Chapter Twenty-Five
The dark slid past the moving platform, metal darkness bathed in murky orange light, and whatever had punched through the wall of the transport was gone. Leon had edged his way around the enclosed room twice, and seen nothing at all, heard nothing but the smooth hum of the working motors. When the creature finally howled from the shadows atop the roof, and Leon snapped the shotgun up, what he saw actually made him freeze. In the second it took him to really see it, his vengeful fury blew away like so much dust, replaced by an absolute bone-chilling awe.
Holy shit. . .
The thing was still shrieking, its head thrown back, the brutal, gurgling scream like the voice of hell in the moving dark. It had been a man, once - arms and legs, shreds of clothing still hanging from its hulking body - but everything human about it had changed, was still changing as it bellowed its rage into the cold black, and Leon could only stare. Its body was swollen and rippling with strange muscles, the bare chest puffed and bloated with its endless scream. Its right arm was six inches longer than the left, the stained bone claws jutting from the pulsing hand. And the bulbous moving tumor in its right bicep looked like nothing so much as an eyeball the size of a dinner plate, jerking wetly from side to side as if searching. . . . . . and the scream was changing, too, getting deep- er, rougher, the shaggy face falling forward and melting into its chest. Like hot wax, like a movie effect, the creature's head flowed into its upper body, disappearing smoothly into the inflamed and greedy skin. . . . . . and at the same time, another face was forming, growing, rising up from the back of its neck with a horrible snapping sound, like fingers being broken. Slitted eyes cracked open, a bony red hole of a mouth forming, taking up the furious cry with a new voice. . . . . . and Leon squeezed the trigger in denial, a denial of the monster's unholy existence. Boom! The shot hit its chest, and a thick, purplish blood sprayed out, cutting off the creature's scream, but that was all it did. The monster's new face angled toward Leon, the domed head tilting. . . . . . and it hopped down onto the platform, landing in a half-crouch on legs as big around as Leon's chest. It took one jumping, crooked step forward and was close enough for Leon to smell the strange, chemical musk that poured from its glistening skin and see that the wound on its chest had stopped bleeding, that the strange flesh was eating the tiny holes. The creature raised its mighty claw and Leon stumbled backwards, pumping another round and firing as the talons came down. . . shhink!. . . and sparks flew up from the metal rail as the shot blasted into the creature's stomach, more purplish fluid spattering from its body. The almost point-blank range of the heavy round barely fazed the towering monster. It took another step, and Leon backed away, pumping another roun. . . . . . and he tripped on the steps that led up to the transport room, tripped and fell on his ass, the round going high over the creature's bullet-shaped head. One more step and it would be on him -
- I'm dead -
-except it didn't take the step. Instead, it turned toward the railing, its bizarre head tilting, the pits of its rudimentary nostrils flaring. . . . . . and silently, almost gracefully, it leapt over the edge of the platform, out into the passing darkness. For a moment, Leon didn't move. He couldn't, he was too busy trying to understand that the monster hadn't killed him. It had smelled or sensed some- thing, it had broken off the attack that it most certainly would have won and had jumped off the moving transport.
I'm not dead. It's gone, and I'm not dead.
Why, he didn't know, and couldn't begin to guess. Accepting that he was alive was enough and a short time later, maybe no more than a few seconds, his knotted thoughts and senses told him that the trans- port was slowing down, that the shaft was getting lighter, the blackness washing to gray. Leon crawled to his feet and went to check on Ada. Sherry had heard the monster from far away, from somewhere deep in the giant hole, and felt even more scared than she had when the giant - Mr. X, Claire called him - had come into the train station. Claire had said it probably wasn't even the monster, that it was most likely some machine problem, but Sherry wasn't convinced. The sound was so distant and strange that it could have been something else. . .
. . . but what if it isn't? What if Claire's wrong?
They stood outside a warehouse in the chill of the dark, stood over the big hole in the ground and waited for the mechanical noises to stop. The almost-full moon was low in the sky, and Sherry could tell by the deep blue light of the horizon that it was very early in the morning; she didn't feel tired, though. She felt scared and anxious, and even with Claire holding her hand she didn't want to go down into the black hole where the monster could be. After what seemed like a long time, the humming noise of the machinery stopped, and Claire stepped back from the hole - "The transport shaft," she said and turned back toward the warehouse.
"Let's go see if we can recall the. . . Sherry?"
Sherry hadn't moved to follow her. She stared down into the hole, holding her charm and wishing that she was brave like Claire, but she wasn't, she knew she wasn't, and she didn't want to go down into the dark.
I can't, I can't go down there, I'm NOT like Claire and I don't care if that's where my mom went, I don't care at all. . .
Sherry felt warmth across her back and looked up, startled, to see that Claire had taken off her vest and was slipping it over her shoulders. "I want you to have this," Claire said, and in spite of her fear, Sherry felt a sudden rush of confused happiness.
"But. . . why? It's yours, and you'll get cold. . . "
Claire ignored her for a minute, helping her put it on. It was too big for her and it had some dirt on it, but it was the coolest thing Sherry thought she'd ever worn.
For me. She wants me to have it.
Claire knelt in front of her, now wearing only a thin black T-shirt and shorts. She looked at her very seriously, pulling the vest closed over Sherry's chest.
"I want you to have it because I can tell that you're scared," she said firmly, "and I've had it for a long time, and when I wear it, I feel like I can kick ass. Like nothing can stop me. My brother has a leather jacket with the same design on the back, and he kicks ass, but he got the idea from me. "
She smiled suddenly, a tired, warm smile that made Sherry forget about the monster, just for a minute.
"So now it's yours, and every time you wear it, I want you to remember that I think you are the best twelve-year-old who ever walked. "
Sherry smiled back, hugging the faded pink denim to her body. "And it's a bribe, huh?" Claire nodded without hesitation. "Yes. And it's a bribe. So what do you say?"
Sighing, Sherry reached for her hand, and they walked back into the warehouse to find the controls for the elevator.
Ada woke up as Leon set her gently on a creaking cot, woke up with a pounding headache and a pain in her side. Her first thought was that she'd been shot, but as she opened her eyes, and Leon's worried, pale face swam into focus, she remembered.
He was going to kiss me, I think. . . and then. . . "What happened?"
Leon reached down and brushed her hair off of her forehead, smiling a little. "A monster happened. The same one that got Bertolucci, I think. It put its hand through the wall of the transport and knocked you over. You hit your head, after it clawed you. " Virus!
Ada struggled to sit up, to look at the wound, but the headache knocked her back. She reached up and carefully touched the throbbing spot just over her left temple, wincing at the feel of the sticky lump.
"Hey, just stay put," Leon said. "The wound isn't too bad, but you took a pretty serious knock. . . "
Ada closed her eyes, trying to collect herself. If she'd been infected, there wasn't anything she could do about it now - and really, what an irony that would be - if it was Birkin who'd stabbed her and he was still hot, she'd end up collecting a G-Virus sample in an extremely personal way.
Deep breath, keep it together. You're not in the transport anymore, what does that tell you? "Where are we?" she asked, opening her eyes
. Leon shook his head. "I'm not sure. Like you said, it's an underground lab or factory of some kind. The transport is just outside. I brought you to the closest room. "
Ada turned her aching head enough to see the small windows, over a cluttered counter, looking out into the transport bay.
Gotta be fourth level, where the lift stops. . .
The main synthesis lab was on the fifth level. Leon was staring down at her so sincerely, his bright blue gaze so achingly tender, that for just a few seconds, Ada thought about aborting the mission. They could go down to the escape tunnel together, they could hop on the train and get out of the city. They could run away, run far, far away. . .
. . . and then what? Call Trent and tell him that you'll offer a refund? Sure. Then maybe you can meet Leon's parents, get a ring, buy a little white house with a picket fence, have a couple of kids. . . you could take up crochet, and rub his feet when he comes home from a hard day busting drunks and making traffic stops. Happily ever after. . .
Ada closed her eyes again, unable to look at him as she spoke.
"My head hurts pretty bad, Leon, and the tunnel I saw, on that map - I don't know where it is, ex-actly. " "I'll find it," he said softly. "I'll find it, and then I'll come back for you. Don't worry about anything, okay?" "Be careful," she whispered, and then felt his soft lips graze her forehead, heard him stand up and move toward the door. "Just stay here, I'll be back soon," he said, and the door opened and closed, and she was alone.
He'll be okay. He'll get lost trying to find the tunnel, he'll come back, he'll see that I'm gone and take the lift back to the surface. . . I can find the sample and escape, and it will be over.
Ada counted a minute and then sat up slowly, grimacing at the pounding in her skull. A bad knock indeed, but not a debilitating one; she could function. There was a noise outside, and Ada stood up, walking to one of the small windows. She knew the sound even before she looked, and felt her heart sink a little; the transport was heading up, probably recalled to the factory by an Umbrella team. . .
. . . which means I don't have a lot of time. And if they find him. . .
No, Leon would be okay. He was a fighter, he had the sense to run from danger, he was strong and decent - and he didn't need to have someone like her in his life. She'd been crazy to consider it, even for a moment. It was time to wrap things up, to do what she'd come to do, to remember who she was - a freelance agent, a woman with no qualms about stealing or killing to complete a job, a cool and efficient thief who could take pride in a career with no misses. Ada Wong always walked away with the goods, and it would take more than a few hours with one blue-eyed cop to make her forget it. Ada pulled the key cards and master from her pouch and opened the door, telling herself that she was doing the right thing and hopeful that in time she'd come to believe it.