He checked her back – clean, thank God – and then they split up the papers on the desk, Steve taking the maps and sitting on the floor, Claire looking through the rest of it at the desk. Inventory list, bill, bill, list… Claire hoped Steve was having better luck. From what she could gather, they were in what Umbrella was calling a "transport ter– minal," whatever that was, and it had been built around an abandoned mine – she wasn't clear on what had been mined, exactly, but there were a number of receipts for some newer spendy equipment and a shitload of con– struction materials. Almost enough to build a small city. She found a series of memos between two extremely boring gentlemen, discussing Umbrella's budget allot– ments for the coming year. It was all the more boring be– cause everything appeared to be perfectly legal. The office they were in belonged to one of them, a Tomoko Oda, and it was from Oda that she finally ran across something that caught her eye, a postscript on one of his lengthy account– ing reports dated from only a week before.
PS – by the way, remember the story you told me when I first got here, about the "monster" prisoner? Don't laugh, but I finally heard him myself, two nights ago, in this very office. It was just as frighten-ing as the stories say, a kind of angry, moaning scream that echoed up from the lower levels. My fore-man tells me that workers have been hearing it for something like 15 years, almost always late at night – the most popular rumor has it that he screams like that because someone missed his feeding time. I've also heard that he's a ghost, a hoax, a scientific experiment gone wrong, even a demon. I haven't formed an opinion myself, and since none of us are allowed down there, I suppose it will continue to be a mystery. I have to tell you, though, after hearing that horrible, insane howling, I have no interest in going below B2. Let me know about that stem bolt shipment. Regards, Tom.
It seemed that the workers upstairs didn't know much about what was going on downstairs. Probably better for them, Claire thought… although considering the cur– rent situation, maybe not. Steve laughed suddenly, a short bark of victory, and stood up, grinning widely. He slapped an Antarctica po– litical map across the desk. "We're here," Steve said, pointing to a red spot that someone had penciled in, "about halfway in between this Japanese outpost, Dome Fuji, and the Pole itself, in the Australian territory. And right here is an Australian research station – we're looking at ten or fifteen miles, tops." Claire felt her heart skip a beat. "That's great! Hell, we could probably hike it if we could find some good gear…"… and if we can get out of this basement, she thought, some of her enthusiasm dying down. Steve unfolded a second map, spreading it out. "Wait, that's not the good part. Check this out."
A photocopy of a blueprint. Claire studied the hand– drawn diagrams, side and top views of a tall building and three of its floors, the levels and rooms neatly la– Beled and stood up herself, too elated to stay still. It was a comprehensive map of the building they were in, not tall but deep. "This is where we are at now," Steve said, pointing to a small square labeled "manager's office," on level B2. He traced his finger down and left and down again, stopping at an oddly shaped area at the bottom of the diagram, like a big quotation mark lying on its side. The tiny black letters read "mining room," and there was a lightly penciled tunnel extending out of it with "to surface/unfinished" written next to it, also in pen-cil. "And there's where we need to go," Claire finished, shaking her head in disbelief. The map Steve had found would probably save them hours of wandering around, and with as little ammo as they had, it might also save their lives.
"Yeah. If we run into any locked doors, we break 'em down, or shoot the locks, maybe," Steve said happily. "And it's like a one-minute walk from here. We'll be fly– ing the friendly skies in no time."It says the tunnel is unfinished…" Claire started, but Steve cut her off.
"So? If they're still working on it, there'll be some kind of equipment laying around," Steve said happily. "I mean, it says mining room, right?"
She couldn't argue with his logic, and didn't want to. It was almost too good to be true, and she was more than ready for some good news… and though it did mean another run through mothville, this time, they'd be ready."You win the prize," Claire said, giving in to her own enthusiasm. Steve raised his eyebrows innocently. "Oh, yeah? What's the prize?"
She was about to answer that she was open to sugges-tions when an unexpected and alarming noise stopped her, coming into the office from nowhere and every-where. For a split second she thought it was some kind of an air raid siren, it was so loud and penetrating, but no siren started so deep and low, or kept rising like that, or conjured up such feelings of dread. There was fury in the sound, a blind rage so complete that it was incom-prehensible. Frozen, they listened as the incredible, grisly screamstretched out and finally died away, Claire wondering how long it had been since feeding time. She had no doubt that it was one of Umbrella's creations. No ghost could produce such a visceral sound, and no human soul could encompass such rage. "Let's go now," Claire said quietly, and Steve nodded, his eyes wide and anxious as he folded the maps and tucked them away. They readied their weapons, laid out a quick plan, and on the count of three, Steve shoved the door open. As the monstrosity's roar echoed away, Alfred smiled at it through the thick metal bars of its bare, dank cell,
admiring his sister's handiwork. He'd helped, of course, but she was the genius who'd created the T-Veronica virus, and at only ten years of age… and though she had considered her first experiment a failure, Alfred thought not. The result was deeply gratifying on a per– sonal level. Things were so much clearer, had been since the very moment he'd left Rockfort. Memories had returned, things he'd buried or lost, feelings he'd forgotten he had. After fifteen years of gray area, of muddled confusion and unstable fantasy, Alfred felt that his world was fi– nally drawing to order – and he understood now why their home had been attacked, and how fortunate for him that it had been. "They knew that it was time, too, you see," Alfred said. "If not for the strike, I might have continued to be-lieve that she was with me."
He watched with some amusement as the monstrosity tilted its filthy head toward the door, listening. It was chained to its chair, blindfolded, hands bound behind its back… and though it had been incapable of anything like real thought for a decade and a half, it still re-sponded to the sound of words. Perhaps it even recog-nized his voice on some animal instinctual level. I should feed it, Alfred thought, not wanting it to die before Alexia awoke… but that would be soon, very soon – perhaps the process had already begun. The thought filled him with wonder, that he was to be pres– ent for her miraculous rebirth. "I missed her so," Alfred said, sighing. So much that he'd created a reflection of her, to share the lonely years of waiting. "But she's soon to emerge a reigning queen, with me as her faithful soldier, and we'll never be apart again."
Which reminded him of his final task, a last objective to be met before he could comfortably begin the final wait. His joy at discovering the crashed plane had been short-lived when he'd found it empty, but upon refresh– ing himself of the terminal's layout, he'd realized the peasant couple could only be in one or two places. He'd taken a sniper rifle from the armory at one of the other buildings, a 30.06 bolt action Remington with a magni– fying scope, a delightful toy, and was determined to try it out. He couldn't have Claire and her little friend showing up at some inopportune moment, mangling the celebration… Suddenly, Alfred started to laugh, a gem of an idea occurring to him. The monstrosity had to eat… why not bring it the two commoners? Claire Redfield had brought destruction down upon Rockfort, had attempted to soil the Ashford name, just as the monstrosity had, in away.