"Redfield was working for Umbrella, wasn't he?"

Even saying it aloud, Irons could see that it was the truth and his anger swelled up like a red tide, an acid heat that flushed through his veins and made him feel sick.

Even my employees, all along. Treasonous Umbrella puppets. "The Spencer estate, the accusations against Um-brella… it was all a setup, they had him stirring up trouble to… to distract me so they could steal Birkin's new virus…"

Irons took a step toward the girl, barely able to keep himself from pulling the trigger in spite of his plans. The girl, Claire, took a step back, holding up her hands, palms out, as if to ward off his righteous fury.

"That's how the S.T.A.R.S. knew to get out of town," he snarled, "they were warned to get out of town before the T-Virus leak!"

He took another step forward, but Claire had stopped, her eyes going even wider. "You mean Chris isn't here?"

Her small, hopeful whisper only fed the red, burn– ing heat that pounded through him and the feelings were so powerful that they transcended rage, focusing his intentions into something brutal and precise. It wasn't enough that he'd been betrayed by Umbrella and the S.T.A.R.S., it wasn't enough that he'd been manipulated, tormented, hunted.

No. No, I have to be lied to by this little girl, a spy and an assassin from a family of traitors, A lifetime devoted to service, a lifetime of hard-won experience and self-sacrifice, and this is my reward. "A slap in the face," he said, his voice as cold as this new savagery that filled him up, transforming him into the hunter. "Treating me like an idiot. You don't even have enough respect to lie well."

He extended the nine-millimeter and walked to– ward her, each step measured and deliberate and her fear was real this time, he could see it in the way she stumbled back, her lips trembling, her young chest heaving in a most delicious way. She was terrified, trying to look for a weapon and watch him and get away all at the same time, succeeding at none of them as he marched forward. "I have the power," he said, "this is my Sanctuary, this is my domain. You are the intruder. You are the liar, you are the evil – and I'm going to skin you alive. I'm going to make you scream, you bitch, I'm going to make you wish you were never born. Whatever they paid you, it wasn't enough."

She backed against one of the shelves, tripping over the leg of the worktable, almost falling on top of the covered trap door in the corner. Irons followed, feeling that beautiful, exciting power course through him, feeling excited by her helplessness.

"Please, you don't want to do this, I'm not who you think I am!"

Her pathetic entreaties made him stop and laugh, wanting to add to her terror, wanting for her to know that his control was absolute. She was wedged be-tween a trophy shelf and the covered pit, and Irons stayed a safe distance away, enjoying the look in her glistening, overbright eyes – the panic of a trapped animal, a soft, warm, powerless animal of tender, pliable flesh… Irons licked his lips, his hungry gaze traveling over her limber, smooth, cowering form. Another trophy, another body to transform… and it was time to get down to business, to…

"Graaagh!" What the…

The board that covered the subbasement entrance flew into the air, splitting with a tremendous crack, one jagged piece hitting Irons's hip. He staggered, not understanding – he was in control and yet something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Something wrapped around his ankle, something that squeezed so tight he heard the bone being crushed, felt incredible, spiking pain travel up his leg…… and he locked gazes with the girl, her eyes bright with a new terror, and in that instant of contact, of clarity, he wanted to teil her so much, wanted to tell her that he was a good man, a man who'd never deserved any of what had happened to him…… and the vise-like grip jerked, and Irons was falling, dropping the gun, pulled into the pit by the screaming and the pain and the beast that waited for him below.

NINETEEN

One minute, irons was standing in front of her, staring into her eyes with a terrible, wrenching sorrow…… and in the next, he was gone. Yanked into a hole in the floor by an arm that she only caught a glimpse of, a muscular, dripping arm with foot-long claws. It whipped out of sight, taking Irons with it into the darkness below. There was another scream from the creature, a powerful, lusty howl that was matched and then surpassed by the intensity of Irons's terrified shriek. Frozen by the piercing screams, Claire could only listen, shock and relief and fear for herself battling through her as the horrible cries swept up through the open hole, pounding her ears in the cold, dismal dungeon that Irons had created…… until his cries burbled to a stop, only a second or two later and the slurping, meaty, wet noises began. Claire moved. She scooped up the handgun that Irons had dropped and ran around the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to be grabbed and pulled under like he had.

It killed him, it killed him and he was going to kill me…

The reality of what had just happened, what would have happened, hit her all at once, turning her limbs into rubber. Claire forced herself a few more steps away from the open pit and collapsed against one sweating stone wall, taking in great, whooping breaths of the bitterly scented air. He had been planning to kill her, but not right away. She'd seen the way his mad gaze had crawled over her body, heard the eager anticipation in his crazy laugh. There was a low, grunting sound from the corner, a bestial sound, the growl of a well-fed lion. Claire turned, raising the heavy gun, astounded that she could feel any more horror…… and something burst up from the hole, some– thing with flailing arms, and Claire fired, the shot going wide. A glass bottle on a shelf exploded as the thing hit the floor…… and it was Irons, but only half of him. He had been neatly bisected, cut in two by the thing that had snatched him; everything below the fleshy waist was gone, trails of torn skin and muscle hanging down over the oozing pool of blood that had replaced his legs. Claire backed toward the door, the weapon still trained on the opening and heard the creature, the monster scream again, an echoing howl that faded away, falling away into some distance that she couldn't imagine. A second later, she couldn't hear it at all; it was gone.

Sherry's monster. That was Sherry's monster.

She edged slowly toward the mangled corpse of Chief Irons, toward the empty, yawning blackness of the hole, but it wasn't all blackness. She could see light filtering up from somewhere, enough to see that there was another floor below, what looked like the metal grid pattern of a catwalk and a ladder leading toil.

A subbasement… a way out?

She stepped back from the opening, her thoughts racing and disorganized, trying to absorb the infor– mation along with what Irons had told her. Chris wasn't in Raccoon, the S.T.A.R.S. were gone – a wonderful, terrible relief, because it meant he was safe, but also that he wasn't about to come running in to save the day. There had been a spill at Umbrella, which explained the zombies, at least, but what he'd said about Birkin, about Birkin's virus… was that Sherry's father?

And maybe the zombies are the result of some laboratory accident, but what about all the other things, Mr. X and the inside-out men?

The way Irons had ranted about Umbrella sug– gested that while the accident was unexpected, the pharmaceutical company wasn't some innocent vic– tim. What had he called it? "T-Virus," she said softly, and shivered. "There was Birkin's new virus, and there was the T-Virus…"

The zombie disease had a name. And you didn't name something unless you knew something about it, which meant…… which meant she didn't know what it meant. All she knew was that she and Sherry needed to get out of Raccoon, and the subbasement might be a way. It wasn't a dead end, the monster that had killed Irons had gone somewhere…