Стефани Перри - Underworld

—and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.

When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of Umbrellabirds, in a sterile, surreal forest—

"Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to maybe twenty-five, thirty feet—and at the very top, John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted on, each as big around as a basketball.

Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet to need that to land on. . . .

The piping screams had stopped, and John didn't hear the beat of wings anymore—but he wondered how long it would be before the birds decided to look for prey.

"Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voice cracking. "Dacs."

"You're kidding," John breathed, and could see the skinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his peripheral vision.

"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard." Cole sounded distinctly terrified.

"Let's head for that door," Leon said, already edging into the false, shadowy woods.

Amen to that.

John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying to look up and watch his step at the same time. He tripped almost immediately, one boot kicking against a molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself from going into a full sprawl.

"This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole—Henry?"

He glanced back and saw that Cole was still huddled against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turned up to the sky.

—ceiling, dammit—

Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up into the spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said.

John walked back, angry and frustrated and seriously uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, David and the girls could very well be fighting for their lives on the surface, and he wasn't going to waste time coddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, they couldn't just leave him behind, at least not without making an effort.

"Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tapped his arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mild brown eyes were positively glassy with fear.

John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He was anelectrician,for hell's sake, and it seemed that ignorance had been his only real crime.

"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stay here, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have both had run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is to come with us—and besides, we could use your help, you know more about this place than we do. Okay?"

Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just— I'm scared."

"Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flying part's cool, but they're soweird,got those beady eyes and scaly feet—and have you ever seen a buzzard? They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, and saw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quivery smile.

"Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walked back to where Leon was standing, still watching the air above.

"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you

lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, and we'll need a clear route so we won't have to worry about tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"

Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale, John could see that he would hold together. For a while, anyway.

Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headed roughly southwest, weaving a crooked path through the strange forest. Leon and John followed, John realizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn't

If you don't look where you're going, you're going to trip,John thought wearily, after the sixth time he ran into a fallen "log."No way around it.

The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in an appearance or made any other sound. Just as well; John thought walking through a plastic forest was enough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation, seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth, feeling the moisture in the air—but also being aware that there were no smells of earth or growing things, no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It was a dream-like experience, and an unnerving one.

John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on the crisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped.

"We're—there's kind of a clearing here," he said.

Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?"

John stepped forward, peering through the seemingly random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. It was at least fifty feet across, but John would rather they go out of their way; being dive-bombed by a pterodactyl didn't sound like fun atall.

"Yeah. Henry, veer right. We're going to—"

The rest of his words were lost as that high, warbling screech blasted through the unnatural forest, and a brown-gray shape dove into the clearing and flew at them, extending talons a foot across.

John saw a wingspan of eight or ten feet, the leathery wings tipped with curved hooks. He saw a screaming, toothed beak and a slender elongated skull, flat black eyes the size of saucers, glittering—

—and he and Leon both opened fire as the creature hit the line of artificial trees in front of them, its huge claws gouging into the solid plastic. It held on, spreading its vast membranous wings in a struggle to balance—

—andbambambam,holes punched through the thin flesh, streamers of watery blood trickling down from the openings. The animalscreamed,so close that John couldn't hear the bullets, couldn't hear anything

but that quavering, high-pitched shriek—and then it dropped, landing on the dark floor, pulling its wings in—

—and walking toward them on its elbows, like a bat, moving jerkily through the shredded trees, shrieking in short, sharp barks of sound. Behind it, another dropped into the clearing, gusting odorless wind across them as its wide wings folded closed, its long, pointed beak opening and revealing nubs of grinding teeth.

This is bad, bad, bad—

The lurching animal was less than five feet away when John drew a bead on the bobbing head, on the shiny round eye, and pulled the trigger.

twelve

THE TALLER ONE, JOHN, POINTED HIS AUTOmatic rifle at the Avi and let loose a hail of bullets.

Like a stream of destruction, they hit the Dac's aquiline skull and blew out the other side, dark fluids spattering across the freshly painted trees. Both eyes popped like water balloons.

Damn. Low threshold; it's those hollow bones....

Reston watched as the other gunman pointed his weapon at a second Dae that had landed in the clearing. Even without sound, Reston could see the handgun kick three, four times, hitting the specimen in its narrow chest. The Dac's slender neck curved wildly back and forth, a squiggling dance of death before it sprawled, bleeding, against the ground.

He didn't see any more of the animals touch down, but the three men were retreating, stumbling back into the woods. Poor Cole seemed quite undone, his mouth open in a silent howl, his lank brown hair

practically plastered to his head with sweat, his limbs quaking.

Serves him right for not getting to the audio.The lack of sound was annoying, although he supposed the footage wouldn't suffer for it. People knew what bullets and screams sounded like already.

The three were moving out of range, heading west now. Reston switched cameras from the one in the

tree to a long shot from the north wall. It was clear that Cole was trying to lead them to the connecting door—although he obviously didn't remember that a second, larger clearing was now in their path. For the moment, though, the Dacs had also pulled back; they generally gravitated toward open spaces. The gunmen had only killed two, which meant that there would be six healthy specimens to greet them in the "meadow."