No, she couldn't, and it wouldn't help, it would only make things worse. Mr. X had been programmed for a single purpose, to obtain a virus sample; she suspected that this creature was after her specifically, and if she left the hold, the creature would just tear through the hatch, killing her and Steve. At least this way, he might have a chance. And 9mm was the heaviest firepower on board – if it could take eight rounds in the chest, another gun wasn't going to make a difference. Try for a head shot, like the one-armed monster. She could try, but she had the feeling that something that didn't bleed probably wouldn't go blind, either. Its eyes were strange, perhaps they weren't even used for sight… and there was also the fact that they were on a moving plane, one that shook and wavered; without a scope, how was she supposed to target, let alone hit? All that passed through her mind in about a second and then she was moving again, edging toward the back of the plane once more – afraid to run, afraid to stand still, wondering how long she had before it ran at her again and what she would do then…… and it lowered its head like it had done before, and again, Claire's body reacted, but an idea was forming, too. She pushed away from the wall and ran toward it, angling her path, if this doesn't work I'm dead…… and she felt the chill of its strange flesh as it rock-eted past her, was so close that she could smell its rotten meat smell – and then they were on opposite ends of the open space and it was slowly, mechanically turning around. It had worked, but barely; if it had been an inch closer, if she'd been a half step slower, it would already be over. Guns didn't work, she couldn't leave, so the creature had to go, but how? The air stream at the hold's open end was strong, but if she could duck past it, no way it would nab the weighty monstrosity… she had to knock it off-balance, maybe bait it to the opening and trip it up somehow, she wasn't strong enough to push it… Think, damnit! It was starting toward her again, one step, two. She looked away long enough to scan the floor near the opening, looking for something it might stumble over, maybe the hydraulic track…
The hydraulic track.
Used to push heavy crates to the rear of the plane, to be unloaded. In fact, two of the empty crates were sit– ting on the metal platform at the start of the track, just a few steps from the door to the cockpit. The controls were set into the outer wall, right in front of the door. Too slow, there's no way. Except it was slow because it carried a heavy load; if there was only an empty con– tainer or two on the platform, how fast would it go then? She had to get to the controls, had to see… There was a blur of movement, and then the spiked mace was coining around, ripping toward the side of her head. Claire jumped forward, instinctively sidestepped, but not quite fast enough. The spikes didn't get her but its powerful forearm did, bashing painfully into her ear, knocking her off her feet. Instantly, the creature crouched and brought its right arm down, but she was already in motion, rolling the sec– ond she hit the floor. The hand blades hit the deck and sparks flew, the creature howling in rage as Claire sprang to her feet, trying not to notice her throbbing ear or the tiny black dots that swarmed at the edges of her vision. She ran for the hydraulic controls instead, as the creature rose to its feet, its movements mechanical again, as emo– tionless as it had been furious only seconds before. A few running steps and she was looking down at a simple control panel, power switch, a dial for entering approximate weight, buttons for back and forth, a tiny readout screen, an emergency shutoff. Claire hit the power switch, twisting the weight dial to the maximum limit, just under three tons. She shot a look at the creature, still at a safe distance, and saw that it was only a step or two from being in the direct path of the platform. Her hand hovered over the blue switch that would move it forward, that should send it bulleting down the hold at an incredible speed. With only a few pounds of empty container where three tons was expected, it would mow the creature down like a blade of grass.
Almost… almost… now!
When the creature was standing almost directly on the track, Claire punched the button – and nothing hap-pened, nothing at all. Shit! She fumbled for the power switch again, maybe she hadn't turned it on – and she saw what was on the little readout screen, and groaned aloud. The simple in– structions read, "Charging for load – wait for tone."
Good God, how long will that be?
The creature was still twenty feet away, walking al– most directly along the track. She might not get a better shot at it, because another blow could very well mean her death, but if she stayed where she was and the crea– ture got to her before the platform was charged, she'd be trapped between the wall and the storage crates. It would bludgeon her into pulp against the cockpit door.
Better to run for it Better to stay put.
Claire hesitated a touch too long, and the creature was in motion again. It swept toward her like a natural disas– ter and it was too late, not even tune to turn around and flee into the cockpit…
ping!
… and it brought its spiked left hand down just as Claire slammed the switch, her eyes squeezed closed, sure that the world was about to disappear in a blizzard of pain…… as the creature shot away from her, roaring, the empty crates lifting it off its feet, powering it away. Be– fore she could begin to accept that the plan was work-ing, the creature used one of its incredible bursts of speed and got in front of the barreling container, just enough to get some leverage, to push against it -
–but Claire didn't wait to see which force was greater. She opened fire again, two, three bullets hitting it in the head, bouncing harmlessly off its armored skull, but distracting it, too. The creature struggled an-other half second and then it and the two crates were gone, plunging into the dusky sky. Claire stared out at the passing stream of atmosphere for a time, knowing she should feel limp with relief, that she'd killed the monster, that she'd survived another Umbrella disaster, that they were finally, finally safe… but she was simply wrung out, any possibility for strong emotion having flown out the back along with Mr. X's big brother. "Please, let it be over," she said softly, and then turned and opened the door back into the cockpit. As she hopped the two steps up to the pilot area, Steve glanced back her, frowning. "What happened? Is everything okay?"
Claire nodded, flopping down in the seat next to him, absolutely beat. "Yeah. Score one more for the good guys. Oh, the rear cargo hatch is gone."Are you kidding?" Steve asked. "Nope," Claire said, and yawned widely, suddenlyoverwhelmed with fatigue. "Hey, I'm going to rest my eyes for a minute. If I fall asleep, wake me up in five, okay?"Sure," Steve said, still looking confused. "The hatch is gone?"
Claire didn't answer him, the dark already rushing up to claim her, her body melting into the seat…… and then Steve was shaking her, repeating her name over and over again.
"Claire! Claire!" "Yeah," she mumbled, sure she hadn't slept as she cracked her eyes open, wondering why Steve would want to torture her like this – until she saw his expres-sion, and a bolt of alarm jolted her awake. "What, what is it?" she asked, sitting up straight. Steve looked really worried. "Like a minute ago, we changed direction and then the controls suddenly locked down," he said. "I don't know what it is, there's no radio but everything else is still working fine – except I can't steer, or alter altitude or speed. It's like it's stuck on autopilot."
Before she could say a word, there was a crackling static sound from a small video monitor mounted close to the ceiling of the cockpit, one Claire hadn't noticed be– fore. Flickering distortion lines spread out across the screen, but the picture, when it came in, was clear enough.
Alfred!
He was also flying, it seemed, belted into the front seat of a two-man fighter jet, or something similar. He still had smears of makeup on his face, his eyes rimmed in black, and when he spoke, it was in Alexia's voice. "My apologies," he purred, "but I can't let you escape now. It seems you've eluded another of my playthings -