Barry had been gone for too long.

Jill had no idea how extensive the tunnels were, but from what she'd seen they all looked alike. Barry could be lost, trying to find his way back. Or he could have found the murderer, and without any backup…

He might not come back at all.

None of them seemed likely, but she had to at least consider the possibility. Enrico was dead. And she no longer doubted that Umbrella had one of the S. T. A. R. S. in their pocket.

In any case, staying put wasn't going to help anything. She stood up, taking a last look at the Bravo's pale face and silently wishing him peace before walking away.

What did he find out that got him killed? Who was it?

Enrico had only managed to get out that the traitor was a he, but that didn't exactly narrow things down; except for herself and the rookie, the Raccoon S. T. A. R. S. were all male. She could rule out Chris, since he'd been convinced from the start that there was something weird going on and now Barry, who'd been with her when Marini died. Brad Vickers simply wasn't the type to do anything dangerous, and Joseph and Kenneth were dead -- which leaves Richard Aiken, Forest Speyer, and Albert Wesker.

Jill instinctively used the sound as cover, taking several sliding steps forward and reaching the next metal door just as the rumbling stopped. She slipped back out into the tunnel where she'd run into Barry, gently closing the door behind her.

When she got to the door, she quickly leaned down and tightened her damp boot laces, preparing herself.

She eased open the metal door, listening, and then edged out into the dim tunnel, staying close to the wall. In front of her, the corridor was unlit. She opted to head back the way she'd come instead; the darkness was a perfect spot for an ambush. She didn't want to find out she was wrong about the killer's intentions by taking a bullet.

A low, grinding rumble reverberated through the heavy stone walls, a sound like something big moving.

Whoever had shot the Bravo could have just as easily taken her and Barry out -- and since he hadn't, she could only figure that he didn't want to kill anyone else, and wouldn't be looking for more targets. Assuming that he was still in the underground system, she'd have to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to find him; the tunnels were perfect sound conductors, amplifying even the tiniest sound.

What the hell was that? It sounded like an entire wall moving!

She shuddered, remembering the descending ceiling of that room in the house. Maybe the tunnels were rigged, too; she needed to watch every step. The idea of being crunched to death by some bizarre mechanism underground…

Like the one next to that pit, with the hexagonal hole?

She reached for the door that would lead her back and stopped, her head cocked to catch the strange sound coming from the tunnel behind her. It was a rusty hinge? Some kind of a bird, maybe? It was loud, whatever it was…

She could be wrong, but there was no harm in checking.

She nodded slowly, deciding that she needed to go take another look at those doors she couldn't get to before. Maybe the killer had the tool it required, and the noise she'd heard had come from him operating it.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That sound she knew. Footsteps, headed in her direction, and it was either Barry or someone built like him. They were heavy, plodding, but too far apart, too… deliberate.

And at least I won't get lost.

She took several running steps down the stone corridor, away from the ladder that led back to the courtyard and then forced herself to slow down, taking a deep breath. She couldn't just go sprinting ahead, either; there were other dangers than the one she'd left behind.

Although she sometimes misread them, her instincts were never wrong and they were telling her that whoever or whatever was making that sound, she didn't want to be there when it showed up.

Get out of here. Now!

Behind her, the door opened.

Jill grabbed at the metal latch and ran into the next tunnel, no longer caring how much noise she made.

Jill turned, raising her Beretta and stared in horror at the thing standing there. It was huge, shaped like a man, but the resemblance stopped there. Naked but sexless, its entire muscular body was covered with a pebbled, amphibious skin, shaded a dark green. It was hunched over so that its impossibly long arms almost touched the floor, both its hands and feet tipped with thick, brutal claws. Tiny, light-colored eyes peered out at her from a flat reptilian skull.

It turned its strange gaze toward her, dropped its wide -- hinged jaw and let out a tremendous, high-pitched screech like nothing she'd ever heard before, the sound echoing around her, filling her with mortal terror.

Jill fired, three shots that smacked into the creature's chest and sent it reeling backwards. It stumbled, fell against the tunnel wall and with another terrible shriek it sprang at her, pushing off the stones with powerful legs, its claws outstretched and grasping.

She fired again and again as it flew toward her, the bullets tearing into its puckered flesh, ribbons of dark blood coiling away and it landed in a heaving crouch only a few feet in front of her, screaming, one massive arm snaking out to swipe at her legs. A musky, moldy animal smell washed over her, a smell like dark places and feral rage.

-- Jesus why won't it die --

Jill trained the Beretta on the back of its skull and emptied the clip. Even as the green flesh splattered away and bone splintered, she continued to fire, the hot slugs ripping into the pulpy, pinkish mass of its brain.

Still staring at the fallen monster, she ejected the empty magazine and loaded a fresh clip before holstering the Beretta. She reached back and unstrapped the Remington, taking comfort in the solid, balanced weight of the shotgun.

It seemed that the Umbrella researchers had invented more than just a virus -- something just as deadly, but with claws…

No more bullets. She lowered the weapon, her entire body shaking. It was over, the creature was dead, but it had taken almost an entire clip, fifteen nine-millimeter rounds, the last seven or eight at close range…

What the hell were you people working on out here?

Click. Click. Click.

She'd never had a more horrifying thought. Holding the Remington close, Jill turned and ran.

Chris and Rebecca walked down a long, wooden hallway, warily glancing up with every other step.

And there could be more of them.

There was what looked like dried, dead ivy poking out of every crack and crevice where the walls met the ceiling, a bone-colored growth that scaled across the planks like a fungus. It looked harmless, but after what Rebecca had read to him about Plant 42, Chris kept himself ready to move quickly.

After going through the rest of the papers in the trunk, Rebecca had come up with a report on some kind of an herbicide that could apparently be mixed in Point 42, called V-Jolt. She'd brought it along, though Chris doubted it would be useful. All he wanted was to find the exit, and if they could avoid the killer plant, so much the better.

The front hall had been clear of the growth, though Chris wasn't prepared to call it secured. Besides the two bedrooms by the front door, there had been a rec room that had been distinctly creepy. Chris had looked inside and immediately felt his internal alarms going off, though he hadn't known why; there'd been no danger that he could see, just a bar and a couple of tables. In spite of the seeming calm, he had closed the door quickly and they'd moved on. His gut feeling was enough of a reason to leave it alone.

They stopped in front of the only door in the long, meandering stretch of hallway, both of them still glancing nervously at the scaling ivy near the ceiling.

Chris pushed at the knob, and the door swung open.

There was a faint whispering coming from inside the room, a subtle sense of movement and Chris realized that it was coming from the sickly plant matter itself, the walls quivering in a weird optical illusion as the draping tendrils crept and grew.

Warm, humid air flooded out of the shadowy room, thick and tropical, but with a nasty undertone, like the taint of spoiled fruit. Chris instinctively pushed Rebecca behind him as he saw the walls of the chamber. They were completely covered in the same kind of strange, straggling growth that was in the hall, but here, the scaling ivy was lush and bloated, a bilious verdant green.

She shook her head, staring at the whispering walls. "That's not Plant 42, at least not the part the report talked about. Plant 42 is gonna be a lot bigger, and a lot more mobile. I never did much with phytobiology, but according to that study, we'll be looking for an angiosperm with motile foliage."

Rebecca started to step past him and Chris pushed her back. "What, are you nuts? I thought you said this thing sucks blood!"

Chris grimaced. "Great. Thanks for putting my mind at rest."

Chris led them toward the door opposite the entrance, figuring it as the most likely to lead out of the bunkhouse.

They edged into the large room, careful not to walk too closely to the hissing walls. There were three doors besides the one they came through: one directly across from the entrance and the other two facing each other to their left, where the room opened up.

The door was unlocked, and Chris started to push it open…

She smiled a quick, nervous smile. "Sorry. Think of a great big plant bulb with ten to twenty foot vines waving around it."

BAM!

The door slammed shut, causing them both to jump back, weapons raised. A series of heavy, sliding thumps followed, like someone on the other side was kicking at the walls -- except the sounds were everywhere, above and below the door's sturdy frame, beating against every corner of the sealed room.

"Lots of vines, you said?" Chris asked.

Rebecca nodded. "I think we just found Plant 42."

They listened for a moment, Chris thinking about the kind of strength and weight it would take to slam the door so solidly.

There was another series of dull thumps from behind the far wall and they quickly moved back into the humid, whispering room, Chris fighting a growing certainty that they were going to have to deal with the plant if they wanted to get out.

They backed away, turning into the open area and looking at the other two doors. The one on their right had the number "002" above it. Chris fished out the keys he'd found and flipped through them, finding one with a matching number.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, Rebecca behind him. There was a smaller door to the left that opened to a bathroom, quiet and dusty. The room itself was another bedroom, a bunk, a desk, a couple of shelves. Nothing of interest.

No kidding, bigger and more mobile… and maybe blocking the only exit to this place. Terrific.

Not necessarily, there could still be another way…

The way things had been going so far, he didn't think so. From the shuffling zombies lurking in the main house to the run through the courtyard, snakes dropping from the trees, every part of the Spencer estate seemed to be designed to keep them from leaving.

Chris shook the negative thoughts aside as they approached the shadowy chamber's final door, but they came rushing back at the sight of the small green keypad set next to the frame. He rattled the knob but there was no give. It was another dead end.

"Security lock," he said, sighing. "No way to get in without the code."

Rebecca frowned down at the pattern of tiny red lights set above the numbered buttons. "We could just try numbers until we run across the right combination."

Chris shook his head. "You know what our chances are of just stumbling across the right…"

He stopped, staring at her, then fumbled the key ring out of his pocket.

Come on, Mr. Alias, don't fail us now.

"Try three-four-five," he said, watching eagerly as Rebecca dutifully punched in the number.

Chris grinned, pushing the door open and felt his hope dwindle as he glanced around the tiny room.

The pattern of red lights flashed, then blinked out, one by one. As the last tiny light faded, there was a click from inside the door.

Dusty shelves filled with tiny glass bottles and a rust stained sink; not the exit he'd expected.

No, that would have been too easy, God knows we can't have that…

Rebecca walked quickly to one of the shelves and looked over the glass bottles, mumbling to herself. "Hyoscyamine, anhydride, dieldrin…"

She turned back to him, grinning widely. "Chris, we can kill the plant! That V-Jolt, the phytotoxin -- I can make it here. If we can get to the basement, find the plant's root."

Chris smiled back. "Then we can destroy it without having to fight the damned thing! Rebecca, you're brilliant. How long do you need?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes."

"You got it. Stay here, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Rebecca was already pulling down bottles as Chris closed the door and jogged back toward the corridor, past the whispering walls of shadowy green.

They were going to beat this place, and once they got out, Umbrella was going down hard.

Barry was standing over Enrico's cold body, Wesker's map crumpled in one hand. Jill had been gone when he'd returned and rather than look for her, he'd found himself unable to move, to even tear his gaze away from the corpse of his murdered friend.

It's my fault. If I hadn't helped Wesker get out of the house, you'd still be alive…

He's got Kathy and the babies, Rico… what else could I have done? What can I do but follow his orders?

Barry stared miserably at Enrico's face, so filled with guilt and shame that he didn't know what to do anymore. He knew he had to find Jill, keep her from getting to Wesker, keep his family from being hurt, but still, he couldn't seem to force himself to walk away. What he wanted more than anything was to be able to explain himself to Enrico, make him understand how things had come to be the way they were.

Jill!

Shots echoed through the tunnels. A lot of them.

Barry's head snapped around. He reached for his weapon automatically, the sounds spurring him to action as anger flushed through his system. There could only be one explanation; Wesker had found Jill.

The Bravo stared back at him with glazed, unseeing eyes. No accusation, no acceptance, no nothing. Forever. Even if Barry continued to help the captain and everything else turned out the way it was supposed to, Rico Marini would still be dead and Barry didn't know how he was going to live with the knowledge that he was responsible…

It screamed, a horrible, squealing cry and Barry didn't think anymore. He squeezed the trigger and the shriek turned into a bubbling, choking gasp as the heavy round tore into its throat and knocked it down.

Barry turned and ran, sick at the thought of another S. T. A. R. S. member dead by Wesker's treacherous hand, furious with himself for believing the captain's lies.

The door in front of him slammed open and Barry stopped dead in his tracks, all thoughts of Wesker and Jill and Enrico wiped away by the sight of the crouching thing in front of him. His mind couldn't grasp what he saw, his stunned gaze feeding him bits of information that didn't make sense. Green skin. Piercing, orange-white eyes. Talons.

The thing flailed its limbs wildly as blood spurted from the smoking hole. Barry heard several sharp cracks like breaking bones, saw more blood pour from its fists as long, thick claws snapped off against rock.

Barry stared in mute astonishment as the creature continued to spasm violently, burbling through the ragged hole in its throat as if still trying to scream.

The shot should have blown its head off its neck, but it was another full minute before it died, its frenzied thrashings gradually weakening as blood continued to pump out at a tremendous rate. Finally, it stopped moving and from the dark, noxious lake it had created, Barry realized that it had bled to death, conscious until the end.

What did I just kill? What the fu…

Barry dug into his hip pack with shaking hands and pulled out more rounds for the Colt, praying to God that he had enough and that those shots he'd heard before hadn't been Jill's last stand.

From the tunnel outside, another shrieking howl resounded through the clammy air and was joined by a second, then third. The animal cries rose up, furious and unnatural, the screams of creatures that shouldn't exist.