by S. D. Perry
Claire had walked over to join them, her gray gaze curious and searching in spite of the worry that still pinched her delicate features. "You think this is your fault? It's not. I don't think that." David threw up his hands. "My God, alright! It's not my fault, and we can all spend some time analyz-ing what I'm accountable for if and when we get out of this; for now, though, can we please concentrate on what's in front of us?"
Both young women nodded, and while he was glad to have stopped the therapy session before it got started, he realized that he didn't know what the next thing was – what tasks to give them beyond what they'd already done, how they were going to resolve their crisis, what to say or how to say it. It was a dreadful moment; he was used to having something to fight against, something to react to or shoot at or plan for, but their situation seemed to be static, unchang– ing. There wasn't a clear path for them to follow, and that was even worse than the guilt he felt about his lack of foresight. And just at that moment, he heard the distant buzz of an approaching helicopter, the faraway thrum that could be nothing else – and although it was a solution of sorts, it was the worst one possible.
Nothing for cover except this compound, and we'll never make it back to the van, we've got two, three minutes… "We have to get out of here," David said, already running through the things they would have to do if they were to stand a chance, even as they were all running for the door.
The workers were cake. There had been a few tense moments rousing them from their dark cots in the dark dorm rooms, but it had gone off without inci– dent. John had still been somewhat wary of a few of them when he'd first herded them into the cafeteria, where Leon was watching the card-players – in partic– ular, two fairly big men who looked like they might have machismo disorders and a thin, twitchy guy with deepset eyes who couldn't seem to stop licking his lips. It was like a compulsive thing; every few seconds, his tongue would dart out, flick between his lips and then disappear for another few seconds. Creepy. There'd been no trouble, though. Fourteen men and no one willing to play hero after John had presented them with a little logic. He'd kept it short and simple:
we're here to find something, we're not planning to hurt anyone, we just want you to stay out of the way while we get out of here. Don't be stupid and you won't get shot. Either the logic or the M-16 had been enough to convince them that it would be best not to argue. John stood by the door back into the big hall, watching the unhappy-looking group seated in the middle of the large room around a long table. A few looked pissed, a few looked scared, most just looked tired. Nobody spoke, which was fine by John; he didn't want to have to worry about anyone trying to work up a rebellion. In spite of his reasonable certainty that all was cool, he was glad to hear the light tap on the door. Leon had been gone maybe five minutes, but it seemed like a lot
longer. He walked in holding a length of chain and a couple of wire coathangers. "Any trouble?" Leon asked quietly, and John shook his head, keeping his attention on the silent group. "Been nice and quiet," he said. "Where'd you find the chain?" "Toolbox, in one of the rooms."
John nodded, then raised his voice, keeping it calm.
"Alright, folks, we're about to take our leave. Wethank you for your patience…" Leon nudged him. "Ask if Reston's here," he whis-pered. John sighed. "You think if he is, he's gonna tell us?"The younger man shrugged. "Worth a shot, isn't it?"Stranger things have happened…John cleared his throat and spoke again. "Is a man named Reston in here? We just have a question, we're not going to hurt you."
The men stared at him, at both of them, and John wondered, for just a second, if they knew what they were doing there; if they knew what Umbrella was doing. They didn't look like Nazis, they looked like a bunch of working stiffs. Like guys who put in a hard day and liked to throw back a few beers in the evening. Like – like guys.
And what did Nazis look like? These people are a part of the problem, they're working for the enemy. They're not going to help us… "Blue ain't here." A big bearded man in a T-shirt and boxers, one of the ones John had been keeping an eye on. His voice was gruff and irritable, his face still puffy from sleep. John glanced at Leon, surprised, and saw that the rookie looked the same. "Blue?" John asked. "Is that Reston?"
A man sitting at the end of the table with longish hair and grease-stained hands nodded. "Yeah. And that's Mister Blue to you."
The sarcasm was pointed. There were a couple of dark looks exchanged within the sitting group and a couple of chuckles.
Reston's one of the key guys, Trent said. And just about everybody hates their boss… but so much that they'd talk shit about him to a couple of terrorists?
Reston must be real unpopular.
"Is there anyone else working here who isn't in this room?" Leon asked. "We don't want to be sur– prised…"
The implications were obvious, but it was also obvious that they weren't going to get anything else from the assembled employees. They might hate
Reston, but John could see from the crossed arms and scowls that they wouldn't talk about one of their own. If there was anyone else in the facility, which he doubted. Trent had said it was a small staff… which means it was probably Reston who brought us down, which means we could kill two birds if we find him – get the book and get him to start up the elevator again. We lock Reston in a closet, hook up with David and the girls and get gone before anything else unexpected comes up.
John nodded at Leon, and they backed up to the door. John realized that he didn't want to just walk out, that he felt a kind of sympathy for the men that he'd dragged out of bed. Not a lot, but something. "We're gonna lock the door here," John said, "but you'll be okay until the company sends someone, you got food… and if you don't mind a little advice, listen up – Umbrella ain't the good guys. Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough. They're killers."
The blank stares followed them out of the room. Leon closed the double doors and started to rig up the makeshift lock, threading the chain through the han– dles and bending the hangers. John walked the few steps to the corner and looked down the long gray hall that they'd stepped into from the elevator. They could continue on the way they'd been going to look for Reston, there was a bend in the corridor not far past the staff housing area…… but he's not that way, John thought, remember– ing the sound he'd heard when they'd first arrived.
He's back the way we came, somewhere.
Leon finished securing the doors and joined him, looking a little pale but still game. "So… now we look for Reston?" "Yeah," John said, thinking that the kid was doing pretty well, considering. Not a lot of experience, but he was smart, he had guts, and he didn't clutch under the gun. "You holding up?" Leon nodded. "Yeah. I'm just – do you think they're okay up there?"No, I think they're freezing their asses off waiting for us," John said, smiling, and hoped that was the case – that after locking down the elevator, Reston hadn't released the hounds, or whatever equivalent this place had.
Or called for help…"Let's get this over with," John said, and Leon nodded, as they started back down the hall to see what was what.
TEN
THEY HEADED OUT INTO THE BLACKNESS of the compound, the beat of the helicopter's blades getting closer. Rebecca saw its lights less than a half-mile northwest, saw that it was hovering, shining a spotlight down onto the desert-like plain.
The van, they've spotted the van.
Claire saw it too, but David was looking at the warehouse-type buildings behind them as he unslung his rifle, his intense gaze taking in the layout. Rebecca could hardly see him in the pale moonlight. "They'll have to set down outside the fence," he said. "Follow me, and stay close." He jogged off into the darkness, the burr of the helicopter growing steadily behind them. God, I hope he sees better than I can, Rebecca thought, clutching her nine-millimeter tightly, the metal cold against her numb fingers. She and Claire jogged after him as he headed for one of the dark structures, the second from the left in the line of five. Why he'd picked that one she didn't know, but David would
have a reason, he always did. They ran into the corridor of black between the first and second building, fifteen feet of hard-packed arid sediment that stretched ahead of them some indeter– minate distance. The freezing air burned into her lungs, gusting out in clouds of steam she couldn't see. The whackawhacka sound of the 'copter drowned out their footsteps, drowned out most of what David was saying as he stopped, a door on either side of them.
"… to hide until we… can't… back…"
Rebecca shook her head and David gave it up, turning to the left, pointing his weapon at the door of the first building. Rebecca and Claire moved behind him, Rebecca wondering what he was up to; if the people from the helicopter landed to search – which they surely would – the bullet-riddled door would give them away. It looked to be made from some high– density plastic, but wasn't remarkable in any other way – it had a handle and keyhole rather than a card swipe. The building itself was some kind of stucco material, dirty and dusty, and no particular color that she could tell; the one behind them looked the same; there were no windows on either. The helicopter's searchlight was sweeping the fence at the front of the compound, its brightness piercing the cold dark like a brilliant flame. Flurries of dust were swirling up into the light, staining it, and Rebecca thought they had maybe a minute before it found them; the compound just wasn't that big. Bambambambambam! Most of the noise was swallowed up by the roar of the helicopter. Even in the darkness, Rebecca could see the line of holes, the concentration of them near the handle. David stepped forward and gave the door a hard kick, then a second – and it flew inward, a gaping black hole in the wall. The searchlight was moving back through the com-pound, the helicopter's swollen belly passing almost directly overhead as it shone its beam down on the other side of the first building, the thunder of its engine and billowing clouds of dust and making Rebecca feel as though Death were approaching; not death, but Death, some fabled beast of merciless power and relentless intention… David turned and grabbed her and Claire both, pushing them firmly toward the open door. As soon as they were through, he motioned for them to stop and to wait. David pulled his handgun and jogged across the open space, standing close to the second build-ing's door, angling his body and……BAM, the nine-millimeter round, louder than the rifle's.223s but still almost lost, as the helicopter started its sweep up their row and the door blasted inward and David leapt through the opening, just as the blinding light illuminated the ground between them. A half-second later and he would have been caught in the light. The spent casings from David's weapons were thankfully lost in the furor, spinning clouds of dust whipping up and over them and making it hard to breathe. She turned, saw that Claire had tucked her face down into her black sweatshirt, and followed suit. The cold, thick air was filtered through the fleece, and in spite of the deafening noise, Rebecca could hear her heartbeat in her ears, rapid and afraid. A second later, the light was past; a second after that the dust seemed to be settling, it was hard to tell in the black; the sudden absence of light meant their eyes would have to readjust.
"Are you alright?"
Rebecca jumped as David practically screamed in her face, just a shadow in front of her. Claire let out a little shriek. "Sorry!" David called. "Come on! Other building!" Barely able to see, Rebecca stumbled outside, Claire right next to her. David came up behind them, touching their backs, guiding them toward the second building. The 'copter was still moving away from them, north to south, but it would run out of things to look at very soon – and then they'd land and come looking. That the helicopter was from Umbrella was a given; the only question was how many had come, and whether or not they were to be captured first or just killed outright. As they fell through the door to the second build– ing, it dawned on Rebecca what David had done. The Umbrella thugs would see the first bullet-blasted door and assume that their quarry was hiding there.
And he only shot through the keyhole of this one. They'll see it eventually, but it buys us a little more time…
She hoped. The darkness was almost as cold as outside and smelled like dust. A low light flickered on, David hooding his flashlight with one hand, just enough for them to see that they were surrounded by boxes. Big ones, small ones, cardboard and wood, stacked on shelves and on the floor all the way up to the slanted ceiling. In the brief second that David shone the light across the mammoth room, they saw that there had to be thousands of them.
"I'm going to see what I can do about the door and cut the lights," David said. "Find us a place to hide. It's our best option until we know how many there are, what scenario they're employing. They might have spook eyes, the floor's no good – somewhere high up and in a corner. Shelves would be best. Got it?"
They both nodded and the light went out, leaving them in a complete darkness; before, she could at least make out shapes and shadows. Now, Rebecca couldn't see her hand in front of her face. "Which corner?" Claire whispered, as if the chill black nothing they stood in demanded silence. Rebecca reached out and found Claire's hand, placing it against her back. "Left. We go left until we run into something."
She heard a whisper of movement behind them, as David went about his preparations. Taking a deep breath, Rebecca put her hands out in front of her and started to edge forward.
Every door off of the lengthy corridor was locked, with the exception of a utility closet past the elevator; there, they found absolutely nothing of interest, un– less shelves of paper towels and styrene coffee cups were interesting. They'd tried the elevator again, with no luck, and there didn't seem to be a fuse box or override switch anywhere near it. Not surprising, but Leon still felt a pang of distress. The other three were probably really worried…
… and you're not? What if something went wrong up there? Maybe the "test" part of this place is above-ground. And maybe Reston unleashed some of Umbrel-la's warrior specimens up there, and right now Claire is… "What say if we run across one more locked door, we use up our grenades? I've got two of 'em," John said, looking irritated. They'd just tried the ninth door in the silent hall, and were almost to the north– ernmost curve. For all they knew, they'd already passed Reston, or the passage that would lead them to him.
"Let's at least see what's around the corner before we start blowing things up," Leon said, though he was also losing patience. It wasn't that he'd mind damag– ing some Umbrella property, but that just wasn't the priority – reuniting the team was. They'd already decided that if they didn't find him soon, they'd go back to the cafeteria and try to get one of the workers to fix the elevator, and to hell with Reston; the mission would be a bust, but at least they'd all be alive to fight another day.
Assuming we're all still alive now…
They reached the corner and paused, John raising the M-16 and lowering his voice. "I'll cover." Leon nodded, moving closer to the inner wall. "On three. One… two… three…"
He took a running step away from the wall, drop– ping into a crouch and pointing his semi down the west leg of the corridor as John whipped the rifle around the corner. The hall was a lot shorter, no more than sixty feet, dead-ending in an open, doorless room. There was a door on the left…… and somebody moved across the opening at the end of the hall, the darting shape of a man.
Reston.
Leon saw him, a thin guy, not too tall, wearing jeans and a blue work shirt. Mr. Blue, just like they said… "Hold it!" John shouted, and Reston turned, startled and weaponless. He saw the M-16 and jumped away from the double-wide opening, maybe heading for an exit -
– and Leon ran, pumping his arms for speed, John quickly passing him in a full-on sprint. They were inside the room in a flash and there was Reston, pushing desperately at a door on the right. He threw a terrified glance over his shoulder as they barreled into the room, his eyes wide with panic. "It won't open!" He screamed, his voice on the edge of hysteria. "Open the door!"
Who's he talking to?"Give it up, Reston," John growled -
– and behind them, a metal sheet crashed down over the opening, shutting them
into the room with a brutal, heavy dang. Leon looked down, saw that the floor was plate steel and felt the first stab of unease. Reston spun around, his hands in the air, his narrow features contorted with fear. "I'm not him, not Reston," he babbled, his pale face slick with sweat -
– and behind them, a face appeared at the window in the metal door, distorted by the thick plexiglass but obviously grinning. An older man, dressed in a dark blue suit.
Oh, no…
The man looked away for a moment, one hand reaching up to touch something Leon couldn't see and a smooth, cultured voice floated into the roomfrom a speaker in the ceiling. "Sorry, Henry," the man said, his moving face warped by the glass. "And allow me to introduce myself. I'm Jay Reston. And whoever you are, I'm very glad to meet you. Welcome to the Planet's test program."
Leon looked at John, who was still pointing his rifle at the near hysterical Henry. John looked back at him, and Leon could see the awareness dawning in his dark eyes, even as it dawned on him.They were in extremely deep shit.
Yes!
Reston laughed giddily. The gunmen were trapped, and the three on the surface were probably already being picked up by the teams – he'd handled his situation, and handled it brilliantly.
Of course it's no fun if there's no one around to appreciate it… but then, I have a captive audience, don't I?"We're not scheduled to go on line for another twenty-three days," Reston said, smiling widely, al– ready imagining the look on Sidney's bloated face.
"At which time, I was going to host the initial run of our carefully designed program for a group of ex-tremely important people. It was going to be speci-men only, we hadn't planned on putting humans through the phases for a while yet, let alone soldiers. But now, thanks to you, I'll be able to show my little party actual footage of what our specimens were created for. By now, your friends on the surface will have been taken, sad to say – but the three of you will suffice, I think. Yes, you'll do quite nicely." Reston laughed again, unable to contain it. "You