The young man laughed, thinking of Albert and William, wondering what they were thinking; James Marcus's brightest students, working damage control for Umbrella. After all these years. It was an irony beyond measure.
The children cooed, covered him, delighted in his laughter and sang their own sweet song, a song of chaos and interdependence as their cool, slick bodies, filled with the blood of his enemies, merged and enveloped him.
“. . . breeds power. Power is life.” The powerful voice faded, the great hall falling silent once more. It had to be a recording or something, it didn't sound live, but someone had turned it on—and she thought she had an idea of who. She turned her attention back to the portrait of Dr. Marcus and felt a shiver run down her spine.
“Well, that was creepy,” Billy said.
“Not as creepy as seeing him on the train,” Rebecca said, nodding at the portrait. “Made out of slime bugs.”
“Maybe it's another stage of the disease or something,” Billy said.
Rebecca nodded, though she doubted it. The zombie-like people they'd seen on the train and the man in the dining car—who appeared to be one James Marcus—didn't have the same symptoms.
“Or maybe the leeches infect some people, and ... I don't know, take other people over,” she said.
“Yeah,” Billy said. He ran one hand through his hair and smiled at her, a surprisingly pleasant smile. “Anyway. You should probably find a phone or something, call your friends in.”
His tone was dismissive. Rebecca's hand tightened on her nine-millimeter. “What are you going to
do?”
Billy turned and started down the staircase, his step light. “Thought I might take a walk,” he called back to her.
She followed him as he walked to the front door, not sure what to do, what to say. She seriously doubted that she could shoot him, not after he'd saved her life, but she couldn't just let him leave, either. “I don't think that's such a good idea,” she said.
He pulled the door open. Cool, humid night air swept in, though the rain had turned to drizzle. “Much as I appreciate the concern, I think I've earned a head start, don't you? So let's just—“
He stopped in mid-stride, in mid-sentence, looking out at the rainswept landscape in front of them. The facility, it seemed, had been built into the side of a hill. In front of them was a paved walkway, big enough to be a road, that stretched out ten meters— and then ended abruptly, falling off into nothingness.
Together, they walked out to the edge of the path. There were light posts on either side of the front door; only one of them was working, but it was enough to see that without a rope, neither of them was going anywhere. The path ended in a jagged line of rubble, atop a steep slope that dropped down at least five meters, probably more. It was too dark to tell much of anything.
“You were saying?” Rebecca said.
“So, I'll find another door,” Billy said, turning back to look at the building. It looked like an estate, was certainly decorated like some stuffy billionaire's weekend getaway, but they'd both seen the umbrella training facility logo stamped into the polished marble floor. Rebecca figured it was like an executive retreat or something. It had an air of abandonment, but the place had power, lights ... Of course, all they'd seen so far was where the train had crashed, the extravagant lobby, and a half-submerged tunnel that connected the two. Not much to go on.
“I saw at least two in there, not counting whatever's at the top of the stairs,” he continued. “And if all else fails, maybe I can crawl back out through the train.”
“Assuming my friends don't show up first,” Rebecca said. She stepped back, picked up her radio and hit the transmit signal. Billy's radio beeped in response, but that was the only response. After a long moment of radio silence, the only sound that of rain dripping off distant trees, Billy smirked.
“Assuming you find a phone.”
God, he was irritating. She turned and started back for the house, slightly amazed, as she reached the door, that she felt safe enough to turn her back to him . . . Although if he'd wanted her dead, he'd already had ample opportunity. In spite of her intentions to the contrary, she was having trouble thinking of him as dangerous. Her instincts were telling her otherwise, and that was one of the first lessons that S.T.A.R.S. taught—you might misread your intuition, but it was never wrong.
He caught up to her as she stepped back inside— and they both stopped, staring. The painting of Marcus was gone. There was a doorway there now, a dark opening in the wall; from their angle at the bottom of the stairs, there was no way to tell what was past the opening.
She was about to tell Billy to hang back when he stepped in front of her, his weapon in hand. As he swept the area, his posture, his gaze at full alert, she was again struck by the strong feeling that he wasn't what he had originally appeared to be.
Not that I need to be protected. She moved to his side, surveying the room as she'd been trained, and together, they headed up the stairs, stopping at the landing. The new entry opened on a staircase heading down, a blank, barely lit corridor at the bottom.
“Questions, comments?” Billy asked, peering down. “Someone wants us to go downstairs,” she
said.
“Kinda what I was thinking. And I'm also thinking that might not be such a good idea.”
Rebecca nodded. She turned away from the opening, looking around at their options. There were two doors downstairs, one on the left wall, one on the right. On the second floor, she could see four more from where she was standing—and as she looked around, a loud ffump came from somewhere behind them, from somewhere down in that blank, dark hallway. It sounded like something very soft and very heavy, falling to the floor. Without speaking, they both edged away from the opening.
“So, what say we extend our truce for a little while longer?” Billy asked, and though his voice was light, he wasn't smiling.
Rebecca nodded again. “Yeah,” she said, wondering what they'd gotten themselves into, and what it would take for them to get out.
Seven
They walked back down to the lobby floor, Billy glad that she'd agreed to keep cooperating. This place, whatever it was, was definitely bad news. She was inexperienced, but at least she wasn't nuts.
“We should split up,” Rebecca said.
Billy barked a laugh, one entirely devoid of humor. “Are you nuts? Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? Besides, look what happened last time.”
“We found the key to that briefcase, if I remember correctly. And what we need now is a way out of here.”
“Yeah, but alive,” Billy said. “This place has hostile territory written all over it. I suggested a truce in the first place because I don. 't want to die, get it?”
“You've taken care of yourself pretty good so far,” she said. “I'm not saying we go get in trouble. Just open a few doors, is all. And we've got radios now.”
Billy sighed. “Didn't the S.T.A.R.S. teach you about teamwork?”
“Actually, this was my first mission,” Rebecca said. “Look, we take a look around, call if we find anything. I'll head upstairs, you check down here. If the radios fritz out, we meet back here in twenty minutes.”
“I don't like it.”
“You don't have to. Just do it.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Billy snapped. She wasn't lacking leadership tendencies, he'd give her that—although maybe it wasn't so hard to order a convicted felon around when you worked for the law. “How old are you, anyway? I'd like to know I'm taking orders from someone more mature than your average Girl Scout.”
Rebecca shot him a scowl, then turned and went back up the stairs. A few seconds later, he heard a door close.