Стефани Перри - Zero Hour

“Damn.” She chewed at her lower lip, remembering that key in the dead worker's hand. She hadn't managed to pull it free, and then had forgotten about it after her run-in with Billy, not to mention Edward and the dogs . . . But then, who needed keys? She could just as easily crawl out through one of the broken windows, no big deal—

She heard a sound, a door closing, and looked to her left, toward the back of the train. Someone was moving around in the next car over. Another sick passenger, probably. Or perhaps Billy was still on board. Either way, she was ready to get off, and she had her choice of windows to exit.

Unless... it's someone else back there. Someone who needs help.

It could even be another of the S.T.A.R.S., and now that she'd thought of it, she felt duty-bound to take a look, sensible or not. She walked quickly to the end of the empty car, readying herself for whatever would come next. It didn't seem possible that anything weirder could happen tonight—but then, most of what had already happened didn't seem possible. She wanted to be prepared for anything.

She opened the door to the next car and took it in with a sweep of the nine-millimeter, vastly relieved to find it empty and blood-free. There were stairs going up on the left, a door straight ahead. That must have been the door she'd heard closing ...

. . . And now it opened, and out walked Billy Coen.

Billy stopped, stared at the girl, at the weapon in her hand—and was glad. That she was still alive, that she had a gun and apparently knew how to use it. After what he'd just learned, having a partner might be his only chance to survive.

“This is bad,” he said, and could see that she knew he wasn't referring to the gun in his face. She didn't answer, only watched him steadily, her nine-millimeter unwavering, and he raised his hands, understanding that game time was over. The dangling handcuff slapped his wrist.

“Those people—the ones you had to kill—they were sick,” he said. “One of them tried to bite me. I shot him, and found a notebook in his jacket. May I—?“

He started to lower one of his hands, to reach for his back pocket.

“No! Keep your hands up!” she said, jerking the weapon. She still seemed scared, but was apparently prepared to arrest him.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “You get it. It's in my right back pocket.”

“You're kidding, right? I'm not coming near you.”

Billy sighed. “It's important, some kind of a diary. It doesn't make a lot of sense, something about an investigation into a lab that's been abandoned or destroyed—but it also talks about a bunch of murders that have happened around here, and the possibility that a virus has been released. Something called T-virus.”

He saw a spark of interest, but she was playing it safe. “I'll read it after you put that handcuff back on,” she said.

He shook his head. “Whatever's happening, it's dangerous. Someone locked all the exits, have you noticed? Why don't we cooperate, until we can get out of this?”

“Cooperate?” Her eyebrows rose. “With you?"

He stepped closer, lowering his hands, ignoring the gun in his face. “Listen, little girl—if you haven't noticed, there's some pretty freaked out shit on this train. I, for one, want to get out of here, and we don't stand a chance of doing it alone.”

She didn't lower the gun. “You expect me to trust you? I don't need your help, I can handle this on my own. And don't call me little girl.”

She was starting to piss him off, but he reined it in. He didn't need her as an enemy. “All right, Miss Do-It-Yourself,” he said. “What should I call you?”

“The name is Rebecca Chambers,” she said. “That's Officer Chambers to you.”

“Well then, Rebecca, why don't you tell me your plan of action?” he asked. “You gonna arrest me? Great, do it. Call the whole force in, and tell 'em to bring heavy artillery. We can wait here for them.”

For the first time, she seemed to falter. “Radio's out,” she said.

Hell. “How'd you get here?” he asked. “Air or ground? How close is your transport?”

“We came in by 'copter, but. .. there was a malfunction,” she said. “Not that it's any of your business. Put the cuff back on. My team is waiting outside.”

Billy lowered his hands, slowly. “How far? Are you sure they're still around?”

The girl scowled. “This isn't twenty questions, Lieutenant. I'm taking you out of here. Turn around and face the wall.”

“No.” Billy crossed his arms. “Shoot me if you have to, but there's no way I'm giving up my weapon or letting you cuff me.”

High color flared in her cheeks. “You'll do what I tell you, or I'll—”

Crash!

Windows breaking, in the upstairs compartment. Billy and Rebecca both looked up, then at each other. A few seconds later, they heard what sounded like heavy footsteps overhead, slow and even . . . Then nothing at all.

“Dining room,” Billy said. “And it was empty a few minutes ago.”

Rebecca studied him for a moment, then lowered her weapon slightly. She moved to the foot of the stairs and looked up, her youthful face set with a determined expression. “Wait here,” she said. “I'll check it out.”

Billy almost smiled. He'd been in Special Forces for seven years, had learned how to shoot quite probably before she was out of grade school—and she was going to protect him?

“I thought you didn't trust me,” he said. “What's to stop me from climbing out one of the windows, making my escape?”

The girl did smile, a small and cold affair. “It's dangerous, remember? You don't stand a chance of doing it alone.”

Before he could come up with something properly snappy, she had turned her back and walked up the stairs, apparently determined to prove to him that she was a competent authority figure. Dumb kid; with all that was going on, proving herself shouldn't have been her top priority. He knew he should probably follow her, keep her from getting herself killed, but he wanted a minute to think. He watched as she reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around a corner, not looking back.

Like the song says, should I stay or should I go? Rebecca wanted to arrest him, but that also meant she'd have to keep him alive. And she needed his help, no question; she was too inexperienced to be out here by herself.

So who died and appointed you her personal savior? When are you gonna get it? You 're not one ofthe good guys anymore, remember?

Running still wasn't out of the question, but he no longer felt so sure of his chances. If he'd needed more proof that the woods were hazardous, the notebook he'd found, the pocket journal of the man who'd attacked him, was more than enough. He pulled it out, flipping to the last few entries, the ones that had caught his eye.

July 14th. We heard today about the Arklay lab . . . and we 're being sent in to check it out next week. Some ofthe others are worried about the conditions, about what might be left, but like the boss says, someone's got to take the first look. Might as well be us...

The writer went on to talk about his girlfriend, who'd be angry that he was leaving town. Billy skipped ahead, skimming the pages for what he'd read before.

July 16th . . . There s still so much we don. 't know about responses to the T-virus. Depending on the species and environment, only minute doses of T bring about remarkable changes in size, aggressive behavior, and brain development. . . in animals, anyway Nothing's immune. But until the effects can be better controlled, the company's playing with fire.

Billy turned a page.

July 19th. The day is finally approaching. . . I'm more anxious than I thought I'd be. The Raccoon City newspapers and TV stations have been reporting bizarre murders in the suburbs. It can't be the virus. Can it? If it is . . . No. I can't think ofthat now. I have to concentrate on the investigation, make sure it goes smoothly.