladder!"
Claire shouted. Good thing, Steve thought, finding a box of stationery with little white flowers on the paper. He was getting more nervous about Alfred coming back, and wanted to get out of his freaky room of sister psychosis as soon as possible. There was a tiny white card on top of the stationery envelopes. Steve picked it up, noting the strong, feminine hand.
Dearest Alfred you are the brave, brilliant soldier, ever fighting to reinstate the Ashford name to its former glory. My thoughts are with you always, beloved. Alexia.
Ick. Steve dropped the card, making a face. Was it just him, or had Alfred created a seriously unnatural relationship with his imagined sister?
Yeah, but it wasn't real, it wasn't like they could do anything … physical. Double ick. Again, Steve decided he'd rather not know…
"Steve! Steve, I think I found them! I'm coming down!"
Overwhelmed by an instant rash of hope and optimism, Steve grinned, turning toward the ladder, the words music to his ears. "No shit?" Claire's shapely legs appeared, her voice much clearer, and he could hear the same excitement in her response as she quickly descended. "No shit. There was this little merry-go-round up there, and an attic room above that –
– oh, and you gotta check out this dragonfly key…"
An alarm suddenly started blaring, echoing through the giant house, loud and insistent. Claire jumped off the bed, holding three proof keys and a slender metal object in her hand. They locked gazes, exchanging a look of confused fear, and Steve realized he could hear the alarm outside, too, with the hollow, metallic sound of an announcement being made over a cheap sound system. It sounded like it was being broadcast over the entire island.
Before either of them could say a word, a calm voice began speaking through the bleating sirens, cool and female, the voice of a recorded loop.
"The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel evacuate immediately. The self-destruct system has been activated. All personnel…" "That bastard," Claire spat, and Steve was right there with her, silently cursing the pompous little freak, but only for about two seconds. They had to get to that plane. "Go," Steve said, scooping up Alfred's rifle and putting his hand on Claire's back, urging her toward the door. Umbrella's Rockfort Training Facility and Detainment Center the place where Steve had grieved his mother and lost his father, where the last descendant of the Ashford line had quietly gone mad and Umbrella's enemies had unleashed the beginning of the end was about to go bye-bye, and he didn't particularly want to be around when it did. Claire didn't need any advice on the matter. Together, they hustled through the door and ran, leaving the sad remnants of Alfred's twisted fantasy behind. After triggering the destruct sequence at the common mansion, Alfred and Alexia hurried to the main control room, Alexia taking over to work the complicated console. All around them, lights flashed and the computer droned instructions over the sirens. It was all quite the ado, annoying to her but surely terrifying to the assassins. Alexia had an escape plan, a key to the underground room where the VTOL jets were kept, but she had to know that the peasant children would be left behind. Until she was certain that they would die, she and Alfred couldn't leave. Oh, they'll die, she thought, smiling, hoping that they weren't caught in any of the direct explosions. Better that they should be wounded by flying debris, that they should lie in torment as their lives slowly ebbed away… or perhaps the island's surviving predators would stalk and kill them, swallowing them down in great bloody chunks. Alexia pulled up the security system cameras for the common mansion and grounds, eager to see Claire and her little knight cowering in fear, or screaming in panic. She saw neither; the mansion was empty, the lights and sounds of the imminent disaster carrying on uselessly, alerting bare corridors and closed rooms.
They might still be in our home, too afraid to leave, desperately hoping that the destruction will bypass them there… It wouldn't, of course, there was nowhere on the island that would
n't be affected… Alexia saw them then and felt her good humor disappear, her hatred boiling back into rage. The screen showed them at the submarine dock, the boy spinning
the wheel. The sky was starting to lighten, shading from black to deep blue, the setting moon's pale light defining their sly and furtive scheming. No. There was no chance for them. True, the empty cargo plane was still docked, the bridge raised, but Alfred had thrown the proofs into the sea after the air strike. They couldn't possibly believe that they had a chance… … except they were in my private rooms. "No!" Alexia shrieked, pounding her fist on the console, furious. She would not have it, would not! She'd kill them herself, claw their eyes out, tear them up! There's the Tyrant, Alfred whispered in her ear. Alexia's rage turned to passion, to exhilaration. Yes! Yes, there was the Tyrant, still in stasis! And it was intelligent enough to follow directions, provided they were simple, provided one pointed it the right way. "You won't escape!" Alexia shouted, laughing, twirling around in joy and victory … and after a moment, Alfred joined in, unable to deny how deeply, wonderfully satisfying it was going to be, as the computer changed its tune and began the final countdown. Their run to the plane was a blur a mad dash out of the Ashfords' terrible home and down the rain-slick hill, to the mansion and down stairs, down more stairs to a tiny dock where Steve called up the submarine. Every step of the way, the alarms drove them faster, the continuous vocal loop reminding them of the obvious. Just as they were climbing out of the sub, the bland female voice stopped repeating itself and began a new message and though the words weren't exactly the same, Claire had a sudden vivid memory of Raccoon, of standing on a subway platform as another self-destruct loop had announced that the end was near.
"The self-destruct sequence is now active. There are five minutes until initial detonation." "Well, that blows," Steve said, the first thing he'd said since they'd left the private mansion. And in spite of her fear that they wouldn't make it in time, in spite of her exhaustion and the horrible memories she knew she'd be taking away with her, Steve's deadpan utterance struck her as hilarious.
It does blow, doesn't it?
Claire started laughing, and though she tried to put an immediate stop to it, she couldn't quite manage. It seemed that even imminent death couldn't stop the giggles. That, or hysteria had turned out to be a lot funnier than she would have expected … and the look on Steve's face wasn't helping. Hysterical or not, she knew they had to move. "Go," she choked, motioning him forward. Still looking at her as though she'd lost her mind, Steve
grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him. After a few stumbling steps and the realization that her laughing fit might kill them both Claire got hold of herself. "I'm okay," she said, breathing deep, and Steve let her go, a look of relief crossing his pale face. They ran down some stairs and through a kind of underwater tunnel, and as they reached the door at its end, the computer informed them that another minute had passed, that they had only four left. If there'd been any chance that she might start laughing again, that killed it. Steve pushed the door open and jogged left, both of them leap-frogging over a trio of dead bodies, all virus carriers, all in Umbrella uniforms. Claire thought of Rodrigo suddenly, and her heart twisted. She hoped that he'd be safe where he was, or that he was well enough to get away from the compound … but she couldn't kid herself about his chances. She silently wished him luck and then let it go, following Steve through another door. Their journey had ended in a huge, dark, metal-lined cavern, a hanger for seaplanes, and their hope of escape was sitting right in front of them a smallish cargo plane floating just beneath the grid platform they were on. Not far to the right, blue predawn light defined the giant gateway that opened into the sea. "Over here," Steve said, and hurried toward a small lift at the edge of the platform, one with a standing control board. Claire joined him, fumbling the three emblem proofs out of her pack.
"The self-destruct sequence is now active. There are three minutes until initial detonation."
The control board had a panel on top with three inset hexagonal spaces. Steve grabbed two of the proofs and together, they pressed all three of them home.
Oh, man, please please please…
There was an audible click and the panel's switches lit up, a deep hum coming from the body of the standing machinery. Steve laughed, and Claire realized she'd been holding her breath when she was suddenly able to breathe again. "Hang on," Steve said, and swiped his hand over the panel, flipping them all over. With a small jerk, the lift began to lower at an angle, as the plane's rounded side door opened, folding down to create a stepladder. Claire felt like it was all happening in slow motion, a kind of unreality to it as the lift met the base of the steps, jerking again to a stop; it was hard to believe that it was finally happening, that they were actually going to make it off Umbrella's cursed island.
To hell with believing it, just go!
They boarded the plane, Steve running forward to get it flight ready while Claire quickly checked out the rest
of it a large, mostly empty cargo area constituted the bulk of the plane, sealed off from the cockpit by a soundproof metal hatch. There weren't any creature comforts beyond a closet with a port-o-john behind the pilot's seat, but there was a footlocker at the rear of the cockpit that contained two plastic gallon jugs of water, much to Claire's relief. Though muffled, they could still hear the recording resonating through the hanger as Steve found the controls for the door, the hatch lifting and sealing as the countdown went to two minutes. Claire hurried to his side, her heart really starting to pound; two minutes was nothing. She wanted to help, to ask what she could do, but Steve's full concentration was on the instrument panel. She remembered what he'd said about "iffy" flying skills, but since she didn't have any at all, she wasn't complaining. The seconds ticked past and she had to force herself not to start babbling nervously, not to do anything that might distract him. The plane's engines had been rumbling, the sound getting steadily louder and higher-pitched, Claire's nerves tightening to match and when the dreaded computer female spoke up again, Claire found herself gripping the back of Steve's chair, her knuckles white.
"There is now one minute until initial detonation. 59 … 58 … 57 …" What if it's too complicated, what if he can't do it?
Claire thought, fairly certain she was about to explode.
"44… 43…"
Steve straightened abruptly, grabbing a gear shift-looking thing to his right and nudging it forward before placing his hands on the yoke. The engine sounds got much louder, and slowly, very slowly, the plane started to move. "You ready yet?" he asked, a grin in his voice, and Claire nearly collapsed with relief, her knees weak with it.
"30 … 29 … 28 …"
The plane edged forward beneath a low metal bridge, close enough to the door now that she could see small waves breaking against the metal siding. There was a loud thump overhead, as though the bridge had scraped the top of the plane, but they kept moving, slow and steady.
"17 … 16…"
As Steve steered into the open water, the countdown reached ten … and then was too far away to be heard, as the engines got impossibly louder and they picked up speed, the smooth ride turning bumpy as they started to run over the waves. There was just enough light in the sky now for Claire to see the island's shore off to their right, rocky and treacherous. There were low cliffs bordering much of Rockfort, rising up out of the water like
rough fortress walls. Right before Steve started to pull back on die yoke, to lift the speeding plane up and away, Claire saw the first explosions, the sounds hitting a second later a series of deep, thundering booms that quickly grew distant, dropping off as Steve gently raised them up. As the cargo plane took to the air, giant billows of black smoke rose into the early dawn, casting shadows over the disintegrating compound. Flames were catching everywhere, and though she didn't know the exact layout of what she was looking at, she thought she saw the Ashfords' private home being gutted by fire, an immense orange light rising up behind what was left o
f the mansion. There were still structures standing, but immense pieces of them were suddenly missing, blown into rubble and dust. Claire took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling knotted muscles begin to unclench. It was all over. Another Umbrella facility lost, because of the scientific integrity they continued to violate, because of a moral vacuum that seemed to be an elemental component of the company's policies. She hoped the tortured, twisted soul of Alfred Ashford had finally found some kind of peace … or whatever it was he truly deserved. "So, where to?" Steve asked casually, and drawn back from her wandering thoughts, Claire turned away from the side window, grinning, ready to kiss the pilot. Steve caught her gaze with his, also grinning and as they looked into each other's eyes, the seconds stretching, it occurred to her for the first time that he wasn't just a kid. No kid would look at her the way he was looking at her now … and in spite of her firm decision not to encourage him, she didn't look away. He was a good-looking guy, definitely, but she'd spent most of the last twelve hours thinking of him as an obnoxious kid brother not exactly easy to get past, even if she wanted to. On the other hand, after what they'd been through together, she also felt very close to him in a way that was solid, strong, an affection that seemed perfectly natural and… Claire broke the eye contact first, looking away. They'd been free and safe for all of a minute and a half; she wanted to digest that for a little while before moving on. Steve returned his attention to the controls, looking a little flushed and there was another thump on the roof, like back in the hanger. "What is that?" Claire asked, looking up as though she actually expected to see something through the metal. "No idea," Steve said, frowning. "There's nothing up there, so…"
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