Chapter Seven
SEVEN
Steve and david climbed in, edging to the front of the six-man raft as Karen and Rebecca followed. John hopped in last, and at David's signal, started the motor with the push of a button; it was as silent as David had promised, only a faint hum that was almost lost in the sound of gently moving water. "Let's move," David said quietly. Rebecca took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they started north, heading for the cove. Nobody spoke as the shore slid by to their left, shadowy, jagged shapes in the pallid light of the rising moon, an immense and whispering void to their right. Port and starboard, her mind noted randomly. Bow and stern. She searched the blackness for a sign that marked the beginning of the private territory, but couldn't make out much. It was a lot darker than she'd expected, and colder. The chill she felt was com- pounded by the knowledge that beneath them lay an infinite and alien world, teeming with cold-blooded life. Rebecca saw a flash of soft light as David raised a pair of NV binoculars to watch for movement on the shore. The infrared illuminator's glow spilled across his face for an instant before he adjusted their posi- tion, making his features strange and craggy. Now that they were actually doing it, actually on their way, she felt better than she had all day. Not relaxed, by any means-the dread was still there, the fear of the unknown and for what they might encount- er-but the feelings of helplessness, the mind- numbing anxiety she'd lived with since the incident in Raccoon, had eased, giving way to hope.
We're doing something, taking the offensive instead of waiting for them to get to us. . . "I see the fence," David said softly, his face a pale smudge in the bobbing dark. We'll pass the dock next, maybe see the buildings as the land slopes up to the lighthouse, to the caves. . . Water slopped at the raft, the sound of muted waves growing as the small craft rocked and shuddered. Rebecca felt her heart speed up. While she liked looking at the ocean, she wasn't all that thrilled to be out in it; as a kid, she'd seen Jaws one time too many. She kept her focus on the shore, trying to judge how close they were, and felt as much as saw the land open up as the tiny raft slipped through the lapping waves. Maybe twenty meters away, the towering shadows of trees gave way to a clearing. She could hear water dashing lightly against the rocky shore, sense flat, open space on both sides of them now. They had reached the compound. "There's the dock," David said. "John, veer star-board, two o'clock. "
Rebecca could just make out the faint, man-made shape of the pier ahead of them, a dark line shifting on the water. There was the hollow, lonely squeak of metal rubbing wood, the small dock raised and strain- ing at its pilings. There were no boats that she could see. As the pier slipped past, Rebecca squinted into the darkness beyond. She could just make out the blocky outline of a structure behind the floating wood, what had to be the boathouse or marina for the facility. She couldn't see any of the other buildings from Trent's map. There were six more besides the lighthouse, five of them spaced evenly along the cove, set into two lines that paralleled the shore - three in front, two behind. The sixth structure was directly in back of the lighthouse, and they were all hoping that it was the lab; they'd be able to get what they needed without going through the whole compound. . .
"Boathouse is wood, the others look like con-crete. I don't. . . wait," David's whisper became ur- gent. "Somebody - two, three people, they just went behind one of the buildings. "
Rebecca felt a strange relief flood through her, relief and disappointment and a sudden confusion. If there were people, maybe the T-Virus hadn't been un- leashed. But that meant that the buildings would be occupied, the grounds patrolled, making a covert operation impossible.
Then why is it so dark? And why does it feel so dead here, so empty? "Do we abort?" Karen whispered, and before Da-vid could respond, Steve gasped, a sharp intake of air that froze Rebecca's blood, her thoughts fluttering wildly in a spasm of primal fear.
"Three o'clock, big, oh Jesus it's huge. . . "
BAM! The raft was hit, heaved up and over in a fountain of churning blackness. Rebecca saw a flash of sky,smelled cold and rotting slime-and was plunged, splashing, into the turbulent dark waters of the sea. Water enveloped him, the icy, stinging salt burning David's eyes and nose as he flailed desperately, lost and breathless.
-where is it-
He'd seen it, an immense and pebbled plain of flesh surging up from the black at the second of impact. The surface pulled at him and he kicked against the dragging depths, terrified. His head broke through to air and an ominous quiet.
- where's the team-
David whirled around, gasping, heard a spluttering cough to his left. "Get to shore," he panted, turning in a circle, trying to find their position, to find the creature's, cursing himself for a fool. Missing fishermen, haunted waters, stupid, stupid. The raft was ten meters behind him, upside down, disturbed water splashing at its sides. The force of the attack had thrown them clear, actually knocking them closer to land. He saw two bobbing shapes, faces between him and the shore, heard more splashing as another joined them. He couldn't see the unnatural thing that had hit the raft but expected to feel the bite any second, the cold puncture of dagger teeth tearing him to pieces. "Get to shore," he called again, his heart thunder-ing, his legs heavy and vulnerable, kicking, obvious.
Can't go in, three, where's four? "David. . . "
John's terrified shout, from beyond the floating raft.
"Here! John, this way, come this way, follow my voice!"
John started toward him as David tread water, propelling himself backward toward the rocky beach and shouting all the while. He saw the top of John's head appear, saw his arms pumping frantically through the murky water. ". . . follow me, I'm over here, we have to get. . . " A giant, pale shadow rose up smoothly behind the soldier, at least three meters across, rounded and dripping and impossible. Time jerked to a crawl, the events unfolding in front of him in a slow motion dream. David saw thick, tapering tentacles on either side near the top of the rising shadow, saw a rounded slash in the corpse-colored slickness - not tentacles, feelers - - and realized that he was seeing the underbelly of a monstrous animal that couldn't possibly exist, a bottom feeder as big as a house. The black slash of its mouth hissed open, revealing clusters of peg-like, grinding teeth, each the size of a man's fist. When it came down, John would be swallowed up by the massive jaws. Or crushed. Or plowed into the icy deep, a drowning meal for the creature. In the instant it took him to absorb the facts, he was already screaming.
"Dive! Dive!"
Time skipped forward and the beast was falling forward, arching over, its long, thick serpent's body dwarfing the raft, its shadow enveloping the frantic swimmer. David caught a glimpse of bulbous, rolling eyes the size of beach balls and it crashed down, sending explosive plumes of water high into the air, blotting out the stars in sheets of foaming spray. Before David could draw breath, a tremendous wave knocked into him, driving him violently backward through the bubbling dark- ness. There was rushing movement, a sense of helpless speed as he struggled against the force that tore at his limbs, struggled to find air in the sweeping torrent. Kicking wildly, he surged upward through the liquid veil, felt cold air slap at his skin and warm, human hands yanking at his shoulders. He inhaled convul- sively as his boots scraped against rock and Karen's ragged voice spoke behind him.
"Got him. . . "
Staggering against the slimy rocks, David let himself be dragged backward until he found his balance and could turn around. Wet figures were reaching out, Steve and Rebecca. . .
Oh my God, John. . . "I'm okay," David gasped, stumbling forward, his knees cracking numbly against larger rocks that his blurred gaze denied him from seeing. "John, does anyone see him?"
Nobody answered. He blinked away salt, reeling around to face the splashing darkness, the settling waves slapping at their feet. "John. . . " he called, as loud as he dared, searching, seeing nothing at all. His heart was as cold as his body, as heavy as the sodden weight of his Kevlar vest.
-no life jackets, would've seen him by now- He called again, hope dwindling. "John!"A choking, strangled voice from the rocks to their left. "What?"David sagged in relief, taking a deep breath as John's dripping figure staggered out of the shadows. Steve lunged forward, grabbing the taller man's armand helping him lean against the rocks. "I dove," John rasped out. David turned and looked up, past the sliver of pebbled, boulder-strewn beach to the darkness of the compound. They were at the bottom of a short, angled drop, in plain sight. The shock of the mon- strous fish - if it could be called that - was suddenlyunimportant in the light of that realization. Theywere out of the water now.
Have they heard us? Seen? Won't make the caves now, can't stay here. . .
"The marina," he breathed, turning south, "quickly!"
The team stumbled past him, Karen taking the lead, the others following close. No one seemed seriously injured, a miracle all its own. David jogged after John, assessing the situation as his aching legs carried him through the rocky dark. Get to cover, bar the door, regroup, get to the fence. The ground rose steeply in front of them, the pier looming into view ahead. As they clambered up over rocks, David heard a muffled clatter of metal, saw Rebecca hugging the black, dripping shape of the ammo pack to her chest. He felt a wisp of new hope for their chances; if they could just make it inside, somewhere safe. . .
The building was ahead on their right, silent and dark, a closed door facing the wooden dock. There was no way to know if it was empty, and though barely ten meters away, the distance was open and flat, weathered planking, not even a pebble to block them from view.
No choice. "Stay low," he whispered, and then they were crouching their way to the structure, Karen reaching the door first, pushing it open. No light spilled out, no alarm sounded. Steve and Rebecca piled in behind her, then John, then David, stumbling into the dark, closing the wooden door after him with a wet, cold shoulder. "Stop where you are," he said softly, fumbling for the halogen torch on his belt. Besides the gulping breaths of his team, the room was still, but there was a horrid smell in the close air, a fading stench of something long dead. . . The thin beam of light cut through the black, revealing a large and mostly empty windowless room. Ropes and life preservers hung from wooden pegs, a workbench ran the length of one wall, a few saw horses, cluttered shelves.
-my God-
The light froze on the room's other door, directly across from the one they'd entered. The narrow beam played across the source of the smell, highlighting bare bone and a tattered, oily-stained lab coat. Dried strings of muscle dripped in streamers from a grin- ning face. A corpse had been nailed to the door, one hand fixed in a welcoming wave. From the look, it had been dead for weeks. Steve felt his gorge rise into his throat. He swal-lowed it down, looking away, but the grotesque image was already fixed in his mind - the eyeless face and peeling tissue, the carefully splayed fingers pinned into place. . . Jesus, is that some kind of a joke? Steve felt dizzy, still out of breath from the nightmarish swim, the sloshing climb over the rocks, the horror of the Umbrella sea monster. The dried, sour smell of rot wasn't helping. For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then David cupped one hand over the light and started talking, his voice low but amazingly even.
"Check your belts and drop your clips. I want status, now, injuries then equipment. Take a deep breath, everyone. John?"
John's solemn voice rumbled through the shadows to Steve's left, accompanied by sounds of wet, fum-bling movement. Karen and Rebecca were to his right, David still by the door.
"I got fish slime on me, but I'm okay. I've got my weapon but my light's gone. So are the radios. " "Rebecca?" Her voice was wavering but quick. "I'm fine - uh, my weapon's here, and the flashlight, the med kit. . . oh, and I've got the ammo. "
Steve checked himself out as she spoke, unholster- ing his Beretta and ejecting the wet mag, slipping it into a pocket. There was an empty spot on his belt where his light should have been.
"Steve?"
"Yeah, no injuries. Weapon but no light. "
"Karen?"
"Same. "
David's fingers shifted over the muted beam, allow- ing a shallow glow to spill into the room. "No one's hurt and we're still armed; things could be a lot worse. Rebecca, pass out the clips, please. The fence can't be more than fifty meters south from here, and there are enough trees for cover, provided no one has seen us yet. This operation is called, we're getting out of here. "
Steve accepted three loaded magazines from Rebecca, nodding his thanks. He slapped one into the semi, chambering a round automatically.
Great, fine, let's blow. That insane creature nearly eating us, now Mr. Death dropping a casual wave, like he was put there to say hello. . .
Steve wasn't easily frightened, but he knew a bad situation when he saw it. He admired the S. T. A. R. S. deeply, had wanted to go in on the operation to help make things right, but with their boat gone and the initial plan shot to shit, nailing Umbrella could wait. David stepped closer to the decomposed figure, a look of disgust curling his features in the shadowy orange glow of the light. "Karen, Rebecca, come take a look at this. John, take Rebecca's torch, you and Steve see if you can find anything useful. "
Rebecca handed her flashlight to John, who nodded at Steve. The two men walked to one end of the long workbench, the soft voices of the others carrying across the still air. "The T-Virus didn't do this," Rebecca said. "Pat-tern of decay's all wrong. . . " Silence, then Karen spoke. "See that? David, give me the light for a sec. . . "
John hooded their flashlight with one large hand, playing the beam across the dirty planks of the counter. A broken coffee mug. A pile of greasy nuts and bolts on top of a laminated tide chart. An electric screwdriver, dusty and dented, a couple of bits on a stained rag.
Nothing, there's nothing here. We should get out before someone comes looking. . .
John opened a drawer and rummaged through it while Steve tried to make out what was on an over- head shelf. Behind them, Karen spoke again.
"He wasn't dead when they nailed him up, though I'd say he was close. Definitely unconscious. There's no smearing, suggesting he didn't struggle. . . and there are slide marks, here and here; I'd say he was shot by the back door and dragged over. "
John had finished digging through the drawer and they moved on, boots squelching against the wood floor. A set of socket wrenches. A cheap radio. A crumpled paper bag next to a pencil nub. Something snagged at Steve's thoughts and he stopped, looking at the paper bag. The pencil. . . He picked up the crunched ball, smoothing out the wrinkles and turning it over. There were several lines written near the bottom, scrawled and jerky. "Hey, we found something," John called quietly, shining the light on the writing as the others hurried over. Steve read it aloud, squinting at the faintly penciled words under the wobbling beam. There was no punctuation; he did his best to work out the pauses as he went.
". . . 'July 20. Food was drugged, I'm sick, I hid the material for you, sent data. Boats are sunk and he let the. . . "
Steve frowned, unable to make out the word.
Tris. . . tri-squads? " 'Boats are sunk and he let the Trisquads out - dark now, they'll come, I think he killed the rest -stop him -God knows what he means to do. Destroy the lab - find Krista, tell her I'm sorry, Lyle is sorry. I wish. . . '"
There was nothing more. "Ammon's message," Karen said softly. "Lyle Ammon. "
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who was hanging on the door. The sagging, seeping Mr. Death had an identity now, for what it was worth. And the message that Trent had given David was so weird because the poor guy had apparently been doped up when he sent it. "Nice to put a face to the name, huh?" John cracked, but not even he smiled. The desperate little note had an ominous ring to it, with or without the brutal murder to back it up.
What's a Trisquad? Who's "he"?
"Maybe we should look around a little more. "
Rebecca began hesitantly, but David was shaking
his head.
"I think it's best if we leave this for now. We'll. . . "
He broke off as heavy, plodding footsteps sounded across the wood deck, just outside the door they'd come through. Everyone froze, listening. More than one set, and whoever they were, they were making no effort to hide their approach. They stopped at the door and stayed there, no rattling knob, no crashing kick, no other sound. Waiting. David circled one finger in the air, pointed to Karen and then to the other door, hung with the grisly remains of Lyle Ammon. The signal to move out, Karen first. They edged toward the grinning corpse, Steve winc- ing at every shifting creak they created, breathing through his mouth to avoid inhaling the stench and as Karen pushed the door open, the silence was shattered by the rattle of automatic fire, coming from in front of them, to the left, coming from the direction of their escape.