creatures. "You really believe that, Henry?" John asked, not looking pissed anymore, his expression neutral. "I…" Cole said, then closed his mouth, thinking. About the incredible pay and the don't-ask policy. About the questions from whoever was supervising on any given job…
"Are you happy working here? Do you feel that you're getting paid enough?"
… and about the prison cells… and the restraints. "No," he said, and felt a rush of shame at his deliberate ignorance. He should have known, would have known if he'd had the guts to take a closer look.
"No, I don't. Not anymore."
Both men nodded, and Cole was relieved to see John alter the position of the gun slightly, pointing it away. "So do you know how to get out of here?" John asked. Cole nodded. "Yeah, sure. All of the phases have connecting doors, in alternating corners. They're all latched shut, no keys or anything – except for the last one, Four, it's bolted on the outside." "So the door we'll want is that way?" Leon asked, pointing southwest. They were in the northeast cor– ner. From where they stood, the far wall wasn't even visible, the fake woods were so dense. Cole knew there was at least one decent-sized clearing, but it would still be a hike to get through. Cole nodded.
"Can you tell us about these test animals? What do they look like?" John asked. "I never saw 'em, I was just here to do the wiring -
–cams and conduits, like that." He looked between the two men hopefully. "But how bad could they be, right?"
The expressions on their faces weren't encouraging. Cole started to ask what they could tell him when a loud, metallic clattering filled the moist air, like a giant gate being raised. It came from the back, the west wall, where Cole knew the animal pens were kept and a second later, a shrill, piercing shriek cut through the air, a long and warbling note that was quickly joined by another, and another, and then too many to tell apart. There was a beating sound, too, so huge that for a moment, Cole couldn't place it – and when he did, he felt a little like screaming. Wings. The sound of gigantic wings beating the air.
They were fifteen feet off the ground, atop a double row of wooden crates in one corner of the warehouse.
Even the slightest movement made them sway a little, which made Claire deeply uneasy.
Not enough that John and Leon are gone, or that we're hiding from a bunch of Umbrella goons. No, we have to be stuck on Mount Precarious in a pitch-black icebox. One of us sneezes too hard and we all go down. "This sucks," she whispered, as much to break the tense silence as to vent. The helicopter noise had stopped, but they hadn't heard anyone outside yet either. She was surprised to feel Rebecca's body quaking next to hers, and to hear a muffled giggle; the young biochemist was trying to suppress it, and wasn't having an easy time. Claire grinned, absurdly pleased. A few seconds passed, and Rebecca managed to say, "Yes. You're so right," and then they were both choking back laughter. The boxes teetered gently. "Please," David said, sounding edgy. He was on top of the second stack of crates, on Rebecca's other side. Claire and Rebecca quieted down, and again a waiting silence fell over them. They were in the northeast corner, both on their stomachs, handguns pointed toward the wall across from them in the general direction of the other door. David said there were two; he was facing south, covering the one they'd entered by. The tension-breaking giggle fit had relaxed Claire a little. She was still cold, still afraid for Leon and John, but their situation didn't seem so terrible. Bad, defi– nitely, but she'd been in much worse circumstances.
In Raccoon, I was on my own. There was Sherry to watch out for, we had Mr. X on our trail, we had a shitload of zombies to wade through and were totally lost. At least now I have some idea of what we're up against; even an army of gun-toting creeps isn 't as bad as not knowing what's what…
Outside of the warehouse, a noise. Someone was pulling at the door that she and Rebecca were cover-ing; a quick, rattling shake and then silence again -
–except Claire thought she heard footsteps now, pad-ding against the ground outside.
Checking doors. And if David's lock-rigging isn't convincing, or they happen to look closely…
At least it was David covering them; he was amaz– ing, cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind as she'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just what to do – instantly, no matter what happened. Even now – David had said that they'd probably be doing a straight-across sweep, starting at one end or the other and checking each building in teams. Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over what he'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-if list. But still, just having something to concentrate on was a relief.
If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the door across from where they entered and wait. When we hear them on the other side, we head out and run for the fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pick off the others one at a time as they come through the door, then climb down, then run. If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throws the grenade and then shoot; same if they've got night-vision, the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to return fire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover…
The other variables disappeared as she heard the other door being shaken. Shaken and then kicked. Thunk! The door blew open, a square of pale light appear-ing in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlight pierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, then turning back toward the door. A soft click – and then a whispered curse. "What?" A different voice, also whispering. "Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, come on. They're probably in the other one anyway, they didn't get all the way through the lock on this one." Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were going to search, but they didn't suspect their presence. A second beam appeared, and Claire could see the vaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the two powerful lights, both of them men by the voices. They started to move forward, the beams dancing over the stacks of boxes and crates. Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes, not wanting for either of the men to feel watched; she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Not to look. "I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, and Claire wondered if they had any idea how well sound carried in the open space. We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, but she was scared. At least the zombies hadn't had guns… The lights split, one heading away from them, the other turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least; whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn't realize that people could climb boxes.
Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let us sneak out of this without having to fight! David said that they'd come back for John and Leon when Um– brella had cleared out; he said they'd probably post a guard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would be a lot easier than taking out an entire squad -
–and a light was shining in Claire's face, the blinding beam hitting her eyes. "Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heard something beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as the tower of boxes tipped backwards. Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at the shifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shouts coming from outside, the orange burst of thundering muzzle fire coming from David's weapon…… and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.
When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of Umbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest… "Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to maybe twenty-five, thirty feet and at the very top, John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted on, each as big around as a basketball.