–and lobbed the grenade, a gentle toss out the door, closing it just as fast as he could, throwing his weight against it and thanking God that it was so very durable -
– and KA-WHAM, the door fought with him as the impact fuse went, dirt and shrapnel slamming against it like a wild beast clawing for entrance. David held on, only a second's war but a fierce one nonetheless. The thundering boom of the M68 gave way to moans and howls of pain, barely audible over the ringing in his ears and the screaming of his breathless lungs. "Cover to the right and head left!" He shouted, and yanked the door open, whipping the H amp;K from side to side. The pallid moonlight showed him only three men, all down, all hurt and screaming and still alive beyond the veil of his tears.
Kevlar, full-body maybe…
They'd expect a run to the front, to their escape vehicle, so David turned left. He fixed his wet gaze on the dark fence as Claire and then Rebecca tumbled out behind him, coughing and crying. "Fence," he said, as loud as he dared, and reached back for Rebecca, sliding his arm around her waist. They stumbled over one of the fallen men, clutching at his bleeding face, and managed a shagging run toward escape, Claire right behind. She sidled quickly after them, the M-16 aimed back toward the front of the compound.
Good girl, we might make this, over the fence and circle away from the van, out into the desert… They ran, closing the distance much faster than David could have hoped, the fence only ten yards behind the rear of the building they'd been in, the building he'd chosen because of it; the others angled toward the front, too much distance, and the first would have been too obvious – then they were almost to the fence when some– one fired the machine gun from the darkness behind them, from the cover of the building's other side. At least one of the Umbrella team had fought logic and come around by the unexpected route. Claire was on it, returning fire, the rapid chatter of the two automatics merging into an explosive duo. The invisible shooter was either hit or ducking as the thundering song went solo, Claire peppering the dark-ness with the.223s.
Rebecca will need help. "Claire! Up and over!" David shouted, reaching out for the M-16. She let it go and turned, scaling the fence easily. "Rebecca, go!" David pulled the trigger and held it, spraying bullets across the cold night, hearing return fire from seemingly everywhere at once, three, maybe four shooters…… and there was a cry from behind him, from Rebecca, only halfway up the metal grid. A few drops of warmth spattered across David's face and he stopped firing, jumping to catch her before she could let go. "Got it!" Claire shouted from the other side, and she fired through the mesh, the nine-millimeter rounds pounding and loud, David's pulse even loud– er. Rebecca was pale, panting harshly, obviously in pain – but she managed to hang on to the fence, even to climb a little as David straddled the fence and lifted her up. He half-carried her over the top, and as soon as Claire reached up to help, David turned and fired again at the oncoming attackers, still hidden in the shadows, his fury drying the last of the chemical tears. Bloody bastards, she's still just a girl… The M-16 went dry and he jumped, then Rebecca was between them, leaning heavily on David's shoul– der, and they were staggering out into the freezing desert night.
THIRTEEN
WITHIN MINUTES OF THE ATTACK, LEON could see that Cole was in no shape to lead. The Umbrella worker was stumbling blind, headed only vaguely in the direction they needed to go and more from happenstance than by design.
And now that we know they can attack from the ground… he and John didn't both need to be watch– ing the skies, so to speak.
"Henry – why don't you let me take over as guide
for a few minutes?" Leon asked, glancing back at John. John nodded, not looking all that hot himself; he seemed extremely tight, his gaze darting rapidly back and forth, his hands tight on the M-16.
Maybe he's thinking about the others. About them being "taken." "Yeah, okay, that'd be okay," Cole nodded, his relief all too apparent. He wiped at his sweaty brown hair and hurried to get behind Leon, John still in back. Leon was nervous, but not nearly as frightened as he had been, at least not for the three of them. The birds, Dacs, were unpleasant and dangerous, but it was a relief to have seen them; they weren't as terrible as his imagination had led him to believe upon hearing those first savage cries. Monsters from the mind were always worse than the real thing, and the Dacs weren't even all that durable. As long he and John were on their guard, they should make it okay. They were headed due south, so Leon angled them again, realizing that he was starting to catch glimpses of what might be the far wall. The setup was disori– enting; the trees were not all that close together, but were scattered so that the woods seemed dense when you looked across it; the thick ground cover, some kind of molded plastic, didn't move underfoot, but there were slopes and rises in the material that made it even harder to get a feel for the size of the chamber.
This is so weird, so over the top – so utterly like Umbrella.
It was like the vast laboratory facility beneath Raccoon, complete with its own foundry and private subway – unbelievable, except he'd seen it himself. And he knew from the ex-S.T.A.R.S. that there'd also been an isolated cove on the Maine coast guarded by teams of viral zombies, and a "deserted" mansion in the woods, the Spencer place – that one had been rigged with secrets, keys, codes, and passages, like the setting for a spy movie that no one would ever buy. Now this – simulated environments beneath the barren Utah salt flats. What had Reston called it? The Planet. It was an extravagant, decadent, immoral waste; ridiculous, except -
–except we're stuck in it, and God only knows what we'll be up against next.
Leon kept moving, trying not to think about what Claire and the others might be going through. Reston had obviously assumed that the rest of the team had been nabbed, but he didn't know. He also didn't know how resourceful Claire and Rebecca were, or how brilliant David was as a strategist. They'd all slipped
away from Umbrella before, and there was no reason to think that they wouldn't do it again. Leon was so intent on the private pep-talk that he didn't see the clearing until they were practically on top of it, less than twenty feet away. He stopped, remembering the last attack and chided himself for not paying attention. "Let's back up and go around," he said and then he heard the beat of wings, and knew it was alreadytoo late. In the wilted shadows above the open space, one, two, three of them were diving off perches, soaring down into the rounded clearing.
Shit!
One of them started to screech and then there were others nearby, overhead, hiding in the unlikely trees, who joined in the song, a deafening, horrendous cacophony of needle-sharp sound. Leon fell back, John suddenly at his side, aiming his rifle into the open space. The first flew at the trees, twisting sideways as if to fly between them. It pulled up at the last second, so quickly that they didn't get off a shot. As it soared up, Leon saw two on the ground, dragging their sinewy bodies eagerly forward on folded wings. The noise! It was painful, as shrill and terrible as a thousand screaming infants, and Leon felt the nine– millimeter fire more than he heard it, the heavy metal jumping in his hands. The birds fell silent as the closer of the two took the shot in its curving throat. A ragged hole blew open just above its narrow chest, flaps of gray-brown skin blossoming out like some dark flower. Thin blood gushed from the wound, but the second was already climbing over its spasming body, single-minded in its attack. Leon took aim and… "Hey hey oh shit… " Cole's hysterical cry distracted him, the shot jerk– ing right, missing. John opened up on the second Dac, the clatter of automatic fire tearing into the animal. Leon spun and saw Cole stumbling backwards, anoth– er of the vicious birds lunging toward him.