"Carlos, look out! "Jill screamed down, but the Nemesis-monster ignored him completely, taking a mammoth step toward the ladder, the eyeless snakes that were its tentacles whipping around its colossal head. One more step and it would be at the base of the ladder—and Jill would be trapped.
—she said bullets don't hurt it—
Desperate to do something, Carlos saw the large green power switch on the spotlights' control panel and lunged for it, not sure what he expected. To distract it, if they were lucky— —and all four lights snapped on at once, blinding, instantly heating the air around them and illuminating
the tower, probably for miles to see. One of the beams was full-on blocked by the freak's hideous face. The light actually forced the thing to stumble backwards, giant hands covering its mutant eyes, and Carlos acted.
He ran at the blinded Nemesis, M16 held high, and slammed the rifle against its chest, pushing as hard as he could. Off balance, it stumbled backwards, its legs slapping the ancient railing—
—and with a brittle snap, a wide section of the railing gave way, falling into the darkness, the Nemesis plummeting after it. Carlos heard a sicklythump from the ground below at the same instant that the overheated spotlights shut down, making glowing dark shapes float in Carlos's eyes for a moment.
The huge, mellow sound of the bells continued to fill the air as Jill scrambled down the ladder and unslung the grenade launcher, joining Carlos at the broken railing.
"I... thanks," Jill said, looking into his eyes, her own gaze sincere and unwavering. "If you hadn't hit the lights, I would have been dead. Thank you."
Carlos was impressed and a little flustered by her candor. "De nada, " he said, suddenly very aware of how attractive she was—not just physically—and how little experience he actually had with women. He was a self-educated twenty-one-year-old mere, and he hadn't exactly had a whole lot of time or opportunity to date.
She can't be much older, twenty-five at the outside, and maybe she—
Jill snapped her fingers in front of him, bringing him back to reality and reminding him of how tired he really was. He'd totally spaced out.
"You still with me?"
Carlos nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah, sorry. Did you say something?"
"I said we need to move. If it's still that feisty after a grenade in the face, I doubt a two-story drop will kill it."
"Right," Carlos said. "We should circle around front, anyway. They'll probably drop a harness if they can't set down."
Jill nodded. "Let's do it."
Ushered inside by the deep voice of hollowed metal, Carlos suddenly wondered if Nicholai was still alive— and if he was, what he would do when he heard the tolling bells.
Nicholai heard the bells on his walk back into town and scoffed irritably, refusing to be baited. He hadn't expected the barely skilled trio to make it, but so what if they had? Davis Chan had filed another report, from a woman's boutique of all places, and Nicholai meant to track him down.
And why should I care if they limp away with their miserable lives, with what I've got?
Nicholai pulled the slender metal case out of his pocket for the third time since leaving the hospital, unable to resist. Inside was a glass vial of purplish fluid that he'd synthesized himself, with a little help from an instruction sheet that Aquino's assistant had thoughtfully left behind.
Nicholai knew it would be safest to store the sample someplace, but the small container represented his authority over the other Watchdogs and a newly elevated status with Umbrella; he was a leader, a supervisor of
lesser men, and he found that carrying the vaccine with him and occasionally holding it made him feel powerful. Grounded, in a way.
Smiling, Nicholai slipped the container back into his pocket, within easy reach, and started walking again, deliberately ignoring the bells. Things were going very well—he had the vaccine; he knew where Chan was and where Franklin was going to be in just under forty-eight hours; he'd already rigged the hospital to blow; and he would push the button as soon as his meeting with Franklin was over. Nicholai thought he might duck over to the factory and get rid of Terence Foster while he waited on Franklin, there was plenty of time—
—just like there was plenty of time to track Mikhail, to play at being a noble team member, to decide who
would die first among them . . .
The clamorous bells pounded at him, seeking to remind him of his failure, but he refused to be distracted by the escape of three incompetents. He was getting closer to town, he could see the combined glow of hundreds of small and not so small fires encasing the dark city; even if he wanted to, he wouldn't make it back to the clock tower before the first helicopter came. And he didn'twant to, he'd had the opportunity after killing Aquino and had decided that it wasn't worth his time. It was the right decision ... and the strange doubts that curled up inside of him at the sound of the bells were to be disregarded; it meant nothing, that they had survived, it didn't mean that they were as good as him.
Besides, he still had a few dogs to put down to ensure his monopoly on information. He thought that
Chan might choose to bunk down at the store he'd reported from, as late as it was. Nicholai would kill him, take his data, and retire for the evening somewhere in the city. At the Watchdog briefing he'd heard that food was scarce, but he was certain that he could manage— raid a few pantries for canned goods, perhaps. In the morning he would file his own report, to keep up his cover, and spend the day hunting up information of his own before heading west again.
Everything was fine, and as he gradually crossed over from the suburbs into the city, the sound of the approaching helicopter didn't bother him a bit. Let those spineless, shit-eating bastards run, he felt great, in con-trol,better than great. He only had a headache because of those damned bells.
They retraced much of their winding path through the clock tower, Jill wanting to make sure the Nemesis either got confused or had plenty of time to wander away before they went out to meet the 'copter. As they walked, they hammered out a story to tell whoever was running the evac—Jill was Kimberly Sampsel (the name of Jill's best friend from fifth grade), she'd worked at a local art gallery, no family, and she'd only moved to Raccoon recently. Carlos had found her just after his platoon leader, the only other U.B.C.S. member to have survived, had been killed by zombies. Together, they'd made it to the clock tower, end of story.
They decided not to mention Nicholai, the Nemesis,
or any unidentifiable creatures they'd seen running around; the idea was to appear as ignorant of the facts
as possible. Neither of them wanted to take any chances on the allegiance of the rescue team, and Jill had no doubt that there would be someone on the transport waiting to debrief them, so the simpler the story, the better. They'd just have to pray that no one had her pic on hand. They could worry about how to slip away once they got out of the city.
At the front doors of the clock tower they paused for a moment, readying themselves, Jill feeling a strange mixture of happiness and anxiety. Rescue was coming, but they were so close to getting out now that she was afraid something would go wrong.
Maybe that's just because Umbrella is doing the rescuing, God knows they don't have a very good track record for keeping their shit together...
"Jill? Before we leave, I want to tell you something," Carlos said, and for a few seconds, Jill thought her anxiety was about to be confirmed, that he was going to tell her some terrible secret he'd been holding back— but then she saw his careful, thoughtful expression and thought different.