Chris and Rebecca walked down a long, wooden hallway, warily glancing up with every other step. There was what looked like dried, dead ivy poking out
of every crack and crevice where the walls met the ceiling, a bone-colored growth that scaled across the planks like a fungus. It looked harmless, but after what Rebecca had read to him about Plant 42, Chris kept himself ready to move quickly. After going through the rest of the papers in the trunk, Rebecca had come up with a report on some kind of an herbicide that could apparently be mixed in Point 42, called V-Jolt. She'd brought it along, though Chris doubted it would be useful. All he wanted was to find the exit, and if they could avoid the killer plant, so much the better. The front hall had been clear of the growth, though Chris wasn't prepared to call it secured. Besides the two bedrooms by the front door, there had been a rec room that had been distinctly creepy. Chris had looked inside and immediately felt his internal alarms going off, though he hadn't known why; there'd been no danger that he could see, just a bar and a couple of tables. In spite of the seeming calm, he had closed the door quickly and they'd moved on. His gut feeling was enough of a reason to leave it alone. They stopped in front of the only door in the long, meandering stretch of hallway, both of them still glancing nervously at the scaling ivy near the ceiling. Chris pushed at the knob, and the door swung open. Warm, humid air flooded out of the shadowy room, thick and tropical, but with a nasty undertone, like the taint of spoiled fruit. Chris instinctively pushed Rebecca behind him as he saw the walls of the chamber. They were completely covered in the same kind of strange, straggling growth that was in the hall, but here, the scaling ivy was lush and bloated, a bilious verdant green. There was a faint whispering coming from inside the room, a subtle sense of movement and Chris realized that it was coming from the sickly plant matter itself, the walls quivering in a weird optical illusion as the draping tendrils crept and grew. Rebecca started to step past him and Chris pushed her back. "What, are you nuts? I thought you said this thing sucks blood!"
She shook her head, staring at the whispering walls.
"That's not Plant 42, at least not the part the report talked about. Plant 42 is gonna be a lot bigger, and a lot more mobile. I never did much with phytobiology, but according to that study, we'll be looking for an angiosperm with motile foliage." She smiled a quick, nervous smile. "Sorry. Think of a great big plant bulb with ten to twenty foot vines waving around it."
Chris grimaced. "Great. Thanks for putting my mind at rest."
They edged into the large room, careful not to walk too closely to the hissing walls. There were three doors besides the one they came through: one directly across from the entrance and the other two facing each other to their left, where the room opened up. Chris led them toward the door opposite the entrance, figuring it as the most likely to lead out of the bunkhouse. The door was unlocked, and Chris started to push it open… BAM! The door slammed shut, causing them both to jump back, weapons raised. A series of heavy, sliding thumps followed, like someone on the other side was kicking at the walls – except the sounds were every– where, above and below the door's sturdy frame, beating against every corner of the sealed room. "Lots of vines, you said?" Chris asked. Rebecca nodded. "I think we just found Plant 42." They listened for a moment, Chris thinking about the kind of strength and weight it would take to slam the door so solidly.
No kidding, bigger and more mobile… and maybe blocking the only exit to this place. Terrific.
They backed away, turning into the open area and looking at the other two doors. The one on their right had the number "002" above it. Chris fished out the keys he'd found and flipped through them, finding one with a matching number. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, Rebecca behind him. There was a smaller door to the left that opened to a bathroom, quiet and dusty. The room itself was another bedroom, a bunk, a desk, a couple of shelves. Nothing of interest. There was another series of dull thumps from behind the far wall and they quickly moved back into the humid, whispering room, Chris fighting a growing certainty that they were going to have to deal with the plant if they wanted to get out.
Not necessarily, there could still be another way…
The way things had been going so far, he didn't think so. From the shuffling zombies lurking in the main house to the run through the courtyard, snakes dropping from the trees, every part of the Spencer estate seemed to be designed to keep them from leaving. Chris shook the negative thoughts aside as they approached the shadowy chamber's final door, but they came rushing back at the sight of the small green keypad set next to the frame. He rattled the knob but there was no give. It was another dead end. "Security lock," he said, sighing. "No way to get in without the code."
Rebecca frowned down at the pattern of tiny red lights set above the numbered buttons. "We could just try numbers until we run across the right combina-tion." Chris shook his head. "You know what our chances are of just stumbling across the right…"
He stopped, staring at her, then fumbled the key ring out of his pocket. "Try three-four-five," he said, watching eagerly as Rebecca dutifully punched in the number.
Come on, Mr. Alias, don't fail us now.
The pattern of red lights flashed, then blinked out, one by one. As the last tiny light faded, there was a click from inside the door. Chris grinned, pushing the door open and felt his hope dwindle as he glanced around the tiny room. Dusty shelves filled with tiny glass bottles and a rust stained sink; not the exit he'd expected.
No, that would have been too easy, God knows we can't have that…
Rebecca walked quickly to one of the shelves and looked over the glass bottles, mumbling to herself.
"Hyoscyamine, anhydride, dieldrin…" She turned back to him, grinning widely. "Chris, we can kill the plant! That V-Jolt, the phytotoxin – I can make it here. If we can get to the basement, find the plant's root." Chris smiled back. "Then we can destroy it without having to fight the damned thing! Rebecca, you're brilliant. How long do you need?"Ten, fifteen minutes." "You got it. Stay here, I'll be back as soon as I can."
Rebecca was already pulling down bottles as Chris closed the door and jogged back toward the corridor, past the whispering walls of shadowy green. They were going to beat this place, and once they got out, Umbrella was going down hard.
Barry was standing over Enrico's cold body, Wesker's map crumpled in one hand. Jill had been gone when he'd returned and rather than look for her, he'd found himself unable to move, to even tear his gaze away from the corpse of his murdered friend.
It's my fault. If I hadn't helped Wesker get out of the house, you'd still be alive…
Barry stared miserably at Enrico's face, so filled with guilt and shame that he didn't know what to do anymore. He knew he had to find Jill, keep her from getting to Wesker, keep his family from being hurt, but still, he couldn't seem to force himself to walk away. What he wanted more than anything was to be able to explain himself to Enrico, make him under– stand how things had come to be the way they were.
He's got Kathy and the babies, Rico… what else could I have done? What can I do but follow his orders?
The Bravo stared back at him with glazed, unseeing eyes. No accusation, no acceptance, no nothing. For– ever. Even if Barry continued to help the captain and everything else turned out the way it was supposed to, Rico Marini would still be dead and Barry didn't know how he was going to live with the knowledge that he was responsible… Shots echoed through the tunnels. A lot of them.
Jill!
Barry's head snapped around. He reached for his weapon automatically, the sounds spurring him to action as anger flushed through his system. There could only be one explanation; Wesker had found Jill. Barry turned and ran, sick at the thought of another
S.T.A.R.S. member dead by Wesker's treacherous hand, furious with himself for believing the captain's lies. The door in front of him slammed open and Barry stopped dead in his tracks, all thoughts of Wesker and Jill and Enrico wiped away by the sight of the crouch– ing thing in front of him. His mind couldn't grasp what he saw, his stunned gaze feeding him bits of information that didn't make sense.
Green skin. Piercing, orange-white eyes. Talons.
It screamed, a horrible, squealing cry and Barry didn't think anymore. He squeezed the trigger and the shriek turned into a bubbling, choking gasp as the heavy round tore into its throat and knocked it down. The thing flailed its limbs wildly as blood spurted from the smoking hole. Barry heard several sharp cracks like breaking bones, saw more blood pour from its fists as long, thick claws snapped off against rock. Barry stared in mute astonishment as the creature continued to spasm violently, burbling through the ragged hole in its throat as if still trying to scream. The shot should have blown its head off its neck, but it was another full minute before it died, its frenzied thrashings gradually weakening as blood continued to pump out at a tremendous rate. Finally, it stopped moving and from the dark, noxious lake it had created, Barry realized that it had bled to death, conscious until the end.
What did I just kill? What the fu…
From the tunnel outside, another shrieking howl resounded through the clammy air and was joined by a second, then third. The animal cries rose up, furious and unnatural, the screams of creatures that shouldn't exist. Barry dug into his hip pack with shaking hands and pulled out more rounds for the Colt, praying to God that he had enough and that those shots he'd heard before hadn't been Jill's last stand.
SIXTEEN
IT COULD HAVE ONCE BEEN A SPIDER, IF spiders ever got to be the size of cattle. From the thick layer of white web that covered the room, floor to ceiling, it couldn't have been anything else. Jill stared down at the curled, bristling legs of the abomination, her skin crawling. The creature that had attacked her by the courtyard entrance had been terrifying, but so alien that she hadn't been able to relate it to anything. Spiders, on the other hand… she already hated them, hated their dark, bustling bodies and skittering legs. This one had been the mother of all of them and even dead, it frightened her.
Hasn't been dead long, though…
She forced herself to look at it, at the slick puddles of greenish ichor that dripped from the holes in its rounded, hairy body. It had been shot several times and from the noxious ooze that seeped from the wounds, she guessed that it had still been alive and crawling not twenty minutes ago, maybe less. She shuddered and stepped away toward the double metal doors that led out of the webbed chamber. Whispering streams of the sticky stuff clung to her boots, making it a struggle to move. She took careful, deliberate steps, determined not to fall. The thought of being covered in spider web, having it clinging to her entire body… she shuddered again, swallowing thickly.
Think about something else, anything.
At least she knew she was on the right track, and close behind whoever had triggered the tunnel mecha– nism. Neat trick, that. When she'd reached the area where the pit had been, she'd thought that maybe she'd gotten lost after all. The gaping hole had been gone, smooth stone in its place. Looking up, she'd seen the ragged edges of the pit suspended overhead; the entire center section of the tunnel had been flipped over, turned like a giant wheel by some miracle of engineering. The doors had led to another straight, empty tun– nel. A giant boulder stood at one end, and past that, the room she was about to leave. Jill grabbed the handle of one of the doors and pushed it open, stumbling out into yet another gloomy passage. She leaned back against the door and breathed deeply, barely resisting the urge to brush wildly at her clothes.
I can blow away zombies and monsters with the best of 'em; show me a spider and I lose my freaking mind.
The short, empty tunnel ran left to right in front of her, a door at either end, but the door to her left was set into the same wall as the one she'd just exited, leading back toward the courtyard. Jill opted for the one on the right, hoping that her sense of direction was still intact. The metal door creaked open and she stepped in, feeling the change in the air immediately. The tunnel split in front of her. To the right, a thickening of shadow where the rock walls opened into another corridor. But to her left was a small elevator shaft like the ones in the courtyard. A warm, delicious wind swept down and over her, the sweet air like a forgot-ten dream. Jill grinned and started for the shaft, seeing that the lift's platform had been taken up. Chances were good that she was still on the trail of Enrico's killer…
… but maybe not. Maybe he went the other way, and you're about to lose him.
Jill hesitated, gazing wistfully at the small shaft– and then turned around, sighing. She had to at least take a look. She walked into the stone corridor that stretched in front of her, the temperature immediately dropping back to the now familiar unpleasant chill. The tunnel extended several feet to her right and dead ended. To her left, a massive, rounded boulder like the one she'd seen before marked the other end, a good hundred feet away. And there was something small laying in front of it, something blue… Frowning, Jill walked toward the giant rock, trying to make out the blue object. Halfway down the dim tunnel was an offshoot to the left, and she recognized the metal plate next to it as the same kind of mecha– nism that had moved the pit. She stepped into the small offshoot, examining the worn stones at its opening. There was a small door to her right, and Jill realized that the passage and room could be hidden by way of the mechanism, the walls turned to block the entrance.
Jeez, it must've taken them years to set all this up. And to think I was impressed with the house…
She opened the door and looked inside. A mid– sized square room of rough stone, a statue of a bird on a pedestal the only decoration. There was no other exit, and Jill felt a sudden rush of relief as the implications sank in. She could leave the under– ground tunnels; the killer had to have left already. Smiling, she stepped back out into the corridor and started toward the giant rock, still curious about the blue thing. As she got closer, she saw that it was a book, bound in blue-dyed leather. It had been thrown carelessly against the base of the stone, laying face down and open. She slung the Remington across her back and crouched down to pick it up. It was a book-box. Her father had told her about them, though she'd never actually seen one. There was a cut-away section of pages behind the cover where valuables could be hidden, though this one was empty. She flipped it closed, tracing the gold-leaf letters of the title, Eagle of East, Wolf of West, as she started back toward the elevator. Didn't sound like much of a thriller, though it was nicely bound. Snick. Jill froze as the stone beneath her left foot sank down a tiny bit-and she realized at the same instant that the entire tunnel gently sloped away from where she was standing.
–oh no-
Behind her, a deep, thundering sound of rock grating against rock. Dropping the book, Jill sprinted for cover, arms and legs pumping as the rumbling grew louder, the tripped boulder picking up momentum. The dark opening of the offshoot seemed miles away -
–won 't make it, gonna die-
– and she could almost feel the tons of stone bearing down on her, wanted desperately to look but knew that the split-second difference would kill her. In a final, desperate burst of speed she dove for the opening, crashing to the floor and jerking her legs in as the massive rock rolled past, missing her by inches. Even as she drew in her next gasping breath, the boulder hit the end of the tunnel with an explo-sive, bone-jarring crunch that shook the underground passage. For a moment, it was all she could do to huddle against the cold floor and not throw up. When that passed, she slowly got to her feet and dusted herself off. The heels of her hands were abraded and both her knees bruised from the running dive, but compared to being smashed flat by a big rock, she thought she had definitely made the right choice. Jill unstrapped the Remington and headed for the elevator shaft, very much looking forward to leaving the underground behind and keeping her fingers crossed that whatever came next, it wouldn't be cold. And that there wouldn't be any spiders.
The basement was flooded, all right. Chris stood at the top of a short ramp that led to the basement doors, staring down at his own unsmiling face reflected off of the shimmering water. It looked cold. And deep. After he'd left Rebecca, he'd continued down the hall and found room 003 at the end, the ladder to the basement level tucked discreetly behind a bookcase in the neatly kept bedroom. He'd descended into a chilled concrete corridor with buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, a dramatic change from the plain wood and simple style of the bunkhouse above. At least I found the basement. It appeared that killing Plant 42 was their only option for escape after all. He'd seen no other exit from the bunkhouse, which meant that it had to be past the plant's room or else there was no back door, a thought that left him distinctly unsettled. It didn't seem possible, but then, neither did a carnivo– rous plant.
And you won't find out until you get this over with.
Chris sighed, and stepped into the water. It was cold, and had an unpleasant chemical smell. He waded down to the door, the water sliding up over his knees and finally stopping at mid-thigh, sloshing gently. Shivering, he pushed the door open and moved inside. The basement was dominated by a giant glass-fronted tank in the center of the room that extended floor to ceiling, a large, jagged hole toward the bottom right-hand side. Chris wasn't that good at judging volume, but to fill the whole area with water, he figured that the tank had to have held several thou-sands of gallons.
What the hell were they studying that they needed that much? Tidal waves?
It didn't matter; he was cold, and he wanted to find what he needed to find and get back to dry land. He started off toward the left, slowly, straining against the push and pull of the gently lapping waves. It was totally unreal, wading through a well-lit concrete room, though he supposed it was no stranger than anything else he'd experienced since the Alpha 'copter had set down. Everything about the Spencer estate had a dream-like feel to it, as if it existed in its own reality far removed from the rest of the world's…
Try nightmare-like. Killer plants, giant snakes, the walking dead-all that's missing is a flying saucer, maybe a dinosaur.
He heard a soft sloshing behind him and glanced over his shoulder……to see a thick, triangular fin rise up from the water twenty feet away and slide toward him, a wavering gray shadow beneath. Panic shot through him, an all-encompassing panic that seared away rational thought. He took a giant, running step and realized that he couldn't run as he plunged face first into the cold, chemical water and came up gasping, spluttering tainted liquid from his nose and mouth, hoping to God Rebecca was right about the virus having burned itself out. He whipped his head around, eyes burning, search– ing for the fin and saw that it had halved the distance between them. He could see it now – a shark, its rippling, distorted body sliding easily through the water, ten or twelve feet long, its broad tail lashing it forward – the black, soulless eyes set above its pointed grin.
–wet bullets misfire-
Chris stumbled away backwards, knowing that he didn't stand a chance of outrunning it. Wheeling his arms for balance, he sloshed heavily through the dragging water, turning himself sideways and manag– ing a few more steps before the shark was on top of him……and he leaped to the side, dodging the animal and slapping the water as violently as he could, churning it into foaming waves. The shark slid past him, its smooth, heavy body brushing against his leg. As soon as it was past, Chris stumbled after it, splashing wildly to keep up as he turned the corner in the flooded room. If he could stay close enough, it wouldn't be able to turn, to get at him – except that in seconds, the shark would have the room to maneuver. He could see two doors ahead on the left but the giant fish was already leaving him behind, heading toward the next corner to turn around and come back for him. Chris took a deep breath and plunged into the water, knowing it was crazy but that he didn't have a better chance. He stroked desperately toward the first door, kicking off against the cement floor to propel himself forward in great, bounding leaps. He hit the door just as the shark was turning up ahead and grabbed for the handle, choking -
–and it was locked.
Shit, shit, shit!!!
Chris jammed his hand into his wet vest and came up with Alias's keys, fumbling through them as the fin glided closer, the wide, pointed grin opening. He shoved a key into the lock, the last key on the ring that he hadn't found the room for, and slammed his shoulder against the door at the same time, the shark now only a few feet away. The door flew open and Chris stumbled in, falling and kicking frantically. His boot connected solidly with the shark's fleshy snout, deflecting it from the opening. In a flash, he was on his feet. He threw his weight into the door and in a slap of water, it was closed. He sagged against the door, wiping at his stinging eyes with the back of his hand. The lapping water settled gently into smaller and smaller ripples as he caught his breath and his vision cleared. For now, he was safe. He unholstered his Beretta and ejected the dripping magazine, wondering how the hell he was going to make it back upstairs. Looking around the small room, he saw nothing he could use as a weapon. One wall was lined with buttons and switches, and he trudged over to look at them, drawn to a blinking red light in the far corner.
Looks like I found a control room… aces. Maybe I can turn off the lights and get the shark to go to sleep.
There was a lever set next to the flashing light and Chris stared down at the faded tape beneath it, feeling a numb disbelief as he read the printed letters.
Emergency Drainage System.
You've gotta be kidding me! Why didn't anyone pull
this thing the second the tank broke?
The answer occurred to him even as he thought it. The people who worked here were scientists; no way they were going to turn down the opportunity to study their precious Plant 42, sucking up water from the man-made lake. Chris grabbed the lever and pushed it down. There was a sliding, metallic noise outside the door-and immediately, the water level started to drop. Within a minute, the last of it had flowed out from under the door and a gurgling, liquid gasp came from the direction of the broken tank. He walked back to the door, opening it carefully and heard the frantic, wet thumps of a very big fish
trying to swim through air. Chris grinned, thinking that he should probably feel pity for the helpless creature and hoping instead that it died a long, agonizing death. "Bite me," he whispered.
Wesker had shot four of the shuffling, gasping Umbrella workers on his way to the computer roomon level three. He hadn't recognized any of them, though he was pretty sure that the second one he'dtaken out had been Steve Keller, one of the guys fromSpecial Research. Steve always wore penny loafers, and the pallid, dried-up husk that had reached for him by the stairs had been wearing Steve's brand. It appeared that the effects of the viral spill had been harsher in the labs… less messy, but no less disquieting. The creatures that roamed the halls out– side seemed to have been totally dehydrated, their limbs withered and stringy, their eyes like shriveled grapes. Wesker had dodged several of them, but the ones he'd been forced to put down had scarcely bled at all. He sat at the computer in the cool, sterile room and waited for the system to boot up, feeling truly on top of things for the first time all day. He'd had earlier moments, of course. The way he'd handled Barry, finding the wolf medal in the tunnels – even shooting Ellen Smith in the face had given him a momentarysense of accomplishment, a feeling that he was in control of what was happening. But so much had gone wrong along the way that he hadn't had time to enjoyany of his successes. But now I'm here. If the S.T.A.R.S. aren't alreadydead, they will be soon and assuming I don't suffer some massive lapse of skill, I'll be out of here within half an hour, mission complete. There were still dangers, but Wesker could handle them. The mesh monkeys – the Ma2s – were un– doubtedly loose in the power room, but they were easy enough to get past, as long as you didn't stop running; he should know, he'd helped come up with the design. And there was the big man, the Tyrant, waiting one level down in his glass shell, sleeping the sweet, dreamless sleep of the damned… From which he'll surely never wake. What a waste. So much power, crossed off as a failure by the boys at White… A gentle musical tone informed him that the systemwas ready. Wesker pulled a notebook out of his vest and opened it to the list of codes, though he alreadyknew them; John Howe had set the system up months
ago, using his name and the name of his girlfriend, Ada, as access keys. Wesker tapped out the first of the passwords that would allow him to unlock the laboratory doors, feeling a sudden, vague wistfulness for the excitement of the day. It would be over so soon and there would be no one to witness his achievements, to share his fond memories after the fact. Now that he thought about it, it was a shame that none of the S.T.A.R.S. would be joining him; the only thing better than a grand finale was a grand finale with an audience…
SEVENTEEN
JILL HAD TAKEN THE ELEVATOR INTO WHAT seemed to be another part of the garden or courtyard, although the area had been isolated, surrounded by trees; she'd guessed as much from the few overgrown potted plants and the welcome sounds of the forest beyond the low metal railing. There had been nothing to see but a rusting door set into a nondescript, overgrown wall, welded shut and a large, open well, like a stone wading pool. Inside had been a short, spiral staircase leading down to another small ele– vator.
Which I took, but now where the hell am I?
The room that the elevator had led to was unlike any other part of the estate she'd seen. It lacked the strange, fetid charm of the mansion, or the dripping gloom of the underground. It was as though she'd walked out of a gothic horror story and into a military complex, a utilitarian's bleak paradise. She was standing in a large, steel-reinforced con-crete room, the walls painted a muddy industrial orange. Metal ducts and overhead pipes lined the upper walls, and the room was rather aptly titled "XD-R Bl," painted across the concrete in black, several feet high. Any sense she'd had of where she was in relation to the rest of the estate was totally gone. Although it's as cold as everywhere else, at least I know I'm still on the grounds… There was a heavy metal door on one side of the room, firmly locked. The sign to the left of it stated that it was only to be opened in case of a first-class emergency. She figured that the "Bl" on the wall stood for "Basement level one," her theory confirmed by the bolted ladder that led down through a narrow shaft in the concrete; where there was Bl, B2 natu-rally followed.
And considering the alternative, it looks like that's where I'm headed. My other option is to go back through the underground tunnels.
She peered down the ladder shaft, only able to see a square of concrete at the bottom. Sighing, she held on to the Remington and started down. As soon as she hit the last rung, she turned anxious-Ly and faced a much smaller room, as bland and industrial as the first. Inset fluorescent lights on the ceiling, a gray metal door, concrete walls and floor. She walked through quickly, starting to feel hopeful that there were no more creatures or traps. So far, the basement levels had offered nothing more dangerous than a lack of decorum… She opened the door and her hope faded as the dry, dusty smell of long-dead flesh hit her. She stepped out onto a cement walkway that led over a flight of descending stairs, a metal railing circling the path. At the top of the steps was a crumpled zombie, so emaciated and shriveled that it appeared mummified. She held the shotgun ready and walked slowly toward the stairs, noting that there was a hall branch-ing off to the left where the railing stopped. She darted a quick look around the corner and saw that it was clear. Still watching the desiccated corpse care-fully, she edged down the short corridor and stopped at the door on her left. The sign next to the door read "Visual Data Room," and the door itself was un-locked. It opened up into a still, gray room with a long meeting table in the center, a slide projector set up in front of a portable screen at the far end. There was a phone on a small stand pushed up against the right wall, and Jill hurried over, knowing that it was too much to hope for but having to check just the same. It wasn't a phone at all, but an intercom system that didn't seem to work. Sighing, she stepped past an ornamental pillar and walked around the table, glanc– ing at the empty slide projector. She let her gaze wander, looking for anything of interest and it stopped on a flat, featureless square of metal set into the wall, about the size of a sheet of paper. Jill stepped over to take a closer look. There was a flat bar at the top. She touched it lightly, and the panel slid down into the wall, reveal– ing a large red button. She looked around the quiet room, trying to imagine what the trap would be and then realized that there wouldn't be a trap at all.
