The mansion, the tunnels – all of it was rigged to keep people from getting here, to these basement levels. They're way too efficiently dull to be anything but where the real work gets done.
She knew instinctively that her logic was sound. This was a board room, a place for drinking bad coffee and sitting through meetings with colleagues; nothing was going to jump out at her if she pushed the button. Jill pushed it. And behind her, the ornamental pillar slid to one side with a smooth, mechanical hum. Behind the pillar were several shelves, stacked with files and something that glittered in the soft gray light of the room. She hurried over and picked up a metal key, the top of it imprinted with a tiny lightning bolt. Slipping it into her pocket, she flipped through a few of the files. They were all stamped with the Umbrella logo, and though most of them were too thick and ponderous to spend time sorting through, the title on one of the reports told her what she needed to know, what she'd already suspected.
Umbrella / Bioweapons Report / Research and Development.
Nodding slowly, Jill put the file back. She'd finally found the real research facilities, and she knew that the S.T.A.R.S. traitor would be somewhere in these rooms. She was going to have to be very careful. With a final glance around her, Jill decided to go see if she could find the lock that the key belonged to. It was time to place the last few pieces of the puzzle that Umbrella had set up and that the S.T.A.R.S. had sacrificed themselves trying to solve.
The twisted, gnarled root of Plant 42 took up a large corner of the basement room, the bulk of it hanging down in slender, fleshy tendrils that almost touched the floor. A few of the tiny, worm-like threads squirmed blindly around each other, twisting slowly back and forth as if looking for the water supply that Chris had drained. "God, that's disgusting," Rebecca said. Chris nodded agreement. Besides the control room he'd escaped into, there had only been two other chambers in the basement. One of them had been stacked with boxes of cartridges for all kinds of weapons and although most of them had been use– lessly wet, he'd found most of a box of nine– millimeter rounds on a high shelf, saving them both from running out of ammunition. The other room had been plain, containing only a wood table, a bench and the massive, creeping root of the carnivorous plant that lived upstairs. "Yeah," Chris said. "So how do we do this?" Rebecca held up a small bottle of purplish fluid and swirled it gently, still staring at the moving tendrils.
"Well, you stand back, and don't breathe too deeply. This stuffs got a couple of toxins in it that neither of us want to be ingesting, and it'll turn gaseous once it hits the infected cells." Chris nodded. "How will we know if it's working?"Rebecca grinned. "If the V-Jolt report is on the mark, we'll know. Watch."
She uncapped the bottle and stepped closer to the twisted root, then upended the glass vial, dousing the snaking tendrils with the watery fluid. Immediately, a billow of reddish smoke plumed up from the root as Rebecca emptied the bottle and stepped quickly away. There was a hissing, crackling sound like wet wood thrown atop a blazing fire and within seconds, the feebly twisting fibers started to break, pieces of them snapping off and flaking away. The knotted thickness at the center started to tighten and shrink, pulling into itself. Chris watched in amazement as the giant, terrible root suddenly shriveled up into a dripping ball of mush no bigger than a child's ball and hung there, dead. The entire process had taken about fifteen seconds. Rebecca nodded toward the door and both of them stepped out into the drying basement, Chris shaking his head.
"God, what'd you put in there?" "Trust me, you don't want to know. You ready to get out of here?" Chris grinned. "Let's do it." They both jogged toward the basement doors, hur– rying out into the cold corridor and back toward the ladder that led upstairs. Chris was already going over escape plans for when they left the bunkhouse. It really would depend on where the exit led. If they ended up in the woods, he was thinking that they should head toward the closest road and light a fire, then wait for help to come… though maybe we'll get lucky, run across the damned parking lot for this place. We can hotwire a car and drive out – and get Irons to do something useful for a change, like call in reinforcements. They reached the wood corridor and headed for the plant room, both of them taking long, easy strides past the hissing green walls and finally stopping at the room that held Plant 42. Breathing deeply, Chris nodded to Rebecca. They both unholstered their weapons and Chris pushed the door open, eager to see what lay beyond the experi– mental plant.
They stepped into a huge, open room, the smell of rotting vegetation thick in the damp air. Whatever it had looked like before, the monster that had been Plant 42 was now a massive, steaming lake of dark purple goo in the center of the room. Bloated dead vines the size of fire hoses draped limply across the floor, extending out from the livid, gelid mass. Chris scanned for the next door, saw a plain fireplace against one wall, a broken chair in a corner and a single door that apparently led back into the bedroom he'd searched earlier. A hidden passage that he'd missed and that led to the very room in which they stood.
Must have been behind the bookcase…
There was no way out. Killing the plant had been a waste of time, it hadn't been blocking anything. Rebecca looked as disappointed as he felt, her shoulders slumped and expression grim as she studied the bare walls.
Ah, I'm sorry, Rebecca.
They both walked slowly around the room, Chris staring at the dead plant and trying to decide what to do next. Rebecca walked to the fireplace and crouched down next to it, poking at the blackened ash. He wouldn't drag her back to the mansion, neither of them were up for it. Even with the extra ammo, there were too many snakes. They could wait in the courtyard for Brad to fly by again, hope he got into range.
"Chris, I've found something."
He turned and saw her pull a couple of pieces of paper out of the ashes, the edges scorched but both sheets otherwise intact. He walked across the room and leaned down to read over her shoulder and felt his heart start pounding as the first words sank in.
SECURITY PROTOCOLS BASEMENT LEVEL ONE:
Heliport/For executive use only. This restriction may not
apply in the event of an emergency. Unauthorized persons
entering the heliport will be shot on sight.
Elevator/The elevator stops during emergencies.
BASEMENT LEVEL TWO:
Visual Data Room/For use by the Special Research Division only. All other access to the Visual Data Room must be cleared with Keith Arving, Room Manager.
BASEMENT LEVEL THREE:
Prison/Sanitation Division controls the use of the prison. At least one Consultant Researcher (E. Smith, S. Ross,
A. Wesker) must be present if viral use is authorized. Power Room/Access limited to Headquarters Supervisors. This restriction may not apply to Consultant Researchers with special authorization.
BASEMENT LEVEL FOUR:
Regarding the progress of "Tyrant" after use of T-Virus…
The rest of the paper was burned, the words lost. "A. Wesker," Chris said softly. "Captain Albert goddamn Wesker…"
Barry had said that Wesker disappeared right after the Alphas had made it to the house. And it was Wesker who led us here in the first place when the dogs attacked. Cool, competent, unreadable Wesker, work– ing for Umbrella… Rebecca flipped to the second page and Chris leaned in, studying the neatly typed labels beneath the drawn boxes and lines.
MANSION. COURTYARD. GUARDHOUSE. UNDERGROUND. LABORATORIES.
There was even a compass drawn next to the sketch of the mansion, to show them what they'd missed – a secret entrance to the underground hidden behind the waterfall. Rebecca stood up, eyes wide and uncertain. "Cap-tain Wesker is involved with all this?" Chris nodded slowly. "And if he's still here, he's down in those labs, maybe with the rest of the team. If Umbrella sent him here, God only knows what he's up to."
They had to find him, had to warn whoever was left of the S.T.A.R.S. that Wesker had betrayed them all.
Everything was done. Wesker stepped into the elevator that led back to level three, running through his checklist as he lowered the outer gate and slid the inner one closed.
… samples collected, disks erased, power recon-nected, Tyrant support off…
It was really too bad about the Tyrant. Ugly as it was, the thing was a marvel of surgical, chemical, and genetic engineering, and he'd stood in front of its glass chamber for a long time, studying it in silent awe before reluctantly shutting down its life support. As the stasis fluids had drained, he'd found himself imagining what it would have been like to see it in action once the researchers had completed their work. It would have been the ultimate soldier, a thing of beauty in the battlefield… and now it had to be destroyed, all because some idiot tech had hit the wrong button. A mistake that had cost Umbrella millions of dollars and killed the researchers who had created it. He hit the switch and the elevator thrummed to life, carrying him back up for his final task-activating the triggering system at the back of the power room. He'd give himself fifteen minutes to make sure he was clear of the blast radius, climb down the heliport ladder, hit the back road toward town and boom, no more hidden Umbrella facility. At least not in Raccoon Forest… Once he got back into the city, he'd pack a bag and head for Umbrella's private air strip. He could make the necessary calls from there, let his contacts in the White office know what had happened. They'd have a clean-up team standing by to comb through the forest and take out the surviving specimens-and they'd be most eager to get their hands on the tissue samples he'd taken, two of everything except for the Tyrant. With the Tyrant scientists all dead, Umbrella had decided to shelve the project indefinitely. Wesker thought it was a mistake, but then, he wasn't getting paid to think. As the elevator slid to a stop, Wesker opened the gates and stepped out, setting down the sample case. He unholstered his Beretta, going over the twisting layout of the power room in his mind. He had to make another run through the Ma2s to get to the activation system. He'd already managed it once to hook up the elevator circuit, but they had been more active than he'd expected; instead of weakening them, their hun– ger had driven them to new heights of viciousness. He'd been lucky to make it through unscathed. At a hydraulic hum from down the hall, Wesker froze. Footsteps clattered across the cement floor, hesitated and then started for the power room at the opposite end of the corridor. Wesker eased up to the corner and looked down the hall, just in time to see Jill Valentine disappear through the metal doors, a burst of hissing mechani– cal noise echoing through the corridor before they closed.
How did she make it through the Hunters? Jesus!
Apparently he'd underestimated her… and she'd been alone, too. If she was that good, the Ma2s might not kill her, and she had effectively just blocked him from the triggering system. He wouldn't be able to deal with the creatures that roamed the maze like walkways and put a stop to her prying… Frustrated, Wesker scooped up the sample case and walked quickly down the hall, back toward the hy– draulic doors that led to the main corridor of level three. If she made it back out, he'd just have to shoot her; it would only delay his escape by a few minutes. Still, it was an unexpected curve, and as far as he was concerned, it was too late in the game for surprises.
Surprises pissed him off, they made him feel like he wasn't in control… I AM in control, nothing is happening here that I can't handle! This is MY game, my rules, and I will accomplish my mission without any interference from that little thief-bitch. Wesker stalked out into the main corridor, saw that Jill had managed to take out a few more of the wizened, withered scientists and technicians that wandered the basement labs. Two of them lay just outside the door, their skulls blown into arid powder by what looked like shotgun blasts. He kicked one of them angrily, his boot crunching into the corpse's brittle ribs, the dry snap of bone loud in the silence -
– except that suddenly, he heard heavy boots com-ing down the metal stairs from B2, the hollow clump echoing through the hall. And then a rough, hesitant voice calling out.
"Jill?"
Barry Burton, as I live and breathe.
Wesker raised his weapon coolly, ready to fire when Barry stepped into view and then lowered it thoughtfully. After a moment, a slow grin spread across his face.
EIGHTEEN
JILL EASED INTO THE STEAMING, HISSING room, a thick smell of grease in the heated air. It was some kind of a boiler room, and a big one; heavy, thrumming machinery filled the large chamber, sur– rounded by winding catwalks. Massive turbines spun and pounded, generating power in a steady whine as hidden ducts spat out steam at short intervals. She moved slowly into the poorly lit chamber, peering down one of the railed walkways into the fluctuating shadows cast by the towering generators. From where she was, she could see that the place was a labyrinth of paths, twining around the giant blocks of noisy machinery. The source of the estate's power. That explains how they managed to keep it a secret for so long, they had their own little city out here, totally autonomous, probably had their food shipped in, too. She turned down the narrow walk to her right, watching uneasily for any more of the strange, pale zombies that she'd seen in the corridors of B3. The path seemed clear, but with the movement and noise created by the turbines… Something ripped at her left shoulder, a sudden, violent slash that tore open her vest and scraped the skin beneath. Jill spun and fired, the roar of the shotgun drowning out the hissing machines. The blast hit metal, pellets ricocheting into the empty walk. There was nothing behind her.
Where?
A lunging, blade-like claw sliced the air in front of her face, swooping down from above. She stumbled back, staring up at the steel mesh of the ceiling and saw a dark shape skitter out of the shadows, hooking its way across the grate incredibly fast, curving claws at its hands and feet. She caught a glimpse of thick spines around its mutant, flattened face and then it turned and ran into the thrumming shadows of the power room. There was a door at the end of the walk and Jill sprinted toward it, heart racing, the pounding whine of the generators thundering in her ears. She was five feet from the door when she saw the moving shadow position itself in front of her. She raised the shotgun and leaned back -
–more of them! There were two of the creatures overhead, squat, terrible things with vicious, curving hooks instead of hands. One of them dropped down suddenly, hanging by clawed feet to swipe at her with its bladed arm. Jill fired and the creature screeched, the blast hitting it in the chest. It fell from the ceiling with a clatter, thick blood oozing out of the ragged wound. She turned back toward the entrance and ran, hearing the patter of claws against the mesh overhead. Another of the aberrant monkey-like things swung down in front of her, and Jill ducked, afraid to stop running. The thing's strange arm whistled past her ear, missing her head by less than an inch. The metal doors were in front of her. Jill crashed into them, slapping one handle down and stumbling back into the cold stillness of the corridor. The door closed on the furious, shrill cry of one of the mon– sters, rising high over the sounds of the working machines. She sagged against the door, gasping and saw Barry Burton standing midway down the chilled, silent hall. He hurried toward her, an expression of deep worry on his rugged, bearded face.
"Jill! Are you alright?" She pushed away from the door, surprised. "God, Barry, where have you been? I thought you'd gotten lost in the tunnels." Barry nodded grimly. "I did. And I ran into some trouble trying to get out."
She saw the splatters of blood on his clothing, the rips and tears in his shirt, and realized that he must have come across more of those walking green night– mares. He looked like he'd been through a war.
Speaking of…
Jill touched her shoulder, her ringers coming away bloody. It was painful but shallow; she'd survive.
"Barry, we've got to get out of here. I found some papers upstairs, proof of what's been going on. Enrico was right, Umbrella's behind all of this and one of the
S.T.A.R.S. knew about it. It's too dangerous to keep looking around, we should get those files and head back to the mansion, wait for the RPD." "But I think I found the main lab," Barry said. "Downstairs, there's an elevator at the end of the hall. There are computers and stuff. We can get into their files, really nail 'em."
He didn't seem excited by the find, but Jill barely noticed. With the information they could get from Umbrella's database: names, dates, research mate– rial…
We can find out everything, present the investigators with the whole, messy package… Jill nodded, grinning. "Lead the way."
The tunnels had been a cold, miserable maze, but the map had led them through quickly. Rebecca and Chris had reached the first basement level, both of them shivering and wet – and not a little freaked out by the dead creatures they'd passed along the way. The Umbrella scientists had been disgustingly cre– ative in their approach to making monsters. Chris rattled the door that supposedly led to the heliport, but it was solidly locked, an emergency sign next to it implying that it could only be opened by an alarm system. He'd hoped to send Rebecca out with the radio while he searched for the others. He looked down the narrow stairwell and sighed, turning to her. "I want you to stay here. If you stand by the elevator, you should be able to pick up Brad's signal from outside. Tell him where we are and what happened – and if I'm not back in twenty minutes, get back to the courtyard and wait there until help comes." Flustered, Rebecca shook her head. "But I want to go with you! I can take care of myself, and if you find the lab, you'll need me to tell you what you're looking at." "No. For all we know, Wesker already killed the other S.T.A.R.S. and is looking to finish the job. If we're the last ones, we can't risk both of us getting
ambushed. Somebody has to survive and tell people about Umbrella. I'm sorry, but it's the only way."
He smiled at her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"And I know you can take care of yourself. This isn't about your competence, okay? Twenty minutes. I just have to see if anyone else made it."
Rebecca opened her mouth as if to protest further and then closed it, nodding slowly. "Okay, I'll stay. Twenty minutes."
Chris turned and started down the ladder, hoping he could keep his promise to come back. The captain had successfully deceived them all, acting the part of concerned leader for weeks while the people in Rac-coon City had died and all along he'd known why. The man was a sociopath. It seemed that Umbrella had created more than one kind of monster. And it was time to find out how much damage he'd done.
Barry couldn't bring himself to look at Jill as they took the elevator down to B4. Wesker would be waiting for them at the bottom, and Jill would find out that he had been helping the captain all along. He'd killed three more of the violent, springing creatures down in the tunnels before making it to the lab only to run into Wesker, who had insisted that he lure Jill down to B4 and assist him in locking her up. The smiling bastard had reminded Barry of his family's situation and promised again that it was the last thing he'd have to do, that after Jill was safely locked away he'd call his people off -
–except he's said that every time. Find the crests
and you're free. Help me in the tunnels, you're free.
Betray your friend…
"Barry, are you okay?"
He turned to her as the elevator stopped, looking miserably into her concerned, thoughtful eyes.
"I've been worried about you ever since we got to the mansion," she said, laying a hand across his arm. "I even thought – well, never mind what I thought. Is something wrong?"
He pulled the gate open and raised the mesh outer door, an excuse to look away. "I… yeah, something's wrong," he said quietly. "But now's not the time. Let's just get this over with."
Jill frowned but nodded, still looking concerned.
"Okay. When this is over, we can talk."
You won't want to talk to me when this is over.
Barry stepped out into the short hallway and Jill followed, their boots clanking across a steel grate. The hall turned to the left just ahead and Barry slowed down on the pretense of checking his weapon, letting Jill get in front of him. They turned the corner and Jill froze, staring into the muzzle of Wesker's raised Beretta. He grinned at them, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, his smile smug and leering. "Hello, Jill. Nice of you to drop by," he said smoothly. "Nice work, Barry. Take her weapons." She turned her startled gaze to him as he quickly plucked the shotgun from her hands, then reached around to unholster her Beretta, his face burning.
"Now get back up to Bl and wait for me by the exit. I'll be up in a few minutes." Barry stared at him. "But you said you just wanted to lock her up." Wesker shook his head. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to hurt her, I promise. Now get going."
Jill looked at him, confusion and fear and anger playing across her face. "Barry?"I'm sorry, Jill."
He turned and walked around the corner, feeling defeated and ashamed – not to mention terrified for Jill. Wesker had promised, but Wesker's word meant nothing. He'd probably kill her as soon as he heard the elevator doors close, but what if I'm not in the elevator? Maybe I can still do something to keep her alive…. Barry hurried to the lift and opened the gates, then slammed them closed and pushed the operation switch, sending it back to B3 without a passenger. Moving silently, he edged back toward the corner, listening. "… can't say I'm all that surprised," Jill was saying. "But how did you get Barry to help you?"Wesker laughed. "Ol' Barry's got some trouble at home. I told him that Umbrella has a team watching his house, waiting to kill his precious family. He was only too happy to help."
Barry clenched his fists, his jaw tight. "You're a bastard, you know that?" Jill said. "Maybe. But I'm going to be a rich bastard when all this is over. Umbrella is paying me a lot of money to clean up their little problem, and to get rid of a few of you goddamn snooping S.T.A.R.S. in the process." "Why would Umbrella want to destroy the S.T.A.R.S.?" Jill asked. "Oh, not all of them. They've got big plans for some of us, at least those of us that want to make a profit. It's you sniveling do-gooders that they don't want, the red-white-and-blue, apple pie, all that happy bullshit. The way Redfield's been running around, mouthing off about conspiracies, you think Umbrel-
la didn't notice? It has to stop, here. This whole place
was rigged to blow up just in case of an accident
and the Tyrant virus escaping qualifies. Once you're
all dead and this facility's destroyed, no one will be
able to get to the truth."
Son-of-a-bitch was going to kill all of us.
"But enough about Umbrella. I had you brought
down here for a little experiment of my own. I want to
see how our most agile team member stands up
against the miracle of modern science. If you'll just
step through that door."
Barry flattened himself against the wall as Wesker stepped back, part of his shoulder coming into view. He put his hand on his Colt and drew it out slowly. "I can't believe that you're doing this," Jill said. "Selling out to protect a bunch of unethical corporate blackmailers." "Blackmailers? Oh, you mean Barry. Umbrella wouldn't bother with blackmail. They can afford to buy people just as easily. I made all that up to get him on board."
Barry slammed the butt of his Colt into Wesker's skull as hard as he could, dropping him like a ton of bricks.
NINETEEN
JILL STARED IN ASTONISHMENT AS WESKER suddenly stopped talking and crumpled to the floor and Barry stepped into view, staring down at Wesker's body with a look of intense hatred, Colt in hand. She crouched down next to Wesker and pried the Beretta from his fingers, tucking it into her waistband. Barry turned to look at her, his eyes swimming with apology. "Jill, I'm so sorry. I never should have believed him."
Jill stared at him for a moment, thinking about his daughters. Moira was Becky McGee's age… "It's okay," she said finally. "You came back, that's what matters."
Barry handed her back her weapons, and they both gazed down at Wesker's sprawled form, still breathing but unconscious. He was out cold.
"I don't suppose you have any handcuffs on you?"
Barry asked. Jill shook her head. "Maybe we should check out the lab, there's bound to be some cable or cord we can use. Besides, I'm kind of curious about this 'miracle of modern science' he was talking about…"
She turned and found the switch that operated the hydraulic door, noting the biohazard symbol painted across the front. The door slid open and the two of them stepped inside.
Wow…
It was a huge, high-ceilinged chamber lined with monitoring consoles, cables snaking across the floor and connecting to a whole series of standing glass tubes. There were eight of the tubes lined up in the center of the room, each of them big enough to hold a grown man. They were all empty. Barry reached down and scooped up a handful of cable, digging into his pocket for a knife while Jill walked toward the back, gazing at the technical and medical equipment and stopped, staring, feeling her jaw drop. Against the back wall was a much larger tube, at least eight or nine feet tall, hooked up to its own computer console and the thing inside filled it, top to bottom. It was monstrous.
"Jill, I got the cable. I…"
Barry stopped next to her, his words faltering as he saw the abomination. Silently, they both walked to– ward it, unable to resist a closer look. It was tall, but proportionally correct, at least through the broad, muscular torso and long legs; those parts appeared human. One of its arms had been altered into a cluster of massive, dragging claws, hanging past its knees, while the other seemed ordi– nary, if overly large. There was a thick, bloody tumor protruding from where its heart would be, and Jill realized, staring at the bulbous mass that it was the thing's heart; it was pulsing slowly, expanding and contracting in slow, rhythmic beats. She stopped in front of the tube, awed by the abomination. She could see lines of scar tissue snak– ing across its limbs, surgical scars. It had no sexual organs; they'd been cut away. She looked up at its face and saw that parts of the flesh there had also been removed; the lips were gone, and it seemed to grin broadly at her through the sliced red tissue of its face, all of its teeth exposed. "Tyrant," Barry said quietly. Jill glanced over at him, saw him frowning down at the computer that was hooked to the tube by multiple cables. She looked back at the Tyrant, feeling nearly over– whelmed by pity and disgust. Whatever it was now, it had once been a man. Umbrella had turned him into a freakish horror. "We can't leave it like this," she said softly, and Barry nodded.
She joined him at the console, looking down at the myriad switches and buttons. There had to be a switch that would put an end to its life; it deserved that much. There was a set of six red switches in a row along the bottom and Barry flipped one of them down. Nothing seemed to happen. He glanced at her, and she nodded for him to continue. He used the side of his hand to flip all of them. There was a sudden, dull thump… They both whirled around, saw the Tyrant pull back its human hand and hit the glass again. Cracks webbed out from the impact, though the glass had to be several inches thick.
"Oh… SHIT!"
Barry grabbed her arm as the creature drew its bleeding knuckles back for another blow.
"Run!"
They ran, Jill wishing to God that they'd left it alone, panic welling up from deep inside of her. Barry slammed his hand down on the door control and it slid open as behind them, glass shattered. They stumbled through the door, terrified, Barry hitting the lock and saw that Wesker was gone.
Wesker stumbled toward the power room, his head pounding, his limbs feeling strangely distant and weak. He felt like he was going to throw up.
Goddamn Barry…
They'd taken his gun. He'd come to as they'd walked into the lab and reeled toward the elevator, cursing them both, cursing Umbrella for creating such a screwed up mess, cursing himself for not simply killing the S.T.A.R.S. when he could have.
It's not over. I'm still in control. This is my game…
