Страница 28 из 39
Claire said, and Steve nodded, looking relieved. "So… thataway," Claire said, and started for the first ladder, Steve right behind. A short climb later and they were at the next door to try, actually double doors set in a little ways from the walkway. Also locked. Steve offered to try and kick it in, but she suggested they try the others first. She was feel– ing more and more uneasy about how quiet things were, and didn't want the echoing thunder of a door being bro– ken down to a
On to the next, the only other door before an opening in the wall with a flight of stairs going down. Claire jig-gled the handle and it turned easily; she and Steve read– ied their weapons just in case – and at a nod from Steve, Claire pushed the door open -
– and felt her mouth drop open, totally shocked.
What are the odds on that?
It was a bunk room, dark and reeking, and at the sound of the door opening, three, four zombies turned and started for them, all of them freshly infected, most of their skin still attached. At least one of them was starting to go gangrenous, the noxious smell of hot, rot– ting tissue heavy in the cold air. Steve had gone pale, and as she slammed the door closed, he swallowed, hard, looking and sounding kind of sick. "One of those guys worked at Rockfort. He was a cook."
Of course! She'd thought for a second that there'd been a spill here, too, but that really was too giant of a coincidence. At least one of those planes outside had come from the island, probably a bunch of panicked em– ployees – presumably not scientists – who hadn't real– ized they were carrying the infection with them.
More sick and dying viral ca
"Hey, maybe there's something we can use in these,"
Steve said, moving to the desk. There were a number of papers, and what appeared to be a collection of maps strewn across its top, but Claire was suddenly more in– terested in the whitish lump stuck on the back of his right shoulder. "Hold still," she said, stepping up behind him. There was some thick, web-like gunk holding the thing on, the lump itself about six inches long and kind of misshapen, like a chicken egg that had been stretched out. "What is it? Get it off," Steve said tensely, and Claire held the candle closer, saw that the white form wasn't entirely opaque. She could see inside, a little…… to where a fat white grub was squirming around, encased in translucent jelly. It was an egg case, the moth had laid an egg case on him. Claire wanted to vomit but held it together, looking around for something to grab it with. There was some crumpled paper in a wastebasket next to the trunk, and she snatched up a piece. "Hang on a sec," she said, amazed at how casual she sounded as she pulled the case off his shoulder. It didn't want to come, the wet webbing tenaciously holding on, but she got it, instantly dropping it to the floor. "It's off." Steve turned and crouched next to the paper, holding his candle out – and stood up abruptly, looking as sick– ened as she felt. He brought his boot down on it, hard, and clear jelly squirted from beneath the sole. "Oh, man," he said, his mouth turned down. "Remind me to blow chunks later, after we've eaten. And next time we go through there, no matches."
He checked her back – clean, thank God – and then they split up the papers on the desk, Steve taking the maps and sitting on the floor, Claire looking through the rest of it at the desk. Inventory list, bill, bill, list… Claire hoped Steve was having better luck. From what she could gather, they were in what Umbrella was calling a "transport ter– minal," whatever that was, and it had been built around an abandoned mine – she wasn't clear on what had been mined, exactly, but there were a number of receipts for some newer spendy equipment and a shitload of con– struction materials. Almost enough to build a small city. She found a series of memos between two extremely boring gentlemen, discussing Umbrella's budget allot– ments for the coming year. It was all the more boring be– cause everything appeared to be perfectly legal. The office they were in belonged to one of them, a Tomoko Oda, and it was from Oda that she finally ran across something that caught her eye, a postscript on one of his lengthy account– ing reports dated from only a week before.
PS – by the way, remember the story you told me when I first got here, about the "monster" prisoner? Don't laugh, but I finally heard him myself, two nights ago, in this very office. It was just as frighten-ing as the stories say, a kind of angry, moaning scream that echoed up from the lower levels. My fore-man tells me that workers have been hearing it for something like 15 years, almost always late at night – the most popular rumor has it that he screams like that because someone missed his feeding time. I've also heard that he's a ghost, a hoax, a scientific experiment gone wrong, even a demon. I haven't formed an opinion myself, and since none of us are allowed down there, I suppose it will continue to be a mystery. I have to tell you, though, after hearing that horrible, insane howling, I have no interest in going below B2. Let me know about that stem bolt shipment. Regards, Tom.