Resident Evil: Underworld (17 page)

Yes, he’d be able to pull it off. Now Red was unlocking the connecting door that would lead them into Three; unless they had a case of grenades, they would be dead in minutes.

Reston took a deep breath, remembering who was in control, who was calling the shots here. Hawkinson would handle the surface situation, Jackson would be pleased, the three musketeers were about to be blinded, trampled, and eaten. There was nothing to worry about.

Reston exhaled heavily, managing a somewhat uneasy grin and forcing himself to relax into his chair, dialing up the screens that would show him the Ca6 habitat.

“Say goodbye,” he said, and poured himself another brandy.

From the terrible, baking heat of the blinding scorpion desert, they stepped into the cold shade of a mountain peak. They stayed by the door, surveying their newest crucible, Leon wondering if they’d be facing Hunters or Spitters in this very gray room.

Gray the rock-studded, sharply angled mountain of stone that loomed in front of them. Gray also the walls and ceiling, and the winding path that snaked west, bordering the “mountaintop.” Even the scrubby grasses in and around the misshapen boulders were gray. The mountain looked real enough, rough-hewn chunks of granite mixed into cement, dyed to match and sculpted into crags. The overall effect was of a lonely, windswept ridge high on a barren mountain.

Except there’s no wind—and no smell. Just like the other two, no smell at all.

“Might want to put your shirt back on,” John said, but Leon was already untying it from his waist. The temperature had dropped at least sixty degrees, already freezing the sweat he’d worked up from Phase Two.

“So where do we go?” Cole asked, his eyes wide and nervous.

John pointed diagonally across the room, southwest. “How ’bout the door?”

“I think he meant which
way,”
Leon said. He kept his voice pitched low, just as the others did. No point in alerting the inhabitants to their position; they’d probably be interacting soon enough.

The three of them examined their options, all two of them: take the gray path or climb the gray mountain.

Hunters or Spitters…
Leon sighed inwardly, his stomach knotted, already dreading whatever came next. If they made it out, if they found Reston, he was going to give old Mr. Blue a solid ass-kicking. It went against the belief system that had led him to be a cop, but then, so did White Umbrella’s very existence.

“From a defensive standpoint, I’d say trail,” John said, looking up at the rough surface of the slope. “We could get trapped if we head up.”

“There’s a bridge, I think,” Cole said. “I only did one of the cameras in here, that one—”

He pointed up and right, into the corner. Leon couldn’t even see it—the walls were fifty feet high, and their monotone color blended into the ceiling. It created a kind of optical illusion, making the room seem endlessly vast.

“—and I was on a ladder, I could see over, kind of,” Cole continued. “There’s a gorge on the other side, and one of those rope bridges going across.”

Leon opened his pack while Cole was talking, assessing his ammo situation. “How’s the M-16?”

“Maybe fifteen left in this one,” John answered, patting the curved mag. “Two more full, thirty each… two clips for the H&K, and one more grenade. You?”

“Seven rounds left, three clips, one grenade. Henry, have you been counting?”

The Umbrella worker nodded. “I think—five shots, I fired five times.”

He looked as though he wanted to say something else, glancing back and forth between Leon and John, finally staring down at his dirty workboots. John looked at Leon, who shrugged; they didn’t really know anything about Henry Cole, except that he didn’t belong there any more than they did.

“Listen… I know this isn’t really the time or place, but I just want to tell you guys that I’m sorry. I mean, I knew something was weird about all this. About Umbrella. And I knew Reston was a serious asshole, and if I hadn’t been so greedy or so stupid, I never would have got you into this.”

“Henry,” Leon said. “You didn’t know, okay? And believe me, you’re not the first to be duped—”

“No doubt,” John interrupted. “Seriously. The suits are the problem here, not guys like you.”

Cole didn’t look up, but he nodded, his thin shoulders slumping as if in relief. John handed him another clip, nodding toward the path as Cole tucked it into his back pocket.

“Let’s hit it,” John said, talking to both of them but addressing Cole. Leon could hear it in his deep voice, a note of encouragement that suggested he was starting to like the Umbrella worker. “Worse comes to worst, we can retreat to Two. Stick close, keep quiet, and try to shoot for the head or eyes—assuming they have eyes.”

Cole smiled faintly.

“I’ll bring it up,” Leon said, and John nodded before stepping away from the hatch and turning left. The chilled air was as quiet as it had been since they’d come into the room, no sounds but their own. Leon brought up the rear, Cole walking slowly in front of him.

The path was grooved, as if someone had run a rake through the cement before it was dry. With the “peak” to their right, the trail extended about seventy feet and then turned sharply south, disappearing behind the craggy hill.

They’d gone about fifty feet when Leon heard the trickle of rock behind them. Loose gravel falling down the slope.

He turned, surprised, and saw the animal near the top of the peak, thirty feet up. Saw it and wasn’t sure what he was seeing, except that it was walking,
skipping
down the hill on four sturdy legs, like a mountain goat.

Like a skinned goat. Like
—
like
—

Like nothing he’d ever seen, and it was almost to the ground when they heard a wet, rattling sound erupt from somewhere ahead of them, the sound of a snot-clogged throat being cleared, or a dog growling through a mouthful of blood—and they were trapped, cut off from escape, the terrible sounds coming toward them from both sides.

* * *

Getting back into the compound was remarkably easy. Rebecca needed help getting over the fence, but with each passing minute, she seemed to be improving, her balance and coordination sharpening. David was more relieved than he cared to admit, and almost as pleased with Umbrella’s guard, or lack thereof. Three men, two at the fence and another at the van; it was pathetic.

They’d started back as soon as the helicopter had lifted and headed south, stretching frozen muscles as they moved silently through the dark. When they’d come within a few hundred yards, David had left the others for a quick recon, then come back and led the two shivering women over the fence and into the compound. Before they could take out the watchmen, David knew they needed to get to a safe place out of the cold, to go over their procedure and better assess Rebecca’s condition; he chose the most obvious of the buildings, the middle structure. It boasted two satellite dishes and a series of antennae, plus a shielded conduit running down one side. If he was right, if it was a communications relay, it was exactly where they wanted to be.

And if I’m wrong, there are two others to check; one will be a generator room, it’s bound to have some sort of climate control. I can leave them there and do the sabotage work solo…

They’d scaled the fence from the south, David amazed at how poorly Umbrella had planned for their re-entry. The two men covering the perimeter were stationed at the front and back; as if there was no chance that anyone would enter from another direction. As soon as they were inside, David led them to the far side of the last building in line, then motioned for a huddle.

“Middle building,” he whispered. “Should be unlocked, if it’s what I think it is. The lights will be on, though. I’ll go inside, then signal for you to follow; if you hear shots, get inside as quick as you can. Stay close to the buildings and stay low when we cross. Yes?”

Claire and Rebecca both nodded, Rebecca leaning on Claire; other than a limp, she seemed to be doing well. She’d said she was still dizzy and that her head hurt, but the confused and erratic thoughts that had so frightened him earlier had apparently passed.

David turned and eased along the wall of the structure closest to the fence, hugging the shadows, frequently glancing back to be sure both women were keeping up. They reached the end facing west and slipped around, David first, checking for the west guard’s position. It was almost too dark to see, but there was a density of shadow against the metal mesh that marked him. David raised the M-16 and pointed it at him, prepared to fire if they were seen.

Too bad we can’t just shoot him now…
but a shot would alert the others, and while David wasn’t concerned with the fence men, the one posted at the van could be a problem; he was far enough away that he might radio before coming in to check.

These two will be easy enough, but how to approach him?
There was no cover if the man at the mini spotted them coming—

That could wait; they had work to do before worrying about the guards. Crouching, David waved Claire and Rebecca across, the M-16 trained on the shadowy figure at the fence. He held his breath as they slipped across the open space, but they managed it with hardly a sound.

As soon as they were across, David followed, his years of training allowing him to move as silently as a ghost. Once they were cloaked by the building’s shadow, David relaxed a bit, the worst of it over. They could cross to the middle building in the thick black of the corridor between the structures.

In less than a minute, they’d reached the crossing point. Nodding at the women to stay back, David went across, stopping at the closed door to their destination. He touched the icy metal of the handle and pushed it down, nodding to himself as he heard the tiny
click
of the unlocked door.

It’s communications, then; the team leader would have left it open for the men posted, access to a satellite uplink in case we returned.
A calculated guess, but a good one.

It was time to pray for a bit of luck; if the lights were on, opening the door would be like a beacon to anyone even glancing in their direction. The guards had been facing away from the compound when he’d reconned, but that didn’t mean much.

A deep breath, and David pushed the door open, registering that the light was low as he slid inside and closed it behind him. He leaned against the door and counted ten, then relaxed, inhaling the warm air thankfully as he studied the interior. The warehouse-type structure had apparently been divided into rooms—and the one he’d stepped into was packed with computer equipment, thick cables trailing across the floor and up the walls, dish connectors…

…everything that links this facility to the world outside…

David hit the wall switch, turning off the single ceiling light, and grinning, opened the door for Rebecca and Claire to join him.

* * *

“Back against the wall!” Leon shouted, and Cole did it before he even knew why. The phlegmy rattling sounds seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead—

—and then he saw the creature coming slowly toward them from behind, making it impossible to retreat, and barely held back a scream. It stopped fifteen or twenty feet away, and Cole still couldn’t seem to get a good look; it was just too bizarre.

Oh, Jesus, what
is
it?

It was four-legged, with split hooves, like a ram or goat, and was about the same size—but there was no fur, no horns, nothing else that even remotely resembled a natural development. Its slender body was coated with tiny reddish-brown scales, like a snake’s skin, but dull instead of shiny; at first glance, it looked like it was covered in dried blood. Its head was somehow amphibian, like a frog’s—an earless flat face, small dark eyes that bulged out at the sides, a too-wide mouth—except there were pointed teeth sticking up from a protruding lower jaw, a bulldog’s jaw, its head also covered in the dried-blood scales.

The thing opened its mouth, exposing only a few sharp teeth, upper and lower, none of them in the front—and that terrible wet rattling sound came from the darkness of its throat, the bizarre call matched by others, somewhere on the other side of the artificial mountaintop.

The call built, going louder and deeper as the thing raised its head, turning its hideous face to the ceiling—

—and in one sudden, jerking motion, it dropped its head and spat at them. A thick, tarry blob of reddish semi-liquid
stuff
flew at them, at Leon, across the wide open space—

—and Leon raised his arm to block it even as John started to shoot, stepping away from the wall and spraying the monster—

—
Spitter
—

—with bullets. The goop hit Leon’s arm, would have hit his face if he hadn’t blocked, and in response to the hail of clattering rounds, the Spitter turned and
jumped
up the sculpted mountain—in long, easy jumps that took it to the top in seconds, that didn’t denote panic or pain or any stress at all. It loped back about twenty feet, then skipped nimbly back down to the ground, stopping in front of the connecting hatch. As if it
knew
it was blocking their escape.

And it didn’t even flinch, holy shit
—

The multiple cries from just out of sight didn’t get any louder, but they didn’t retreat, either. The gargling noises stopped, one at a time, the lack of targets giving them no reason; suddenly, it was silent again, as quiet as it had been when they’d entered.

“What the good goddamn was
that?”
John said, grabbing another magazine from his pack, his expression one of total incredulity.

“Wasn’t even hurt,” Cole whispered, holding the nine-millimeter so tight that his fingers started to go numb. He barely noticed, watching as Leon touched the thick, wet handful of maroon goop on his sleeve—

—and hissed in pain, drawing his hand back as if he’d been burned.

“Stuff’s toxic,” he said, quickly wiping his fingers on his shirt and holding them up. The tips of the index and middle fingers on his left hand had gone an angry, inflamed red. He immediately stuck his handgun in his belt and pulled the black shirt off, carefully avoiding contact with the acidic ooze, dropping it to the stone floor.