• and something gave. Something in her mind.
Her racing mind, her pounding heart, the blood and the licker, William’s licker, dead on the floor in front of her—all these things whirled and danced, spinning into a circle that came together and focused into a single, stunningly simple thought. A thought that made sense of it all.
It was so clear, so crystal clear. She couldn’t run from pain, because pain would find her wherever she ran; she had proof, dripping down her arm. William had understood, but had lost himself before he could explain, before he could tell her what she really needed to do. She had to confront her attackers, and make sure they understood—that the G-Virus wasn’t theirs—because it didn’t belong to them.
But will they understand? Can they?
Maybe, maybe not. But she was so overwhelmed by the profound simplicity of the truth, she knew that she had to try, to make them see. The work was William’s. It was his legacy, and now it was hers; she’d known that before, but now she knew it, a ray of light in her mind that made everything else trivial. Not theirs. Mine.
She’d have to find them, tell them, and once they accepted the truth of it, they would have to leave her alone—and then, if there was still time, she could go her own way.
But first, she needed another shot. Smiling, her eyes wide and starry, Annette stepped over the licker and started for the stairs.
Leon thought he heard shots.
He was in some kind of a surgical bay, the first room at the end of the first passage that he’d taken after leaving Ada, and he looked up from the pile of crumpled papers he’d found, listening—but the dis-tant cracks didn’t repeat, so he went back to his search. He rifled quickly through the pages, desperate to find anything besides the endless lists of numbers and letters beneath the Umbrella letterhead. Come on, there must be something useful in all this....
He wanted out, he wanted to get Ada and get the hell out. The disemboweled corpse slumped in the corner was reason enough, but it was more than that—the very air of the room, of the hall outside the room, and, he was willing to bet, of every room in the facility, was just wrong. It stank like death, but worse, there was an atmosphere of something darker, some-thing amoral. Evil.
They performed experiments here, they ran tests and God knows what else here—and they’d created a zombie plague, they’d created the monstrous demon that attacked Ada, they’d murdered an entire city. Whatever they meant to do, they were practicing evil.
• Evil on a grand scale; the transport had taken them into a secret Umbrella facility, and it was a big one. From the numbers on the walls, he knew he was on the fourth floor, whatever that meant—and the catwalk he’d taken to get to the strange operating room, only one of three choices, had stretched over what had to be sixty or seventy feet of open space, the bottom to it lost in shadow. He didn’t know how deep he and Ada had come, and he didn’t really care; what he wanted was a map like the one she’d found in the sewers, a clear and simple diagram with an arrow pointing to out.
And it ain’t here....
Frustrated, Leon pushed the useless papers aside—and saw there was a computer disk lying on the steel table that had been hidden beneath the stack of chemical readouts. He picked it up, frowning—“For Cargo Room Verification” was printed on the label in smudged block letters.
Sighing, Leon slipped it into his pocket and rubbed at his aching eyes with his right hand, his left arm basically useless again after carrying Ada from the lift. He didn’t want to look for a computer to see what was on the disk, he didn’t want to go wandering from room to room looking for the exit, seeing what atrocities Umbrella had played with before they’d shut themselves down. He was tired and in pain and worried about Ada . . . and he decided, as he walked back to the door, that he should go back and talk to her. He’d wanted to ease her mind, saying that he would find the way out, but the place was just too goddamn huge; if she even knew the direction, or could remember the floor number....
Leon opened the door, stepped into the hall—
• and a woman with a gun was standing in front of him, a nine-millimeter pointed at his chest. She was bleeding, thin streams of crimson pouring from one arm and dripping down her dirty white lab coat—and the look on her face, the strange, wide-eyed glassy look that played across her features, told him that making any sudden moves would be a very bad idea. Oh, Jesus, what is this?
“You murdered my husband,” she said, “you and your partner and the girl, too—all of you, you wanted to dance on his grave but / have news for you!” She was high on something, he could hear it in her high, trembling voice and see it by the way her skin twitched and ticked. He kept his hands at his sides, kept his voice low and calm.
“Ma’am, I’m a police officer, and I’m here to help, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, I just—“ The woman dipped her bloody hand into her pock-et and held up something, a glass tube full of some purple fluid. She grinned wildly, raising it over her head, the gun still trained on his chest. “Here it is! It’s what you want, isn’t it? Listen to me, do you hear me? It isn ‘t yours! Do you understand what I’m saying? William made it, and I helped him, and it doesn’t belong to you!”
Leon nodded, speaking slowly. “It doesn’t belong to me, you’re right. It’s yours, absolutely—“ The woman wasn’t even listening. “You think you can take it, but I’ll stop you, I’ll keep you from taking it—there’s plenty of time, time for me to kill you and Ada and anyone else who tries to take it!” Ada—
“What do you know about Ada?” Leon barked, taking a half-step toward the madwoman, no longer feeling so calm. “Did you hurt her? Tell me!” The woman laughed, a humorless, insane cackle. “Umbrella sent her, you stupid shit! Ada Wong, Miss Love-em-and-leave-em herself! She seduced John to get the G-Virus but it’s not hers, either! It’s not, it’s NOT YOURS IT’S MINE—“ A massive shock rocked the floor, pitching Leon to the ground, a rumbling vibration that shook the walls—
• and crash, pipes and plaster rained from the ceiling, a thick beam striking the woman down with a dull thump. Leon covered his head as bits of concrete and white chunks of drywall slapped at him—
• and it was over. Leon sat up, staring at the woman in shock, not sure what had happened. She wasn’t moving. The metal beam that had struck her still hanging from the ceiling, one of her arms pinned beneath it—
• and a cool, clear voice suddenly blared from hidden speakers somewhere in the walls—female, calm, and punctuated by the rhythmic bleat of a honking alarm.
“The self-destruct sequence has been activated. This auto-destruct sequence cannot be aborted. All personnel should evacuate immediately. The self-destruct sequence has been activated. This program cannot be aborted. All personnel should evacuate immediately—“ Leon scrambled to his feet, took one running step toward the fallen woman—then reached down and plucked the glass cylinder from her outstretched hand, shoving it into his utility pack. He didn’t know who she was, but she was too crazy to
Ada—he had to get to Ada and they had to get out. The throbbing, screeching alarms blasted through the echoing halls, chasing him through the door to the catwalk along with the indifferent-sounding female’s repeating message of imminent destruction. The recorded voice didn’t say how long they had, but Leon felt quite certain he didn’t want to be around when the clock ran out.
TWEETY-SEVER
THE COOL, DARK RIDE DOWN THROUGH THE elevator shaft ended in a squeal of hydraulic brakes—and then silence, as the engines shut down and trapped them somewhere in the seemingly endless tunnel.
“Claire? What—“
Claire held a finger to her lips, hushing Sherry—and heard what sounded like an alarm from some-where outside, a repeating, muffled bleat of honking noise. There seemed to be talking, too, but Claire could only make out the faintest mumble.