–naughty, naughty." "Cross-dressing freak," Steve snapped, but Alfred ei-ther didn't hear him or didn't care. "Enjoy the ride," Alfred said, giggling, and with a final buzz of static, the screen went blank. Claire stared at Steve, who stared back helplessly, and then they both looked out over the sea of clouds, watch– ing silently as the first shafts of sunlight broke through. Steve was dreaming about his father when he started awake suddenly, afraid for some reason, the dream slip– ping away even as he remembered where he was. Claire made a soft, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and nuzzled closer, her head against his left shoulder, her breath warm against his chest. Oh, Steve thought, afraid to move, not wanting to wake her up. They'd fallen asleep side-by-side leaning against the cockpit wall, and had apparently moved closer together at some point. He had no idea what time it was, or how long they'd slept, but they were still in the air, muted sunlight still coming in through the windows. They'd talked for a while after Alfred had taken con– trol of the plane, but not about what they were going to do at the end of their hijacked ride. Claire had remarked that since they couldn't do anything about it, there was no point in worrying. Instead, they'd eaten – Claire had nabbed a few packs of vending machine nuts, for which Steve would be eternally grateful – and done their best to wash up using a little of the bottled water, and then talked. Really talked. She'd told him about going to Raccoon City to find Chris, and everything that had happened there and what she knew about Umbrella and Trent the spy-guy… and she'd told him a lot of other stuff, too. She was in col– lege, and two years older than him, and she rode a mo– torcycle but was probably going to give it up because of how dangerous it was. She liked to dance so she liked dance music, but she also liked grange, and she thought politics were mostly boring, and cheeseburgers were her favorite food. She was totally, incredibly cool, the coolest girl he'd ever met – and even better, she'd actu– ally been interested in what he had to say. She'd laughed at a lot of his jokes, and thought it was cool that he ran track, and when he'd talked some about his parents, she'd listened without getting all pushy.
And she's so smart, and beautiful…
He looked down at her, at her tousled hair and long lashes, his heart pounding even though he was trying to relax. She moved again, shifting in her sleep, her head tilting back a little and her slightly parted lips were suddenly close enough for him to kiss, all he had to do was tip his face down a few inches, and he wanted to so bad that he actually started to do it, lowering his mouth toward hers… "Mmmm," she murmured, still totally asleep, and he stopped, pulling back, his heart beating even faster. He totally wanted to but not like that, not if she didn't want him to. He thought she did, but she'd also told him a lit– tle about her friend Leon, too, and he wasn't so sure that they were just friends. Feeling tortured, having her so close but not his, he was relieved when she rolled away from him a few sec– onds later. He stood up, stretching stiff legs, and walked to the front of the plane, wondering if the reserve fuel tank had been tapped yet, the thought of dealing with that crazy Ashford asshole once again drying up the last of his positive feelings. He hoped that Claire would sleep awhile longer, she'd been so tired…… until he saw what was outside, and read the head-ing, and realized that their altitude had dropped consid– erably. The plane was starting to pitch some, bucking, and no wonder. On the map reader next to the compass was an approximate latitude-longitude for their posi– tion.
"Claire, wake up! You gotta come see this!"
A few seconds later she was at his side, rubbing her eyes – which widened considerably when she looked out the window. There was a near blizzard of ice and
snow pounding down, extending as far as they could see. "We're over the Antarctic," Steve said. "As in the South Pole?" Claire asked, incredulous. She grabbed the back of the copilot seat as the plane roller-coastered. "Penguins and killer whales, all that?"I don't know about the wildlife, but we're at a lati-tude of 82.17 South," Steve said. "Definitely the bottom of the world. And I'm not positive, but I think we're coming in for a landing. We're slowing down, anyway."
Maybe Alfred's plan was to drop them in the middle of nowhere and let them freeze to death. Not flashy, but it would certainly do the trick. Steve wished he could get his bare hands on the guy for just a minute, just one. He wasn't much of a fighter, but Alfred would melt like a cream puff. "We must be headed for that," Claire said, pointing right, and Steve squinted, barely able to see through the storm… and then he saw the other planes, and the long, low buildings that she had spotted, only a few minutes away. "You think it's one of Umbrella's?" Steve asked, knowing before she nodded that it had to be. Where else? The plane's nose continued to dip down, carrying them to whatever Alfred had in mind, but Steve was ac– tually a little relieved. Meeting up with Umbrella again sucked, of course, but at least someone else would be in charge, and not every Umbrella employee was as shrink-wrapped as Alfred. He couldn't imagine that everyone would drop what they were doing to kiss Al– fred's ass, either. Maybe he and Claire could find some– one to bargain with, or bribe somehow… They were closing in for a first pass, the ride getting squirrelly, the wings probably heavy with ice – when Steve realized that they were way too low, too low and too fast. The landing gear had dropped at some point, but there was no way they could land at their speed and altitude. "Pull up, pull up…" Steve said, watching the build-ings get big too quickly, feeling prickles of sweat break– ing out all over. He slid into the pilot's chair, grabbing the yoke and pulling back – and nothing happened.
Oh, man. "Belt up, we're going to crash!" Steve shouted, grab-bing for his own belt as Claire jumped into her seat, the buckles snapping shut just as they touched down and alarms started shrieking as the landing gear crumpled and tore away, the plane's belly slamming into the ground. The cabin bounced wildly, the seat belts the only thing keeping them from hitting the roof. Claire let out a yelp as a wave of snow crashed into the wind– shield, and there was a giant metal SCREECH behind them as the tail or a wing ripped away – -and enough of the churning snow pack fell away from the glass for them to see the building in front of them, the out of control plane sliding for it, smoke com-ing from somewhere, they were going to hit and…
TEN
CLAIRE'S HEAD HURT. AGAIN. Something was on fire, she could smell smoke and she was incredibly cold, and she suddenly remembered what had happened – the snow, the building, the crash. Alfred. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, the action awk– ward and difficult because she was still strapped into her chair, now tilted forward at about a 45 degree angle and there was Steve in his chair, not moving.
"Steve! Steve, wake up!"
Steve groaned and mumbled something, and Claire breathed easier. After a few tries she managed to get her belt off and slid into a crouch, her feet on what had been the instrument panel. She couldn't see much out of the windshield with the angle they were at, but it appeared that they were inside some big building. There was gray metal siding some fifty or sixty feet in front of them, and through the gaping hole on her side of the plane, she could see a bit of walkway with a railing maybe eight or nine feet below. So where is everybody? Where is anybody? If it was an Umbrella facility, why weren't there a dozen soldiers dragging them out of the wreckage? Or at least a few pissed off janitors… Steve was coming around, though she could see a nasty bump at the edge of his hairline. She reached up and found that she had a matching bump just above her right temple, about an inch higher than the one she'd woken up with… yesterday? The day before?
My, how time flies when you keep getting knocked un-conscious. "What's burning?" Steve asked, opening bleary eyes. "I don't know," Claire said. There was just a trace of smoke in the cabin, she figured it was coming from some other part of the plane. In any case, she didn't want to stick around, see if anything blew up. "But we should get out of here. Do you think you can walk?" "These boots were made for walking," Steve mum– bled, and Claire grinned, helping him with his belt. They salvaged what they could from the weaponry that was piled at their feet, Steve's machine pistol and her 9mm. Unfortunately, they were low on ammo, and a couple of clips had gone missing. She had twenty-seven rounds, he had fifteen. They split them up, and with nothing else to keep them aboard, Steve lowered himself out over the walkway, dropping the last few feet. "What's out there?" Claire asked, sitting on the edge of the hole and tucking her gun in her belt. It was cold enough for her to see her breath, but she thought she could manage for a little while. "Not a whole hell of a lot," Steve called back, looking around. "We're in a big round building – I think it's built around a mine shaft or something, there's a straight drop through the middle. There's nobody here." He looked up at her and raised his arms. "Come on down, I gotcha."