Silence, then Karen spoke. “See that? David, give me the light for a sec—“ John hooded their flashlight with one large hand, playing the beam across the dirty planks of the counter. A broken coffee mug. A pile of greasy nuts and bolts on top of a laminated tide chart. An electric screwdriver, dusty and dented, a couple of bits on a stained rag.
Nothing, there’s nothing here. We should get out before someone comes looking...
John opened a drawer and rummaged through it while Steve tried to make out what was on an over-head shelf. Behind them, Karen spoke again. “He wasn’t dead when they nailed him up, though I’d say he was close. Definitely unconscious. There’s no smearing, suggesting he didn’t struggle ... and there are slide marks, here and here; I’d say he was shot by the back door and dragged over.” John had finished digging through the drawer and they moved on, boots squelching against the wood floor. A set of socket wrenches. A cheap radio. A crumpled paper bag next to a pencil nub. Something snagged at Steve’s thoughts and he stopped, looking at the paper bag. The pencil... He picked up the crunched ball, smoothing out the wrinkles and turning it over. There were several lines written near the bottom, scrawled and jerky. “Hey, we found something,” John called quietly, shining the light on the writing as the others hurried over. Steve read it aloud, squinting at the faintly penciled words under the wobbling beam. There was no punctuation; he did his best to work out the pauses as he went.
“. . . ‘July 20. Food was drugged, I’m sick—I hid the material for you, sent data. Boats are sunk and he let the Steve frowned, unable to make out the word. Tris . . . tri-squads?
“ ‘Boats are sunk and he let the Trisquads out—dark now, they’ll come, I think he killed the rest—stop him—
God knows what he means to do. Destroy the lab—find Krista, tell her I’m sorry, Lyle is sorry. I wish—‘” There was nothing more.
“Ammon’s message,” Karen said softly. “Lyle Ammon.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who was hanging on the door. The sagging, seeping Mr. Death had an identity now, for what it was worth. And the message that Trent had given David was so weird because the poor guy had apparently been doped up when he sent it.
“Nice to put a face to the name, huh?” John cracked, but not even he smiled. The desperate little note had an ominous ring to it, with or without the brutal murder to back it up.
What’s a Trisquad? Who’s “he”?
“Maybe we should look around a little more—“ Rebecca began hesitantly, but David was shaking his head.
“I think it’s best if we leave this for now. We’ll—“ He broke off as heavy, plodding footsteps sounded across the wood deck, just outside the door they’d come through. Everyone froze, listening. More than one set, and whoever they were, they were making no effort to hide their approach. They stopped at the door—and stayed there, no rattling knob, no crashing kick, no other sound. Waiting.
David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen and then to the other door, hung with the grisly remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out, Karen first.
They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve winc-ing at every shifting creak they created, breathing through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench—
• and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming from in front of them, to the left—coming from the direction of their escape.
ElGHf
KAREN JUMPED BACK AS BULLETS CRACKED
into the door. Chunks of rotten flesh spattered up from Ammon’s body; the corpse danced and waved in a shuddering, jerking rhythm of macabre motion. David snatched at the coat of the dead man and yanked, but the door was pinned open by the clatter-ing fire—and whoever was shooting was coming closer, the explosive shots louder, the splinters of flesh and wood pelting them with greater force. They were trapped, both exits blocked.
Rebecca clutched her Beretta in one shaking hand, watching for a signal from David. He pointed roughly northwest, into the compound, shouting to be heard over the whining, spitting clatter of the automatic fire. “Rebecca, other door! John, Karen, next building, secure! Steve, we cover! Go!”
As one, Steve and David leaped out and started to fire, the booming rounds punctuating the lighter hail of deadly ammo.
John and Karen charged out at a full run, were instantly swallowed up by the shadows. Rebecca spun and trained her weapon on the back door, her heart pounding in her throat. The walls trembled and shook.
“Die, Jesus, why won’t they die?” Steve screamed behind her, a strain of disbelief and terror in his voice that made her blood run cold.
• zombies?
Without looking away from the rectangle of dark wood, Rebecca shouted as loud as she could, her voice cracking over the relentless spray of the automatics. “Head shots! Aim for the head!”
There was no way to know if they’d heard her, the rifle or rifles kept pounding, approaching. Her thoughts raced to understand, images of the T-Virus victims flitting through her mind. They’d been mind-less, slow, inhuman—
• and accidental, not on purpose—not with purpose—“Rebecca, let’s go!”
There was still the sound of an automatic rifle firing, but the boathouse no longer shook from the impact of its force. She shot a glance back, saw Steve still shooting at something, saw David motioning at her to move.
She sidled for the open door, catching a sickening, up-close look at the bullet-riddled corpse still hanging there. The head had caved in like a rotting pumpkin, teeth shattered, gummy flecks of tissue radiating out from behind the skull. The waving hand was no longer connected to the rotting arm, the radius and ulna blown away. It dangled there like some obscene decoration, beckoning...
Steve fired once more and the auto’s clatter ceased. He raised the weapon, his eyes wide and shocked as he opened his mouth to say something—
• and the back door crashed open, bullets flying through the dark in a blaze of orange fire. David pushed her roughly through the front and she ran, the responding crack of nine-millimeter rounds resonat-ing behind her.
• get to the building, get to cover—
She sprinted through the shadows, her wet shoes thumping across packed, rocky dirt, her searching gaze finding the outline of a massive, concrete block and the spindly trees that surrounded it in the dark-ness ahead.
“Here—“
She veered toward the call, saw John’s muscular form silhouetted by pale starlight at the corner of the building. As she neared him, she saw the open door, Karen standing in the entry with her weapon trained back toward the boathouse. Bullets still sang through the shadows.
“Get in!” Karen shouted, stepping out of the way, and Rebecca ran past her, not slowing until she was inside. She fell into a table in the pitch black, cracking one hip painfully against the edge.
Turning, she saw Karen firing, heard John yelling,
“Come on, come on—“
• and Steve pounded through the door, gasping.
He pulled to a stop before crashing into her, one hand clutching his chest.
Rebecca moved to the door and grasped the cool thickness, her mind absently registering that the ma-terial was steel as David hurtled through, shouting.
“Karen, John!—“
Karen backed into the darkness, weapon still raised. There were three more sharp reports from a Beretta and then John slipped inside, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring.
Rebecca slammed the door, her fingers finding a deadbolt switch. The soft snick of the lock was barely audible against the ringing in her ears. Outside, the bullets stopped. There were no shouts between the attackers, no alarms, no barking of dogs or screaming of wounded. The sudden silence was total, broken
only by the deep, shuddering breathing in the warm and muggy darkness.
A halogen beam flickered on, revealing the shocked faces of the team as David shone it around their retreat. A midsize room, crowded with desks and computer equipment. There were no windows. “Did you see that?” Steve gasped, addressing no one in particular. “God, they wouldn’t go down, did you see that?”
Nobody answered, and though they were out of immediate danger, Rebecca didn’t feel her adrenaline slowing, didn’t feel her heart settling back to anything approaching normal; it seemed that Umbrella had found a new application for the T-Virus. And like it or not, we’re going to have to deal with the consequences. They were trapped in Caliban Cove. And in this facility, the creatures had guns.
David took a final deep breath and exhaled it heavily, flashing the torch’s light toward the door. “I’d say we’ve been spotted,” he said, hoping that he didn’t sound as despairing as he felt. “Might as well see what we’ve gotten into. Rebecca, would you turn on the lights?”
She flipped the wall switch and the room snapped into blinding brilliance, overhead fluorescents pulsing to life. Blinking against the sudden glare, David surveyed the team, saw that Steve had one hand pressed to his chest.
“Are you hit?”