looking for anything of interest and it stopped on a flat, featureless square of metal set into the wall, about the size of a sheet of paper. Jill stepped over to take a closer look.
There was a flat bar at the top. She touched it lightly, and the panel slid down into the wall, revealing a large red button. She looked around the quiet room, trying to imagine what the trap would be and then realized that there wouldn't be a trap at all.
The mansion, the tunnels – all of it was rigged to keep people from getting here, to these basement levels.
They're way too efficiently dull to be anything but where the real work gets done.
She knew instinctively that her logic was sound.
This was a board room, a place for drinking bad coffee and sitting through meetings with colleagues; nothing was going to jump out at her if she pushed the button.
Jill pushed it. And behind her, the ornamental pillar slid to one side with a smooth, mechanical hum.
Behind the pillar were several shelves, stacked with files and something that glittered in the soft gray light of the room.
She hurried over and picked up a metal key, the top of it imprinted with a tiny lightning bolt. Slipping it into her pocket, she flipped through a few of the files.
They were all stamped with the Umbrella logo, and though most of them were too thick and ponderous to spend time sorting through, the title on one of the reports told her what she needed to know, what she'd already suspected.
Umbrella / Bioweapons Report / Research and Development.
Nodding slowly, Jill put the file back. She'd finally found the real research facilities, and she knew that the S.T.A.R.S. traitor would be somewhere in these rooms. She was going to have to be very careful.
With a final glance around her, Jill decided to go see if she could find the lock that the key belonged to. It was time to place the last few pieces of the puzzle that Umbrella had set up and that the S.T.A.R.S. had sacrificed themselves trying to solve.
The twisted, gnarled root of Plant 42 took up a large corner of the basement room, the bulk of it hanging down in slender, fleshy tendrils that almost touched the floor. A few of the tiny, worm-like threads squirmed blindly around each other, twisting slowly back and forth as if looking for the water supply that Chris had drained.
God, that's disgusting, Rebecca said.
Chris nodded agreement. Besides the control room he'd escaped into, there had only been two other chambers in the basement. One of them had been stacked with boxes of cartridges for all kinds of weapons and although most of them had been uselessly wet, he'd found most of a box of ninemillimeter rounds on a high shelf, saving them both from running out of ammunition.
The other room had been plain, containing only a wood table, a bench and the massive, creeping root of the carnivorous plant that lived upstairs.
Yeah, Chris said. So how do we do this?
Rebecca held up a small bottle of purplish fluid and swirled it gently, still staring at the moving tendrils.
Well, you stand back, and don't breathe too deeply.
This stuffs got a couple of toxins in it that neither of us want to be ingesting, and it'll turn gaseous once it hits the infected cells.
Chris nodded. How will we know if it's working?
Rebecca grinned. If the V-Jolt report is on the mark, we'll know. Watch.
She uncapped the bottle and stepped closer to the twisted root, then upended the glass vial, dousing the snaking tendrils with the watery fluid.
Immediately, a billow of reddish smoke plumed up from the root as Rebecca emptied the bottle and stepped quickly away. There was a hissing, crackling sound like wet wood thrown atop a blazing fire and within seconds, the feebly twisting fibers started to break, pieces of them snapping off and flaking away.
The knotted thickness at the center started to tighten and shrink, pulling into itself.
Chris watched in amazement as the giant, terrible root suddenly shriveled up into a dripping ball of mush no bigger than a child's ball and hung there, dead. The entire process had taken about fifteen seconds.
Rebecca nodded toward the door and both of them stepped out into the drying basement, Chris shaking his head.
God, what'd you put in there?
Trust me, you don't want to know. You ready to get out of here?
Chris grinned. Let's do it.
They both jogged toward the basement doors, hurrying out into the cold corridor and back toward the ladder that led upstairs. Chris was already going over escape plans for when they left the bunkhouse. It really would depend on where the exit led. If they ended up in the woods, he was thinking that they should head toward the closest road and light a fire, then wait for help to come… … though maybe we'll get lucky, run across the damned parking lot for this place. We can hotwire a car and drive out – and get Irons to do something useful for a change, like call in reinforcements.
They reached the wood corridor and headed for the plant room, both of them taking long, easy strides past the hissing green walls and finally stopping at the room that held Plant 42.
Breathing deeply, Chris nodded to Rebecca. They both unholstered their weapons and Chris pushed the door open, eager to see what lay beyond the experimental plant.
They stepped into a huge, open room, the smell of rotting vegetation thick in the damp air. Whatever it had looked like before, the monster that had been Plant 42 was now a massive, steaming lake of dark purple goo in the center of the room. Bloated dead vines the size of fire hoses draped limply across the floor, extending out from the livid, gelid mass.
Chris scanned for the next door, saw a plain fireplace against one wall, a broken chair in a corner and a single door that apparently led back into the bedroom he'd searched earlier. A hidden passage that he'd missed and that led to the very room in which they stood.
Must have been behind the bookcase…
There was no way out. Killing the plant had been a waste of time, it hadn't been blocking anything.
Rebecca looked as disappointed as he felt, her shoulders slumped and expression grim as she studied the bare walls.
Ah, I'm sorry, Rebecca.
They both walked slowly around the room, Chris staring at the dead plant and trying to decide what to do next. Rebecca walked to the fireplace and crouched down next to it, poking at the blackened ash.
He wouldn't drag her back to the mansion, neither of them were up for it. Even with the extra ammo, there were too many snakes. They could wait in the courtyard for Brad to fly by again, hope he got into range.
Chris, I've found something.
He turned and saw her pull a couple of pieces of paper out of the ashes, the edges scorched but both sheets otherwise intact. He walked across the room and leaned down to read over her shoulder and felt his heart start pounding as the first words sank in.
SECURITY PROTOCOLS
BASEMENT LEVEL ONE:
Heliport/For executive use only. This restriction may not apply in the event of an emergency. Unauthorized persons entering the heliport will be shot on sight.
Elevator/The elevator stops during emergencies.
BASEMENT LEVEL TWO:
Visual Data Room/For use by the Special Research Division only. All other access to the Visual Data Room must be cleared with Keith Arving, Room Manager.
BASEMENT LEVEL THREE:
Prison/Sanitation Division controls the use of the prison.
At least one Consultant Researcher (E. Smith, S. Ross, A. Wesker) must be present if viral use is authorized.
Power Room/Access limited to Headquarters Supervisors.
This restriction may not apply to Consultant Researchers with special authorization.
