JILL SLID TO A STOP AT THE CITY HALL GATE, both gems held tightly in one sweaty hand. The area was clear, at least as far as she could see, but the restaurant had been empty, the Nemesis gone, and that meant she needed to hurry; she didn't know how, but it was tracking her, and she wanted to get gone. Her blurred dash through the alleyways behind the restaurant had left her short of breath and not a little frightened. She'd nearly tripped over the body of some unlikely creature, one she'd been unable to see in the deepening blackness – but the dark silhouette of multi-ple claws hanging dead in the shadows had been more than enough to keep her moving. It didn't look like anything she'd seen before; that, and the threat of the Nemesis's inevitable pursuit had her hi a mild panic. She used it to lend speed to her efforts, careful to main-tain tight control. She knew from experience that keep-ing in touch with one's animal instincts was a vital part of surviving; a little fear was a good thing, it kept the adrenaline flowing. The ornamental clock was set into a raised dais next to the gate. She fumbled the blue jewel into place, the diamond-shaped glass setting off a faint electrical hum, a circular chain of lights that bordered the jewels flick-ering on. The green diamond went in just as easily, turning the light chain into a complete circle. There was a heavy grinding sound and the gate's two sets of doors slid open, revealing a shadowy path surrounded by overgrown hedges. It didn't look bad from where she stood. She eased into the silent walk, opening her senses. Cool, dark, a mild breeze promising rain the only thing that moved, rustling the trees, brushing leaves, chilling the sweat on her face and arms. She could hear the soft wailing of a distant virus-zombie drift through the air, and she saw the pale smudges of early moonlight on the path stones. Alert but sensing no immediate danger, she stepped further inside, her thoughts turning to Carlos Oliveira. He was telling the truth about being one of Umbrella's hired hands and probably about not knowing what the company was really up to, but he was also holding something back. He wasn't as good a liar as he thought, and his apparent willingness to lie didn't bode well. On the other hand, he didn't come across as devious in any way – a liar who meant well, perhaps, or at least who didn't mean any harm. He was probably just being careful – doing exactly what she was doing. Whatever the case, she didn't have time to do any major interpret-ing, so she was going with her first impression: he was one of the good guys. Whether or not that would be of any help to her was another story; for the moment, she was willing to settle for any ally who didn't have plans to kill her.
      But should I be hooking up with anyone? What hap-pens if he gets in the way of the Nemesis, and…
      As if on cue she heard it, a malevolent coincidence that seemed unreal, like some deadly joke. "Sstaarrss…" Speak of the devil, oh, shit, where is it? Jill was al-most at the center of the small park, where three trails intersected, and the sound came from somewhere ahead – or was it behind? The acoustics were strange, the tiny courtyard just in front of her making the low, hissing cry seem to come from everywhere. She spun, searching, but the path behind her and the two that stretched away from the open yard disappeared into shadow. Which way… She stepped lightly into the open space, giving herself greater access to escape and room to maneuver, if it came to that. A solid, heavy footstep. Another. Jill cocked her head and there, ahead and to the left, the path that led to the trolley. A thickening darkness, still just out of clear sight.
      Go back, newspaper office or back to the station, no, no way I can outrun it but there's the gas station, it has a metal lock-down shutter and there's a shitload of cars, the better to hide…
      Ahead and to the right. A simple plan was better than none, and she'd run out of time to consider her options any further. Jill took off, the light patter of her boots lost beneath a sudden clash of motion, the rising howl and dense tread of semisynthetic feet bearing down on the court-yard. She was deeply conscious of herself, of her mus-cles contracting, of the sounds of her heart and breath as she flew over the stones. In an instant, she was at the small gate that led further north, that would take her down a block packed with abandoned cars, past a gas station/repair shop, toward… She couldn't remember. If the street was clear, she could head through the industrial section of town, hope that she didn't run into any of the zombie packs. If blockades had been put up -
      – then I'm screwed, and it's too late anyway.
      She let her well-trained body do the rest of her think-ing, nimbly slipping through the gate and into a crouch-ing run, carrying her into the relative safety of a maze of gridlocked cars and trucks. She could feel it coming, and she allowed herself to flow into the shadows, to find in herself some primal understanding of her place in the hunt. She was the prey, she had to be as elusive as the Nemesis was determined; if she did it right, she would survive and the creature would go hungry. If
      not…No time, no more thinking. The Nemesis was com-ing. Jill moved.
      In the parking garage's office, Carlos found a halfcase of bottled water, some duct tape, and a men'sdress shirt still in its package – as close to sterile sup-plies as they were going to get. He immediately set todoing what he could for Mikhail while Nicholai keptwatch, staring out at the broken automobiles in thedark, rifle in hand. The courtyard was silent except forMikhail's harsh breathing and the lonely cry of a dis-tant crow.Carlos didn't know much beyond simple triage, buthe thought the wound wasn't too bad; the bullet hadgone clean through Mikhail's side, not far above hisleft hip bone; an inch or two closer in and hewould've been toast, a shot to the liver or kidneys hisdeath warrant. As it was, his lower intestine hadprobably been pierced; it would kill him eventually,but with prompt medical attention, he should be okayfor now.Carlos cleaned and dressed the wound, taping com-presses on, wrapping strips of the shirt aroundMikhail's torso to keep the pressure up. The platoonleader seemed to be managing the pain well enough,though he was nauseous and dizzy from loss of blood.Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed thatNicholai was moving. He finished layering tape overthe bandages and looked up, saw that the squad leaderhad taken a laptop computer out of his shoulder bagand was tapping at keys, his face a study in concentra-tion. He'd slung his rifle and was crouched next to asmashed pickup truck."Sir – ah, Nicholai, I'm done here," Carlos said,standing. Mikhail had insisted that they drop the for-malities of rank, pointing out that their situation de-manded flexibility. Carlos had agreed, though he hadn'tgotten the impression that Nicholai liked it much; heseemed to be a by-the-book type.Mikhail, pale and bleary-eyed, pushed himself up onhis elbows. "Any way you can use that thing to call forevac?" His voice was weak.Nicholai shook his head, sighing. He closed the lap-top and returned it to his bag. "I found it at the policestation and thought it might be of some use – lists ofblockades, perhaps, or more information about this.disaster."No luck?" Mikhail asked.Nicholai moved toward them, his expression re-signed. "No. I think our best option is to try and make
      it to the clock tower."
      Carlos frowned. Trent had told him there was sup-posed to be a supply of weapons at a clock tower, and that he should head north from there; between Jill's westbound cable car and this new information, he was starting to feel plagued by coincidences. "Why the clock tower?" Mikhail answered, speaking softly. "Evacuation. It's where we were supposed to take the civilians and signal the transports to come in. The clock tower bells are scheduled to toll by computer, a system that emits a beacon signal when the program is being used. We ring the bells, the 'copters come. Cute, huh?"
      Carlos wondered why no one had bothered to in-clude that little nugget of information in their briefing but decided not to ask. It didn't really matter at this point; they had to get to the trolley. He didn't know Nicholai well, but Mikhail Victor was no threat, not in his condition, and he needed to get to a hospital. Trent had said there was one not far from the clock tower.
      But Umbrella's eyes and ears…
      No. Their stories were the same as his; they'd fought and watched their teammates die, gotten lost, looked for a way out and ended up here. It just felt weird, sud-denly having two more people involved. Trent had him questioning everyone's motives now, wondering who might be involved in the alleged Umbrella conspiracy, worrying about what he could and couldn't say.
      Besides, Umbrella screwed them over, too. Why would they want to help the bastards who landed us in this shit? Trent may be telling the truth, but he's not here. They are, and I need them. We need them. Jill couldn't possibly object to having a few soldiers on her side.
      "There's a cable car we can use to get out there," Carlos said. "Right to the clock tower, I think. It's close, it runs west… and with all those things out there looking for fresh meat…" "We could use a ride out of town," Nicholai broke in, nodding. "Assuming the tracks are clear. Wonderful. Are you sure it's in operating condition?" Carlos hesitated, then shrugged. "I haven't actually seen it. I ran into a… cop, I guess, a woman, she told me about it. She was on her way there, to see, she said she'd wait for me. I wanted to see if I could find any-one before we left." He felt almost guilty telling them about her, and abruptly he realized that he was letting all of Trent's crazy spy crap get to him. Why keep Jill a secret? Who cared? Mikhail and Nicholai exchanged a look and then both nodded. Carlos was glad. At last, a real plan, a course of action. The only thing worse than being in deep shit was being in deep shit with no direction. "Let's go," Nicholai said. "Mikhail, are you ready?" Mikhail nodded, and together, Carlos and Nicholai lifted him, supporting his weight as evenly as they could. They edged into the parking garage and had al-most made it back to the office when Nicholai let out a mild curse and stopped. "What?" Mikhail closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "The explosives," Nicholai said. "I can't believe I forgot why I even came back this way. After I found Mikhail, I just…" "Explosives?" Carlos asked. "Yes. Just after the zombies attacked, and my squad" – Nicholai swallowed, obviously struggling to maintain his composure -"after the zombies at-tacked, I ended up near a construction site, back in the industrial area. A building was being torn down, I think, and I saw a few discarded boxes with high ex-plosive warnings. There was a locked trailer, I was going to break in but another wave of them came after me." He met Carlos's gaze squarely. "They'd think twice about attacking in groups if we had a few RDX dyna-mite mixes to throw at them. Do you think you can make it to the trolley without me? I can meet you there." "I don't think we should split up," Mikhail said. "We stand a better chance if…" "If we have a way to keep them from getting too close," Nicholai interjected. "We can't afford to run out of ammo, not without something else to back us up. And there are the others to consider, the creatures…"
      Carlos didn't think splitting up was such a good idea, either, but remembering that clawed thing from outside the restaurant
      – and what about that big feon inside the restau-rant? Jill said it would be coming after her again… "Yeah, okay," Carlos said. "We'll wait for you at the cable car." "Good. I won't be long." Without another word, Nicholai turned and quickly walked away, out of the garage and into the night. Carlos and the pale Mikhail struggled on in silence. They'd gone back through the office and out into the street before Carlos realized that Nicholai hadn't both-ered asking for directions to the trolley. Nicholai had to resist a powerful urge to check the computer again as soon as he was out of sight; he had wasted enough time playing the upstanding squad leader to the two idiot soldiers. It had already been nineteen minutes since Captain Davis Chan had filed a Watchdog status report from the Umbrella medical sales office – about two blocks from the parking garage – and if Nicholai was very lucky, he might catch Chan still in the act, checking updated memos or trying to get through to one of the administrators. Nicholai jogged down a narrow alley plastered with flyers, hopping over several corpses strewn throughout, careful to avoid their upper bodies in case they weren't dead. Sure enough, one of the blasted-looking things near the end of the alley tried to reach around and grab his left boot. Nicholai jumped it with no trouble, smil-ing a little at its frustrated moan. Almost as pathetic as Mikhail. Carlos Oliveira, though. Tougher than he looked, and definitely brighter – no match for him, of course, but Nicholai would want to get rid of him sooner rather than later…… or not. I could bypass that charade entirely. Nicholai pushed through a metal door to his right, into another alley littered with human remains, con-sidering his options as he hurried along. He didn't need to go to the clock tower for any reason, just the hospital – and he didn't have to take the trolley. Toy-ing with Mikhail and now Carlos was enjoyable, but not a necessity. He could even let them live, if he chose… He grinned, turning a corner in the winding alley-way. What fun would that be? No, he was looking for-ward to watching the trust in their eyes crumble, seeing them realize how stupid they'd been… Tic tic tic. Nicholai froze, understanding the sound instantly. Claws on rock, ahead of him, the almost gentle clatter coming from the shadows above and to the left. The only available light was behind him in the walkway's comer, one of those buzzing fluorescent security lamps that barely had the power to show itself; he backed to-ward it, the tics coming faster and closer, the creature still unseen. "Show yourself, then," he growled, frustrated with yet another instance of bad timing. He had to get to the sales office before Chan disappeared, he didn't have time to battle one of Umbrella's freaks, much as he wanted to. Tic tic tic. Two of them! He could hear claws scratching cement to his right, where he'd just been, even as an unholy shriek sounded from the dark in front of him, a sound like madness, like souls being ripped apart…
      … and there it was, screaming, leaping from the dark as the other joined in its monstrous song, moving black hell in stereo. Nicholai saw the raised hook claws of the one in front of him, the snapping, dripping mandibles, the gleaming insectile eyes, and knew the other was only a second behind its sibling, preparing to jump even as the first landed. Nicholai opened up, the rattle of automatic fire lost beneath the twin howls, the rounds finding their mark on the first, its scream changing as it shuddered to a stop barely three meters away – and, still firing, Nicholai crouched and fell backwards, rolling up on his right side in a single fluid motion. The second charging animal was less than two meters away when he hit it, bloody divots appearing in its shining black exoskele-ton like flowers in explosive bloom. Like the first, it twitched and spasmed to a halt before collapsing, its shrill cry becoming a gurgle, becoming silence. Nicholai got to his feet, unnerved, not sure of the species – either brain sucker or the more amphibious deimos, another multi-legged breed. He'd expected the viciousness and the attack method, but hadn't under-stood how fast they were.
      If I'd been even a second later…
      No time to consider it, he was in a hurry. He edged forward, quickly stepping over the dark, oozing sprawl of limbs, breaking into a run as soon as he was past. With each step away from the dead creatures he felt his composure returning, felt a flush of accomplish-ment warm him from the inside out. They were fast, but he was faster – and with such monsters loose in the city, he wouldn't have to worry about Mikhail or Carlos or anyone escaping what they were due. If he didn't get to enjoy the pleasure himself, he could revel in the knowledge that his comrades would certainly fall prey to any one of a dozen horrors, their inadequate reflexes failing them, their lack of skills ensuring their doom. Nicholai tightened his grip on the M16, a rush of ela-tion adding spring to each agile step. Raccoon was no place for the weak. He had nothing to fear.

      THE STEEL SHUTTER THAT PROTECTED THE front of the machine shop was down and locked, but Jill managed to get in through the garage, picking her way past a side door. The shop was sturdy enough, well protected from the average thief and certainly any zom-bie, but Jill had no doubt that if the Nemesis wanted to get in, it probably could. She'd just have to hope that it hadn't tracked her this far…
      … however it does that, exactly. Jill had no idea. Did it smell her? That didn't seem likely, considering her careful, breathless walk to the gas station; she'd dodged from shadow to shadow, hearing the Nemesis's thundering but clumsy progress as it searched for her amongst the crowd of abandoned cars. If it tracked her by scent, it would have caught her… though how did it know who she was, specifi-cally? If another woman her size stumbled across its path, would it mistake that woman for Jill? Jill walked through the well-lit garage, her boots making soft wet noises against the oil-sticky floor, her thoughts wandering as she took in the layout and checked doors. She didn't know how the Nemesis had been programmed to find and kill S.T.A.R.S. or why it seemed to break off its pursuit from time to time, ei-ther; with Brad dead, she was the only S.T.A.R.S. member still in Raccoon.
      Unless… Police Chief Irons had been a B team member, some twenty years back, and he was probably still in town…
      Jill shook her head. Ridiculous. Chris had dug up enough information on Irons to make it a near certainty that he was working for Umbrella, just as they sus-pected their mysterious Mr. Trent was – the difference being that Trent seemed to want to help them, while Irons was a money-grubbing creep who didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. If Irons was on the Nemesis's hit list, Jill was pretty much okay with that. From the garage, she stepped into a kind of combina-tion office-break room – a soda machine, a small table with a couple of chairs, a cluttered desk. Jill tried the telephone on general principles, receiving the dead air she expected. "Now I wait, I guess," she said to no one in particu-lar, leaning against the counter. If the Nemesis didn't show up after a few moments, she'd slip out again, head back to the trolley. She wondered if Carlos was there yet, and if he'd found any survivors from his pla-toon – what was it? Umbrella Biohazard something. Probably one of their semilegitimate branches; it would be good PR, once the news got out about Raccoon. Umbrella's admin would be able to point to their spe-cial task force, tell the media how quickly and deci-sively they'd acted when they'd realized there'd been an accident.
      Except they won't call it an accident, because that could mean negligence on their part; no doubt they've already got a scapegoat lined up and ready to hang, some unlucky yes-man they can frame for the murder of thousands…
      Not if she could help it, not if her friends could; one way or another, the truth was going to come out. It had to. Jill noticed a few tools lying around – a set of socket wrenches, a couple of crowbars and it occurred to her that it might be handy to pack a few things for the trol-ley. It'd suck to get there and end up needing a screw-driver or the like, something they'd have to come back for. She was a mechanical illiterate herself, but maybe Carlos had some experience… Thump! Thump! Thump! Jill dropped into a crouch behind the counter as soon as she heard the slow, heavy knocks at the garage's side door, insistent and steady. Nemesis? No, the rappings were loud but not power-ful, it was either a human or… "Uuhh." The gently hungry cry filtered through the door, joined by another, then a third, then a chorus. Virus carriers, and it sounded like a large group of them. Any relief she felt upon realizing that it wasn't the Nemesis quickly faded; a dozen zombies hammer-ing on the door was the equivalent of a flashing neon sign that read GOOD EATS.
      And how exactly am I going to sneak out of here now?
      Her simple plan, to hide until the Nemesis went away, had pretty much crapped out. She needed a new plan, preferably one she had more than a few seconds to map out.
      So come up with something already. Unless you mean to go charging out there and start kicking ass.
      Jill sighed, the low gnaw of dread in her stomach so constant that she no longer noticed it. Outside, the de-caying carriers continued to shuffle and cry, beating helplessly against the door. Might as well run through her options; she had a few minutes to kill.
      They made it to the trolley without any trouble. Carlos was feeling hopeful as they staggered into the station yard lit by an expanse of merrily burning debris to one side – no zombies, no monsters, and Mikhail didn't seem to be getting any worse. The City Hall gate had been open, a dozen jewels set into a kind of clock on a nearby pedestal, which meant Jill had already gone through. Carlos had expected her to make it, but it was still a relief. "There it is," Mikhail said, and Carlos nodded, squinting as a gust of foul-smelling smoke washed over them. To their right was a grand old building, either the trolley station or the alleged City Hall. In front of them, past a stack of crates that blocked their path, was an old-fashioned trolley car, its red paint slightly faded. As they got closer, Carlos could see that a second car was attached, most of it hidden in the shadow of a building overhang. Jill was probably waiting in one of them. Carlos shoved a few of the crates aside with one hip, Mikhail steadying himself against the station wall. "Almost there," Carlos said. Mikhail smiled weakly. "Bet you'll be glad to dump my ass into a seat." "Be gladder to sit my own ass down. One-way ticket outta here." Mikhail actually managed a laugh. "I heard that." They moved beneath the overhang, Carlos searching the windows of both cars for movement. He didn't see anything; worse, he didn't feel anything. The place seemed totally deserted, still and lifeless.
      Hope you 're taking a nap in there, Jill Valentine.
      The sliding side door of the first car they reached was locked; to their mutual relief, the second wasn't. After giving the car a once-over to be certain it was empty, Carlos helped Mikhail aboard, getting him set-tled into a window bench seat. As soon as the platoon leader was lying down, he seemed to fall into a half swoon.
      "I'm going to check out the second car, then see what I can do to get a few lights on in here," Carlos said. Mikhail grunted in response. Not surprisingly, Jill wasn't in the other car, either, but Carlos did find the electrical controls next to the driver's seat. At the touch of a button, a row of over-head lights switched on, illuminating an aging wood floor and red vinyl padded seats lining both walls. "Where are you, Jill?" Carlos muttered, feeling real worry for her. If something had happened, he was going to feel at least partly responsible for not accom-panying her back to the restaurant. Mikhail was barely conscious when Carlos checked on him, but it was more like sleep than coma. Until a doctor looked at the wound, rest was probably the best thing for him. There was an open control panel at the back of the car, which Carlos knelt to examine. His heart dropped when he saw that it was part of the primary power setup and that a few parts had been removed. He didn't know anything about cable cars, but it didn't take a genius to understand that you couldn't run a machine when the wires had been pulled, particularly on such an ancient system. It looked like there was a missing fuse, too. "Hijo de la chingada," he whispered and heard a feeble laugh behind him.
      "I know just enough Spanish to know you shouldn'tkiss your mother with that mouth," Mikhail said."What's wrong?"There's a fuse missing," Carlos said. "And these cir-cuits have got to be shorted out. We'll have to bypassthem if we want to get this thing moving."Just northeast of here…," Mikhail started, but hehad to pause for a few breaths before going on.
      "There's a gas station. Repair shop. It was one of thelandmarks on the city map, it's suburbs past that.Probably have equipment there."
      Carlos thought about it. He didn't want to leave Mikhail alone, and Jill or Nicholai could show up any minute…… but we ain 't going no place without a power cable and a high amp fuse, and Mikhail's on a downhill slide; what choice have I got? "Yeah, okay," Carlos said lightly, walking over to Mikhail. He gazed down at him, concerned about the high color of his cheeks, the waxy pallor of his brow.
      "Guess I'll go check that out – wanna come with?"Ha ha," Mikhail whispered. "Be careful."Carlos nodded. "Try to get some sleep. If anyoneshows up, tell them I'll be right back."
      Mikhail was already slipping back into a doze."Sure," he mumbled.Carlos checked Mikhail's rifle to make sure it wasloaded, and he placed it next to the padded bench,within easy reach. He hunted around for something elseto say, some words of reassurance, and finally justturned and walked to the exit. Mikhail wasn't stupid, heknew what the stakes were.
      His life, among other things.
      Carlos took a deep breath and opened the door, pray-ing that the gas station wasn't too far away.
      Chan was gone, and not only was there no way to tell where he was headed but Nicholai had missed him by bare minutes. The computer he'd apparently made his report from was still warm, the glass of the monitor crackling with static electricity. Nicholai impulsively scooped up the monitor and threw it across the room, but wasn't satisfied with its mundane explosion of cheap plastic casing and glass. He wanted blood. If Chan came back to the office, Nicholai would beat him severely before ending his life. He paced the small, heavily littered office, fuming.
      He teases me with his ignorance. He is so stupid, so oblivious, how can he be so inferior and still be alive?
      Nicholai knew that the thought wasn't strictly rational, but he was furious with Chan. Davis Chan didn't de-serve to be a Watchdog, he didn't deserve to live. Gradually, Nicholai took hold of himself, breathing deeply, forcing himself to count to a hundred by twos. It was still early in the game. Besides, Nicholai's plan de-pended on having information that Umbrella wanted and if he meant to steal that information, he had to allow some time for the other Watchdogs to collect it. The daily field reports were a bare summary of condi-tions and body count, used as much as a check-in as anything else; the real stuff was being stored on disk, transcribed from found documents or picked out of someone else's files, only downloaded by cell if the Watchdog considered it of critical importance.