by S. D. Perry
It was asleep, or in some kind of coma, but it was definitely alive. Connected to a thin hose was a small, clear mask that covered its nostril slits, and a band of plastic was tied around its thick snout to hold the giant jaws closed. John couldn't see them, but he had no doubt that there were rows of pointed teeth in the creature's wide and curving mouth. Its beady eyes were covered by some inner eyelid, a thin layer of purpled skin, and they could actually see the slow rise of its thick chest, the gently bobbing motions of its massive body in the red goo. There was a clipboard hanging on the wall next to the Fossil, above a small monitor screen where thin green lines blipped silently across in fading pulses. Leon picked the clipboard up, flipping through the pages as John just stared, awed and disgusted. One of its spidery hands twitched, the eight-inch fingers curling into a loose fist.
"Says here that it's slated for autopsy in three and a half weeks," Leon said, scanning. " 'Specimen will remain in stasis,' blah blah blah… 'when it will be injected with a lethal dose of Hyptheion prior to dissection.'"
John glanced back at the autopsy table, saw the folded steel leaves on either side and three bone saws tucked underneath. The table had apparently been built to accommodate larger animals. "Why keep it alive at all?" John asked, turning back to the sleeping Fossil. It was hard not to look; the creature was compelling, horrid and marvelous, an aberration that demanded attention. "Maybe so the organs will be fresh," Leon said, then took a deep breath. "So… do we do it?" That's the million dollar question, isn't it? We won't have the codes – but Umbrella will have one less play-ground for their twisted science. And maybe one less administrator. "Yeah," John said. "Yeah, I think we do." The men listened to him in silence, their faces thoughtful as they absorbed the horror that had invaded the Planet. The invasion from above, his call for help, how the gunmen had knocked him out after killing Henry Cole in cold blood. They asked no questions, just sat and drank coffee – someone had made coffee – and watched him speak. No one of– fered him a cup. "… and once I recovered, I came here," Reston said, and ran a shaking hand through his hair, wincing appropriately. He didn't have to fake the tremors.
"I… they're still out there, somewhere, perhaps plant-ing explosives, I don't know… but we can stop them if we work together."
He could see in their blank eyes that it wasn't working, he wasn't inspiring them to act. He wasn't the best with people, but he could read them well enough.
They're not buying, work the Henry angle…
Reston's shoulders slumped, a quiver creeping into his voice. "They just shot him," he said, staring down in stunned sorrow. "He was begging, pleading for them to let him live, and they – they shot him." "Where's the body?"
Reston looked up, saw that Leo Yan had spoken, one of the 3Ks' two handlers. Yan had no expression at all, leaning against the edge of the table with his arms crossed. "What?" Reston asked, looking confused but know-ing exactly what Yan was talking about. Think, dam-mit, should have thought of this already… "Henry," someone else said, and Reston saw it was Tom Something-or-other, from construction. His gruff voice was openly skeptical. "They shot him, they knocked you out – so he's still by the cell block, right?" "I… I don't know," Reston said, feeling too hot,
feeling dehydrated from so much brandy. Feeling as though he might not be able to recover from the unexpected question. "Yes, he must be, unless they moved him for some reason. I woke up confused, dizzy, I wanted to get to you immediately, to make sure none of you had been injured. I didn't see if he was still there…"
They stared at him, a sea of rough faces that were no longer so neutral. Reston saw disbelief and disre-spect, anger and in the eyes of one or two, he saw what might have been hatred.
Why, what have I done to inspire such contempt? I'm their manager, their employer, I pay their goddamn wages…
One of the mechanics stood up from the table and addressed the rest of them, ignoring Reston com-pletely. It was Nick Frewer, the one who seemed the most popular among the men. "Who says we get outta here?" Nick said. "Tommy, you got the keys for the truck?" Tom nodded. "Sure, but not for the gate or the storage shed." "I got those," said Ken Carson, the cook. He stood up, too, and then most were standing, stretching and yawning, draining their cups. Nick nodded. "Good. Everyone go pack up, be at the elevator in five…" "Wait!" Reston said, unable to believe what he was hearing, that they would walk away from their moral duty, from their obligations. That they could ignore him. "There are more on the surface, they'll kill you! You have to help me!"
Nick turned and looked at him, his gaze calm and insufferably patronizing. "Mr. Reston, we don't have to do anything. I don't know what's really going on, but I believe you're a liar – and I may not speak for everyone, but I know I'm not getting paid enough to be your bodyguard." He smiled suddenly, his blue eyes sparkling. "Be-sides which, they're not after us."
Nick turned and walked away, and Reston briefly considered shooting him – but he only had six bullets and no doubts that the men would turn on him if he injured one of their working-class pack. He thought about telling them that their lives were over, that he wouldn't forget their treachery, but he didn't want to waste his breath. And he didn't have time.
Hide.
It was all there was to do.
Reston turned his back on the insubordinates and
hurried out, his mind grasping for places to go,
rejecting them as too obvious, too exposed…… and then he had it. The bank of elevators, around the corner from the medical facilities. It was perfect. No one would think to look in an elevator car that didn't even work, he could pry one open and be safe inside. At least for a while, until he thought of something else he could do. Sweating in spite of the cool gray stillness that was the main corridor, Reston turned right and started to run.
After what seemed like hours of going down through the dark, of the cold and uncomfortable huddle on the deafeningly loud servicing lift, they hit bottom.Or top, depending on how you look at it, Claire thought absently, looking down through the open panel as David's flashlight played across the plush interior, as the roaring motor wound down to silence. They'd landed on top of an elevator car, empty except for a stepladder pushed to one side. They stepped off of the metal square, Claire re– lieved to be back on a reasonably solid surface. Riding down through an open elevator shaft where one false move could send you crashing to your death wasn't her idea of a good time. "Think anyone heard us?" Claire asked, and saw David's silhouette shrug.
"If they were within a thousand feet of this thing, yes," he said. "Wait, I'll get the stepstool…"Claire turned on her flashlight as David sat, grab-bing the edges of the open panel and lowering himself down. As he moved the small ladder into place, Rebecca turned her flashlight on, and Claire caught a glimpse of her face. "Hey, you okay?" She asked, worried. Rebecca looked sick, too pale and with dark, purplish half circles beneath her eyes. "Yeah. I've been better, but I'll survive," she said lightly. Claire wasn't convinced, but before she could pur– sue it any further, David called up to them. "Alright let your feet hang down, I'll guide themto the steps and then lift you down." Claire motioned for Rebecca to go first, deciding that if she couldn't function, she'd probably saysomething. As David helped Rebecca down, though, it occurred to Claire that she wouldn't say anything.
I'd want to help, and I wouldn't want to be left behind; I'd keep going if it killed me…
Claire pushed the thoughts aside, lowering herself down through the elevator's roof. Rebecca wasn't as stubborn as she was, and she was a medic. She was fine. As soon as she was down, David nodded at Claire and the two of them pulled at the cold metal doors, Rebecca holding her semi aimed loosely at the widen– ing gap. When they'd managed to push the heavy doors a couple of feet apart, David stepped out first, then motioned for them to follow.
Wow.
She wasn't sure what she expected, but the gray hall of subtly lit concrete wasn't it. It stretched right, ending in a door, and left, a sharp turn about twe
nty feet from the elevator that headed east. Claire wasn't sure about the directions, but she knew that the elevator that had trapped Leon and John was roughly southeast – assuming it had gone straight down, anyway. It was quiet, perfectly still and quiet. David tilted his head to the left, indicating that they would head that way, and Claire and Rebecca both nodded.
Might as well start at the elevator, see if we can figure out which way they headed…
Claire glanced at Rebecca again, not wanting to stare but uneasy about her health; she really didn't look so good, and as Rebecca turned toward the hall's corner, Claire hung back a little. She caught David's gaze, nodding slightly toward the young medic, frowning. He hesitated, then nodded in turn, and she saw that he wasn't blind to her condition. At least there was that and Rebecca let out a sharp cry of surprise, already at the corner as a man in a blue suit leapt forward and grabbed her, knocking her gun out of her hand, putting a revolver to the side of her head. He locked one arm around her throat, tight, and turned wild, sweaty eyes in their direction, his finger on the trigger, a trembling grin on his aging face.
"I'll kill her! I'll do it! Don't make me do it!"
Rebecca clutched at his arm and he squeezed even tighter, his hands shaking, his blue eyes darting back and forth between David and Claire. Rebecca's eyes closed a little, her fingers dropping away, and Claire realized that she was too weak, that she was on the verge of collapse as it was.
"You people aren't going to kill me, just stay away! Stay away or I'll kill her!"
The barrel of the revolver was pressed to her skull; if David or she made a move… They watched helplessly as the madman started
backing around them, dragging Rebecca with him toward the door at the end of the hall.
TWENTY
IT WAS FRIGHTENINGLY EASY TO BRING FOS-sil out of stasis. In a matter of moments, Leon had gotten into the monitoring program and figured out how to drain the giant cylinder. According to the digital timer that popped up on the screen, it would only take about five minutes once he entered the command.
Man, anyone working here could have done it, at any time. For such a paranoid company, Umbrella sure takes chances… "Hey, look at this," John said, and Leon turned from the small computer, glancing warily at the monster. Even after surviving the hell of Raccoon, after fighting zombies and mammoth spiders and even a giant alligator, it was probably the strangest thing he'd ever seen. John was standing at the wall across the room, staring up at a laminated picture. As Leon got closer, he saw that it was a map of the Planet, each area neatly labeled. The testing facility had a fairly simple layout, basically a giant corridor that surrounded the four phases, most of the rooms and offices on off– shoots from the main hall. John tapped a small square at the east, just across from where the service elevator was. "Says 'test con– trol/monitor room,'" he said, "and it's on the way out." "You think Reston's holed up there?" Leon asked. John shrugged. "If he was watching us in the test program, that's where he would have been – what I'm interested in is if he happened to leave his little black book lying around." "Wouldn't hurt to check," Leon said. "It'll take the tube about five minutes to drain, we'd have time – as-suming the elevator's not a problem."
John turned around to look at Fossil, asleep in its gel womb. "You think it'll actually wake up?" Leon nodded. The stats that had been listed in the simple monitoring program all seemed to match up, its heart rate and respiration indicating deep sleep; no reason it wouldn't wake up once the warm nutrient bath was drained.
And it'll probably wake up cold, pissed, and hun-gry…"Yeah," he said. "And we want to be gone when it does."
John smiled a little, not his usual grin but a smile, anyway. "Then let's get gone," he said softly. Leon walked back to the computer, bathed in pale red light from the stasis tube. Fossil floated peace– fully, a sleeping giant. A monstrosity, created by monstrous people and living a useless life in a place built for death. Take it all down, Leon thought, and hit the "Enter" key. The timer started its count; they had five minutes. David thought it was probably Reston, although there was no way to be sure. It didn't matter, all he cared about was how to get Rebecca away from him, and as the crazed man in the blue suit backed to the door, David realized that there was nothing he could do.
Not yet. "Just go away! Leave me alone!" The man – Res– ton – shouted, and then he was gone. Rebecca was gone, and the weak, listless way she'd looked at them before the door closed scared David badly.
"What do we do?"
He looked at Claire, saw the anxiety and fear on her face, and made himself take a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. They wouldn't be able to do anything if they panicked -
–and we could very well get her killed."Stay calm," he said, feeling anything but. "We don't know the floor plan, we can't circle around behind him… we'll have to follow."But he…" "Yes, I know what he said," David interrupted. "There's no alternative at this point. We let them get a safe distance, then follow, look for an opening." And hope that he's not as unstable as he looks."Claire – this is stealth work, we can't afford to make a sound. Perhaps it would be better if you stayed here…"
Claire shook her head, a look of determination in her gray eyes. "I can do it," she said, firmly and clearly. She had no doubts, and though untrained, she'd proven herself to be quick and steady. David nodded and they walked to the door to wait,
two minutes unless we hear an exit, crack the door for sound… He forced himself to take another deep breath, cursing himself for letting Rebecca come with them. She was exhausted and injured, she wouldn't be able to fight if he decided to tighten his arm a bit more about her throat…
No. Hang on, Rebecca. We're coming, and we can wait all night for him to make a slip, to find our opportunity.
They waited, David praying that Reston wouldn't hurt her, swearing that he'd cut out the man's liver and feed it to him if he did. They looked for the elevator, not sprinting through the endless gray hall, but not taking their time about it, either. The cafeteria was empty, and a half-minute check of the bunk rooms satisfied John that the workers had gone. There were clear signs that the guys had been in a hurry to grab their shit and get out.
Hope Reston's still here, though…
As they ran north down the main corridor, John decided that if Mr. Blue was still in the control room, he'd knock him out. A good solid punch to the temple would do it, and if he didn't wake up before Fossil started to roam, too bad. They ran past the small offshoot that connected the control room to the main hall, both of them panting, both of them aware that they needed a working elevator a hell of a lot more than they needed to screw with Reston. As Leon had said, they didn't want to be around for the Planet's grand finale. The open panel in the wall and the small light above the "In use" sign were enough to make John grin like a kid, the relief a cool and sweeping wave; they'd taken a big risk deciding to let Fossil out before securing their escape route. Leon hit the recall button, looking just as relieved. "Two, two-and-a-half minutes," he said, and John nodded. "Just a quick look," he said, and turned back toward the small passage across the hall. Leon was out of ammo, but John still had a few rounds in the M-16 in case Reston did anything stupid. They hurried to the door at the end of the hall and found it unlocked. John went first, sweeping the large room with the rifle, then whistling in awe at the setup. "Damn," he said softly. A line of black leather chairs faced an entire wall of screens. Deep red plush carpet. A shining silver console, sleek and ultramodern, a table that looked like solid white marble behind it.
At least we don't have to dig through any clutter…
Except for a coffee mug and a silver flask on the console, there was nothing to see. No papers or office stuff, no personal items, no secret code books. "Probably ought to get going," Leon said. "I'm estimating time here, I'd hate to be a couple minutes off." "Yeah, okay. Let's…"
There was movement on one of the wall screens, midway through the second row from the top. John stepped closer to the monitor, wondering w
ho the hell it could be, the employees got out and that's two people, can't be… "Oh, shit," John said, and felt his stomach drop, a sickening plunge that seemed to go on and on, his horrified gaze fixed to the screen. Reston, with a gun. Dragging Rebecca through some hall, his arm around her throat. Rebecca's feet half– dragging on the floor, her head hanging, her arms slack.
"Claire!"
John glanced away, saw Leon staring at a second monitor, saw David and Claire, armed, moving quickly down another featureless corridor. "Can we refill the tube?" John barked, his gut still lurching, feeling more terrified by the sight of their friends than he had all night, that miserable bastard's got 'becca… "I don't know," Leon said quickly, "we can try, but we've gotta go now…"
John stepped back from the wall, searching the pictures for one of the laboratory area, his exhaustion falling away as fresh adrenaline pounded into his system. There, a dark room, a single light in the corner pointed at the tube, at the moving, thrashing thing inside. In seconds, dripping hands plunged through the clear matter, tearing, shattering, a massive, pallid, reptilian leg stepping through. Too late: Fossil was out.
TWENTY-ONE
THE CREATURE DESIGNATED TYRANT SERIES ReH1a, more commonly known as Fossil, was moti– vated purely by instinct and it only had one: eat. All of its actions stemmed from that single, primal urge. If there was something between it and food, Fossil destroyed it. If something attacked, tried to stop it from food, Fossil killed it. There was no reproductive impulse, because Fossil was the only member of its species. Fossil woke hungry. It sensed food, picking up on electrical charges in the air, scents, distant heat – and destroyed the thing that held it. The environment was unfamiliar to Fossil, but not important; there was food, and it was hungry. At ten feet tall and weighing roughly a thousand pounds, the wall that stood between Fossil and food didn't stop it for long. Past that was another wall, and then another – and the rich feels and smells of food were very close, so close that Fossil experienced the closest thing it had to an emotion: it wanted, a state of being that went beyond hunger, a powerful extension of its instinct that encouraged it to move faster. Fossil would eat almost anything, but living food always made it want. The wall that stopped it from food was thicker and harder than the others, but not so much that it could stop Fossil. It ripped through the layers of substance and was in a strange place, nothing organic there but the moving, screeching food. Food ran at it, hard to see but smelling quite strongly. Food raised a claw and swiped at Fossil, crying in fury, its desire to attack and kill; Fossil knew this because of the smell. Within seconds, Fossil was surrounded by food, and again, it wanted. The animals that were food howled and screamed, dancing and leaping, and Fossil reached out and picked up the closest. Food had sharp talons, but Fossil's hide was thick. Fossil bit into the food, tearing a great chunk from the writhing body, and was fulfilled. Its sense of purpose was met so long as it chewed and swallowed, hot blood dripping down its throat, hot flesh ripping between its teeth. The other food animals continued to attack, mak– ing it easy for Fossil to eat. Fossil ate all of the food animals in a short period of time, and its metabolism used the food almost as quickly, giving Fossil strength to find more food. It was an extremely simple process, one that continued as long as Fossil was awake. Finished with the dark and cavernous room that had housed the screaming food, Fossil licked blood off its fingers and opened its senses, searching for its next meal. In seconds, it knew that there was more, living and moving close by. Fossil wanted. Fossil was hungry.