John started toward him as David tread water, propelling himself backward toward the rocky beach and shouting all the while. He saw the top of John’s head appear, saw his arms pumping frantically through the murky water.
“—follow me, I’m over here, we have to get—“ A giant, pale shadow rose up smoothly behind the soldier, at least three meters across, rounded and dripping and impossible. Time jerked to a crawl, the events unfolding in front of him in a slow motion dream. David saw thick, tapering tentacles on either side near the top of the rising shadow, saw a rounded slash in the corpse-colored slickness—
• not tentacles, feelers—
• and realized that he was seeing the underbelly of a monstrous animal that couldn’t possibly exist, a bottom feeder as big as a house. The black slash of its mouth hissed open, revealing clusters of peg-like, grinding teeth, each the size of a man’s fist. When it came down, John would be swallowed up by the massive jaws. Or crushed. Or plowed into the icy deep, a drowning meal for the creature. In the instant it took him to absorb the facts, he was already screaming.
“Dive! Dive!”
Time skipped forward and the beast was falling forward, arching over, its long, thick serpent’s body dwarfing the raft, its shadow enveloping the frantic swimmer. David caught a glimpse of bulbous, rolling eyes the size of beach balls—
• and it crashed down, sending explosive plumes of water high into the air, blotting out the stars in sheets of foaming spray. Before David could draw breath, a tremendous wave knocked into him, driving him violently backward through the bubbling dark-ness.
There was rushing movement, a sense of helpless speed as he struggled against the force that tore at his limbs, struggled to find air in the sweeping torrent. Kicking wildly, he surged upward through the liquid veil, felt cold air slap at his skin—and warm, human hands yanking at his shoulders. He inhaled convul-sively as his boots scraped against rock and Karen’s ragged voice spoke behind him.
“Got him—“
Staggering against the slimy rocks, David let him-self be dragged backward until he found his balance and could turn around. Wet figures were reaching out, Steve and Rebecca—
Oh my God, John—
“I’m okay,” David gasped, stumbling forward, his knees cracking numbly against larger rocks that his blurred gaze denied him from seeing. “John—does anyone see him?”
Nobody answered. He blinked away salt, reeling around to face the splashing darkness, the settling waves slapping at their feet.
“John—“ he called, as loud as he dared, searching, seeing nothing at all. His heart was as cold as his body, as heavy as the sodden weight of his Kevlar vest.
• no life j ackets, would’ve seen him by now—
He called again, hope dwindling. “John!” A choking, strangled voice from the rocks to their left.
“What?”
David sagged in relief, taking a deep breath as John’s dripping figure staggered out of the shadows.
Steve lunged forward, grabbing the taller man’s arm and helping him lean against the rocks. “I dove,” John rasped out.
David turned and looked up, past the sliver of pebbled, boulder-strewn beach to the darkness of the compound. They were at the bottom of a short, angled drop, in plain sight. The shock of the mon-strous fish—if it could be called that—was suddenly unimportant in the light of that realization. They were out of the water now.
Have they heard us? Seen? Won’t make the caves now, can’t stay here—
“The marina,” he breathed, turning south, “quickly—“ The team stumbled past him, Karen taking the lead, the others following close. No one seemed seriously injured, a miracle all its own. David jogged after John, assessing the situation as his aching legs carried him through the rocky dark.
Get to cover, bar the door, regroup, get to the fence—
The ground rose steeply in front of them, the pier looming into view ahead. As they clambered up over rocks, David heard a muffled clatter of metal, saw Rebecca hugging the black, dripping shape of the ammo pack to her chest. He felt a wisp of new hope for their chances; if they could just make it inside, somewhere safe . . .
The building was ahead on their right, silent and dark, a closed door facing the wooden dock. There was no way to know if it was empty, and though barely ten meters away, the distance was open and flat, weathered planking, not even a pebble to block them from view.
No choice.
“Stay low,” he whispered, and then they were crouching their way to the structure, Karen reaching the door first, pushing it open. No light spilled out, no I alarm sounded. Steve and Rebecca piled in behind her, then John—then David, stumbling into the dark, closing the wooden door after him with a wet, cold shoulder.
“Stop where you are,” he said softly, fumbling for the halogen torch on his belt. Besides the gulping breaths of his team, the room was still—but there was a horrid smell in the close air, a fading stench of something long dead. . . .
The thin beam of light cut through the black, revealing a large and mostly empty windowless room.
Ropes and life preservers hung from wooden pegs, a workbench ran the length of one wall, a few saw horses, cluttered shelves—
my God—
The light froze on the room’s other door, directly across from the one they’d entered. The narrow beam played across the source of the smell, highlighting bare bone and a tattered, oily-stained lab coat. Dried strings of muscle dripped in streamers from a grin-ning face.
A corpse had been nailed to the door, one hand fixed in a welcoming wave. From the look, it had been dead for weeks.
Steve felt his gorge rise into his throat. He swal-lowed it down, looking away, but the grotesque image was already fixed in his mind—the eyeless face and peeling tissue, the carefully splayed fingers pinned into place.. . .
Jesus, is that some kind of a joke? Steve felt dizzy, still out of breath from the nightmarish swim, the sloshing climb over the rocks, the horror of the Umbrella sea monster. The dried, sour smell of rot wasn’t helping.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then David cupped one hand over the light and started talking, his voice low but amazingly even.
“Check your belts and drop your clips. I want status, now, injuries then equipment. Take a deep breath, everyone. John?”
John’s solemn voice rumbled through the shadows to Steve’s left, accompanied by sounds of wet, fum-bling movement. Karen and Rebecca were to his right, David still by the door.
“I got fish slime on me, but I’m okay. I’ve got my weapon but my light’s gone. So are the radios.” “Rebecca?”
Her voice was wavering but quick. “I’m fine—uh, my weapon’s here, and the flashlight, the med kit... oh, and I’ve got the ammo.”
Steve checked himself out as she spoke, unholster-ing his Beretta and ejecting the wet mag, slipping it into a pocket. There was an empty spot on his belt where his light should have been.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, no injuries. Weapon but no light.”
“Karen?”
“Same.”
David’s fingers shifted over the muted beam, allow-ing a shallow glow to spill into the room. “No one’s hurt and we’re still armed; things could be a lot worse. Rebecca, pass out the clips, please. The fence can’t be more than fifty meters south from here, and there are enough trees for cover, provided no one has seen us yet. This operation is called, we’re getting out of here.”
Steve accepted three loaded magazines from Rebecca, nodding his thanks. He slapped one into the semi, chambering a round automatically. Great, fine, let’s blow. That insane creature nearly eating us,
now Mr. Death dropping a casual wave, like he was put there to say hello....
Steve wasn’t easily frightened, but he knew a bad situation when he saw it. He admired the S.T.A.R.S. deeply, had wanted to go in on the operation to help make things right—but with their boat gone and the initial plan shot to shit, nailing Umbrella could wait. David stepped closer to the decomposed figure, a look of disgust curling his features in the shadowy orange glow of the light. “Karen, Rebecca, come take a look at this. John, take Rebecca’s torch, you and Steve see if you can find anything useful.” Rebecca handed her flashlight to John, who nodded at Steve. The two men walked to one end of the long workbench, the soft voices of the others carrying across the still air.