Стефани Перри - Caliban Cove

As the three stepped into the room, Rebecca strug-gled to quash the blush she felt creeping up on her, suddenly feeling horribly unprofessional. All they’d done was hold hands, and only for a second—but they were in the middle of an operation, in hostile territory where even a moment’s lapse of concentra-tion could get them killed.

John must have picked up on her embarrassment. “Ah, don’t mind me,” he said, his grin fading. “I’m just giving Steve-o a hard time, I didn’t mean any-thing by it—“ David interrupted, shooting John a pointed glance. “I think we have more important things to discuss,” he said evenly. “We need to update, and I have a few things I’d like to go over.”

He nodded toward the journal she still held. “They found the room, but didn’t touch anything. Did you find anything else useful?”

She nodded, relieved by the news and glad for the change of subject. “It looks like there are only four

Trisquads, though the entry that mentioned it is six months old.”

David looked relieved. “That’s excellent. John and Karen had another encounter outside of D, managed to get five of them—that means there may only be one team left.”

They pulled chairs away from the small tables that lined the walls, forming them in a loose semi-circle in the middle of the room. David stayed standing, ad-dressing them solemnly.

“I’d like to do a quick recap, to make certain we’re all on the same page before we go any further. In short, this facility was used for T-Virus experimenta-tion and has been taken over by one of the researchers for reasons unknown. The other workers have been killed and the offices purged of incriminating evi-dence. Rebecca believes that the biochemist Nicolas Griffith is responsible, and the fact that the grounds are still being patrolled suggests that he’s alive, some-where in the compound—though I don’t feel we should concern ourselves with trying to find him. We’ve already completed two of the tests given to us by Dr. Ammon, through Trent, and my hope is that the ‘material’ he has hidden for us will be the evi-dence we need to formally charge Umbrella with criminal activity.”

He folded his arms and started to pace slowly as he talked, glancing between them. “Obviously there’s already plenty of proof that illegalities have occurred here; we could leave now and turn the matter over to federal authorities. My concern is that we still don’t have enough hard evidence on Umbrella’s involve-ment—other than the computer system’s software and the journal that Steve and Rebecca found, Um-brella’s name isn’t on anything, and both of those could be explained away. My feeling is that we should continue with the tests and find whatever Dr. Ammon meant for us to have before we evac—but I want to hear from each of you about it first. This isn’t an authorized op, we’re not following orders here, and if you think we should go, we go.”

Rebecca was surprised, could see that the others felt the same by their expressions. David had seemed so certain before, so enthusiastic about their chances. The look on his face now told a different story. He seemed almost apologetic about wanting to continue, and looked as though he wanted for one of them to suggest otherwise.

Why the change? What happened?

John spoke first, glancing at the rest of them before looking at David. “Well, we’ve made it this far. And if there’s only one more group of zombies out there, I say we finish up.”

Rebecca nodded. “Yeah, and we still haven’t found the main lab, we don’t know why Griffith did this—whether he suffered a psychotic break or is actually hiding something. We may not find out, but it’s worth a look. Plus, what if he destroys more evidence after we’ve gone?”

“I agree,” Steve said. “If the S.T.A.R.S. are as deeply involved with Umbrella as it looks, we’re not going to get another chance. This may be our only opportunity to dig up a connection. And we’re al-ready so close, the third test is right here—we do that one, we’re one step away from finishing.” “I’m up for it,” Karen said softly.

At the strained sound of her voice, Rebecca turned to look at her, noticing for the first time that Karen didn’t look so good. Her eyes were bloodshot, her complexion almost a pallor.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asked.

Karen nodded, sighing. “Yeah. Headache.”

Must be a migraine, she looks like hell. . . . “What is it, David?” John asked abruptly. “What’s eatin’ you? You know something you’re not telling us?”

David stared at them for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I just—I have a bad feeling. Or rather, a feeling that something bad is going to happen.”

“Little late, don’tcha think?” John said, grinning.

“Where were you when we got into the raft?” David half-smiled in response, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, John, I’d almost forgotten. So, it’s decided then. Let’s solve our next puzzle, shall we? Oh, Rebecca, take a look at Karen’s eye while we’re at it, it’s giving her some trouble.” They stood up and moved toward the back of the room, for the table in the northwest corner marked with a blue nine. Steve and Rebecca had already looked when they’d found the room, though there was no clue as to what the test was—a small, blank monitor screen with a ten-key hooked to it sat on the metal table, an enigma.

Rebecca motioned for Karen to sit on the chair in front of test ten, the purpose of which also escaped her—it consisted of a circuit board wired to a plank and what looked like a pair of tweezers connected to it by a black wire. She bent down to take a look, frowning. The woman’s right eye was extremely irri-tated, the pale blue cornea floating in a sea of red. Her eyelid had a bruised, swollen look.

She turned to ask for David’s flashlight—and saw that as he sat down in front of the scheduled test, the screen flickered on, several lines of type appearing in the center of the monitor.

“Some kind of motion sensor—“ Steve started to say, but David held up his hand suddenly, reading aloud what had appeared on the screen in a rapid, anxious voice.

“ ‘As I was going to Saint Ives, I met a man with seven wives—the seven wives had seven sacks, the seven sacks held seven cats—the seven cats had seven kits; kits, cats, sacks, wives, how many were going to Saint Ives?’” There was a digital readout on the screen, showing 00:49 and counting down. In the time it had taken David to read the question, eleven seconds had al-ready ticked off the clock.

David stared at the screen, his thoughts racing furiously as the team leaned in behind him. Tension radiated from them, and David felt a sudden prickle of sweat break out across his forehead. Don’t count, that was the clue. But what does it mean?

“Twenty-eight,” John said quickly. “No, wait, twenty-nine, including the man—“ Steve cut him off, talking just as fast. “But if they had seven kittens each, that would be forty-nine plus twenty-one, seventy, seventy-one with the man.” “But the message said don’t count,” Karen said. “If you’re not supposed to count—does that mean don’t add, or—wait, there’s the man with the wives and the speaker, that’s another one—“ Thirty-two seconds had elapsed. David’s hand hov-ered over the key pad.

Think! Don’t count, don’t count, don’t—

“One,” Rebecca said quickly. “ ‘As / was going to Saint Ives’—it doesn’t say where the man with the wives was going. That’s what it means, the clue—don’t count anyone except the one who was going to Saint Ives!”

Yes, it makes sense, a trick question—

They had twenty seconds left.

“Anyone disagree?” David asked sharply.