25: A Bolt From The Blue
Amber felt her heart skip a beat. She stared at the smiling doctor and tried to make some words come out, but only managed:
"You - I - what? But… how?"
"The same way it always happens, unless you have something you'd like to share with the medical journals," said Dr Reuben, raising her eyebrows again. "You didn't know?"
"No, I - I had no idea. I - "
Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, she glanced at Tim. He'd looked away at first, shocked, then, in acute embarrassment, towards the door, as if he knew that this was somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.
Dr Reuben looked over at him.
"Is everything all right?" she said.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," said Tim awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "It's not really anything to do with me. I'm just a friend."
"You're not the father?"
Tim's mouth dropped open.
"No!" he exclaimed. "No, of course not!"
Amber cringed.
"Tim, I'm sorry," she said. "I really wasn't expecting this. Would you mind waiting outside?"
Tim's cheeks were still burning red, but he nodded and got up to leave the room. He struggled for a second with the door, but managed to get it open at last and closed it behind him as quickly as he could. She heard him walk a little way down the corridor, and heard a small, muted thud as he took a seat on one of the benches.
Amber shook her head.
"This is too weird," she said to the doctor. "I really had no idea. Are you sure?"
"About eight weeks. The nausea you've been experiencing is most likely morning sickness. It's a common symptom, particularly at this stage. I understand that you complained about dizziness when you were admitted, however. We'll need to check your blood pressure and examine you a little further, to rule out anything untoward. Have you been under a lot of stress lately?"
Amber gave a hollow laugh.
"I don't even know where to begin. Work, and trouble at work, and the things I see every day… and then there's my boyfriend. Joseph. Some friends of ours were involved in an accident in the mountains. He was killed trying to rescue them."
The doctor looked sympathetic.
"I'm sorry for your loss. That must have been hard on you. Had you been planning to start a family?"
"No. Not really. We were going to get engaged, but - no. We hadn't even really talked about it. I never even thought it could be - "
Dr Reuben started running through some more questions, and the more answers she gave, the more Amber realised that it should have been obvious to her. Fatigue, headaches, mood swings, irregular appetite, and now nausea and dizziness. All things she'd noticed in passing, but either attributed to stress and lack of sleep, or dismissed altogether. Looking back, though, she wondered how she could have overlooked the possibility.
Eight weeks. Just before Joseph had set off from his ill-starred mission with Alpha Team, never to return…
The tears came up before she could blink them back. He'd died not knowing that he was going to be a father. He should have been by her side to hear the news in person. Instead, she'd have to go out and tell the news to his hostile family, and his empty grave.
"Do you need a moment?" said Dr Reuben gently.
Amber nodded tearfully.
"Please, I - "
"Of course. I'll be back in a few minutes."
The doctor closed the door behind her. That left Amber alone in the room, sitting up in bed and staring at the wall, trying to make sense of her situation.
It was the best and worst news she'd ever had. She'd been given back one last, precious remnant of the man she'd loved with all her heart, and for that she was grateful beyond words. And yet Joseph's parting gift to her brought with it its own difficulties. How could she go out every day and fight Umbrella, knowing that every time she risked her own life, she was putting her child in danger too? What if Umbrella found out that its sworn enemy now had one more thing they could take away from her? What if they tried to -
No! I won't let them hurt my baby, she thought, so fiercely that the scream almost spilled out from her mouth. I'll tear down their headquarters with my bare hands if they try!
They almost had, though, Amber realised, with another wave of nausea. She'd been so convinced that they'd killed her that she'd tried to beat them to it. Her hesitation and that tiny shred of hope had saved her life… and not just hers.
My God. I thought I was dying, turning into one of those things, and I wasn't even sick. I thought I was saving the people in the hospital from me and instead they nearly drove me to do more harm than I could ever have imagined… I nearly killed myself and my baby for no reason, and it would have been all my fault!
The thought of what she'd almost done made her want to throw up again. She wanted to stuff both fists in her mouth to drown out the sound of her screams, but suddenly didn't seem to have the strength to scream out loud. Instead she started to shake, so hard that her teeth began to chatter. She wrapped the blanket and sheets tighter around her, and closed her eyes tightly until the shaking finally stopped.
But it didn't happen. It could have, but it didn't. I chose to live instead, and now I'm going to. I have to. I couldn't give up on my life now even if I tried. There's someone else depending on my survival now.
She pressed her fingers protectively against her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her hospital gown.
"I'm sorry. I was so stupid. I didn't even know you were here," she murmured. "But I do now, and I'm going to take care of you, okay? I mean, that's what I'm supposed to do, right?"
She watched the dust motes fall down the shaft of sunlight, one by one.
"Yeah," she said softly, not quite to herself. "That's what I'm supposed to do. Protect the innocent."
She felt her stomach again. There hadn't been any weight gain – if anything, the opposite, as she hadn't been eating particularly well of late. Perhaps all that came later. She realised she didn't know all that much about motherhood, or what it really entailed. Her memories of her own brother as a baby were so far back in the past that they'd dimmed to almost nothing, and she'd never looked after a small child before. How on earth was she going to look after a baby, without Joseph to help her? Could she entrust her only child to her parents while she went out to work?
Jason was out of the question. Having him babysit an infant would be like asking a six-year-old to build a nuclear power plant, or putting a dolphin in charge of the space programme. The possibilities for epic-scale disaster were limitless.
… Uncle Jason. She really couldn't imagine her little brother being an uncle. She couldn't imagine her parents being grandparents, either. Her dad, maybe, now that his hair was turning grey, but while her mother loved children, she would be quietly appalled at the thought of looking old enough to be a grandmother. And Joseph's family... how could she tell them? What would they say?
I'll worry about that later. I've got more important things to worry about than the in-laws. Like names. And co-pays on all the hospital visits. And work. What am I going to do about my job? I can't leave the police force, not when -
There was the sound of talking outside, then raised voices - then screams.
"They're real! Zombies are real! Let go of me! I'm telling you, man, they're real!"
She froze in her bed. She knew that voice from somewhere. Without stopping to think, she pulled the sheets back, swung her legs off the bed and pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. With her gun in her hand, she ran on tiptoes to her door and opened it, peering out into the hallway.
A few people were standing and watching, open-mouthed with alarm, as two hospital orderlies dragged a hysterical young man along the corridor by his arms. The heels of his sneakers dragged along the floor, leaving little black scuff marks on the linoleum as he thrashed and struggled, trying to break free.
"Let me go! Why won't anybody listen? I saw them, okay? They're real! Real!"
He was so wild-eyed and afraid that she didn't recognise him at first. His blond hair was coming out of its ponytail and his jeans and t-shirt were spattered with blood. He had a brown leather jacket on, too, but there was a large tear across one of the elbows, as if someone had cut it open. He looked bruised and beaten, and frightened for his life. When recognition finally decided to kick in, Amber was shocked to realise that she was looking at Tony Warren, the Mayor's son.
"Where are you taking me?" he hollered. "Come on, I'm not drunk! I'm not hallucinating, or crazy! Why are you doing this to me? I'm telling you the truth! Let me go!"
When he saw Tim standing a few feet away, he cried out in recognition and tore his arm away from one of the orderlies.
"Tim! Thank God it's you! Please, man, you gotta help me!" he pleaded, reaching out and clutching Tim's leg. "I was out at the Purple Puma Club with my girlfriend and the place was attacked by these things! People! Dead people! They killed a bunch of the girls there and we only just made it out… I called my dad, but he told me I'd lost my mind and he got Irons and a couple of heavies to come round and throw us in a police truck!"
The orderly grunted in frustration and tried to pull Tony's arm away, but the Mayor's son clung desperately to Tim, like a drowning man refusing to let the ocean's fury pull him away from the rock which might save his life.
Tim looked down at him, astounded.
"If you were attacked, why didn't they take you down to the station?" he said.
"Irons told the doctors I'm psychotic and attacked somebody!" said Tony, almost in tears. "I don't know where Catalina is, what they did to her - please, man, get me out of here! I'm not crazy! I know what I saw! They were zombies, I swear it! I swear to God! But my dad's gone crazy and Irons - Irons is insane! You've gotta stop him, man, you gotta find Catalina… please, call my lawyer! Art Reitenberg! His number's - "
But the lawyer's number never made it past his lips as the orderlies wrenched his arm away from Tim's leg and hauled him away, shrieking, down the corridor. It was only then that Tim seemed to come to his senses. He gave a cry and chased after the two orderlies.
"Stop! Hey, stop! What are you doing? That guy's not crazy! I know him! Come back here!"
"Sorry, but we're under strict instructions. This patient is subject to psychiatric assessment and he has to be brought to the mental health clinic for examination," said one of the orderlies. "We were told he was violent and may be dangerous."
"He's not dangerous! He's telling the truth!" Tim protested. "Let him go!"
"Sorry, Mr Lonsdale, it's hospital policy," said the other orderly curtly, as they manhandled Tony Warren, who was still howling to be let go, into an open elevator. "We can't release him until he's been assessed."
"Release him? You don't release patients, you discharge them! And he may be scared but he's not crazy – you can't subject him to medical treatment or hold him here against his will! That's assault and false imprisonment! Let him go right now, or I'm calling his lawyer!"
"Feel free to call whomever you wish, Mr Lonsdale, but I'm afraid we can't just hand him over to you. Doctor's orders."
"Which doctor? I want to speak to - "
But the elevator doors slammed closed.
"Tim! Get me out of here! Help me!" they heard Tony Warren scream, as the elevator ascended, and then he was gone.
Tim was shaking.
"My God," he said, turning around to look at Amber. "Amber, did you see that? We have to get him out of here! Umbrella donated a whole stack of money to this place, as well as the Newbury clinic. They've probably got staff on every floor! God knows what they'll do to the poor guy if we leave him here! This is insane. I'm calling my brother…"
He pulled a cellphone from the pocket of his jeans and dialled a number.
"Jimmy? It's me," he said hastily, as a familiar voice answered. "Listen up - they've just dragged Tony Warren in here, kicking and screaming, saying he's lost his mind and he attacked the girls at that cathouse he always goes to! Irons and his dad are trying to have him committed! He looked scared out of his wits, Jim, I think he saw something and - look, just call his lawyer, okay? His name's Art Reitenberg. No, I don't know his number. Ask Mom, she has half the city on her Christmas card list. She'll have it somewhere. Call Mr Katz as well. I think Tony's going to need all the help he can gets. Yeah. Thanks, Jim. I'll call you later."
He hung up.
"I'm going back to the precinct to find out what the hell's going on," he snapped. "That bastard Warren has gone too far this time. Committing his own son because he almost got attacked by zombies? And what the hell is Irons up to, colluding in that? We need to find that girl of his, Catalina or whatever her name is… hopefully it's not already too late."
"Tim?"
He seemed to snap out of his worried state at the sound of her voice. He looked at Amber and saw her standing, bewildered, barefoot, in a hospital gown, with a gun in her hand. His expression melted away.
"Are you all right?" he said, more gently. "Come on, we'd better get you back to bed. They said they wanted to run some more tests, right?"
Amber suddenly felt sick again.
"No," she said hurriedly. "I don't want to be here any more. I don't think it's safe. I want to go home."
"Now that I think about it," said Tim, after some hesitation, "I think that might be a good idea. I heard about those two guys who got killed outside last night. And if the rumours are true about Umbrella having some of their own doctors here, for medical research… shit. They must know we're both here now, and why. Maybe I should get the hell out too."
"I think that would be a very good idea," said Amber. "Okay. I'm going back to my room. I'm going to get my stuff and get out of here. I'll meet you at the front desk."
"Okay. Oh, wait, I almost forgot - "
Amber turned.
"What is it?"
She gave a start as Tim kissed her on the cheek.
"Congratulations," he said, a little awkwardly. "You're going to be a great mom, Amber. And don't worry about anything, okay? Medical bills, whatever... I'll take care of it. If there's anything you need, just ask. No matter what, I've got your back."
"Thanks, Tim."
He took a few steps down the hallway, in the direction of his room, but then he stopped and turned back.
"Joseph would have been happy," he said, his eyes suddenly bright. "If he could see you now, I know he'd be so proud of you. He really loved you, you know. More than anything."
Amber felt her eyes starting to fill up again. She wanted to say that she knew, but could only nod in response. Tim smiled, in a wistful kind of way, then turned the corner and went back to his room.
My baby, she thought, letting her free hand come to rest against her stomach. One more thing to lose… and one more thing to fight for. I have to win this fight now. If I don't, then there's no hope left for any of us.
xxxxxxxxxx
The doctors hadn't been entirely happy about Tim and Amber checking out of the hospital ahead of schedule, but once it had been established that there was nothing much wrong with either of them that time and rest wouldn't fix, they'd allowed them both to go home.
Amber had dropped Tim off at his apartment in Whitchley, but had still shivered with unease at how quiet the neighbourhood seemed to be, even in daylight. She'd been glad to drive back into downtown and head for home. Slipping back into the traffic and sound of yelling, talking, laughing, living people had been like sliding into a warm bath at the end of a long day at work.
She'd arrived home just after lunch. Jason had remarked, with an unusual amount of concern, that she'd been gone a while longer than he expected, but he seemed glad to see her and hadn't asked where she'd been. She hadn't told him, either. He would have been worried to hear that she'd collapsed, and in any case, she wasn't sure if she was ready to share her news just yet. Even Tim had only found out by accident. She hoped he hadn't told anyone.
She did, however, acknowledge that there was one person that she needed to tell. And that was how she found herself sitting in Ambridge Fields Cemetery later that afternoon, sitting cross-legged in front of the STARS memorial. Though the cold sky was clouding over and the wind was starting to blow, there were words that she needed to say. With her hand pressed against Joseph's name on the stone, she poured out everything.
"Joseph, I had to come here. I have something to tell you. Maybe you already know, wherever you are now, but - yeah. You were going to be a dad. I only found out today. The baby's due in April sometime. I'm not sure when exactly. When I found out there were Umbrella staff at the hospital, I didn't stick around to find out."
She closed her eyes tightly.
"I'm scared, Joe. I don't know if I can do this on my own. I don't even know how I'm going to tell everyone. Damn it, it's not fair! I need you! You should have been here! Now we'll never get to pick out a name together, or baby clothes, or - "
She couldn't hold it in any longer, and broke down in tears before the obelisk. But even as she wept, grief-stricken, angry and afraid, she suddenly knew what Joseph would have said to her. The words seemed so loud in her head that she wondered if she was hearing things, or if they really were his:
It's going to be okay, Ambie. Don't be scared. You'll be fine, both of you. I love you and I know you can get through this. Just be brave. For me…
Startled, she looked up again. The name beneath her fingers hadn't changed, but somehow things seemed different. The memorial looked a little less cold and harsh, standing out against the grey autumn sky, and she noticed the flowers at the foot of the obelisk.
Fresh bouquets and wreaths had been laid side by side with the dying ones, the new flowers opening and filling the air with their scent even as the old ones faded away. New life, she thought, taking the place of the old. While Joseph was gone, he'd given her a son or daughter to cherish in his place; a legacy of love and hope that would endure long after Umbrella and its works crumbled to dust, and something more to live for than revenge.
"Thank you," she said at last, to the name in the stone. "Really. I know it's going to be hard, but - thank you. I'm glad we got to have a family together. I just wish you could have been here to see our little one grow up. But I'll bring them here to see you, okay? They'll know who you were, and how brave you were, and I'll tell them all about us. About you. I know they'll love you just as much as I do."
She kissed the engraving of Joseph's name and got to her feet.
"I'd better go. They need me at work. Sleep tight, baby. I'll see you soon."
But as she walked away, she remembered something, and said, over her shoulder:
"But not too soon. I promise."
The clouds parted as she left the cemetery. She wondered if he'd heard. And then, once the gates had closed behind her and she'd returned to the world of the living, she went back to her car, brushing dead leaves from her uniform and trying not to think too much about what the evening shift ahead would bring.
xxxxxxxxxx
As it turned out, tonight had brought more of the same. She'd spent a frustrating couple of hours trying to deal with incoming reports from other people, trying to write her own, and being pulled out of the office to respond to yet another emergency call from someone trying, and usually failing, to fend off a zombie in their home or out in the street.
The stories from the other people on patrol tonight differed very little. Usually they came to the rescue too late to do any good and found the victim already bitten, bleeding or dead. Once, just once, had they saved someone - a young girl from one of the street gangs, who'd gasped her thanks and run off, vanishing like a shadow into the darkness of a side street.
Every now and then, Amber got up to count the pins in the map. There were more tonight. Lots more. Masefield Park now bristled with them, like an angry hedgehog; neighbouring Little Estonia was faring little better and Fairview and Newbury were now similarly afflicted.
The situations in Brentford, Coburg and Haines were deteriorating in similar fashion. St James East - previously safe - also had four pins embedded in its streets, representing four attacks. Well, five to be precise. Amber had added in an extra one at the site of her apartment when nobody was looking.
The rate of the city's decline was becoming alarming to watch. Even Central City had three pins stuck straight through its heart, where people returning home from work late at night had been set upon in the street and killed. If the map was to be entirely believed, uptown Whitchley and Winterton were now the last two bastions of freedom from infection.
But for how long? How much longer can we hold out before people will realise the police can't cope with this? When will the city admit it needs help from outside?
She wondered if Tim had found out anything about Tony Warren's girlfriend, Catalina. Tim wasn't in work this evening; Rita had told her that he'd come in briefly, had a furious argument with the Chief, and left again straight away. She'd been quick to assure Amber that he'd be back in work the following morning as usual, but Amber was still doubtful. It seemed so soon for him to come back on duty when he still only had one good arm to work with.
He almost got stabbed to death by one of Umbrella's goons and he wants to come back the minute the doctors stitch him up again. And here I am, tracking zombies across the city, thinking about baby clothes and daycare and burning down Umbrella's headquarters. I guess we all have our problems.
Amber glanced up from her report to the clock, and noted down the time. It was almost nine o'clock. She moved her pen a little down the page, but got no further. A hand on her shoulder interrupted her.
It was Carlsen.
"Hey, Lieutenant?" he said. "We just had a call from the manager down at the sewage treatment plant. He says there's some guy hanging around the place, acting weird, and he thinks he's up to something. He asked if we could send someone down to check it out."
"The sewage treatment plant?"
Amber thought of Jacob Miles' untimely, horrible end, and shuddered. Who only knew what monstrosity could have done that to a grown man? There was something going on in the sewers all right, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to check it out. She dreaded what she might come face-to-face with down in the dark.
"Yeah. I took the call. I'm heading out there now. I was, ah, wondering if you'd come with me."
Amber almost dropped her pen in surprise. She'd never had terribly friendly relations with Sergeant Carlsen. He'd always shown signs of resenting her authority and things had deteriorated further since the loss of the STARS, but since their attendance at the Haywood house in Newbury, his rudeness and dismissive attitude towards her had all but ceased. Even so, she was surprised by his invitation. She hadn't expected him to go from sneering at her orders to asking her for help.
"I, uh – sure, Carlsen, no problem. I can finish this report later. Let's go."
She tossed the pen and paper aside and got up from her seat. They left together, and went down to the underground parking garage in silence. They would have got into Carlsen's patrol car in silence, too, but they both looked up and noticed the police truck parked in front of them. It had been freshly painted, with new lettering on the side, and Officer Fulham was standing back next to the paint can to admire his handiwork.
Amber started to laugh, then laughed some more and clutched her side.
"What?" said Carlsen. "What's so funny?"
"Have you seen what's on the side?"
Amber pointed to what was written on the side of the truck, but Carlsen just shrugged.
"So what? That's nothing special. We've got that on the side of all the trucks."
"No, no, look a little closer. Read it out loud."
Carlsen stared at her, but then he leaned forward on his toes to get a better look and started to read the lettering aloud.
"Raccoon Police Department," he recited. "Emergencey. Dail 9-1-1 -"
He paused, then frowned.
"Wait a second. Dail? Emergencey? FULHAM!"
Fulham jumped up as though he'd been shot, and looked around for the source of the shouting. He turned to stare at Amber and Carlsen.
"What? What'd I do now?" he whined.
"Fulham! You idiot! Where did you learn to spell?" Carlsen demanded to know. "Wherever it was, it obviously wasn't the academy!"
"I, uh - "
Carlsen pointed to the truck's cruelly abused paint job.
"You wipe that mess off the side of that truck and do it again, you hear me?" he ordered. "Properly this time!"
"But why?" Fulham complained. "It looks fine to me!"
"That's because you're a moron!" Carlsen thundered. "How the hell did they let you in the force when you can't even spell the word "emergency"? You wouldn't know what an emergency was if it ran you down in the street!"
"Calm down!" said Fulham, looking panicky. "It's not like anyone reads the side of these things anyway! It's fine!"
"It is not fine!" Carlsen barked at him. "Now scrub it off and start over!"
Fulham muttered something, rolled his eyes heavenwards, and promptly stepped backwards into the paint can. He looked down in sudden consternation, then swore and tried to pull his foot free.
As they watched him fall backwards, cursing and spraying white enamel paint all over the floor, Carlsen and Amber shook their heads and got into the patrol car.
"I swear to God, that guy is dumber than a bag of hammers," said Carlsen. "I know I'm not the brightest guy out there, but..."
"Fulham redefines the word stupid," agreed Amber. "If he had brains, he'd be dangerous."
"If he had a pointy stick, he'd find a way to poke his eye out with it," said Carlsen gruffly. "Perhaps we should think about putting him on permanent desk duty. The thought of that dumb bastard out on the streets with a gun scares the crap out of me."
They drove out of the parking lot and up onto the street. Carlsen's driving was, Amber thought, not quite as bad at Kevin's, although this seemed more like damnation with faint praise than any kind of compliment. She maintained her silence until Carlsen broke it.
"You know what, Lieutenant? You're okay. And I know I've been kind of an asshole before now, but after what happened back at that house, with that old lady and the little kid... you were right, that wasn't some cannibal cultist that went for us back there. That wasn't even a person. That was a thing."
"A zombie."
"Seemed that way," Carlsen admitted. "I guess you and the STARS weren't so full of it after all. Hell, what am I saying? You were right. I know it sounded crazy at the time, but we should have listened to you guys. If we had, maybe the real crazy stuff wouldn't be on our doorstep right now."
"It's not like we didn't warn you," chided Amber.
"I know," said Carlsen, sighing. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. From now on, you have my full attention. I know it took a while, but nothing says "listen up" like a zombie grandma attack."
"Tell that to the Chief," said Amber.
"He's still not listening to you?"
"No. He's done everything he can to get me out of the force. In a couple of days' time, he'll probably end up getting his way."
Carlsen winced.
"Damn. I'm sorry, Bernstein. You're a good cop, and you don't deserve to get thrown out of the force for whatever excuse that fat old bastard Irons pulled out of his ass. If there's anything I can do – if you want me to burst into that disciplinary and yell not guilty, or whatever – just say the word, okay? Sure they'll probably throw me out of the office, but what the hell. I've been thrown out of a few offices in my time. One more won't make much difference."
Amber smiled.
"That's appreciated. Thanks, Carlsen."
"Neil," he corrected her. "And I'm sorry for what I said about Frost. He was a decent guy and you shouldn't have lost him the way you did. Look... I know you and I never got along too well before now, but I was hoping we could start over. Be friends. I don't even know why we never liked each other, and after what we went through back there, it seems kind of stupid to carry on that way."
"It does," Amber agreed. "And you're right. It's about time we called it quits. Apology accepted."
Carlsen grinned.
"Thanks, Lieutenant."
"Amber."
"Amber," he acknowledged. "You're all right."
He took a corner rather too fast, and Amber felt her stomach try to climb up her throat in protest.
"I would be if you slowed down a little," she said faintly.
"What's up? You okay?"
"I'm... not feeling so good right now."
"Want me to take you back to the station?"
"No, I'm all right, but take it easy on the corners."
"You got it. Gotta warn you, though, we're heading for the sewer treatment plant. It's not going to smell good there. We'll probably have to check out the sewer tunnels too."
"I'll be okay," promised Amber, although she wasn't feeling very confident about that. She hoped the smell wouldn't turn her stomach too much if they had to thoroughly investigate the plant. "Tunnels, though... I can't say I'm looking forward to that. It doesn't bother you, does it? Going underground in the dark?"
"Not really," said Carlsen. "My old man was a sewer operative. He used to take me down in the tunnels with him sometimes when he worked the weekend shift. Don't know why. Company, maybe. Must've got boring down there. But I used to think it was kind of neat, walking around with the city going on right above our heads, trying to work out where we were. Hard at first with no real landmarks, but I got the hang of it after a while. Even now I probably know the underneath of this city better than the topside."
"I hate being underground," said Amber.
"Hey, being underground doesn't suit a lot of people," said Carlsen, unbothered by this revelation. "Take Elliot. He hates the dark. Terrified. And I know a couple of guys at the precinct, big guys, who'd cry like babies if you put them in a tight space on their own. Not me though. Y'know, I thought about doing what my dad did, but my mom said I should join the police instead. Said she'd rather see me get a badge and a pension than spend my life working waist-deep in... well, waste, I guess. Tell you the truth? I think she was more concerned about paying for me to go to college and then seeing me clean out sewers for a living."
"It's a job and somebody's got to do it. But you know how moms are," said Amber.
"I know how mine is, that's for sure. She used to complain enough about my dad coming home smelling like a sewer. Just as well I went to the academy in the end. I think having two guys stinking the house out over Sunday lunch would have finished her off."
They arrived at their destination in the industrial district a few minutes later. They'd passed factories, warehouses, the city's coal-fired power plant and a couple of electrical substations on the way here, and now they were at the very edge of the city, in the outlying industrial area which housed the dirtier, noisier and smellier processes that kept Raccoon City running. Thankfully, the smell of the sewage treatment facility wasn't quite as overpowering as Amber had feared. The place was a tangle of pipes, tanks, treatment ponds, outbuildings and concrete, illuminated by the bright orange glow of sodium lights and surrounded by barbed wire and chain-link fences.
The treatment plant's manager, an impatient-looking and slightly overweight man, was waiting for them at the front gate. He was fiddling nervously with the collar of his open-necked shirt, but didn't seem glad to see Amber and Carlsen when they arrived. Instead, their approach was met with a scowl.
"Well it's about time you got here!" he snapped. "Someone's been sneaking around the place. One of our employees spotted them down in the tunnels about a half-hour ago. You need to find whoever it is and get them out of there. We have a lot of controls and delicate equipment down there, and it'll be my ass on the line if anything happens because someone unauthorised starts poking around!"
"All right, sir, we'll look into this," Amber assured him. "Can you tell us where the intruder was spotted?"
"Tunnels in A-section over there," said the manager, pointing.
"We'll check it out," Carlsen said briskly. "Okay, Lieutenant, let's take a look."
The sewer manager stalked off, back across the forecourt and into one of the outbuildings, slamming the door shut behind him. Carlsen shot a contemptuous look in that direction, then headed for the tunnel entrance.
"Self-important jerkwad," he muttered. "I hate guys like him. Middle-managers who think they're the bee's knees and everybody has to stop what they're doing because they said so. Like anybody with a real job cares what he has to say."
"I hear you," said Amber, stooping a little to avoid banging her head on the low tunnel entrance. She could hear her voice and some faint splashes reverberating inside the tunnel as they traipsed through the slow trickle of dirty water at the bottom.
"We'd better keep quiet," Amber whispered into his ear, as she drew level with him. "Don't want whoever's sneaking around to hear us coming."
Carlsen nodded soundlessly in response.
A few steps further into the tunnel took them around a bend, and what little light there had been from the tunnel mouth disappeared. Carlsen and Amber both fumbled for their flashlights. Amber was the first to switch hers on, and cast the beam across the dark sweep of tunnel ahead of them.
"Nothing," she mouthed to Carlsen.
They proceeded forward, trying not to make too much noise with their movement as the filthy water gradually rose to ankle-level. Carlsen was panning his flashlight back and forth across the tunnel, peering into the murky space in the hope of spotting movement.
"Anything?" Amber whispered to him.
"Nope," came his reply. "Nothing."
The smell of stagnant water became more pungent as they progressed deeper into the tunnels. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, and more impenetrable. Amber found it unsettling, in a quiet but intense way that she couldn't explain. Perhaps it was the sound of dripping water, or the hush that they were making by holding their breath as they moved. Or perhaps it was the tension of waiting for something to happen, and simultaneously hoping that it didn't, that was making the skin on her arms prickle.
Carlsen stopped, with his foot halfway towards taking another step.
"What was that?" he breathed.
"What was what?" Amber whispered back. "I didn't hear - "
There was a tiny sound, the sound of someone trying not to be heard; then something dark and blurred whipped round the next corner, and was gone. Her flashlight beam was a second too late to follow it, and illuminated only concrete and brick.
"Hey, stop! Police!" Carlsen yelled, and started to run.
Amber started running too, right behind him. Their footsteps sploshed furiously through the water, now calf-deep, as they tore after the unknown intruder. They could just about make out a shape somewhere ahead of them, a figure in black or merely in silhouette, making no sound as it fled. It could almost have been a ghost, or a shadow.
And then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the figure vanished again. All was still. Carlsen ran ahead to investigate, holding his flashlight in front of him like a lance. He squinted into the low light, trying to make out anything in the gloom that might have been the shape of someone trying to hide.
"Hello? Who's there?" he shouted. "This is the RPD! Identify yourself or I - "
He cried out as something hit him in the face and dropped into the water. Then there was movement, and sound, and the faceless trespasser took off again along the sewer tunnel. More objects flew past them, landing with loud splashes into the water that pooled around them. One connected painfully with Amber's knee and bounced off again, smashing against a wall in a tinkle of broken glass.
"Stop! Get back here!"
They were running as hard as they could, but the water was calf-deep now and it was making their progress more difficult; their panting reverberated off the tunnel walls as a chorus of low, breathy hisses, with water splashes as percussion. Somehow, the intruder was still far ahead of them, and almost out of sight.
Carlsen tripped and fell face-first, but picked himself up again, cursing and dripping dirty water. Amber stopped to look back at him.
"Are you okay?" she called.
"Yeah, fine! Amber, he's headed for the outfall pipe! It leads right out into the river! Don't let him get away!"
Amber broke into a run again. She could still see their quarry and she wasn't about to let him get away. She charged ahead through the deepening water as best she could, yelling again for the suspect to stop.
But the mysterious interloper ignored her orders and kept running. He was already far ahead, well out of reach and almost out of sight. Amber charged after him, wading as fast as she could through the grimy water, but the fugitive's speed and agility were astonishing. It was as though he didn't notice the water's increasing depth, or that it simply didn't matter. The further they both ran, the more Amber found herself struggling to close the gap between them.
"Hey, you! Stop! This is the police!" she yelled, slightly out of breath.
The suspect glanced back, just long enough for Amber to catch a glimpse of black hair and lipstick, a flash of red in the dark, then started running again. Amber summoned all her reserves of speed and strength and redoubled her efforts, charging through the knee-high sewer water. She could see a large, dark circular opening high up on the wall, half-hidden in the existing darkness, and realised that it was the outflow pipe. It was too high to reach, and the only other option, other than back the way they'd come running, was a dead end.
Ha! Got you now, she thought triumphantly, and shouted:
"All right, that's far enough! Stop right now! I won't ask again! Next time I'll shoot!"
Without even the slightest pause, the mystery woman sprang forward and up, like a cat, towards the opening of the pipe, grabbing the edge and hauling herself up. In an instant, she was gone, soft footsteps splashing in the water.
"What makes you think there'll be a next time?" came a soft, seductive voice, echoing down the tunnel. "Still... nice try."
Amber leapt after the suspect, but her fingertips fell just short of the pipe's edge and she fell backwards into the water. Frustrated, she tried again, jumping up as far and high as she could, only to miss again. It was too late, she realised, with a sinking heart. The suspect had already vanished, and by the time she and Carlsen retraced their footsteps and found another way to the river, she would be long gone.
"Damn it," she said to herself, looking up at the outflow in dismay. "She's gone..."
There seemed to be no option now but to go and find Carlsen, so she turned back and wound her way back through the tunnels until she found him. To her disgust, he was fishing around in the sewer water for something. She hoped it was for something he'd lost, because she dreaded to think what else he might be looking for.
"I take it he got away," Carlsen said flatly, without looking up.
Amber's shoulders sagged with humiliation. She'd hoped to be a shining example of police work to further cement her improving reputation with the man. Instead she'd lost the suspect they were pursuing, demonstrating the kind of ineptitude for which she would have bawled somebody out.
"He got to the outflow pipe before I did," she admitted. "I tried to get after him, but it was too late. I lost him. Oh, and he was a she."
"So that narrows it down to fifty per cent of the population," said Carlsen. "Any chance they did you a favour and dropped some ID?"
"No, I'm afraid the suspect wasn't thoughtful enough to leave behind a driver's licence for me to find," said Amber sarcastically.
This got a little chuckle out of Carlsen.
"Heh. Stranger things have happened," he said. "Well, the suspect may not have left us any ID but she did manage to leave us a couple of clues. Take a look at this."
He paused in his exploration of the sewer water and tossed an object in her direction. Amber caught it, rather clumsily, and turned it over to examine it.
"What is this? Some kind of detonator?" she said.
"Looks like it. Electronic, I think. No idea what she was up to down here, but I doubt it was anything good. She dropped a box of bullets too. You know, if you count throwing them at us as "dropping". Nine-by-nineteen parabellum rounds. And I think there was something else which landed somewhere around – ah! Gotcha!"
He grinned and pulled a small wrapped parcel out of the water, then passed it to Amber. She had a feeling that she already knew what it was, but opened a corner of the package for the record. Her suspicions were confirmed.
"Plastic explosives," she commented. "Looks like C4."
"That explains the detonator," said Carlsen. "Damn. I don't know what our mystery girl was up to down here, but it's lucky we managed to scare her off before she did any damage. I think we should get the bomb squad down here and get them to do a sweep. She could have stashed more explosives down here. Or wired the whole place to blow."
Amber shivered.
"We need to get out of here and warn the sewer manager about this," she said. "We can't risk any sewer employees entering the tunnels until we know the area is clear."
"Point taken. Come on."
Amber started moving through the shallower water towards the sewer's entrance when she disturbed something hard with the tip of her boot. Curious, she bent down to retrieve the object, which was sitting just beneath the surface of the water.
"Find something?"
Carlsen tilted the beam of his flashlight towards the item in her palm. She held it closer to the light to examine it, and said:
"Rifle scope. Infra-red. Broken all to hell, too. Must have smashed when she dropped it."
"You think there's anything else here?" said Carlsen.
"I counted four splashes, and we've got four items. Normally I'd make another pass to be sure, but I don't think we should stay down here much longer. We'll just have to tell the bomb squad to watch out for any unusual objects or signs of activity when they come down here. If they find anything else, I'm sure they'll tell us all about it."
"This is going to make for an interesting report. What do you think, Lieutenant? Sabotage? Terrorism? Both?"
"Right now, your guess is about as good as mine. But if you're guessing terrorism, then I sincerely hope you're wrong."
Carlsen looked back over his shoulder at the tunnel's encroaching darkness.
"Me too," he said, shaking his head. "Ugh. First zombies and now terrorists. Like this town doesn't have enough problems."
xxxxxxxxxx
Monday 21st September, 1998
After another restless night with little sleep, Amber had just arrived for the afternoon shift, but no sooner had she sat down to write her report from last night than the inevitable discussion began.
"So who do you think's gonna win Thursday? The Sharks or the Thunders?"
"Ugh, football again?" Rita complained, over the hubbub of discussion that ensued. "Don't you guys ever talk about anything else?"
"Beer," said Elliot Edward.
"Cars," said Carlsen.
"Girls," said Kevin, with a chuckle.
"Baseball," said Bob Kerr.
"Movies," said Marvin, more thoughtfully. "And music."
"Food," said Kevin.
"Politics. Well, kind of," said Carlsen.
"Mostly what an asshole Warren is for renaming Dowd Stadium," Elliot added.
"Hey, man, that's still politics," said Carlsen defensively.
"My summer vacation," said Marvin. "I promised Lilly I'd take her to Yellowstone."
"Basketball," said Elliot.
"Hockey," said Bob.
"No, Bob, that's just you and Canada," joked someone else.
"Hey, I like hockey too," Kevin piped up. "Oh, and video games. Don't forget video games."
"Still playing in your mom's basement?" said Carlsen, nudging him in the side.
Kevin glared at him.
"Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?"
"Yeah, he is. Beat it, Carlsen," said Marvin patiently. "And you, Edward, go on. I know it's getting bad out there, but the people of Raccoon City need to know we're out there looking after them."
Grumbling, Edward and Carlsen slunk out of the room. Amber was briefly gratified to hear Elliot ask his friend if it was true about what he'd seen at "the old lady's house", and a response from Neil in the affirmative, but then their progress took them down the corridor and out of earshot.
"See, Rita? We have more on our minds than football. Like our jobs, and families, and what's going on in the world," said Marvin reasonably. "There's a bit more to us than you girls think. I mean, you wouldn't like us saying that all you girls think about is chocolate and shoes, right?"
"I've known some gals who don't talk about much else, but I guess that's a fair point," said Rita, smiling. "All right. So you think the Sharks will win?"
"Guys, come on," Amber complained, putting down her pen. "I'm trying to write a report here. I can't even hear myself think."
There was a chorus of "sorry"s, some more sincere than others. Rita got up from her chair.
"That reminds me, I need to go see Forensics about that homicide I went to last night. Ruth said her report should be ready by now," she said.
"Homicide?" said Amber. "Where?"
"The new housing project in Haines," Rita answered. "Some guy walking home from the soup-canning factory got attacked on Hibiscus Avenue. We haven't been able to identify him yet. Wasn't much of him left to identify, apart from the work overalls."
"Let me guess," said Amber, although they both knew it was hardly a guess. "Teeth marks, signs of being eaten or torn apart, no suspects to be found. One of those homicides?"
"Yeah," said Rita, looking sad. "One of those. Well, I'd better go see Ruth, see what she has to say."
"You know what she's going to say," said Amber.
Rita sighed.
"I know. I'll see you later."
She left, and Amber looked down again at her report. All she'd written so far was the location, date and time. She decided to look at Carlsen's offering for inspiration, and picked it up from the spot on her desk where he'd left it last night. She was disappointed, however, to see that it was sparse on details and that the most interesting feature was the coffee cup ring in the middle. No mention of her involvement had been made at all – and to her irritation, the interloper they'd discovered was still listed as a "he".
"For crying out loud," she muttered, and began her report by pointing out that she and Carlsen had attended the incident:
"Upon receiving a report of a disturbance at the Raccoon City Sewage Treatment Facility, at approximately 9.00 p.m., Sergeant Neil Carlsen and I attended the facility to investigate. We met with the sewer manager, who identified himself as Raymond Monroe and informed us that a suspicious individual had been sighted by a sewer employee in the A-Section tunnels half an hour previously. Sergeant Carlsen and I proceeded to investigate the area and entered one of the sewer tunnels."
She paused for thought, biting the end of her pen, then continued:
"We discovered a suspicious person in the tunnel, who immediately tried to escape. Despite identifying ourselves as members of the RPD and repeatedly ordering the suspect to stop, the suspect ignored our orders and several objects were thrown at both Sergeant Carlsen and myself in an attempt to hinder our pursuit. Despite our best efforts, the suspect, whom I was unable to identify but can describe as female, approximately 5'8" tall and of slim build, with black hair, dark clothing and red lipstick, reached a point of exit before she could be apprehended and I was unable to pursue her further. I then returned to find Sergeant Carlsen examining the stretch of tunnel for clues. I assisted him in recovering several items, which are listed as follows:
One (1) broken infra-red scope, for rifle;
One (1) detonator of electronic type;
One (1) package of C4/plastic explosive;
One (1) box of 9mm [9x19] parabellum rounds.
These items have been presented to Forensics for inspection but no fingerprints were detected, perhaps due to use of gloves by the suspect (it should be noted that the possible cause of lack of fingerprints remains purely speculative and could not be confirmed either way by the forensic examiner; this information could not be verified or disproven by reporting officer due to poor visibility within the sewer tunnels). Regrettably, contamination by immersion in sewer water meant that no viable DNA evidence could be obtained. The explosive device components have been stored safely in the Evidence room; the broken rifle scope and 9mm rounds have been retained for further examination by the Forensics department. Any requests to view these items or to obtain additional information about same should therefore be directed to Ruth Shackleton."
Amber read through her report again, and concluded that it was rather more accurate and detailed than her colleague's. She signed it carefully at the bottom, and put it in her out tray.
She wondered who their unnamed suspect had been, and where she was now. Did the mysterious woman pose a threat to the city? Or had she been down in the sewers for another reason, trying to track down someone or something dangerous? Maybe she was trying to find whatever had killed Jacob Miles. Maybe she was after something else entirely. With mayhem already spilling onto the city's streets, it was hard to say what insanity might have been taking place below them.
Black hair, red lipstick, fleetness of foot and soft taunting in the tunnels. Whoever the mystery woman was, she sounded like trouble. Somehow Amber had a peculiar feeling that this wasn't the last she'd seen of the fugitive. Whatever the woman said, there would be a next time, one way or another, and one of them would find out just how much trouble the other could cause.