by Tim Waggoner
The woman had remained still while the officer spoke to her, but this violation was more than she could take. Almost as a reflex, she raised her manacled hands and shoved him away. The motion had little strength behind it, but the officer was infuriated by her meager show of resistance. After giving one of the woman’s breasts a final squeeze, he withdrew his hand from her blouse, and when he next spoke, his voice was cold as arctic ice.
“Now that—that was a mistake.”
He grabbed her right hand, and the woman squealed in fear.
“No! Mercy, please! Mercy!”
“If thy right hand offends thee—”
With his free hand, he slid the hunting knife from its sheath and held the blade in front of the woman’s face.
“—cut it off,” he finished.
“No,” Alice said, keeping her tone even, almost conversational.
The officer responded without turning to face her.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Matthew 5:30. You misquoted. If you’re going to use it, at least get it right.”
There was a pause, and when the man replied, Alice could hear the mocking smile in his voice.
“So you’re awake at last.”
Still holding the hunting knife, the man stood and turned toward Alice, finally giving her a good look at his features as the light streaming in from the open hatch lit his face.
It was Dr. Alexander Isaacs.
Alice was so shocked that for a moment she couldn’t speak.
“I killed you,” she said at last.
Isaacs smiled at Alice, and then a realization hit her.
“A clone… I killed your clone.”
His smile broadened, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t have been as successful against the genuine article.”
Alice held up her manacled hands to him. “Why don’t you release me and we can find out?”
Isaacs laughed.
“You’ve been most troublesome to me. You and your sisters.” He walked to an overhead storage locker. “I’ve taken great pleasure in hunting down the final few.”
He slid the metal locker door open to reveal the severed heads of four Alice clones, two of them badly decomposed, the other two relatively fresh kills. Isaacs smiled at the grisly trophies before turning back to look at Alice.
“And now I have you.”
Alice stared at the clones’ faces. Umbrella might have created them, but she’d been the one to wake and release them—along with many others—so they could join her in the battle against Umbrella. And now here they were, dead by Isaacs’ hand. Her gaze fell to the hunting knife in his grip, and she wondered if he’d used the weapon to separate the clones’ heads from their bodies. Probably.
“The cleansing operation should have finished over a year ago,” Isaacs said. “But you slowed us down. So much so that I was obliged to take command personally. And I don’t like being out in the field. I find it too… unpredictable.”
Alice would’ve liked nothing more than to break free of her manacles, snatch the knife from Isaacs’ hand, and slice the blade across his throat. But the human race had only eighteen hours left to live, and that’s where her focus had to be, even if it meant trying to rationalize with a madman. She’d make a deal with Satan himself in order to release the antivirus.
“You could end all this,” Alice said. “Why don’t you?”
Isaacs’ brow furrowed in puzzlement, and his gaze sharpened, as if he were trying to see into Alice’s mind.
“I could end it? Interesting. What exactly do you know? Someone told you something, didn’t they?”
Alice didn’t reply.
Isaacs smiled once more. “You’ll be begging to tell me soon enough.”
He slammed his fist against the metal wall of the hold, once, twice, three times, building a rhythm. He continued pounding the wall as he addressed the other prisoners.
“She’s an Unbeliever! And what do we do with Unbelievers?”
The prisoners began chanting along with the rhythm, most reluctantly but some—like One Ear and Scars—with enthusiasm, the chant building until it became deafening.
“Cast her out! Cast her out! Cast her out!”
* * *
Alice ran.
Her hands were still manacled, and the cable attached to the belt around her waist stretched to the military transport vehicle ahead of her. The cable wasn’t taut, so she held the slack in her right hand to keep her feet from getting caught in it. The transport was moving slow enough for her to keep up, but just barely. But she wasn’t alone. Following close behind her was an army of Undead. There were tens—maybe hundreds—of thousands. The ones nearest Alice snapped and snarled, swiping the air in desperate attempts to catch hold of her to momentarily sate their never-ending hunger. But the transport set a pace that was too fast for the Undead to catch her, but only just.
The vehicle rolled down the center of the highway, and the horde of Undead that followed behind it stretched off into the distance farther than the eye could see. But Isaacs’ transport wasn’t the only one. A second equally large army of Undead swarmed on the other side of the highway, led by another running prisoner attached to the vehicle by a cable.
We’re bait, Alice thought. Lures used by Umbrella to control and move vast armies of the Undead across the country. Now she understood why the other prisoners in the transport’s hold had been so frail-looking. They were forced to take turns running behind the vehicle to keep the Undead following. And that was why Umbrella had set up the trap at the overpass which had caught her. They needed fresh meat.
The Undead that comprised the two hordes were old ones, skin gray and mottled, features eaten away by time and the elements, as if they were statues whose outer layer of stone had been eroded. Many were missing ears, noses, and lips, and the feet of those without shoes had been worn to nubs from their travels. Their clothes were tattered and caked with dirt and old blood, turning them an almost uniform gray. And the stench rising from the mass of Undead bodies was like nothing Alice had ever experienced before—and given the number of Undead and mutant monstrosities she’d fought and killed over the years, she was no stranger to foul odors. It was as if a pit to Hell had opened up, releasing the combined stink of billions of flayed, rotting bodies along with bubbling pools of sulphur. One good thing about it: the stench would probably destroy her olfactory sense before long, and she wouldn’t have to smell it anymore. But as bad as the smell was, the sounds the Undead made were worse. Moaning, snarling, hissing, keening, growling, all merging into a chorus of hunger, desire, and death. Alice had experienced nightmares like this many times over the years—running from an army of ravenous Undead, eager to feast on her flesh. Now her nightmare had come true.
She was tired, weak, and sore, but she couldn’t afford to slow down, not even a little—not unless she wanted to feel hundreds of teeth tearing into her. She tried not to think about the thousands of Undead pursuing her. Instead, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping. Because if she fell, the Undead would make sure she never got up again.
A hatch on top of the transport vehicle opened, and Isaacs appeared, along with an Umbrella trooper. Alice assumed the trooper was there to protect Isaacs in case the Undead managed to get too close to the vehicle. The two men stepped up onto the roof and walked to the back railing, where Isaacs looked down at Alice.
“You know, I didn’t even look at the Good Book before all of this. I thought it was for the simple-minded, the easily led. Never once thought it applied to me. How wrong can a man be?”
He then looked past Alice to gaze upon the horde trailing after her.
“The Lord used a flood to cleanse the Earth. Forty days and forty nights of rain. Our method has taken a little longer, but the result will be the same. A world ready for the righteous and pure to inherit.”
Alice felt a sudden wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled. On either side of
her, lengths of bloody chain dragged behind the transport, reminders of those prisoners who’d preceded her, weakened, fallen, and been devoured by the horde. She almost went down, but the sight of those chains fueled her determination to survive, and she forced the dizziness back with an act of sheer will and managed to stay on her feet. If Isaacs noticed her almost falling, he gave no indication. He continued speaking as if nothing had happened.
“We reach Raccoon City in just over twelve hours. I doubt even you can run for that long. I want to know what you know.”
Isaacs waited for her to respond, but she only glared at him. If her mouth hadn’t been so dry, she’d have spit at him to show her defiance.
Isaacs met her gaze for a moment before breaking eye contact. He turned to the trooper. “Tell me when she’s ready to talk.”
Isaacs headed back inside the transport, leaving Alice to keep running.
* * *
Wesker sat before a bank of monitors showing live satellite feeds from around the world. He was surrounded by high-tech equipment lit by fluorescent lights hanging overhead, but beyond the lights, the uneven stone features of a large natural cavern were hidden in shadowy gloom. The cavern’s cool damp air suited Wesker. The T-virus surging through his system often made him feel too warm, almost feverish, and he felt more comfortable here.
He was pleased by what he saw on the monitors. Everything was going precisely according to—
One of the satellite feeds was replaced by the image of an Asian man in his mid-thirties.
Wesker nodded. “Commander Lee.”
Lee nodded back, then called over his shoulder. “Sir, I have Chairman Wesker for you.”
Lee stepped away from the screen, and Alexander Isaacs appeared. Wesker, as always, kept his face impassive, but inside he was irritated by this interruption.
“Dr. Isaacs,” Wesker said by way of greeting.
Isaacs gave Wesker a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.
“Look what I found on the roadside.”
A new image replaced Isaacs’ face: Alice being pulled behind an Umbrella transport vehicle, an army of Undead following close behind her. Wesker stared, unable to believe what he was seeing.
“Impossible,” he said.
Isaacs reappeared on the monitor. “It would appear your mission to Washington was less successful than you made out. I hope you didn’t leave any other loose ends.”
Despite the cavern’s coolness, Wesker’s temperature began to rise, and he felt a familiar itching all over his body which indicated his control over the T-virus was slipping. He’d never been able to fully master it, but recently it had begun to feel as if the virus was fighting him for control of his body, as if it had a mind of its own. A ludicrous notion, he knew, but it was one he couldn’t easily dismiss. He concentrated on maintaining his body’s cellular stability as Isaacs continued speaking.
“And there’s something else. I think she knows about the airborne antivirus.”
“How could that be? Only the High Command has that information.”
“I don’t know. Yet. But we caught her on the road to Raccoon City. Why else would she be headed there?”
“If she knows about the antivirus, there may be others.”
“Yes. Raise the security level at the Hive to maximum. No one in or out. I’ll let you know when she talks.”
Isaacs ceased transmission and the monitor screen went blank. Wesker caught a crimson flicker of light out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to see the Red Queen’s holographic image floating in the air next to him.
“You heard him. Security level to maximum.”
“As you wish,” the Red Queen said.
Wesker turned in his chair to face two cryostasis tanks occupying a commanding position in the center of the room. Inside each tank was the shadowy figure of a human form, and a single wheelchair sat in front.
“Should we wake them?” Wesker asked.
“My instructions are to do so only in the greatest of emergencies.”
Wesker considered the matter. Alice still lived, but she no longer had her powers, and she was Isaacs’ captive. Wesker had no illusions, though. He knew that as long as she was alive, she was still a threat. But it seemed that threat was contained—for the moment.
“Very well. We’ll wait.”
* * *
Gray nibbled at the edges of Alice’s vision, and she knew she couldn’t keep up this forced march much longer. Still, she concentrated on breathing regularly, timing her breaths with the rhythm of her feet pounding on the highway’s surface. Breathe in—two, three, four. Breathe out—two, three, four. She felt a tingling sensation on the back of her neck, and she dodged to the side as a male Undead made a grab for her. He was fresher than most in the horde, his skin still flesh-colored in a number of places, and he showed fewer signs of rot than the others. Because he was fresher, he was stronger, faster, and he’d been able to force his way to the front of the pack and catch up with Alice.
As she avoided the Undead, she quickly glanced at the countdown display on her watch.
16:11:12
The Undead snarled and made another lunge for her, but instead of evading him this time, she let him take hold of her. Before he could sink his teeth into her, she wrapped the slack of her chain around his neck, and with a single savage motion used it to snap his spinal column. The Undead shuddered once and went limp. Still running, Alice quickly unwrapped the chain and let the dead creature fall to the ground, where his body was soon trampled by hundreds more Undead.
Alice knew she couldn’t keep going like this. Time was running out, and she had to do something if she was to have any hope of reaching the Hive before it was too late. She would have to do her best to stay alive and on her feet, and hope a chance for escape would soon present itself. She had learned over the years that there was always a chance, no matter how slight, and when it came this time, she’d be ready.
Breathe in—two, three, four. Breathe out—two, three, four.
* * *
Conditions were much better in the crew cabin of the transport than in the hold, but there was still a squalid, cramped desperation there. Too many personnel in too small a space. Despite this—or perhaps to counter it—Isaacs stood shaving in front of a jagged piece of mirror affixed to the cabin wall, a trooper standing next to him holding a metal bowl of water and a small dingy towel draped over one arm. Isaacs used a straight razor, and while it was more difficult to work with than an electric one—especially when the transport was moving—he rather enjoyed the discipline required to wield it effectively. A sharp eye, a steady hand, calm nerves… He knew that the men and women in the cabin likely found his attention to personal hygiene at this moment somewhat puzzling, if not outright eccentric. He didn’t expect them to understand, though. They were only tools he was using to fulfill God’s will, little different than the thousands of Undead they led across the desolate wasteland that had once been America. So let them stare and wonder at his sanity. He was the only truly sane one here, and when the End of the World finally arrived—as it would when they reached Raccoon City—he, for one, intended to look his best.
“We have an obstruction up ahead,” Commander Chu said.
Isaacs turned toward Chu, who stood at the transport’s helm, looking out the windshield past the driver. Isaacs was in charge of this operation, but this was Commander Chu’s vehicle, and he ran a tight ship. He was a skilled warrior, and the troopers under his command both respected and feared him. Isaacs found Chu to be a competent officer, and he was glad to have the man at the helm, even if he did have a tendency to act above his station at times.
Isaacs stopped shaving. He took the towel from his assistant—a female trooper with a broad face and short brown hair—and quickly wiped the last of the shaving foam from his chin, and then, still holding the razor, he made his way to the front of the vehicle to stand next to Chu. Through the windshield, Isaacs saw two crashed vehicles up ahead partially blocking the highway.
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br /> “Go through it,” Isaacs said. He wasn’t going to allow anything to slow them down, not when they were so close to seeing God’s will done.
“Slow by twenty percent,” Chu told the driver. He then raised his voice to address the entire crew. “Brace for impact!”
The driver hastened to do her commander’s bidding while everyone else found handholds to steady themselves.
Isaacs watched the crashed vehicles loom large as the transport approached, idly scraping the razor across a section of his cheek that he’d already shaved. The transport began to slow, and there would be a hard jolt as it broke through the obstruction. Either of those factors would give the Undead pursuing Alice a chance to catch up to her. Once the transport was past the crashed vehicles, Isaacs would go check on her. He wondered if there would be a third bloody chain dragging on the ground to join the two already there. He certainly hoped so. He smiled as he drew the razor across his cheek again, this time nicking himself and bringing forth a bead of bright-red blood.
He didn’t notice.
* * *
At first, Alice didn’t recognize that the transport was slowing down, but when she realized that there was more slack to her chain, she understood what was happening. Something was making the crew slow the vehicle, most likely some sort of obstacle on the road ahead. She didn’t care what the exact reason for their slowing down was, though. All that mattered was her chance had finally come. She looked up at the trooper Isaacs had tasked with guarding her. The man was still watching her, but if she was right about why the transport had slowed…
Suddenly there was a loud crash of metal striking metal, and the transport juddered from the impact. The trooper was knocked off balance, and he turned his head toward the front of the vehicle to see what had happened.
This was Alice’s cue.
Still holding onto her chain, she ran toward the transport as fast as she could. She managed to make it around the vehicle’s left side just as the trooper turned back to check on her. There was an access ladder on the side of the transport, and Alice grabbed hold of one of the rungs, and swung her legs upward until she was hanging upside down.