He glared at her, determined to stay in character.
"And speaking of who-what-why, what are you doing here?" he snapped. "What were you doing in that restaurant? And what was that thing that you blew up?"
Jill held his gaze for another second, then dropped her own, sighing. "I'm trying to get out, too. That thing is one of Umbrella's monsters, it's hunting me, and I doubt very much that it's dead, even now – which means I'm not safe. I thought there might be… I was looking for a kind of key, I thought it might be at the restaurant." "What kind of key?" he asked, but somehow, he thought he already knew.
"It's this jewel, it's part of a locking mechanism to the City Hall gate. There are two jewels, actually, and I've got one already. If I can get the other one, get the gate open, there's a way out of town – a cable car that runs west, out to the suburbs."
Carlos kept his face neutral, but he was jumping be-neath his skin. What had Trent said?
Go west, for one thing… and when I find out wherethe blue gem is, I'll understand their relevance… butwhat does this mean about Jill Valentine? Do I trusther now, or not? What does she know?"No shit," he said, keeping his tone mild. "I sawsomething like that, in the basement at the restaurant. Agreen gem."Jill's eyes widened. "Really? If we can get it… Car-los, we have to go back!"If that's my name," he said, caught somewhere be-tween irritation and amusement. She seemed to leapfrom mood to mood, brisk then funny then angry thenexcited; it was kind of tiring, and he still wasn't surewhether or not he could turn his back on her. Sheseemed to be sincere…"I'm sorry," she said, touching his arm lightly. "Ishouldn't have said that, it's just – Umbrella and Iaren't on the best of terms. There was a biohazardousincident at one of their labs, here, about six weeks ago.People died. And now this."
Carlos melted a little at the warmth of her hand.Jesus, but he was a sucker for un primor, and she wassomething to look at."Carlos Oliveira," he said, "at your service."Down, boy. Head out of town, says Trent, but are yousure you want to travel with someone who might end upkilling you? You want to clear your head before youtake off with the cuero Miss Valentine.Immediately he started arguing with himself. Yeah,be careful, but are you going to leave her all alone?She said that monster was after her…
He joked about it sometimes, but he wasn't truly a sexist; she could take care of herself, as she'd already proven. And if she was one of Umbrella's spies… well, she deserved what she got, then, didn't she?
"I… I wouldn't feel right about leaving without at least trying to find some of the others," he said, and now that he knew there was a way out, he realized it was true. Even an hour ago, the thought would have been ridiculous; now, armed with Trent's information, everything had changed. He was still scared, sure, but actually knowing something about the situation made him feel less vulnerable somehow. In spite of the risks, he wanted to walk a few more blocks before he left town, make some attempt to help someone. He wanted time to think, to make up his mind.
That… and knowing that she survived means that I can, too. "I saw the gate you're talking about, the one over by the newspaper office, si? Why don't I meet you there… or better yet, at the cable car." Jill frowned, then nodded. "Okay. I'll go back to the restaurant while you look around, and I'll wait for you at the trolley. Once you go through the gate, just follow the path and keep to the left, you'll see signs for Lons-daleYard."
For a few seconds, neither spoke, and Carlos saw, in the careful way she looked at him, that Jill had her own misgivings about him. Her leeriness made him trust her a little more; if she was anti-Umbrella, it made sense that she wouldn't be too hot on hanging out with one of their employees.
Stop debating it and just go, for Christ's sake! "Don't leave without me," Carlos said, meaning for it to come out lightly. He sounded dead serious. "Don't make me wait too long," she returned and smiled, and he thought that maybe she was okay after all. Then she turned and jogged lightly away, back down the walk they'd entered by. Carlos watched her leave, wondering if he was crazy for not going with her – and after a moment, he turned and walked quickly toward the other exit before he could change his mind. For someone who was bleeding like a stuck pig, Mikhail was surprisingly swift. For at least twenty min-utes Nicholai had followed the trail of dark droplets through a blockade, over gravel and asphalt, grass and debris, and still he hadn't sighted the dying man.
Perhaps dying is too strong a word, considering…
Nicholai had planned to give up if he wasn't able to find the platoon leader after a few minutes, but the longer he searched, the more determined he became.
He found himself getting angry, too – how dare Mikhail run from his just punishment? Who did he think he was, wasting Nicholai's precious time? To frustrate him even further, Mikhail had covered quite a distance and was leading him back into town; another block or so and he'd be at the RPD building again. Nicholai opened another door, scanned another room, sighed. Mikhail had to know that he was being followed – or he just didn't have the good sense to lay down and die. Either way, it wouldn't, couldn't be long now. Nicholai walked through a small, orderly office, ap-parently attached to a parking garage, the erratic blood trail shining purple on the blue linoleum by the caged bare bulbs overhead. The splatters seemed to be thin-ning; either Mikhail was bleeding out – unlikely, it seemed – or he had found time to staunch his wound. Nicholai gritted his teeth, reassuring himself, He'll be weak, slowing down, perhaps looking for a place to rest. I saw the hit, he can't go on much longer.
He stepped out into the dark, cavernous garage, the cold air thick with the smells of gasoline and grease and something else. He stopped, breathed deeply. A weapon had been fired recently, he was sure of it. He moved quickly and silently across the cement, edging around a white van that blocked one of the rows of cars, and saw what appeared to be a dog sprawled in a puddle of blood, its strange body curled in a fetal po-sition. He hurried toward it, disgusted and thrilled at once. They'd warned him about the dogs, how quickly they became infected, and he knew that research had been conducted on their viability as weapons at the Spencer estate…… and they were deemed too dangerous when they turned on their handlers. Untrainable, and their decay rate higher than the other organics.
Truly, the half-skinned animal at his feet looked and smelled like a piece of raw meat that had sat in the sun for too long. Accustomed as he was to death, Nicholai still felt his gorge rise at the stench, but he continued to study the creature, certain that the canine had been the target of recent gunplay. Sure enough. Two entry wounds below the torn flap of its left ear… but not from an M16, the holes were much too big. Nicholai backed away, frowning. Some-one besides Mikhail Victor had come through the garage in the last half hour, and probably not a
U.B.C.S. soldier, unless they'd brought their own weapon, probably a handgun… Nicholai heard something. His head snapped up, his attention on the exit door, ahead at two o'clock. A soft sliding sound, an infected human brushing against the door, perhaps – or perhaps a wounded man, slumped and dying against the exit, too exhausted to press on. Nicholai moved toward the door, hopeful and grinned at the sound of Mikhail's voice, strained and weak, floating past the aging metal.
"No… get away!"
Nicholai eagerly pushed the door open, wiping the smile off his face as he assessed the situation. A vast wrecking yard, gated, vehicles piled in a useless barri-cade, two more dead dogs limp on the cold ground. Mikhail lay next to the garage door, partially propped against the wall and trying desperately to lift his rifle. His pale face was beaded with sweat and his hands shook wildly. Five meters away, half of a person was pulling it-self toward the downed man on shredded fingertips, its rot-sexless face corrupted into a leering perma-grin. Its progress was achingly slow but constant; it seemed that having no lower body – certainly not a complete diges-tive system – didn't stop the carrier from wanting to eat.