Chapter 9: Everyone's Here

Claire breathed a sigh of relief when the car stopped, for even though she wasn't tired and could have clung to the undercarriage for much longer, the engine's vibrations had been irritating her arms. She remained hidden, holding herself off of the ground as the car door opened. The mysterious woman was stepping out of the vehicle and opening the rear hatch. From what Claire could see, they appeared to be in some kind of garage.

"My silent friend is back," a male voice greeted. Claire's head turned toward the voice, but all she could see was a pair of pointed shoes with small heels.

"The samples were distributed," the oddly detached female responded.

"Good," and the man happily clapped his hands together. His feet were a mere foot away from Claire, and she would have given anything to see the faces above her. "Within hours the town will be in full swing."

"The BSAA were there. Agents were meeting with an informant."

"It doesn't matter. The populace will attack together thanks to the plagas. The agents will be dead by the end of tomorrow."

"Combat teams will arrive. They're searching for you." Claire now excitedly paid attention to the pointed shoes. Was this Irving?

"They won't be able to stop the infection," he dismissed. "They'll all die, and won't the boss be pleased! We'll head in tomorrow to see the damage, and I've a feeling that another dose of plagas will be needed. I want to see the more powerful ones take over some bodies. Science is such a dynamic field!" Was this man serious? Claire found his chipper voice grating, and the glib way that he was talking about this situation made her want to break his toes.

"And the informant? I could remove him."

"He'll be gone too. No need dirtying our hands when the locals will do it for us." Claire found the pair incredibly juxtaposed with his energy level and her deadpan style. "I've got to go." The man was walking away. "I guess you can do whatever it is your master's commanded." The man seemed to find something about his statement amusing, but Claire couldn't imagine what it was. She was left hanging onto the car while both people left. She checked her watch: 4:30. With a sigh, she realized that it would be best to wait here until an hour when her enemies were likely to be asleep. Then she could explore the base at will.

She lowered herself to the ground and gingerly pressed a hand against her stomach. Perhaps the car's vibrations had agitated whatever was wrong with her, for that tingling sensation had returned. Gently, her fingers moved under her shirt and across the skin. It was hard to characterize what she felt. For a moment her muscles tensed, and she closed her eyes to will the sensation away. It wasn't exactly painful, but the skin across her abdomen felt like it was being tightened. Her hand continued to explore the area, and she noted that the rim of her underwear bit into her skin as if it was too small.

What the hell? Claire could have sworn that this pair was never so tight before. Again, she considered what was going on with her body. Wesker said that the infected couldn't get sick, and even if they did, that wouldn't explain the tightness of her skin. She sighed with relief when the tenseness passed, and she realized that her skin again felt the proper size. Her hands rested lightly on her stomach, and then she remembered the butcher's words about his wife. Why on earth would he make a comment like that? Claire took a second to think about what he'd actually been suggesting, and suddenly her eyes snapped wide open.

There was no possible way.

Her hands roamed over her stomach and her underwear line.

There was simply no way.

She pulled up her shirt and stared at her abdomen. She hadn't used protection with Wesker, because she had assumed that she couldn't get pregnant. The more she stared, the more she was convinced that her abdomen looked swollen, but that was ridiculous. Being pregnant wasn't noticeable after a mere two weeks. Convinced that she was imagining things, Claire forced herself to stop touching that area of her body. She was being paranoid, or so she convinced herself, but thoughts plagued her mind. Where was a pregnancy test when she needed one?

"You're not pregnant," she softly sighed into the stuffy garage air. She checked the time again. 4:45. This was torture. Just give me a freaking zombie or something! Now she was going insane, she decided. Wanting a zombie as a distraction was definitely not a good sign.

She forced herself to remain still and wait. Darkness would afford her plenty of cover for action. Her nerves were starting to cool when she caught the faintest whiff of a smell. It reminded her of something. It was familiar, subtle as it was. She shifted across the ground to get closer to the scent's trail. She breathed deeply, trying to match a source to the positive connotation that she automatically lent the scent. It was like trying to catch a fleeting dream upon waking. Maybe if the scent were stronger, she'd have a better chance of identifying it.

Claire very carefully slid out from under the car and crouched near the driver's door. That's where the smell was coming from. The window was down, so she stuck her head inside, feeling a bit foolish as she compared her actions to that of an animal. As her nose neared the seat, recognition dawned on her. Jill. She blinked a few times before realizing how vulnerable she was, and quickly slid back beneath the car. There could be a security camera, Claire! Pay attention! But it smells like Jill…Isn't Jill dead? Maybe not. Claire suddenly found it much more difficult to hide under the car until dark. If Jill was here, she was going to find her.

**********

Creak.

Claire paused, her pistol at the ready. Fluorescent lights hung overhead in a narrow hallway of chipped tile and dirty metal walls. Obviously this place had fallen out of disuse, probably because it was only a temporary base. It vaguely resembled an old Umbrella building, for Claire had seen what she thought could pass for an abandoned laboratory room, but it could have also been an office building in its glory days.

Claire gave the half-opened door before her another nudge, and this time it didn't creak. The metal swung inward, and she tiptoed into the room beyond. This room was larger than the others, with gigantic sliding doors on the opposite wall, and a dirt floor. It looked like a loading bay with the numerous crates sitting around. She checked the boxes for logos, but there were none, and most of them were empty.

She bypassed the broken crates and took a small flight of stairs down to the ground, where a short stack of sealed, metal cases stood. The shiny gleam of new metal contrasted sharply with the decay of its surroundings, and Claire ran a hand over the smooth surface. She again caught the faint scent that she knew to be Jill, and wondered why there were only ever traces. Locating the woman had become her main objective in this place, yet she couldn't latch onto a trail strong enough to find the woman. Maybe Jill had passed through and was already gone.

"Let's see what they're storing," Claire muttered, fingers pressing into the seal release buttons along the side of the stack's top container. The lid flipped open with a soft pressurized hiss, and Claire found herself staring at…well, she wasn't sure exactly, but it was ugly. A brown, wormlike creature was lying there, and it even looked slimy, like a slug. Disgusting. And whatever it was, it might be dangerous, so she decided to reseal the lid and take one with her to pass off to BSAA. She was in the process of shutting the box when the worm jerked to the side, momentarily flipping back and forth.

Claire paused as it stopped moving. Not only was it ugly, but it made the most unpleasant suction-like sound whenever its slimy body pulled off of a surface. Plus it smelled like the infected people. This had to be the cause of infection, but it didn't look like any experiment that she'd seen before. Leon had mentioned something about wormy parasites, but he'd never said whether or not Ada had successfully grabbed a sample for Wesker. Whatever the case might be, she'd found the source of a new threat. It was definitely better off in storage.

The lid was almost closed when the worm thrust upward, shooting out of the remaining crack and straight for her throat. Claire immediately ducked, and the creature sailed over her head. She turned, pistol raised to shoot the thing, but it had already disappeared. Oh shit. Umbrella creature on the loose! Claire mentally slapped herself for opening the case, and hurriedly scanned the room. There was no sign of it, but the worm reeked, and for the first time, Claire was happy about that.

Her eyes shifted to a row of open crates where her nose told her that it was hiding, and her feet stealthily glided toward them. For a moment she heard a sucking nose, and then there was a sharp yelp that she hadn't expected. She came to an open crate that was lying on its side, and crouched to look inside. A stray dog was sitting inside, head lulling from side to side, and tongue dangling loosely. Its throat was convulsing, and Claire frowned. That thing had gone for her throat, and the locals had transformed after eating something. Her face paled and she stepped back while thanking any powers that be that she'd managed to duck. The dog lifted its head, eyes gleaming a dull red now, and the pupils turned to slits.

Great. The animal charged, and Claire raised her gun to fire, but her finger hesitated. Guns make noise; you're sneaking around.

"Damn it!" Claire propelled herself sideways and watched snapping jaws whizz by her head. The dog crashed into another crate with a pained growl. In seeming frustration, it bit into the wood, ripping a board loose before spinning about. Claire was ready for it and moved into a crouch. Already, her blue eyes were beginning to swirl with golden flecks, and coupled with her position, she almost looked as feral as the dog.

The dog ran for her, but Claire didn't move. She remained where she was, waiting for the right moment. Being infected for an extended period of time had given her ample opportunity to grow confident in her enhancements, and she knew exactly what she was capable of. When gnashing teeth were about to descend on her shoulder, her arm snapped outward, fingers wrapping around a furry throat. She stood, lifting the writhing animal from the ground, and easily snapped its neck. With a yelp, the animal went limp, and Claire tossed it aside. Her hands felt incredibly dirty, and she automatically wiped them on her pants.

She was walking away when she heard a wet slurping sound. That could not be good. She turned, finding the dog back on its feet, but the head was hanging, connected only by a thin flap of tough skin. It struck Claire as disturbingly unnatural, even for an infected creature, and then a long, brown appendage emerged from the blood cavern of its open throat. Like a snake, it stretched out across the ground, spikes emerging from the softer flesh as the animal's legs wobbled and turned toward Claire.

She was formulating an attack plan when someone beat her to the punch. Gunshots rang out; continuously thundering into the dog until the body was a spray of blood and body parts across the floor. Claire had moved away to watch from a distance as the same, cloaked figure from before stepped into view, a smoking rifle in her hands. The hooded face was turned toward her, but the figure did nothing, as if waiting to see what Claire would do.

"Who are…?" Claire's words died on her tongue as the air was filled with a new scent. "Jill?" she blurted, disbelieving. A million questions erupted in her head. Why was Jill working with Irving? Why had she infected those villagers? "Jill? It is you, isn't it?" Claire double-checked. The figure remained mute, and Claire cautiously walked closer. Her hand tentatively rose, seizing the edge of the hood, and the woman who might be Jill did nothing to stop her. The hand remained suspended, Claire instinctively dreading what she might find.

Fabric rustled and the hood was pushed backward. Claire gasped. For such familiar features, the expression was so unnaturally dead. That was all she had time to think before Jill hit her in the side of the head. Claire crumbled, her vision beginning to fade. She should have been able to block the attack, but Jill seemed much faster than before—inhumanly fast, like herself. She tried to fight the approaching darkness, but another sharp hit smacked her into the ground.

"Well, well, well, where did she come from?" Irving? Wasn't that Irving's voice? It was the last thing she heard before her eyes completely closed.

*********

Debris rained down on Chris's head, small chips of broken cement left in his hair as he shook off the shock of the attack. He dodged to the side as the massive brute before him swung the sledgehammer yet again, now completely destroying the wall that he'd been trapped against. His shotgun was up, round after round driving into the gray flesh of his opponent, who towered over him with its bulky, lumbering weight. Bloody holes dotted the thing's body, but it continued to advance across the open square despite the pain.

"Shit!" Chris cursed as he ran out of ammo.

"Chris!" It was Sheva. His head swung around, sweat running into his eyes and burning. His partner stood a short distance away, beating a villager with a metal pipe. The man was on the ground, clawing his way toward her legs, but the lithe woman was strong for her size, and her blows eventually stilled the infected body. "We've got to get out of here!" she yelled, and tossed the bloody pipe aside. "There are too many of them!"

"You think?" Chris sarcastically asked as he continued backing toward her, reloaded gun peppering the executioner.

"Let's go!" Sheva grabbed his arm and pulled him away. They stayed close as they ran through streets that swarmed with enraged infected. One moment everything had seemed fine, if a little too quiet, but then hell had erupted all around them. They'd recently been tipped off about Irving and had been searching for him, learning more about the majini and finding several, but now—now it was a game of survival, and their informant had been reduced to a headless corpse.

"We've got to get back to the car," Chris said. Sheva, her purple tank top speckled with blood, grabbed his arm, and they ducked into an alley for rest.

"How did the parasite spread so fast?" Sheva marveled aloud. "And why would they infect people like this?"

"They're sick, heartless bastards; that's why," Chris answered. He winced as his right forearm brushed against the wall. A large cut graced his limb, and Sheva told him to shut up while she used a piece of cloth to bind it.

"To the car," she said. "Keep up."

"Yeah right," Chris shot back. She briefly smiled at him as they walked toward the end of the alleyway. Sheva reached the sunlight first and immediately gasped, jerking backward. Chris only saw the downward swing of a massive hammer, for Sheva had fallen back onto him, knocking them both to the ground. Sheva remained where she was, pistol exploding into action, her aim beautifully honed on the executioner's hand. With a roar, the thing was forced to drop its weapon, and Sheva took the opportunity to dash forward and slice it across the neck with her knife. However, it was a short victory, as a wide swipe of an arm sent her flying across the street.

"Sheva!" Chris stood while the creature went after her, but as he jogged forward, an object caught his eye. It was a backpack—a pink backpack. He glanced at Sheva to make sure that she was handling herself for the moment, and then opened the bag. Grenades, charges, a water bottle, but it was a small lighter that made his brow furrow. It was black with the pink outline of an angel on the side. He'd given it to Claire for her birthday last year. He tucked it into his pants and began unpinning a grenade for the executioner. His world felt like it was crumbling.