sight of those fleshy ropes, flailing at air as the Nemesis lost its grip and plunged over the side, did her a world of good… as did the murky, thunderous splash she heard a beat later. She stumbled to her feet and across the rest of the bridge, silently cheering as the door that led into the fa-cility swung open, unlocked. Inside, a short hall turned left fifteen feet ahead, all utilitarian metal grate floors and concrete walls. She quickly deadbolted the door behind her and sagged against it, pointing her weapon at the blind corner while she caught her breath. No footsteps outside or in, nothing but a faint me-chanical hum coming from somewhere deeper in the facility. When she could breathe almost normally again, she moved forward, anxious to get out before the Nemesis returned. She had to get out and call for help, or just get out; the Nemesis wasn't going to give up, and she couldn't hope to elude it forever. She edged further down the hall and saw that a metal shutter stood at the right end, facing the corridor she couldn't see. Another step forward, and she darted a look around the corner. Clear, another short hall that turned right. She stepped back and took a closer look at the metal shutter, the kind that opened with a key card. The room's name was just above the door, in black stencil: COMMUNICATIONS. Jill felt a rush of hope, then saw that there was no manual lock. The key card reader to the right of the shutter was the only way in. Frustrated, Jill turned away. Running into the Neme-sis had changed things. She could leave, get far away from it and Nicholai and try to come up with some-thing new, or she could continue on, search for the card and keep looking for other possibilities. Jill smiled wearily. Both options sounded terrible, actually, but the latter seemed to suck a little less. At least her clothes would have a chance to dry. Shivering, Jill started down the adjoining corridor, feeling vaguely envious of Carlos, warm and sleeping back at the chapel.
The Umbrella facility was a series of small single-level buildings and one large two-story one, set among several open areas that had been stacked high with crap piles of lumber, old cars, and scrap metal being the main competitors for space. If there were heli-copters on the site, Carlos thought they'd be behind one of the warehouses – nearly impossible to get around, of course, unless he wanted to scale another stack of cars. Not unless I have to, thank you very much. His ear-lier climb had been enough to last him the rest of his life. He'd banged the hell out of both his knees when he'd come down hard on the cab of a flatbed truck, and he'd limped most of the rest of the way to the fa-cility. He stood in a small and crowded yard, which he'd hopped a fence to get to, memorizing the compound's sprawling layout as best he could before moving to-ward the main building. He wanted to make sure Jill was okay before he went hunting for a 'copter. As soon as he reached the building, Carlos broke the first win-dow he could reach with the M16's stock and boosted himself up. He sat on the frame, looking into a long, narrow, bunkerlike room, dimly lit and littered with bodies. To the right was a set of doors with an exit sign overhead, probably leading out to the main warehouse; he'd have to try the doors when he went for the helicopters. To his left, though, was a metal ladder that went straight up to a hatch in the ceiling. He couldn't have asked for more. Well, an elevator, maybe, he thought as he pulled himself through the window, his taped ribs protesting.
Although as long as I'm wishing, suddenly waking up and finding out this has all been a bad dream would be pretty nice, too.
The room smelled like blood and rot, a smell that he had gotten used to, he realized. It smelled like Rac-coon, and as he slowly climbed the ladder, he thought that he would die a happy man if he could just do it breathing fresh, untainted air. The square metal hatch at the top lifted easily, swinging up and back on hinges to lean against a three-sided railing. Carlos ascended carefully into another dim room with a bunker feel, lined with consoles and cabinets, no bodies… 'Caramba,' he breathed, stepping away from the ladder to the desk console against the front wall, set beneath large windows that looked out over the mostly dark yard. It was an old communications relay system, and even as he reached out to pick up the headset, a crackle of static hissed from a small speaker set into a side panel, followed by a woman's cool, clear voice.
'Attention. The Raccoon City project has been aban-doned. Political maneuvering to delay federal plans has failed. All personnel must evacuate immediately to out-side of the ten-mile blast radius. Missiles will be launched at daybreak. This message is being broadcast on all available channels, and will repeat in five min-utes.'
Stunned, Carlos looked at his watch and felt his stomach knot. It was half past four in the morning, which left them an hour, maybe a little more. He snatched up the headset and started pushing but-tons. 'Hello? Does anybody read me, I'm still in the city, hello?'
Nothing. Carlos ran for the door at the back of the room, his thoughts repeating in an endless loop, day-break, Jill, helicopter, daybreak, Jill…
… and the door, a metal shutter, was firmly locked. No keyhole, no nothing. He couldn't get into the building.
And I don't even know if she's here, maybe she started back already, maybe…
Maybe a lot of things, and as much as he wanted to find her, if he didn't secure a way for them to escape the city, they weren't going to make it. He turned away from the door, not wanting to leave, knowing he didn't have a choice. He had to find one of those helicopters that Trent had told him about and make sure it was fueled up and working. Maybe he could buzz the facility, get her attention from outside, or find her on her way back to the clock tower. And if I can't… He didn't finish the thought, well
aware of Jill's fate if he failed.Hardly noticing the pain in his side, Carlos ran forthe ladder, his heart pounding and filled with dread.
TWENTY-SIX
WHEN NICHOLAI SAW JILL STEP HESITANTLY through the door into treatment operations, he immedi-ately slipped back out of view, through the security side door and into a large, empty corridor that led to the chemical tank room. A fierce joy took hold of him as he eased the door closed, feelings of vindication and self- affirmation lifting his spirits high. After he'd found Foster's data disk, he'd set up his laptop to combine files. That's when he'd seen the warning from H.Q. Not much of a surprise, it had been one of several possible outcomes projected, but it had further depressed him. A part of him had still wanted to get closure with Jill and Carlos, for what they had done to him, and he'd even been considering a final look around before calling for pickup. There was no time for that with missiles coming, and he'd been on his way to place the call when he'd heard footsteps.
She's here, I was right about her and now she's here!
He had to be right, or whatever fates were working in Raccoon wouldn't have sent her. He could see now that everything that had happened since he'd arrived in Raccoon had been predestined. Fate, testing him, sending him gifts and then pulling them away, to see what he would do. It all made perfect sense, and now there was a ticking clock, he had to get out, and here she was.
I won't fail. I've succeeded so far, and that's why this synchronicity has occurred. So that I can reestablish the control I command before I return to civilization.
He could ask her about Carlos and Mikhail, he could question her thoroughly… and if there was time, he could dominate her in a more pleasurable fashion, a farewell that he could reflect back upon for years to come. Nicholai quickly moved behind the door, his boot-steps echoing in the roomwide corridor, rifle ready. He'd earned this, and he was going to get exactly what he deserved. Jill walked into some kind of operations room, her senses on high alert as she looked across the open space, decorated in classic Umbrella laboratory style
– blank, cold, cement walls, metal railings that separated the bi-level room in an absolutely functional way, noth-ing bright or colorful in sight. Unless blood counts… Dried splashes of it stained the floor all around the low worktable that dominated the room. Probably not Nicholai's work, unlike the corpse she'd found in the office next to the room with the broken steam pipes. A short man in his mid-30s, shot in the face, his body still warm. She had no doubt that Nicholai was close, and she found herself almost hoping she'd run into him soon, just so she could stand down, not have to look over her shoulder with every step. She didn't see anything resembling a key card or a radio in the room, so she decided to move on – she could head through the side door in the nook to her left or go down. Side door, she decided, on the off chance that Nicholai had headed that way; so far, she'd been through every room she could get into on the second floor and didn't want to go downstairs and risk letting him get behind her. She walked to the door, wondering again what had been done with the bodies of those who had died in the facility. She'd seen plenty of blood and fluid stains, but only a handful of corpses. Maybe they were dumped downstairs…, she thought, pulling the security door open and sweeping left to right with the Beretta. A corridor as big as a room, with a small offshoot at the back wall that headed right. Totally empty. She stepped inside… or Umbrella ordered everything cleaned up so their employees didn't have to spend the crisis stepping over their dead coworkers… 'Freeze, bitch,' Nicholai said from behind her, roughly jamming the barrel of his rifle into her lower back. 'But drop your weapon first, if you wouldn't mind.'
A sarcastic rephrasing of what she'd said to him in the park, and she couldn't miss the thread of almost
