Code Veronica re-6

by Стефани Данелл Перри

  She waited to see if he was finished and then laughed, long and loud. Wesker felt himself flush. It was clear from her tone exactly what she thought of his request.

  Fine. Nice time is over. Wesker stepped forward and held out his hand. "We want a sample of T-Veronica," he said, the gloss disappearing from his voice. "And I'm going to have to insist that you give it to me."

  As she started down the stairs, for just a second he thought she was going to do it, but then she started to change, and he stopped thinking anything. He could only stare, his awe returning tenfold. A step down, and her dress burned away in searing veins of golden light, the light coming from her body. Another step, and her flesh changed, turned a deep gray, her hair disappearing, gray flesh locks growing from the top of her head and flopping down to frame her face. Her nakedness was transformed with her next step, as rough, pebbled armor grew over one leg and her groin, curled up to support a rounded breast, to cover her right arm. By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, she no longer resembled Alexia Ashford. His breath taken away, Wesker reached for her and with the back of her hand, she struck him, and then he was flying, landing in a heap by the front door.

  Such power!

  He stood up, understanding that force might be useful, and prepared himself to move, to use his own power… … and with a smile, she waved her hand and fire burst up from the marble floor, lines of it surrounding nun, beckoned to life by her slender fingers. She lowered her hand and the flames went down but didn't die, still burning from stone, from bare stone. Wesker knew then that it was over. If she chose to spare him, he'd be lucky. Without another word, he turned and walked out, running as soon as the door had closed behind him. The part-creature left, and only seconds later, the young man followed, believing that he'd escaped unseen. Alexia watched them run, amused but slightly disappointed. She'd expected more. The part-creature was no threat, and she decided to spare him. His arrogance had pleased her, if not his pathetic "offer." The young man, though … brave and self-sacrificing, loyal, compassionate. Physically, a good specimen. And he loved his sister, who was about to die it would make for an interesting physiological reaction. Alexia decided that she would create a confrontation for them to interact. She would test a new form for herself and see if his grief made him bolder, or if it proved to be a liability… She laughed, suddenly imagining a suitable, an apt form to take. Except for Alfred, no one had known the simple secret of T-Veronica, that it was based on the chemistry of a queen ant. She would try an insectile configuration, experience the strengths and advantages that such a form would propose.

  Her disappointment was past. The girl and her boy would die, and then she would indulge herself with the young man.

  SIXTEEN

  Through the rooms and halls of a mansion, Claire had run, afraid to hear him scream again, afraid not to because she didn't know where to look. Past the plushly decorated halls she found herself in a prison area, cells on either wall, the environment cold and dark once more. A lone virus carrier reached for her from behind bars, wailing.

  "Steve!"

  Her voice echoed back at her, full of tension and fear, but Steve didn't answer. There was a thick metal door to her right, different than the others, reinforced by bands of steel. She opened it, stepping into a small, bare room that opened into a much larger one.

  "Steve!"

  No answer, but the bigger room was long and dimly lit, a kind of huge hall, and she couldn't see what was at the other end. She saw that there was a suspended gate between the small room and the hall, which definitely gave her pause. She looked around and found a piece of broken wood on the floor, then wedged it between the outer door and its frame, not wanting to end up locked inside. She hurried into the giant hall, intimidating, oversized statues of knights lining the heavily shadowed walls, her anxiety growing with every passing second. Where was he, why had he screamed? She was halfway down the hall when she saw him, slumped in a chair at the far end, some kind of restraining bar across his chest.

  Oh, God…

  Claire ran, and as she got closer she could see that the bar was a huge ax, a halberd, the blade firmly entrenched in the wall next to him. He seemed very small and very young, his eyes closed and head down, but she could see that he was breathing, and felt less anxious. She reached his side and pulled at the giant axe, but it wouldn't budge. She crouched next to him, touching his arm, and he stirred, opened his eyes.

  "Claire!" "Steve, thank God you're all right, what happened? How did you get here?"

  Steve pushed at the long ax handle but couldn't move it either. "Alexia, it had to be Alexia, she looked just like Alfred she injected me with something, she said she was going to do what she'd done to her father, but she

  was going to get it right this time…"

  He shoved at the ax again, straining, but it wasn't moving. "In other words, she was whacked. I guess she and Alfred were pretty close after all…"

  Steve trailed off, his cheeks suddenly flushing with color. His hands started to twitch, his body trembling. "What is it?" Claire asked, afraid, so afraid, because his body was hunching over, his fingers clenching to fists, his eyes wild and terrified.

  "Cuh … Claire …"

  His voice dropped an octave, her name becoming a growl, and then he was writhing in the chair, his clothes ripping. He opened his mouth and a liquid moan came out, frightened at first but then angry. Furious. "No," Claire whispered, started to back away, and Steve grabbed the halberd, wrenching it out of the wall, standing up. His body continued to hunch over, his head dropping down, muscles rippling beneath skin that was turning a gray green. Spikes rose up from his left shoulder, two, three of them, as his hands elongated, as a giant, bloodless wound grew across his back, as his eyes turned red and animal. The thing that had been Steve Burnside opened its mouth and screamed, enraged, and Claire turned and sprinted away, sick with loss and fright, running for all she was worth. The monster came after her, swinging the massive axe, the sharp edge whistling through the air. She could feel the wind from the swinging blade and somehow found more speed, her legs pumping, pushing her faster. The monster swung again, hit something, the sound vast and deafening. Faster, faster, the small room just ahead… … and the gate was coming down, was about to lock her into the hall with the monster, how, didn't matter, she had to go faster still or she was dead… … and with one final, brutal push, Claire dove for the shrinking space between the bottom of the gate and the floor, sliding in on her stomach, the gate crashing closed behind her. The monster roared, began swinging the axe with abandon, sparks flying as it attacked the metal bars. In shock, Claire watched it break through three of them, bending the steel by the very ferocity of its blows, before she realized she could get out. Door, I propped the door open, she thought dazedly, and stood up, took a single step toward her escape… … and then something broke through the wall with a crash, not the monster, a thing that wrapped around her like a constrictor, lifting her, another of the tentacles. The monster continued to hack at the metal, it would break through in seconds, and the tentacle had her

  tightly in its rubbery grasp. Awakened from her daze, Claire beat at her captor, pried at it, but the matter was impervious. It simply held her, waiting for the monster to breach the gate. It wanted to beat her and cut her, it wanted to rip her apart, so it slammed the weapon into the bars over and over, and finally, there was a hole it could pass through. She was making noises in the grip of the thing that held her, gasping noises that made its blood hot and excited, that made it raise the ax, lusting for the end of her. It brought the axe down, hard, remembering what he'd told her, promised her –

  – you can get the next one I will

  – and it, he, stopped, the blade almost touching her skull. The tentacle waited, gripped her tighter, and he remembered. Claire.

  Steve lifted the axe again, strong, he was so strong, and slammed it down into the tentacle, slicing through. In a spray of green fluid, the thick coil snapped and hit him in the chest
, throwing him into the wall before retreating. He felt and heard ribs break, felt the boil of his blood cooling, felt his strength going away. The pain came, sharp and dull and everywhere, but he opened his eyes and she was there, she was safe, she was reaching for his hand. Claire Redfield, reaching for his hand with tears in her eyes. The monster was gone. She reached out to hold his hand and he lifted it to his face, to his beautiful, dying face, laying it across his cheek. "You're warm," he whispered. "Hang on," she said, pleading, the knot in her throat choking her, "please, my brother came and he'll take us with him, please don't die!"

  Steve's eyes were fluttering, as though he were trying very hard to stay awake. "I'm glad your brother came," he whispered, his voice fading. "And I'm glad I met you. I … I love you." On the last word, his head fell forward, his chest falling and not rising again, and then Claire was alone. Steve was gone.

  SEVENTEEN

  Chris ran, knowing that their time was short as long as Alexia Ashford was alive, afraid that she might already have gotten to Claire. "Claire!" he shouted, banging his fist on every door he passed. It didn't matter, his shouting; if Alexia was even half as powerful as he suspected, she already knew

  where he was … and where Claire was. Please, please don't hurt her, he thought, the thought repeating itself as he ran down another hall, through a door, another hall, and another. He didn't know if anything could stop Alexia, but if he could find Claire and get them to the evac elevator, he meant to try and trigger the self-destruct system before leaving. Alexia was halfway to omnipotence and purely evil, she was an apocalypse waiting to happen, and she had to be stopped.

  "Claire!"

  Through a familiar hallway, another Spencer estate copy, through a door that opened into some kind of shadowy prison, holding cells lining the walls. He had to find her, if he couldn't, he couldn't leave. He wanted Alexia dead, but he wouldn't endanger Claire's life, not for anything, and getting her out took absolute priority

  – and somebody was crying behind one of the closed doors. Chris stopped running and listened, trying not to breathe, tuning out the relentless banging of a virus carrier locked in another cell. Another gasping wail… Claire, oh, thank God you're alive!

  He ripped open the door, ready to hurt anything even close to her and saw her sitting on the floor, sobbing, her arms wrapped around a young man, his naked body bruised and pitiful. He was dead.

  Ah, shit.

  It could only be Steve, Claire's friend, and though he was sorry for the boy he'd never met, Chris's heart was breaking for her. She looked so fragile, so alone… … something else to lay at Alexia's doorstep. Chris had no doubt that Steve had died because of that crazy bitch. But as much as he wanted to sit down and comfort Claire, to hold her hand and let her grieve, he knew they had to get out. "We have to go now, Claire," he said, as gently as possible and was relieved when she nodded, carefully laying her friend down, closing his eyes with one trembling hand. She kissed him on the forehead and then stood up. "Okay," she said, nodding again. "I'm ready." She didn't look back, and in spite of everything, he was proud of her. She was strong, stronger than he would have been if he'd been asked to leave someone he'd cared about. Together, they ran back into the hall, Chris figuring that they had to be close to the southwest corner of the building, where he'd landed the jet and seen the emergency evacuation elevator. The self-destruct system was presumably close enough to the elevator to make a fast escape possible; if they could just get to that elevator, he'd check every floor on the way up. There were stairs at the south end of the hall, and Chris

  ran for them, Claire at his side. He could feel the seconds ticking past as they hurried up the steps, felt like time was closing in on them, that Alexia was finished playing. Through the door at the top of the stairs, running out onto a giant metal grid platform and Chris laughed out loud when he looked behind them, saw the nondescript doors of the emergency elevator. "What?" Claire asked. He motioned at the doors, grinning. "That'll take us straight to the jet."

  Claire nodded, not smiling but she looked relieved.

  "Good. Let's go."

  Chris had turned back to look at the wall across from the hit. "I've got to check something first," he said, wanting to take a closer look at the corner door, it looked Like a security door. "You go, I'll be right there." "Forget it," Claire said firmly. She walked after him, her eyes red from crying but her chin set and determined. "No way we're splitting up again." Chris leaned down to look at the door's locking mechanism and sighed, standing back up. They were probably at the self-destruct system already; the lock was complicated and unique, requiring a key he didn't have. Besides which, to the right of the door was a locked-down grenade launcher of some kind, one he didn't recognize, the bar holding it down labeled emergency release only. Just as well, we should get out while we still can, he thought, but wasn't happy about it. How much more powerful would Alexia become before another chance like this one? "Hey, hey, wait a sec," Claire said, and began rummaging through the small pack around her waist. Before he could ask, she was holding up a slender metal key, shaped like a dragonfly. There was no question that it would fit the lock. "I found it back at Rockfort," she said, bending over and pressing it into the indentation. It fit perfectly, the lock releasing with a solid metallic clink.

  "You're going to set off the self-destruct, aren't you," Claire said, not really a question. "Do you have the code?"

  Chris didn't really answer, thinking that there were an amazing number of coincidences in life, and sometimes, they worked to one's advantage. "Code Veronica," he said softly, and pulled the door open, ready to take it all down, understanding that it was meant to be.

  EIGHTEEN

  The boy was dead, but the girl wasn't. And now the young man was trying to destroy Alexia's home, and it wasn't a game or an experiment or something to observe, he had to die, in pain and misery. How had he dared to consider such a thing? He should be on his knees in front of her, a worthless supplicant for her to do with as she wished, how dare he? Alexia saw the siblings walking away from their treacherous deed, felt them wishing to leave as the automated sequence began, lights and sounds flashing, systems shutting down throughout the terminal. Their perfidy was useless, of course. She would be able to stop the destruct sequence with a minimum of effort, using her control over the organic to sever every connection in the facility, but it was the thought behind the act that so infuriated her. He had witnessed the glory of her capabilities, he had seen it and fled in terror … and yet he could fancy himself worthy to take a life such as hers? Alexia gathered herself, drawing all of her power in, becoming complete. She knew that the young man had picked up a weapon that had been sitting next to the keyboard, a revolver that someone had left behind. She didn't object, knowing that the firearm would give him hope, and that for a victory to be complete, the victor had to take everything. She would take his hope, she would take his sister's life and then she would take his. When she was whole, she imagined herself becoming liquid, traveling through the structure of her surroundings as easily as the organic extensions she controlled, and then she was doing so, moving to confront the interlopers. They were startled, as if they'd expected to succeed. She slid out from inside her organic carrier, unfolding herself, turning to look into their dull eyes, their wincing sheep's faces. She watched them watch her, curious in spite of her anger. They argued in front of her, he insisting that he would "handle" things, that the girl should flee. The girl accepted, but reluctantly, insisting in turn that he should survive. Following that ludicrous statement, the girl turned and ran for the elevator. Alexia moved to intercept, raising her hand to smite the girl… … and a perforation opened in her flesh, distracting her. A bullet had entered her body. She turned and smiled at him, at the gun in his hand, and reached into herself, pulling the bullet out and tossing it toward him. As gratifying as his expression was, the girl was gone by the time she turned back. It was time to expand her boundaries, Alexia decided. To show him what she was, what she could d
o … and

  to put the fear of God into him, because as she closed her eyes, imagining, wishing, she stopped being Alexia Ashford and became Wrath, divine and merciless.

  NINETEEN

  "The self-destruct sequence has been activated," a recording intoned, reverberating through the room, crowding out the rest of its message. "You have four minutes thirty seconds to reach minimum safe distance."

  Combined with the sirens and flashing emergency lights, Chris was on sensory overload before the fight even began. Alexia raised her hand to hit Claire, and Chris fired, the .357 bucking in his hand, the shot blasting over the self-destruct alarms, deafeningly explosive. Yes! A clean hit, right through the gut, and Claire was already at the elevator, pushing the button, stepping inside… … but instead of bleeding, instead of faltering even a step, Alexia smiled at him. She lifted one of her slender gray hands and pushed it into her body, the flesh melding seamlessly, flowing like water. A second later she held up the round he'd nailed her with and gently tossed it in his direction. Bad, this is very, very bad, Chris thought numbly, and then she started to change. The lithe gray female crouched on the metal grid and her liquid flesh started to tremble, to form tiny peaks and dips all across her body, the tissue bubbling, expanding. The peaks became mountains, the dips, valleys, all of it gray and swelling as her limbs started to fold in on themselves. Her arms curved over and joined the growing mass, the legs disappearing into it, the texture turning rough and striated, veins like cables rising, and she kept swelling. Her head rolled down and became part of the giant, rounded body of her, gray becoming muscle-tissue red, the purple and blue of blood vessels networking across like a tide.