Resident Evil_ Extinction - Keith R. A. DeCandido [22]
“If we done yappin’,” L.J. said, grabbing the remote off the end table and leaning back against the headboard, “I ain’t seen Oprah in a month, an’ I’m sufferin’ withdrawal.”
When he switched on the TV, it showed the motel’s menu options—including a pay-per-view selection that Jill suspected was mostly of the adult variety—and he flipped forward to the first channel.
Before he could flip further, Carlos said, “Stop. Hang on, L.J.”
It was a news report, the words “Outbreak in San Francisco” under the anchor’s concerned features. “The Mission Hill District has been quarantined, and representatives from the Centers for Disease Control will be on the scene shortly.”
“What’s the big—” Jill started, then she noticed the image over the anchor’s shoulder, showing someone who looked suspciously like one of the infected people in Raccoon.
The anchor went on: “The cause of the disease is unknown; however, the symptoms include delirium, a milkiness to the eyes, and a desire to—well, bite people. There is concern that those infected might transmit the disease through biting, hence the quarantine.”
Jill almost said, “Fuck me,” but the last three times she did, L.J. offered to take her up on it, so she just shook her head.
“The fuckers let it out,” Alice said. “That has to be it.”
“No,” Carlos said. “Even Umbrella wouldn’t—”
“They did it before,” Alice said. “Cain reopened the Hive, and—”
“Cain’s dead,” Jill pointed out. “And Umbrella wouldn’t deliberately infect another city. They wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick twice.” She looked at the television, seeing a street reporter interviewing a San Francisco cop. “But they didn’t have to. Think about it. Tons of people were plowing through the Ravens’ Gate Bridge. Maybe somebody got through who was infected—or maybe somebody got out before Umbrella sealed off the city, or somebody else broke through like we did—or maybe it’s some stray employee who got through the screening. Who the fuck knows?”
“And made it all the way to San Francisco, which just happens to be where Isaacs relocated his lab?”
Jill sighed. “All right, maybe they fucked up an experiment. Who gives a shit? The point is, we’ve got something now. We—”
“We’ve just received word that the RPC—the Reserve Physician Corps—is also sending medical assistance to aid local medical personnel in identifying and containing this disease.”
“That’s that,” Alice said.
“What’s what?” Jill asked.
Carlos sighed. “RPC is a division of Umbrella. They’re already going in with a syringe in one hand and whitewash in the other.”
“Maybe, but it may not work this time. Raccoon was isolated—a small company town on an island, but San Francisco?” Jill smiled. “There’s too much city there, and Umbrella doesn’t have the same pull that they had in Raccoon. This might be just what we need.”
Angie said in a small voice, “So people dying is a good thing?”
Jill winced, a heaviness in her chest. “Angie, I didn’t—”
“I know, Jill,” Angie said, sounding almost depressingly mature.
The light flickered again, just as the toilet made its gurgling noise, and suddenly, Jill had a tremendous need for air. “I’m gonna go smoke,” she said.
“Actually,” Carlos said, “we could use some food. I saw about twelve different fast-food joints when we drove in.”
Jill nodded. Now that Carlos had said it out loud, she realized she was starving. Her stomach gurgled for good measure, in almost perfect harmony with the toilet. “Fine. Burgers, fries, and chicken for everyone.”
“Yeah,” L.J. said with a grin, stretching the word to three syllables. “I be livin’ on grease, yo.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Jill said with an exaggerated sigh.
As she went outside to the small covered walkway that bordered the motel parking lot, she pulled her cigarette pack out of her pocket.
Only one left. Fuck.
Hoping that there was a deli or something with all those fast-food joints Carlos mentioned, she took out her matchbook.