Claire doubled over, the emotional pain hitting her like a physical blow, sharp and hard in her gut. He'd been trying to protect her, and it had cost him his life. For a second, she couldn't move or breathe, couldn't feel the cold, didn't care about the monster. But only for a second. She looked at the stumbling, tortured animal staggering toward her, knew without doubt that the fury they'd heard came from long, hard years of abuse, of experimentation, and felt nothing. Her heart had sealed itself up, her mind suddenly colder than her body. She straightened, jacking a round into the chamber of the rifle, appraising the situation with a clear eye. Obviously, she could outrun it, leave it on the platform and be a mile away before it found its way back down but that wasn't an option, not anymore. Its death would be a mercy, but that didn't figure in to her calculations, either. It killed Steve, and now I'm going to kill it, she thought coolly, and walked to the northwest corner of the platform, the farthest from the stairs. Its appendages flailing over its head, the monster wove around in a painfully slow half circle, its blind face finally turned in her direction. It let out another deep, gasping, mindless sound and its body vomited out more of that smoking liquid, some kind of acid or poison, probably. She wondered who had created such a thing, and how this was no T- virus zombie, and from its abused and tormented state, it wasn't a BOW, either. She supposed she'd never know. Claire raised the rifle and looked through the scope, focusing in on the pulsating tissue in the center of its chest, then raising to target its blank gray face. She didn't know about the tissue mass at its heart, but she was sure it wouldn't survive a head shot by a 30.06. She
didn't want to waste time stalking it, or inflicting unnecessary pain; she just wanted it dead. She aimed at the center of its forehead. It had a strong jaw and fine, straight nose beneath the puckered flesh, as though it had once been handsome, even aristocratic. Maybe it's another Ashford, she thought mockingly, and fired. The monster's head split apart, almost seemed to shatter as the round found its mark. Shards of bone and brain matter flew, all of it as gray as the gray sky, steam rising up from the broken bowl of its skull as it fell –
– first to its knees, the mutant arms spasming in the snowy air, then onto its ruined face. Claire felt nothing, no pleasure, no dismay, not even pity. It was dead, that was all, and it was time for her to go. She still didn't feel the cold, but her body was shaking violently, her teeth rattling, and she knew she had to get warm… 'Claire?'
The voice was weak and shuddering and unmistakably Steve's, coming from the platform's east edge. Claire stared at the empty space for a split second, entirely dumbfounded and then ran, dropping to her hands and knees beneath the soft patter of snow, leaning out to see him awkwardly wrapped around a support post, clinging to the frozen metal with both arms and one leg. His face was almost blue with cold, but when he saw her, his eyes lit up, a look of incredible relief crossing his pale features. 'You're alive,' he said. 'That's my line,' she answered, dropping the rifle and bracing herself against the edge, leaning down to grab his arm. It was a struggle, but in another moment, Steve was back on the platform, and then they were on their knees, embracing, too cold to do anything but hang on. 'I'm so sorry, Claire,' he said miserably, his face buried in her shoulder. 'I couldn't stop it.' Her heart had unsealed when she'd seen him alive, and now tightened painfully. He was all of seventeen years old, his whole life ripped apart by Umbrella, and he'd just very nearly died trying to save her life. Again. And he was sorry. 'Don't worry, I got it this time,' she said, determined not to cry. 'You get the next one, okay?' Steve nodded, sitting back on his heels to look at her. 'I will,' he said, so vehemently that she had to smile. 'Cool,' she said, and crawled to her feet, reaching down to help him up. 'That'll save me some work. Now let's go catch a 'cat, yes?'
Supporting each other and staying close for warmth, they made their way to the stairs, neither of them willing to let go.
TWELVE
Alexia Ashford watched her twin die at her feet, bleeding and in great pain, reaching out to touch the stasis tank with adoration in his dying eyes. He'd never been particularly bright or competent, but she had loved him, very much. His death was a great sadness … but also the sign she'd been waiting for. It was time to come out. She'd known for some months that the end would be soon or rather the beginning, the emergence of a new life on Earth. Her stasis had remained stable for most of the fifteen years she'd needed, her mind and body unaware of life unaware that she was suspended in freezing amniotic fluid, her cells slowly changing and adapting to T-Veronica. In the past year, however, that had changed. She had hypothesized that given enough time, T-Veronica would raise consciousness to new levels, expanding areas of the mind that would surpass simplistic human senses, and she had been correct. For the last ten months, she had begun experiencing herself in spite of stasis, testing her awareness … and she had been able to see through her human eyes, when she wished. Alexia reached out with her mind and turned off the support machines. The tank began to drain, and she stared out at her dear brother, most unhappy that he had died. She could choose not to employ her emotions, but she had been human with him; it seemed appropriate. When the tank was empty, Alexia opened it, stepping out into her new world. There was power everywhere, hers for the taking, but now she sat down in front of the tank and laid Alfred's bloody head in her lap, experiencing the sadness. She began to sing, a child's song that her brother had liked, stroking his hair back from his drawn face. There was sadness in the lines around his eyes and mouth, and she wondered what his life had been like. She wondered if he'd stayed at Rockfort, stayed at Veronica's home, the home of their ancestors. Still singing, Alexia reached out to her father and was surprised to find him missing, either dead or beyond her range of perception. She had touched his mind only recently, studying what was left of it. In a way, he was responsible for what she had become; the T-Veronica had turned his mind to sludge, had driven him insane … as it would have to her, if she hadn't tested it on him, first. She stretched her awareness, finding sickness and
death in the upper levels of the terminal. A pity. She had been looking forward to beginning her experiments again, immediately; without test subjects, she had no reason to stay. She found two people not far from the Umbrella facility and decided to flex her control over substance, to see how much effort it took and found that it was hardly an effort at all. She concentrated for just a few seconds, saw a male and female inside of a snow machine, and wished for them to be brought back to the facility. Instantly, lines of organic matter tore through the ice, ripping toward the vehicle. Amused, Alexia watched with her senses as a giant tentacle of new-formed substance rose up and curled around the machine, lifting it effortlessly into the air and then threw it back at the facility. The machine tumbled end over end, its engine bursting into flame, and came to rest against one of the Umbrella buildings. Both were still alive, she thought, and was well pleased. She could use one of them in an experiment she'd been thinking about for weeks, and would surely find a good use for the other in due time. Alexia continued to sing to her dead brother, intrigued by the changes she could see coming, looking forward to gaining a fuller mastery of her new powers. She stroked his hair, dreaming.
THIRTEEN
Things fell to shit pretty fast when he finally reached the island. Chris stood at the top of the cliff in the early night, catching his breath and soundly cursing himself. Everything had been in that bag weapons and ammo, rappelling equipment so they could get back down to the boat, flashlight, a basic first-aid kit, everything.
Not everything. You 've still got three grenades on your belt, his mind told him brightly. Terrific. Halfway up the cliff he loses his grip and drops the bag into the deep blue sea, but it appeared he still had his sense of humor.
Yeah, that'll go a long way toward saving Claire's life. Barry was right. I should have brought backup.
Well. He could stand around all goddamn day wishing things were different, or he could get moving; he picked moving. Chris hunched over and stepped into the low cave entrance he'd chosen to start at, an isolated area but definitely connected to the rest of the compound there was a radio antenna on the ledge outside, and when he straightened up a few steps later, he was inside a large, open room, the walls and ceiling organic but the floor
carefully leveled. There was light somewhere ahead, and Chris started for it, keeping his fingers crossed that he wasn't about to walk into an Umbrella Military dinner. He doubted it. From what he'd seen of the island, the attack Claire had mentioned had been excessively brutal. He was less than a dozen steps into the shadowy chamber when a small tremor shook the cave, spilling rock dust and pebbles over his head and closing the cave entrance he'd just walked through, collapsing rock having a fairly distinctive sound. It seemed the island attack had made things a bit unstable. 'Oh, wonderful,' he muttered, but was suddenly a bit happier about the grenades. Not
