She pushed the door open and stepped onto the connecting platform, the heavy clatter of the moving trolley seeming incredibly loud as she opened the second door, Mikhail's helplessness in the forefront of her mind.
Oh, shit.
The elements of the scene were simple, straightforward, and deadly: a broken window, glass everywhere; Mikhail, to her left, his back to the wall as he struggled to get to his feet, using his rifle as a crutch—and the S.T.A.R.S. killer standing in the middle of the car, misshapen head thrown back, its giant lipless mouth opening as it growl-screamed wordlessly. The remaining windows shook from the strength of its insane cry.
Jill opened fire, each shot a deafening explosion, the heavy rounds slamming into its upper torso as it continued to howl. The sheer force of the assault drove it back a few steps, but if there was any effect otherwise, she couldn't see it.
On the sixth round, Mikhail's rifle joined in, the smaller slugs peppering the Nemesis's gigantic legs as Jill went dry. Mikhail was still slumped against the wall and his aim was poor, but Jill would take any help she could get. She grabbed her Beretta—even with a speed
loader the .357 would take too long—and opened up, going for head shots—
—not working—
—and the Nemesis stopped screaming and fixed its attention on her, its slitted white eyes like cataracts, its huge teeth shining and slick. Tentacles snaked around its hairless, lumpy head.
"Get out!" Mikhail shouted, and Jill spared him a glance, not even considering the idea as she fired again—until it registered an instant later that he was holding a grenade, one shaking finger hooked through its ring. She recognized the make without thinking about it—a Czech RG34, Barry had collected antipersonnel grenades—as she sent a round into the Nemesis's stitched brow to no effect. Impact grenade, once the ring was pulled it'd detonate on contact—
—and Mikhail won't make it, it's suicide—
"No, you go, get behind me," she screamed, and the S.T.A.R.S. killer took one massive step forward, almost halving the distance between them.
"Get out! "Mikhail ordered again and popped the ring, an expression of incredible concentration and purpose on his dead-white face. "I'm dead already! Do it, now!"
Her Beretta fired once more and was empty.
Jill spun and ran, leaving Mikhail to face the monster alone.
Carlos heard the yelling amidst the shots as he worked to bring the trolley to a stop, desperate to help Jill and Mikhail, but they were in the middle of a relatively tight curve and the poorly maintained controls
fought his efforts. He was about a second from joining them anyway when the door behind him crashed open.
Carlos whipped around, one-arming his M16 as he instinctively kept his other hand on the throttle, and saw Jill. She practically flew into the car, her expression a mask of expectant terror, his name forming on her lips—
—and a tremendous shock of fire and sound bloomed up behind her, pushing her to dive, a clumsy shoulder roll that was punctuated by the echoingboom-crash from the second car. Tongues of flame burst through the back door's window as the floor tilted wildly. Carlos slammed against the driver's seat, the chair's arm whacking him mid-thigh hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
Mikhail!
Carlos took one faltering step toward the back—and saw only burning pieces of the obliterated second car dragging behind them, falling away as the trolley picked up speed. There was no chance that Mikhail could have survived, and Carlos started having serious doubts about their own chances as Jill stumbled forward, her face haunted by whatever she'd seen.
The cable car bit another curve, and then it was out of control, tossing back and forth like a ship on stormy seas, except the thunder and lightning were caused by their car smashing mightily into buildings and autos alike, sending up great plumes of sparks. Instead of slowing them down, the trolley seemed to be picking up speed with each impact, hurtling through the dark in a series of fiery metal screams.
Carlos fought gravity to grab the throttle, aware that they'd jumped the tracks, that Mikhail was gone, that
their only hope was the manual brake. If they were very lucky, the wheels would lock. He yanked back as hard as he could—
—and nothing happened, nothing at all. They were screwed.
Jill made it to the front, clutching at chair backs and support poles as the trolley continued to buck and screech. Carlos saw her staring at the useless throttle beneath his fingers, saw despair flash in her eyes, and he knew that they had to jump.
"The brakes!"Jill shouted.
"No good! We have to bail!"
He turned, grabbed his rifle by the barrel, and used the locked stock to break out a side window, a sudden shift of the floor sending the glass shards raining on his chest. He held on to the slick window frame with one hand, reached back to grab Jill—
—and saw her drive her elbow into a small glass panel set low into the console, a look of crazed hope on her face as she pulled a switch he couldn't see—
SKREEEEEEE—
emergency brake
—and incredibly, the trolley was slowing, tipping to the left a final time before settling back, sliding forward in a diminishing spray of bright sparks. Carlos closed his eyes and gripped the useless throttle, tensing, trying to prepare himself for the impact—and a few seconds later, a mild, anticlimacticcrwnch signified their journey's end; the car had come to rest against a pile of broken concrete pieces in the middle of a neatly trimmed lawn, a few shadowy statues and hedges nearby. A final tremor rattled through the car, and it was over.
Silence, except for the tick of cooling metal. He opened his eyes, hardly able to credit their nightmare ride through the city. Next to him, Jill took a shaky breath. It had all happened so fast, it was a miracle that he and Jill were still alive.
"Mikhail?" he asked softly.
Jill shook her head. "It was the Tyrant-thing, the S.T.A.R.S. Nemesis. Mikhail had a grenade, it kept coming at us and he—"
Her voice broke, and she reached into her pack and started to reload her weapons, concentrating on the simple movements. It seemed to calm her. When she spoke again, her voice was firm.
"Mikhail sacrificed himself when he saw that the Nemesis was coming after me."
She looked away, out into the dark as a chill wind drafted through the trolley's shattered windows. Her shoulders slumped. Carlos wasn't sure what to say. He stepped toward her, gently touching one abraded shoulder, and felt her body stiffen beneath his fingers. He quickly dropped his hand, afraid that he'd offended her somehow, and then realized that she was staring out at something, a look of pure amazement on her delicate features.
Carlos followed her gaze, looking out and up to see a giant, three- or four-story tower looming over them, silhouetted against a backdrop of clouded night sky. A glowing white clock face near the top read that it was almost midnight.
"Somebody loves us, Carlos," Jill said, and Carlos could only nod mutely.
They had reached the clock tower.
* * *
Nicholai walked along the moonlit tracks, not bothering to conceal himself as he plodded west. He'd be able to see anything coming and kill it long before it reached him; he was in a foul mood and almost welcomed the opportunity to blow the guts out of something, human or otherwise.
His anger had abated somewhat, giving way to a rather fatalistic state of mind. It no longer seemed feasible for him to track down the dying platoon leader and two young soldiers—basically, there just wasn't enough time. It would take at least an hour for him to make it to the clock tower; assuming they could figure out how to ring the bells, they'd be long gone by the time he got there.
Nicholai scowled, working to remind himself that his plans hadn't changed, that he still had an agenda to fulfill. Four people were unwittingly waiting for him.