• hell with all that, no time, MOVE!
Claire was on her feet in a second, ignoring the squelch of blood in her boot and the pain that had caused it, her gaze searching the upper platform for her unknown savior. No one was there, and she didn’t know if another minute had ticked by, the warning lost in the gunfire.
“Hey!” Claire shouted, backing toward the subway car. “We have to go, now!”
No answer, no sound but the ringing in her ears and the echo of her trembling words. If she wanted to save Sherry . . .
Claire turned and ran.
• * *
“—two minutes until—“
Leon pushed himself to go faster, the twining tunnel a blur of gray that spun past his aching, breathless perception. He’d lost all track of the turns and twists of the corridor and was rapidly losing hope, a voice in the back of his mind telling him that maybe it would be best to stop, to sit and rest—
• and then he heard it, and that tiny, despairing whisper was obliterated by the sound.
The sound of heavy machinery stirring to life, somewhere up ahead. Not far ahead.
Train!
Faster, legs distant, rubbery, lungs working, heart pounding—one way or another, it was almost over. TelRjY-Two
CLAIRE BURST INTO THE TRAIN, HOLDING A
giant rifle and with one leg covered in blood, barely pausing to hit the controls to the door before running for the engineer’s booth. Sherry knew that they were in trouble, that it was going to be close, so she didn’t waste time asking questions; she followed, relieved beyond measure that Claire was okay but keeping it to herself.
Okay, she’s okay and we’re going now....
A small, tinny version of the intercom voice and alarms blared out of the tiny room’s control board. “There are two minutes until detonation.” Claire had dropped the oddly shaped rifle and was hitting buttons, throwing switches, her attention fixed on the console. A giant mechanical hum suddenly enveloped them, a growing, whining rumble that made Claire grit her teeth; Sherry couldn’t tell if it was a smile, but she smiled as she felt the train lurch—
• and start to move, taking them away from the platform.
Claire turned, saw Sherry standing behind her, and tried to smile. Claire rested one hand on Sherry’s shoulder, but didn’t say anything—so Sherry didn’t either, waiting to see what would happen. The train started to go faster, sliding past dimly lit halls and platforms, the tunnel in front of them dark and empty. Sherry let the warmth of Claire’s hand remind her that they were friends, that whatever happened, Claire was her friend—
• and she saw a man, a policeman, stumble into view ahead on the left, and then the train was gliding past him, his eyes wide and searching and desperate in his dirty face.
“Claire!”
“I see him—“
Claire turned and ran out of the booth, her foot-steps clattering through the metal train car, sprinting to the door. She hit the control and the door slid open, the booming, grinding sounds of the subway billowing into the closed space.
“Leon!” she screamed. “Hurry!”
She jerked back suddenly, a wall sliding by, and spun around looking as desperate as the man—
Leon—had. After another second she turned back and closed the door.
“Did he make it?” Sherry asked, realizing that Claire couldn’t possibly know, even as the words came out of her mouth.
Claire came to her and put an arm around her, as the train kept going faster and her face knotted with worry—
• and the voice in the intercom told them they had one minute left—
• and the door in the back of the car opened. In stumbled Leon, his arm wrapped with a shredded, stained bandage, his hair matted with dark, dried goo, his eyes bright and blue in the mask of dirt. “Full throttle!” he shouted; Claire nodded, and Leon blew out a heavy breath. He staggered toward them, the train shifting back and forth, speeding now, rocketing through the tunnel. He put his arm around Claire, and Claire hugged him tightly.
“Ada?” Claire whispered. “Ann—the scientist?” Leon shook his head, and Sherry saw that he might cry. “No. I didn’t—no.”
“. . . thirty seconds until detonation. Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight. . ”
The woman’s voice kept counting down, the num-bers seeming to come twice as fast as they should, and Sherry buried her face in Claire’s warm side, thinking about her mom. Mom and Dad. She hoped that they’d gotten out, that they were safe somewhere—
• but they’re probably not. They’re probably dead.
Sherry could hear Claire’s heart pounding, and she hugged her friend tighter, thinking that she would think about it later.
“. . . five. Four. Three. Two. One. Sequence com-plete. Detonation.”
For a second, there was no sound at all. The alarms had finally stopped, and the clattering movement of the racing train was all there was to hear—
• and then there was an explosion, a muffled sound, a shoomp sound that kept going, growing, becoming huge.
Sherry closed her eyes and the train rocked sud-denly, horribly, and they were all thrown to the metal floor as bright, burning light flickered through the window, as the sounds of a car crash blasted all around them, heavy thumps raining over the roof—
• and the train kept going. It kept going, and the light went away, and they weren’t dead.
The blinding flash dissipated, faded, and Leon felt the tension leaking out of his body. He rolled onto his side, and saw Claire sitting up, reaching for the hand of the young girl next to her.
“Okay?” Claire asked the girl, and the child nod-ded. Both of them turned to him, their faces express-ing what he felt—shock, exhaustion, disbelief, hope. “Leon Kennedy, this is Sherry Birkin,” Claire said, saying the words carefully, the slightest accent on “Birkin.” He got the message even without the inten-sity of her gaze, nodding his understanding before smiling at the girl.
“Sherry, this is Leon,” Claire continued. “I met him when I had just gotten to Raccoon.”
Sherry returned his smile, a weary, too-adult smile that seemed out of place; she was too young to smile like that.
One more rotten deed to lay at Umbrella’s door, innocence stolen from a child. . . .
For a few seconds, they just sat there on the floor, staring at one another, smiles fading all around. Leon hardly dared to hope that it was really over, that they were leaving the terror behind. Again, he saw his feelings mirrored in front of him, in Sherry’s worried brow and Claire’s tired gray eyes—
• and when they heard the distant squeal of metal coming from somewhere at the back of the train, he didn’t see any surprise. A rending, tearing screech—followed by a heavy, somehow stealthy thump—and then nothing.
Should’ve known it isn’t over—
“Zombie?” Sherry whispered, the word almost lost in the gently clattering sound of the speeding train. “I don’t know, sweetie,” Claire said softly, and for the first time, Leon noticed that her left leg was ripped to shit, blood oozing from several ragged scratches; he’d been too amazed at his, at their narrow escape to see it before.
“How about I go take a look?” Leon said, taking his cue from Claire, keeping his voice mild and even;