explosive bloom. Like the first, it twitched and spasmed to a halt before collapsing, its shrill cry becoming a gurgle, becoming silence. Nicholai got to his feet, unnerved, not sure of the species – either brain sucker or the more amphibious deimos, another multi-legged breed. He'd expected the viciousness and the attack method, but hadn't under-stood how fast they were.
If I'd been even a second later…
No time to consider it, he was in a hurry. He edged forward, quickly stepping over the dark, oozing sprawl of limbs, breaking into a run as soon as he was past. With each step away from the dead creatures he felt his composure returning, felt a flush of accomplish-ment warm him from the inside out. They were fast, but he was faster – and with such monsters loose in the city, he wouldn't have to worry about Mikhail or Carlos or anyone escaping what they were due. If he didn't get to enjoy the pleasure himself, he could revel in the knowledge that his comrades would certainly fall prey to any one of a dozen horrors, their inadequate reflexes failing them, their lack of skills ensuring their doom. Nicholai tightened his grip on the M16, a rush of ela-tion adding spring to each agile step. Raccoon was no place for the weak. He had nothing to fear.
TWELVE
THE STEEL SHUTTER THAT PROTECTED THE front of the machine shop was down and locked, but Jill managed to get in through the garage, picking her way past a side door. The shop was sturdy enough, well protected from the average thief and certainly any zom-bie, but Jill had no doubt that if the Nemesis wanted to get in, it probably could. She'd just have to hope that it hadn't tracked her this far…
… however it does that, exactly. Jill had no idea. Did it smell her? That didn't seem likely, considering her careful, breathless walk to the gas station; she'd dodged from shadow to shadow, hearing the Nemesis's thundering but clumsy progress as it searched for her amongst the crowd of abandoned cars. If it tracked her by scent, it would have caught her… though how did it know who she was, specifi-cally? If another woman her size stumbled across its path, would it mistake that woman for Jill? Jill walked through the well-lit garage, her boots making soft wet noises against the oil-sticky floor, her thoughts wandering as she took in the layout and checked doors. She didn't know how the Nemesis had been programmed to find and kill S.T.A.R.S. or why it seemed to break off its pursuit from time to time, ei-ther; with Brad dead, she was the only S.T.A.R.S. member still in Raccoon.
Unless… Police Chief Irons had been a B team member, some twenty years back, and he was probably still in town…
Jill shook her head. Ridiculous. Chris had dug up enough information on Irons to make it a near certainty that he was working for Umbrella, just as they sus-pected their mysterious Mr. Trent was – the difference being that Trent seemed to want to help them, while Irons was a money-grubbing creep who didn't give a shit about anyone but himself. If Irons was on the Nemesis's hit list, Jill was pretty much okay with that. From the garage, she stepped into a kind of combina-tion office-break room – a soda machine, a small table with a couple of chairs, a cluttered desk. Jill tried the telephone on general principles, receiving the dead air she expected. 'Now I wait, I guess,' she said to no one in particu-lar, leaning against the counter. If the Nemesis didn't show up after a few moments, she'd slip out again, head back to the trolley. She wondered if Carlos was there yet, and if he'd found any survivors from his pla-toon – what was it? Umbrella Biohazard something. Probably one of their semilegitimate branches; it would be good PR, once the news got out about Raccoon. Umbrella's admin would be able to point to their spe-cial task force, tell the media how quickly and deci-sively they'd acted when they'd realized there'd been an accident.
Except they won't call it an accident, because that could mean negligence on their part; no doubt they've already got a scapegoat lined up and ready to hang, some unlucky yes-man they can frame for the murder of thousands…
Not if she could help it, not if her friends could; one way or another, the truth was going to come out. It had to. Jill noticed a few tools lying around – a set of socket wrenches, a couple of crowbars and it occurred to her that it might be handy to pack a few things for the trol-ley. It'd suck to get there and end up needing a screw-driver or the like, something they'd have to come back for. She was a mechanical illiterate herself, but maybe Carlos had some experience… Thump! Thump! Thump! Jill dropped into a crouch behind the counter as soon as she heard the slow, heavy knocks at the garage's side door, insistent and steady. Nemesis? No, the rappings were loud but not power- ful, it was either a human or… 'Uuhh.' The gently hungry cry filtered through the door, joined by another, then a third, then a chorus. Virus carriers, and it sounded like a large group of them. Any relief she felt upon realizing that it wasn't the Nemesis quickly faded; a dozen zombies hammer-ing on the door was the equivalent of a flashing neon sign that read GOOD EATS.
And how exactly am I going to sneak out of here now?
Her simple plan, to hide until the Nemesis went away, had pretty much crapped out. She needed a new plan, preferably one she had more than a few seconds to map out.
So come up with something already. Unless you mean to go charging out there and start kicking ass.
Jill sighed, the low gnaw of dread in her stomach so constant that she no longer noticed it. Outside, the de- caying carriers continued to shuffle and cry, beating helplessly against the door. Might as well run through her options; she had a few minutes to kill.
They made it to the trolley without any trouble. Carlos was feeling hopeful as they staggered into the station yard lit by an expanse of merrily burning debris to one side – no zombies, no monsters, and Mikhail didn't seem to be getting any worse. The City Hall gate had been open, a dozen jewels set into a kind of clock on a nearby pedestal, which meant Jill had already gone through. Carlos had expected her to make it, but it was still a relief. 'There it is,' Mikhail said, and Carlos nodded, squinting as a gust of foul-smelling smoke washed over them. To their right was a grand old building, either the trolley station or the alleged City Hall. In front of them, past a stack of crates that blocked their path, was an old-fashioned trolley car, its red paint slightly faded. As they got closer, Carlos could see that a second car was attached, most of it hidden in the shadow of a building overhang. Jill was probably waiting in one of them. Carlos shoved a few of the crates aside with one hip, Mikhail steadying himself against the station wall. 'Almost there,' Carlos said. Mikhail smiled weakly. 'Bet you'll be glad to dump my ass into a seat.' 'Be gladder to sit my own ass down. One-way ticket outta here.' Mikhail actually managed a laugh. 'I heard that.' They moved beneath the overhang, Carlos searching the windows of both cars for movement. He didn't see anything; worse, he didn't feel anything. The place seemed totally deserted, still and lifeless.
Hope you 're taking a nap in there, Jill Valentine.
The sliding side door of the first car they reached was locked; to their mutual relief, the second wasn't. After giving the car a once-over to be certain it was empty, Carlos helped Mikhail aboard, getting him set-tled into a window bench seat. As soon as the platoon leader was lying down, he seemed to fall into a half swoon.
'I'm going to check out the second car, then see what I can do to get a few lights on in here,' Carlos said. Mikhail grunted in response. Not surprisingly, Jill wasn't in the other car, either, but Carlos did find the electrical controls next to the driver's seat. At the touch of a button, a row of over-head lights switched on, illuminating an aging wood floor and red vinyl padded seats lining both walls. 'Where are you, Jill?' Carlos muttered, feeling real worry for her. If something had happened, he was going to feel at least partly responsible for not accom-panying her back to the restaurant. Mikhail was barely conscious when Carlos checked on him, but it was more like sleep than coma. Until a doctor looked at the wound, rest was probably the best thing for him. There was an open control panel at the back of the car, which Carlos knelt to examine. His heart dropped when he saw that it was part of the primary power setup and that a few parts had been removed. He didn't know anything about cable cars, but it didn't take a genius to understand that you couldn't run a machine when the wires had been pulled, particularly on such an ancient system. It looked like there was a missing fuse, too. 'Hijo de la chingada,' he whispered and heard a feeble laugh behind him.
'I know just enough Spanish to know you shouldn'tkiss your mother with that mouth,' Mikhail said.'What's wrong?'There's a fuse missing,' Carlos said. 'And these cir-cuits have got to be shorted out. We'll have to bypassthem if we want to get this thing moving.'Just northeast of here…,' Mikhail started, but hehad to pause for a few breaths before going on.
'There's a gas station. Repair shop. It was one of thelandmarks on the city map, it's suburbs past that.Probably have equipment there.'
Carlos thought about it. He didn't want to leave Mikhail alone, and Jill or Nicholai could show up any minute…… but we ain 't going no place without a power cable and a high amp fuse, and Mikhail's on a downhill slide; what choice have I got? 'Yeah, okay,' Carlos said lightly, walking over to Mikhail. He gazed down at him, concerned about the high color of his cheeks, the waxy pallor of his brow.
