still coming. Slower than before but not faltering, their waspish bodies dripping white, their bizarre elongated claws raised and snapping. They were gaining speed, too, faster with each skitter– ing step, a pack of undead bugs looking for lunch -
– pack, in a pack
They might not have a better chance. John dropped the rifle, the sling hanging awkwardly around his neck, and jammed one hand into his pack, still managing a decent run. He came up with one of the grenades, jerked the pin free, and turned, backing up in a shambling jog. He tried to evaluate the distance, the M68's process running through his frenzied mind, the Scorps sixty, seventy feet behind.
–impact fuse, armed two seconds after it hits, six-second backup -'Grenade!' He screamed, and threw the round canister up, praying that he'd judged it right as he turned and lunged, the grenade still ascending as he dove into the side of the sand dune. John swam into it, pushing with all his considerable muscle, burrowing into the hot grit blind and breath– less. The sand was cooler underneath, waves of the unpacked stuff pouring across his face, trying to force its way into his nose and mouth, but he couldn't think of anything except pulling his legs in – and what the blast-projected slivers of metal could do to human flesh. One final, desperate kick and – KA-WHAM -
– there was a huge shift all around him, an incredi– ble pressure slamming into him and into the moving wall he was embedded in. He felt the weight on top of him press down, forcing the air out of him, and it took all he had to force one hand up to his face, to cup it over his mouth. Breathing shallowly, he started worming his way back out, wriggling and kicking.
Leon, did they get down in time, did it work?
He fought against the still sliding currents of pol-ished granules, taking one more breath before using both hands to swipe at the heavy sands. In a few seconds he was out, rivulets of grit streaming off of him, his irritated eyes watering. He wiped at them one handed, raising the M-16, looking first at the threat…… which wasn't a threat anymore. The grenade must have landed right in front of them; of the six mutant scorpions that had been pursuing them, four were in pieces. John saw a still-twitching claw lying across the sand in a puddle of white, a tail with stinger still attached sticking out of the side of the dune, a leg, another leg; the rest was unrecognizable, great hunks of wet mush splattered in a rough semi-circle. The two Scorps at the rear of the pack were still whole, but were definitely not going to get up again; the bodies were intact, but the eyes and mouth, the strange mandibles, the faces were gone.
Blown all to shit, in fact. No amount of white goop in
the world's gonna plug that up…
'John!'
He turned, saw Leon and Cole striding back toward him, expressions of amazement on both their faces. John allowed himself a brief moment of completely unchecked pride, watching them approach; he'd been brilliant – timing, aim, everything.
Ah, well. The true soldier takes no accolades for a job well done; it's enough that he knows it…
By the time they reached him, he'd managed to get over himself; thinking about their situation was enough. They were in a psycho testing ground being put through their paces by an Umbrella madman; their team was split up, they had limited ammo, and there was no clear way out of it.
Pretty much, you're screwed. Patting yourself on the back is kinda like giving aspirin to a dead guy; pointless.
Still, seeing the faint hope on the other men's flushed and sweating faces… hope could be mis– guided, but it was rarely a bad thing. 'There could still be more of them,' he said, wiping sand off of the M-16. 'Let's get out of here…'
–clickclickclick-That sound. All of them froze, staring at each other. It wasn't close, but somewhere over the dune, there was at least one more Scorp.
David had spotted a moving light, maybe a quarter mile southwest of their position, but it had come no closer; if it wasn't for the cold, Claire thought she might feel relieved. The chances of anyone finding
them in the endless miles of dark were somewhere near zero; the Umbrella guys had blown it. Even with the helicopter's searchlight – which they apparentlyweren't going to use – it'd be pure luck if they ran across the three of them… although maybe it'd be lucky for us. Maybe they'd have blankets and coffee, hot chocolate, spiced cider…'How are you, Claire?'
She made an effort to keep her teeth from chatter– ing, but it failed. It had been at least an hour, probably more. 'Pretty goddamn cold, David, and yourself?' 'Same. Good thing we dressed warm, eh?'
If it was a joke, she wasn't laughing. Claire snuggled closer to Rebecca, wondering when she'd lose all feeling in her limbs; as it was, her hands were numb and her face felt like it was freezing into a mask, in spite of near- constant changes of position. David was on Rebecca's other side, the three of them huddled together as tightly as was humanly possible, spoon fashion. Rebecca hadn't woke up, but her breathing was slow and even; she was resting comfortably, at least.
That's one ofus… 'Shouldn't be much longer,' David said. 'Twenty, perhaps twenty-five minutes. They'll post a man or two, then go.' 'Yeah, so you said,' Claire said. 'How do you figure the time, though?' Her lips felt like popsicles. 'Perimeter search, perhaps a quarter-mile 'round – assuming they have six or less men still able-bodied, I'm estimating four.' 'Why?' David's voice shook with the cold. 'Three sent to the back door of the building, two men down inside and from the sounds, I'd say there were three to seven at the front. Eight or twelve men; any more, and they wouldn't have all fit in the helicopter. Any less, they wouldn't have been able to cover both entrances.' Claire was impressed. 'So, why twenty to twenty-five minutes?' 'As I said, they'll cover a certain distance all the way around the compound before they give us up. The size of the compound, tack on a quarter– to a half-mile, and how long it takes an average man to walk a fourth of that distance. We saw that light perhaps an hour ago, and since they most likely would have each taken a direction and searched that single seg-ment… well, twenty to twenty-five minutes. That's including the time it would take to look through the van, as well. That's my guess, for what it's worth.'
Claire felt her frozen lips attempting a smile.
'You're bullshitting, aren't you? Making it up.' David sounded shocked. 'I am not. I've gone over it several times and I think…'I'm kidding,' Claire said. 'Really.'A short silence, and then David chuckled, the low sound carrying easily through the cold dark. 'Of course you are. Sorry. I think the temperature has affected my sense of humor.'
Claire alternated her hands, slipping the right one out from beneath Rebecca's hip and sliding the left one under. 'No, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have inter-rupted. Go on, this is really interesting.'Not much else to say,' David said, and she heard the soft, rapid chatter of his teeth. 'They'll want to get medical attention for their wounded, and I doubt Umbrella wants one of their helicopters to be seen flying around the salt flats by the light of day; they'll leave a guard behind and go.'
She heard him shifting, felt Rebecca's body move as he altered his own position. 'Anyway, that's when we'll move. Back to the compound first, a bit of sabotage – and then we'll just see what turns up…'
The way his voice trailed off, the forced good humor in his tone that barely covered the despera– tion – both told her exactly what he was thinking.
What we've both been thinking. 'And Rebecca?' She asked gently. They couldn't leave her, she'd freeze, and trying to infiltrate the compound again, trying to take out a couple of armed men while carrying an unconscious woman… 'I don't know,' David said. 'Before she… she said that she might recover within hours, given rest.'
Claire didn't respond. Stating the obvious wouldn't help anything. They fell silent, Claire listening to Rebecca's soft breathing, thinking about Chris. David's affection for Rebecca was plain; it was like the love between a father and daughter. Or brother and sister. Thinking about him was one way to pass the time, anyway.
What are you doing right now, Chris? Trent said you were safe, but for how long? God, I wish you'd never been assigned to that Spencer place. Or Raccoon, for that matter. Fighting for truth and justice pretty much eats it, big brother… 'Not falling asleep, are you?' David asked. He'd asked her that every time they stopped talking for more than a minute. 'No, thinking about Chris,' she said. Forming the words was a chore, but she figured it was better than
letting her mouth freeze shut. 'And I bet you're starting to wish we'd gone to Europe after all.'I do,' Rebecca said weakly. 'Hate this weather…' Rebecca!
Claire grinned, not really able to feel it and not caring. She hugged the girl as David sat up, digging for the flashlight – and though she was freezing, though they were cut off from their friends, cut off from escape and facing
