Disclaimer – I own no legal rights to anything Resident Evil.
"Okay, now. 1 . . . 2 . . ."
On the count of "3", Ashley and Will both kicked and the grate finally flew off.
They eagerly squeezed out of the vent, both relieved, leaning against the nearest wall and catching their breath, happy at least to be out of the vents, out of the convention center, and back in the main hotel.
Ashley didn't rest for long, though.
"Herbs!" she said, noting the boxes in the window where the tiny decorative plants were growing. "Red, green, and yellow."
Behind the herbs, the widow pane was shaking, strong gales of wind hammering against it, heavy rain cascading down the outside like waterfalls.
Ashley plucked the plants out of their boxes of dirt and turned back to Will.
"Leon showed me how to make a healing salve out of these," she said. "Go ahead. Lift up your shirt."
Will turned around, resting on his knees as he grabbed the bottom of his dress shirt and did his best to hoist it up his back.
Ashley kneeled down behind him and unraveled the gauze she had hastily wrapped around his torso.
"It's not as bad as I thought it was," she said reassuringly. "Just a few shallow cuts. Now, hold on. This might sting a little."
Will watched her mash the herbs into paste out of the corner of his eye. When she had a handful of pulp dripping between her fingers, she hovered her hand just over Will's back.
"Ready?"
Will nodded, then braced himself, trying to put on his best poker face.
"Ready."
She pressed her palm into his back, and he involuntarily winced and pulled away.
"It's okay," Ashley said, her voice soft as silk. "Just try to stay still."
"I've been thinking," Will said, as she massaged the ointment into his cuts. "Maybe you should go ahead without me. Just stay here."
"What are you talking about?" Ashley said, raising her voice again.
"I think I'm just slowing you down," Will said.
Ashley continued to rub the paste in. The stinging had subsided. Now her hands were soothing him.
"It's not a race," she replied.
"I know, but . . . Your odds of survival . . ."
"The odds of survival for both of us go up when we're watching each other's backs," Ashley said. "Trust me. Besides. I promised you I wasn't going to let you die."
Now she was massaging his shoulders, even though he was near certain none of his cuts went that high.
"Because you need me to manage your social media accounts," Will said, anticipating her quip.
"No," Ashley said, voice soft again, but serious. "Because I really li-"
She stopped talking, continuing to run her hands over Will's back, but focusing her attention out the window. Through the cascades of rain washing down the window, she could see the luminescent glow of florescent domes bobbing to the surface of the ocean just beyond the beach.
"What are those?" Will asked.
"I'd rather not find out," Ashley said, rising to her feet.
Will stood up, pulling his shirt down.
They could hear the low moans of the undead coming from just down the hall.
"Between a rock and a hard place, huh?" Will said.
"I thought you were better than clichés like that," Ashley said. "But probably accurate."
As they made their way away from the window towards the stairwell at the end of the hall, Ashley noticed a mostly empty picture frame, except for a scrap of a painting, a bizarre amalgamation of a harp and a mandolin, covered in naked human bodies.
"That looks like . . ."
"Hieronymus Bosch," Will finished.
They both reached for it at the same time, and their hands touched.
Will let his hand linger on Ashley's, just for a moment, before sheepishly pulling it away.
"You should take it," he said.
Ashley nodded and removed the scrap of painting from the wall.
"Semester of fine art comes in handy again." She looked at Will for a moment, then gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. "I'm not leaving without you, got it?"
"I know you won't," Will said. "You're stubborn like that."
Ashley pushed open the door to the stairwell and looked up.
"At least we're getting in our steps for the day," she said. "Let's go."
Carlos was severely outnumbered and outmatched, but obstinately did not feel ready to die.
The monster had gotten bigger, and a lot uglier, since he and Jill had "killed" it in the parking garage, he was sure of it. And the hordes of infected convention-goers surrounding it weren't a pretty sight, either.
He looked at the staircases on either side of him, then went with his gut and made a push for the stairs to his left.
He fished a couple of grenades off his belt. He'd been trying to save them until he was absolutely desperate. But now wasn't the time to try to imagine a situation more desperate than this one. He pulled the pins out and tossed them, watching the zombies go flying, clearing enough of a path for him to begin climbing the stairs, holding his knife in one hand and pistol in the other to attack the stragglers trying to swipe and chomp at him.
At the top of the stairs, he took the final two grenades off his belt, taking care of more of the infected blocking his path as he climbed down another set of stairs in to some kind of food court.
He analyzed everything, trying to estimate the number of bioweapons swarming the food court even as he tried to spot something to help even the odds.
There was a hot dog cart in the center of the floor. He could see the propane tank on it. It had to be violating all kinds of fire codes, but Carlos didn't care. This would be his salvation.
He swung his knife at the zombie gnashing its teeth at his side, then began shooting at the zombies directly between him and the cart. When he reached for the cart, its owner, apron covered in ketchup, mustard, and blood, rose to his feet with a growl, opening his mouth wide for a bite as Carlos drove his blade directly through the center of his forehead.
"But I would straight-up kill someone for a chili dog right now," he muttered.
He pushed the cart, slamming the handle hard when he needed to knock any zombie out of his path, sometimes making it a point to run them over, crushing their heads beneath the carts wheels, still swinging the knife at any infected trying to grab him from behind.
He swung the cart around and painstakingly pulled it up the stairs. Finally at the top, he spun it around again, then started the gas tank and ignited the pilot light before giving it a shove. It rolled straight for Minos, who was roaring threateningly and whipping his tentacles through the air.
As it hit the bottom of the stairs, Carlos fired directly at the tank.
The explosion ignited several zombies, as well as the big monster. Minos growled in pain as its outer flesh turned to ashes, rocking back and forth, tentacle-fingers flailing.
"How many times are we going to have to kill you?" Carlos asked as it collapsed to the floor, right at his feet.
It stopped moving, but Carlos was still certain this wasn't the end of it.
A charred corpse beside it was in a security uniform, and Carlos remembered Carver's one piece of advice. He found the guard's keys, then made his way back to the iron fence he'd last met the doctor at.
He tried every key on the guard's keyring until one finally satisfyingly clicked in the lock, then threw the fence to the side and stepped into the next section of the convention center.
"Carver?" he called. "You still here?"
The scientist slowly emerged from a shadowy doorway, eyes focused on the tablet in his hand.
"Not very subtle, the way you handled that," he said. "But certainly ruthlessly efficient. Maybe your reputation was somewhat warranted, after all. Did you bring me what I asked for?"
Carlos held out the keycard Ashley had given him.
"This good enough?"
Dr. Carver took the card from Carlos, stroked his chin as he examined it, and then let out a disappointed sigh.
"As crazy as it may sound, I was hoping you'd retrieve my personal ID, for sentimental reasons," he said. "But, for all practical purposes, this will do just as well."
"So, you gonna take me to your lab now?"
Carver scoffed.
"Are you serious?"
"That's kinda the whole reason I'm here," Carlos said. "Take me down, grab the vaccine, I blow the place up, and maybe we can both leave here in one piece."
"I can't very well just walk you through the front door," Carver replied. "But I will honor our deal, rest assured. I will grab the cure and then allow you to escort me out of here. Just wait for me in the hotel lobby."
Carver turned and disappeared back into the shadowy doorway.
"And what if I try to just follow you anyway?" Carlos called.
"Then I offer you up to the people who want more than anything to see you dead," Carver called back. "And while they're distracted tearing you limb from limb, I grab the vaccine and find another way out of here myself. I'm a pragmatist, Corporal Oliveira."
Jasmine George defeatedly removed the headset and gloves and tossed them on the desk, just in time for Daniel to shake his head at her.
"Not as easy as it looks, it it?" Daniel chided her.
"It was fun while it lasted, though," Jasmine said. "I am afraid I lost control for a moment, and Minos managed to decapitate Dr. Reynolds, one of my favorite colleagues. If anyone asks, I'll just blame you."
"Reynolds was an imbecile who considered himself an intellectual," Daniel said. "I never understood what he did to deserve five-star clearance."
"What did my dear old man want to talk about?" Jasmine asked.
"We talked about you," Daniel said. "I asked if there was possibly any reason he'd want you nearer to him. Unfortunately, there was not, so I suppose you will remain free to bother me while I'm trying to work."
For once, instead of reacting, Jasmine's face remained a mask of neutrality.
"Did he mention he's God?" she asked. "He loves to talk about how he's God."
"He never said he was God," Daniel insisted. "He said he was going to be a god."
"He's quite insane, you know."
Daniel studied one of the monitors, watching Minos' charred flesh fall away and be replaced by bulkier muscles.
"We're both just with him for his money," Daniel said. "Mon chéri, I am just sorry you were forced to consummate your marriage for it."
Jasmine quickly turned away from him to look at the monitors.
"Oliveira's talking to himself again."
Daniel studied the monitor and began pulling the control gloves on.
"Find me a bioweapon in the area that's been implanted with one of the parasites," he instructed. "Doesn't even have to be a big one. I'll even take that scrawny weakling that fancied himself a security guard."
Jasmine started hitting buttons on the console.
"You mean Terrance?"
Daniel removed his beret and prepared to replace it with the headset.
"Now watch how it is done," he said. "It's more art than science."
"A cliché that rings hollow to an actual scientist," Jasmine said, sitting in Daniel's chair and crossing her legs. "But good luck."