Стефани Перри: Zero Hour

“What say we blow this Popsicle stand?” he asked, and though his words were light, neither of them smiled.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand for a moment, just a moment, squeezing his fingers tightly in her own. He squeezed back. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Billy felt like shit, but he soldiered on as Rebecca led them vaguely eastward, wanting more than anything to get free of Marcus's damned playground before he allowed himself to collapse. As they wandered through a maze of corridors and rooms—Billy was hopelessly lost after their second turn—she told him what had happened to her since he'd been dragged off the cable car platform. She'd had a run-in with her team leader, and a fight with some super-creature Frankenstein that she very nearly didn't survive. She'd also found a .50 Magnum revolver to match the ammo he'd been lugging around, some serious firepower, and had managed to hang on to the shotgun. In all, he thought she'd done better than he probably would have, in the same circumstances.

They found an empty bunkroom and loaded up, Billy taking the Magnum, Rebecca keeping the shotgun. There was a sealed gallon jug of water under one of the bunks and they took turns gulping it down, both of them desperate for hydration. It turned out that swimming in sewer water didn't do much for one's thirst.

Refreshed by the water, holding decent and fully loaded weapons, Billy finally felt like he might recover from his ride through the rapids. They took the southern exit from the bunkroom, through an industrial treatment room, then another. The rooms of the plant blurred together for Billy, all looked the same— rusting metal walls and floors, pipe railings, huge walls of unknown equipment covered with dials

and switches. Some of the equipment was working, filling the large rooms with echoing blasts of mechanical sound, though God only knew what it was controlling. Billy found that he didn't much care, though as they continued on, they could both hear the rush of water getting closer, big water—and when they went through a massive pump room that opened out into the chill of predawn, they found a walkway that spanned an actual dam.

They stood for a moment, looking out over the dark length of reservoir that ran alongside the building they'd emerged from, the crashing curtain of water that punctuated it at the far end. It was too loud for them to talk, and they stepped back into the pump room, both of them smiling. They'd found a way out, at least; true, the walkway over the dam led to another building, but just seeing the fading stars, the sinking moon, gave Billy a real boost. Their nightmare run through the Umbrella complex would be over soon, he could feel it, the end in sight as surely as the new day would soon dawn.

“My team probably went this way, cleared us a path,” Rebecca said, looking hopeful. She had to speak up to be heard over the cascade of water just outside, the surging pumps that took up half of the room. Her voice rang slightly against the metal walk that surrounded a pool of water in the room's center. “He said they were going east. We're practically out of here already.”

“I thought you said Enrico took that elevator up,” Billy said.

“Oh, right,” she said, her expression sagging. She blinked, and he realized how very tired she had to be. “Sorry. Forgot.”

“Understandable,” Billy said. “But you're right, we are practically out of here.” He touched the Magnum on his belt, the loose handcuff on his wrist banging into it, a sudden reminder of his life before the jeep accident. That life seemed so far away now, like it had happened to a different man ... But it was still waiting for him, somewhere outside.

Thoughts for later, for if. He managed a smile, patted the Magnum. “This is kind of a universal key—unlocks doors, clears out unwanted disease carriers, you name it.”

Rebecca smiled back, started to say something— and stopped, staring into his eyes, both of them frozen at the sound of water splashing across the metal walk. As one, they turned to look—to see a giant rising up from the pool a few meters away, a thing that Billy knew instantly was the monster she'd told him about, from the elevator. It was huge, white, covered with blood and sores; it reached out to pull itself from the pool with insanely long, knifelike claws, the tips screeching against the walk.

Billy grabbed the Magnum, backing away, trying to push Rebecca behind him. She easily evaded his grasp, standing her ground with the shotgun, and Billy's heroic ideals dropped away when the creature saw them and let out a terrible scream, a deep, mind-ripping sound of hatred, of lust not just to kill, but to rend and mutilate. Facing it alone wasn't macho; it was suicidally stupid.

“When it gets moving, it doesn't maneuver well,” Rebecca said quickly, half under her breath. He had to strain to hear her over the rhythmic beat of the powerful pump engines. “If we can get it away from the door, get it running, we can get past it when it tries to turn.”

Billy took careful aim at the thing's rough-hewn face. It took a step toward them, and they both backed away. “How about we kill it instead?”

“Don't,” Rebecca said, her voice edged with panic. “You'll just make it mad. What you're seeing now is after two shotgun blasts, one of them almost point blank.”

The thing took another step and lowered itself slightly, tensing its legs as though about to spring.

“Run!”

Billy didn't need to hear it twice. They both turned and ran, pivoted left where the walk did. Behind them, two, three massive, ringing steps sounded against the protesting metal—and then the monster's claws ripped down and across the wall at the corner, a tremendous shriek of sound as the thick steel curled up like wood shavings.

Billy turned, raised the Magnum as the stopped monster slowly turned to face them.

“Keep going!” he shouted to Rebecca, aiming for the pulsing red tumor half buried in its chest, what had to be its heart. The monster took a single step, its opaque gray eyes fixing on Billy, its claws raising.

Billy fired, the weapon jumping in his hand, roaring, deafening. A hole erupted in the thing's breast bone, not a direct hit to the heart but close. Blood poured from the hole, ran down its thick white gut. It howled, the sound even louder than the blast from the hand-cannon, and infinitely more deadly, but it didn't go down.

Jesus, that shoulda stopped an elephant—

“Come on!” Rebecca shouted, pulling at his arm. He shook her off, took aim again. If it bled, it could die, and short of a grenade launcher, the .50 Magnum was maybe the best weapon for the job.

The monster took a staggering step forward then seemed to find its balance, its dead gaze focusing on Billy. Blood continued to pour from its wound, had drenched its sexless crotch now, the tops of its muscle-bound thighs. That grin, that horrible grin— it seemed to be laughing, as though it couldn't wait to share some private joke with him.

Billy thought the punchline probably included ripping an arm off and beating him to death with it. He fixed on the heart, squeezed the trigger—

—and another tremendous bang, more blood flying, the monster screaming—

—oh, God, please let that be pain!

—but not falling. Still, not falling. It was hard to tell where he'd hit it, there was blood everywhere, but the heart continued to pulse.

“Move!”

Billy was shoved aside, Rebecca stepping forward, raising the shotgun as the creature started to crouch, its legs tensing. She aimed, low, too low, there was no way she was going to hit its heart—

—and the shotgun boomed, and finally, the monster went down, its cry one of rabid fury. It clawed at the walk, its talons pulling a tremendously painful, high squeal from the metal.