Nemesis

Chapter 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 deat
h? 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.

  "Did one of them get you?"

  Mikhail shook his head, closing his eyes as if too ex-hausted to keep them open. "Somebody shot me. " "Who? Why?" Nicholai did his best to sound shocked. "I don't know who, or why. I thought someone was following me, too, but - maybe they just thought I was one of them. A zombie. " Actually, that's not so far from the truth. . . Nicholai had to stifle another grin; he deserved an award for his performance. "I saw. . . at least a few men got away," Mikhail whispered. "If we can get to the evac site, call in the transport. . . "

  The St. Michael Clock Tower was the alleged evacu-ation site, where the soldiers were supposed to take the civilian survivors. Nicholai knew the truth - that a re-connaissance team would put down first disguised as emergency medical, and no other helicopters would show unless Umbrella gave the word. Since the squad leaders were probably all dead, Nicholai had to wonder if any of the soldiers even knew about the "evacuation," though he supposed it wasn't important. It wouldn't af-fect his plans either way. He found that he wasn't enjoying this game as much as he'd thought he would. Mikhail was too pathetically trusting, it was as much of a challenge as hunting a friendly dog. It was almost shameful to watch, too, the way he surrendered to his pain. . . "I don't think you're in any shape to travel," Nicholai said coolly.

  "It's not that bad. Hurts like hell, and I've lost some blood, but if I can just catch my breath, rest for a few minutes. . . " "No, it looks very bad," Nicholai said. "Mortal. In fact, I think. . . "

  Creeaak. Nicholai shut up as the door to the garage opened next to them, a slow and even motion, and one of the

  U. B. C. S. soldiers stepped out, his eyes lighting up when he saw them, his assault rifle lowering, but only slightly.

  "Sirs! Corporal Carlos Oliveira, A squad, Platoon Delta. I'm. . . shit, it's good to see you guys. "

  Nicholai nodded briskly, annoyed beyond measure as Carlos crouched next to them, checking Mikhail's wound, asking stupid questions. He was ninety-nine percent sure he could kill both of them before they real-ized what was happening, but even one percent was too great a risk considering what was at stake. He would have to wait. . . but perhaps he could find a way to use these new circumstances to his advantage. And if not. . . well, people turned their backs on their friends all the time, didn't they? And neither of them had reason to believe Nicholai was anything but. What was the saying, about how an obstacle was only a disguised opportunity? Things were going to be fine.