Стефани Перри - Nemesis

He stepped around the serving counter and walked into the room, absently noting a faint scent of fried food lingering in the cool air as he stared around, searching. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he definitely didn't see it—no unmarked envelope propped up on a table, no mysterious packages, no trench-coated man waiting. There was a pay phone by the front door; Carlos walked over and picked up the receiver but got nothing, just like every other phone in town.

He checked his watch for what felt like the thousandth time in the past hour and saw that it was 1901— one minute after seven o'clock—and he felt a rush of anger, of frustration that only served to increase his unacknowledged fear.I'm alone, no one knows I'm here and no one can help me.

"I'm here," he said, turning to face the empty room, his voice rising. "I made it, I'm here on time andgod-damnit, where the hell are you?"

As if on cue, the telephone rang, the shrill sound making him jump, Carlos fumbled for it, his heart thumping dully in his chest, his knees suddenly weak with hope.

"Trent? Is that you?"

A brief pause, and Trent's smooth, musical voice

spilled into his ear. "Hola, Mr. Oliveira! I'm so pleased to hear your voice!"

"Man, not half as glad as I am to hear yours." Carlos sagged against the wall, gripping the receiver tightly.

"This is some bad shit,amigo, everyone's dead and there are things out there, like—there aremonsters,

Trent. Can you get me out of here? Tell me you can get

There was another pause, and Trent sighed, a heavy sound. Carlos closed his eyes, already knowing what he would say.

"I'm very sorry, but that's simply out of the question.

What Ican do is give you information ... but surviving, that's your job. And I'm afraid that things are going to get worse, much worse before they get any better."

Carlos took a deep breath and nodded to himself, knowing that this was what he'd been expecting all along. He was on his own.

"Okay," he said and opened his eyes, straightening his shoulders as he nodded again. "Tell me."

NINE

Comments, description of reported misdemeanor—29-087:

Two of the twelve faux gems that are an integral part of the "clock-lock" at the ornamental main gate of the municipal complex have been removed, between (approximately) 2100 hours yesterday (September 24) and 0500 hours this morning. With many local businesses boarded up at this time, looters have been defacing town property and attempting to take what they believe to be valuable. This officer believes that the perp thought the gems were real, and stopped after removing two (one blue, one green) when he/she realized they were only glass.

This gate (aka "City Hall" gate) is only one of several entrances/exits that lead to the municipal complex. The gate is now locked due to its complicated (and in this officer's opinion, ridiculous) design, which requires that all gems be present for the gate to be unlocked. Until the City Parks Department removes the gate, or until the two gems can be recovered and reinstalled, this entrance/exit will remain locked.

Due to the lack of available manpower at this time, there is no choice but to suspend the investigation of this case.//report-ing officer Marvin Branagh

Additional comments, case 29-087, M. Branagh

Sept. 26—One of the missing gems (blue) has turned up inside the RPD building. It's 2000 hours. Bill Hansen, deceased owner of the restaurant Grill 13, was apparently carry-

ing the fake gem when he came here seeking shelter earlier this evening. Mr. Hansen died shortly after arriving, killed by police fire after succumbing to the effects of the cannibal disease. The gem was found on his person, though I'm

this officer has no way of knowing if he stole it or where the other gem might be.

With the city now under martial law, no effort will be made to find the second gem or to put this one back—but with several of the streets surrounding the municipal complex now impassable, the need for these gems may at some point become relevant.

On a personal note: this will be my last written report until the current crisis has passed. Paperwork doesn't seem—at this time, the need to document misdemeanors seems secondary to the enforcement of martial law, nor do I believe myself to be alone in this assessment.

Marvin Branagh, RPD

Jill put the typed report and handwritten addendum back into the evidence drawer, sadly wondering if Marvin was still alive; it seemed unlikely, which was a thoroughly depressing thought. He was one of the best officers in the RPD, always nice as hell without sacrificing a professional demeanor.

Right up to the end, a real pro.Goddamm Umbrella.

She reached into the drawer and took out the diamond-shaped piece of blue glass, gazing at it thoughtfully. The rest of the evidence room had been a bust, the locked cabinets and drawers yielding nothing useful as far as weapons went; obviously, she wasn't the only one who'd thought to check it for guns and ammo. The gem, on the other hand ...

Marvin was right about the streets being blocked all around the City Hall gate; she'd tried to get through the area once already and had found most of it barricaded.

Not that there was much over there—the gate opened into a small garden with paved walkways, really a showcase for a rather boring statue of ex-mayor Michael Warren. Past that was City Hall, not used for much since the new courthouse had been built uptown, and a couple of paths that led north and west, respectively—an auto shop and a few used-car lots if you

"Oh, shit, the trolley!"

Why hadn't she thought of it before? Jill felt a rush of excitement, hampered only slightly by the urge to slap her forehead. She'd totally forgotten about it. The old-fashioned two-car train's scenic route was a tourist thing, the city only ran it summers anymore, but it went all the way out to the westernmost suburbs, past City Park and through a few of the more expensive neighborhoods. There was an allegedly abandoned Umbrella facility out that way, too, where there might still be working cars and clear roads. Assuming it was in running condition, the trolley would be the easiest way out of the city, hands down.

Except with all the blockades, the only way to get to it is through that locked gate—and I've only got one of the jewels.

She didn't have the equipment to take the heavy, oversized gate down by herself... but Marvin's report said that Bill Hansen had had the blue gem, and his restaurant was only three or four blocks away. There was no reason to assume he'd had the green one at some point, too, or that it was at the Grill, but it'd be worth checking out. If it wasn't there, she was no worse off—but if she couldfind it, she might be able to get out of the city much sooner than she'd expected. With the Nemesis running around out there, it couldn't be soon enough.

So, it was decided. Jill turned and walked toward the hall door, slipping the blue gem into her fanny pack. She wanted to check out the RPD's darkroom before she left, see if she could find one of the photographer's vests laying around; she didn't have any speed loaders for the Colt, and she wanted a few pockets to carry the loose rounds. While she was at it, she thought she might as well leave the shotgun behind.

She'd rigged up an over-the-shoulder strap using a belt she'd taken off a dead man, so carrying it wasn't too bad, but without shells—and with the .357 as additional firepower—she didn't see the point in lugging it around anymore ...

She stepped into the hall and took a left, deliberately

not looking at the one slumped body beneath the windows that faced south. It was a young woman carrier

she'd shot at from the stairs to the second floor, just around the corner, and she was pretty sure that she'd known the girl—a secretary/receptionist who worked at the front desk on weekends, Mary something. The darkroom faced the opening beneath the stairs; she'd have to pass within a few feet of the corpse, but she thought she could avoid looking too closely if she— CRASH!