Chapter Eight

Revelation

Claire stumbled along in Wesker's wake, his hand tight around her wrist. Whenever she paused, he yanked her forward. Her wrist was beginning to throb, but she didn't care about that. She was far more concerned with controlling the fear and anger surging through her, almost blinding her in their intensity.

The fear was expected. Even if she'd been armed, there was something uncanny about wandering the deserted lab, the blinking red lights the only illumination. In this case experience did not bring a sense of security -- she would have prefered not knowing what might lurk in the darkness. She hated the feeling of utter helplessness threatening to overwhelm her, and she hated the silence. Every second she expected something to leap from the shadows.

But at least as powerful as the fear was the anger. In leaving her prison behind, she seemed to have left some of her forced submission; ironically, even though she was now totally dependent on Wesker, some of his power had faded. She glared at him in sullen fury as he tugged her along. She was getting very tired of being pushed, hit, ordered, and dragged.

Wesker stopped abruptly, swinging an arm across her chest. "What?" she demanded.

"Shut up." He stepped forward, footsteps echoing, and listened.

Claire leaned against the wall and sighed. They were in a long, empty hall with a number of doors leading off either side. She could already tell that, like all the other Umbrella labs, this one was a maze of inconvenient spirals and random dead ends. At least she didn't have to navigate this one on her own. That was one advantage, if she could call it that, of traveling in Wesker's wake.

She watched him lean around the corner, his head cocked to one side, and briefly contemplated running in the other direction. As quickly as the thought entered her mind, however, she abandoned it, remembering his prenatural speed the other times she'd encountered him.

None of which he was exercising now. "What's the hold up?" she demanded.

Wesker turned to snarl something in her direction, but before he could speak, a dark figure hurdled around the corner. Just in time Wesker dove and dodged, the hunter flying over his head with claws extended. Claire, now in the monster's direct line of vision, screamed. It gave a piercing shriek and charged; she dropped to a crouch, clasping her hands over her head.

Wesker leaped between them, a hunting knife suddenly flashing in his hand. Claire barely saw what happened. One moment the hunter was lunging for her, the next it lay on the floor, blood spilling from its slashed throat. Wesker glared down at her, and she realized in disgust that she was cowering at his feet. She shot to her feet and glared right back, hands on her hips.

To hell with him. How dare he put her through this nightmare again? "Well, that was fun. You still think I don't need a weapon?"

Again she didn't see him move, only felt his hand crack against her cheek. The force of the blow sent her sprawling to the floor, her hands skidding in hunter blood as she strove to break her fall. Before she could react Wesker's foot clamped down on her shoulder -- not as hard as at their first meeting, when she'd feared he would shatter bones -- but hard enough.

"Let me explain something to you, Miss Redfield," he snarled. "We are not partners, nor are we friends, comrades, or associates. You are my prisoner and I... I am the one with the power. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because circumstances have forced me to allow you limited freedom you are any less my captive. I may need you alive, but I have no problem hurting you, and hurting you badly. From this point on, you do exactly as I say when I say it, and you keep that damn mouth of yours shut while you do it. Is that perfectly clear?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Claire nodded. Gradually, Wesker allowed her to rise. She clamped her right hand over her left shoulder, rubbing at the bruised flesh. She stared at him mutely, not daring to open her mouth -- she would either cry or yell, and neither reaction would get her anywhere.

This time he didn't take her wrist, turning and striding away. She hated his unspoken assumption that she would follow -- but she hated it even more that she did.

-----

"Something's wrong."

Chris lunged for the cockpit so fast he nearly toppled Leon. "What's going on?" he demanded, ignoring Leon's cursing behind him.

Barry shook his head and poked at a few buttons. "The place is deserted, Chris. Wesker's not here."

In the cabin, Jill and Leon, both bristling with weapons like some bizarre species of porcupine, dove for the windows. It was true. A long stretch of barren land extended below them. Wesker and Claire were nowhere in sight. "He was supposed to signal us when we came within range," Barry continued. "But I haven't heard a peep since we took off."

"He's late, that's all," Jill soothed before Chris could fly off the handle. "Actually, we're early. There are still ten minutes to go. And it would be just like Wesker to make us wait."

"Yeah, that's it," Chris agreed. But he began pacing the length of the jet with quick, anxious strides, making Jill edgy just watching him.

Leon was shaking his head. "I don't know," he said to Jill very quietly, one eye fixed on Chris. He didn't need another fight with the older man, not now. "Something just feels wrong, you know? You go on enough ops and you start to get a sense for them."

Jill cast him a withering look. "I've been on ops since you were a pimpled high school geek, Kennedy, so don't start lecturing me about instincts. Yeah, I feel it. Chris feels it too, or he wouldn't be pacing like that."

Chastised, Leon withdrew, although something in the set of his jaw made Jill think it might not be a good idea to continue riling him. He spoke thoughtlessly, she counseled herself with a sigh. It wasn't intended as a slight. He's worried about Claire, too.

Very worried, if Jill was any judge of such things.

Chris paced, Leon stewed. Both had murder in their eyes. Making her way forward, she slid into the co-pilot's seat beside Barry. She needed a break from the testosterone flooding the cabin. "Anything?"

"No. Something is wrong here, Jill."

"I know. What do we do if he doesn't show?"

Barry winced visibly. "Restrain Chris."

She smiled in spite of herself. "If Wesker's not here it's for a reason; he didn't just suddenly forget about a meeting with his mrotal enemy. Either he's being a jerk and building tension..."

"Not Wesker's style," Barry interrupted. "The building tension and delay, I mean. The jerk part is bang on."

Jill nodded, agreeing. Wesker was a direct man. He played power games, he liked to watch others sweat -- but he didn't enjoy delays in his own plans. "Like I was saying, or something happened that prevented him from being here. Either way, he'll contact us. I'm sure of that much."

"Mmm," Barry agreed. "As long as he's alive."

Jill winced. That was exactly the sentiment she'd been avoiding. Because if Wesker was dead, there was a good chance Claire was dead too.

Let's be honest, she thought. The odds are a lot better that Claire's dead and Wesker's still going strong. And if that was the case, she didn't want to be anywhere near Chris when he found out.

-----

They made it through another series of corridors with only three more encounters, one with a licker and two with hunters. Claire felt nauseous each time she saw them, but true to his word, Wesker dealt with them quickly and efficiently. She found herself picturing the good this man could do if he wasn't such a selfish, sadistic madman.

They proceeded in silence. Wesker didn't speak a word, and Claire sure wasn't in a hurry to initiate conversation. But all at once he stopped her again, by the same method of extending his arm. She walked into it this time, instinctively curling her fingers around his bicep. Every instinct urged her to demand an explanation, but she resisted. Her cheek still burned and her shoulder still throbbed. The lingering pain was a more effective warning than anything verbal.

But to her surprise, he spoke softly. "I would like you to wait here, Miss Redfield."

She glanced around, startled. It was a corridor like any other. "Where are you going?"

"Through there." He indicated the heavy metal door at the end of the hall. "I won't be long."

"Wait." Panic gave her courage. She tightened her grip on his arm, forcing him to look at her. "You're just leaving me here? What if something happens?"

"I won't be long, Miss Redfield."

"Please leave me the gun, Wesker. Please." She swallowed. "That or take me with you."

He hesitated, glancing her up and down. At that moment a tremendous crash echoed from behind the metal door, followed by a roar that shook the walls. "My God," she whispered. "What's in there?"

Wesker unholstered the gun and extended it to her, holding it by the barrel. "Keep in mind that bullets don't kill me. They just make me angry."

Stunned, Claire accepted the weapon as another monstrous howl rocked the corridor. She realized that if Wesker failed to subdue whatever lay behind that door, the .9mm wasn't going to be of much use. Still, it felt comforting in her hand. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Don't mention it," he replied dryly, withdrawing something from a pocket. At first she thought it was his knife, but as he flipped the protective cover aside, she realized it was an empty syringe. "Around the corner, please, and stay back."

That was one order she was only too willing to obey. Claire complied immediately, certain she didn't want to see what was behind Door Number One. Hunching against the wall, she pressed the gun to her chest, checking to make sure the safety was off. "You're okay," she whispered to herself. "You're okay. Wesker will finish... whatever the hell he's doing, and he'll get you out of here, and he won't kill you because he needs you. And you'll find a way to escape. You're a Redfield. You're okay."

It was dangerously close to babbling. She forced her lips to stop, although the voice continued in her head.

Around the corner, she heard the heavy squeal of the door sliding open and...

Silence.

Slowly, she inched towards the corner, listening for any sign of battle. Nothing.

The silence stretched on, becoming painful, unbearable. What was happening in there? Should she call out? Try to run? God help her, lend a hand?

And then all at once, a crack echoed through the room and Wesker smashed into the wall beside her. "Wesker!" she cried, lunging for him. She barely had time to appreciate the irony -- right now, saving her brother's nemesis, her captor, was her only hope for survival.

He was unhurt, she observed in relief. Shaking his head, he straightened up. "I said around the corner," he growled, and before she could respond, he shoved her roughly aside. She struck the ground and rolled just in time to see four green claws rake the spot she'd been crouching. Slowly, they withdrew, making the horrible sound of nails on a chalkboard.

Wesker grimaced. "So you've grown stronger," he remarked. "Interesting." And then, with a gust of wind and a sharp sound, he vanished. Claire hesitated, knowing from the sounds that a battle was happening right around the corner, but she couldn't bring herself to look. God, what monstrosity had Wesker created this time? And what could possibly be worse than the creatures she'd already faced?

Suddenly she became aware that all had gone silent. Before she had time to think, Wesker rounded the corner and plucked the gun from her hands, replacing it at his waist. He appeared calm and collected, although a streak of blood marred his cheek. As she watched, he brushed it away, and she couldn't see a wound underneath. "Can we leave now?" she whispered.

Wesker inclined his head and retreated around the corner. After a moment, Claire followed.

He was hunched over a motionless creature, green tinged and monstrous, studded in repulsive growths. Wesker caught one of the creature's arms and jammed the syringe through its protective hide. A green-tinged but still red liquid filled the vial.

But Claire wasn't staring because of the blood sample. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she sagged against the wall. "You bastard," she whispered, her voice trembling with sheer, uncontrolled loathing. "You son of a bitch."

Wesker met her eyes. "What's wrong, dear heart? I thought you wanted to see your friend Mr. Burnside." He nodded towards the motionless creature beside him. "Well, here he is. Why don't you enjoy the reunion? It will be all too brief."

And Claire knew she'd have to kill him after all.