“Not a problem,” he said. “Come on.”
She chewed at her lip, looking around the lab. There were file cabinets, papers lying around ...
“You go check. I'm going to see if I can find another map.”
Billy frowned. “You sure?”
“Afraid to go by yourself?” she called, smiling slightly.
“Frankly, yes,” he said, but smiled back. “Okay. I'll be back in a minute. Don't wander too far away, all right? If you need anything, give me a call.”
Rebecca tapped her radio. “No sweat.”
He gazed up at her another moment, then turned and walked away. Rebecca looked around the lab once more, focusing on the larger of the two desks in the room. “Okay, Marcus, let's see if you left us anything useful,” she said, and moved to the desk, unaware that she was being watched very, very closely as she picked up a sheaf of papers and started to read.
This will not do.
He clenched his fists, furious. The children tried to soothe him, crawled across his shoulders, but he brushed them away, ignored their attempts.
Rebecca, reading Dr. Marcus's personal notes. Finding the charm that led to Dr. Marcus's inner sanctum, giving it to Billy. All they had to do was get to the cable car, perhaps pick a lock or two, and they could be on their way . . . But it seemed they would not leave the memory of Dr. Marcus alone, that they had to violate the very few privacies he'd left behind.
“Not if we stop them,” he told the children, watching as Billy used the small effigy to open Dr. Marcus's rooms, as Rebecca rifled carelessly through Marcus's private papers. It had been an amusing
diversion, watching these two, but it was over now. The world would have to learn the truth about Umbrella without them.
Time to send the children out to play.
Eleven
As he'd suspected, that dead end shrine was a door, and the tiny leech statue that Rebecca had found fit perfectly in the door's “lock.” There was a soft, hidden click and the door unlatched.
Billy studied the front of the door a moment before going in, deciding that the profile was, in fact, that of Dr. James Marcus. He wondered why the leech man they'd seen on the train had looked like Marcus; the leeches had been controlled by that obviously much younger man, the one singing outside. Was the real Marcus still around? It didn't seem likely. That diary Rebecca had found—Marcus had been raving, paranoid that Spencer was coming for him, coming to take his work, and that had been ten years ago. People that nuts usually weren't able to hold down day jobs.
Rebecca was waiting. He set the minor mystery aside and pushed past the extravagant door with the barrel of the shotgun. A quick scan for movement— nothing—and he lowered the weapon, stepping farther inside.
“Wow,” he said, hushed, looking around the room. It was an office, large, expensively fitted with built-in shelves and cabinets on one side, all dark, polished wood and beveled glass, an ornate fireplace opposite. The antique wood furniture—a low table, chairs, a big desk—was beautiful, the carpet plush, silencing his steps. He saw a door at the back of the room, behind the desk, and mentally crossed his fingers that it would turn out to be their escape route.
Much of the room's light came from a huge aquarium that dominated the northeast corner near where he stood, painting everything with watery bluish light, though the aquarium itself was empty—
—Billy frowned, stepped closer. Not empty. There were no fish, no rocks or plants, but there were a number of things floating at the top—disgusting things, unrecognizable but no less grotesque. They appeared to be pieces of human flesh, but shapeless, boneless, like deformed, amputated body parts. Billy quickly moved on, disturbed by the pale floating objects.One of the wall cabinets stood open, and Billy walked to it, scanning the books inside. An ancient photo album lay on one shelf and he picked it up. He knew he had to get back to Rebecca but he was curious, wondering if the bust on the door meant he was in Marcus's office.
The photos were old, yellowed and curled. He turned a few pages, decided it was a waste of time. He started to put the album back—and a loose picture fluttered out. He stooped to pick it up, held it up to the blue, rippling light.
The picture itself wasn't particularly interesting, a trio of young men from the thirties or forties, all looking clean-cut and well scrubbed, smiling at the picture taker. On the back, someone had written, “To James, To commemorate your graduation, 1939.”
Billy studied the photo, decided that the young man in the middle could be James Marcus.
Something about the shape of the head ... He looked familiar, somehow...
“That guy,” he said, nodding to himself. The singer from the train. They hadn't seen him well, but he had the same stance, the same wide shoulders ... “He could be Marcus's son. Or grandson.”
There was a puzzle here, and he was starting to think he'd just found another piece. If Spencer had overthrown Marcus, taken his work, wouldn't Marcus's son, or his son's son, want revenge? Maybe the viral outbreak hadn't been an accident. Maybe the guy with the leeches had done it.
Billy sighed, setting the photo on top of the album. That was all good and well, but for all practical purposes, who gave a shit? He needed to be looking for a way out.
He checked the desk for keys or maps, found nothing, and went to the room's second door, thankfully unlocked. He pushed it open, felt his hopes dwindle; there was no big tunnel with a flashing exit sign. It was an art storage room, looked like, paintings stacked against walls, a few statues draped with sagging dropcloths. One statue was uncovered, a white marble piece that looked like one of those old Roman gods, seated against one flocked wall, its dusty gaze uplifted, a hand cupped near its belly:—
—and holding something. Something green.
Billy walked over and took the small object from the statue's pallid fingers, smiling faintly when he realized what it was. It was another carving of a leech, this one in green instead of blue.
Another key, perhaps to another secret door. And this one might really be their ticket out.
Day One
Administrated T to four leeches. Their single-minded biology makes them perfect candidates for this research, but they may be too simplistic to adapt. No immediate changes observed.
The word four was underlined. In the margin, someone had scrawled “change sequence” in a spidery hand, and circled it.
It was part of a lab journal, mostly dates and numbers. Rebecca had been about to set it back down when she'd seen that several phrases and words had been underlined on one of the last pages. She read on, looking for more of the marked passages.
Day Eight
A week now. Rapid growth to double their former size, signs oftransformation emerging. Spawning successful, their numbers doubled, but cannibalistic behavior has been initiated, presumably due to increase in appetite. Hastened to augment food supply, but lost two.
Numbers doubled and two were underlined.
Day 12
Provided them with live food but lost half when prey fought back. However, they are learning from experience, beginning to exhibit group attack behavior. Evolution is exceeding expectations.
Lost half was underlined.
There were no more marked entries, but Rebecca skimmed on, disturbed by the success of the strange experiment.
Day 23, leeches no longer exhibit individual traits, can move as a collective. Day 31, breeding at a fantastic rate, eating everything offered now...
The last entry painted clearly for her just how far into madness Dr. Marcus had slipped.
