little while and realized that she had to leave him behind. It was a much harder decision to make, but only because she didn't want to be alone, a selfish reason at best. The truth of it was, he was hurting because he'd gotten in between her and the Nemesis, and she couldn't put him in that position again.
I'll go check out the plant, maybe find a radio and call for help. If things look good, safe, I can come back for him. If they look shitty… well, I guess I'll just come back if I can. The facility was barely a mile away if she remembered right, she could get there by cutting through Memorial Park, just behind the clock tower, a very short trip. It was just after two in the morning, she'd be able to get there and back well before dawn. With any luck, Carlos would still be asleep when she returned, perhaps bearing good news. She decided to leave him a note in case something happened to her so he'd know the route, at least. She couldn't find a pen or pencil, but she uncovered an an-cient manual typewriter, of all things, beneath a stack of hymnbooks. She used the back of a fruit cocktail label for paper. The soft clack of keys was as soothing to her as the rain that continued to patter down on the roof, sounds that made her very glad to be alive. She took the grenade gun even though there was only one round left – Carlos must have found the one she'd dropped in the yard – remembering the damage it had in-flicted on the S.T.A.R.S. killer. She also took the Beretta, but she left the revolver for Carlos so that he'd have some-thing a little heavier than the assault rifle. Just in case. Jill left the note on the altar, where Carlos would see it as soon as he woke up, and she crouched next to him, reaching out to touch his cool brow. He was definitely out, not even a twitch as she brushed his duty hair off his forehead, wondering how she could ever thank him for all he'd done. 'Sleep well,' she whispered, and before she could change her mind, she stood up and turned away, hurry-ing to the door and not looking back.
There was a cabin behind the small cemetery in Memorial Park, ostensibly used for tool storage. It had been taken over as one of several Umbrella receiver stations for the duration of the Raccoon outbreak -kind of a rest stop for operatives, each in a private place where they could organize files without being seen and get general updates from Umbrella, if they didn't have immediate access to a computer. Nicholai had not planned to stop by any of the re-ceiver stations; he thought they were an unnecessary risk on Umbrella's part, even as well hidden as they were – the setup at the cemetery cabin was behind a false wall. Umbrella didn't want anyone tracking sig-nals coming out of the city, so the stations were set to receive only, another precaution, but Nicholai still thought they were dangerous. If he wanted to trap an agent, he'd stake out one of the receiver stations.
Or if I wanted to kill one. Although in this case, I only have to walk in… or wait for a little while.
He stood in the shadows of a large monument a few meters from the false room, thinking of how fine it was going to be to kill Captain Chan. Nicholai had consid-ered just barging through the concealed door and shoot-ing him, but he needed to relax, to get into a better frame of mind. Chan would come out for a bathroom break or a smoke sooner or later, and by allowing his anticipation to build, Nicholai was able to let go of some of his more unpleasant emotions. He didn't do it often; he wasn't crazy or anything, and he generally preferred to keep things moving along – but sometimes, savoring the suspense before an intimate killing was just the thing to lift him out of a depression.
Nicholai watched the door – actually a hinged corner of the building – enjoying the cool rain in spite of how miserable he knew he'd be later, running around in wet clothes. He was going to take someone's life. Things had been a little out of control for a few moments, when he'd realized he'd lost the vaccine, but who was in control now? Davis Chan was about to die and Nicholai was the only one who knew it, because he had decided Chan's fate.
And Carlos is dead, I caused that. And Mikhail, and three Watchdogs so far. He couldn't really make a claim on Jill Valentine, but Nicholai had enjoyed the stricken look on Carlos's face when he'd suggested it. What counted, though, the only thing that had ever re-ally mattered, was that his enemies were dead and he was still walking. When Davis Chan stepped out into the rain a few mo-ments later, Nicholai had released most of his negative feelings of self-pity and undirected frustration. And by the tune his knife had finished with Chan, fifteen min-utes later, he was his old self again. Chan, of course, no longer resembled anything human, but Nicholai sin-cerely thanked the remains for getting him back on track.
0250 hours October 2
Carlos: I've gone to the water treatment facility directly northeast from the clock tower, a mile give or take. Umbrella owns it, there may be resources there that we can use. I'll be back as soon as I take a look around. Wait here for me, for at least a few hours. If I'm not back by morning, you should probably try to get out on your own. I'm grateful to you, for a lot of things. Stay here and get some rest, please. I shouldn't be long. Jill
Carlos read the curled paper twice more, then grabbed his vest and stood up, checking his watch. She'd been gone less than a half hour. He could still catch up with her. Staying wasn't an option. She'd left him behind ei-ther because he was injured or because she didn't want to put him in further danger… neither of which was acceptable to him. And he'd never had a chance to tell her what Trent had said, about there being helicopters at an Umbrella facility northwest of town, but northeast from where they were now, after the trolley ride. Obvi-ously the same place.
'You may kick ass all over Umbrella's monsters, but can you pilot a helicopter?' Carlos mumbled, locking a new mag to the M16. If only she'd waked him up… He headed for the door, as ready as he was going to be, trying not to breathe too deeply. It hurt, but he'd manage. He'd been in worse pain and still gotten things done; once, he'd walked six klicks on a fractured ankle, and it didn't get a whole lot worse than that. Carlos didn't waste time trying to convince himself that wanting to share Trent's info was why he was going after her. He couldn't stand by and do nothing, that was all. She was trying to protect him, he could appreciate the sentiment, but he just couldn't stay there and…
Nicholai. He's out there and she doesn 't know.
He suddenly felt sick thinking of that mad glimmer in Nicholai's eyes. Carlos hurried out of the chapel and into the moonlit rain. He had to find her.
TWENTY-FOUR
THE RAIN HAD TURNED INTO A DRIZZLE, BUT Nicholai didn't notice, walking beneath the thick canopy of autumn leaves back through the cemetery. Another fifty or sixty meters and he could cut east, par-allel the trail that ran straight to the water treatment fa-cility's back entrance. He never used paths in public places when he could avoid them, not liking the sense of exposure. On last check, Terence Foster was still alive and well and filing environmental status reports from the treat-ment plant, perfectly unaware that, as the last surviving Watchdog, his hours were numbered. Nicholai had al-ready decided to just kill the man outright, to hell with talking. He'd found Chan's Watchdog data easily enough, sitting on the small table in the receiver sta-tion; he'd find Foster's, too. A quick encryption on the combined files – a little health insurance – then he'd radio for pickup and go take a meeting with the deci-sion makers. Nicholai had just reached the copse of pines behind the fence of one of the park's reflecting pools when he saw Jill Valentine, walking casually past the water's edge beneath a row of wrought-iron lamps and headed in the direction he wanted to go. The low lights re-flected off the water at her, giving her a ghostly appear-ance, but she was definitely alive. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, but he was. The look of pain on Carlos's face when he'd talked about her… Nicholai had been sure it was real, he hadn't doubted for a second that she was dead.
Ah, well, it was the last lie he ever told. Very noble of him, to try and protect the girl from who he believes to be the dastardly villain… as if I would waste my time.
No time wasted if he killed her now. Nicholai raised the assault rifle, carefully took aim at the back of her head and hesitated, curious in spite of his resolve to finish his business in Raccoon. How had she managed to evade the S.T.A.R.S. seeker all this time? Where had she been when her Latin lover had so idiotically wan-dered into Nicholas's path at the hospital? And where, exactly, did she think she was going? He decided to follow her, at least until an easy op-portunity presented itself for him to get the answers to his questions. As it was, with her on the main trail through the park and him behind a waist-high railing, he couldn't maneuver very well; telling her to freeze, drop her weapons, and then hold still while he climbed the fence wasn't the most desirable option. Nicholai sank back into the shadows and counted slowly to twenty, letting her get far enough ahead that she shouldn't be able to hear him moving through the trees. He would trail her until the main path became the bridge over the park's large duck pond, confronting her once she was halfway across, out in the open with nowhere to run. Satisfied with his plan, Nicholai started walking, moving as quietly as he could. He'd lost sight of her on his count, but unless she was jogging, he'd catch up with her just before… 'Freeze.' Her voice was calm and clear, the semiau-tomatic's muzzle hard against the side of his head. 'Oh, but drop the rifle first, if you would.'
Nicholai did as he was told, shocked into it, unsling-ing his rifle and letting it fall. How had she spotted him?
