Nemesis (Resident Evil) by Perry S. D

Author:Perry, S. D. [Perry, S. D.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Titan Books
Published: 2012-09-13T16:00:00+00:00

Mikhail was sinking, descending into the fevered delirium that would undoubtedly kill him. All Nicholai had been able to get out of the dying man was that Carlos had gone to get equipment to repair the trolley, and that he would be back soon. If there was any more, Nicholai would have to wait—until Mikhail’s fever broke or Carlos returned, neither of which seemed likely. Mikhail was only going to get worse, and the deep, rumbling explosion that had quaked the ground beneath the trolley, that had preceded a lightening of the night sky to the north, suggested that there had been a fire at the gas station—not necessarily Carlos’s fault, but Nicholai suspected that it probably was, and that Carlos Oliveira had burned to a crisp.

Which means I’ll have to find a power cable myself if I want a ride to the hospital.

Irritating, but it couldn’t be helped. Nicholai had found a box of spare fuses inside the station, as well as a five-gallon container of properly mixed machine oil, more than enough to get the cable car to the hospital—but no power cable, no wiring at all with which to bypass the shorted circuits. Nicholai wondered why Carlos hadn’t thought to break into the station’s maintenance room, and decided it was probably due to an absence of imagination.

“No... no, it can’t—fire! Fire at will, I think... I think...”

Nicholai looked up from his inspection of the trolley’s control panel, curious, but whatever Mikhail thought was lost as he dropped back into a troubled slumber, the ancient bench creaking beneath his restless movements. Pathetic. He could at least babble out something interesting.

Nicholai stood and stretched, turning toward the door. He’d already added the oil to the engine’s rudimentary tank system, but he’d taken the wrong kind of fuse. He’d get another one on his way back into town, probably all the way back to that same damned parking garage where he’d tracked Mikhail; he’d noticed some shelves of equipment there. All of the running back and forth was becoming tiresome, but at least most of the cannibals in the area had already been killed, so it wouldn’t take too long—and when he returned, he could reward himself for his efforts by telling Mikhail who was responsible for his impending death.

He stepped out into the train’s yard, thinking vaguely about where he might sleep for the night, when he saw two figures stumbling toward the trolley, their forms half hidden in the sparse light from a dying fire in the northwest corner of the yard. They drew closer, and he saw that Carlos had managed to escape death after all and had brought a woman with him, undoubtedly the same woman who’d told him about the trolley. Both were singed, their exposed skin reddened and grimy with ash; perhaps he hadn’t been that far off the mark about who had started that fire...

...and once again, let the games begin!

“Carlos! Are you injured? Either of you?” He stepped forward so they could see him clearly, could see the deep concern on his face.

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