It was a young woman carrier she'd shot at from the stairs to the second floor, just around the corner, and she was pretty sure that she'd known the girl – a secretary/receptionist who worked at the front desk on weekends, Mary something. The darkroom faced the opening beneath the stairs; she'd have to pass within a few feet of the corpse, but she thought she could avoid looking too closely if she… CRASH! Two of the windows imploded, a driving rain of glass spraying over the receptionist's body, shards of it slicing at Jill's bare legs. In the same instant, a giant black mass was hurled inside, bigger than a man, as big as -
– S.T.A.R.S. killer -It was all she had time to think. Jill sprinted back the way she'd come, slamming into the evidence room door, while behind her, she heard crunching glass as it rolled to its feet, heard the ugly opening note of its sin-gle-minded cry, "SSstaarsss" She ran, snatching the heavy revolver from beneath her waist pack's strap, through the evidence room to the next door, through that into the patrol squadroom. A sharp left as soon as she was inside and desks blurred past, chairs and shelves and an overturned table spat-tered with the blood and fluids of at least two cops, their sprawled bodies reduced to obstacles in her path. Jill leaped over the twisted legs, hearing the door open, no, disintegrate behind her, a roar of splinters and cracking wood that couldn't drown out the Neme-sis's fury.
Go go go faster…
She hit the door running, ignoring the dull blossom of pain that enveloped her bruised shoulder, twisting to the right as she pounded into the lobby.
Shhh-BOOM!
A flare of brilliant light and smoke jetted past her, blowing a jagged, burning hole in the floor not three feet to her left. Shards of blackened marble and ce-ramic tile flew, exploding up and outward in a fountain of noise and heat.
Jesus, it's armed!
She ran faster, down the ramp into the lower lobby, remembering that she'd dead-bolted the front doors, the realization like a punch in the stomach. She'd never get them open in time, no chance…… and BOOM, another blast from what had to be a grenade launcher or bigger, close enough that she could feel the air part next to her right ear, could hear the whistle of incredible speed just before the front doors blasted open in front of her. They hung drunkenly on bent hinges, swaying and smoldering as she ran through, the night cool and dark.
"Ssstaaarrrsss! "
Close, too close. Instinctively Jill sacrificed a sec-ond of speed to leap to the side, kicking away from the ground, dimly aware that Brad's body was gone and not caring. Even as she landed, the Nemesis blew past her, barreling through the space she'd oc-cupied an instant before. Its momentum carried it several giant steps away, it was fast but too heavy to stop, its monstrous size giving her the time she needed. A squeal of rust and she was through the gates, slamming them, scrabbling the shotgun off her back. She turned and rammed the shotgun through the gates' hoop handles, both of them cracking against the barrel before she had time to let go, hard enough for her to realize that the gates wouldn't hold for very long. Behind the gates, the Nemesis screamed in ani-mal rage, a demonic sound of bloodlust so strong that Jill shuddered convulsively. It was screaming for her, it was the nightmare all over again, she was marked for death. She turned and ran, its howl fading into the dark be-hind her as she ran and ran. When Nicholai saw Mikhail Victor, he knew he'd have to kill him. Technically, there was no reason, but the opportunity was too enticing to pass up. By some fluke, the leader of platoon D had managed to survive, an honor he didn't deserve.
We'll just see about that…
Nicholai was feeling good; he was ahead of the schedule he'd set for himself, and the rest of his jour-ney through the sewers had been uneventful. His next goal was the hospital, which he could reach quickly enough if he took the cable car in Lonsdale Yard; he had more than enough time to relax for a few moments, take a break from his pursuit. Climbing back into the city and seeing Mikhail across the street, from the roof of one of Umbrella's buildings – the perfect sniper's roost – was like some cosmic reward for his work so far. Mikhail would never know what hit him. The platoon leader was two stories below, his back to the wall of a wrecking yard's shack as he changed rifle magazines. A security light, its bright beam flick-ering with the erratic movement of nocturnal insects, clearly illuminated his position and would make it impossible for him to see his killer.
Well, you can't have everything; his death will have to be enough.
Nicholai smiled and raised the M16, savoring the mo-ment. A cool night breeze ruffled his hair as he studied his quarry, noting with no small satisfaction the fear on Mikhail's lined, unknowing face. A head shot? No; on the off chance that Mikhail had been infected, Nicholai wouldn't want to miss the resurrection. He had plenty of time to watch, too. He lowered the barrel a hair, sighting one of Mikhail's kneecaps. Very painful… but he would still have use of his arms and would probably fire blindly into the dark; Nicholai didn't want to risk get-ting hit. Mikhail had finished his rifle inspection and was looking around as if to plot his next step. Nicholai took aim and fired, a single shot, extremely happy with his decision as the platoon leader doubled over, grabbing his gut and suddenly, Mikhail was gone, around the cor-ner of the building and into the night. Nicholai could hear the crunch of gravel fading away. He cursed softly, clenching his jaw in frustration. He'd wanted to see the man squirm, see him suffer from the painful and probably lethal wound. It seemed that Mikhail's reflexes weren't as poor as he'd thought.
So, he dies in the dark somewhere instead of where I can see him. What is it to me? It's not as though I have nothing else to occupy my time…
It didn't work. Mikhail was badly injured, and Nicholai wanted to see him die. It would only take a few minutes to find the trail of blood and track him down – a child could do it. Nicholai grinned. And when I find him, I can offer my assistance, play the concerned comrade – who did this to you, Mikhail? Here, let me help you…
He turned and hurried to the stairs, imagining the look on Mikhail's face when he realized who was re-sponsible for his plight, when he understood his own failure as a leader and as a man. Nicholai wondered what he'd done to deserve such happiness; so far, this had been the best night of his life.
When their conversation was over, the line went dead and Carlos walked to one of the booths and sat down, thinking hard about the things Trent had told him. If all he'd said was true – and Carlos believed that it probably was – then Umbrella had a lot to answer for. "Why are you telling me all this?" Carlos had asked near the end, his head spinning. "Why me?" "Because I've seen your records," Trent answered. "Carlos Oliveira, mercenary for hire – except you only ever fought the good fight, always on the side of the oppressed and abused. Twice you risked your life in as-sassinations, both successful – one a tyrannical drug lord and the other a child pornographer, if memory serves. And you never harmed a civilian, not once. Um-brella is involved in some extremely immoral practices, Mr. Oliveira, and you're exactly the kind of person who should be working to stop them."
According to Trent, Umbrella's T-virus or G-virus, there were apparently two strains – was created and used on homemade monsters to turn them into living, breathing weapons. When humans were exposed to it, they got the cannibal disease. And Trent said that the
U.B.C.S. administrators knew what they were sending their people into, and probably did it on purpose – all in the name of research.
"The eyes and ears of Umbrella are everywhere," Trent had said. "As I said before, be careful who you trust. Truly, no one is safe."
Carlos abruptly stood up from the table and walked toward the kitchen, lost in thought. Trent had refused to talk about his own reasons for undermining Umbrella, though Carlos had gotten the impression that Trent also worked for them in some capacity; it would explain why he was so secretive.
He's being careful, covering his ass, but how could he know so much? The things he told me…
A jumble of facts, some that seemed totally arbi-trary – there was a fake green jewel in a cold storage locker underneath the restaurant; Trent had said that it was one of a pair, but had refused to say where the other one was or why either of them was important. "Just make sure they end up together," Trent had said – as if Carlos was going to just happen to come across the other one. "When you find out where the blue one is, you'll get your explanation."
For as cryptically useless as that seemed to be, Trent had also told him that Umbrella kept two helicopters at the abandoned water treatment plant west and north of the city. Perhaps most useful of all, Trent had said that there was a vaccine being worked on at the city hospi-tal, and while it hadn't been synthesized yet, there was at least one sample there.
"Although there's a good chance the hospital may not be there for much longer," he'd said, leaving Carlos to wonder again how Trent came by his information.
What was supposed to happen to it? And how would Trent know that?
Trent seemed to think that Carlos's survival was im-portant; he seemed convinced that Carlos was going to be a significant part of the fight against Umbrella, but Carlos still wasn't sure why, or if he even wanted to join up. At the moment, all he wanted was to get out of the city… but for whatever reason Trent had decided to offer up information, Carlos was glad for the help.
Although a little more would've been nice – keys to an armored getaway car, maybe, or some kind of anti-monster spray.
Carlos stood in the kitchen, gazing down at the heavy-looking cover to what was, presumably, the basement ladder. Trent had told him that there were probably more weapons at a clock tower, not far from the hospital; that and the bit about the Umbrella heli-copters, due north from the tower and hospital, defi-nitely useful…
But why let me come here at all if I'm so goddamn important? He could've stopped me on the way to the field office.
A lot of it didn't make sense, and Carlos was willing to bet money that Trent hadn't told him everything. He had no choice but to trust him a little, but he was going to be very careful when it came to depending on Trent's information. Carlos crouched next to the basement entrance, grabbed the handle to the cover, and pulled. It was heavy, but he could just manage it, leaning back and using his leg muscles for leverage. Unless the cooks were body builders, there was probably a crowbar around somewhere. The front door to the restaurant opened and closed. Carlos gently, quietly put the cover aside and turned, still in a crouch, M16 aimed at the dining room en-trance. He didn't think the zombies were coordinated enough to open doors, but he had no idea what the monsters were capable of, or who else might be wan-dering the city streets. Slow, stealthy footsteps moved toward the kitchen. Carlos held his breath, thinking about Trent, wondering suddenly if he'd been set up…… and about the last thing he expected to see was a.357 revolver come around the corner, held by an at-tractive and extremely serious-looking young woman who moved in fast and low and aimed at Carlos before
he could blink.For a beat they stared at each other, neither moving,and Carlos could see in the woman's eyes that shewouldn't hesitate to shoot him if she thought it neces-sary. Since he felt pretty much the same way, he de-cided it might be best to introduce himself."My name is Carlos," he said evenly. "I'm no zom-bie. Take it easy, huh?"
The girl studied him another moment, then noddedslowly, lowering the revolver. Carlos took his finger offthe rifle's trigger and did the same as they bothstraightened up, moving carefully."Jill Valentine," she said, and seemed about to saysomething else when the back door to the restaurantcrashed open, the thundering sound matched by a gut-tural, barely human scream that raised the hairs on theback of Carlos's neck."Sstaarrsss!" whatever it was howled, the cry echo-ing through the restaurant, giant footsteps pounding to-ward them, relentless and certain.
TEN
THERE WAS NO TIME FOR QUESTIONS, NO time to wonder how it had found her so quickly. Jill motioned for the young guy to get behind her and backed into the dining room as he hurried past; she des-perately looked around for something she could use to distract it long enough for them to escape. They ducked behind the service bar, Carlos moving as though he had some experience; he at least had the good sense to keep quiet as the S.T.A.R.S. killer charged into the kitchen, still screaming. Fire! A guttering oil lamp sat on a cart next to the counter. Jill didn't hesitate; it would reach them in sec-onds if she didn't act immediately, and maybe a little burning oil would slow it down. She motioned for Carlos to stay put, scooped up the lamp and stood, leaning over the counter and cocking her arm back. The hulking Nemesis had just started across the expansive kitchen when she threw the lamp at it, grunting with the effort it took to make the dis-tance. The lamp flew, and then everything slowed to a near stop, so much happening at once that her mind fed it to her one event at a time. The lamp shattered at the mon-ster's feet, glass and oil splashing and puddling, a tiny lake of spreading fire; the creature raised its massive fists, screaming in anger; Carlos yelled something and grabbed her waist, pulling her down, the clumsy move-ment toppling them both to the floor
and there was a mighty clap of brilliance andsound that she'd suffered once already since waking up,a displacement of air that slapped at her eardrums, andCarlos was trying to shield her, holding her head down,saying something in rapid Spanish as time sped up tonormal and something started to burn.
God, again? The whole city's going to blow up atthis rate… The thought was vague, disoriented, hermind muddled until she remembered to breathe. A deepinhalation and Jill pushed Carlos's arm away and stood,needing to see.The kitchen was blasted, blackened, utensils andcookware everywhere. She saw several canisters lean-ing against the back wall, one of them the obvioussource of the explosion, its smoking metal sides peeledback like jagged petals. Rancid smoke curled up fromthe smoldering body on the floor, the Nemesis laid outlike a fallen giant, its black clothes singed and burnt. Itdidn't move."No offense, but are you batshit?" Carlos asked, star-ing at her as though the question was rhetorical. "Youcould've barbecued us both!"
Jill watched the Nemesis, ignoring him, the.357 aimed at its still legs; its head and upper body were blocked by a low shelf. The blast had been powerful, but after all she'd been through, she knew better than to assume anything.
Shoot, shoot it while it's down, you may not have an-other chance…
The Nemesis twitched, a slight jerk of the fingers on the hand she could see, and Jill's nerve fled. She wanted out, she wanted to be far away before it sat up, before it shook off the effects of the explosion, as it surely would. "We have to get out of here, now," she said, turning to Carlos. Young, good-looking, obviously unnerved by the blast, he hesitated, then nodded, holding his assault rifle tightly to his chest. It looked like an M16, military, and he was dressed for combat – a very good sign. Hope there's more where you came from, Jill thought, heading for the door at a brisk pace, Carlos right behind her. She had a lot of questions for him and realized that he probably had a few for her, too… but they could talk somewhere else. Anywhere else. As soon as they were outside, Jill couldn't stop her-self; she broke into a run, the young soldier pacing her, hurrying through the cool dark of the dead city as she wondered if there was anyplace left where they could be safe. The girl, Jill, ran a full block before slowing down.
She seemed to know where they were going, and it was obvious that she'd had some kind of combat training; cop, maybe, though she sure as hell wasn't in uniform. Carlos was desperately curious but saved his breath, concentrating instead on keeping up with her. From the restaurant they ran downhill, past the the-ater Trent had mentioned, taking a right at a decorative fountain at the end of the block; another half block and Jill signaled at a door on the left for a standard sweep. Carlos nodded, standing to one side of the door, rifle up. Jill pulled the handle and Carlos stepped in, ready to fire at anything that moved, Jill covering him. They were in some kind of a warehouse, at the end of a walkway that T-ed some fifteen meters ahead. It seemed to be clear. "It should be all right," Jill said quietly. "I came through this way a few minutes ago." "Better safe than sorry, though, right?" Carlos said, keeping the rifle up but feeling some of the tension leave his body. She was definitely a pro. They edged into the warehouse, carefully checking it out before saying another word. It was cold and not very well lit, but it didn't smell as bad as most of the rest of the city and by standing at the T junction in the middle of the warehouse, they'd be able to see anything coming well before it got to them. In all, it felt like the safest place he'd been since the helicopter.
"I'd like to ask you something, if you don't mind,"
Jill said, finally turning her full attention to him. Carlos opened his mouth and the words just spilled out. "You want to ask me out, right? It's the accent, chicks love the accent. You hear it and you just can't help yourselves."
Jill stared at him, eyes wide, and for a moment hethought he'd made a mistake, that she wouldn't realizehe was kidding. It was a stupid call, joking around inthese circumstances. Just as he was about to apologize,one corner of her mouth lifted slightly."I thought you said you weren't a zombie," she said."But if that's the best you can do, maybe we ought toreevaluate your situation."
Carlos grinned, delighted with her comeback – andsuddenly thought of Randy, of him playing around justbefore they'd landed in Raccoon. His smile faded, andhe saw the bright glitter of humor leave her face, too, asif she'd also remembered where they were and whathad happened.When she spoke again, her tone was much cooler. "Iwas going to ask if you were the same Carlos who sentout a message about an hour ago, hour and a halfmaybe."
"You heard that?" Carlos asked, surprised. "When no one answered, I didn't think…" Be careful who you trust. Trent's words flashed through his mind, reminding him that he had no idea who Jill Valentine was. He trailed off, shrugging indif-ferently.
"I only caught part of it, and I couldn't transmit from where I was," Jill said. "You said something about a platoon, didn't you? Are there other, ah, sol-diers here?" Stick to the basics, and nothing about Trent. "There were, but I think they're all dead now. This whole oper-ation's been a disaster from word go." "What happened?" she asked, studying him intently. "And who are you with, anyway, National Guard? Are they sending backup?"
Carlos watched her in turn, wondering how careful he needed to be. "No reinforcements, I don't think. I mean, I'm sure they'll send someone in eventually, but I'm just a grunt, I don't really know anything – we set down, the zombies attacked. Maybe some of the other guys got away, but so far's I know, you're looking at the last surviving member of the U.B.C.S. That's Um-brella Bio-Hazard Countermea…"
She cut him off, the expression on her face close to disgust. "You're with Umbrella?" Carlos nodded. "Yeah. They sent us in to rescue the civilians." He wanted to say more, to tell her what he suspected – anything to change the look on her face, like she'd just found out he was a rasist or something, but Trent's advice kept repeating, reminding him to be wary. Jill's lips curled. "How 'bout you can the shit? Um-brella's responsible for what happened here, as if you didn't know – where do you get off lying? What are you really doing here? Tell the truth, Carlos, if that's your name."
She was definitely pissed, and Carlos felt a mo-ment's uncertainty, wondering if she was an ally, some-one who knew the truth about Umbrella, but it could also be a trap.
Maybe she works for them and is trying to feel me out, find out where my loyalties are…
Carlos allowed a touch of anger to creep into his own voice. "I'm just a grunt, like I said. I'm – all of us are guns-for-hire. No politics, dig? They don't tell us shit. And at the moment, I'm not interested in what Umbrella is or isn't responsible for. If I see someone who needs help, I'm gonna do my job, but otherwise, I just want to get out."
He glared at her, determined to stay in character.
"And speaking of who-what-why, what are you doing here?" he snapped. "What were you doing in that restaurant? And what was that thing that you blew up?"
Jill held his gaze for another second, then dropped her own, sighing. "I'm trying to get out, too. That thing is one of Umbrella's monsters, it's hunting me, and I doubt very much that it's dead, even now – which means I'm not safe. I thought there might be… I was looking for a kind of key, I thought it might be at the restaurant." "What kind of key?" he asked, but somehow, he thought he already knew.
"It's this jewel, it's part of a locking mechanism to the City Hall gate. There are two jewels, actually, and I've got one already. If I can get the other one, get the gate open, there's a way out of town – a cable car that runs west, out to the suburbs."
Carlos kept his face neutral, but he was jumping be-neath his skin. What had Trent said?
Go west, for one thing… and when I find out wherethe blue gem is, I'll understand their relevance… butwhat does this mean about Jill Valentine? Do I trusther now, or not? What does she know?"No shit," he said, keeping his tone mild. "I sawsomething like that, in the basement at the restaurant. Agreen gem."Jill's eyes widened. "Really? If we can get it… Car-los, we have to go back!"If that's my name," he said, caught somewhere be-tween irritation and amusement. She seemed to leapfrom mood to mood, brisk then funny then angry thenexcited; it was kind of tiring, and he still wasn't surewhether or not he could turn his back on her. Sheseemed to be sincere…"I'm sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "Ishouldn't have said that, it's just – Umbrella and Iaren't on the best of terms. There was a biohazardousincident at one of their labs, here, about six weeks ago.People died. And now this."
Carlos melted a little at the warmth of her hand.Jesus, but he was a sucker for un primor, and she wassomething to look at."Carlos Oliveira," he said, "at your service."Down, boy. Head out of town, says Trent, but are yousure you want to travel with someone who might end upkilling you? You want to clear your head before youtake off with the cuero Miss Valentine.Immediately he started arguing with himself. Yeah,be careful, but are you going to leave her all alone?She said that monster was after her…
He joked about it sometimes, but he wasn't truly a sexist; she could take care of herself, as she'd already proven. And if she was one of Umbrella's spies… well, she deserved what she got, then, didn't she?
"I… I wouldn't feel right about leaving without at least trying to find some of the others," he said, and now that he knew there was a way out, he realized it was true. Even an hour ago, the thought would have been ridiculous; now, armed with Trent's information, everything had changed. He was still scared, sure, but actually knowing something about the situation made him feel less vulnerable somehow. In spite of the risks, he wanted to walk a few more blocks before he left town, make some attempt to help someone. He wanted time to think, to make up his mind.
That… and knowing that she survived means that I can, too. "I saw the gate you're talking about, the one over by the newspaper office, si? Why don't I meet you there… or better yet, at the cable car." Jill frowned, then nodded. "Okay. I'll go back to the restaurant while you look around, and I'll wait for you at the trolley. Once you go through the gate, just follow the path and keep to the left, you'll see signs for Lons-daleYard."
For a few seconds, neither spoke, and Carlos saw, in the careful way she looked at him, that Jill had her own misgivings about him. Her leeriness made him trust her a little more; if she was anti-Umbrella, it made sense that she wouldn't be too hot on hanging out with one of their employees.
Stop debating it and just go, for Christ's sake! "Don't leave without me," Carlos said, meaning for it to come out lightly. He sounded dead serious. "Don't make me wait too long," she returned and smiled, and he thought that maybe she was okay after all. Then she turned and jogged lightly away, back down the walk they'd entered by. Carlos watched her leave, wondering if he was crazy for not going with her – and after a moment, he turned and walked quickly toward the other exit before he could change his mind. For someone who was bleeding like a stuck pig, Mikhail was surprisingly swift. For at least twenty min-utes Nicholai had followed the trail of dark droplets through a blockade, over gravel and asphalt, grass and debris, and still he hadn't sighted the dying man.
Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering…
Nicholai had planned to give up if he wasn't able to find the platoon leader after a few minutes, but the longer he searched, the more determined he became.
He found himself getting angry, too – how dare Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a distance and was leading him back into town; another block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again. Nicholai opened another door, scanned another room, sighed. Mikhail had to know that he was being followed – or he just didn't have the good sense to lay down and die. Either way, it wouldn't, couldn't be long now. Nicholai walked through a small, orderly office, ap-parently attached to a parking garage, the erratic blood trail shining purple on the blue linoleum by the caged bare bulbs overhead. The splatters seemed to be thin-ning; either Mikhail was bleeding out – unlikely, it seemed – or he had found time to staunch his wound. Nicholai gritted his teeth, reassuring himself, He'll be weak, slowing down, perhaps looking for a place to rest. I saw the hit, he can't go on much longer.
He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it. He moved quickly and silently across the cement, edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-sition. He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once. They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they became infected, and he knew that research had been conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer estate…… and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay rate higher than the other organics.
Truly, the half-skinned animal at his feet looked and smelled like a piece of raw meat that had sat in the sun for too long. Accustomed as he was to death, Nicholai still felt his gorge rise at the stench, but he continued to study the creature, certain that the canine had been the target of recent gunplay. Sure enough. Two entry wounds below the torn flap of its left ear… but not from an M16, the holes were much too big. Nicholai backed away, frowning. Some-one besides Mikhail Victor had come through the garage in the last half hour, and probably not a
U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own weapon, probably a handgun… Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the door, perhaps – or perhaps a wounded man, slumped and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on. Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and grinned at the sound of Mikhail's voice, strained and weak, floating past the aging metal.
"No… get away!"
Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground. Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that having no lower body – certainly not a complete diges-tive system – didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.
Do I play the hero, save my leader from being gnawed to death? Or do I enjoy the show? "Nicholai, help me, please…," Mikhail rasped, rolling his head to look up at him, and Nicholai found he couldn't resist. The idea that Mikhail would be grateful to him for saving his life seemed extraordinar-ily… funny, for lack of a better term. "Hang on, Mikhail," Nicholai said forcefully. "I'll take care of it!"
He dashed forward and jumped, slamming his boot heel into the carrier's skull, grimacing as a large section of its matted scalp sloughed wetly away from the bone. He brought his heel down again, and a third time, and the once-human died in a thick, splintering crunch, its arms spasming, its fleshless fingertips dancing briefly on the asphalt. Nicholai turned, hurrying back to kneel next to Mikhail. "What happened?" he asked, voice heavy with con-cern as he gazed down at Mikhail's bloody stomach.
