Run Like Hell

Promise

"With your empty smile and your hungry heart, feel the bile rising from your guilty past..."

27

Night had fallen.

And he didn't even have a plan.

The Chicago Branch Umbrella building, wide and squat, mirror-fronted, stared vacantly back at him like the futuristic effigy of some vaguely malevolent guardian. All was quiet, the street itself deserted, with only the distant blaring of a cop car's siren somewhere downtown reminding him that what he was about to do would undoubtedly constitute a criminal act.

Ada appeared by his side. She smoothed her raven hair back and took a deep draught of the stale, balmy city air.

Smelled like home...

"Sure you're up to this?" he asked. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair and blew it briefly across his boyish features, now set in a grim and resolute mask.

She nodded. She was feeling considerably better now, almost fit, since waking up and getting some fresh water down her parched throat. Things were gaining clarity, and the sounds and smells had begun to separate themselves, no longer the disorganized cacophony of sensory impulses she'd experienced at first. Discerning between so much and so many of these inputs was difficult enough, but already she'd begun to gain some measure of control, and it felt good. Memory, too, was returning, and she glanced quickly at the mark on her arm that before had boasted an ugly shade of blackened purple. It had gone.

"I know this place," she told him evenly. "I've seen the layouts from Wesker."

"So you don't care about squealing on him?"

She smiled good-naturedly, for the first time since their night at the Haze. Leon paused, the subtle gesture balanced so fragile and fleeting on her delicate countenance freezing his thoughts an instant. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile like that... not in all the brief time he'd known her. It almost shone, taking him away from the world for the briefest of moments. It was another facet of her, rarely shown, and for a second he felt he'd have done anything to keep it there.

Detecting his unconcealed scrutiny, Ada averted her eyes.

"There's another exit at the back; let's go," she urged, moving off in the direction of a narrow side street that flanked the mirrored façade.

It seemed the old Ada was back.

Whatever had happened at the cabin, Leon mused, she had recovered... and then some. Pulling out his Desert Eagle and the last remaining full clip, he thought of Sherry and hoped to God she was close. It wasn't much to lean on, but it would have to do; whatever lay ahead wasn't even worth the thought. He jogged to catch up with Ada as she slunk through the shadows, craning her neck and listening briefly in the manner of some strange, nocturnal beast.

"What's up?" he whispered, casting his eyes around for any movement in the dim alley. The street dipped suddenly and became something resembling an underground car park, empty and well-lit, but a possible trap nonetheless.

"Quiet," she hissed suddenly, indicating a pair of cameras guarding the large, steel-doored exit; she could hear the whine of their live circuits from where she stood. "They've got sound recording capability."

"How do we get in?" Leon shrugged, somewhat despondently.

"I've got an idea. Wait here."

And now it came to it...

The moment she had hoped would never come.

Ada clasped her feelings tight to her heart. They were fading, slowly but inexorably, into the animal awareness that was beginning to take over. She could feel it growing inside, the mindless, unadulterated surge of hungry life, striving to overwhelm that which was still human. The Sleep had stemmed its tide, prolonged her sanity; but in the end had only lent the virus time to assert its dominance, it's ravenous grasp upon the flesh. It was famished, too. She felt it now, the heaving hunger of the 'undead', of the carriers: the nauseating over-production of saliva and stomach acids that caused their vomitous hunger. The scent of Leon's living flesh had already begun to present a disturbing attraction, and she knew all too well what that meant...

The virus -

It's reproducing. It's come out of its dormancy, like one of those foul wasp larvae that lives and feeds within its host's helpless body, and now it's taking over, emerging...

She knew it was time to leave, and leave now; before it forced her to kill. But -

She had promised to help him.

Just one last time...

"Leon," she whispered, turning to face him, forcing herself to meet those hard, grey-blue searching eyes. "I can help you. But you have to promise me something first."

A gust of warm, languid wind caressed her face, blowing strands of stray hair against her cheek, stirring a few dead leaves and paper cups on the ground close by. There was a silence; a long, precious moment where no words were spoken and no gestures exchanged, and in it, she felt sated, appeased, and almost content. Leon's eyes filled her up; those young, hopeful eyes - and to have stood and drank the moment would have been too good, too bold, too undeserving...

"Promise me that you'll think of the girl's safety, and nothing else. No matter what."

Leon frowned slightly; it seemed a strange request, but he had no objections -

"And promise me that you won't worry about me. The girl needs you. Remember that."

"I can't promise that," was the reply, quiet, yet forceful. His eyes were adamant now, defiant, and somehow... older. There were no assurances in them this time; they refused to give ground or play games.

Ada looked away and smiled to herself.

Young, hopeful, and hard-headed... but honest. Always honest. That candid openness that made her sick to stand there and lie again.

"Wait here, then," she said, turning back. "I won't be long."

Leaning forward, she kissed his neck lightly; one last deception seeming more humane than a real goodbye, pressing her eyes shut tight to hide its pain from him.

28

Sherry screamed at the top of her lungs was was wasn't much good; either nobody could hear her, or there was nobody left to listen. The man had finally left her alone, still strapped to the bed in the miserable, L-shaped room, and she'd finally managed - after some painful twisting - to rip the tape off her mouth. Hoarse and almost defeated, she lay awhile and wondered if she would die in that wretched place, alone and forgotten...

Would he ever come back - the man-monster?

She hoped that he wouldn't... but she was also desperately hungry and thirsty too. The sedatives in her system had long since broken down, and now she felt a burning thirst and the cutting of plastic bonds into her flesh. Gnawing at them had yielded mixed results: while no doubt flimsy and thin enough to bite through - given time - they'd been pulled callously tight, and her efforts had somehow worsened the squeeze and caused her hands to grow numb. Young as she was, she knew it was not a good sign.

She wondered what Claire would have done in her position.

And she thought she knew...

Claire wouldn't give up.

She would have found a way, somehow -

Bringing the plastic to her teeth again, she pulled with all her strength. Not even when her jaw ached and the plastic chafed the corners of her mouth did she give in. Blood... its thick, metallic taste was strong on her tongue, but she would soon be free...

The restraints had almost given through when the door opened, and two men came in. Her heart sank.

The man-monster. And a younger-looking, thinner man with dirty stubble and an open lab coat on, a briefcase in one hand. This younger man was particularly excited, grinning and nodding to the other, coming over to the stretcher and eyeing her with eager fascination, as a child might a new pet.

"Wow," he grinned, a teenaged kind of awe in his awkward voice. "This really the one? I gotta hand it to you... you're one hell of a hound, Wesker."

"The genuine article."

"How's the cognitive functions?" the younger man went on, snapping his fingers in front of Sherry's eyes and waving his hands to make her blink. She moved away as much as she could; the man seemed positively unstable, radiating a nervous exuberance that bordered on malaise. "Any detrimental after-effects?" he chirped. "No sign of take over? Viral DNA is still intact, right?"

"Dormant," Wesker corrected, stooping for the briefcase himself and slapping it down on an empty stretcher nearby. He stole a glance inside it, sniffed, and clapped it shut again. "All yours, my friend. Just don't tell the boss I called."

"Virus and suppressor in perfect symbiosis," marvelled the younger man, reaching for Sherry's eyes as if to examine them. "Let's check the vascularisation..."

She wriggled and spat, and he fell back, clutching the wall behind himself with momentary alarm.

"Get off me!" she yelled defiantly. This guy was somehow more loathsome to her than the other; repellent in his prattling, his obsessive stare, those skinny, wandering, spidery hands...

"Oh, Lawrence - I forgot to tell you," Wesker grinned, amused. "Spits, bites and kicks, too."

Lawrence breathed hard, wiping the spittle from his brow, gazing at it with a mix of interest and growing panic - as if a reaction was the last thing he'd expected. "Jesus, man! You're supposed to sedate them before you -" he broke off, looking pale. "Is it still infectious? Hey man, I let you in - you shoulda warned me -"

"That's what they're paying you to find out isn't it, Wonderboy?"

"But we can't extract the pure vaccine from blood..."

"Looks like you got next year's scholarship nailed, then," Wesker laughed, grabbing the cases and heading for the door. "You might even get a Nobel Prize. Happy hunting..."

29

Ada dropped down smoothly from the hole in the wall onto a small metal ledge, still clutching the twisted ventilation grate in one white-knuckled hand. How easy it had been to climb the duct, negotiate the air filter-chamber, even in complete darkness; and the grate itself had yielded as though barely fixed to the wall...

Increased physical endurance: just one of the many signatures of the virus.

Carriers experienced many changes in physiological function through the various stages of T-variant infection... she remembered that from John's work. Even the 'zombies' - those carriers in whom the effect was degenerative - underwent profound changes in bodily capability. Pain receptors shut down, making them unaware of any injury or decay, and the body itself was flooded with adrenaline and cortisone; muscles could be pushed harder and longer, and were oblivious to the build-up of lactic acid...

So I'm basically superhuman; even though I'm losing it.

Plenty of time to think about it once you've done what you came to do, she thought. Get moving!

With a single, sweeping gaze she took in her surroundings.

Déjà vu.

The main shaft - the core of the facility - yawned up from below, its three characteristic catwalks a drop of twenty feet or so away. The shaft, she knew, was a part of the underground ventilation system, built into all the big Umbrella facilities -

I've taken the high dive off this thing before. Once is enough...

With a fluid leap, she landed lightly on bent knees, squarely in the centre of the nearest catwalk, straining her senses for sight and sound of company. Apart from a strange, sweetish smell in the dry, processed air of the shaft, there was none. Memory served her well, guiding her down swiftly through the levels to the control room, where she knew the override sytems for for the exit lock resided.

The control room was empty. Even stranger: the door to the room was standing open, jammed or somehow forced...

It looked like Wesker was on the move.

Jogging quickly to the console, a boggling mass of blinking screens and switches, she searched for something that looked remotely like a security countermand for a main exit. The place had a similar layout to the Raccoon lab, but its renovations hadn't been nearly so careful or intricate; not surprising, since the guys at the Chicago Branch had been told to keep their noses clean...

A sudden wave of nausea hit her, and she turned away to retch. Nothing but foamy saliva - she hadn't eaten in days - but there was a definite greenish tinge to it. Bile...

Waiting for the clenching paroxysms to die back, Ada forced her mind with effort back to the task in hand.

Found it...

She spotted the outline of Leon in the midst of the bright screen array, still waiting patiently in the parking lot, and below it, the switch -

"Goodbye," she murmured softly to herself, and brought a decisive finger down on the manual override.