Chapter XI
If that horrendous thing hadn't hugged so tightly to Birkin's face, Wesker would have slapped him right across his stubborn head.
"The fuck! What is it with you, I'm trying to help!" he hissed, fervently trying to find the lost lighter in the darkness. The flashlight had died on them the moment it had collided with solid stone and thanks to Birkin their only source of light and possible solution to this problem was now gone, too.
He didn't get a reply to his outburst, not that he had expected as much. It didn't take a genius to realize that they were playing against time here, but with Birkin's lack of cooperation one would think that he was absurdly oblivious to his situation. It was only a matter of time until that thing cut off his air supply completely. Death by asphyxiation was one of the most abhorrent ways to end that Wesker could imagine.
In the darkness his fingers suddenly closed in around the familiar cold surface of the metal lighter and a moment later shed a little light on their surroundings.
The thing had six awfully long legs and at the tip of each was a sharp and dirty claw, currently attached to Birkin's face. The skin was dry, hairy in parts, apart from a slimy spot at front and bottom. Wesker couldn't decipher a lot of details, since what he presumed to be the front was turned to his colleague, but it held a striking reappearance to an overgrown spider, despite the inaccuracy in extremities.
Let's hope the similarities don't stretch as far as poison or reproduction go…
Because really, the last thing they needed was dealing with an unknown infestation or a peculiar impregnation with some alien larvae.
"You're going to hold still now," he told Birkin and the tone in his voice indicated that he wouldn't tolerate another outburst.
Bringing the flaming lighter close to one of the thing's hairy legs, Wesker smelt the stench of burning hair and bubbling skin immediately. As a reaction to the pain it undoubtedly felt, the creature clawed deeper into its victim's face and he could hear a muffled moan from underneath its body.
Wesker continued, but his colleague's hand soon wrapped around his arm and pushed him away again, this time more gently. He thought he discerned a croaked 'please' and momentarily halted in his actions. The dirty claws of each leg had dug into Birkin's flesh, drawing small rivulets of blood from its owner.
Shit. They weren't going to get far like this.
Fire didn't seem to impress the creature a great deal and plunging the screwdriver right into his friend's face was the last alternative Wesker liked to consider. There had to be something else they could do.
He grabbed the dysfunctional flashlight again and tried the switch, but his surroundings remained dark. How would the thing react to brute force? What if he rammed the butt of the torch into its body. Would it let go or only latch on tighter? And more importantly, would it do any harm at all other than risking Birkin a broken nose?
He didn't get to find out as Birkin's hand suddenly gripped his own and guided it to one of his pockets. Wesker resisted the urge to pull back, not yet understanding what the other man was up to. Birkin placed his hand on the pocket of the labcoat and Wesker could feel an item through the fabric. When Birkin's hold losened Wesker reached for the object.
What the…
And immediately froze as he recognized its shape. It was the little knife he had found on the corpse along with the journal. But hadn't his so called friend claimed that it must have been lost during the fall?
He refrained from questioning this little detail. Birkin couldn't give him an answernow , not willingly and not forced.
So for the moment he concentrated on the task at hand. With the lighter's small flame, the old blade gleamed orange and Wesker positioned it under one of the creature's legs. Taking a deep breath, he sent a last prayer to whoever cared and hoped that the thing's blood wasn't poisonous.
Although Birkin couldn't see what was going on, Wesker could feel him brace himself for whatever was to come.
Now or never…
In one swift sweeping motion Wesker pulled the knife up and its rusty edge cut deep into the creature's flesh. It squealed, Birkin twiched on the ground and in the frenzy Wesker managed to take hold of the injured appendage.
He tore it from Birkin's face with force and twisted it until a sickening crack filled the air and the limb's resistance suddenly disappeared.
The thing screamed in agony and seemed to claw even deeper into the blond man's skull. Now Birkin tried to push him away, but Wesker kept his stance. He repeated the same process on another leg, drawing more wailing from the creature and muffled moans from William.
When he began to cut at the third extremity, the creature's lug losened and with a combined effort they managed to catapult it a few feet away.
Beside him Birkin wheezed for air, but Wesker couldn't stay to enquire the researcher's condition. Knife raised, he leaped at the squirming thing and stabbed the steel blade right into the middle of the bloated body. There was a final, ear-piercing screech, then the thing collapsed and moved no more.
"Holy mother of God," Birkin croaked.
"A quite unfitting description, don't you think?"
"What the Hell is that?"
Wesker crouched beside the body and held the lighter close to it. He couldn't discern a head or face. There was a structure that could apply as the creature's mouth, but that was only a guess. The six legs lay slack on the ground, two of them bleeding and twisted at unnatural angles. It was a little disproportioned, but he could still relate it to a spider at best.
"Whatever it is, it's dead now." he assessed bluntly.
"I've never seen an insect this big."
"No?" Wesker asked and reverted back to fixing the flashlight. Or at least, attempting to. "I think I have. And I think you have too."
"What?"
"Don't you remember Dr Marcus' PlCr-938 program?"
"The Plague Crawlers…?"
"Your everyday bug infected with T. Immense growth, aggression, and sudden production of poisonous sputum."
"You don't think…" Birkin seemed to catch on to what he was hinting at.
"Why not?" Wesker asked and tipped the switch on the flashlight. Out of darkness came light. He couldn't keep a smug grin from his face. One of the battery contacts must have malfunctioned. After taking them out and putting them back in, the thing worked as if just taken off the store rack.
Focusing his attention back to his companion he mused, "Is it too far fetched to assume that this insect came into contact with Progenitor?"
Birkin grimaced and rubbed at his sore cheek. Drops of blood trailed down from the six punctuation wounds on his face, but they were starting to clot already.
As if reading his mind Wesker said, "I think it transfers only through bodily fluids. And this is no more than a guess at best. For all we know, this could be an undetected species that has lived here for millennia."
"Well then I hope you just eradicated the last of its kind."
It was a poor guess, but better a consolation than the thought of having to deal with more of these monsters. Once they got out of here Wesker would personally send a reconnaissance troop down into these caverns to retrieve the bodies of the dead workers… and that of the giant spider.
"I wonder if your archeologist stumbled across these beings in his explorations," Birkin thought out loud.
Wesker didn't know an answer to that - mentally cursed himself for not paying closer attention to the reason of death - but slowly turned around to Birkin nonetheless. The mention of that particular corpse brought a more relevant topic back up.
Before Birkin could even make a move to defend himself Wesker's fist connected hard with the man's face, sending him flailing backwards.
"Fuck!" he yelled, his hands shooting up to cover his mouth and nose. Wesker had landed a precise punch.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Birkin cried hysterically.
"Me? Not at all," Wesker reasoned, holding up the now crimson stained pocket knife. The artificial glow lent it a sinister bearing.
"I am in perfect mental condition," he said, rage bubbling in his voice. "But I fear the same cannot be said about you. Have you lost your mind, William?"
The pain suddenly forgotten, Birkin's features took on terror-stricken mannerism. His body tensed and the hand that wasn't clawed around the flashlight periodically formed a loose fist. It was one of his old habits when he became stressed.
"I…"
"You what? Suffered a temporary case of amnesia when I asked you if you had seen a small pocket knife the form and size of this one?"
"You don't understand-"
"Truly, I do not," Wesker interrupted flatly, taking a menacing step closer to his so called friend. He played with the knife demonstratively, folding it in and folding it out. The metallic click clack sent a visible shiver through the man in front of him every time. Birkin was so concentrated on the knife, Wesker wouldn't have been all that surprised if the man's eyes suddenly bobbed out of their sockets with all the strain they were forced to.
"You lie to me one more time, William," he hissed and flipped the blade back closed. "One more time…" Gracefully, the knife slipped into one of his pockets; its rightful place. "You'll wish I never saved you in the first place."
Birkin gave him an almost automated nod, but dared not move out of his paralysis. The warning had effectively sunk in, it seemed.
Lowering his voice back to a normal tone, Wesker spoke as if nothing had happened.
"We should press on. Come."
