responsible for the Ashford's stake in Umbrella, accountable for the entire Rockfort compound. When their basically incompetent father, Alexander Ashford, had gone missing some fifteen years before, the young Alfred had stepped up to take his place. The key players behind Umbrella's bioweapons research had tried to keep him out of the loop, but only because he intimidated them, cowed them by the natural supremacy of his family name. Now they sent him regular reports, respectfully explaining the decisions they made on his behalf, making it clear that they would get in touch with him immediately if the need arose.
I suppose I should contact them, tell them what's happened… He'd always left those matters to his personal secretary, Robert Dorson, but Robert had left his service some weeks before to join the other prisoners, after expressing a bit too much curiosity about Alexia. She was smiling at him now, her face glowing with understanding and adoration. Yes, she was so much better to him since her return to Rockfort, truly as devoted to him as he'd always been to her. 'You'll protect me, won't you,' she said, not a question. 'You'll find out who did this to us, and then show them what one gets for trying to destroy a legacy as powerful as ours.'
Overcome with love, Alfred reached out to touch her
but stopped short, all too aware that she didn't like physical contact. He nodded instead, some of his rage returning as he thought of someone trying to harm his beloved Alexia. Never, not as long as he lived, would he allow that to happen. 'Yes, Alexia,' he said passionately. 'I'll make them suffer, I swear it.'
He could see in her eyes that she believed in him, and his heart filled with pride, just as his thoughts turned to the discovery of their enemy. An absolute hatred for Rockfort's assailants was growing inside of him, for the stain of weakness they had tried to paint on the Ashford name.
I'll teach them regret, Alexia, and they'll never forget the lesson.
His sister relied on him. Alfred would die before letting her down.
TWO
Claire snapped the lighter closed AT the base of the covered stairs and took a deep breath, trying to psych herself up for whatever came next. The chill of the dark corridor behind her pressed at her back like an icy hand, but still she hesitated, the knife haft sweaty beneath her fingers as she slipped the warm lighter into her vest pocket. She wasn't particularly looking forward to ascending into the unknown, but she had nowhere else to go, not unless she meant to go back to the cell. She could smell oily smoke, and she guessed that the flickering shadows at the top of the wide cement steps meant fire.
But what's up there? This is an Umbrella facility…
What if it was like Raccoon City, what if the attack on the island had unleashed a virus, or some of the animal abominations that Umbrella kept creating? Or was Rockfort only a prison for their enemies? Maybe the prisoners had rioted, maybe things had only been bad from Rodrigo's point of view… … maybe you could walk up the goddamn stairs and find out instead of guessing all day, hmm?
Her pulse thumping, Claire forced herself to take the first step up, vaguely wondering why movies always made it seem so easy, to bravely throw oneself into probable danger. After Raccoon, she knew better. Maybe she didn't have much of a choice about what she had to do, but that didn't mean she wasn't scared. Considering the circumstances, only a complete moron wouldn't be afraid. She climbed slowly, opening her senses as new adrenaline flushed her system, replaying the brief glimpse she'd had of the small graveyard when the guards had led her through. No help there, she'd only seen a few
headstones, remembered them as bizarrely ornate for a prison cemetery. There was definitely a fire close to the top of the stairs, but apparently not a big one there was no heat filtering down, only a cool and humid breeze that carried the pervasive smoke smell. It seemed quiet, and as she neared the top, she heard drops of rain hissing as they met the flames, an oddly comforting sound. As she emerged from the stairwell, she saw the source of the fire, only meters away. A helicopter had crashed, a large portion of it merrily burning amid a thick, smoking haze. To her left was a wall, another just past the flaming wreck; to her right, the open space of the cemetery, gloomy and shrouded by the increasing rain and the oncoming night. Claire squinted into the rainy dusk and made out a number of dark shapes, though none of them seemed to be moving; more headstones, she thought. A whisper of relief edged through her anxiety; whatever had happened seemed to be over. Amazing, she thought, that she could possibly be relieved to be alone in a cemetery at night. Even six months ago, her imagination would have conjured up all sorts of horrible things. It appeared that ghosts and cursed souls just didn't cut it on the scary meter anymore, not after her run-ins with Umbrella. She took a right on the U-shaped path, moving slowly, remembering how she'd been led through the graveyard before being pushed to the stairs. She thought she could make out what looked like a gate past the line of graves in the center of the yard, or at least an open space in the far wall… … and suddenly she was flying, the sound of an explosion behind her assaulting her ears, WHUMP, a wave of broiling heat throwing her into the mud. The wet twilight was suddenly brighter, the reek of burning chemicals stinging her nose and eyes. She landed without grace but managed not to stab herself with the combat knife, all of it happening so fast that she barely had time to register confusion.
… don't think I'm hurt … helicopter's fuel tank must have blown… 'Unnnh…'
Claire was on her feet instantly, the soft, pitiful, unmistakable moan inspiring a near panic of action, the sound joined by another, and another. She spun around and saw the first one stumbling toward her from what was left of the burning helicopter, a man, his clothes and hair on fire, the skin of his face blistering and black. She turned again and saw two more of them crawling up from the mud, their faces a sickening gray-white,
their skeletal fingers grasping in her direction, clutching air as they reeled toward her. Shit! Just as in Raccoon, Umbrella's viral synthesis had effectively turned them into zombies, stealing their humanity and their lives. She didn't have time for disbelief or dismay, not with three of them closing in, not when she realized that there were others farther along the path. They staggered out from the shadows, slack, brutalized faces all turning slowly toward her, mouths hanging open, their gazes blank and unchanging. Some wore shreds of uniforms, camo or plain gray, guards and prisoners. There had been a spill, after all.
'Uhhhh…' 'Ohhh…'
The overlapping cries epitomized great longing, each plaintive wail that of a starving man looking at a feast. Goddamn Umbrella for what they'd done! It was beyond tragic, the transformation from human into mindless, dying creatures, decaying as they walked. The inevitable fate of each virus carrier was death, but she couldn't let herself mourn for them, not now, her pity limited by the need to survive.
Go go go NOW!
Her assessment and analysis lasted less than a second and then she was moving, no plan except to get away. With the path blocked in both directions, she leaped for the center of the graveyard, clambering over the marble slabs that marked the resting places of the true dead. Her wet, muddy jeans clung to her legs, hampering her, her boots slipping against the smooth headstones, but she managed to climb up and balance her weight between two of them, out of reach for the moment. For the second! You gotta get out of here, fast. The knife was no good, she didn't dare get close enough to use it a single healthy bite from one of those things and she'd end up joining their ranks, if they didn't eat her first. The one with the blackened face was nearest, his hair melted away, part of his shirt still smoldering. He was close enough for her to smell the greasy, nauseating smell of burnt flesh, overlaid by the stench of the fuel that had cooked it. She had ten, fifteen seconds at most before he'd be close enough to grab for her. She shot a glance at the southeast corner of the yard, her arms out for balance. There were only two of them between her and the exit, but that was two too many, she'd never make it past both of them. She knew from Raccoon that they were slow, and that their reasoning skills were zip they saw prey, they moved toward it in a straight line, regardless of what was in the way. If she could just bait them away from the gate…
Good idea, except there were too many on the ground, six or seven of them, she'd end up surrounded…
.. but not if you stay on the headstones.
There were multiple zombies to either side of the center row of graves, but only one standing at the end of the line, directly in front of her … and that one barely functional, an eye gouged out, an arm broken and hanging. It was a risky plan, one stumble and she was toast, but the burned man was already reaching for her ankle with his charred and shaking hands, rain sizzling on his upturned face. Claire leaped, arms wheeling as she landed with both feet on the narrow top of the next stone slab in line. She started to pitch forward, jerking and swiveling her body to maintain her center of gravity, but it was no good, she was going to fall –
