by S. D. Perry
David ignored the small voice, thinking instead of how badly he'd screwed them all. Who was he, to lead a fight against Umbrella, to clean up the S.T.A.R.S. and bring honor back to the job? He couldn't even keep his people safe, couldn't plan a simple covert op, couldn't even battle the demons of self-doubt and horrified guilt that raged inside of him. They neared the lifeless dorm building, John slow– ing to let the rest of them catch up. David saw that his team was tired, but at least Karen didn't look any worse. In the gentle light of the swollen moon, she seemed pale and somehow fragile. The deathly pallor she'd worn beneath the fluorescents had translated into a soft, porcelain cast, the redness of her gaze turning to shadow. If he hadn't known better…
Ah, but you do. How long now, before that milky skin starts to peel, to flake away? How long before she can't be trusted with a weapon, before you have to restrain her from… Stop it!
He let them catch their breath, turning to get a better look at the lighthouse less than twenty meters away and felt his stomach clench, his heart shudder suddenly for no reason that he could have explained. It was an old lighthouse, a tall, cylindrical outdated building, weathered and dark and as seemingly de– serted as the rest of the compound. Looking at it, he experienced the feeling he'd had earlier of impending doom, of options closing down behind them and the spinning wheel of darkness ahead. "Come on," John said briskly, but David stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head slowly. Not safe. That tiny voice again, familiar yet strange. He stared at the looming tower, feeling lost, feeling uncertain and out of control as the wind swept over them, the waves pounding the cliff. They were wait– ing. It wasn't safe, but they had to go in, they couldn't just stand there and it hit him suddenly, a clear realization of what it was that had gone wrong in his mind. What was really wrong. It wasn't his competence, it wasn't his ability to think or plan or fight. It was something far worse, something he might have noticed much earlier if he hadn't let himself get so wrapped up with guilt.
I stopped trusting my instincts. Without the security of the S.T.A.R.S. behind me, I forgot to listen to that voice – so terrified of making a mistake that I lost my ability to hear, to know what to do. Every time the fear hit me, I pushed through it, I ignored it and I made it that much stronger.
Even as he thought it, as he believed it, he felt the blackness of doubt lift from his exhausted thoughts. The guilt eased back, allowing a kind of clarity to filter through and with it, the tiny voice inside took on a power that he'd almost forgotten it could have. It's not safe, so hit the door fast, two in low, the rest high and covered outside… All of this flashed through his mind in seconds. He turned to look at his team, watching him, waiting for him to lead. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he knew that he could. "I think it's a trap," he said. "John, you and I go in low, I'll take west – Rebecca, I want you and Steve to stand on either side of the door and fire at anything standing; keep firing until we call clear. Sorry, Karen, you'll sit this one out."
They nodded all around and started for the deep shadows that surrounded the ominous tower, David in front, finally feeling as though he was doing some– thing useful. Maybe that spinning destiny was too vast, moving too quickly for them to deny, but he wasn't going to let it run them over without at least putting up a fight. Karen deserved that much. They all did. Karen hung back as they moved into position, leaning against the back wall of the large building behind the lighthouse to watch. She felt winded by the climb up the hill, winded and strange and there was a buzzing in her brain that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let her fully concentrate…
… getting sick. Getting sicker, fast.
It scared her, but somehow it wasn't as bad as it had been. In fact, it wasn't really that scary at all. The initial terror had gone, leaving her with only a memo– ry of the adrenaline rush, like a whiff of a bad dream. The itch was distracting, but not exactly an itch anymore. What had felt like a million bug bites on her skin, each separate and distinct and screaming for relief, had connected. It was the only way she could think to describe the sensation. They had connected, had become a thick blanket over her body that crawled and squirmed, as if her skin had come to life and was scratching itself. It was weird, but not exactly unpleasant…
"Now!"
At the sound of David's voice, Karen focused on the sudden action in front of her, the buzzing hum in her head making it all seem strange, speeded up somehow. The door to the lighthouse crashing open, David and John leaping into the blackness, bullets flashing and booming. The high, whining rattle of an M-16 inside. Steve and Rebecca, ducking and firing, out and in and out again, their bodies blurred by speed, their Berettas dancing like black metal birds. It was happening so fast that it seemed to take a long, long time for it to stop. Karen frowned, wonder– ing how that could be……and then saw David and John step back out into the blue light of the moon, and realized that she was happy to see them. Even with their strange and distorted faces, their long bodies that moved too quickly…
… what's happening to me…
Karen shook her head but the buzzing only seemed to get louder and she was afraid again, afraid that David and John and Steve and Rebecca would leave her behind. They'd leave her behind and she wouldn't have anyone to… to ease her mind. That was bad. David was in front of her, staring at her with eyes like wet, dark cherries. "Karen, are you okay?" At the look on his round and pointed face and the sound of softness in his voice, Karen felt happy again, and knew that she had to tell him the truth. With a tremendous effort, she found the strength to say what had to be said, her voice coming out of the crawling body and the buzzing, sounding as strange to her as the wind. "It's getting worse now," she said. "I don't think right, David. Don't leave me."
John and Rebecca, their hot, hot hands touching her, leading her away and to the darkness of the open door. Her body worked, but her mind was clouded by the trembling buzzing hum. There were things she wanted to tell them, things that drifted through the cloud like flashes of pretty pictures, but the building they moved her to was dark and hot, and there was a body on the floor holding a rifle. His face, she could see. His face wasn't strange; it was white, white and curling, textured like the buzzing and the crawling. It
was a face that made sense. "I got the door," Steve said, looking up and grin-ning, white, white teeth. "One-three-five." There was a keypad next to an open hole, stairs leading down, and Steve's teeth disappeared, his flat face wrinkling.
"Karen…"
"We have to hurry."
"Hang on baby, hang on, we'll be there soon."
Karen let them help her, wondering why their faces looked so strange, wondering why they smelled so hot and good.
FOURTEEN
Athens had failed. Dr. Griffith stared at the blinking white light by the door, cursing Athens, cursing Lyle Ammon, cursing his luck. He hadn't told Athens how to get back inside, which could only mean that the intruders had made it past him. Ammon had left them a message or sent them one, it didn't matter – all that mattered was that they were coming and he had to assume that they had the key. He'd torn down the markers weeks ago, but perhaps they had directions, perhaps they'd find him and…
Don't panic, no need for panic. You prepared for this, simply move on, next plan. Division first, twofold effect – less firepower, bait for later… and a chance to see how well Alan can perform.
Griffith turned to Dr. Kinneson and spoke quickly, keeping the instructions clear and simple, the route as easy as possible. Griffith had already worked out the questions they'd probably ask, though he knew there was a chance they'd try for more information. He gave Alan several random phrases to respond with, then gave him the small semi-automatic pistol from Dr. Chin's desk drawer, watching as Alan tucked it beneath his lab coat to make sure it was hidden. The bullet carrier was empty, but he didn't think it was possible to tell, not if the hammer was pulled back. He also gave Alan his key; a risk, but then the entire scenario was a risk. With the fate of the world resting in
his hands, he'd take any chance necessary. After Alan had gone, Griffith sat down in a chair to wait for a reasonable amount of time, his gaze wan– dering to the six stainless canisters in restless antici-pation. His plans wouldn't fail; the righteousness of his work would see him through this invasion. If Alan was caught out, there were still the Ma7s, there was still Louis, there were still the syringes and his hiding place, the airlock controls in easy reach.
Past all of that, there was still the sunrise, waiting. Dr. Griffith smiled dreamily.
Karen could still walk, still seemed to understand at least part of what they were saying to her, but the few words she could manage didn't seem to relate to anything. As they'd gone down the stairs from the lighthouse, she'd said "hot" twice. As they'd walked into the wide, dank tunnel at the base of the steps, she'd said, "I don't want," an expression of fear on her deathly pale, searching face. Rebecca was terrified that even if they found a way to reverse the viral load, it would be too late. It had all happened so suddenly, so fast that she could still hardly comprehend it. There'd been a man waiting for them in the darkness of the lighthouse, a trap just as David had intuited. As soon as they'd gone in, he'd opened fire with an automatic rifle, strafing the door from the shadows beneath the wind– ing metal stairs. Thanks to David's plan, it had been over in seconds and as Steve had discovered the access door and punched in the code, Rebecca and John had looked over their waiting attacker, had seen in the narrow beam of John's flashlight that the man had been infected his paper-white skin was flaking and creased with strange, peeling etched lines. He'd looked somehow different than the Trisquad victims she'd seen, less decayed, his open, staring eyes some– how more human… but then David had gone to get Karen and Rebecca's interest had been suddenly and cruelly diverted. It had been the walk up the hill, she'd decided. Even though it shouldn't have made a difference, she couldn't imagine what else might have brought on the amplification so quickly. Somehow, the T-Virus must have responded to the physiological changes of Ka– ren's increased heart rate and circulation, but as they'd led the confused and stumbling woman into the lighthouse, Rebecca had found that she'd stopped caring about how; all she wanted was to get to the lab, to try and salvage what was left of Karen Driver's sanity. The tunnel beneath the lighthouse seemed to lead back toward the compound in a curving, twisting trail, and was carved from the heavy limestone of the cliff. Mining lights were strung along the walls, casting strange shadows as they moved forward, silent and grimly afraid, John and Steve half-pulling Karen between them. Rebecca was last, again feeling a horrible sense of deja vu as they stumbled along, remembering the tunnels beneath the Spencer estate.
The same cold damp emanated from the stone, and she felt the same terrible feelings of moving toward unknown danger, exhausted and afraid of screwing up – of not being able to prevent a disaster. The disaster has already happened, she thought helplessly, watching Karen struggle to keep walking.
We're losing her. In another hour, probably less, she'll be too far gone to ever come back.
As it was, John and Steve shouldn't be touching her. In a single, easy movement she could get at either one of them, biting before they had a chance to let go. Even that concept made her sick with sorrow and an aching, heavy feeling of loss. The tunnel veered to the left, and Rebecca realized they had to be incredibly close to the ocean; the walls seemed to tremble and shake from a muted thunder beyond, and the tunnel was thick with a damp and fishy smell. Parts of the floor seemed too smooth to have been created by human hands, and Rebecca wondered vaguely if the tunnel opened up ahead somewhere, perhaps had once been flooded by the sea… "Bloody hell," David whispered angrily. "Shit." Rebecca looked up. When she saw what was ahead, she felt her last flicker of hope for Karen die.
We'll never find it in time.
The tunnel did open up, a few hundred meters ahead of where David had stopped. It widened con-siderably, in fact and was connected by five smaller tunnels, each branching off in a slightly different direction. "Which way is southwest?" John asked anxiously. Karen leaned against him, her head rolling forward. David's voice was still angry, frustration raising his words to an echo that bounced through the five stone corridors, circling back to fill the cavern.
"I don't know, I thought we were already headed southwest and yet none of these is in direct align-ment, and none head directly east, either."
They moved into the rough-hewn cavern, staring helplessly at the smooth tunnels, each of them strung with lights that disappeared around turns and bends. They had obviously been carved by water, perhaps had once been connected to the sea caves that David had originally meant for them to find. The tunnels weren't as wide as the one they stood in, but were wide enough to accommodate human passage com-fortably enough, and at least three meters high. There was no way to guess which one was used to get to the lab -or if any of them lead to the lab, we don't even know for certain that it's down here…
"If none of them goes east, then we have to pick the one that looks the most likely to go southwest," Steve said quietly. "Besides, east of here is water." Karen mumbled something unintelligible, and Rebecca stepped forward worriedly to see how she was. Though John and Steve still steadied her, she seemed to have no trouble standing on her own. Rebecca touched her clammy, sweating forehead and Karen's rolling eyes fixed on her, glassy and red, the pupils dilated. "Karen, how are you doing?" she asked softly. Karen blinked slowly. "Thirsty," she whispered, her voice bubbling and liquid sounding.
Still responsive, thank God…
Rebecca touched her throat lightly, feeling the rapid, thready pulse beneath her fingers. It was defi– nitely quicker than before, up in the lighthouse. Whatever the virus was doing to her, it wouldn't be much longer before Karen's body gave out. Rebecca turned, feeling desperate and angry, want– ing to scream for somebody to do something and heard the pounding footsteps, echoing up through one of the tunnels. She grabbed for her Beretta, saw John and David do the same as Steve held onto Karen.
Which one, where's it coming from? Griffith? Is it Griffith?
The sound seemed to circle, coming from every-where at once and then Rebecca saw him, appearing from around a comer in the passage second from the right. A stumbling figure, a flapping, dusty lab coat and then he saw them, and even from fifteen meters away, Rebecca could see the stunned and almost hysterical joy that swept across his face. The man ran for them, his short brown hair wild and disheveled, his eyes bright and lips trembling. He wasn't holding any kind of weapon, though Rebecca kept hers raised.
"Oh, thank God, thank God! You have to help me! Dr. Thurman, he's gone mad, we have to get out of here!"
He staggered out of the tunnel and nearly ran into David, apparently oblivious to the pistols trained on him as he babbled on.
"We have to go, there's a boat we can use, we have to get out before he kills us all…"
David shot a glance back, saw that Rebecca and John still had him covered. He tucked the Beretta into his side holster and stepped forward, taking the man's arm.
"Easy, calm down. Who are you, do you work here?" "Alan Kinneson," the man gasped. "Thurman kept me locked up in the lab but he heard you coming and I managed to get away. But he's crazy. You have to help me get to the boat! There's a radio, we can call for help!" The lab! "Which way is the laboratory?" David asked quickly. Kinneson didn't seem to hear him, too panicked by whatever he thought Thurman might do to them.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!" "The laboratory," David repeated. "Listen to me did you just come from there?"
Kinneson turned and pointed to the tunnel that was next to the one he'd come from, the one in the middle.
"The lab is that way…" He pointed back the way he'd come. "…and the boat's down there. These caves are like a maze."
Though he seemed to have calmed slightly as he pointed to the tunnels, when he turned back to face them, he looked as hysterical as he had before. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties at first glance, but D
avid noticed he had deep lines etched at the comers of his eyes and mouth and realized he had to be much older. Whoever he was and however old he was, he was caught in the grip of an almost mindless panic.
"The radio's on the boat, we can call for help and then get away!"
David's thoughts raced in time with his pounding heart. This was it, this was their chance -
–we get to the lab, make this Thurman give us the cure and then get out of this place, before anyone else gets hurt.
He turned to look at the others and saw the same hopeful looks that he knew he wore, John and Steve both nodding sharply. Rebecca didn't look as en– thused. She jerked her head back, motioning for David to move out of Kinneson's earshot. "Excuse us a moment," David said, forcing a politeness that he didn't feel. Kinneson was one of the researchers from Trent's list. "We have to hurry!" The man babbled, but he didn't follow as David stepped back toward the others, the four of them leaning together to talk, Karen resting against Steve's arm. Rebecca's voice was hushed and worried. "David, we can't take Karen to the lab if Griffith – if Thurman is there; what if we have to fight?"
John nodded, shooting a glance at the wild-eyed
researcher. "And I don't think we should leave this guy alone, he's likely to take off with our ride home."
David frowned, thinking. Steve was a better shot, but John was stronger. If they had to force Thurman to give them the T-Virus cure, John could probably intimidate him more easily.
"We split up. Steve, you take Karen to the boat, keep an eye on Kinneson. We'll go to the lab, get what we need and then meet you there. Agreed?"