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He actually tittered, a high, girlish giggle, and Claire was suddenly absolutely positive that he was a whacko, she was talking to a whacko.
Yeah, and keep hint talking, you don't want to lose his position. She could see the tiny red light flicker on the wall behind her, as he worked to keep the pillar in his sights. "Okay, ah, Alfred. What is it that I'm pla
"Of course, if you were willing to surrender yourself to me now," Alfred purred, "I might be persuaded to spare you your life. Providing that you confess to trea-son against your superiors…" Now!
Claire ducked her head around the pillar, gun up -
– and bam, wood and plaster exploded next to her face, the shot splintering the pillar's molding as she pulled back. She leaned heavily against the pillar, her breathing fast and gulping. If he'd been a hair more accurate… "Aren't you the fast little rabbit," Alfred said, his amusement unmistakable. "Or should I say rat? That's what you are, Claire, a rat. Just a rat in a cage."
Again, that insane, u
Well, doesn't that round out things nicely? What's a biohazardous disaster without a crazy or two? It'd al– most be fu
Big, fat difference. All of it bites.
Claire had no way of knowing that compared to what lay ahead, things hadn't even started to get bad.
FIVE
THE ALLEGED DOCK WASN'T REALLY A DOCK at all, much to Steve's disappointment, and there wasn't a boat in sight. He'd expected a long pier with pilings and seagulls, all that shit, and a half dozen ships to choose from, each of them stocked with full pantries and soft beds. Instead, he'd found a tiny, grungy platform that sat over an unpleasantly gray lagoonish area, pro– tected from the ocean by a ridge of jagged rock that he could barely make out in the dark. There was a pulpit kind of thing with a ship's steering wheel stuck on it at the edge of the platform, probably some dumbass "mon– ument to the sea" or whatever, a decrepit table with some trash on it, and a ratty, moldy old life jacket heaped in a corner, the once bright orange stained to a murky mus– tard color. Nothing bigger than a canoe was ever going to dock at this particular pier; in a word, lame.
Great. So how did all those people get off the island, backstroke? And if there's an air strip, where the hell is it?
Bad enough that now he had to find another escape, he'd also told Claire that he'd meet her here. He couldn't just take off, but he didn't want to stand around waiting, either.
You could still ditch her.
Steve scowled, irritably kicking at a rusted-out hunk of random machinery. Maybe she was a little nosy, a lit– tle naive… but she'd saved his ass, no question, and her wanting to go back to help some wounded Umbrella hand just because he'd set her free – that was… well, it was nice, it was a nice thing to do. Leaving her behind didn't seem right. Not sure what to do next, he walked over to the mounted steering wheel (wasn't there some kind of sailor name for it, one of those port-starboard-ahoy words? He didn't know.) and gave it a spin, surprised at how smoothly it turned considering how crappy the rest of the "dock" was…… and with a low mechanical hum, the platform be– neath his feet abruptly detached from the rest and slid out over the water, as giant bubbles started to break the water's surface in front of him. Christ! Steve held on to the wheel with one hand, pointed one of the gold Lugers at the rising bubbles with the other. If it was one of Umbrella's creatures, it was about to be breathing hot lead…… and a small submarine rose up out of the water like a dark, metal fish, the hatch conveniently popping open directly in front of his feet. A runged ladder led down into the sub, which appeared to be empty. Unlike the worn-out surroundings, the little sub looked sturdy and well-maintained. Steve stared at it, astounded. What was this shit? It was like some theme park ride, so weird that he wasn't sure what to think.
Is it any weirder than anything else I've dealt with today?
Point taken. The map he'd looked at back at the man– sion had been vague, just a couple of arrows and the words dock and airstrip… and apparently you had to take a submarine ride to get there. Umbrella was one messed up company. He stepped down onto the top rung and then hesi-tated, his skin still red from the last unknown he'd stepped into. He didn't want to drown any more than he'd wanted to get baked alive.
Ah, screw it, won't know 'til you try.
Again, point taken. Steve climbed down the ladder, and when he stepped off, he triggered a pressure plate in the floor of the sub. Above him, the hatch closed. He quickly stepped on it again, and the hatch reopened. It was good to know he wouldn't suffocate, at least. The interior of the submarine was very plain, maybe as big as a large bathroom, bisected by the narrow lad– der. There was a small padded bench on one side, the rear of the sub, and a simple control console in front. "Let's see what we got here," Steve muttered, step– ping up to the controls. They were ridiculously simple, a single lever with two settings – the handle was currently next to the upper setting, marked "main." The lower set– ting was marked "transport," and Steve gri
He tapped the pressure plate again, sealing the hatch, wondering if Claire would be impressed by his discov– ery as he pulled the lever down. He heard a soft metallic fhunk and then the submarine was moving, descending. There was a single porthole, but it was too dark to see anything besides a few rising bubbles. The anticlimactic ride was over in about ten seconds. The sub seemed to stop moving, and he heard a sharper metallic sound coming from the hatch, like it was brush– ing against something – definitely not an underwater sound. Onward and upward. The hatch opened as he started to climb the ladder, gun firmly in hand… and he stepped out onto a metal platform walled in glass or plexi, surrounded by black water on either side. There were a few steps leading down to a well-lit hallway, where only the left-hand wall was made out of water. Yees. It was like the displays at some aquariums, where you could go through an underwater tu