Resident Evil_ Extinction - Keith R. A. DeCandido [2]
Cain repeated: “This is a biohazard quarantine area. Due to risk of infection, you cannot be allowed to leave the city. All appropriate measures are being taken. The situation is under control. Please return to your homes.”
With a snort, Knable said, “Fat chance of that. He’s never gonna get those people to move off the bridge.”
As Zoll offered him a hand up into the helicopter, she smiled and said, “I think the major’ll convince them, Doctor.”
Knable sighed as he entered the helicopter. The main section had benches along both side walls—or bulkheads, or whatever they called them—which were mostly filled with fellow Umbrella employees and black-clad, well-armed Security Division folks. Glancing around, Knable finally found a spare space between someone he didn’t recognize, who, like him, wore a lab coat, and someone from security.
As soon as he squeezed in between them, Zoll closed the hatch, and Knable felt a pull on his stomach as the helicopter took off. He shook his head, wishing he could have done more, but he wasn’t about to resist someone with a gun telling him to get into a helicopter, especially since that gun wielder was carrying out the wishes of the people who signed his paycheck.
He just hoped that some of the people on this helicopter, or the others that had been used to evacuate people in the Science and Medical Divisions, were working on a cure.
Lifting his arm to scratch an itch on his nose, Knable was surprised to see that the Band-Aid he’d hastily put on his right index finger had fallen off at some point. The cut was red with blood, but it didn’t seem to be actually bleeding anymore.
Looking around, he asked, “Anyone have a Band-Aid?”
TWO
AFTER
The cameras recorded everything.
At present, they showed a large, beautifully appointed bathroom. It was all brass and marble, and the place was as large as some big-city studio apartments.
The shower, which was running, its staccato rhythm the only noise coming from the room, was a larger-than-average stall, with only a small lip and a shower curtain to keep the water contained. The curtain had been ripped from the rod and was draped over the shower’s sole occupant: a naked woman.
She was unconscious or asleep. Her chest expanded and contracted slowly with each breath, the only sign of life she gave.
Then her blue eyes opened.
Slowly, she got to her feet. She looked very disoriented.
The cameras followed her movements as she turned the shower off and padded out into the bathroom proper. With one hand, she wiped the condensation from the mirror to take a look at herself. She gave the bruise on her right shoulder only a cursory glance—she seemed much more interested in what looked like a severe, and long-healed, knife wound on her left shoulder. As if she didn’t know how she got it.
She looked around, but if the bathroom had any wisdom to grant her, she was unable to glean it. So she walked out the door into a large bedroom.
The cameras in that room winked into life and followed her.
The centerpiece of the bedroom was a huge double bed with two sets of pillows. Laid out on the center of the bed were a red dress, a pair of panties, and a pair of biker shorts. After staring at the clothing for several seconds, she put the panties and the biker shorts on and shrugged into the dress. A pair of thigh-high boots sat at the foot of the bed, and she slid them on.
Everything seemed to fit perfectly.
She looked at her left hand, noticed the gold wedding band on it. As with everything else, she seemed confused by it.
Wandering over to the window, she pushed back the thick curtains with the odd patterns on them to reveal a concrete wall.
This, more than anything, seemed to baffle her. Why would someone put a set of curtains over a concrete wall?
Of course, the wall didn’t match the rest of the décor. Perhaps that was the reason for the curtains.
The bedroom’s furnishings also included a beautiful