Go in low, head down, knock it off while it's still at the edge… "Steve!" Claire screamed fearfully, but he was almost there, close enough for the acrid tinge of its self-pro-
duced gas to sear his nostrils, has to be poison, gotta keep it away from her…
… and just before he rammed into it, something vi– ciously shoved him, slammed into his back and pushed, sending him flying to the ground. "Steve!" Claire screamed again, this time in absolute horror, because he was skidding across the icy cement on his side, and though he tried to stop himself, scrab– bling at the frozen platform with frozen fingers, there was suddenly no platform left. Steve was only a few feet from the monster when its strange arm whipped down over them both, hitting Steve in the back and hurtling him to the side.
"Steve!"
Steve skipped across the frozen platform like a flat stone on water and disappeared over the edge.
Oh, my God, no!
Claire doubled over, the emotional pain hitting her like a physical blow, sharp and hard in her gut. He'd been trying to protect her, and it had cost him his life. For a second, she couldn't move or breathe, couldn't feel the cold, didn't care about the monster. But only for a second. She looked at the stumbling, tortured animal stagger– ing toward her, knew without doubt that the fury they'd heard came from long, hard years of abuse, of experi– mentation, and felt nothing. Her heart had sealed itself up, her mind suddenly colder than her body. She straightened, jacking a round into the chamber of the rifle, appraising the situation with a clear eye. Obviously, she could outrun it, leave it on the plat– form and be a mile away before it found its way back down – but that wasn't an option, not anymore. Its death would be a mercy, but that didn't figure in to her calcu– lations, either. It killed Steve, and now I'm going to kill it, she thought coolly, and walked to the northwest corner of the plat– form, the farthest from the stairs. Its appendages flailing over its head, the monster wove around in a painfully slow half circle, its blind face finally turned in her direction. It let out another deep, gasping, mindless sound and its body vomited out more of that smoking liquid, some kind of acid or poison, probably. She wondered who had created such a thing, and how – this was no T-virus zombie, and from its abused and tormented state, it wasn't a BOW, either. She supposed she'd never know. Claire raised the rifle and looked through the scope, focusing in on the pulsating tissue in the center of its chest, then raising to target its blank gray face. She didn't know about the tissue mass at its heart, but she was sure it wouldn't survive a head shot by a 30.06. She didn't want to waste time stalking it, or inflicting unnec– essary pain; she just wanted it dead. She aimed at the center of its forehead. It had a strong jaw and fine, straight nose beneath the puckered flesh, as though it had once been handsome, even aristocratic. Maybe it's another Ashford, she thought mockingly, and fired. The monster's head split apart, almost seemed to shatter as the round found its mark. Shards of bone and brain matter flew, all of it as gray as the gray sky, steam rising up from the broken bowl of its skull as it fell -
– first to its knees, the mutant arms spasming in the snowy air, then onto its ruined face. Claire felt nothing, no pleasure, no dismay, not even pity. It was dead, that was all, and it was time for her to go. She still didn't feel the cold, but her body was shak– ing violently, her teeth rattling, and she knew she had to get warm…
"Claire?"
The voice was weak and shuddering and unmistak– ably Steve's, coming from the platform's east edge. Claire stared at the empty space for a split second, en– tirely dumbfounded – and then ran, dropping to her hands and knees beneath the soft patter of snow, leaning out to see him awkwardly wrapped around a support post, clinging to the frozen metal with both arms and one leg. His face was almost blue with cold, but when he saw her, his eyes lit up, a look of incredible relief crossing his pale features. "You're alive," he said. "That's my line," she answered, dropping the rifle and bracing herself against the edge, leaning down to grab his arm. It was a struggle, but in another moment, Steve was back on the platform, and then they were on their knees, embracing, too cold to do anything but hang on. "I'm so sorry, Claire," he said miserably, his face buried in her shoulder. "I couldn't stop it." Her heart had unsealed when she'd seen him alive, and now tightened painfully. He was all of seventeen years old, his whole life ripped apart by Umbrella, and he'd just very nearly died trying to save her life. Again. And he was sorry. "Don't worry, I got it this time," she said, determined not to cry. "You get the next one, okay?" Steve nodded, sitting back on his heels to look at her. "I will," he said, so vehemently that she had to smile. "Cool," she said, and crawled to her feet, reaching down to help him up. "That'll save me some work. Now let's go catch a 'cat, yes?"
Supporting each other and staying close for warmth, they made their way to the stairs, neither of them willing to let go.
TWELVE
ALEXIA ASHFORD WATCHED HER TWIN DIE AT her feet, bleeding and in great pain, reaching out to touch the stasis tank with adoration in his dying eyes. He'd never been particularly bright or competent, but she had loved him, very much. His death was a great sadness… but also the sign she'd been waiting for. It was time to come out. She'd known for some months that the end would be soon – or rather the beginning, the emergence of a new life on Earth. Her stasis had remained stable for most of the fifteen years she'd needed, her mind and body un– aware of life – unaware that she was suspended in freez-ing amniotic fluid, her cells slowly changing and adapting to T-Veronica. In the past year, however, that had changed. She had hypothesized that given enough time, T-Veronica would raise consciousness to new levels, expanding areas of the mind that would surpass simplistic human senses, and she had been correct. For the last ten months, she had begun experiencing herself in spite of stasis, testing her awareness… and she had been able to see through her human eyes, when she wished. Alexia reached out with her mind and turned off the support machines. The tank began to drain, and she stared out at her dear brother, most unhappy that he had died. She could choose not to employ her emotions, but she had been human with him; it seemed appropriate. When the tank was empty, Alexia opened it, stepping out into her new world. There was power everywhere, hers for the taking, but now she sat down in front of the tank and laid Alfred's bloody head in her lap, experienc– ing the sadness. She began to sing, a child's song that her brother had liked, stroking his hair back from his drawn face. There was sadness in the lines around his eyes and mouth, and she wondered what his life had been like. She wondered if he'd stayed at Rockfort, stayed at Veronica's home, the home of their ancestors. Still singing, Alexia reached out to her father – and was surprised to find him missing, either dead or beyond her range of perception. She had touched his mind only recently, studying what was left of it. In a way, he was re– sponsible for what she had become; the T-Veronica had turned his mind to sludge, had driven him insane… as it would have to her, if she hadn't tested it on him, first. She stretched her awareness, finding sickness and death in the upper levels of the terminal. A pity. She had been looking forward to beginning her experiments again, immediately; without test subjects, she had no reason to stay. She found two people not far from the Umbrella facil– ity and decided to flex her control over substance, to see how much effort it took – and found that it was hardly an effort at all. She concentrated for just a few seconds, saw a male and female inside of a snow machine, and wished for them to be brought back to the facility. Instantly, lines of organic matter tore through the ice, ripping toward the vehicle. Amused, Alexia watched with her senses as a giant tentacle of new-formed sub– stance rose up and curled around the machine, lifting it effortlessly into the air – and then threw it back at the facility. The machine tumbled end over end, its engine bursting into flame, and came to rest against one of the Umbrella buildings. Both were still alive, she thought, and was well pleased. She could use one of them in an experiment she'd been thinking about for weeks, and would surely find a good use for the other in due time. Alexia continued to sing to her dead brother, in-trigued by the changes she could see coming, looking forward to gaining a fuller mastery of her new powers. She stroked his hair, dreaming.