Lab 23/4 was nearly the furthest one away from the ladder, Claire noticed with some degree of unease. At least, she reasoned, there were so many corridors that they should be able to loose anyone trying to follow them. She stood, arms folded and alert, as Chris knelt in front of the door.

He pulled the front panel off the keypad and wired the electronic lock-pick in carefully. He flicked a switch and then watched nervously as numbers spun in the keypad's display screen, one number stopping its rotation every time the black box gave a soft, low beep.

"How long is this going to take?" Claire hissed, unfolding one arm to shine her torch down the corridors. "Security isn't just going to wait for us to leave."

"Shouldn't be long now," he murmured. "Just give it a few minutes."

It wasn't long before the last digit ticked into place. The box gave a satisfied trill, and Chris deftly detached it from the keypad, with noticeably less care than he had attached it. He replaced the front of the pad as the lock released with an audible click and the door slid back into the wall.

Claire stepped in first.

The laboratory was neat and clean, and smelled strongly of industrial bleach. The walls were lined with navel-high benches that were interrupted by cabinets and a large sink. In the centre of the room was a large tank that Claire guessed was used to study the gas in some way. There was a strange smell to the tank, even over the stink of bleach. Sweet. She sniffed, and felt soothed. There was nothing to be frightened of here.

"Can you smell that?" she asked Chris eagerly.

He sniffed the air and scowled. "It smells sickly, right? Over-sweet, like wasp-rotten fruit. Quick, let's find the sample and go."

Claire smiled at Chris' bad mood, and moved over to one of the cabinets. She opened the door - no luck, just clean lab coats and surgical masks, along with a box of disposable gloves. She left the door open and moved towards the next one, the silly smile still in place.

"That smell," said Chris presently, watching her. "I think it's the gas. It's making you act all doped. Hell, even smells like Mary Jane."

"How do you know what marijuana smells like?" she teased.

"I was a cop. Some of the guys they brought into the precinct reeked of it."

"Sure. And before you were a cop, you were an angry young man with a - "

He coughed. "Can we just find the gas and leave? Try not to breathe too heavily, okay?"

"My brother is a drug addict," she announced happily, determined to have the last word. She opened another cupboard. More supplies.

"Whatever you say," he muttered.

Chris found the samples first, hidden in a glass fridge beneath one of the benches and beside a half-bottle of 'Powerade'. There was a combination lock on the door, just like the old safes in movies and cartoons. He looked at it and swore.

"Did expect it to be locked."

"Why not?" asked Claire in surprise. "They usually are."

"I... I guess I just wasn't thinking."

"We could break the glass? It might not hurt the samples. The powerade might save them."

Chris considered. "Well, it's not like we have many other options. Let's try."

Strangely enough, it worked, and by doing so reinforced Claire's belief that locking glass doors was a complete waste of time. She stated this in a loud, dopey voice, but Chris didn't comment, too busy picking through the shards of glass to find the gas they needed.

"Five. There are five samples."

"Well, there had to be more than one," Claire pointed out. "It would be pretty useless otherwise. You wouldn't be able to test it or anything without loosing it."

"Yeah. True." He took them out gently, lying them on the ground. He went to Claire's first store cupboard and ripped the arm off a lab coat. He gingerly wrapped the tubes up in it, and placed the package into a front pocket of his belt. "God, I hope I don't trip and break them."

"You'll be fine, as long as you chuck your hands forward when you fall," reassured Claire. The doped affect of the drug appeared to be wearing off, for she continued, "Come on, Chris. We've got what we came for. Time to leave."

"Amen to that." He stood carefully. "Right. Let's go slow, see if we've got company yet. Rough seas should have kept them back for a while, but they might have come through the undersea passage."

Claire paled. Didn't think of that. Jeesh, Chris has been taking a hell of a lot of risks lately.

After turning off their torches, Chris peeked his head around the corner, then waved for her to follow. They left lab 23/4 open and walked away slowly and quietly, trying to stop their heavy boots from squeaking on the polished floor.

They were so close to the ladder when they heard it, the pneumatic whoosh of the silver elevator. All thoughts of reaching safety melted away like a mirage. Chris grabbed Claire's arm, pulling her to the wall. She could see only the faintest outline of his face as he mouthed "this way" - or perhaps it was only her imagination. His black shadow pulled at her arm, and the siblings retreated down the side corridor. They ducked around another corner as what sounded like a squad of small elephants trucked by.

"Sounds like there are at least twelve of them," Chris whispered.

"Some seem to be staying in front of the ladder."

"Shit."

"Affirmative," Claire whispered, and then giggled. Maybe the gas hadn't quite worn off yet.

"We're gonna have to run for it. Hold onto my belt. Stay close." She gripped her brother's belt in tense fingers, shaking hands drumming a nervous tattoo into the small of his back. Suddenly the situation didn't seem so funny. "Don't bother trying to have a weapon ready, it'll just slow you down."

She nodded, though he couldn't see, and took a deep breath. "One," she breathed out, "two... three..."

Then, they ran.

Their feet pounded into the ground. Shadowy corridors flew past. Claire experienced a strange lack of balancing running in the dark, but couldn't slow down to find her bearings. She resisted the instinct to resist further movement, and forced herself to keep going. Her fingers were raw from gripping the belt so tight, but none of that mattered. The only thing was running.

Chris bowled straight into one man, and Claire trampled over him in her heavy boots without realizing until afterwards. He didn't get up.

Then, around the corner - there was the ladder. Chris had led them a way that had avoided all bar one of the security guards. He stopped, pulled Claire in front of him as soon as she disentangled her hand from his belt, and pushed her up the ladder. The metal rungs were cold and rough to her abused fingers, but as she reached up for the next hold, she turned her head to see the light of gun-scopes flickering down the corridor. They seemed very close. She became very aware of how vulnerable she was, and her brother standing below - waiting for her to move so he could climb up as well. Suddenly her hands felt numb.

Energized, she scurried up hand-over-hand, praying that nothing would make her slip or slow down. Finally, the gray square of light that had been so distant was level with her. Claire threw herself into the sign out room, trying desperately to remember where the door was. She pulled out her torch, preparing to flick it on and look when -

The door to this building, rusty and stiff. Chris pushing at it with his shoulder, taking forever to move it the slightest difference.

Did he leave it open?

Lights turned off to make sure no one passing by would know we had been here. Did he close it for the same reason?

If it's closed, we're dead. Dead, finito, decomposing, corpsified.

Unless...

Claire knew instantly that she didn't have time to check if the door was open or not. Any second now, Chris would be out and the soldiers would follow. They wouldn't wait to see what she would decide to do. She gripped the mag light in her hands, remembering a TV commercial where a truck had run over one of these torches, and the torch didn't break. She thought a brief, wordless prayer, and threw it with all her might at the window in front of her.

It cracked with a loud smack, but didn't break.

Her mind spared a split-second to swear at consumer advertising and threaten to sue. The window must be reinforced. She caught the torch on the full, moving towards the glass at a rampaging pace. She planted her foot firmly into the apex of the spidery lines.

Eat plan B.

Her leg jarred painfully as it met the unforgiving window pane, sending a shower of glass onto the ground outside and a primal screech peeling from her throat. Momentum propelled her inelegantly through the gap, picking up stray shards as she went. She landed heavily, causing errant glass to burrow into her skin.

Chris followed, much more gracefully. Claire tried to stand, but her right leg hung limp and useless from her waist. She quelled a whimper as pain shot through the wrecked nerves, and reached a shaking hand towards her brother.

Help me.

He saw that gesture, somehow, in the erratic glow of the swinging lantern. He didn't pause, not even to throw a glance to the soldiers who were flowing out of the faux-cabinet with heart-sinking efficiency. He grabbed her thin wrist and forcefully hoisted her up onto his back, grunting as he rearranged her weight more evenly over his shoulders, and began to run as fast as he could.

In a pain-induced haze, Claire saw the black Umbrella guards switching off their gun lights, and pulling on nigh-vision goggles. The eerie green of these goggles could be seen turning in all directions, hunting them out like a sniffer-dog's nose.

Some shots were fired, but they went off wide. Chris dived deeper into the trees, breathing becoming more laboured as the hill's incline became steeper. Claire bounced about on his back, feeling weak and useless. She couldn't even turn to find out how far away their pursuers were in case the movement made Chris lose his balance. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, turning white with tension.

They continued like this through the forest for what felt like hours before Chris stopped his frantic pace. He dropped his sister ungainly on the ground and leaned against a tree to catch his breath. She felt guilty at the sound of those pained gasps, and looked away to scope out the area in an attempt to stop a looming wave of self-loathing,

What? We're in a god damn graveyard!

Thorny weeds knotted over the ground, raised in humps where the bodies of the lepers had been unceremoniously dumped. A picket fence stood out in the darkness, green with moss and rot, cordoning off the desolate square from the rest of the woods. It was breached in some places by thick roots and heavy branches which had fallen during winter snows. The large tree Chris was leaning against was a yew, and its branches sheltered the little cemetery as if trying to protect the graves from any further humiliation.

Claire shrunk from the mounds of earth, half expecting a mottled, rotting hand to launch from the soil and reach with gnarled fingernails for her throat. Had an enterprising corpse attempted such a venture, he would not have got far before the straggling gorse and matagouri ensnared him with their cruel thorns, but this rationalized view hardly calmed the young woman.

She rubbed a hand over her sore leg, pulling out the bits of glass as she did so. None had hit deep, but the mangled nerves screeched their disapproval. She might be able to walk on it now, she thought, or perhaps limp. She glanced over to her brother, to see if he was ready to move on. Instead, her eye was caught by the sheer enormity of the bush Chris had battered through. She could hear some faint muttering from that direction which indicated they weren't on the small island alone, but the guards didn't come near the graveyard. Perhaps they were superstitious, but more likely they didn't think anyone could get through the mess of weeds with all body parts intact.

There was an unexpected "thump" behind her as Chris fell solidly to the base of the tree. Claire took a closer look at him, stretching her leg and creeping gingerly over the gorse. She could see his clothing was shredded and coated in blood which gleamed darkly in the pale light of the moon. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was still erratic.

He seemed to feel her scrutiny and opened his eyes to meet hers. He smiled softly, looking in the moonlight more like their father than ever before. "Sorry, Claire. I don't think I can get much further at the moment. Wild bullet clipped my leg."

She brushed the apology aside, guilt spreading through her like a stain. If only I had been able to run, we'd have been too fast for them.

"Are you okay?" she whispered. "Is it serious?"

He shook his head. "It's just feeling weak and bleeding lots." A grim smile in the dark. "We're sore leg buddies now."

She smiled humourlessly. "Mine's getting better."

"We won't be buddies for long, then."

Claire scooted closer to her brother's side. "Where'd the bullet get you? I've got some med stuff in my belt. It may help."

The bullet had glanced off Chris left outer thigh, a couple of inches about the knee. He rolled his trouser leg high enough with difficulty. It was a clean wound, but Claire smeared stinging disinfectant over it anyway. They didn't speak while she cleaned it or bandaged it tightly, so Claire could focus all her attention on fixing him up. After the bullet-wound was seen to, she dabbed some disinfectant on the deepest of the gorse's gouges, cringing guiltily each time Chris gasped in pain.

When she had finished, she tugged the material of Chris' pant leg down, wiped her hands on her trousers, and sat, staring at the ground.

I fucked up and got him hurt. I got him shot.

"Hey," he brother said softly. She raised her head, looking at him with eyes made large by the darkness. "You did good, Claire-bear. You did good."

Back in the Present Day

Her legs were uncomfortably cramped, twisted as they were beneath her body, but Claire gazed at Chris with rapt attention as the sun climbed higher. The blooms that grew on or around the graves opened in an elegant dance, releasing a sweet fragrance to the air, but the young woman was oblivious to all but her brother's tale.

"Do you remember this?" he asked presently. "Is it jogging your memory?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. Her memories were blank except for vague impressions and feelings, but she couldn't tell if those were borne from listening to Chris and trying desperately to remember, or real recollections breaking through into consciousness. I have no idea what's real any more. Her hand coiled around the dark glasses hidden in her pocket, and she began tentatively, "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it, unsure what to say; I've been hallucinating? Sleep walking? Going completely nutso? Shrugging, she muttered "never mind."

"Come on, Claire. Say it. Who knows, it might be important."

Encouraged by the eagerness and kindness in his voice, Claire tightened her grip on the sunglasses and took a deep breath. Half-closing her eyes, she prepared to tell him about her dream. Instead, she blurted out, "Did we come across Wesker?"

Chris didn't reply. Relaxing her face from a reflexive cringe that had instantly followed the question, a surprised Claire cautiously opened her eyes, expecting her brother to laugh or go on a rampage. However, his face had faded to the colour of parchment. His eyebrows were strangely twisted, bunching in shock. He spoke through pale lips in a pressed voice so unlike his own; "How did you know that?"

"I don't," she said uncomfortably, "not really. But I..." She wondered if she should go ahead and talk about her dream and the aviators in her hand, but it seemed too daunting. "I keep... expecting him to appear."

He stared at her. "You can't know," he whispered, "He said - "

"He was here?" Claire's eyes held her disbelief. "But you said he was away on some mission! Ada, too."

"I thought he was!" Chris burst out angrily, standing up. "Do you think I would have got us both here if I knew he'd be waiting? I'm not fucking suicidal, Claire! I'd take damn better care of you than that!"

"But you didn't!" she screamed back, also standing. "You left me here to fend for myself, weak and confused, without even telling me that the homicidal maniac was running around!"

"I didn't want to!"

"Then why did you?!"

The target had been hit. The anger that had risen so quickly in both of them dissipated. A change came over Chris' face, making him look sad and old. He slumped against the brickwork and slowly slid down to the floor.

"It was me, wasn't it?" said Claire quietly. "He threatened you, with me."

"I didn't want to," he repeated, finding the strength to look her in the eyes.

"Didn't want to what?"

Their eyes drilled into each other. The siblings both tried to predict how the conversation would spin out.

"How did you know he was here?"

"What?" Claire felt frustration boil inside her. "Answer the damn question, Chris! What did Wesker want with you?"

He answered with an uncompromising glare.

"I'll tell you if you tell me?" she suggested, in a milder tone. She sat down. "But you have to tell me the truth first, Chris."