A/N: I bet a couple of you are wondering how I was able to get these last couple of chapters, and the next couple to follow, out so fast. Well, the reason is that I already had them written out, I was just unable to post them yet and they still needed to be proof-read before being posted. And I can tell you readers now that this small part of the story will be coming to an end within the next five or six chapters before moving onto the next part of the arc.
Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil.
"Do not wait to strike till the iron is hot, but make it hot by striking." -William Butler Yeats
From the terrible, baking heat of the blinding desert of Phase Two, the four men stepped into the cold shade of a mountain peak.
Staying by the door, surveying their newest crucible, Ethan wondered if they'd be facing the Hunters or the Spitters Henry had told them about. He couldn't see the reptilian BOWs operating in this environment, given what he knew about them and the environment that made up Phase Three.
The fake rock-studded, sharply angled mountain of stone that loomed in front of them. Gray walls and ceiling, and the winding path that snaked west, bordering the 'mountaintop.' The scrubby grasses in and around the misshapen boulders were also gray.
The mountain looked real enough, rough-hewn chunks of granite mixed into cement, dyed to match and sculpted into crags. The overall effect was of a lonely, windswept ridge high on a barren mountain.
Except there was no wind...and no smell. Just like the other two Phases. It wasn't real.
"Might want to put your shirt back on," John said to Leon who was already untying it from his waist. The temperature had dropped at least sixty degrees, already freezing the sweat they'd all worked up from Phase Two.
"So where do we go?" Cole asked, his eyes wide and nervous.
John pointed diagonally across the room, southwest. "How 'bout the door?"
"I think he meant which way," Leon said. He kept his voice pitched low, just as the others did. No point in alerting the inhabitants to their position, they'd probably be interacting soon enough.
The four of them examined their options, all two of them: take the gray path or climb the gray mountain.
"From a defensive standpoint, I'd say trail," John said, looking up at the rough surface of the slope. "We could get trapped if we head up."
"We could also get boxed in if the BOWs in here use the ledges and crags to their advantage." said Ethan. "But between the two, the trail would be safer and wouldn't hinder us if we encounter hostility."
"There's a bridge, I think," Cole said. "I only did one of the cameras in here, that one." He pointed up and right, into the corner. None of them could see it, the walls were fifty feet high, and their monotone color blended into the ceiling. It created a kind of optical illusion, making the room seem endlessly vast.
"When I was on a ladder, I could see over, kind of," Cole continued. "There's a gorge on the other side, and one of those rope bridges going across."
Leon opened his pack while Cole was talking, assessing his ammo situation. "How's the M-16 and G36?"
"Maybe fifteen left in this one," John answered, patting the curved mag. "Two more full, thirty each… two clips for the H&K, and one more grenade."
Ethan did a quick check of his own supplies, "Got 20 in the mag. Three full, thirty as well. Four clips for my SE (Samurai Edge) and one grenade still. Leon?"
"Seven rounds left, three clips, one grenade. Henry, have you been counting?"
The Umbrella worker nodded. "I think...five shots, I fired five times."
He looked as though he wanted to say something else, glancing back and forth between the three armed men, finally staring down at his dirty workboots. John looked at the younger duo, who shrugged, they didn't really know anything about Henry Cole, except that he didn't belong there any more than they did.
"Listen...I know this isn't really the time or place, but I just want to tell you guys that I'm sorry. I mean, I knew something was weird about all this. About Umbrella. And I knew Reston was a serious asshole, and if I hadn't been so greedy or so stupid, I never would have got you into this."
"Henry," Ethan said putting a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't know. And believe me, you're not the first one Umbrella's lied to and fucked over. And definitely not the last."
"No doubt," John added. "Seriously. The suits are the problem here, not guys like you. Average Joes just working for a living."
Cole didn't look up, but he nodded, his thin shoulders slumping as if in relief. John handed him another clip, nodding toward the path as Cole tucked it into his back pocket.
"Let's hit it," John said, talking to all of them but addressing Cole. The traveler could hear it in his deep voice, a note of encouragement that suggested he was starting to like the Umbrella worker. "Worse comes to worst, we can retreat to Two. Stick close, keep quiet, and try to shoot for the head or eyes, assuming they have eyes."
"Or legs, slow it down." Ethan threw in.
Cole smiled faintly.
"I'll bring it up," Leon said, and John nodded before stepping away from the hatch and turning left. The chilled air was as quiet as it had been since they'd come into the room, no sounds but their own. Leon brought up the rear, Cole walking slowly in front of him with John and Ethan leading.
The path was grooved, as if someone had run a rake through the cement before it was dry. With the 'peak' to their right, the trail extended about seventy feet and then turned sharply south, disappearing behind the jagged hill.
They'd gone about fifty feet when Leon heard the trickle of rock behind them. Loose gravel falling down the slope.
He turned, surprised, and saw the animal near the top of the peak, thirty feet up. Saw it and wasn't sure what he was seeing, except that it was walking, skipping down the hill on four sturdy legs, like a mountain goat.
Like a skinned goat...Like nothing he'd ever seen, and it was almost to the ground when they heard a wet, rattling sound erupt from somewhere ahead of them, the sound of a snot-clogged throat being cleared, or a dog growling through a mouthful of blood
A similar creature was blocking the path ahead of them, the two ex-STARS having their weapons trained on it
'Definitely not Hunters...' Ethan thought, not taking his eyes off the thing down range. It was four-legged, with split hooves, like a ram or goat, and was about the same size. But there was no fur, no horns, nothing else that even remotely resembled a natural development.
Its slender body was coated with tiny reddish-brown scales, like a snake skin, but dull instead of shiny; at first glance, it looked like it was covered in dried blood. Its head was somehow amphibian, like a frog's, an earless flat face, small dark eyes that bulged out at the sides, a too-wide mouth, except there were pointed teeth sticking up from a protruding lower jaw, a bulldog's jaw, its head also covered in the dried-blood scales.
The thing opened its mouth, exposing only a few sharp teeth, upper and lower, none of them in the front—and that terrible wet rattling sound came from the darkness of its throat, the bizarre call matched by others, somewhere on the other side of the artificial mountaintop.
X
Getting back into the compound was remarkably easy.
Rebecca needed help getting over the fence, but with each passing minute, she seemed to be improving, her balance and coordination sharpening. David was more relieved than he cared to admit, and almost as pleased with Umbrella's guard, or lack thereof.
Three men, two at the fence and another at the van; it was pathetic.
They'd started back as soon as the helicopter had lifted and headed south, stretching frozen muscles as they moved silently through the dark. When they'd come within a few hundred yards, David had left the others for a quick recon, then come back and led the two shivering women over the fence and into the compound.
Before they could take out the watchmen, David knew they needed to get to a safe place out of the cold, to go over their procedure and better assess Rebecca's condition; he chose the most obvious of the buildings, the middle structure. It boasted two satellite dishes and a series of antennae, plus a shielded conduit running down one side. If he was right, if it was a communications relay, it was exactly where they wanted to be.
'And if I'm wrong, there are two others to check.' he thought while in the move, 'One will be a generator room, it's bound to have some sort of climate control. I can leave them there and do the sabotage work solo.'
They'd scaled the fence from the south, David amazed at how poorly Umbrella had planned for their re-entry. The two men covering the perimeter were stationed at the front and back; as if there was no chance that anyone would enter from another direction. As soon as they were inside, David led them to the far side of the last building in line, then motioned for a huddle.
"Middle building," he whispered. "Should be unlocked, if it's what I think it is. The lights will be on, though. I'll go inside, then signal for you to follow; if you hear shots, get inside as quick as you can. Stay close to the buildings and stay low when we cross. Yes?"
Claire and Rebecca both nodded, Rebecca leaning on Claire; other than a limp, she seemed to be doing well. She'd said she was still dizzy and that her head hurt, but the confused and erratic thoughts that had so frightened him earlier had apparently passed.
David turned and eased along the wall of the structure closest to the fence, hugging the shadows, frequently glancing back to be sure both women were keeping up. They reached the end facing west and slipped around, David first, checking for the west guard's position. It was almost too dark to see, but there was a density of shadow against the metal mesh that marked him. David raised the M-16 and pointed it at him, prepared to fire if they were seen.
'Too bad we can't just shoot him now...but a shot would alert the others,' and while David wasn't concerned with the fence men, the one posted at the van could be a problem; he was far enough away that he might radio before coming in to check.
These two will be easy enough, but how to approach them? There was no cover if the man at the mini spotted them coming.
That could wait; they had work to do before worrying about the guards. Crouching, David waved Claire and Rebecca across, the M-16 trained on the shadowy figure at the fence. He held his breath as they slipped across the open space, but they managed it with hardly a sound.
As soon as they were across, David followed, his years of training allowing him to move as silently as a ghost. Once they were cloaked by the building's shadow, David relaxed a bit, the worst of it over. They could cross to the middle building in the thick black of the corridor between the structures.
In less than a minute, they'd reached the crossing point. Nodding at the women to stay back, David went across, stopping at the closed door to their destination. He touched the icy metal of the handle and pushed it down, nodding to himself as he heard the tiny click of the unlocked door.
'It's communications, then; the team leader would have left it open for the men posted, access to a satellite uplink in case we returned.' David summized, A calculated guess, but a good one.
It was time to pray for a bit of luck; if the lights were on, opening the door would be like a beacon to anyone even glancing in their direction. The guards had been facing away from the compound when he'd reconned, but that didn't mean much.
A deep breath, and David pushed the door open, registering that the light was low as he slid inside and closed it behind him. He leaned against the door and counted ten, then relaxed, inhaling the warm air thankfully as he studied the interior. The warehouse-type structure had apparently been divided into rooms—and the one he'd stepped into was packed with computer equipment, thick cables trailing across the floor and up the walls, dish connectors...
Everything that links this facility to the outside world.
David hit the wall switch, turning off the single ceiling light, and grinning, opened the door for Rebecca and Claire to join him.
X
"Back against the wall!" Leon shouted, and Cole did it before he even knew why. The phlegmy rattling sounds seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead...
And then he saw the creature coming slowly toward them from behind, making it impossible to retreat, and barely held back a scream. There was a second's pause as the call echoing all around them built, going louder and deeper as the thing raised its head, turning its hideous face to the ceiling.
And in one sudden, jerking motion, it dropped its head and spat at them. A thick, tarry blob of reddish semi-liquid stuff flew forward at Leon, across the wide open space.
Leon raised his arm to block it even as John and Ethan started to shoot, stepping away from the wall and spraying the monster. The Spitter.
The goop hit Leon's arm, would have hit his face if he hadn't blocked, and in response to the hail of clattering rounds, the Spitter turned and jumped up the sculpted mountain, in long, easy jumps that took it to the top in seconds, that didn't denote panic or pain or any stress at all.
It loped back about twenty feet, then skipped nimbly back down to the ground, stopping in front of the connecting hatch. As if it knew it was blocking their escape.
And it didn't even flinch.
The multiple cries from just out of sight didn't get any louder, but they didn't retreat, either. The gargling noises stopped, one at a time, the lack of targets giving them no reason; suddenly, it was silent again, as quiet as it had been when they'd entered.
"What the good goddamn hell was that?" John said, grabbing another magazine from his pack, his expression one of total incredulity.
"It's a new one on me." replied Ethan, the one he'd fired at infront of them having pulled the same moves as the one that was on their six.
"Wasn't even hurt," Cole whispered, holding the nine-millimeter so tight that his fingers started to go numb. He barely noticed, watching as Leon touched the thick, wet handful of maroon goop on his sleeve...
And hissed in pain, drawing his hand back as if he'd been burned.
"Stuff's toxic," he said, quickly wiping his fingers on his shirt and holding them up. The tips of the index and middle fingers on his left hand had gone an angry, inflamed red. He immediately stuck his handgun in his belt and pulled the black shirt off, carefully avoiding contact with the acidic ooze and dropping it to the stone floor.
If Leon hadn't blocked...
"Okay, okay, okay," John breathed, his brow furrowed. "This is bad, we want out of here as fast as possible...you say there's a bridge?" he asked turning to Henry.
"Yeah, goes over the, uh, trench," Cole said quickly. "Like twenty feet across, I didn't see how deep it was."
"Then we better get moving," said Ethan. "These things got the high ground and the ability to move about easily. We'll waste ammo trying to hit them, so it would be best to try and avoid them if we can."
"Works for me." said John as he started walking toward where the path turned out of sight, striding quickly. the traveler following, Cole right behind and Leon still covering the rear.
John stopped about ten feet short of the turn and backed against the wall again, glancing at the others. "Ethan, cover me." he said softly. "I step out first, draw their fire. Leon, you run, Henry, right behind him and head down, got it? Get across, get to the door if you can, help us out."
John's face was solemn as he turned to the traveler. "When they're clear, you run like hell after them. If all goes to shit, leave me behind, got it?"
Ethan nodded stiffly, not wanting to leave the man behind like that but respecting his choice to stick his neck out for them to escape. 'Doesn't mean I won't make sure he gets out too.' he thought strongly.
"Ready?" John asked.
"Wait." Leon turned and jogged back to where he'd dropped the sweatshirt. The Spitter by the hatch stood as silent and immobile as a statue, watching them. Leon scooped up the shirt and hurried back, slipping a pocket knife out of his pack. He cut off the offending sleeve, letting it fall, then handed the rest to John.
"If you're gonna be standing still, keep your face covered," Leon said. "Since they don't seem to notice bullets, you won't need to see, to shoot. Once we're across, I'll give a yell. And if it's not safe, I'll-"
The rattling, peremptory calls had started up again, making them think of cicadas on a hot summer night, the almost mechanical ree-ree-ree sound.
"Outta time," John said. "Get ready to go."
He held up the sweatshirt, then, astoundingly grinned at Leon. "My man, you must invest in a stronger deodorant; you stink like a dead dog."
Without waiting for a response, John put the shirt over his head, holding it open at the bottom so he could see the floor. He jogged out into the open, his face down, Cole and Leon both tensing while Ethan braced himself and his rifle against the wall beside him to steady his aim as he tracked the man's movements.
There was a rapid patpatpatpat, and the black material over John's face was suddenly dripping with great strings of the poison red snot, and he jerked his hand at them.
"Now!" Ethan shouted as he fired at the leaping forms that attacked the larger man. Keeping them occupied as Leon and Cole ran, heads down, seeing only their boots sprinting in front of them, a blur of gray rock all around until there was the thump of wood as they got on the bridge, flat wooden slats rippling underfoot, tied with scrawny twine.
The V-shaped gorge underneath was deep, dug into the earth beneath the Planet, forty, fifty feet straight down.
But both men were back on gray land before vertigo could even occur to either of them. The wall, was right infront of them, along with the hatch.
"Ethan, go!" Leon screamed, taking a few running steps back the way they'd come, his semi up and ready. "Go!"
The traveler fired two more shots before he was running, pulling out his skullcap and pulling it on until it was down low over his eyes, just enough on the bottom to see the ground as he hit the bridge.
A wet splat connected with the left side, stopped by his black hat thankfully just before he reached the side the others were on. Ripping the ruined skullcap off and throwing it into the gorge before he could get burned.
"John, move your ass!" he shouted across the chasm. Watching John rip off the black hood, the handful of Spitters grouped loosely in front of him, six, seven of them, calling once more.
He tore through their ranks, and at least two of them spat, but John was fast, fast enough that only a tiny bit hit his shoulder, at least as far as they could tell. The monstrous creatures started after him in their jumping, hopping movements, not as fast but close.
Ethan and Leon aimed their weapons in the direction of the Spitters, Cole following their example and ready to shoot if there was a clear shot as John hit the bridge-
-and disappeared. The bridge collapsed, and John along with it.
X
John felt the bridge drop an inch or two about a half second before the ropes snapped. He instinctively put his hands out, still running, thinking he'd make it-
And then he was falling, his knees slamming into a moving wall of wooden slats, his hands clenching the second they touched something solid
Then all he heard was a whoosh sound, and then the knuckles of his right hand crashed into rock, and he was dangling over a very deep chasm, a slat of loose wood in his left hand. He'd managed to grip one of the pieces still attached to the now hanging bridge, both ties that had anchored it to the side of the rift had snapped.
John dropped the useless slat, hearing it clatter to the bottom of the chasm along with several other pieces that had come untied. He reached up to get a better grip-
Thwock! A gob of red mucous suddenly appeared in front of him, less than a foot to the right of his face, sliding down the chasm wall in a melting rope.
'Shit...' the man thought looking at the near miss just as the sounds of gunfire erupted from the ledge above him. The throat rattling of the Spitters back on the adjacent ledge told him that they were about to spit again and that he needed to get out and fast,
He reached up, his biceps flexing, straining against the fabric of his sweatshirt as he grabbed one of the slats above and pulled himself up. One pull and step after another, slowly as to not rip anymore slats from the ropes, a shout from Leon that was cut off as more bullets thundered.
"Kick ass, boys, I'm coming." John grunted as he pulled himself up another foot. Hand over hand was a bitch, particularly with bleeding knuckles and an automatic rifle hanging from his neck, but he thought he was doing pretty well, reaching up for the next handhold-
Hot wetness suddenly hit the back of his right hand, feeling like acid and burning into his skin, forcing him to let go, flinging the gelid acid away, wiping at his shirt wildly.
He held on to the shuddering bridge with his left, but just barely, the pain like a fire, maddening. It was all he could do to resist his natural instinct, to clutch at the screaming wound, and with the way his fingers were starting to tingle, he thought he might not have that much longer to worry about it.
"He's right here!" A cracked, hysterical shout from directly above. John tilted his head back, saw Cole crouched at the lip of the chasm, his work shirt pulled up over his nose, his gaze frantic and scared.
"John, give me your hand!" he screamed, and reached down as far as he could, flakes of concrete falling from beneath his sliding boots. If he said anything else, it was lost in another series of explosive rounds as Ethan and Leon worked to hold the Spitters at bay.
It only took a split-second for John to react to Cole's command, and in that instant he understood that he was going to get out. Henry Cole stood all of five-eight and probably weighed one-fifty sopping wet with his clothes on.
What was more, he looked like some mad turtle hunkered down in the shell of his shirt.
Too goddamn funny. Funny, and touching in an idiotic way, and although his hand still hurt like a son of a bitch, he'd actually forgotten to feel it for a second or two.
John grinned, ignoring Cole's trembling fingers, forcing himself to concentrate on pulling himself up with his injured hand. There were more rattling cries from behind him but no spit-bombs for the moment.
"Tell the guys to use their grenades." he gasped, and Cole turned, shouting over another burst from Leon's Beretta and Ethan's rifle.
"...says grenades! John says use your grenades!"
"Not yet! Get clear!" Ethan screamed back, dumping the spent clip from his G36.
Thwap-Thwap! Two more globs flew across the chasm, one hitting Cole's boot, the other only inches from John's sweating face.
With a final, deep felt grunt, John grabbed the wood at the very top and pulled himself up, pulled and then was pushing down, bringing his knee up to climb out. "I'm good, go!" he called out to the others.
Cole, the mad turtle, needed no further incentive and took off running. John crouch-ran toward after him, while Leon and Ethan stopped shooting long enough to pull out their grenades and popping the pins.
"Do it now!" Ethan yelled, Leon winding back and then lobbing the powerful explosive at the Spitters, throwing high enough to arch over the chasm.
Ethan waited a breath as he watched four of the animals had already leapt into the wide opening and tossed his grenade after them before both men spun and started running far enough to get clear and diving behind a rocky hill just as two explosions ripped through the chamber.
The smaller sounds of small rocks raining down that followed nearly drowned out by the high-pitched squealing coming from the BOWs that had been caught in the blasts.
"You got 'em! You got 'em!"
Cole was standing in front of them, a look of unabashed glee and not a little awe on his narrow face. John sat up, Leon and Ethan next to him, the three of them turning back to see the damage.
They hadn't killed all of them. Two of the four still on the other side of the chasm were mostly intact, alive, but blind and broken, their legs splintered, black fluid obscuring whatever was left of their faces as they squealed in fury, the sound like a guinea pig being stepped on.
The other two must have been directly in front of the blast; they were just bleeding, shattered bags, bones sticking up from the liquid piles like bloodied white shrapnel. From the man-made gorge there were more of the screaming squeals, and nothing leapt out to attack. For all intents and purposes, it was over.
John crawled to his feet, studying the back of his hand. Contrary to how it felt, the skin hadn't melted off. There were a few small blisters forming and the flesh looked scorched, but he wasn't bleeding.
"You okay?" Leon asked, standing and brushing at his clothes.
John shrugged. "Think I broke a nail, but I'll live."
"I'll ask Becs to loan you a nailfile when we get out of here." said Ethan, clapping the bigger man on the back. "Just glad to see you still with us, big guy."
Grinning at the teen, John turned and saw that Cole was still beaming at them, his body shaking with the adrenaline aftermath, he seemed at a loss for words, and John had a sudden clear memory of how he'd felt after his first battle, the first in which he'd acted bravely. How helplessly elated he'd been.
How incredibly alive.
"Henry, you're a funny guy," John said, clapping his hand on the smaller man's shoulder and smiling.
The electrician grinned uncertainly, and the four of them started for Phase Four, leaving the furious squeals of the dying Spitters behind.
X
When the dust cleared and the four men were still alive, Reston slammed his fist against the console in anger and rising dread, his stomach lurching, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"No, no, no, you stupid shits, you're dead!" he shouted at the monitor. His voice was a little slurred, but he was too shocked to give it much notice, too upset. They wouldn't survive the Hunters, he knew that...
...but they weren't supposed to survive the Ca6s, either.
Reston couldn't believe that they'd made it this far; he couldn't believe that of the twenty-four specimens they'd encountered, all but one Dac had been left either dead or dying. Most of all, he couldn't believe that he'd let it continue, that his pride and ambition had kept him from doing what he should have done in the first place.
It wasn't that he was out of his league, he was in the inner circle, he was past that kind of insecurity, but he should have talked to Sidney, at least, or even Duvall, not for advice, but to cover all of his bases. After all, he couldn't be held totally responsible if he'd had counsel from one of the other, older members...
It wasn't too late. He'd put a call in, explain his plan, explain that he had some concerns, he could say that the intruders were only in Two, that would help, he could fix the video times later...and the Hunters had been tested before, after a fashion, not the 3Ks but the 121s. There had been some loosed at the Spencer estate.
But from the data recovered, the originals wouldn't have been strong enough. However, he knew that the men would be killed in Four thanks to the improved Hunters. Even if they did survive, they wouldn't be able to get out, and with the backup from the home office, he'd be mostly in the clear.
Satisfied that it was the right decision, Reston reached under the console and picked up the phone.
"Umbrella, Special Divisions and-" Silence. The smooth female voice at the other end was cut off in mid-sentence, without even a hiss of static.
"This is Reston," he said sharply, aware that a cold hand was settling around his heart, squeezing. "Hello? This is Reston!"
Nothing, then he suddenly realized that the quality of light in the room had changed, brightening. He turned in his chair, hoping desperately that it wasn't what it seemed to be...
The row of monitors that showed the surface were all spitting static. All seven, off-line seconds later, before Reston could even digest what had happened, all seven went black.
"Hello?" he whispered into the dead phone, his whiskey breath hot and bitter against the mouthpiece.
Silence.
He was alone.
X
Andrew "Killer" Berman was goddamn cold, cold and bored and wondering why the Sarge had even bothered putting anyone on the van. The bad guys weren't coming back, they were long gone, and even if they did decide to come back, they sure as hell weren't going to try to get to their vehicle. It'd be suicide.
'Either they had a backup car or they're frozen solid out on the plain somewheres. This is total bullshit.' he thought bitterly while pulling his scarf up around his ears, then readjusted his grip on the M41 he was holding.
Fifteen pounds of rifle didn't sound like much, but he'd been standing for a long goddamn time. If the Sarge didn't get back soon, he was going to get into the van for a while, rest his feet, get out of the cold; they weren't paying him enough to freeze his balls off in the dark.
He leaned against the back bumper and wondered again if Rick was okay; he didn't really know the other guys who'd been cut up by the frag, but Rick Shannon was his bud, and he'd been all bloody when they'd loaded him into the 'copter.
'Those assholes come back here, I'll show 'em bloody…' Andy sneered a grin, thinking that they didn't call him 'Killer' for nothing. He was an excellent goddamn shot, best on his team, the result of a lifetime of deer hunting.
And also cold, bored, tired, and irritable. Dumbass duty. If the trio of dickheads showed up, he'd eat his own hat.
He was still thinking that when he heard the soft, pleading voice come out of the dark.
"Help me, please...don't shoot, please help me, I've been shot..."
A breathy, feminine voice. A sexy voice, and Andy grabbed his flashlight and turned it out into the black, finding the voice's owner not thirty feet away.
A girl, dressed in tight black, stumbling toward him. She was unarmed and injured, favoring one leg, her pale face open and vulnerable beneath the bright light.
"Hey, hold it," Andy said, although not too harshly. She was young, he was only twenty-three but she looked even younger, just legal maybe. And a nicely stacked legal, at that.
Andy lowered the machine gun slightly, thinking how nice it would be to help out a lady in distress. She might be with the three criminals, probably was, but she obviously wasn't a threat to him, he could just hold on to her until the helicopter came back. And maybe she'd be grateful for the help…
'And hey, playing the hero's a good way to earn points, big time. Nice guys might finish last, but they certainly get laid an awful lot along the way.' the gunman thought, mentally grinning at the idea.
The girl limped up to him and Andy turned the flashlight away from her face, not wanting to blind her. Putting just the right note of sincerity into his voice, chicks dug that shit, he took a step toward her, holding one hand out.
"What happened? Here, let me help-"
Something dark and heavy slammed into him from the side, hard, knocking him to the ground and knocking the wind right out of him.
Before he even knew what happened, a light was shining in his face, and the M41 was being pried out of his hands as he struggled to breathe. "Don't move and I won't shoot," a man said, a Brit, and Andy felt the cold muzzle of a gun against the side of his neck. He froze, not daring to move a muscle.
'Oh, shit!'
Andy looked up, saw the girl holding the rifle, his rifle, gazing down at him. She didn't look so helpless anymore.
"Bitch," he snarled, and she smiled a little.
"Sorry, but my man's ten times better. And if it's any consolation, your two friends fell for it too."
He heard another woman's voice from behind him, soft and amused. "And hey, you get to warm up. The generator room's nice and toasty."
Killer was not amused, and as they pulled him to his feet and started marching him toward the compound, he swore to himself that it was the last time he'd ever underestimate a chick, and while he didn't have plans to eat his own hat, he was certainly going to remember this the next time he thought he was bored.
A/N: With how rough things have been for our heroes throughout this op, it's about time they caught a break. Although a small one. But what waits for Ethan and his group when they enter Phase Four? And will the others get to there to help them escape before Umbrella's forces come baring down on them?
Guess we'll have to wait and see...
I'm not pushing for a lot of reviews given the size of this story and how the popularity of Resident Evil has dropped a bit in the past. But I still like hearing from you guys and what's on your minds, so let me know when you can.
