Do I play the hero, save my leader from being gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show? "Nicholai, help me, please…," Mikhail rasped, rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-ily… funny, for lack of a better term. "Hang on, Mikhail," Nicholai said forcefully. "I'll take care of it!"
He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone. He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly on the asphalt. Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail. "What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.
"Did one of them get you?"
Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me." "Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was following me, too, but – maybe they just thought I was one of them. A zombie." Actually, that's not so far from the truth… Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his performance. "I saw… at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport…"
The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth – that a re-connaissance team would put down first disguised as emergency medical, and no other helicopters would show unless Umbrella gave the word. Since the squad leaders were probably all dead, Nicholai had to wonder if any of the soldiers even knew about the "evacuation," though he supposed it wasn't important. It wouldn't af-fect his plans either way. He found that he wasn't enjoying this game as much as he'd thought he would. Mikhail was too pathetically trusting, it was as much of a challenge as hunting a friendly dog. It was almost shameful to watch, too, the way he surrendered to his pain… "I don't think you're in any shape to travel," Nicholai said coolly.
"It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few minutes…" "No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think…"
Creeaak. Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the
U.B.C.S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.
"Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon Delta. I'm… shit, it's good to see you guys."
Nicholai nodded briskly, annoyed beyond measure as Carlos crouched next to them, checking Mikhail's wound, asking stupid questions. He was ninety-nine percent sure he could kill both of them before they real-ized what was happening, but even one percent was too great a risk considering what was at stake. He would have to wait… but perhaps he could find a way to use these new circumstances to his advantage. And if not… well, people turned their backs on their friends all the time, didn't they? And neither of them had reason to believe Nicholai was anything but. What was the saying, about how an obstacle was only a disguised opportunity? Things were going to be fine.
ELEVEN
JILL SLID TO A STOP AT THE CITY HALL GATE, both gems held tightly in one sweaty hand. The area was clear, at least as far as she could see, but the restaurant had been empty, the Nemesis gone, and that meant she needed to hurry; she didn't know how, but it was tracking her, and she wanted to get gone. Her blurred dash through the alleyways behind the restaurant had left her short of breath and not a little frightened. She'd nearly tripped over the body of some unlikely creature, one she'd been unable to see in the deepening blackness – but the dark silhouette of multi-ple claws hanging dead in the shadows had been more than enough to keep her moving. It didn't look like anything she'd seen before; that, and the threat of the Nemesis's inevitable pursuit had her hi a mild panic. She used it to lend speed to her efforts, careful to main-tain tight control. She knew from experience that keep-ing in touch with one's animal instincts was a vital part of surviving; a little fear was a good thing, it kept the adrenaline flowing. The ornamental clock was set into a raised dais next to the gate. She fumbled the blue jewel into place, the diamond-shaped glass setting off a faint electrical hum, a circular chain of lights that bordered the jewels flick-ering on. The green diamond went in just as easily, turning the light chain into a complete circle. There was a heavy grinding sound and the gate's two sets of doors slid open, revealing a shadowy path surrounded by overgrown hedges. It didn't look bad from where she stood. She eased into the silent walk, opening her senses. Cool, dark, a mild breeze promising rain the only thing that moved, rustling the trees, brushing leaves, chilling the sweat on her face and arms. She could hear the soft wailing of a distant virus-zombie drift through the air, and she saw the pale smudges of early moonlight on the path stones. Alert but sensing no immediate danger, she stepped further inside, her thoughts turning to Carlos Oliveira. He was telling the truth about being one of Umbrella's hired hands and probably about not knowing what the company was really up to, but he was also holding something back. He wasn't as good a liar as he thought, and his apparent willingness to lie didn't bode well. On the other hand, he didn't come across as devious in any way – a liar who meant well, perhaps, or at least who didn't mean any harm. He was probably just being careful – doing exactly what she was doing. Whatever the case, she didn't have time to do any major interpret-ing, so she was going with her first impression: he was one of the good guys. Whether or not that would be of any help to her was another story; for the moment, she was willing to settle for any ally who didn't have plans to kill her.
But should I be hooking up with anyone? What hap-pens if he gets in the way of the Nemesis, and…
As if on cue she heard it, a malevolent coincidence that seemed unreal, like some deadly joke. "Sstaarrss…" Speak of the devil, oh, shit, where is it? Jill was al-most at the center of the small park, where three trails intersected, and the sound came from somewhere ahead – or was it behind? The acoustics were strange, the tiny courtyard just in front of her making the low, hissing cry seem to come from everywhere. She spun, searching, but the path behind her and the two that stretched away from the open yard disappeared into shadow. Which way… She stepped lightly into the open space, giving herself greater access to escape and room to maneuver, if it came to that. A solid, heavy footstep. Another. Jill cocked her head and there, ahead and to the left, the path that led to the trolley. A thickening darkness, still just out of clear sight.
Go back, newspaper office or back to the station, no, no way I can outrun it but there's the gas station, it has a metal lock-down shutter and there's a shitload of cars, the better to hide…
Ahead and to the right. A simple plan was better than none, and she'd run out of time to consider her options any further. Jill took off, the light patter of her boots lost beneath a sudden clash of motion, the rising howl and dense tread of semisynthetic feet bearing down on the court-yard. She was deeply conscious of herself, of her mus-cles contracting, of the sounds of her heart and breath as she flew over the stones. In an instant, she was at the small gate that led further north, that would take her down a block packed with abandoned cars, past a gas station/repair shop, toward… She couldn't remember. If the street was clear, she could head through the industrial section of town, hope that she didn't run into any of the zombie packs. If blockades had been put up -