Chapter Twenty-Two
Annette hurt all over. she sat up slowly, feeling sick from the seeming hundreds of aches and pains that yammered for her attention. Her neck and stomach hurt, she'd jammed her right wrist, both knees felt like they were swelling, but it was the sharp pain in her right side that was the worst, because she thought she might have cracked or even broken a rib.
You horrible, horrible woman. . .
Annette leaned back, supporting her strained neck with her uninjured hand, but saw only metal and shadow; Ada Wong, the bitch from Umbrella, had apparently run away. She'd pretended not to know anything, but Annette wasn't stupid; Ada was proba- bly already on her way to the lab or coming after her, anxious to finish her off.
Umbrella, Umbrella did this. . .
Annette crawled to her feet, using the rage to overcome the pain. She had to get out, to get to the laboratory before the spies did, but oh, she hurt so very much! The stabbing sensation in her gut was terrible, a knife sawing at her insides, and the lab seemed a million miles away. . .
. . . can't let them steal his work. . .
She staggered toward the door to the cavernous room, one arm wrapped around her burning chest and stopped, tilting her head to one side, listening. Shots. Echoing through the chill air, coming from the adjacent dumping grounds and a second later, she heard a thundering hiss, more shots, splashing -
- Annette grinned, a tight, humorless grin. Perhaps she'd get to the lab first, after all.
The bridge, lower the bridge, don't let her es-cape. . .
Tired and aching, Annette stumbled to the hydrau- lic's controls and activated the span's descent. The powerful hum of the bridge's motors drowned out the noises of whatever battle was being waged, the plat-form rotating down and locking into place with a heavy clang. Annette pushed herself away from the wall, falling against the console by the door. She found the switches for the ventilation fan and flicked them up, still smiling grimly as the whining start-up high overhead grew into a dull roar. Ada had run into trouble in the dump, and Annette wasn't going to let her just climb back out of it; with the bridge lowered and the shaft blocked, Ms. Wong would have to fight her way through.
Hope it's a pack of tickers, you bitch, I hope they're tearing you to pieces in there. . .
Annette turned away from the console and fell, the pain and dizziness too much, her bruised and swelling knees hitting the floor and sending fresh needles of agony through her legs. . . . . . and the door in front of her opened. Annette raised the gun but wasn't able to aim, expending what was left of her strength just to keep from screaming in suffering and frustration.
William, it hurts so bad, I'm sorry but I can't. . .
A young woman crouched in front of her, a look of wary concern on her smudged face. She was dressed in cutoffs and a vest, dripping with sewer water and held a sleek and heavy handgun, not pointing it directly at Annette, but not pointing it away, either. Another spy. "Are you Ada?" the girl asked tentatively, reaching out to touch her and it was more than Annette could stand, to be touched in pity by some heartless, scheming corporate pawn.
"Get away from me," Annette snarled, slapping at the girl's outstretched hand weakly. "I'm not your 'contact,' and I don't have it on me. You can kill me, but you won't find it. "
The girl moved back, a look of confusion on her dirty face. "Find what? Who are you?" The questions again, and the fury passed, leaving her numb. Annette was tired of playing games; it hurt too much, and she just wasn't strong enough to fight anymore. "Annette Birkin," she said wearily. "As if you didn't know. . . " She'll kill me now. It's over, it's all over.
Annette couldn't help it. Tears trickled down cheeks, tears as futile as her plans. She'd failed William, she'd failed as a wife and a mother and even as a scientist. At least it would end now, at least there would finally be an end to the anguish. . .
"Are you Sherry's mother?"
The girl's words stunned her, snapping her out of her exhausted collapse as sharply as a slap to the face.
"What?! Who. . . how do you know about Sherry?" "She's lost in the sewers," the girl said, speaking quickly, her voice tinged with desperation as she shoved her handgun into her belt. "Please, you have to help me find her! She was sucked into one of the drainage shafts and I don't know where to look. . . " "But I told her to go to the station," Annette wailed, the physical pain all but forgotten, her heart pounding out waves of horrified disbelief. "Why is she here? It's dangerous, she'll be killed! And the G- Virus - Umbrella will find her, they'll take it, why is she here?"
The girl reached for her again, helping her up, and Annette didn't fight, too weak and terrified to fight. If Sherry was in the sewers, if Umbrella found her. . . The girl stared at her intently, looking somehow guilty and afraid and hopeful all at once. "The station was overrun - where do the drains go? Please, An-nette, you have to tell me!"
The truth dawned into her exhaustion and fear like a ray of bitter light. The drains let out into the filter pool - which hap-pens to be right next to the factory tram. The fastest route to the labs. It was a trick. The girl was using Sherry's name to get to the facility, to get information about the G-Virus. Sherry was still at the station, safe and well, and this was all an elaborate ruse. . .
. . . but Umbrella knows the way, why would she ask if she knows already?It doesn't make sense!
Annette raised the gun, her aching wrist trembling, and backed away from the girl. Her confusion was too big, the questions too many and because she couldn't be sure of anything, she couldn't pull the trigger. "Don't you move. Don't you follow me," she snarled, ignoring the pain, reaching back to push the door open. "I'll shoot if you try to follow me. " "Annette- I don't understand, I just want to. . . " "Shut up! Shut up and leave me alone, can't you all just leave me alone?!"
She backed through the door, pushing it closed on the surprised and frightened girl, squeezing her arm against her bruised or broken ribs as soon as the hatch was shut.
Sherry. . .
It was a lie, it had to be a lie, but it didn't change anything, either way. She could still make it, she had to make it back to the facility, to finish what she had started. Turning, limping and gasping, Annette stumbled into the cold darkness of the connecting tunnel, letting each terrible, aching step be a reminder of what Umbrella had done. * * *
A cold, silent cavern, the walls sheened with ice, and I am lost. I am lost and exhausted, running and afraid for a very long time, so I sit down to rest. So quiet, so cold, but my arm hurts, I'm sitting against a wall that has grown spines, and one of them is digging into my flesh, piercing me. It hurts so badly, and I have to get up, I have to find someone, I have to. . . . . . wake up.
Leon opened his eyes, aware at once that he'd hazed out again. The realization made him catch his breath, the sudden fear jolting him fully awake.
Ada, Claire - Jesus, how long?
He gently pulled his hand away from his arm, the blood gummy and thick between his fingers. It hurt, but not as sharply as before and the bleeding had stopped, at least at the entrance; the shreds of his torn uniform had clotted to the wound, forming a stiff seal. He leaned forward, reaching around to touch where the bullet had come out; again, a hardening, tacky patch of fabric beneath the pulsing ache of the wound. He couldn't be positive, but he thought that the bullet had gone straight through the flesh, missing the bone completely - which meant he was extremely god- damn lucky.
Even if it blew my arm off, Ada's still out there and I sent Claire after her. I have to go after them.
He thought it was the shock of the trauma that had made him black out, rather than the pain or blood loss and he couldn't afford any more time to re- cover. Clenching his teeth, Leon pushed himself up with his good arm, his muscles cold and stiff from the damp chill of the concrete. His left shoulder brushed against the wall, and he gasped as the pain intensified briefly, stabbing and hot, but it ebbed, receding to the duller throbbing sensa
tion after a few seconds. Leon waited it out, breathing deeply, reminding himself that it could have been a hell of a lot worse. When he was finally on his feet, he decided that he could take it; he wasn't light-headed or dizzy, and although there was blood on the floor and wall, there wasn't nearly as much as he'd thought there would be. Careful not to jostle his wound, Leon turned and walked down the corridor to the closed door at the end, moving as quickly as he could. Through the door, he was faced with another water-filled tunnel stretching off in either direction; there was a ladder on the wall to his left, but he didn't even want to guess at how to climb it without ripping open the wound - besides which, there was a loudly spin- ning fan at the top. He struck off to the right, stepping down into the dark water and sloshing forward, hoping that he'd see some sign as to where Ada or Claire had gone.
Chasing after the sniper. . . how could she do that, how could she just leave me there?
After their confrontation with the vomiting monster-thing, he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't assume anything else about Ada Wong; she was alter- nately flirtatious and standoffish, and if she'd learned how to shoot by playing paintball, he was a bank executive. But in spite of her confusing behavior and probable duplicity, he liked her; she was smart and confident, she was beautiful and he had assumed there was a good, decent person beneath that contra-dictory facade. . .
. . . and yet she left you to chase after the shooter, left you rolling on the floor with a bullet in your arm. Yeah, she's great; you should propose.
He'd reached a split in the tunnel, and blocked out his wandering attempts to figure out Ada's actions, reminding himself that he could ask her when he found her - if he found her. There was a locked gate to the right, so Leon turned left, peering uneasily into the thickening shadows as he trudged onward. He shouldn't have let Claire go after Ada alone, he should have pulled himself together and gone with her. . . He stopped, hearing something. Shots, distant and hollow, coming from somewhere up ahead, distorted by the winding maze of tunnels that made up the sewer system. Still holding the Magnum tightly, Leon pressed his wrist against the bullet wound and started to run, the pain going sharp again, making him queasy. He couldn't manage much better than a shagging jog, the water slowing him down almost as much as the nasty bite of the wound, but as the last echo of the shots faded away, he somehow found the motivation to go faster. There was a dimly lit offshoot to the tunnel ahead and to the left, pale yellow light streaming out across the softly slopping water. Even before he reached it, he saw that he would have to make a choice. Straight in front of him was a platform of sorts, a heavy door set into the ragged bricks of the tunnel's end, water dripping down from the ceiling in slender rivulets.
An obvious choice, except. . .
Leon stopped in the elongated patch of murky light, looking down into the offshoot. Another door, and he didn't have time to decide, the shots could have come from anywhere. . . Barn-bam! To the left. Leon jumped up from the tunnel, feeling new pain, feeling hot wetness against his wrist as the wound started to seep. He ignored it, hurrying to the door and pulling it open, hearing more rounds fired as he started down a wide and empty hall. The corridor he'd entered was as shadowy and cold as the sewage tunnels, but much bigger, wider, pre- sumably some kind of transport hall for heavy equip- ment. It twisted left and then left again, boxes and a rack of steel canisters against the second comer, just past some kind of a loading door.
. . . acetylene, maybe oxy, good GOD what takes that many bullets and doesn't die?
He heard another string of shots, splashing water and a different sound, a deep and guttural hissing that chilled him to his core. Strangely familiar, but too loud to be possible.
A million snakes, a thousand giant cats, some pri-mordial, terrible dinosaur. . .
He ran, finally giving up trying to hold the bullet hole closed, needing his arm free to pump for more speed. The end of the tunnel was close, he saw a panel of blinking lights and an opening to the left, another huge loading door. . . . . . and he stopped just short of running into the line of fire as another rapid succession of shots sounded, as a thundering crash of water sprayed out, water
raining down on the floor in a thick sheet. "Stop, I'm coming in!" He shouted and heard Ada's voice, and felt a sweeping relief in spite of whatever horror was ahead.
"Leon!" She's alive!
Magnum raised, his wound bleeding freely now, he stepped in front of the open door and saw Ada across a lake of churning muck, boxes and broken boards swimming through the turbulent liquid. She was standing on a small ledge of concrete be- neath a ladder, her Beretta pointed into the thrash-ing pool.
"Ada, what. . . "
Splash! A giant burst out of the lake and slammed him off of his feet, knocking him back into the corridor. It happened so fast that he didn't actually see it before he was flying through the air, his mind feeding him the picture as he hit the ground. He fell on his injured arm and cried out, as much from the shock of what he'd seen as from the stinging blast of pain.
- crocodile -
Leon was on his feet and stumbling away before he even knew he could get up and the giant lizard, the croc that was thirty feet long if it was an inch, stepped into the corridor behind him with a mighty, bellowing roar. The cement trembled as the mammoth reptile crawled up from the waters of its home, gallons of black water streaming from its toothy, grinning jaws.
- jaws as big as me, bigger -
Leon ran, there was no pain, his heart hammering in a primal panic. It would eat him, it would shred him into a hundred screaming, bloody chunks. . . . . . and the beast roared again, an impossibly low bellow that rattled his bones, that urged sweat to burst from every quaking pore. . . . . . and Leon shot a look back, and saw that he was much, much faster than the grinning lizard. It was still climbing through the loading door, its tree-trunk legs short and squat, its incredible bulk too huge to maneuver so easily. Leon swapped weapons in a daze of terror, his wound shrieking as he chambered a round into the Remington. He sidled backwards in an uneven gait, reaching a turn in the hall -
- and unloaded all five shells as quickly as he could pump them, the heavy rounds blasting the monster crocodile's hideous snout. It roared, swinging its head from side to side, blood erupting from its grinning face in buckets, but still it came, lumbering forward, dragging its armored tail from the pool of slime behind it.
Not enough, not enough power. . .
Leon turned and ran again, horrified at having to retreat, afraid of what would happen to Ada when he left the crocodile behind, but knowing that it would take another fifty rounds to stop it - that or a nuclear blast, and why was he still thinking, he needed to get away and then worry about what to do.
Hang on, Ada. . .
The booming steps of the giant filled his ears as he ran past the boxes, past the row of steel cylinders and stopped running. His instincts cried out for sanity, but he had an idea - and as the terrible lizard took another twisting, thundering step, Leon turned and went back.
Let this work, it works in the movies, please God be listening. . .
The row of five gleaming canisters was inset on a thick shelf cut into the wall, held into place by a steel cable. There was a release button for the cable on the side of the shelf. Leon slapped it, and the heavy wire drooped, one looped end falling to the floor. Dropping the shotgun, he grabbed the closest of the cylinders, his muscles straining, blood pouring from his injured arm. He could feel thin, trickling trails of it sliding down his sweat-slick chest but didn't stop, rocking back on his heels to free the can of compressed gas.
. . . there!
Leon jumped back as the silver can fell off the shelf, hitting the ground and rolling a few inches. He looked up and saw that the croc had covered another fifty feet - close enough for him to see the dull, dirty pits in its six-inch teeth as it roared again, close enough for him to smell the rotting-meat stench of its hot breath only a second later. Leon raised one boot t
o the canister and shoved with all he had, the can lazily rolling back toward the gaining lizard. By some incredible stroke of fortune, the corridor floor had some slant to it; the two- hundred-plus pounds of cylinder seemed to pick up speed, spinning in the croc's direction in a loose semicircle. Backing away, he yanked the Magnum from his belt and pointed it at the shining can, forcing his fingers not to pull the trigger. The crocodile plodded forward, its tail slapping the walls so hard that stone dust rained down with each violent whip. Leon was in a state of total awe, in the grip of an instinctual terror so deep that it was all he could do not to turn and flee.
Come on, you bastard.
Less than a hundred feet away, the crocodile and the canister met and Leon pulled the trigger. The first shot pinged off the floor in front of the rocking can and the grinning jaws opened, the massive beast lowering its head to catch at the obstacle, to push it aside.
- steady -
Leon fired again, and. . . KA-BOOM!. . . was thrown to the ground as the canister ex-ploded. In a blast of curled steel and igniting gases, the creature's head was obliterated, disappearing like a popped balloon. Almost simultaneously, a wave of steaming gore hit Leon, bits of tooth and bone and shredded, smoking flesh clapping over him like a thick wet blanket. Gagging, his ears ringing and arm bleeding, Leon sat up as the headless carcass settled to the floor, the legs crumpling beneath the brainless weight of the reptilian monster. He pressed his blood-covered hand against the wound, exhausted, sick, in pain and as deeply satisfied as he'd felt in quite some time. "Gotcha, you dumb shit," he said, and smiled. When Ada came jogging up the corridor a moment later, that's how she found him staring at his handi- work in dazed and dizzy triumph, bloody and bleed- ing and grinning like a little kid.