Chapter Thirteen
The e block was no different than the first four they'd encountered, as bland and industrial and stale as the rest of them, a study in concrete efficiency. They moved quickly through the stuffy halls, turning on lights as they went, searching for the room that held the final clue to Dr. Ammon's secret. It didn't take long; almost half of the structure was taken up by an indoor shooting range, where David had found boxes of loaded M-16 mags, but no rifles to go with them. John had asked if he should retrieve the Trisquad's weapons, which Rebecca promptly vetoed. The rifles were hot, probably crawling with virus. Like Karen's blood by now, streams of replicating virions bursting from cells, searching for new cells to attach to and use and destroy. . . "Here!" Steve called from farther down the wind- ing corridor, and Rebecca hurried toward him, Karen and John not far behind. David was already standing with Steve by the closed door, the red, green, and blue triangles a sign that they'd hit on the right room. Steve's gaze seemed to seek her out, but was blank of all emotion except worry. She didn't mind, noted it only absently. Karen's infection, John's insane run at the Trisquad - there wasn't room in her for anything but the need to find the lab, to find help for Karen. Steve opened the door and they filed inside, Rebecca continuing to watch Karen closely for signs that the virus had progressed and wondering what she should do with the information she'd picked up so far about the amplification time. She didn't really have any doubts that Karen had been exposed, and knew that no one else did, either, but what should she say?
Do I tell her that it might only take hours? Do I pull David aside? If there's a cure, she has to get it before the damage is too great, before it starts to fry her brain - before it dumps so much dopamine into her that she stops being Karen Driver and becomes. . . something else.
Rebecca didn't know how to handle it. They were already doing all that they could, as fast as they could, and she didn't know enough about the T-Virus to assume anything. She also didn't want to see Karen any more terrified than she was already. The woman was doing her best to control it, but it was obvious that she was on the edge of a breakdown, from the desperation in her bloodred eyes to the growing tremor of her hands. And the Trisquads had almost certainly been injected with much larger amounts than Karen had been exposed to; maybe she had days. . .
. . . first symptoms in less than an hour?Don't kid yourself. You have to tell her, to warn her and everyone else of what could happen. Soon.
She pushed the thought aside almost frantically, looking around at the room they'd entered. It was smaller than the test chambers they'd come across, and emptier. There was a long meeting table pushed to the back, a half dozen chairs behind it. In the front of the room was a small shelf coming off the wall, only a few feet long and a foot deep. There were three large buttons on the flat surface, red, green, and blue. The wall behind the shelf was tiled in large, smooth gray tiles made from some kind of industrial plastic. "That's it," Steve said. "Blue to access. " With barely a second's hesitation, David walked to the counter and pushed the blue button. A woman's voice spoke coolly from a hidden speaker above, startling them. It was a recording, the bland tone eerily reminding Rebecca of the final moments at the Spencer estate, the triggering system tape.
"Blue series completed. Access reward. "
One of the tiles behind the shelf slid away, revealing a dark recess set into the concrete. As David reached into the hidden space, Rebecca felt a surge of frus-trated anger and disgust for Umbrella, for what she realized they had done. It was despicable. All those tests, all that work - set up to dole out treats to T-Virus victims. Get through the red series, good dog, here's your bone. . . and what was their reward, for making it through the tests? A piece of meat? Drugs, to ease their hunger? Maybe a brand new weapon for them to train with? Jesus, did they even understand what they'd been doing? She saw the same curled sneers of horror and disgust on the faces of the others and saw the same growing dismay as they watched David pull a single tiny item from the recess, what looked like a credit card with a slip of paper stuck to one side. They gathered around him as he held the item up, his dark gaze heavy with an almost manic disappoint- ment. It was a light green key card, the kind used to open electronic doors, blank except for a magnetic strip and the scrawled words on the small square of paper said only: LIGHTHOUSE-ACCESS 135-SOUTHWEST/EAST.
"Handwriting's the same as on Ammon's note," Steve said hopefully. "Maybe the lab is in the light-house. . . " "One way to find out," John said. "Let's go. "He seemed angry, the same look he wore since their discovery of Karen's exposure to the virus. After watching him charge the Trisquad outside, Rebecca almost hoped that they'd come across Dr. Griffith; John would tear him apart. David nodded, slipping the card into his vest. The fear and guilt that he felt were obvious, playing across his features in a constant, twitching mask. "Right. Karen. . . ?"
She nodded, and Rebecca saw that her already pale skin had taken on a waxy tone, as if the top layers were becoming translucent. Even as she watched, Karen started to scratch absently at her arms. "Yeah, I'm good," she said quietly. She has to know. She deserves to know.
Rebecca knew it couldn't wait any longer. Choosing her words carefully, aware of their limited time, she turned to Karen and spoke as calmly as she could.
"Look, I don't know what they've done with the T-Virus here, but there's a chance that you could start to experience more advanced symptoms in a relatively short amount of time. It's important that you tell me, tell all of us how you're doing, physically and psycho-logically. Any changes at all, we need to know, okay?"
Karen smiled weakly, still scratching at her arms.
"I'm scared shitless, how's that? And I'm starting to itch all over. . . "
She turned her red eyes to David, then to Steve and John before looking back at Rebecca. "If. . . if I start to act. . . irrationally, you'll do something, won't you?
You won't let me. . . hurt anyone?"
A single tear slid down one pale cheek, but she didn't look away, her wet, crimson gaze as firm and strong as it had ever been. Rebecca swallowed, struggling to sound confident and reassuring, awed by the bravery she saw in Karen's eyes - and wondering how much longer that bravery would hold up beneath the roar of the T-Virus running through her veins.
"We're going to find the cure before it comes to that," she said, and hoped that she wasn't telling Karen a lie. "Move out," David said tightly. They moved out. The grounds of the facility were on a definite gentle slant, rising to the north, but as they left the E block and started for the towering black structure that perched over the cove, the curving slope became much steeper. The rocky soil angled up sharply, maybe as much as a thirty-degree incline, making the half kick walk into a hike. David ignored the strain in his back and legs; he was too worried about Karen and too busy tearing away at his own incompetence to bother with physical discomfort. They were closer to the shimmering waters of the cove than they had been since climbing out of them, and the cool, whispering breeze off the moonlit sur- face would have been pleasant on some other night, in some other place. The swaying ripples of soft light and the soothing murmur of waves were almost a mockery of their desperate situation, such a sharp contrast to the chaos inside of him that he found himself almost wishing that there were still Trisquads roaming around.
At least then this would feel like the nightmare it is. And I could do something, I could fight back, defend them against something tangible. . .
Ahead of them, the rising land curled around to the east, dropping away to a foaming sea far below. The cove itself was fairly calm, but the sound of waves smashing against the cliffs grew louder as they hurried on, approaching where the ocean met towering, cave- riddled rock walls. John had taken the lead, Karen next and then the two younger team members. David brought up the rear, dividing his attention between the compound to their left and behind and the dark structures ahead. Directly in back of the lighthouse was what had to be the dormitory, a long, flat building
almost twice the size of the concrete blocks they'd left behind. They hadn't come across quarters for the Umbrella workers anywhere else, and it had the look of a bunkhouse - designed for sleeping and eating, no thought given to aesthetic appeal. They probably should check it out, but David didn't want to waste a moment in their search for the lab. The thought brought on another wave of guilt and angst that he tried unsuccessfully to block out. He needed to be effective, to get them to the laboratory as quickly as possible without floundering in his doubts and emotions, but all he kept thinking, kept wishing was that he'd been infected instead. But you're not, some tiny part of him whispered, Karen's got it and wishing is pointless. It won't cure her and it will cloud your ability to lead.
David ignored the small voice, thinking instead of how badly he'd screwed them all. Who was he, to lead a fight against Umbrella, to clean up the S. T. A. R. S. and bring honor back to the job? He couldn't even keep his people safe, couldn't plan a simple covert op, couldn't even battle the demons of self-doubt and horrified guilt that raged inside of him. They neared the lifeless dorm building, John slow- ing to let the rest of them catch up. David saw that his team was tired, but at least Karen didn't look any worse. In the gentle light of the swollen moon, she seemed pale and somehow fragile. The deathly pallor she'd worn beneath the fluorescents had translated into a soft, porcelain cast, the redness of her gaze turning to shadow. If he hadn't known better. . .
Ah, but you do. How long now, before that milky skin starts to peel, to flake away? How long before she can't be trusted with a weapon, before you have to restrain her from. . . Stop it!
He let them catch their breath, turning to get a better look at the lighthouse less than twenty meters away and felt his stomach clench, his heart shudder suddenly for no reason that he could have explained. It was an old lighthouse, a tall, cylindrical outdated building, weathered and dark and as seemingly de- serted as the rest of the compound. Looking at it, he experienced the feeling he'd had earlier of impending doom, of options closing down behind them and the spinning wheel of darkness ahead. "Come on," John said briskly, but David stopped him with a hand on his arm, shaking his head slowly. Not safe. That tiny voice again, familiar yet strange. He stared at the looming tower, feeling lost, feeling uncertain and out of control as the wind swept over them, the waves pounding the cliff. They were wait- ing. It wasn't safe, but they had to go in, they couldn't just stand there and it hit him suddenly, a clear realization of what it was that had gone wrong in his mind. What was really wrong. It wasn't his competence, it wasn't his ability to think or plan or fight. It was something far worse, something he might have noticed much earlier if he hadn't let himself get so wrapped up with guilt.
I stopped trusting my instincts. Without the security of the S. T. A. R. S. behind me, I forgot to listen to that voice - so terrified of making a mistake that I lost my ability to hear, to know what to do. Every time the fear hit me, I pushed through it, I ignored it and I made it that much stronger.
Even as he thought it, as he believed it, he felt the blackness of doubt lift from his exhausted thoughts. The guilt eased back, allowing a kind of clarity to filter through and with it, the tiny voice inside took on a power that he'd almost forgotten it could have. It's not safe, so hit the door fast, two in low, the rest high and covered outside. . . All of this flashed through his mind in seconds. He turned to look at his team, watching him, waiting for him to lead. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he knew that he could. "I think it's a trap," he said. "John, you and I go in low, I'll take west - Rebecca, I want you and Steve to stand on either side of the door and fire at anything standing; keep firing until we call clear. Sorry, Karen, you'll sit this one out. "
They nodded all around and started for the deep shadows that surrounded the ominous tower, David in front, finally feeling as though he was doing some- thing useful. Maybe that spinning destiny was too vast, moving too quickly for them to deny, but he wasn't going to let it run them over without at least putting up a fight. Karen deserved that much. They all did. Karen hung back as they moved into position, leaning against the back wall of the large building behind the lighthouse to watch. She felt winded by the climb up the hill, winded and strange and there was a buzzing in her brain that wouldn't go away, wouldn't let her fully concentrate. . .
. . . getting sick. Getting sicker, fast.
It scared her, but somehow it wasn't as bad as it had been. In fact, it wasn't really that scary at all. The initial terror had gone, leaving her with only a memo- ry of the adrenaline rush, like a whiff of a bad dream. The itch was distracting, but not exactly an itch anymore. What had felt like a million bug bites on her skin, each separate and distinct and screaming for relief, had connected. It was the only way she could think to describe the sensation. They had connected, had become a thick blanket over her body that crawled and squirmed, as if her skin had come to life and was scratching itself. It was weird, but not exactly unpleasant. . .
"Now!"
At the sound of David's voice, Karen focused on the sudden action in front of her, the buzzing hum in her head making it all seem strange, speeded up somehow. The door to the lighthouse crashing open, David and John leaping into the blackness, bullets flashing and booming. The high, whining rattle of an M-16 inside. Steve and Rebecca, ducking and firing, out and in and out again, their bodies blurred by speed, their Berettas dancing like black metal birds. It was happening so fast that it seemed to take a long, long time for it to stop. Karen frowned, wonder- ing how that could be. . . . . . and then saw David and John step back out into the blue light of the moon, and realized that she was happy to see them. Even with their strange and distorted faces, their long bodies that moved too quickly. . .
. . . what's happening to me. . .
Karen shook her head but the buzzing only seemed to get louder and she was afraid again, afraid that David and John and Steve and Rebecca would leave her behind. They'd leave her behind and she wouldn't have anyone to. . . to ease her mind. That was bad. David was in front of her, staring at her with eyes like wet, dark cherries. "Karen, are you okay?" At the look on his round and pointed face and the sound of softness in his voice, Karen felt happy again, and knew that she had to tell him the truth. With a tremendous effort, she found the strength to say what had to be said, her voice coming out of the crawling body and the buzzing, sounding as strange to her as the wind. "It's getting worse now," she said. "I don't think right, David. Don't leave me. "
John and Rebecca, their hot, hot hands touching her, leading her away and to the darkness of the open door. Her body worked, but her mind was clouded by the trembling buzzing hum. There were things she wanted to tell them, things that drifted through the cloud like flashes of pretty pictures, but the building they moved her to was dark and hot, and there was a body on the floor holding a rifle. His face, she could see. His face wasn't strange; it was white, white and curling, textured like the buzzing and the crawling. It
was a face that made sense. "I got the door," Steve said, looking up and grin-ning, white, white teeth. "One-three-five. " There was a keypad next to an open hole, stairs leading down, and Steve's teeth disappeared, his flat face wrinkling.
"Karen. . . "
"We have to hurry. "
"Hang on baby, hang on, we'll be there soon. "
Karen let them help her, wondering why their faces looked so strange, wondering why they smelled so hot and good.