Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [4]
Even as Ward and Clark went down, overwhelmed by the tide of dead Umbrella employees, Cain was wondering how this might have happened. Most likely, some overeager asshole had decided to steal the T-virus and the antivirus. Abernathy and her friend Matt, maybe? Impossible to be sure.
The gunfire continued, but the ones that had been shot at the start of the fighting were now getting up. One of them leapt onto Shannon and bit right into his left arm through the Hazmat suit. Heddle, panicking, shot both Shannon and his attacker, and the pair went down. The attacker got right back up and leapt for Heddle, as did a brown-haired woman in a lab coat.
Osborne had pulled out her Beretta and ran into the crowd, firing away.
Waste of time.
For his part, Cain turned and walked back up the stairs. Ward’s team would keep the creatures occupied long enough for Cain to evac.
Abernathy hadn’t struck him as the opportunistic type, but maybe someone had made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. God knew there were enough people out there who wanted to get their hands on the T-virus.
Cain heard the screams of Ward’s team as they died one by one. Perrella, Kassin, and finally Osborne all went down.
They had served their purpose. Cain now knew what had happened in the Hive. That was all that mattered.
Life, after all, was cheap.
Two
The air-conditioning still wasn’t working.
Randall Coleman, Raccoon 7’s news director, didn’t think it was too much to ask that the AC function. True, it was fall, but all the equipment they had in the control room needed to stay cool.
But when the AC broke down last week, management hadn’t made it a priority, given the time of year.
Then the heat wave hit.
The whole thing was maddening. They’d get temperatures in the nineties, then it would dip into the fifties when the sun set. Half the staff of Channel 7 was out sick, thanks to the messed-up weather.
Still, they were managing. Randall’s assistant, Loren Bills, had set up several fans throughout the control room, which kept the oppressive air moving and meant that at least some of the equipment was likely to keep functioning.
Fortunately, the equipment itself was quality stuff. Raccoon 7 was no rinky-dink independent that let its network affiliation carry it. Not like those snooty jerks at Channel 9, who thought they were hot shit just because they were a UPN affiliate, but mostly used that as an excuse to cut costs and staff and use substandard equipment.
Channel 7, though, was the most-watched local station in Raccoon City, and that without being an affiliate of any of the six networks. They were truly independent.
Which was how Randall liked it.
Directing the morning news on Raccoon 7 was just a stepping stone for Randall, but it was an important one. Channel 7 was a proven quantity, one of the most respected independent stations in the country, and one known for producing excellent technicians. Here, Randall could learn the craft of directing and producing.
Down the line, it would lead to work at the networks, and eventually he might be able to go freelance and direct actual TV episodes—or even movies.
True, what he did here was basically see-Spot-run directing—Camera 1 on Sherry Mansfield, Camera 2 on Bill Watkins, Camera 3 on the two-shot, Camera 4 roving. But someday he’d be able to move on, maybe direct a sitcom, or one of those cop dramas.
Randall loved cop dramas.
And eventually, he’d get his break, and finally break into films. And then maybe, finally, he’d be able to bring his masterpiece to the big screen.
Because he knew nobody would look at his magnificent screenplay, Scales of the Dragon, right now. Right now, he was a nobody, a guy directing morning news at an indie station in a small-market town.
But Randall was patient. Soon he’d work his way up to the top. Soon he’d be able to write his own ticket, and then Scales of the Dragon would be produced.
No matter what Mom said.
Right now, Camera 4 was on Terri Morales, doing the weather.
Terri had on her reassuring smile. It looked great on camera. So did