to be destroyed. All of the evidence has to go, William, surely you can see that. There's no problem here. Don't create one.”
He uncovered the mike. “How far are you from the nearest branch line, over?”
“No more than ten minutes, probably—“
Wesker waited through a blur of static. “Yes? Didn't copy that, over?”
There was a shrill burst of feedback, loud enough to hurt. Wesker recoiled, saw Birkin wincing at the noise —
—and then there was screaming, both of the men on the train screaming in unison.
“Ah, God, what the—”
“Jesus!”
“Get 'em off me! Get 'em off!”
“No! Nooo! Noo—”
There were several muffled bursts of automatic gunfire, a man's wordless cry of pain and terror surpassing the sound—and then there was nothing but static.
Wesker ground his teeth together as behind him, Birkin started to babble in panic. It seemed that there was a problem after all.
* * *
They stood in front of the locked door, Rebecca holding the keycard and feeling a triumph that was all out of proportion to what they'd actually done. She figured she was probably emotionally worn out; it was no big deal, they'd found a couple of rings, opened a briefcase. Regardless, she felt like they'd solved the riddle of the goddamn Sphinx.
Billy motioned for her to open the door, his head cocked to one side. He was still listening. He'd sworn he'd heard a helicopter outside when they'd gone to retrieve the ring, and someone shouting a moment later. Rebecca hadn't heard anything. He was probably as wrung out as she was, considering—
—considering he was on his way to be executed. Don't start making comparisons, here. Whatever he's done to help you out, he's an animal. Forgetting it could cost you your life.
Right. As soon as she made it to a working radio, their little truce was over. She swiped the card through the reader, and the small red light changed to green. The door clicked, and Billy pushed it open.
The sound of the train became a roar, the door opening into a grated walkway that was partially exposed to the elements. Wind and mist sprayed over them as Billy and then Rebecca stepped outside. To the right was a locked cage of equipment that ran the length of the car; to the left, only a guard rail and the violent night whipping past. Ahead, another car, what had to be the driver's compartment; it was hard to tell in the dark. Rebecca grabbed the railing when she realized just how fast the train was going;
the thing was really rocking along the tracks, and—
Oh.
Rebecca hesitated as Billy hurried a few steps ahead, then crouched down in front of a fallen man or woman. There was a second form a meter or so past the first; both were dressed in riot gear, their faces hidden behind shaded glass.
S.W.A.T.? When did they get here? And why only two? As she moved closer, she could see that they were both shining with slime, the same thick goo that those leeches in the dining car had excreted . .
. And their gear, all Kevlar and steel-weave, was unmarked. They weren't RCPD, or military.
Billy was looking at the mesh wall to their right. Rebecca followed his gaze, saw what looked like a giant web of dark strings fixed to the inside of the gate, hanging with about a thousand semi-translucent sacs.
Egg sacs. For the leeches.
Rebecca shuddered, and then Billy was standing again, shaking his head. He had to shout to be heard over the thundering train.
“It's no good! They're dead!” Rebecca had figured as much, but she wasn't going to take his word for it. She pushed past him and checked both bodies for signs of life, noticing the strange, puckered hemorrhaging on their exposed and pallid skin. Billy was right. . . and maybe he'd been right about hearing a scream, too. In spite of the rain, both of the bodies were still warm.
She stood up and grabbed the railing again, following Billy to the next car. She just had time to wonder what the hell they were going to do if they ran across another lock, and then Billy was pushing the door open.
They stepped out of the rain and into a relatively small driver's compartment, clean and orderly except for the thin, even layer of slime covering the control console at the front. Rebecca's ears rang in the sudden near-silence as the door closed behind her, but she was more concerned with the number of blinking red lights that lit up the glistening console.
Billy stepped up and studied the myriad control panels for a moment, then tapped at a keyboard set in front of a small screen. The screen remained blank. He looked back at her with a bleak expression.
“The controls are locked,” he said.
Rebecca fished the keycard out of her vest pocket. There were no numbers on either side, nothing they could input. She moved to his side, trying to ignore the rain lashing the windshield, the dizzying blur of the woods, and punched a few buttons. The keys felt locked, they didn't depress completely. She started looking for anything with the word emergency on it.
“Here,” Billy said, reaching for a lever that stuck out from his side of the board. When he pushed it, words started scrolling across the computer screen.
EMERGENCY BRAKES—FRONT AND REAR TERMINALS MUST BE ACTIVATED BEFORE APPLYING BRAKES. RESTORE POWER TO REAR TERMINAL?
The controls she'd seen at the back of the train. Billy quickly typed in yes.
POWER TO REAR BRAKE TERMINAL RESTORED.
“Thank God,” Rebecca said. “Do it, stop this thing.” The train seemed to be going impossibly faster, the rumble of the engines louder than before, rising to fever pitch.
Billy pushed the lever. It moved easily, too easily, and more words scrolled across the screen.
REAR BRAKE SEQUENCE MUST BE ACTIVATED BEFORE EMERGENCY BRAKES ARE APPLIED.
“Oh, you gotta be shitting me,” Billy said, his lips curled. “We can't put on the emergency brakes from the goddamn control room?'
“We probably can, just not without authorization,” Rebecca said. “Manually, though ... I saw the rear terminal; it's on the back of the last car. I'll go.”
Billy shook his head, looking out at the passing darkness, passing too quickly. “No, let me. No offense, but I think I can run faster. Is there an intercom system? I can signal you when it's on.”
They both started to look, but the console was crowded with unmarked switches and panels; it'd take too long to figure out. Rebecca started to tell him he'd just have to run—and from how much faster the train seemed to be going now, he should probably sprint—when she remembered Edward.
“Edward's radio,” she said. “He had it before he—it should still be on him.”
Billy was already turning toward the door. “I'll get it on the way.”
“Be careful,” she said.
He nodded, casting another look out the window. “Just be ready to hit the brakes up here. I have the feeling we're going to stop pretty soon anyway, one way or another.”
He opened the door to a blast of noise, then was gone.
The seconds ticked by. Rebecca made sure her radio was receiving, then kept her hand on the brake lever, staring out at the onrushing night. The train took a curve too fast and she closed her eyes for a beat, willing the out-of-control engine to stay on the track, imagining that she could actually feel the wheels rise up and then fall back into place. Billy was right; one way or another, they weren't going to be going much farther.
What's taking so long? It had only been a few minutes, but that was long enough. She grabbed the radio, pressed transmit.
“Billy, come in. What's your status, over.”
Nothing.
“Billy?” She waited, counted slowly to five, her heart starting to trip over itself. She could see another curve coming up ahead. “Billy, come in!”
Shit! Maybe he hadn't found the radio, or had forgotten to turn it on. Or there was something wrong with the
