Стефани Перри: Zero Hour

The creature took another step. At least it's slow; if I can lure it away, then run back—

Another step, and she could hear and see a crack appear in the pavement beneath its thick black toe-nails. She moved back, tried to lengthen the distance between them—

—and suddenly it was running, fast, a blur as it dropped one arm, sweeping it up, the blades of its hands close enough for her to see a reflection of her own movement as she dove out of the way. She did a shoulder roll, clutching the shotgun to her chest, coming to her feet even as the creature finished its strange, sweeping run. Sparks flew up from the wall next to the elevator, a control panel ripped apart—

—and behind her, lights flashed, an alarm sounded—and a massive metal door between her and the platform elevator she'd come down on began to close, sliding down. It would cut the room in half—and trap her with the freakish monster.

She ran, determined to be on the other side of that door. It was heavy and dropping fast, a thick slab of metal—surely impenetrable to the creature. She cleared it easily, turned to watch, running backward.

The manmade monstrosity started after her, ducking beneath the lowering panel. She felt her heart hammering, a sheen of sweat breaking out across her body; if she ended up on the same side as that thing, it was all over.

She waited, the creature moving toward her slowly, surely—and as the bottom of the door reached the level of her head, she ran back to the other side, having to duck herself, praying that the thing would end up trapped.

It started to follow again, crouching, raising its claws over its head as it moved under the door. She felt a flash of hope, that the door would crush it— and then she heard metal screech as its giant talons dug grooves into the lowering panel. She watched in horror, in amazement, as it actually slowed the door's descent just enough for it to get underneath. Then it was through, and the door settled to the floor with a resounding clang.

Her every instinct was telling her to run, to get away—but there was nowhere to go. With that door coming down, the room was barely bigger than her studio apartment. She had to get inside that elevator. It was her only chance.

She broke for it, grabbed the handle to the door, started to slide it open—and heard the monster coming, heard the pound of its heavy feet, the crack of cement as it thundered toward her.

Shit! She didn't even turn, instinctively knowing that there wasn't time. She dropped instead, fell to her knees and scrambled to one side—just as those claws came crashing down, hacking into the elevator door, piercing the wall where she'd been standing only a second before.

She stumbled backward as the monster turned, fixed its gaze on her again, took a step. It was as focused, as relentless as some kind of machine. It drew one overlong arm back, like it was going to toss a ball, perhaps, and took a second rumbling step.

Think, think! She couldn't outfight it, probably couldn't kill it with what she had left: her only hope was to trick it somehow ...

The plan was still forming even as she put it into action. The creature was too big, it couldn't easily stop once it started to run; if she got it moving, ducked out at the last second, she might have time to get the elevator door open. She stopped moving, as far from the elevator as she could get in the small space.

Another step. The talons snicked. It took all of her will not to break and run. She kept the shotgun pointed at the creature, readied herself to dive for the elevator as soon as it picked up speed.

The monster's grin widened as its knees bent slightly, as it readied to spring—

—and then it was moving, only a few running steps and it would be on her. Rebecca flew, ducked and ran, slamming into the elevator door, grabbing at it with trembling, hurried hands. She jerked the door open, blundered inside, turned to close the door—

—and the thing was already fixed on her again, already moving fast, much too fast. The door wouldn't hold, she knew it. She brought the shotgun up, no time to aim, fired.

The blast caught its right shoulder. It staggered back, screaming, blood flying from its shredded wound, and then Rebecca saw nothing more. She slammed the door closed, hit the lowest button on the board, squeezed her eyes shut and started to pray.

Seconds passed. The elevator continued down, down—and finally came to a stop. She stopped praying long enough to hear the rushing water outside— must be the sewer—but she was too freaked to

After what seemed a long time, the shaking subsided. She was okay ... or alive, at least, and that was something. With a final prayer that she might never see that thing again, Rebecca pushed the door open and stepped out.

* * *

William Birkin was finally—finally!—leaving when he heard the inhuman scream echo through the otherwise silent facility, a scream of pure rage. He stopped at the entrance to the small, underground tunnel that led to the outside, looking back toward the executive control room. He'd spent the last two hours in the tiny, hidden area, first struggling to make the decision, then struggling to make the computer obey his override commands. The destruct sequence was set for just over an hour; as Wesker had suggested, the obliteration of the facility and its surrounding complex would coincide with the beginning of a new day.

That scream . . . He'd never heard anything like it, but knew immediately what it was, having seen the project in its final stages. Nothing else could make such a sound. The Tyrant prototype was loose.

The shadows that bordered the narrow tunnel suddenly seemed too deep, too lonely. Too capable of secrecy. Birkin turned and hurried away, sure now that he'd made the right decision.

It was all going to burn.

Billy heard something. He lifted his heavy head, managed to turn it slightly. There, to his left, a door opened onto the walkway, and out stepped a human figure.

“Hey,” he called, but he couldn't manage any volume, the sound of his voice lost to the rushing water. He closed his eyes.

“Billy!”

He looked again, felt warmth welling up deep inside. Rebecca, it was Rebecca leaning over the railing, calling his name, and the sight and sound of her brought him around some, pushed the bone-weary exhaustion away, just a little.

“Rebecca,” he said, raising his voice, not sure if she could hear. He tried to think of something to tell her, some action she should take, but could only say her name again; the situation was self-explanatory, and he was in a bad way. If she wanted to help him, she'd have to come up with something on her own.

“Billy, look out!” Rebecca was gesturing wildly with one hand, fumbling for her handgun with the

other.

The terror in her voice woke him up. He clutched the support pillar tighter, tried to pull himself up, to see what she was pointing at—and caught just a glimpse of something moving fast, something long and dark slipping through the water like a giant serpent, rushing at him.

He tried to move, to edge around the pillar, but the water was too fast, he couldn't let go. He'd be lost in less than a second.

Rebecca fired, once, twice—and the unseen creature slammed into the support pillar hard enough

to shake him free.

He yelled, paddling furiously to stay above the frothing water, to resist the pull of the emptying pipe, but it was no good. In seconds, he was swept into the dark, pushed and pummeled, the sound of the water filling his ears as it carried him away.

In the midst of Rebecca's brief battle with the proto-Tyrant, William Birkin sneaked out of the facility, his head low, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. The young man had lost track of him a few hours earlier, had assumed that the scientist had followed Wesker up and out—those people from Rebecca's little adventure team had, only moments before—but there he was, half running through one of the hidden exit tunnels, his pallid, twitching face a mask of fear. Terrified by the sounds of the battle, certainly, entirely unaware that he was alive only because his life was so very unimportant.