BASEMENT LEVEL THREE:
Prison/Sanitation Division controls the use of the prison.
At least one Consultant Researcher (E. Smith, S. Ross, A. Wesker) must be present if viral use is authorized.
Power Room/Access limited to Headquarters Supervisors.
This restriction may not apply to Consultant Researchers with special authorization.
BASEMENT LEVEL FOUR:
Regarding the progress of Tyrant after use of T-Virus…
The rest of the paper was burned, the words lost.
A. Wesker, Chris said softly. Captain Albert goddamn Wesker…
Barry had said that Wesker disappeared right after the Alphas had made it to the house. And it was Wesker who led us here in the first place when the dogs attacked. Cool, competent, unreadable Wesker, working for Umbrella…
Rebecca flipped to the second page and Chris leaned in, studying the neatly typed labels beneath the drawn boxes and lines.
MANSION. COURTYARD. GUARDHOUSE. UNDERGROUND. LABORATORIES.
There was even a compass drawn next to the sketch of the mansion, to show them what they'd missed – a secret entrance to the underground hidden behind the waterfall.
Rebecca stood up, eyes wide and uncertain. Captain Wesker is involved with all this?
Chris nodded slowly. And if he's still here, he's down in those labs, maybe with the rest of the team. If Umbrella sent him here, God only knows what he's up to.
They had to find him, had to warn whoever was left of the S.T.A.R.S. that Wesker had betrayed them all.
Everything was done. Wesker stepped into the elevator that led back to level three, running through his checklist as he lowered the outer gate and slid the inner one closed. … samples collected, disks erased, power reconnected, Tyrant support off…
It was really too bad about the Tyrant. Ugly as it was, the thing was a marvel of surgical, chemical, and genetic engineering, and he'd stood in front of its glass chamber for a long time, studying it in silent awe before reluctantly shutting down its life support. As the stasis fluids had drained, he'd found himself imagining what it would have been like to see it in action once the researchers had completed their work.
It would have been the ultimate soldier, a thing of beauty in the battlefield… and now it had to be destroyed, all because some idiot tech had hit the wrong button. A mistake that had cost Umbrella millions of dollars and killed the researchers who had created it.
He hit the switch and the elevator thrummed to life, carrying him back up for his final task-activating the triggering system at the back of the power room.
He'd give himself fifteen minutes to make sure he was clear of the blast radius, climb down the heliport ladder, hit the back road toward town and boom, no more hidden Umbrella facility. At least not in Raccoon Forest…
Once he got back into the city, he'd pack a bag and head for Umbrella's private air strip. He could make the necessary calls from there, let his contacts in the White office know what had happened. They'd have a clean-up team standing by to comb through the forest and take out the surviving specimens-and they'd be most eager to get their hands on the tissue samples he'd taken, two of everything except for the Tyrant.
With the Tyrant scientists all dead, Umbrella had decided to shelve the project indefinitely. Wesker thought it was a mistake, but then, he wasn't getting paid to think.
As the elevator slid to a stop, Wesker opened the gates and stepped out, setting down the sample case.
He unholstered his Beretta, going over the twisting layout of the power room in his mind. He had to make another run through the Ma2s to get to the activation system. He'd already managed it once to hook up the elevator circuit, but they had been more active than he'd expected; instead of weakening them, their hunger had driven them to new heights of viciousness.
He'd been lucky to make it through unscathed.
At a hydraulic hum from down the hall, Wesker froze. Footsteps clattered across the cement floor, hesitated and then started for the power room at the opposite end of the corridor.
Wesker eased up to the corner and looked down the hall, just in time to see Jill Valentine disappear through the metal doors, a burst of hissing mechanical noise echoing through the corridor before they closed.
How did she make it through the Hunters? Jesus!
Apparently he'd underestimated her… and she'd been alone, too. If she was that good, the Ma2s might not kill her, and she had effectively just blocked him from the triggering system. He wouldn't be able to deal with the creatures that roamed the maze like walkways and put a stop to her prying…
Frustrated, Wesker scooped up the sample case and walked quickly down the hall, back toward the hydraulic doors that led to the main corridor of level three. If she made it back out, he'd just have to shoot her; it would only delay his escape by a few minutes.
Still, it was an unexpected curve, and as far as he was concerned, it was too late in the game for surprises.
Surprises pissed him off, they made him feel like he wasn't in control…
I AM in control, nothing is happening here that I can't handle! This is MY game, my rules, and I will accomplish my mission without any interference from that little thief-bitch.
Wesker stalked out into the main corridor, saw that Jill had managed to take out a few more of the wizened, withered scientists and technicians that wandered the basement labs. Two of them lay just outside the door, their skulls blown into arid powder by what looked like shotgun blasts. He kicked one of them angrily, his boot crunching into the corpse's brittle ribs, the dry snap of bone loud in the silence – – except that suddenly, he heard heavy boots coming down the metal stairs from B2, the hollow clump echoing through the hall. And then a rough, hesitant voice calling out.
Jill?
Barry Burton, as I live and breathe.
Wesker raised his weapon coolly, ready to fire when Barry stepped into view and then lowered it thoughtfully. After a moment, a slow grin spread across his face.
EIGHTEEN
Jill eased into the steaming, hissing room, a thick smell of grease in the heated air. It was some kind of a boiler room, and a big one; heavy, thrumming machinery filled the large chamber, surrounded by winding catwalks. Massive turbines spun and pounded, generating power in a steady whine as hidden ducts spat out steam at short intervals.
She moved slowly into the poorly lit chamber, peering down one of the railed walkways into the fluctuating shadows cast by the towering generators.
From where she was, she could see that the place was a labyrinth of paths, twining around the giant blocks of noisy machinery.
The source of the estate's power. That explains how they managed to keep it a secret for so long, they had their own little city out here, totally autonomous, probably had their food shipped in, too.
She turned down the narrow walk to her right, watching uneasily for any more of the strange, pale zombies that she'd seen in the corridors of B3. The path seemed clear, but with the movement and noise created by the turbines…
Something ripped at her left shoulder, a sudden, violent slash that tore open her vest and scraped the skin beneath.
Jill spun and fired, the roar of the shotgun drowning out the hissing machines. The blast hit metal, pellets ricocheting into the empty walk. There was nothing behind her.
Where?
A lunging, blade-like claw sliced the air in front of her face, swooping down from above.
She stumbled back, staring up at the steel mesh of the ceiling and saw a dark shape skitter out of the shadows, hooking its way across the grate incredibly fast, curving claws at its hands and feet. She caught a glimpse of thick spines around its mutant, flattened face and then it turned and ran into the thrumming shadows of the power room.