Genesis

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed at the man. “Get away from me!”

  He let go, but not through any impetus from her: glass shattered as something that looked like a hockey puck came crashing into the room. One second after it landed on the wooden floor, it let loose with a blast of cordite that sent her and her would-be abductor sprawling to the floor.

  Her head swam, the cordite in the air making her vaguely nauseous and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She wondered how they could make a hockey puck do that—and what a hockey puck really was, since she associated the round, flat black disc with that phrase, but had no idea what the individual words actually meant.

  Or, for that matter, why she knew what cordite was.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it, hoping to stave off a headache that was starting to build.

  Then more shattered glass, an endless stream of it.

  Looking up, she saw five people dressed in all black and wearing face-covering masks. They came in feet first, apparently swinging in on cables. She couldn’t imagine anyone moving like that, yet the maneuvers had an odd feeling of familiarity, like she’d done them herself.

  The five people were loaded for bear. Each of them carried at least two guns that she could see, and a variety of other pieces of equipment she couldn’t quite make out—it was all black on black, and the hockey puck’s blast still had her blinking spots from in front of her eyes.

  The man who’d grabbed her was a tall man with very short brown hair, wearing a dress jacket over a light blue shirt. His pants were also dark, but didn’t match the jacket. As soon as the five people burst in through the windows, he pulled out a gun from a shoulder holster.

  In an instant, she realized that the man was a police officer, and his weapon was a standard RCPD-issue Beretta.

  If only she could recall what the “RC” in RCPD stood for.

  As soon as the cop had his Beretta out, one of the black-clad intruders grabbed his right wrist and, in one fluid motion, pulled his arm behind his back, knocked him face-down onto the floor, and forced him to drop the pistol.

  “What’re you doing? I’m a cop!”

  One of the other intruders pulled his jacket and shoulder holster off.

  “I told you, I’m a cop!”

  The first intruder removed the cop’s own handcuffs from his back belt loop while the second one rooted through his jacket to pull out his wallet.

  “You’re breaking my arm,” the cop said as the intruder handcuffed his arms behind his back.

  She watched all this with a combination of confusion and dispassion. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Another one of the black-clad people ran over to the mirror on the far end of the room. He opened a panel with two knob switches, which revealed a socket of some kind.

  This particular member of the invasion team had some kind of minicomputer on his left forearm. It flapped open to reveal a small monitor on the upper portion and a keyboard on the part still parallel to his arm. He took a wire that was attached to the minicomputer on one end and plugged it into the socket.

  Two more figures walked into the room through the now-shattered windows. One of them headed straight for her. She sat up. One of the straps of her red dress had fallen off her shoulder, and she pulled it up.

  Looking up at the figure, she couldn’t make out any features behind what she now remembered was a gas mask.

  “Report.” The man—it was definitely a man—had a deep, rich voice, only slightly muffled by the gas mask.

  She had no idea how to respond to his request.

  No, not a request. This was an order. Whoever she was, she must have been this man’s subordinate.

  He grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet. She thought about resisting, but he grabbed her right on the sore part of her right shoulder, and she winced in pain.

  “Report now.”

  “I—” What could she possibly tell him? That she woke up in the shower with no memory of who she was, what she was doing here, or what a bathrobe was? The entire situation was insane.

  Then again, maybe this was normal for her. If this man, whoever he was, was part of her daily life, maybe commandoes crashing through windows was a normal day for her.

  But memory loss wasn’t, so she said nothing.

  The man was undaunted. He grabbed her again, pushing her against the wall. Again, she winced, as pain sliced through her shoulder.

  “I want your report, soldier,” he said. His voice never raised, and that made it scarier. Even with the mask muffling his words, the quiet, professional calm he exuded was frightening as hell.

  She might’ve been inclined to think of it as the most frightening thing she’d ever heard, but since she could only recall what she heard for the last ten minutes, that wasn’t much of an accomplishment.

  Instead, she gave the only “report” that she could under the circumstances: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Before the man could reply, the man by the mirror with the computer on his arm spoke up. “Sir, the house’s primary defenses have been activated. She’s probably still suffering the side effects.”

  Side effects? What the hell did that mean?

  It seemed to satisfy the leader, though, as he turned his attention to the pair that had subdued the blue-eyed man who claimed to be an officer of the law.

  “What about the cop?” he asked.

  The one who had removed the jacket had a forearm minicomputer of his own. Right now he was holding the cop’s badge while entering something into the keypad. “Matthew Addison. I’m not getting a match.”

  She was relieved to find that someone in the room had a name.

  The other one, the one who’d handcuffed Addison, pointed a weapon at the cop’s head. “Who are you?”

  “I just transferred. They probably don’t even have me on file yet.”

  The one holding the badge said, “The locals are inefficient—it’s possible.”

  “Should I secure him here?” asked the one with the gun on Addison.

  The leader removed the gas mask to reveal the face of a handsome black man.

  No, handsome wasn’t the right word. That implied softness, and there was precisely nothing about this man that suggested even a hint of softness.

  The leader said, “No, we take him with us.”

  “You can’t do this!” Addison yelled.

  The one holding the gun on him pulled off her own mask. “Blow me,” she said. It was a woman, with black hair pulled back in a braided ponytail. The woman was of an ethnicity the name of which she could not remember for the life of her.

  The ponytailed woman yanked Addison to his feet. “Hey!” he cried in modest protest.

  The leader looked around at the others.

  “Prep for entry to the Hive.”

  TWELVE

  AS RAIN MELENDEZ PUSHED THE ALLEGED cop toward the mirror door, she spared a thought for the assholes back at LAPD. Especially the one asshole who kept her from joining S.W.A.T.

  If only Captain Fischer could see her now.

  The only regret that Rain had in her entire life was that Fischer died of a heart attack last year, before she had the chance to properly rub the motherfucker’s nose in her success working for the Umbrella Corporation’s elite Security Division.

  Shit, she didn’t even think the old bastard had a heart.

  For years, she’d been building the cred to get put on S.W.A.T. She had the chops, she had the skills, she had the best fucking marksmanship in her class, the class in front of her, the class behind her, and every class going back to whenever there was a class. She could hit the broad side of a fucking fly.

  But that was the goddamn problem: marksmanship.

  Lieutenant D’Addario had warned her. He said that you have to have a dick to be in S.W.A.T. and you have to be a dick to run it. “And Karl Fischer,” D’Addario had said, “he’s the biggest dick with the smallest dick, and he won’t let you anywhere near S.
W.A.T., even if you wear a strap-on.”

  Rain didn’t listen to D’Addario. She tried anyhow. She did everything right.

  They still didn’t let her on. She was too much of a risk, Fischer said. Young, attractive Latina chick, the guys’d be too busy asking her out and playing Sir Fucking Galahad and not focusing on the job.

  Fischer looked her in the eye and said, “Only way you get on S.W.A.T. is if the whole unit gets taken over by queers, and that shit ain’t happenin’ on my watch.”

  She went back to her precinct, back to her patrol car. D’Addario made her a training officer, gave her a second stripe, and had her take the rookies under her wing. It was the best he could offer her, and it was jackshit as far as she was concerned.

  The only reason she’d even gone to the fucking academy was so that she could join S.W.A.T. She promised herself that she’d be the first woman to make it.

  Captain Fischer nailed that dream to the wall.

  Unable to face another day getting into that goddamn patrol car with some green-ass rookie, she quit.

  Two weeks later, a hot-looking black guy with a deep voice said he wanted to hire her. She’d get to do everything S.W.A.T. did, except she’d get paid about eight billion times what the LAPD would cough up. The only catch was moving to Raccoon City.

  What the fuck—she wanted to get out of California anyhow.

  Sticking her Colt at the temple of Detective Matthew Addison of the RCPD, she forced him forward. Maybe he was a legit cop. In L.A., she would’ve pegged his ass for a fake—he looked more like the kind of guy they cast as detectives in crappy action movies—but some of the gold shields in Raccoon looked like this motherfucker, so maybe he was for real.

  He still didn’t have any business in the mansion. This was Umbrella’s turf. The locals usually knew better than to fuck around with the big company.

  Kaplan had opened the door that was disguised as a mirror. They filed in, Warner taking point, Vance and J.D. right behind him. Then One and the Abernathy woman, followed by Danilova the medic, then Rain and Addison, with Kaplan bringing up the rear.

  They proceeded down the wide concrete staircase even as the mirror doors closed behind them. Within seconds, they arrived at the train station. Piles of trunks, crates, and boxes, most labelled with Umbrella’s funky logo, were all over the place, but there was a clear path to the single-car train that went back and forth to the Hive.

  When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Alice asked, “What is this place?”

  Rain shook her head. Alice had always come across to Rain as a stuck-up bitch. Now she was being a stupid stuck-up bitch.

  “It’s a train station,” J.D. said, as if she was an idiot. “You lose your eyesight as well as your memory?”

  Then again, it was hardly the bitch’s fault that the stupid-ass computer gassed her. Rain had no idea what the fuck the little-kid computer was thinking. Then again, if they’d known that, One wouldn’t have needed to bring the team in in the first place.

  Addison stopped walking. Rain shoved him forward. “Move it!”

  “Enough, Rambette, I get the picture.”

  “Real fuckin’ original, Detective.” Rain got enough stupid Rambo jokes from L.A. cops—and those were the ones who liked her. “Mouth off again and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  Before Addison could give her an excuse, Alice spoke up again. She was standing with her arms folded. Rain actually saw a glimmer of the intimidating woman that Rain knew Alice was capable of being, though the effect was pretty much wiped out by that froofy dress she was wearing.

  “Somebody tell me what’s going on here or we’re not taking another step.”

  One walked up to her and looked her right in the eye. The first time Rain was on the receiving end of that don’t-fuck-with-me look was also the last—mainly because, even after seven years of dealing with the scum of the earth that populated the parts of L.A. she patrolled as a uniform, nothing scared her more than One’s don’t-fuck-with-me look.

  “You’ll get your briefing, soldier, when I’m ready to give it to you.”

  To her credit, Alice didn’t back down. Rain had to admit, the bitch had balls.

  Amazingly, One broke the stare first, turning to the others. “Warner, Vance, load the train. J.D., set the timer. Kaplan, get the engine going.”

  By this time, everyone had removed their gas masks. If Alice and this Addison asshole were up and about, there was nothing to worry about on that score. Yet. Besides, those things really fucked up your peripheral vision.

  J.D. reached into one of the pouches in his uniform and pulled out a metal bar, which he attached to the wall. It gave a digital reading that matched the one on Rain’s wrist, and on everyone else’s wrist: 2:48:42. A second later, it was 2:48:41.

  That was how long they had to find out what the fuck was up in the Hive.

  Kaplan ran to the train, which sat parked on the tracks, with no lights coming from it. One went in next, followed by Rain, pushing Addison ahead of her. J.D. and Alice came in behind them. The train was mostly one big space, with two trapdoors in the floor for access to the undercarriage. One of those trapdoors was open. Aside from some metal tubes tied up and hanging from the ceiling in one corner, the train was empty.

  The first thing Kaplan did was go to the tiny engineer’s alcove up front. He pushed a few buttons, then turned around. “Power’s down.”

  One turned to Rain. “So fix it.”

  She smiled. “I’m on it.”

  Rain nodded to J.D., who nodded right back, unholstered his Smith & Wesson pistol, and pointed it at Addison’s head.

  Only then did Rain holster her own pistol and remove a small flashlight. Placing it between her teeth, she jumped down the open trapdoor. The rails themselves were raised about two feet over the ground, making it a shitload easier to do under-train maintenance.

  Removing the flashlight from her teeth, she flicked it on and shone it at the bottom of the train.

  It didn’t take long to dope out why the power was down. Four of the giant plug junctions were hanging uselessly from the bottom of the train, and the main circuit to the third rail was disconnected.

  Rain frowned. Some asshole had deliberately jumped under the train and cut the power. Didn’t even bother to shut the trapdoor. Was the train in for maintenance, or did someone want the train out of commission?

  However, she didn’t give it much thought. That was why she never tried for detective—thinking wasn’t her thing, kicking ass and taking names was. Or just kicking ass and let them keep their own fucking names.

  Putting the flashlight back in her mouth and shining it on the plugs, she reattached the male plugs to the female plugs.

  Then she heard the noise.

  At first she thought it was something slithering. Or maybe it was water dripping.

  She squatted down so she could see under the rails, shining the flashlight in front of her.

  All she saw was a dead end. At that dead end was an old wireframe vent that had what looked like a rat-chewed hole in it.

  She shook her head. Multimillion-dollar multinational fucking corporation, but their basements are just as shitty as a housing development in Watts.

  The noise was still there, but it was faint. Probably the damn rats. She stood up, not giving it another thought.

  “You done yet?”

  Rain whirled around, her right hand moving to her gun holster, and almost pulling it out before her brain registered that the voice belonged to J.D., who was hanging upside down from the train.

  He hit her with that dumbass grin of his. “Jumpy.”

  She hit him right back with as close an approximation of One’s don’t-fuck-with-me look as she could manage.

  Then she reattached the train to the third rail, sending sparks out through the undercarriage.

  “Whoa!” J.D. cried, and high-tailed it back to the inside of the car.

  Rain grinned. She and J.D. came to the company together, but he was
a Navy SEAL who’d been doing wetwork for the CIA when One made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He had pegged her as some kind of charity hire, something to give the team a PC look for the stockholders’ benefit.

  She disabused him of that crazy-ass idea soon enough. Rain Melendez was no politically correct poster girl, and she put her badass skills against his badass skills any day of the week.

  So did One—he assigned them to be partners. J.D. bitched and moaned for a week, but One said it was that or lose the job. He said it with the don’t-fuck-with-me look.

  J.D. went along. He gave her shit at every opportunity, but he went along. They trained together, and she kept up with his government-trained ass every step of the way.

  Eventually, he admitted she had the shit. Within two weeks, they were a lean, mean fighting machine.

  But he still gave her shit every chance he got.

  As she clambered back up into the car, Warner and Drew were bringing a big-ass trunk on board. Probably that thing Kaplan needed to shut down the little-kid computer. Rain didn’t know the details, and didn’t give a rat’s ass. That geek crap was Kaplan’s thing.

  Speaking of Kaplan, he stood by a red button. “Stand clear!” he yelled, then pushed it. The trapdoor closed.

  One looked at Alice and Addison. “Sit on the floor. Stay out of the way.”

  They both hesitated, but eventually sat on the floor.

  Kaplan got back into the engineer’s cubbyhole. Seconds later, with a mild lurch, the train started moving.

  Rain looked around, noticed that there was one other compartment besides the main one and the engineer’s space. It was blocked off by a door.

  When she tried to open it, it wouldn’t budge. It had a handle knob, but the handle seemed to be stuck. She tried to move it several times, but nothing happened.

  She stopped for a moment to catch her breath before trying again, only to notice that Addison and Alice were both staring at her. It almost looked like they were accusing her of something. Or maybe they were just fucked in the head.

  Correction: Alice was fucked in the head, and the jury was out on the other asshole.

  “You got a problem?” she asked angrily.