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The German handed the megaphone to the man next to him, who spoke into it.

“Use of live ammunition has been authorized.”

Yup—it was the guy on the headset.

“He can’t shoot people!” the reporter woman said.

Terri Morales, that was her name. Jill had talked to her several times back when she was a reporter, before she screwed up an exposé of Councilman Miller. After that, they put her on weather—which was better than she deserved. Anybody who could screw up an exposé of that bastard didn’t deserve to be in a news reporting position.

As for what she had said, Jill wasn’t worried. These were corporate thugs. Corporations were cruel, yes, sometimes vicious, often uncaring. But they were never sadistic.

“Fifteen…fourteen…thirteen…twelve…”

The German nodded at the thugs on the wall. They all raised their rifles.

“Eleven…ten…”

Peyton looked at Jill. “He’s not bluffing.”

“Nine…eight…”

Jill couldn’t believe it. “They won’t fire into a crowd.”

“Seven…six…”

“Get them back.”

For whatever reason, Peyton Wells was sure that they were going to fire into the crowd.

Peyton had trusted Jill’s judgment when nobody else did. She could do no less now.

“Five…four…”

Besides, if the German would authorize closing the gates, why not fire into a crowd of innocent people? They were already dead anyhow.

“Move!” Jill screamed. “Get away from the wall!”

Peyton did likewise, as did the other RCPD cops.

“Three…two…”

After a moment, so did the Umbrella thugs. They tried to force the people back, make them move away from the wall.

“One…”

The next thing Jill heard were multiple reports of assault rifles being shot straight downward from the top of the wall.

Eleven

If Timothy Cain heard the screams of the people he had just ordered shot, he didn’t show it as he descended the metal staircase that took him and Giddings down to the base camp.

Instead, he spoke into his headset.

“Ravens’ Gate is secure, but I just lost contact with squads one and two within the city. Squads three through seven are in full retreat.”

“Is there any chance of containment?”

“No, sir. Suppression measures have failed. We can’t contain it. The infection’s spreading faster than anyone could have anticipated.”

“That’s for damn sure.” The man on the other end sighed audibly. “All right, we’ll have to activate Nemesis, per your recommendation. Out.”

Cain nodded and turned to Giddings. They were now approaching one of the several dozen inflatable workshops that had been hastily constructed once this base perimeter had been set up. Each had the distinctive U of the corporation logo emblazoned on the side.

From his Gulf days, Cain remembered several ops that had been perfectly planned and competently executed, yet still failed because of something that had happened in the desert. The desert was, literally, a force of nature, and men’s plans couldn’t always succeed under those circumstances.

Back when he was a green private, his first lieutenant had always said, “Some days, the desert wins.”

Today, the desert was winning.

The op had gone down as planned, but the T-virus was just out of control.

To Giddings, he said, “Prep the C89 and get it in the air. Activation of the Nemesis Program has been confirmed.”

Giddings nodded and moved off. Cain headed toward the copter pad, only to see the wheelchair-bound form of Dr. Charles Ashford.

Ashford was one of the primary reasons why Cain took home such a large paycheck. Many of Umbrella’s most lucrative—and top-secret—contracts were linked to Ashford’s brilliant viral work.

So, of course, was today’s disaster.

But Ashford was also to be treated pretty much like royalty. Cain’s bosses had made it quite clear to him that Ashford was more important than anyone in or around Raccoon City, including Cain himself. That was why he, along with Umbrella’s other top scientists, had been evac-ed this morning. Shortly before closing the gate, Cain had been ordered to have them all taken to a secure location several dozen miles