Chapter 15: Nightmare

Claire froze as the corridor suddenly went black with a low-pitched hum. All around her, the darkness bled to crimson as the emergency lights came on a second later, but compared to the light that had filled the hallway earlier, the gloom was utterly suffocating. Claire turned to look back the way she'd come. The hallway seemed to recede into the distance like an airstrip, growing darker and more ominous. She swallowed, feeling uneasy for reasons she didn't want to investigate further. What had happened to the power?

A flash of light suddenly drew her attention. In the lab directly to her left, somebody had managed to find a flashlight and was panning it around the room. The expression on the man's face did little to reassure her. She could see his lips moving, but Claire couldn't hear what he was saying. One of his colleagues walked across the lab and tried the door, but all she got was a discouraging clunk.

So that means the doors are locked, too, thought Claire.

Looking uneasy, the woman moved to peer through the glass, noticing Claire standing on the other side. She waved to get the younger woman's attention, obviously trying to signal her. "I can't hear you!" said Claire loudly, grimacing as her voice echoed down the corridor.

Understanding dawned on the blonde's features. Grabbing a clipboard off the nearby table, she scribbled something on the pad and slapped it against the glass. Try the door from your side. 5-6-3-3-1

Claire couldn't imagine how this would help, but she tried anyway. However, the keypad was dark and unresponsive, and gave no indication that it was even on, let alone malfunctioning. Claire shrugged at the other woman, who quickly wrote a new message. Elevator?

Claire glanced up the dark hallway. "I'll take a look," she said, pointing. The woman nodded encouragingly.

Other people were trying doors up and down the corridor, straining to peer through the glass, but the red light gave it an eerie sheen that made it difficult to see out. Claire wished she had a flashlight. Her eyes weren't adjusting to the gloom as fast as she would have hoped and the sinking feeling in her stomach was growing. She wanted to think that the storm had simply knocked the power for a loop, but something told her that this wasn't the case. Wesker would have made sure that there were backup generators upon backup generators, so things just didn't add up.

As Claire turned in the direction of the elevator, however, a noise floated up the dark corridor and she felt the hairs on her neck stand up straight. She glanced down the red-tinged hallway, listening hard. She tried to reassure herself that she was merely being jumpy, a condition that would doubtless be alleviated by getting to the elevator. Claire turned to go when she heard it again: a low groaning, thick and wet, full of unspeakable pain. She took a step back, feeling the blood drain from her face.

No! That's impossible!

Bewildered, the blonde woman pressed herself to the glass, trying to see what Claire was staring at. The corridor fell silent again. Praying with every fiber of her being that she'd imagined the sound, Claire began backing down the corridor, feeling horribly exposed. Even if something had gone wrong, she told herself that nothing could be out in the hall. All the doors were still locked. Claire's shoes squeaked on the tiles as she moved, growing slightly more confident, but then the chilling sound of breaking glass filled the corridor, not from in front of her, but from behind.

Gasping, Claire pressed against the wall, staring into the shadows at the opposite side of the hall. All of the labs were intact, but Claire noticed that one of the doors were ajar, swinging slightly on its hinges. Something wet and gleaming was flowing across the floor. The emergency lights did an abrupt, staccato flicker and in the momentary strobe Claire saw the cracked wreckage of several stasis tanks. The sinking feeling in her stomach became something more akin to drowning. She heard movement, something small and wet, and it wasn't long before her eyes picked out something moving across the dark floor. Claire stood stock still as she watched it, trying to discern what it was.

It was humped and slug-like, roughly the size of a paperback book. And there wasn't just one. There was at least five or six, maybe more, wriggling their way across the tiles with wet squelching noises. Claire's moist palms stuck to the wall as the creatures converged on the door, oozing all over the glass. In the dim glow of the lights, she could see a dirty pink gash of a mouth on the underside of their bellies. Claire thought the rows of short, needle sharp teeth made it look like an open zipper. She swallowed as one of the creatures made its way into the hall. They seemed drunk and sluggish, but Claire had a feeling that it wouldn't last long.

There was no getting to the elevator now.

Forcing her legs into gear, she began to edge along the wall, away from the leeches. Something was very, very wrong. If the little creatures were awake and running loose, then it was probably safe to say that the larger B. were stirring as well. Claire continued to sidle away, repeatedly checking both ends of the hall. If all the doors were locked, how had the one containing the leeches managed to open? A terrible suspicion formed in Claire's mind, but she forced it aside. Wesker wouldn't unleash a biohazard on his own island. Or would he? Horrible imaginings of what had happened up at Arklay filled Claire's head. Oh, God, I am so screwed.

She shook herself, trying to remember the layout of the corridor. The lights threw heavy shadows, making weird shapes on the walls and ceiling, further disorienting her. She hadn't made any turns since leaving Wesker. Or had she taken a left at the last junction? She was coming back in the opposite direction, so everything was backwards now, right? Claire felt a maddening urge to scream. She'd always had a good sense on direction, but the halls were unfamiliar and it was dark on top of it. The emergency lights flickered again and Claire stopped, praying that they wouldn't go out, too. Was somebody trying to turn the power back on?

A muffled thumping further down the corridor sent her heart crawling into her throat. The urge to have Wesker with her was so powerful and unexpected, Claire almost groaned. She had to find a way back to the lab. Gathering her nerves, she began to move again, obsessively checking both left and right ends of hall like a nervous kid trying to cross a street. She wished she had some kind of weapon. Even a pocketknife would have been better than nothing. Reaching a junction, Claire peered around the corner. The thumping was louder now, coming from up ahead.

Breathing fast, Claire scanned the gloomy corridor, searching for something she recognized. A tremor of movement drew her gaze. Another door had been left open, creating a yawning rectangle of darkness that was only slightly less bright than the rest of the hall. Shadows moved inside the lab. Wet groaning noises echoed off the bare walls.

How could people be infected already? Did the T-Virus get out somehow? Claire did the math. It'd been between five to ten minutes since the power had gone out, and it was probably safe to assume that other B.O.W.s like the leaches had escaped. People would have been bitten, a lot of them killed, and one of the most frightening things about the T-Virus was how fast it worked. If the victim of a zombie attack died of his or her wounds, then the virus reanimated them in mere minutes.

Claire pushed clinging stands of hair away from her forehead. She had to find something she could use to defend herself. But this wasn't the streets of Raccoon City. There were no tire irons, no heavy lengths of wood, hammers, utility knives, or anything else that could act as a rudimentary weapon. Her stomach twisting, Claire tried to block out the moaning. Across the hall was a lounge area with spare lab coats on hooks and more uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Plastic chairs with metal legs, thought Claire.

Sliding across the hall, she picked up one of the chairs, bravely holding it out like a lion tamer. A man came out of the open lab, arms swinging loosely at his sides. Blood stained his coat, dripping from the pit that had been the left side of his face. Claire's gorge rose and she hastily backed away, never taking her eyes off the zombie. Grunting softly, it turned its head in her direction, drawn by the squeaking of her shoes.

Claire prepared to swing the chair as hard as she could.

However, the zombie shuffled after her too slowly to be an immediate threat. Good. At least it wasn't like those demonically fast ones with the claws and swollen, bloody faces. Claire turned and ran a little ways ahead, holding the chair like a club. Adrenaline buzzed in her brain, screaming at her to flee in an ancient, wordless tongue, but she held it in, trying to make it sharpen her senses. Peering into the labs as they flashed by, Claire prayed for a glimpse of slicked-back golden hair. Nothing like stroking his ego a little, she reflected dully.

Not wanting to run into anything, Claire slowed down, checking to see if the zombie was following. It wasn't. However, Claire knew better than to think that there wouldn't be more of them. If two doors had been left open – deliberately, by the feel of things – then there was bound to be others. Pausing, Claire scanned the walls for a directory or a sign pointing the way to Wesker. At that moment, a burst of static filled the hallway. It was faint, but unmistakable.

"Erics, this is Krauser, report. Report! What's going on down there?"

Somewhere out in that blackness, there was a walkie-talkie, and a walkie-talkie meant help. Gripping the chair, Claire moved up the hallway, straining her eyes to pick up even the slightest sign of movement. The radio squelched again, but nobody answered it. It wasn't an encouraging sign. Claire swallowed, realizing her mouth had gone dry. Sterile walls and eerie red glass slipped by. Claire noticed somebody standing in the middle of the hallway. She stopped about twenty feet away from him, knowing better than to approach until she was sure.

"Hey! Hey, you!"

There was no answer. However, the man pivoted slowly to face her. His jaw was slack, his face stained in the blood that had sprayed from his severed arteries. Something big had taken a swipe at his throat and clawed out his windpipe. Claire swore colorfully, too stunned to be sick. Groaning thickly, the zombie slowly began lurching towards her. It was dressed in military gear; heavy boots, cargo pants, and a Kevlar vest. On his belt, a short-wave radio was blinking. Claire backed up a step, her eyes fixed on the little flashing LED. She needed to get a hold of that radio.

Steeling herself, Claire redoubled her grip on the chair and got ready to use it.

Wesker was pacing like a caged panther, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He'd already tried to pry the door open, but the thick bulkhead defied even his phenomenal strength. Within minutes of loosing power, the stasis tanks in the adjoining lab had shut down, releasing the B.O.W.s. Fortunately, he and Birkin had been in the airlock when it'd happened, but Dr. Isaacs – an older man who had come into the lab only moments before – hadn't been so lucky. After seconds of frantically banging on the glass and begging for help, he'd been bitten to death by the infant Yawns. His corpse was lying inert at the bottom of the window.

"Damn it, Krauser, I want a report and I want it now!" Wesker growled into his phone. Nervously chewing on his bottom lip, Birkin was panning the flashlight around the room again. The way it kept bouncing off his glasses was starting to drive Wesker insane.

"Sorry, sir!" came the crisp reply. "We've lost power to the whole island. The only reason you've got lights down there is because the emergency generators aren't on the main grid. Red Queen is down and isn't responding to her reboot codes. We've found a device planted nearby and they're trying to figure it out now."

Wesker growled dangerously. "What else?" he demanded thinly.

"I don't know. Things are pretty sketchy. Reports are coming in from every sector and— Quit screwing around and get that line hooked up!" Krauser hollered, holding the phone slightly away from his face. Nothing said leadership like a good kick in the ass. "Sorry," he amended, returning his attention to Wesker. "My boys just started down the elevator shaft. They'll be down there any minute."

Wesker nodded. Despite the near total lack of information and overall confusion, island security was moving like clockwork. There was a thump on the wall behind him, causing Birkin to jump backward in alarm. Wesker watched dispassionately as Dr. Isaacs hauled himself upright, pounding on the window in a slow, demented rhythm. His fists left slick, bloody imprints where they hit.

"Time is of the essence, Krauser," said Wesker, his words like knives. "I want biohazard units deployed immediately before this turns into an outbreak! I will not tolerate delays. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, sir," said Krauser. "What are your orders for the infected?"

"Eliminate them. I'm not taking any chances."

"And the B.O.W.s?"

"I would prefer to keep fatalities at a minimum, so use tranquilizers if you can," said Wesker, "but only if doing so doesn't result in more casualties. I trust your judgment in that regard. In the meantime, send somebody to release me!"

The impact sent bruising vibrations up Claire's arm, nearly dislodging the chair from her grasp. However, she clung on, driving all of her weight into the remainder of the swing. The zombie's head snapped to the side, blood leaping into the air, as she brought the chair crashing into the side of its face. Grunting, it staggered back, into the wall, and Claire viciously struck it again. There was a muffled crack and the zombie flumped to the ground, still very much alive. It started to drag itself along the tiles, scrabbling for Claire's ankles.

Gritting her teeth, Claire brought her foot down on the back of the zombie's head, driving his face into the floor. She'd done this before. It wasn't hard when she told herself that this thing would chew her throat out without a second thought. There was a sound like a watermelon being dropped on concrete and the zombie went limp. Claire stepped back, panting and feeling mildly sick. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?

Of course, there was no answer. Swallowing her rising nausea, Claire used the blood-spattered chair to roll the zombie onto its back, watching it for the slightest movement. They could turn into sneaky ambush predators, ones that liked to play dead and wait for their victims to pass by. However, the zombie didn't move. Moving fast, Claire snatched the radio off his belt. Thankfully, it didn't have any blood on it. She pressed the button and held the unit to her mouth.

"Hello? Does anybody read me?"

Static popped and crackled. "Who the hell are you? What are you doing on this channel? Over." asked a gruff male voice.

"My name's Claire and I'm trapped on the lower levels, that's what I'm doing on this channel," said Claire, watching the zombie at her feet. "The power went out ten minutes ago and several people have been infected. Uh… Over."

"We know. Security teams are on their way," said the voice. "Just sit tight and wait to be evacuated."

"I would," Claire answered, "but I'm kinda out in the hallway."

More chatter on the radio. Claire heard the end of a rather colorful curse, something about "goddamned incompetent civvies". "Can you give me your location?" the man asked.

Claire hastily glanced around, looking for a sign. "Uh… I'm standing by Lab 21 right now," she said, reading off a nearby plaque. Making the assumption that she was the only one down here with a radio, she decided to be as helpful as possible. She wanted to be rescued, but that didn't mean she couldn't handle herself in a crisis, or draw manpower away from more important things.

"I've already encountered several zombies and there's a group of leeches somewhere near the elevator, or at least there were five minutes ago," she told the man. "Somebody left the doors open, so there's no telling what could've gotten out."

"What?" The man sounded agitated now. "Repeat your last. Over."

"I said somebody left the doors unlocked, so there's a lot of things wandering the hallways. They're not just in the labs. Over." Claire repeated. A thick, wet groan floated up the hallway as if to verify her statement. She glanced nervously in the direction of the sound. The man on the radio seemed to take a very long time to get back to her.

"I'm sending a team to your location. It there anything else you can give me?"

Just that I think there's something big prowling around down here, thought Claire, suddenly noticing the trail of bloody claw marks leading up the hallway. She told the man on the radio as much, adding, "Do you want me to work my way towards you? We can meet halfway, save some time."

The man on the radio seemed taken aback by how calm she was, at least on the surface. He obviously had assumed he was dealing with a frightened researcher. "If you think you can, that would be helpful," he said. "Take Hallway 9. Don't make any turns until you reach Hallway 11, then take a left. Do you have that? Over."

"Take hallway 9 straight until I get to hallway 11. Then I turn left," Claire repeated. "Got it."

She stuffed the radio into the waistband of her jeans. Glancing down at the dead body, she noticed a thigh holster, but the gun it should have contained was missing. Just her luck. Warily squatting down, however, Claire located a military issue knife sheathed on the man's shoulder. She had to get in pretty close in order to use it, but at least it was better than a chair. Feeling a little more secure with a proper weapon, Claire picked a direction and began walking. In the distance, she heard the chatter of gunfire.

They're not playing around, are they?

At the next junction, Claire found a mess of congealing blood on the floor and on one wall. The claw marks were more widespread here. Slowing down, Claire saw something glinting dully on the floor and she bent to pick it up. It was a 9mm Punisher, the one missing from the dead man further up the hall. Spent bullet casing littered the ground. Claire pulled out the clip and found that the gun had only two rounds left, three counting the one already in the chamber. She replaced the clip and moved on, feeling antsy. Whatever was down here, a full clip of ammo hadn't been enough to stop it.

The radio in her pocket crackled intermittently as Claire found hallway 11 and made a left, moving along the perimeter of the labs. She heard a crash further up the hallway, loud and chilling, the sound of metal being rent. Freezing in her tracks, Claire tried to pinpoint the exact location of the sound. To her left was a short staircase and another long hallway, but Claire's attention was drawn away from it by distant sound of men shouting and the thunder of gunfire.

Claire peered down the corridor, thinking she saw flashlights. "…Hello?" She called out as loud as she dared.

"Zdravstvujtye, my dear."

Gasping, Claire spun towards the voice. Somebody was walking up the corridor towards her, booted feet ringing loudly in the sudden stillness. It took her eyes a long moment to recognize who it was, but his height and build were unmistakable. "Mr. Vladimir," Claire breathed, suddenly recalling his name.

Sergei smiled, a mocking little twitch of his lips. Claire's eyes were drawn to the strange bladed weapon he was twirling in his right hand. It flashed in the ruddy glow of the emergency lights, generating a wicked, high-pitched resonance as it was spun. Claire felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"Vell, isn't this a happy coincidence," said Sergei. His eyes seemed to flare in the semi-darkness, causing Claire's gaze to snap to his face. The Russian's eyes were cold and granite-like, but there was something there… something more than a cast-off gleam.

"Yeah, I guess so," she said, hardly reassured. Remembering her last encounter with Sergei, she was understandably uneasy, but he was one of Umbrella's mercenaries – an experienced one even if not the highest ranking – so she could only assume he'd been sent to rescue her. The little radio blinking on Sergei's belt seemed to confirm that theory.

"Did you hear that just now?" she asked him, pointing up the next corridor.

Sergei nodded. "I vould imagine it vas something large," he said, laughing quietly, as though this were a wonderful private joke. "As for you, tventy minutes alone in this little nightmare and still undamaged?" he gazed at weapons she'd managed to acquire. "Quite impressive."

"If you say so," said Claire nervously. She heard something heavy moving around in the corridor. Taking her eyes off Sergei, she watched a huge shape materialize out of the darkness. The man – or beast, she couldn't tell which – was taller than Sergei and just as broad, dressed from head to toe in a long white coat. Gaping at it, Claire's eyes traveled over its mushroom grey skin and bald cranium. She wasn't sure how she knew, per se, but this thing wasn't human. She raised her gun and fired at it, cursing when the chamber popped open and stayed that way.

Growling, the thing quickened its pace at her. The few bullets she'd managed to send its way hadn't affected it in the slightest. In fact, they'd seemed to ricochet off its coat, pinging away into the walls. Lifting her knife in a futile gesture of defense, Claire sprang back, her back colliding with Sergei. She expected him to react to the thing coming down the corridor at them, but the Russian only chuckled and settled his hand on her shoulder.

"Stand down, Ivan," he said gruffly.

To Claire's shock, the beast stopped and stood at attention, almost like a robot waiting for a new set of orders. She stared at it, trying to process what had happened. "How'd you do that?" she demanded, looking at Sergei.

He chuckled again. "Quite impressive, aren't they? " he laughed. "My comrades were genetically programmed follow my orders vithout question. I like a voman that can be impressed with power." His thumb drew slow circles on the side of her neck. His tone and gesture set off a primitive alarm in the back of Claire's head, urging her to notice that something was wrong.

She laughed nervously, not quite taking her eyes off the "Ivan" standing not two yards away. The creature was carrying a large metal briefcase. It was unmarked, but the small control pad told Claire all she needed to know. Whatever was in there, it was either dangerous or important, probably both.

"Don't you think we should start working our way out of here?" she asked Sergei, highly uncomfortable with the friction of his thumb and how it was steadily moving lower, following the curve of her collarbone. She tried to move away, regretting having gotten close in the first place, but his grip tightened, his short fingernails biting through the fabric of her shirt. Claire stared at him, a small pit of dread forming in her stomach.

"Let me go," she said firmly.

"Why?" Sergei asked, smiling. "Ve are alone, you and I, and I think it's time I showed you vhat happens to things that belong to Albert Wesker."

His leering face moved closer, and dread suddenly left Claire's chest cold and watery. Gasping, she tried wrenching away, only to find herself being shoved against a wall, her breath coming out in a painful whoosh. Sergei leaned against her, and she could feel his hardness grind against her belly.

"Scream for me, my dear," he said with a hideous grin.

A/N: And so I have returned! I want to thank everyone for being so patient these past few weeks. I really appreciate it, and the kitchen looks great! I also really wanted to thank Akahoshi for her/his wonderful reviews on my last chapter! They were really well-written and insightful, and I truly enjoyed reading them! I especially loved that bit about "here roses are not some universal symbol of romance, but rather they are specimens, symbols of an unfolding mystery and struggle". That's EXACTLY the kind of imagery I was trying to create! Thank you!

I hope you all enjoyed a little taste of the traditional horror genre in this chapter. The story's been exclusively plot-based until now and I wanted to do something filled with blood and zombies, and all that good stuff RE was built on. HINT: It's a preview of coming attractions. There will be more survival horror in future chapters. After all, this IS a Resident Evil fanfic. And as for the timeframe for how long it takes the T-Virus to reanimate a dead body, I'm going on the evidence presented in Degeneration. In the begining, the security guard turns into a zombie in just under a minute of being infected and killed.

And before you all form a mob and try to burn me at the stake, I swear that nothing bad is going to happen to Claire! I wouldn't do that to her. We're just cliff-hanging here, and speaking of cliffhangers, they're not always because I love leaving you all out to dry. This particular chapter was over 10,000 words – YIKES! – and can you guess where the best place to split it up was?

On the bright side, I know you'll keep coming back for more. Heh, heh. See you next Sunday! ^_^