She nodded, making a conscious effort to relax. She was scared, but letting him see it wasn’t going to help matters. He was probably scared, too.
He walked to the door, still talking. “The RPD should be here any time, so if I don’t come back right away, just wait here.”
He raised the weapon, putting his other hand on the knob. “Get ready. As soon as I’m out, move the trunk in front of the door. I’ll give a yell when I get back.” Rebecca nodded again, and with a final quick smile, Chris opened the door and looked both ways before moving out into the hall. She closed the door and leaned against it, listening. After long seconds of silence, she heard the rattle of gunfire not far away, five or six shots—then nothing.
After a few minutes, she moved the trunk to block part of the door, edging it in front of the hinges so she could push it out of the way easily. She knelt in front of it, trying to clear her thoughts as she started looking through the papers, trying not to feel as young and unsure as she actually felt.
Sighing, she pulled out a handful of papers and started to read.
SEVER
THE LOCK WAS A PIECE OF CAKE, THREE FLAT tumblers in a single row; Jill could have opened it with a couple of paper clips. According to the map, the door would open into a long hall. . ..
Sure enough. She took another long look at the pocket computer’s screen and then slipped it into her pack, thinking. It looked like there was a back way out, through several halls and past a series of rooms. She could look for Wesker and the others along the way, and maybe secure an escape route at the same time. She stepped into the narrow corridor, the fully loaded Beretta in hand.
It was a study in weirdness. The hall wasn’t all that spectacular, the carpet runner and the wallpaper done in basic tans and browns, the wide windows showing only the darkness outside. The display chests that lined the inner wall, though . . .
There were three of them, each topped by a small lamp, and each prominently displaying a wide array of bleached human bones on open shelves, inter-spersed with small items of obscurity. Jill started down the hall, stopping briefly at each bizarre specta-cle. Skulls, arm and leg bones, hands and feet. There were at least three complete skeletons, and amidst the pale and pitted bones were feathers, clay beads, gnarled strips of leather. . . .
Jill picked up one of the leather strips and then put it down quickly, wiping her fingers on her pants. She couldn’t be sure, but it felt like she imagined tanned, cured human skin would feel, stiff and kind of
greasy—
Crash!
The window behind her exploded inward, a lithe, sinewy form lunging into the hall, growling and snapping. It was one of the mutant, killing hounds, its eyes as red as its dripping hide. It charged her, its teeth as bright and dangerous as the jagged glitter of glass still falling from the shattered frame. Backed between two of the chests, Jill fired. The angle was wrong, the bullet splintering the wood at her feet as the dog jumped at her, growling deep in its throat.
It hit her in the thighs, slamming her painfully against the wall, gnashing to get its jaws at her flesh. The smell of rotting meat washed over her and she fired again and again, barely aware that she was moaning in fear and disgust, a sound as guttural and primal as the furious, dying shrieks that came from the canine abomination.
The fifth bullet fired directly into its barrel chest knocked it away. With a final, almost puppyish yelp it crumpled to the floor, blood gushing into the tan carpet.
Jill kept her weapon trained on the still form, gulping air in huge, shuddery breaths. Its limbs twitched suddenly, its massive claws beating a brief tattoo across the wet, red floor before it lay still again. Jill relaxed, recognizing the movement as a death spasm, the body releasing life. She’d have bruises, but the dog was dead.
She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and crouched down next to it, taking in the strange, exposed muscu-lature and huge jaws. It had been too dark and hectic on the run to the house to get a good look at the things that had killed Joseph—but in the bright light of the corridor, her initial impression wasn’t changed; it looked like a skinned dog.
She stood up and backed away, warily eyeing the row of windows in the hall. Obviously they offered no protection from the hazards outside. The corridor took a sharp left and she hurried on, past more of the macabre displays that decorated the inner wall. The door at the end of the long hall was unlocked. It opened into another hall, not as well lit as the first but at least not as creepy, either. The muted, gray-green wallpaper sported paintings of generic scenery and gentle landscapes, not a bone or fetish in sight. The first door on the right was locked, a carving of armor on the key plate. Jill remembered the list on the computer, something about knight keys, but decided not to bother with it for now. According to Trent’s map, there was a room on the other side that didn’t lead anywhere. Besides, if Wesker had come this way, she didn’t imagine that he was locking doors behind him. . . .
Right, just like it was unlikely that Chris would disappear; don’t assume anything about this place. The next door she tried opened into a small bath-room with an antique feel, complete with a ceiling fan and an old-fashioned, four-footed tub. There was no sign of recent use.
She stood for a moment in the stale, tiny room, breathing deeply, feeling the aftermath of the adrena-line
rush she’d had in the corridor. Growing up, she’d learned how to enjoy the thrill of danger, of sneaking in and out of strange places with only a handful of tools and her own wits to keep her safe. Since joining the S.T.A.R.S., that youthful excitement had faded away, lost to the realities of back-up and handguns—but here it was again, unexpected and not unwelcome. She couldn’t lie to herself about the simple joy that often followed facing death and walking away. She felt . . . good. Alive.
Let’s not have a party just yet, her mind whispered sarcastically. Or have you forgotten that S.T.A.R.S. are being eaten in this hellhole?
Jill stepped back into the silent hallway and edged around another corner, wondering if Barry had found Chris and if either of them had run across any of the Bravos. She felt like she had an advantage with the maps, and decided that once she’d checked out the possible escape, she’d go back to the main hall and wait for Barry. With the information on Trent’s computer, they could search more quickly and thor-oughly.
The corridor ended with two doors facing each other. The one on the right was the one she wanted. She tried the handle and was rewarded with the soft snick of the bolt retracting.
She stepped into a dark hall and saw one of the zombies, a hulking, pale shadow standing next to a door, maybe ten feet away. As she raised her weapon, the creature started toward her, emitting soft hunger sounds from its decaying lips. One of its arms hung limply at its side, and although Jill could see jagged bone protruding from the shoulder, it still clenched and unclenched its rotting fist eagerly as it reached out with its other arm.
The head, aim for the head—
The shots were incredibly loud in the chilly gloom, the first blowing off its left ear, the second and third punching holes into its skull just above its pallid brow. Dark fluids streamed down the peeling face and it fell to its knees, its flat, lifeless eyes rolling back into its head.
There was shuffling movement in the shadows at the back of the hall to the right, exactly where she meant to go. Jill trained the gun on the darkness and waited for it to move closer, her entire body wired with tension.
How many of these things are there?
As soon as the zombie cleared the corner, she fired, the Beretta jumping lightly in her sweating hands. The second shot punctured its right eye and it imme-diately collapsed to the dark, polished wood of the floor, the sticky, viscous matter of the blown eyeball flecked across its skeletal face.
Jill waited, but other than the spreading pools of blood around the dead creatures, nothing moved. Breathing through her mouth to avoid the worst of the stench, she hurried to the back of the hall and turned right, down a short, tight passage that dead ended at a rusting metal door.
It creaked open and fresh air flooded past her, warm and clean after the morgue-like chill of the house. Jill grinned, hearing the drone of cicadas and crickets on the night air. She’d reached the final leg of her little excursion, and although she wasn’t outside yet, the sounds and smells of the forest renewed her sense of accomplishment.
Got a secured path now, straight to the back of this place. We can head north, hit one of the logging roads and hike down to the barricade. . ..
She stepped out onto a covered walkway, a mosaic of green stone surrounded by high concrete walls. There were small intermittent openings near the ceiling of the pathway, accounting for the faint, pine-scented breeze. Ivy trickled down from the arched openings like a reminder of the outside world. She hurried down the dim passage, remembering from the map that there was a single room at the end and to the right, probably a storage shed—
She turned the corner and stopped at another heavy-looking metal door, her smile fading as she reflexively reached for the handle; the keyhole was plugged. She crouched and poked at the tiny hole, but to no avail. Someone had stopped it up with epoxy. To the left of the door was some kind of diagram set into the concrete, made of dull copper. There were four hexagonal depressions in the flat metal plate, each fist-sized hole connected to the next by a thin line. Jill squinted at the legend etched beneath, wish-ing that she had a flashlight as she struggled to make out the words. She brushed a thin layer of dust off of the indented letters and tried again.
WHEN THE SUN ... SETS IN THE WEST AND THE MOON RISES IN THE EAST, STARS WILL BEGIN TO APPEAR IN THE SKY ... AND WIND WILL BLOW TOWARD THE GROUND. THEN THE GATE OF NEW LIFE WILL OPEN. She blinked. Four holes—
• Trent’s list! Four crests, and something about the gate of new life—it’s a combination mechanism
for the lock. Place the four crests, the door opens......except that means I have to find them first. Jill
pushed against the door and felt her hope fizzle out completely; not even a rattle, no give at all. They were going to have to find another way out, unless the crests could be found—which in this place could take years.
A lone howl rose in the distance and was joined by the echoing cries of the dogs near the mansion, the strange, yodeling sounds piercing the gentle quiet of the woods. There had to be dozens of them out there, and Jill realized suddenly that escaping out the back door probably wasn’t such a hot idea. She had limited ammunition for her handgun and no doubts that there were more ghoulish creatures wandering the halls, shuffling about in hungry, mindless silence as they searched for their next grisly meal. . . . She sighed heavily and started back to the house, already dreading the cold stench of death and trying to prepare herself for the dangers that seemed to lurk at every corner.
The S.T.A.R.S. were trapped.
Chris knew he had to make the ammo count, so when he left Rebecca, he took off through the dim corridor at a full run, his boots pounding at the wood floor.
There were still only three of them, all grouped near the stairs. He dodged past them easily and sprinted down the hall and around the corner. As soon as he got to the door that led back to the other hall, he turned and assumed a classic shooter’s stance, sup-porting his gun hand at the wrist, his finger on the trigger.
One by one, the zombies reeled around the corner, groaning and stumbling. Chris took careful aim, breathing evenly, keeping his focus. . . .He squeezed the trigger, sending two bullets through the gangrenous nose of the first. Without pausing, he sent a third shot into the center of the next zombie’s forehead. Fluid and soft matter sprayed the wall behind them as the bullets slapped into the wood.
Even as they crumpled to the floor, he’d found his mark on the third creature. Two more muted explo-sions and the zombie’s brow caved inward, dropping it like the bag of bones that it was.
Chris lowered the Beretta, feeling a flush of pride. He was a high-ranked marksman, even had a couple of awards to show for it—but it was still good to see what he could do when given enough time to aim. His quick-draw wasn’t nearly as strong, that was Barry’s forte. . . .
He reached for the door handle, urged into action by the thought of all that was at stake. He figured the Alphas could take care of themselves, they had as much of a chance as he did—but this was Rebecca’s first operation and she didn’t even have a gun; he needed to get her out.
He stepped back into the soft light of the hall with the green wallpaper, quickly checking both direc-tions. Straight ahead, the corridor was in heavier shadow; no way to tell if it was clear. To his right was the door with the sword on the key plate and the first zombie he’d shot, still sprawled lifelessly across the floor. Chris was gratified to see that it hadn’t moved. Apparently head shots were the best way to kill a zombie, just like in the movies. . . . Chris edged toward the sword door, training his weapon left, then right, then left again; he’d had enough surprises for one day. He checked the small offshoot across from the door and seeing that it was clear, quickly inserted the slender key into the lock. It turned smoothly. Chris stepped into a small bedroom, only slightly better lit than the corridor, a single bright lamp on a desk in one corner. It was all clear, unless there was something hiding under the narrow cot ... or maybe in the closet across from the desk. . . .