Resident Evil – Caliban Cove

" "Well, no shit," Chris said, scowling angrily. "We can't just sit around and do nothing, there's no telling what could happen if the T-Virus gets out again!" "And what can you tell me about the classification of the virus?" David asked quietly. Chris opened his mouth to answer-and then closed it, staring at David thoughtfully. He was about to say, "You should ask Rebecca." And he knows it. David stood up and looked at all of them in turn as he spoke, his voice intense and determined. "I agree, Umbrella has to be stopped-but let's not kid our-selves. We're talking about breaking from the
      S.T.A.R.S. and going up against a multi-billion dollar establishment on our own. Nowhere is going to be safe, and our only chance for success is if we each do what we can, what we're good at, to take Umbrella down."
      He fixed his cool gaze on Chris, as if he realized that Chris was the one who had to be convinced. "You and Jill and Barry already know what to look for here, and you've been with the S.T.A.R.S. longer than Rebecca. You should stay here, out of sight, see if you can ferret out the connection between the local police and Umbrella-and reach out to the S.T.A.R.S. members that you think would help us." David turned to Rebecca again. "And if you agree, I think we should leave for Maine tonight. With the information I have, it looks as though things have already gotten out of hand. My team is standing by; we could go in tomorrow at dusk."
      The room was silent for a moment, the only sound that of the ceiling fan whirring overhead. Chris still felt angry, but couldn't find a hole in the man's logic; he was right about their options, and whether Chris liked it or not, the choice to go to Maine was Rebecca's to make. "What information do you have?" Jill asked thoughtfully. "How did you find out about the lab?" David reached down to a battered briefcase propped next to his chair and dug through it, pulling out a file folder. "An interesting story in itself, if a strange one. I was hoping that one of you might be able to decipher some of this…"
      He laid out three sheets of paper on the coffee table as he spoke, what looked like photocopies of newspa-per clippings, and a simple diagram. "Shortly after I talked to the home office, I received a visit from a stranger, a man who claimed to be a friend of the S.T.A.R.S… he told me his name was Trent, and gave me these." "Trent!" Jill broke in excitedly. She turned to Chris, her eyes wide, and Chris felt his heart skip a beat. He'd almost forgotten about their mysterious benefactor. The guy who told Jill to watch out for traitors, who told Brad where to pick us up… David stared at Jill, his expression puzzled. "You know him?" "Just before we went in to rescue the Bravos, a man named Trent gave me some information about the Spencer estate, and warned me about Wesker," Jill said. "He was quite a piece of work, real shady-he didn't give anything away, you know? But he knew what was going on with Umbrella, and what he did tell me all panned out." Barry nodded. "And Brad Vickers said that Trent called in the estate's coordinates right after Wesker activated the triggering system. If he hadn't radioed, we woulda blown up with the rest of the mansion."
      Chris suddenly realized that he had a serious head– ache brewing as they all gathered around Barry's coffee table, staring down at the papers. The
      S.T.A.R.S. were working for Umbrella, there was another T-Virus facility operating in Maine-and now Trent again, popping up like some cryptic fairy godmother, his motives impossible to guess at. It was like some kind of a game, the stakes all or nothing as they struggled to get to the bottom of Umbrella's conspiracy.
      And we have no choice but to play-but whose game are we playing? And what do we risk losing if we fail?
      Chris shot an unhappy glance at Rebecca, thinking again of his kid sister and wishing, not for the first time, that they'd never heard of Umbrella. David watched them study the information that Trent had given him, somehow not surprised that the enigmatic stranger had contacted the S.T.A.R.S. be– fore. The man had been a professional, though at what, precisely, David couldn't imagine.
      Why would he want to help us fight Umbrella? What's in it for him?
      David thought back to the brief encounter he'd had only five days ago, searching his memory for some additional clues, something he'd missed. He'd arrived home late from work, and it had been raining…… pouring, a thundering summer storm that beat at the windows and masked the sound of his gentle knocking… The Exeter S.T.A.R.S. had enjoyed an easy sum-mer, more paperwork than action. The Bravos had taken off for a criminal profiling seminar in New Hampshire, and David had been entertaining thoughts of packing a bag and attending the final days-until he'd received Barry's call, followed by his first hint from the home office that something was wrong. He'd spent the next day calling a few of his branch contacts with discreet questions and digging through files on Umbrella, not making it home until almost midnight. The driving rain had ushered him into his cold, dark house, the atmosphere matching his mood perfectly. He'd poured a scotch and collapsed on the couch, his head spinning from the implications of what he'd learned-that either his old friend Barry was lying or that the AD for the S.T.A.R.S. was. The rapping at his door was so soft that he missed it at first, the steady rain hammering on the roof cover– ing the sound. Then it grew louder. Frowning, David looked at his watch and walked slowly to the door, wondering who the hell came calling in the middle of the night. He lived alone and had no family; it had to be work, or maybe someone with car trouble… He cracked the door open-and saw a man in a black trench coat standing on his porch, streams of water running down his lined face. The stranger smiled, an open, friendly expression, his eyes glittering bright with humor. "David Trapp?" David took in the man at a glance. Tall and thin, maybe a few years past David's age, say forty-two or forty-three. His dark hair was plastered to his skull by the rain, and he held a large manila envelope in one gloved hand.
      "Yes?" The man grinned wider. "My name is Trent, and this is for you."
      He held out the damp envelope and David glanced at it warily, not sure if he should take it. Mr. Trent didn't seem dangerous, or at least not threatening, but he was still a stranger, and David preferred to know the people he accepted gifts from."Do I know you?" David asked. Trent shook his head, his smile unwavering. "No. But I know you, Mr. Trapp. And I also know what you're about to go up against. Believe me, you're going to need all the help you can get." "I don't know what you're talking about. Perhaps you have me confused with someone else."
      Trent's smile faded as he extended the envelope, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Mr. Trapp, it's raining. And this is for you."
      Confused and not a little irritated, David opened the door wider to accept the envelope. As soon as he grasped it, Trent turned and started to walk away. "Hold on a moment." Trent ignored him, disappearing into the rain– drenched shadows around the side of the house. David stood in the doorway uncertainly, holding the damp paper and staring into the pouring darkness for another minute before going back inside. Once he'd studied the contents, he wished he'd gone after Trent, but by then, of course, it was too late. Too late and only too obvious what he'd meant. He knew about Umbrella and the S.T.A.R.S., but who does he work for? And why did he choose to contact me?
      Jill and Rebecca were studying the map while Barryand Chris worked through the copied newspaper articles. There were four of them, all recent, all centered around the tiny coastal town of Caliban Cove, Maine. Three of them concerned the disappear– ances of local fishermen, all presumed dead. The fourth was a rather humorous piece about the "ghosts" that haunted the cove; it seemed that several townspeople had heard strange sounds floating across the waters late at night, described as "the cries of the damned." The writer of the article had laughinglysuggested that the witnesses to the phenomena should probably stop drinking their mouthwash before bed. Funny. Unless you know what we know about Umbrella.
      The map was of the stretch of coast just south of the small town, an aerial sketch of the cove itself. David had uncovered a few facts about the area on a visit to Exeter's library, uncomfortable using the S.T.A.R.S. computer after Barry's call. The rather isolated stretch had been privately owned for several years, bought up by an anonymous group. There was a defunct lighthouse on the northern rim of the inlet, sitting atop a cliff that was supposedly riddled with sea caves. Trent's map showed several structures behind and below the lighthouse, leading down to a small pier on the southern tip of the open crescent. There was a notched border that ran the length of the cove on the inland side, presumably a fence. CALIBAN COVE was written across the top in bold letters. In smaller type just beneath were the words UMB. RESEARCH AND TESTING. The third piece of paper that Trent had given him was the one that David didn't understand; there was a short list of names at the top, seven in all: LYLE AMMON, ALAN KINNESON, TOM ATHENS, LOUIS THURMAN, NICOLAS GRIFFITH, WILLIAM BIRKIN, TIFFANY CHIN. Just under it was a somewhat poetic list of sorts, set into the center of the page in curling font. Jill had picked it up again and was reading it carefully. She looked up at David, a half-smile on her face.
      "No question that we've got the same Trent here. The guy's into riddles." "Any idea what it means?" David asked. Jill sighed heavily. "Well, one of the names here was in the material that Trent gave me-William Birkin. We figured out that at least some of the others were researchers at the Spencer facility, so I'm willing to bet these people also work for Umbrella. Birkin may not have been at the estate when it was de-stroyed. I don't recognize any of the others." David nodded. "I checked all of them with the
      S.T.A.R.S. database and came up blank. The rest, though… Is it a riddle of some sort?"
      Jill glanced back at the paper, frowning as she read it to herself again: Ammon's message received/blue series/enter answer for key/letters and numbers reverse/time rainbow/don't count/ blue to access. Rebecca took the paper from her as Jill looked back at David thoughtfully. "A lot of what Trent gave me seemed like pretty random stuff, but some of it related to the Spencer mansion's secrets; the whole place was
      rigged with puzzle locks and traps. Maybe this is the same deal. It relates to something you'll find." "Oh, shit."
      They all turned to Rebecca who was staring at the top of the page, her face drained of color. She looked at David with an expression of anxious despair.
      "Nicolas Griffith is on this list." David nodded. "You know who he is?"She looked around at all of them, her young face openly distressed. "Yeah, except I thought he was dead. He was one of the greats, one of the most brilliant men ever to work in the biosciences."
      She turned back to David, her gaze heavy with dread. "If he's with Umbrella, we've got a lot more to worry about than the T-Virus getting out. He's a genius in the field of molecular virology and if the stories are true, he's also totally insane."
      Rebecca looked back at the list, her stomach a leaden knot.
      Dr. Griffith, still alive… and involved with Umbrel-la. Could today possibly get any worse? "What can you tell us about him?" David asked. Rebecca's mouth felt dry. She reached for her glass of water and drained it before looking at David.
      "How much do you know about the study of viruses?" she asked. He smiled a little. "Nothing. That's why I'm here."Rebecca nodded, trying to think of where to start.
      "Okay. Viruses are classified by their replication strategy and by the type of nucleic acid in the virion-that's the specialized element in a virus that allows it to transfer its genome to another living cell. A genome is a single, simple set of chromosomes. According to the Baltimore Classification, there are seven distinct types of viruses, and each group infects certain organisms in a certain way. In the early sixties, a young scientist at a private university in California challenged the theory, insist-ing that there was an eighth group-one based loosely on dsDNA and ssDNA viruses-that could infect everything it contacted. It was Dr. Griffith. He pub-lished several papers, and while it turned out that he was wrong, his reasoning was brilliant. I know, I read them. The scientific community scoffed at his theory, but his research on virus-specified inclusion bodies in the cytoplasm without a linear genome…"
      Rebecca trailed off, noticing the blank expressions on their faces. "Sorry. Anyway, Griffith stopped try-ing to prove the theory, but a lot of people were interested to see what he'd come up with next." Jill interrupted, frowning. "Where did you learn all this?" "In school. One of my professors was kind of a science-history buff. His specialty was defunct theo– ries… and scandals." "So what happened?" David asked. "The next time anyone heard from Griffith, it was because he'd gotten kicked out of the university. Dr. Vachss-that was my prof-told us that Griffith was officially fired for using drugs, methamphetamines, but the rumor was that he'd been experimenting with drug-induced behavior modification on a couple of his students. Neither of them would talk, but one of them ended up in an asylum and the other eventually committed suicide. Nothing was ever proved, but after that, no one would hire him and as far as the facts go, that's the last anyone heard of Nicolas Griffith." "But there's more to the story?" David asked. Rebecca nodded slowly. "In the mid-eighties, a private lab in Washington was broken into by cops and the bodies of three men were found, all dead of a filovirus infection-it was Marburg, one of the most lethal viruses there is. They'd been dead for weeks; neighbors had complained because of the smell. The papers the police found in the lab suggested that all three men were research assistants to a Dr. Nicolas Dunne, and that they had allowed themselves to be deliberately infected with what they understood to be a harmless cold virus. Dr. Dunne was going to see if he could cure it."
      She stood up, crossing her arms tightly. The agonythose men must have endured; she'd seen pictures of Marburg victims. From the initial headache to extreme amplification in a matter of days. Fever, clotting, shock, brain damage, massive hemorrhaging from every orifice, they would've died in pools of their own blood. "And your professor thought it was Griffith?" Jill asked softly. Rebecca forced the images away and turned to Jill, finishing the story the way Dr. Vachss had. "Griffith's mother-her maiden name was Dunne."
      Barry let out a low whistle, as Jill and Chris exchanged a worried look. David was studying her intently, his gaze cool and unreadable. All the same, she thought she knew what was going through his mind. He's wondering if this changes things. If I'll go with him to see this Caliban Cove facility, now that I know it's being run by people like Griffith. Rebecca looked away from David's intense scrutiny
      and saw that the rest of her team was watching her, their faces tight with concern. Since that terrible night at the Spencer estate, they'd become like a family to her. She didn't want to leave, to risk never seeing them again…
      … but David's right. Without the support of the
      S. T.A.R.S., nowhere will be safe for any of us. And this would be my chance to contribute, to do what I'm good at…
      She wanted to believe that it was the only reason, that she'd be going to fight the good fight, but she couldn't help the tiny shiver of excitement that ran through her at the thought of getting her hands on the T-Virus. It would be a golden opportunity to study the mutagen before anyone else, to categorize the effects and pick apart the virion right down to its smallest capsid. Rebecca took a deep breath and blew it out, her decision made. "I'll do it," she said. "When do we go?"

THREE

      
      Jill felt her heart quicken at rebecca's words, a feeling that things were happening too fast and that they weren't prepared. Her decision seemed sudden, even though Jill really hadn't doubted that she'd volunteer; Rebecca was a lot stronger than she looked. She glanced around Barry's wide, open living room, discreetly noting the reactions of her teammates. Chris's face was strained, his mouth drawn as he stared absently at the map of Caliban Cove, while Barry walked across to one of the living room win– dows, staring out past the curtain and scowling at nothing in particular.
      They're worried about her, and maybe they should be; Griffith sounds like a serious psycho… but would any of us have hesitated if we'd been asked to go? It just proved that Rebecca was as committed as they were, also no great surprise. Getting to know the young Bravo had been one of the only bright spots in the frustrating days since the mansion had burned. The girl had been unfailingly optimistic about their chances against Umbrella even after their suspension, and had worked tirelessly to keep all of their spirits up. She was brilliant, too and yet she never flaunted it, or came across as condescending when she was attempting to discuss aspects of the T-Virus with them.
      Rebecca looked a bit distraught herself, glancing around at the three men in the room. Even David Trapp seemed vaguely uncomfortable with her deci– sion, probably because of Rebecca's youth. Men. She's young, she's cute, and she's undoubtedly smarter than all of us put together, but the young and cute part tends to make them overlook the rest. Jill caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. At Rebecca's age, Jill had been a professional thief, and a good one. She was worried about Rebecca, too, but only because she'd grown to care about her. The fact that she was a young woman wasn't a reason to underestimate her talents. Rebecca smiled back, and walked over to sit by her as David nodded hesitantly at his newest teammate.
      "All right, then. Good. There's a plane leaving for Bangor at twenty-three hundred hours, with a con-necting flight to a field just outside of Exeter. I thought we could all go over a bit of strategy here, and then drop by your place on the way to the airfield so you can pack a few things."
      Rebecca nodded, and after cracking a window open, Barry moved back to join them, leaning against one arm of the couch. He folded his arms across his massive chest and jerked his chin toward David. "You're the strategist," he said, not unkindly. "Why don't you start us off?"
      The respect between the two men was obvious, making Jill like David all the more. In spite of Barry's screw ups in the Spencer fiasco, Jill had grown to trust him, something she didn't do easily and he seemed confident in David Trapp's skills. "I don't mean to take over," David said, "but I have a few thoughts on how we might approach this situation. I've known about the S.T.A.R.S.'s betrayal for several days now… though I thought we all might spend a few moments considering our course of action. I realize that this must come as quite a shock."
      Jill picked up on the same thread of bitterness she'd noticed earlier, on the word "betrayal." The fact that the S.T.A.R.S. were in bed with Umbrella obviously wasn't sitting too well with Mr. Trapp…. probably not with Chris or Barry, either. Both of them have more time invested with the S. T.A.R.S. than me or Becca… Jill was disappointed and angry that the S.T.A.R.S. had sold out, but it wasn't going to be a factor in her decision to work at bringing Umbrella down. Her path had been determined on the day that the McGee sisters had been brutally murdered. The two little girls were the first innocent victims of the T-Virus spill at the Spencer estate and they had been her friends.
      She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the matter at hand. Without the S.T.A.R.S., their job was going to be a lot tougher. Not impossible, but she had to admit to herself that their chance of success had just dropped to somewhere near zero. It was a good thing she didn't mind being the underdog.
      It doesn't matter anyway. Umbrella's going to pay for what they've done, one way or another…
      Barry's gruff voice broke the quiet in the room, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe we should go to the press. Not local, but someone big, national." David sighed, shaking his head. "I thought of that. It's a good idea, but right now we don't have the proof to make anything stick." "Yeah, but at least Umbrella wouldn't move on us with everyone watching." "We couldn't count on that," Jill said. "If they got to the S.T.A.R.S., they could get to anyone. And without evidence… well, you gotta admit, the story's the kind of thing even the tabloids wouldn't buy."
      There was a moment of sullen silence, as if her words reminded them all of how insane it sounded, how insane it would sound to anyone who hadn't experienced what they'd been through. A virus that accidentally turns people into zombies, being used to create unspeakable monsters as living weapons… invented and then covered up by a major corporation that hires mad scientists to experiment on human beings. All it needs is a Nazi war criminal with an atomic weapon, we'd have a best-seller on our hands…
      "Well, what we were talking about before orga-nizing some of the other S.T.A.R.S.," Chris said. "I've got a few people in mind, some of the guys I trained with. And I know Barry's got a lot of con– tacts." David nodded agreement. "Yes, I think that should be a priority. My concern is how to get in touch with them. The branch offices may already be tapped, and we want to keep Umbrella from learning about our plans for as long as possible. Unfortunately, we won't have use of the S.T.A.R.S.'s resources for much longer." "Maybe we should look for a go-between," Jill said slowly. "Someone who doesn't have ties to the S.T.A.R.S" Chris grinned suddenly. "I know a guy from back in the Air Force who works for Jack Hamilton now, one of the section heads for the FBI-I don't know much about Hamilton, but Pete's about as honest as they come. And he owes me a favor." "Brilliant," David said. "Perhaps you could ask him to help you look into the local police as well. Once we have solid evidence from the Maine facility, we can go to your friend, instigate a federal investiga– tion."
      It sounded good, but Jill found herself feeling frustrated by the talk. She wanted to act. Waiting for the S.T.A.R.S. to contact them had been bad enough; knowing that Rebecca was going to be risking her life while they waited idly by would be excruciating.
      "You said you had some thoughts about what else we could do," she said. David nodded. "Yes, though once we involve the government, it may not come to anything quite so daring. I had been formulating a plan to infiltrate Umbrella headquarters, a risky proposition at best. It seems wisest to work on a smaller scale for now, but I do believe the three of you should drop out of sight, as soon as possible. I also think it would be prudent for you to see what you can uncover on Mr. Trent, though I have the distinct feeling that you won't come up with much, if anything."
      He smiled a little, and having met Trent, Jill understood his doubts perfectly. Their strange bene– factor had struck her as a very careful man.
      "I get the impression that we'll only find what he wants us to find," David continued, "but it is worth a look. And we'll need to arrange for a rendezvous site after we've…"
      His soft, musical voice broke off suddenly as he tilted his head to one side, listening intently. Jill heard it in the same instant and felt her heart freeze in her chest. A rustling in the bushes outside the window that Barry had opened.
      Umbrella!!! "Get down!" Jill shouted, and rolled off the couch, pulling Rebecca with her as the window shattered, the curtains blown aside in an explosive burst from an automatic rifle. David dove for the floor as bullets riddled the chair he'd been in, already grabbing for his weapon. Tufts of padding floated past his wide eyes as a smoking trail of holes tore across the wall, plaster and wood flying.
      Bloody hell…
      There was a split-second break in the onslaught, just long enough for them to hear the crash of glass breaking from the back of the house. "Barry, lights!" he shouted, but Barry was way ahead of him, the thunder of his Colt revolver drown– ing out the intermittent spray of the machine gun. Boom! Boom! The room went dark as Barry's rounds found their mark, glass raining down from above. Light still streamed into the darkness from the hall, and there was another hail of bullets from outside. Chris scrabbled on elbows and knees for the hall-way and in one smooth movement rolled onto his side and took out the additional lights. The living room was now completely black, and the bursts of automat– ic fire stopped. Over the ringing in his ears, David heard boots crunching on glass from back in the kitchen. The heavy steps paused, the intruder probably waiting for the window shooter to catch up and there will be more than two, covering the exits. Kitchen door, front porch, someone watching the windows… Another set of steps entered the kitchen, these hurried and shuffling, but they also stopped. The pair was waiting, either for more of their team or for the assembled S.T.A.R.S. to make a move. David's thoughts raced independently of him, reflexively con– sidering and rejecting theories and options at light-ning speed.
      We get upstairs, pick them off one at a time– -unless they mean to torch the house– -so we run straight through them, out the back– -except they've got the firepower advantage, maybe spook eyes and we'd be moving targets, no contest…
      All he knew for certain was that they couldn't stay where they were. There was no cover for when the thugs got tired of waiting. There was shuffling movement from the right as Barry's hulking shadow crouched toward him. Da– vid's eyes had adjusted enough to see Jill and Rebecca on the other side of the coffee table, both of them crouched and holding handguns. He couldn't make Chris out, but he was probably still by the hall. Barry's house was the last on the block, a wooded park just past. If they could slip out, get into the trees… The thought stuck; even a bad plan was better than none at all, and they didn't have time to work out alternatives. "Basement door?" David whispered. Barry's gruff voice was soft and strained. "Yeah." No good, it would be posted. They'd have to get out through the second floor. "We go through the park," he whispered quickly. "Jill, get to Chris and prepare to lay cover on my signal. Barry, Rebecca, as soon as we start, hit the
      stairs fast to an east window, softest jump. We'll follow. Ready? Go."
      Jill was already moving around the couch, disap– pearing silently into the thick shadows, Barry and Rebecca right behind. David paused just long enough to scoop up the papers that Trent had given him. He stuffed them inside his shirt, the crinkling pages cool against his sweaty skin. Nothing else in his briefcase would be damaging. He crept toward the yawning blackness of the opening to the hall, edging to where Jill and Chris were crouched. The entry faced the side of the stairs. To the left was the front door and the foot of the steps. To the right, the quiet kitchen at the end of the long hall where the two Umbrella operatives waited.
      They go right, I'll take left, when the shooting begins the rest of the strike force should rush the front door…
      David hoped. If the timing wasn't perfect, they were dead. Away from the faint light from the win– dows, it was too dark for hand signals. He leaned close between Jill and Chris, pitching his voice as low as possible. "Both right, Jill low and outside," he whispered. They wouldn't be aiming for the floor, and Chris could use the wall of the entry as a shield. "I've got the front door. Keep it up for six seconds exactly, no more. On zero, you need to be on the stairs, out of the corridor. On my mark… now!"
      The three of them sprang into position, Chris and Jill firing toward the kitchen, David whirling to the left. He ran for the front door in a low crouch, the count ticking.
      … five… four…
      Behind him, Barry and Rebecca lunged for the stairs through the crash of bullets. David trained the Beretta on the darkness in front of him and was only a foot away from the door when someone kicked it open. Bam! His shoulder connected with the heavy wood and he threw himself into it, slamming it closed. He dropped to the floor and jammed his heel against the base.
      …two…
      He fired into the door at an upward angle, five shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. There was a strangled scream, the sound of something heavy hit– ting the porch, and he fired three more before rolling to his feet, into the alcove at the foot of the stairs and out of the line of fire. Their time was up.
      David spun, saw Jill and Chris already on their way Up and as his feet hit the first riser, there was a sound like an explosion behind him. The front door was suddenly a mass of flying splinters, heavy rounds tearing through the wood as the Umbrella team sought to end the battle. If the two Alphas hadn't killed the men in the kitchen, they were surely dead by now. Halfway up the staircase, David turned and fired twice more through the rapidly disintegrating door, hoping he'd bought the S.T.A.R.S. enough time to escape.
      Ten, maybe twenty seconds before they realize we're gone.
      It was going to be close.
      Rebecca stood on the dark landing, her heart
      pounding almost as loudly as the booming shots that
      chased Jill and Chris up the stairs.
 
      Come on, come on…
      Barry was to her right at the end of the landing's hall, barely visible by the moonlight that streamed through the open window. Jill was the first to reach the top. Rebecca steered her toward Barry with a touch, Chris following close behind. Bam! Bam! The muzzle on David's nine-millimeter flashed brightly in the darkness on the stairs, and then he was in front of her, materializing out of the gloom like a sweaty ghost.