Стефани Перри: Code Veronica

ing who had attacked Rockfort, and why. Rodrigo had said something about a special forces team, but if that was true, whose orders were they following? It seemed that Umbrella had its share of enemies, which was definitely good news but the island attack was a tragedy nonetheless. Prisoners had died along with employees, and the T-virus perhaps the G-virus, too, and God only knows how many others didn't differentiate between the guilty and the innocent. She had reached the plain wooden door of the cabin, and holding the 9mm at the ready, she gently pushed it open and immediately closed it, her course decided by the two virus carriers she'd seen inside, both stumbling around a table. A second later there was a thump at the door, a low, pitiful moan filtering out. The trail it is, then. She doubted that the cocksure Steve would have left anyone standing if he had gone into the cabin, and she probably would have heard the shots…

… unless they got him first.

Claire didn't like it, but the grim reality of her situation was mat she couldn't afford to waste the ammo to find out. She'd follow the path, see where that led and if she couldn't find him then, he was on his own. She wanted to do the right thing, but she also felt pretty strongly about saving her own ass; she had to get back to Paris, to Chris and the others, which she certainly couldn't do if she blew her ammo and ended up being someone's lunch. She moved back along the porch, all of her senses on high as she neared the end of the building. She hadn't forgotten about the zombie dog or dogs, and listened for the patter of claws against dirt, for the heavy panting that she remembered from her previous experience in Raccoon. The damp, chill night was quiet, a shivering breeze sweeping lightly through the yard, the only breathing she heard her own. A quick glance around the corner of the cabin; nothing, only a man's body lying half in and half out of the building's crawl space, some five meters away. Another ten past that and the path turned right again, much to Claire's relief she'd seen that leg of the trail through the locked gate, and it had been empty then.

So he must have gone through that door, the one on the west wall… It was also a relief to know something, to know anything certain when it came to Umbrella. She started down the path, thinking about what it would take to convince the macho teen to stay with her. Maybe if she told him about Raccoon, explained that she'd had some practice with Umbrella disasters… Claire was just about to step over the lone corpse's upper body when it moved. She jumped back, her semi pointed at the man's

bloody head, her heart hammering and she realized that he was dead, that someone or something in the shadows of the crawl space was pulling him inside by his legs, a strong and steady series of jerks…

… like a dog backing up with something heavy in its jaws.

She didn't think anything after that, instinctively leaping over the dead man and sprinting away, aware that the dog if that's what it was wouldn't be preoccupied forever. The realization that it had been less than a meter away lent her speed as she took the corner, her boots slapping against the wet, hard packed earth, her arms pumping. Zombies were slow, uncoordinated; the dogs that both she and Leon had run across were vicious and lightning quick. Even armed, she wasn't interested in facing off with one of them, a single bite and she'd be infected, too. Arrroooooo! The gurgling howl came from farther away than the crawl space, from somewhere back in the front part of the yard. Shit, how many… Didn't matter, she was almost there, her salvation ahead on the left. Not daring to look back, she didn't slow down a step until she reached the door, grabbed the handle and shoved. It opened easily, and since she didn't see anything with teeth directly in front of her, she jumped in and slammed the door behind her… … only to hear the multiple wails of zombies, to smell the feverish rot of the dying virus carriers even as something crashed into the door at her back and began to claw at it, growling like some feral monster. How many dogs, how many zombies? The thought flashed through her panicked mind, the need to conserve ammo deeply ingrained after Raccoon, and what if I'm about to hit a dead end? She almost turned back in spite of the risk, until she saw where the zombies were. The passage she'd entered was thick with gloom, but she could see several stumbling men locked in a caged area to her left, all of them pretty far gone. One of them was beating on the mesh door, its nearly skeletal hands hanging with ribbons of damaged tissue, oblivious to the pain of its disintegrating body.

Must be the kennel…

Claire took a few steps farther in, focusing worriedly on the simple and somewhat flimsy lock holding the door closed and saw the three uncaged zombies just as the first was reaching for her, its gaping mouth dripping with saliva and some other dark fluid, its bony fingers stretching out to touch her. She'd been so intent on the caged creatures, she hadn't realized that there were more of them. She reflexively dropped her weight and snapped her

left leg into its chest, a solid and effective side kick that knocked the creature back. She could feel her boot sink into its deteriorating flesh but didn't have time for disgust, already bringing the 9mm up… … and with a thin metallic crash, the kennel door banged open, and suddenly she was facing seven instead of three. They crowded toward her, clumsily maneuvering past a Dumpster, a few barrels, the bodies of their fallen brethren. Bam! She shot the closest one without thinking, a neat hole punching through its right temple, understanding that she was doomed as it crumpled and hit the dirt. Too many, too tightly grouped, she'd never make it –

-the barrels! One of them was marked flammable, same trick I used in Paris… Claire dove for cover behind the Dumpster, switching the gun to her left hand as she landed. The target marked in her mind's eye, she came up shooting, only her arm curling around the Dumpster as the confused zombies teetered and searched, moaning hungrily…

Bam! Bam! B… … KA-BLAM!

The Dumpster slammed into her right shoulder, knocking her over backward. She curled into a ball on her side, ears ringing, as jagged, burning shreds of metal rained down from above, clattering atop the Dumpster, a few of them landing on her left leg. She slapped them off, scarcely able to believe that it had worked, that she was still alive. She sat up, pushing herself into a crouch, looking out at what remained of her assailants. Only one of them was still whole, leaning heavily on the kennel, its clothes and hair on fire; the upper body of a second was trying to crawl toward her, its black and bubbling skin sloughing off as it inched forward. The rest were in pieces, the burning earth licking up to claim the pathetic remains as its own. Claire quickly dispatched the two left alive, her heart aching a little at the dismal end these people had come to. Ever since Raccoon City, her dreams were haunted by zombies, by the stinking, dripping creatures that sought live flesh as sustenance. Umbrella had unintentionally created these particular monsters, like nightmarish walking corpses straight out of the movies, and it was kill or be killed, there was no choice.

Except they were people not so long ago. People with families and lives, who hadn't deserved to die in such terrible ways, no matter what evils they may have committed. She looked down at the poor burned bodies, feeling almost sick with pity and a low but insistent fever of hatred for Umbrella.

Claire shook her head and did her best to let it go, aware that allowing herself to carry all that pain might make her hesitate at some crucial moment. Like a soldier at war, she couldn't afford to humanize the enemy … although she had no doubts as to who the real enemy was, and she hoped fervently that Umbrella's leaders would all burn in hell for what they'd done. Not wanting to be surprised again, she carefully and thoroughly checked the passage's shadows in her evaluation of next-step choices. In the back of the kennel was an actual guillotine, stained with what appeared to be real blood. Just looking at it made her shudder, reminding her of RPD's Chief Irons, and his hidden dungeon; Irons had been living proof that Umbrella didn't run psych tests on their undercover employees. Behind the nasty execution device was a door, but Steve obviously hadn't gone that way, not with the zombies locked in. Next to the kennel was a kind of metal sliding shutter, but it wouldn't open … and next to that, the only door he could have gone through, because the passage was a dead end just past it. Claire walked to the door, suddenly feeling very tired and very old, her emotions spent. She checked the handgun and then reached for the handle, absently wondering if she would ever see her brother again. Sometimes holding on to her hope was a tremendous burden, made all the heavier because she couldn't set it aside, not even for a moment.