David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen and then to the other door, hung with the grisly remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out, Karen first.
They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve winc-ing at every shifting creak they created, breathing through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench—
• and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming from in front of them, to the left—coming from the direction of their escape.
ElGHf
KAREN JUMPED BACK AS BULLETS CRACKED
into the door. Chunks of rotten flesh spattered up from Ammon’s body; the corpse danced and waved in a shuddering, jerking rhythm of macabre motion. David snatched at the coat of the dead man and yanked, but the door was pinned open by the clatter-ing fire—and whoever was shooting was coming closer, the explosive shots louder, the splinters of flesh and wood pelting them with greater force. They were trapped, both exits blocked.
Rebecca clutched her Beretta in one shaking hand, watching for a signal from David. He pointed roughly northwest, into the compound, shouting to be heard over the whining, spitting clatter of the automatic fire. “Rebecca, other door! John, Karen, next building, secure! Steve, we cover! Go!”
As one, Steve and David leaped out and started to fire, the booming rounds punctuating the lighter hail of deadly ammo.
John and Karen charged out at a full run, were instantly swallowed up by the shadows. Rebecca spun and trained her weapon on the back door, her heart pounding in her throat. The walls trembled and shook.
“Die, Jesus, why won’t they die?” Steve screamed behind her, a strain of disbelief and terror in his voice that made her blood run cold.
• zombies?
Without looking away from the rectangle of dark wood, Rebecca shouted as loud as she could, her voice cracking over the relentless spray of the automatics. “Head shots! Aim for the head!”
There was no way to know if they’d heard her, the rifle or rifles kept pounding, approaching. Her thoughts raced to understand, images of the T-Virus victims flitting through her mind. They’d been mind-less, slow, inhuman—
• and accidental, not on purpose—not with purpose—“Rebecca, let’s go!”
There was still the sound of an automatic rifle firing, but the boathouse no longer shook from the impact of its force. She shot a glance back, saw Steve still shooting at something, saw David motioning at her to move.
She sidled for the open door, catching a sickening, up-close look at the bullet-riddled corpse still hanging there. The head had caved in like a rotting pumpkin, teeth shattered, gummy flecks of tissue radiating out from behind the skull. The waving hand was no longer connected to the rotting arm, the radius and ulna blown away. It dangled there like some obscene decoration, beckoning...
Steve fired once more and the auto’s clatter ceased. He raised the weapon, his eyes wide and shocked as he opened his mouth to say something—
• and the back door crashed open, bullets flying through the dark in a blaze of orange fire. David pushed her roughly through the front and she ran, the responding crack of nine-millimeter rounds resonat-ing behind her.
• get to the building, get to cover—
She sprinted through the shadows, her wet shoes thumping across packed, rocky dirt, her searching gaze finding the outline of a massive, concrete block and the spindly trees that surrounded it in the dark-ness ahead.
“Here—“
She veered toward the call, saw John’s muscular form silhouetted by pale starlight at the corner of the building. As she neared him, she saw the open door, Karen standing in the entry with her weapon trained back toward the boathouse. Bullets still sang through the shadows.
“Get in!” Karen shouted, stepping out of the way, and Rebecca ran past her, not slowing until she was inside. She fell into a table in the pitch black, cracking one hip painfully against the edge.
Turning, she saw Karen firing, heard John yelling,
“Come on, come on—“
• and Steve pounded through the door, gasping.
He pulled to a stop before crashing into her, one hand clutching his chest.
Rebecca moved to the door and grasped the cool thickness, her mind absently registering that the ma-terial was steel as David hurtled through, shouting.
“Karen, John!—“
Karen backed into the darkness, weapon still raised. There were three more sharp reports from a Beretta and then John slipped inside, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring.
Rebecca slammed the door, her fingers finding a deadbolt switch. The soft snick of the lock was barely audible against the ringing in her ears. Outside, the bullets stopped. There were no shouts between the attackers, no alarms, no barking of dogs or screaming of wounded. The sudden silence was total, broken
only by the deep, shuddering breathing in the warm and muggy darkness.
A halogen beam flickered on, revealing the shocked faces of the team as David shone it around their retreat. A midsize room, crowded with desks and computer equipment. There were no windows. “Did you see that?” Steve gasped, addressing no one in particular. “God, they wouldn’t go down, did you see that?”
Nobody answered, and though they were out of immediate danger, Rebecca didn’t feel her adrenaline slowing, didn’t feel her heart settling back to anything approaching normal; it seemed that Umbrella had found a new application for the T-Virus. And like it or not, we’re going to have to deal with the consequences. They were trapped in Caliban Cove. And in this facility, the creatures had guns.
David took a final deep breath and exhaled it heavily, flashing the torch’s light toward the door. “I’d say we’ve been spotted,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound as despairing as he felt. “Might as well see what we’ve gotten into. Rebecca, would you turn on the lights?”
She flipped the wall switch and the room snapped into blinding brilliance, overhead fluorescents pulsing to life. Blinking against the sudden glare, David surveyed the team, saw that Steve had one hand pressed to his chest.
“Are you hit?”
“Vest stopped it,” he said, but he seemed more out of breath than the others, his face paler than it should have been.
Rebecca glanced at David with a questioning gaze.
He nodded at her.
Doesn ‘t appear that we have anywhere else to go....
“Check him out. Anyone else?”
Nobody answered as Rebecca stepped up to Steve, motioning for him to take off the vest. David turned and looked around the room, measuring it against the memory of Trent’s map and what little he’d seen from outside. There were a half dozen cheap metal desks, each with a computer and bits of clutter on top. The cement walls were undecorated and plain. There was another door on the west wall that had to lead deeper into the building.
“Karen, secure that,” he said. They could check out the rest of the site once they’d decided what to do. Once you’ve decided, Captain; perhaps you’d like to send them out for a swim? It can’t be any worse than what you’ve already managed. . . .
David ignored the inner voice, perfectly aware of how badly he’d underestimated the situation. The team didn’t need to see him wallow in self-doubt, it wouldn’t help anything. The question was, what now? “Let’s talk,” he said. “It doesn’t look like we’re facing an accident after all. What did the note say? The food was drugged, and something about a ‘he’ killing the others ... is it possible that we’re not looking at a T-Virus spill?”
Rebecca looked up from her examination of Steve’s chest, the computer expert sitting on one of the desks in front of her. Steve winced as Rebecca’s fingers circled the darkening bruise on his right