Resident Evil – Underworld

by S. D. Perry

  So who brought us down? And why, if they weren't planning on meeting us with a few bullets?"Maybe they're all playing bingo," John said softly, and Leon looked back, saw that except for the place-ment of a few side halls, John's side was identical to his. And just as empty.They both stepped back into the elevator. John reached for the controls, tapped the "Up" button, and nothing happened. "What now?" Leon asked. "Don't ask me, David's the brains behind our outfit," John said. "Though I got the looks."Jesus, John," Leon said, frustrated. "You've got seniority here; give me a break, will ya?"John shrugged. "Okay. Here's what I'm thinking. Maybe it wasn't a trap. Maybe… if it was a trap, they would've tried to get all of us. And we'd be in the middle of a firefight right now." And the timing. The elevator was only there for a few seconds – as if someone realized we'd called it up…"Someone was trying to keep us from getting on,

  weren't they?" Leon said, not really asking. "To keep us from coming down." John nodded. "Give that man a cigar. And if that's right, it means they're scared of us. I mean, there's no security, right? Whoever brought us down probably hightailed it to a room with a lock." "As to what we do now," he continued, "I'm open to suggestions. It'd be nice to rejoin our group, but if we can't figure out how to get the elevator going…"

  Leon frowned, thinking, remembering that before Raccoon had pretty much blown his career choice, he had been trained as a cop.

  Use the tools you've got… "Secure the area," he said slowly. "Same plan as before, at least the first part. Get the employees secured, then worry about the elevator. Dealing with Reston will just have to wait."

  John held up his hand suddenly, cutting him off, his head cocked to one side. Leon listened, but didn't hear anything. A few seconds passed and then John lowered his hand. He shrugged dismissively, but his dark eyes were wary and he held the automatic rifle close. "Good call," he said finally. "If we can find the damn employees. You wanna go left or right?"

  Leon smiled faintly, suddenly remembering the last time he'd had to pick a direction. He'd taken a left in the subbasement of Umbrella's Raccoon lab and run into a dead end; having to backtrack had almost cost him his life. "Right," he said. "Left has some bad associations for me."

  John cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything; oddly enough, he seemed satisfied with Leon's rea– soning.

  Maybe because he's crazy. Crazy enough to make bad jokes in the midst of situations like this, anyway.

  Together, they stepped out into the long, empty corridor and turned right, moving slowly, John watch– ing their back and Leon scanning every offshoot's opening for a sign of movement. The first side hall was to their left, not fifteen feet from the elevator. "Hang on," John said, and ducked into the short hall, walking quickly to a single door at the back. He rattled the handle, then hurried back out, shaking his head. "Thought I heard something before," he said, and Leon nodded, thinking about how easy it would be for someone to kill them.

  Hide in a locked room, wait 'til we're past, step out and pow…

  Bad thinking. Leon let it go and they continued their slow trek down the passage, sweeping every inch with their weapons, Leon realizing that the thermal under– wear'd been a bad idea, as sweat started to trickle down his body – and wondering, quite abruptly, how things had gone so wrong so fast.

  Reston had an idea. He'd almost panicked after he'd heard them saying things that they shouldn't have known, hiding in control with the door cracked open. When he'd heard one of them say his name, he'd felt the panic rise into his throat like bile, coloring his mind with visions of his own horrible death. He'd closed the door then, locking it, sagging against it as he tried to think, to sort through his options. When one of them had rattled the door, he'd very nearly screamed, but had managed to hold still, to make no sound at all until the interloper had moved on. It took him a few moments to collect himself after that, to remember that this was something he could handle; strangely enough, it was the thought of Trent that did it for him. Trent wouldn't panic. Trent would know exactly what to do – and he most certainly wouldn't run crying to Jackson for help. In spite of that, he'd almost picked up the phone several times as he watched the monitors, watched the two men terrorizing his employees. They were effi– cient, unlike their rumbling counterparts still working to figure out the elevator on the surface. It had taken the two men all of five minutes once they'd reached the living area to get the workers together; it helped that five of them were still awake and playing cards in the cafeteria, three of the construction crew and both mechanics. The young white man watched them as the other one went to the dorm and roused the rest, marching them back to the cafeteria, crowding them with his automatic weapon. Reston was disappointed with the lackluster perfor-mance of his people, not one fighter among them, and was still very afraid. Once the teams from the city came in he'd have something to work with, but until then, all sorts of bad things might happen.

  "Dealing with Reston will just have to wait…"What happens when they realize I'm not in their hostage group? What do they want? What could they want, except to hold me for ransom or kill me?

  He'd been on the verge of calling Sidney, in spite of the fact that Jackson would certainly find out about it – but he'd risk his colleague's disapproval, he'd risk losing his place in the inner circle if it meant he could survive this invasion. He was actually reaching for the phone when he realized that someone was missing. Reston leaned closer to the cafeteria monitor, frowning, forgetting the phone. There were fourteen people grouped to-gether in the middle of the room, the two gunmen standing some distance away.

  Where's the other one? Who's the other one?

  Reston reached out and touched the screen, mark– ing off the faces of the bleary-eyed hostages. The five construction workers. Two mechanics. The cook, the specimen handlers, all six of them… "Cole," he muttered, pursing his lips. The electri– cian, Henry Cole. He wasn't there. An idea began to form, but it depended on where Cole actually was. Reston tapped at the buttons that worked the screens, beginning to hope, to see a way not only to survive, but to – to win. To come out on top. There were twenty-two screens in the control room, but almost fifty cameras set up throughout the Planet and in the surface "weather" station. The Planet had been built with video in mind, the layout fairly simple; from control, one could see almost every part of every hall, room, and environment, the cameras placed at key points. Finding someone was just a matter of pushing the right button to switch between views. Reston checked the test rooms first, each set of cameras in phases One through Four. No luck. He tried the science area next, the surgical rooms, the chem lab, even the stasis room; again, he didn't see anyone.

  He wouldn't be in quarters, they've certainly cleared everyone else out… and there's no reason for him to be on the surface…

  Reston grinned suddenly, punching up the cameras in and around the holding cells. Cole and both of the mechanics had been using the cells to lay out equip– ment, wires and tools and various bits of machinery.

  There!

  Cole was sitting on the floor in between cells one and nine, sorting through a box of little metal pieces, his skinny legs splayed out in front of him. Reston looked back at the cafeteria, saw that the two armed men seemed to be conferring, watching the useless, huddled group of workers. On the surface, the other three were still hammering at the keypad and searching for something or other… The idea took shape, the possibilities coming to him one at a time, each more interesting and exciting than the last. The data he could collect, the respect that he would earn, getting rid of his problem and promoting himself at the same time.

  I could edit the tapes together, have something to show my visitors after the tour – and won't Sidney be undone when Jackson sees what I've accomplished, how I've handled things. I'll be the golden child for a change…

  Reston stood up from the console, still grinning, nervous but hopeful. He'd have to hurry, and he'd have to use all his acting skills with Cole; not a problem, considering that he'd spent thirty years of
his life developing them, honing them… Before joining Umbrella, he'd been a diplomat. It would work. They wanted Reston; he'd give him to them.

  NINE

  COLE WAS POKING IDLY THROUGH A BOX OF bipolar transistors, thinking that he was an idiot; he should be sleeping. It had to be close to midnight, he'd been breaking his ass all day for Mr. Blue, and he'd have to drag said ass out of bed in another six hours to do the same. He was tired and sick to death of being picked on just because the last happy asshole to go through the Planet with a toolbox had done everything wrong. It's not my fault, he thought sullenly, that the dumbass didn't connect the leads on the MOSFETs before he installed 'em. And his outdoor conduits are crappy, he didn't figure on the Planet's inductive load… incompetent jerkoff…

  Maybe he was being harsh, but he wasn't feeling particularly forgiving after the day he'd had. Mr. Blue had distinctly told him to get to the surface cams first – and then chased him down and insisted he'd told him to take care of the intercom system first. Cole knew he was full of shit – along with everyone else working at the Planet – but Reston was one of the top guys, a real heavy-hitter, when he said jump, you jumped, and there was never a question of who was right. Cole had only worked for Umbrella for a year, but he'd made more money in that year than he had in the five before combined; he was not gonna be the one to piss off Mr. Blue (so-called because of his perpetual blue suit) and get himself canned.

  You sure about that? After all you've seen in the last few weeks?

  Cole put the box of transistors down and rubbed at his eyes; they felt hot and itchy. He hadn't been sleeping all that well since coming to work at the Planet. It wasn't that he was some bleeding-heart type, he didn't give much of a shit what Umbrella wanted to do with their money. But…

  … but it's hard to feel good about this place. It's bad news. It's a freak show.

  In his year with Umbrella, he'd wired a chem lab on the west coast for power, installed a bunch of new circuit breakers for a think tank on the other coast, and generally done a lot of maintenance work wher– ever they shipped him. Incredible pay, not too hard, and the people he usually worked with were decent enough – mostly blue-collar types doing the same kind of stuff he was doing. And all he had to do out-side of the work was promise not to talk about whatever he saw; he'd signed a contract to that effect when he'd first hired on, and had never had a problem with it. But then, he'd never seen the Planet. When Umbrella called you out on a job, they didn't explain anything. It was just, "fix that," and you fixed it and got paid. Even within the working crews, discussions about the job site's purpose were heavily discouraged. Word got around, though, and Cole knew enough about the Planet to think that he maybe didn't want to work for Umbrella anymore. There were the creatures, for one thing, the test animals. He hadn't actually seen them, or the thing they were calling Fossil, the frozen freak, but he'd heard them, a couple of times. Once, in the middle of the night, a screeching, howling sound that had chilled him to the bone, a sound like a bird, scream– ing. And then there was the day in Phase Two, realigning one of the video cameras, when he'd heard a strange chattering sound, like nails being tapped on hollow wood, but the sound was animal, too. Alive. He'd heard that they were specially created for Um– brella, some kind of genetic hybrids that would be better for studying, but hybrids of what? All of the creatures had bizarre and unpleasant nicknames, too. He'd heard the "research" guys talking about them on more than one occasion.

  Dacs. Scorps. Spitters. Hunters. Sound like a fun bunch – for a horror movie.

  Cole crawled to his feet, stretching his tired mus– cles, still thinking unhappy thoughts. There was Res– ton, of course; the guy was a grade-A tyrant, and of the worst kind – the kind with a lot of power and not a lot of patience. Cole was used to working with managerial types, but Mr. Blue was way too high on the food chain for his comfort zone. The man was intimidating as all hell.

  But that's not the worst, is it?

  He sighed, looking around at the dozen cells that lined the room, six on either side. No, the worst was right in front of him. Each cell had a cot, a toilet, a sink – and restraining straps on the walls and at-tached to the beds. And the cell block was less than twenty feet from the "foyer" of the first environment, where the doors had locks on the outside.

  After this one, I do some serious thinking about my priorities; I've got enough saved to take a break, get some perspective…

  Cole sighed again. That was fine, for later. For now, though, he had to try and catch some sleep. He turned and walked to the door, slapping the lights off as he opened it…… and there was Reston. Hurrying around the corner where the main corridor turned toward the elevators, looking extremely upset.

  Oh, hell, what now?

  Reston saw him and practically ran to him, his blue suit uncharacteristically rumpled, his pale gaze dart– ing left and right. "Henry," he gasped, and stopped in front of him, breathing hard. "Thank God. You have to help me. There are two men, assassins, they broke in and they're here to kill me, and I need your help."

  Cole was as much taken aback by his demeanor as by what he said; he'd never seen Blue with a hair out of place, or without that small, smug smile that was the sole property of the incredibly wealthy.

  "I… what?"

  Reston took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.

  "I'm sorry. I just – the Planet has been invaded; there are two men here, looking for me. They mean to kill me, Henry. I recognize them from a thwarted attempt on my life not six months ago; they've posted a man on the surface by the door, and I'm trapped, they'll find me and…"

  He broke off, gasping, and was he trying not to cry? Cole stared at him, thinking he called me Henry. "Why are they trying to kill you?" He asked. "I was the chair for a hostile takeover last year, a packaging company – the man we bought out was unstable, he swore he'd get me. And now they're here, right now they're locking up everyone in the cafe– teria – but they're only after me. I've called for help but they won't get here in time. Please, Henry will you help me? I… I'll make it worth your while, I promise you. You'll never have to work again, your children will never have to work…"

  The open plea in Reston's eyes was disconcerting; it stopped Cole from mentioning that he didn't have any children. The man was terrified, his lined face quivering, his silver-shot hair sticking up in tufts. Even without the monetary offer, Cole would have offered to help.

  Maybe.

  "What do you want me to do?"

  Reston half-smiled in relief, actually reaching out to grasp Cole's arm. "Thank you, Henry. Thank you, I… I'm not sure. If you could – they only want me, so if you could distract them somehow…"

  He frowned, his lips trembling, then looked past Cole to the small room that marked the entrance to the environments. "That room! It has a lock on the outside, and opens into One – if you could lure them to you, slip into One… I could lock them inside, lock down the entire room as soon as you were out. You could go straight through to Four and out to the medical area, I'd unlock it for you as soon as they're trapped."

  Cole nodded uncertainly. It should work, except…

  "Won't they know I'm not you? I mean, they'll have a picture of you or something, won't they?" "They won't be able to tell. They'll only see you for a second, when they come around the corner, and then you'll be gone. As soon as they get inside, I'll hit the controls – I can hide in the cell block."

  Reston's pale eyes were swimming, overbright with unshed tears. The guy was desperate – and as plans went, it wasn't a bad one. "Yeah, okay," he said, and the look of gratitude on the older man's face was almost heartwarming. Almost. If he were a decent human being it would be. "You won't regret this, Henry," Reston said, and Cole nodded, not sure what else to say. "You'll be fine, Mr. Reston," he said finally, un– comfortably. "Don't worry." "I'm sure you're right, Henry," Reston said, and turned, and walked into the dark cell block without another word. Cole stood there for a second, then shrugged in-wardly and starte
d for the little room, nervous but also a little peeved. Mr. Blue was scared, but he was still pretty much an asshole.

  No "Don't you worry either, Henry," or, "Be care– ful." Not even a "Good luck, hope they don't shoot you by mistake." He shook his head, stepping into the small room. At least if he helped out the big Blue he'd probably be able to sleep in, maybe even quit the Planet and Umbrella for good. God knew he needed the rest; he'd been having a hell of a time sleeping…

  Rebecca found the camera, at least. A lens no bigger than a quarter was hidden in the southwest corner, just an inch from the ceiling. She'd called David over and he'd covered it with his hand, wishing that he'd done a more thorough check before leading his team inside. He'd been stupid, and John and Leon were almost certainly gone because of it. Claire had found a roll of tape in her diggings, though little else. David taped the hole over, wonder-ing what they were going to do. It was cold, so cold that he didn't know how much longer their reflexes would still be good. The codes weren't working, the sealed entrance would take more than they had to open it up, and two of his team were somewhere in the facility below, perhaps wounded, perhaps dying…… or infected. Infected like Steve and Karen were infected, suffering, losing their humanity… "Stop it," Rebecca said to him, and he stepped down from the table they'd pushed to the corner, half knowing what she meant but not ready to admit it. Rebecca had a way of drawing him out at the worst possible times.

  "Stop what?"

  Rebecca stepped closer to him, staring up into his face, hooding her flashlight with one small hand.

  "You know what. You've got that look, I can see it; you're telling yourself that this is your fault. That if you'd done something differently, they'd still be here." He sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but this isn't the appropriate…" "Yes it is," she interrupted. "If you're going to blame yourself, you won't think as clearly. We're not in the S.T.A.R.S. anymore, and you're not anyone's captain. It's not your fault."