If I get lost, I can just follow the trail of corpses back,
she thought, walking quickly down the nondescript cor– ridor. Not funny, but she wasn't feeling all that politi– cally correct at the moment. She was starting to run low on ammo, too, which made her even less inclined to a positive frame of mind. She stepped from the relative warmth of the hall into the mist-cloaked courtyard, smells of the ocean perme– ating the cold gray night. A small fire burned against one wall. The whole Rockfort facility was strangely laid out, she thought, an unlike mix of new and old. Ineffi– cient, but interesting; the little courtyard was actually cobblestoned, definitely not a recent addition… Claire froze. The narrow red beam of a laser scope sliced through the mist in front of her, swept toward her from somewhere above. A low balcony to her right, the stairs for it set against the east wall.
Stairs, cover!
It was all she had time to think before the little red dot was stuttering across her chest. She threw herself out of the way as the first shot blasted through the cold air, burying itself in a miniature fountain of stone chips. She rolled to her feet and sprinted for the stairs, the red light jerking back and forth, trying to find her. Bam, a second shot, it missed but was close enough that she could actually hear it cutting through the air, a high– pitched buzzing sound. She caught a glimpse of the shooter just before ducking behind the low stone balustrade, not surprised at all to see slicked-back blond hair and a red jacket trimmed in gold. She was more angry than scared, that after all she'd been through, she hadn't been more careful – and that she'd almost been taken out by such a weird little elitist creep. That stops right now. Claire raised her handgun over the stone railing and fired off two rounds in Alfred's general direction. She was immediately rewarded with a cry of shocked outrage. Not so much fun when the peas-ants fire back, is it?
Ready to capitalize on his surprise, Claire scrambled up three steps and risked a look over the rail – just in time to see him run through a door on the west wall, slamming it behind him. She leaped up the stairs and took off after him, bang– ing through the door and down a moonlit hall, shafts of cool light gently piercing the shadows. It wasn't a con– scious decision to pursue him, she just did it, not want– ing to stumble into any more of his ambushes. She could see what looked like a soda machine at the end of hall, could still hear his running footsteps…… and heard a door slam just before she reached the corridor's end, a small room with two decrepit vending machines and two doors to choose between. Claire hesitated, looking at either door – and then put her hands on her knees to catch her breath, giving up the chase. For all she knew, he was standing on the other side of one of those doors, just waiting for her to walk through. Score one for the nutcase. Not a big victory, anyway. With any luck, she'd be off the island soon, Alfred Ash– ford just another bad memory.
After a moment she straightened, walking over to check out the vending machines – one for snacks, the other, beverages. She suddenly realized she was ravenous, and incredibly thirsty. When was the last time she ate? The machines were both broken, but a couple of good, solid kicks circumvented the problem nicely; most of it was crap, but there were several bags of mixed nuts and a few cans of orange juice. Not exactly a steak dinner, but considering the circumstances, a boun– tiful harvest anyway. She ate quickly, stuffing a few un– opened bags in her vest pockets for later, feeling more focused almost immediately.
So… door number one, or door number two? Eeny-meeny-miney-mo… The gray door, to the right of the corridor. She doubted that Alfred had the patience to still be waiting, but edged up to the door carefully just in case, pushing it open with the barrel of the 9mm. Claire relaxed. A small, cozy room, couple of couches, an antique typewriter on a table, a large, dusty trunk in one corner. It seemed safe enough; Alfred must have gone through door number one. She stepped inside to search it, drawn toward a small heap of miscellaneous objects on one of the couches – and her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening.
Thank you, Alfred!
Someone had dumped the contents of a fanny pack on the couch, the pack itself crumpled next to the pile, which included two sterile needles and a syringe, a pack of waterproof matches, half a box of 9mm rounds – and a small, half-filled bottle of the same hemostatic stuff Rodrigo had been out of, exactly what she'd been looking for. There were a few other odds and ends in the makeshift survival kit, a pen, a small flat screwdriver, a foil-wrapped condom… at the last, she rolled her eyes, grinning. Inter– esting, what some people considered absolute necessities. Her grin faded when she noticed the blood stains on the pack, but she still felt better than she had in days. She reloaded the pack and strapped it low around her hips, transferring a few things over from her own woe– fully tight pockets. She could hardly believe her luck. The medicine was what she'd been most worried about, but it was also an incredible relief to find more ammo. Even a single clip's worth was a godsend. A search of the rest of the room yielded up nothing more, not that she minded. She felt like the end was in sight, an end to this terrible and horrific night.
Get back to the prison, give the drugs to Rodrigo, then see if Steve's had any luck wrangling us a ride home, she thought happily, stepping out of the room. It had been a hard ride, but compared to Raccoon, this was a picnic…
The heavy rattle of the closing shutter whipped her around, the moment of happiness blown as the corridor, her exit, was blocked off with a thundering crash. No! Claire ran to the metal shutter, banged it once with her fist, already knowing that there was no chance. She was sealed in, the only possibility of escape now the one door she hadn't yet tried. The one Alfred had fled through. "Welcome, Claire," a voice called out, as snotty and pretentious as she remembered, with the same snide un– dertone as before. There was an intercom box above one of the vending machines, in the upper corner of the room. Howdy, Alfred, she thought dismally, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her anger or fear. The whole compound was probably wired up for sound, she'd been stupid not to think of it, and just because she didn't see a camera, that didn't mean there wasn't one.
"You're about to enter a special playground, of sorts," Alfred continued, "and there's a friend of mine I'd like very much for you to meet; I think you'll play well to– gether."Fantastic, can't wait."Don't die too soon, Claire. I want to enjoy this."
He laughed, that insane, annoying, distinctly unnat– ural giggle of his, and then he was gone. Claire stared blankly at the door she was supposed to go through, considering her options. It was probably the best thing Chris had ever taught her, that there were al-ways options; they might all totally suck, but there was always a choice, regardless, and thinking over her alter– natives now had a calming effect.
I can hide in the safe room, live on snack food and pop while I wait for Umbrella to show up. I can sit here and pray that some friendly party will miraculously come to my rescue. I can try to get through the steel shutter, or through one of the walls… with that screwdriver and some elbow grease, I can probably break out in about 10,000 years. I can kill myself. Or I can walk through Al-fred'splay ground door, see what there is to see.
There were a number of variations, but she thought that basically summed things up… and only one of them made any sense. Technically, none of them makes sense! Part of her howled. I should be in my dorm room, eating cold pizza and cramming for some test! Objection noted, she thought dryly, reaching into her new pack for a full clip, tucking another in her bra for fast access. Time to see what Alfred and his underlings had been up to out here, see if Umbrella had finally come up with a formula for the perfect bio-organic war– rior. Claire stepped up to the door and paused, wondering if she should go into battle with some profound thought about her life, or love, wondering if she was ready to die… and decided that she could worry about all that stuff later. If there wasn't a later, she wouldn't have to worry about it, would she? "Boy, am I smart," she murmured, and pushed the door open before she could lose her nerve.