Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [22]
Jill admired his dedication. If only she shared it.
Right now, the doc was checking over a man, woman, and child, presumably a family. “They’re clean,” Jill heard him say in a haggard voice that bespoke a man three times his age, “let them pass.”
Two of the Umbrella thugs escorted the threesome to the gate.
“Next!” the doc said.
A tide of humanity surged forward, barely kept in check by the thugs and cops. Jill let herself be carried along by that wave, bringing her closer to her boss.
Peyton Wells was Jill’s immediate supervisor and, unlike his immediate supervisor, that scum-sucking weasel Henderson, he had stuck up for Jill after the Arklay incident. “Jill Valentine don’t make shit up,” was his exact phrasing in his statement on the incident. He had always stood by his people, and his people always stood by him. You needed that kind of loyalty to survive in a high-pressure squad like S.T.A.R.S.
That was why the brass’s utter disregard—or maybe lack of understanding—of that loyalty hurt Jill so much.
“Peyton!” she cried again, now that she was closer, even as the guards let an old man and a teenage girl through.
This time, Peyton heard her. Up until then, he’d had his usual hard-ass expression on, but at the sight of her, he actually looked relieved. “Valentine!” He pointed at her while looking at one of the Umbrella thugs. “Let her through, she’s RCPD—one of my S.T.A.R.S. people.”
The Umbrella thug frowned. “She’s not in uniform.”
Peyton rolled his eyes. “Right, ’cause when I’m off duty and I see walking dead people tearing up the town, first thing I’m gonna do is worry about my wardrobe. Will you let her through, please?”
Jill smiled as the thugs cleared a path for her to join Peyton.
“Glad you’re here,” he said. “We could use a hand.”
She refrained from saying that she wasn’t glad to be there and had no interest in lending a hand. Peyton deserved better.
But before she could say anything, the old man the doc was looking at keeled over.
“Oh, my God,” the teenager wailed, “Daddy!”
While the guards and the doc all stood around, the girl knelt down and started loosening his shirt.
How pathetic was it, Jill thought, that this little girl had more common sense than the so-called trained professionals?
“He’s not breathing! It’s his heart—he has a weak heart.”
That, to Jill, explained some of her swift reaction—she’d possibly been through this kind of thing before.
However, as soon as she began applying mouth-to-mouth, the doc went into a panic. “Get away from him!”
Ignoring the doc, the girl kept up with the entire CPR routine—mouth-to-mouth, massaging the heart, the whole bit.
The doc looked at Peyton. “Get her away from him.”
Letting out a grunt of annoyance, Peyton nonetheless reached down and pulled the girl off her father.
Jill was disgusted. That girl was trying to save her father’s life, and this was how she was treated? Jill needed to get out of this dump, now.
The girl struggled in Peyton’s muscular arms. “No, let me go, I’ve got to—”
Suddenly, the old man’s eyes popped open.
When he’d walked up to the gate, the man’s eyes had been brown.
Now they were milky white.
Oh, shit.
Moving with a speed Jill wouldn’t have credited so old a man with having, he bit Peyton right on the leg.
“Aaaaahhhhhh!”
This did nothing to calm the crowd. Already surging against the barely adequate barricade of guards, they went into a total frenzy at the sight of Peyton being bitten.
Jill took out her automatic and put a bullet in the old man’s head.
The teenager screamed. “Noooooo! Daddy! Daddy! You killed him!”
“He was already dead,” Jill said.
The girl ran off, knocking down one of the Umbrella thugs. Another thug stepped into his spot to keep the crowd