At least it was David covering them; he was amaz– ing, cool and efficient, and with as quick a mind as she'd ever encountered. It was like he knew just what to do – instantly, no matter what happened. Even now – David had said that they'd probably be doing a straight-across sweep, starting at one end or the other and checking each building in teams. Military strategist, no kidding. Claire ran over what he'd told them again, not so much a plan as a what-if list. But still, just having something to concentrate on was a relief.

If only one team comes in, three or less, we stay quiet, don't move until they leave, head to the door across from where they entered and wait. When we hear them on the other side, we head out and run for the fence. If they come in and spot us, we shoot; we pick off the others one at a time as they come through the door, then climb down, then run. If there are two or more teams, wait 'til David throws the grenade and then shoot; same if they've got night-vision, the grenade'll blind 'em. If they manage to return fire, we climb down the back, use the crates as cover…

The other variables disappeared as she heard the other door being shaken. Shaken and then kicked. Thunk! The door blew open, a square of pale light appear-ing in the blackness. The bright beam of a flashlight pierced the dark, flitting across a wall of boxes, then turning back toward the door. A soft click – and then a whispered curse. "What?" A different voice, also whispering. "Lights are out." A pause, and then, "Well, come on. They're probably in the other one anyway, they didn't get all the way through the lock on this one." Thank God. Way to go, David. The two were going to search, but they didn't suspect their presence. A second beam appeared, and Claire could see the vaguest human shapes silhouetted behind the two powerful lights, both of them men by the voices. They started to move forward, the beams dancing over the stacks of boxes and crates. Stay quiet, don't move, wait. Claire closed her eyes, not wanting for either of the men to feel watched; she'd heard once that that was the trick to hiding. Not to look. "I'll take south," one of the voices whispered, and Claire wondered if they had any idea how well sound carried in the open space. We can hear you, numbnuts. A funny thought, but she was scared. At least the zombies hadn't had guns… The lights split, one heading away from them, the other turning in their direction. It stayed low, at least; whoever was holding the flashlight apparently didn't realize that people could climb boxes.

Fine by me, just hurry up and get out of here, let us sneak out of this without having to fight! David said that they'd come back for John and Leon when Um– brella had cleared out; he said they'd probably post a guard, maybe two, but that taking out a guard would be a lot easier than taking out an entire squad -

–and a light was shining in Claire's face, the blinding beam hitting her eyes. "Hey!" A surprised shout from below, and then bam, a shot fired, and she felt as much as heard something beneath her give, as Rebecca gasped, as the tower of boxes tipped backwards. Claire's back hit the wall and she grabbed at the shifting crate they'd been lying on, a chorus of shouts coming from outside, the orange burst of thundering muzzle fire coming from David's weapon…… and with a shuddering crash, all the crates went tumbling down, and Claire plummeted into the dark.

When he heard the mighty flap of wings and the shrieking cries, John felt his skin go cold. He didn't like birds, never had, and to run into a flock of Umbrella birds, in a sterile, surreal forest… "Balls," he said, and raised the M-16, pressing the plastic stock tight against his shoulder. Leon's was also pointed up, the ceiling at least fifteen feet above where the tallest trees stopped and painted a deep twilight blue. The trees ranged in height from ten to maybe twenty-five, thirty feet and at the very top, John saw that there were perching "branches" grafted on, each as big around as a basketball.

Bird's gotta have some pretty big goddamn feet to need that to land on…

The piping screams had stopped, and John didn't hear the beat of wings anymore, but he wondered how long it would be before the birds decided to look for prey. "Pterodactyls, gotta be," Cole whispered, his voice cracking. "Dacs." "You're kidding," John breathed, and could see the skinny Umbrella worker shake his head in his periph– eral vision.

"Maybe not real ones, it's just a nickname I heard."

Cole sounded distinctly terrified. "Let's head for that door," Leon said, alreadyedging into the false, shadowy woods.

Amen to that.

John started after him, ten, fifteen feet, trying to look up and watch his step at the same time. He tripped almost immediately, one boot kicking against a molded plastic rock, and barely caught himself from going into a full sprawl. "This ain't gonna work," he said. "Cole, Henry?" He glanced back and saw that Cole was still hud-dled against the hatch, his pale, weasely face turned up to the sky.

– ceiling, dammit

Leon had stopped and was waiting, peering up into the spaced branches. "Gotcha covered," he said. John walked back, angry and frustrated and seri– ously uncomfortable; they were in a tight spot, David and the girls could very well be fighting for their lives on the surface, and he wasn't going to waste time coddling some freaked-out Umbrella hump. Still, they couldn't just leave him behind, at least not without making an effort. "Henry. Hey, Cole." John reached out and tapped his arm, and Cole finally looked at him. His mild brown eyes were positively glassy with fear. John sighed, feeling a little pity for the guy. He was an electrician, for hell's sake, and it seemed that ignorance had been his only real crime.

"Look. I understand you're scared, but if you stay here, you're going to get killed. Leon and I have both had run-ins with Umbrella pets; your best chance is to come with us – and besides, we could use your help, you know more about this place than we do. Okay?" Cole nodded shakily. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just -

– I'm scared." "Join the club. Birds give me the creeps. The flying part's cool, but they're so weird, got those beady eyes and scaly feet – and have you ever seen a buzzard? They got scrotum heads." John mock-shivered, and saw Cole relax a little bit, even trying on a quivery smile. "Okay," Cole said again, more firmly. They walked back to where Leon was standing, still watching the air above.

"Henry, since we got the guns, how 'bout you lead?" John asked. "Leon and I will keep watch, and we'll need a clear route so we won't have to worry about tripping over stuff. Think you can handle it?"

Cole nodded, and though he still looked too pale, John could see that he would hold together. For a while, anyway. Their guide stepped in front of Leon and headed roughly southwest, weaving a crooked path through the strange forest. Leon and John followed, John realizing pretty quick that having Cole lead didn't make much of a difference.

If you don't look where you're going, you're going to trip, John thought wearily, after the sixth time he ran into a fallen "log." No way around it. The Dacs, as Cole called them, hadn't put in an appearance or made any other sound. Just as well; John thought walking through a plastic forest was enough for them to handle. It was a bizarre sensation, seeing the realistic-looking trees and undergrowth, feeling the moisture in the air, but also being aware that there were no smells of earth or growing things, no wind or tiny sounds of movement, no bugs. It was a dream-like experience, and an unnerving one. John was still edging forward, his gaze fixed on the crisscross of branches overhead, when Cole stopped. "We're… there's kind of a clearing here," he said. Leon turned, frowning at John. "Should we skirt it?" John stepped forward, peering through the seem– ingly random scatter of trees to the opening ahead. It was at least fifty feet across, but John would rather they go out of their way; being dive-bombed by a pterodactyl didn't sound like fun at all.