Chase Sequence
((THNM for the first week of December, 2006))
They had to be tracking her. There was no other way the goons in the SUV could have kept finding her.
Whoever was driving their car was simply better at it than Claire was, but the LA traffic should've been a decent equalizer. Claire, unlike them, didn't care if the cops got involved, so she felt pretty good about driving along the shoulder for long distances. The gridlock worked well for that, if for nothing else.
She tried to get out of the car long enough to gear up and call Chris, or maybe Parnelli at the LAPD, but she'd just gotten the kit bag out of her trunk when the SUV pulled around a corner down the street. Claire threw the bag into her passenger seat and drove off, trunk open, as a hail of gunfire tore into the body of the car.
One bullet found a tire, but she hadn't gotten up enough speed yet to do anything spectacular. Instead, her steering and acceleration just went to hell. Claire put the pedal down anyway, and before too long, the right back wheel was making a winding metal-on-roadside grind.
She wrenched the wheel right, cutting off three separate cars and turning into a parking garage. As the car hit the ramp, Claire grabbed the kit bag, kicked open her door, jumped out, and let the car roll down the ramp to crash into a bright yellow pylon. Claire managed to hit the ground without breaking anything she really needed, and ducked into one of the stairwells.
Claire slipped behind the staircase, and as quietly as she could, removed her tactical vest from the bag and put it on. Behind her, she could hear people coming into the crash site to rubberneck, right up until the SUV, loud and obnoxious, came into the garage.
The doors opened, and people got out. At the same time, other people made startled strangled exclamation sounds and ran the hell away. Claire listened to this and nodded; okay, so they had their weapons out. They'd completely abandoned the attempt at subtlety.
Claire had packed that morning to deal with anything up to and including a Tyrant. She reached into the kit bag and took out her M79, then flipped it open.
"Okay," one of the men said, "she's gone to ground. Dossier said she's a tricky one, but she doesn't have any real training--"
Claire loaded the M79, slowly closed it, and moved out from behind the stairs.
"--and she's alone. I want you and you to head up. You and me, we'll head down. We have to make absolutely sure--"
Claire pushed the door of the stairs open and came out into the open, the grenade launcher up and leveled at the SUV. The man doing the talking saw her a split-second before she fired.
The SUV lifted up into the air, and would've flipped over entirely if it hadn't hit the ceiling. In that enclosed space, the shockwave from Claire's concussion round spread out wide, flattening the men and sending one flying into the far wall with a bonebreaking crack. Another had just rolled to a stop when the burning wreck of the SUV landed on top of him.
The leader was thrown into the windshield of a parked BMW, and lay there without moving.
Claire dropped the launcher, drew her forty-five, and walked up to the last man, who was groaning and prone several feet away from the explosion. Around them, every car alarm on the block was going off simultaneously, accompanied by the shallow roar of foot traffic.
"At least two more," Claire said to herself, and pointed the forty-five at the last man's head from several feet away. "You're under arrest."
The man looked blearily up at her, then collapsed, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard.
"I think I can arrest you, anyway."
"And...?"
"And nothing," Claire says to Bromwell. "They were ghost people. No records, no ID, no serial numbers on the weapons. They'd all even had their fingers burnt, so no fingerprints."
Bromwell nods, like this makes sense to him, and refills his glass. "Not entirely unusual for Umbrella's men. They actually briefly experimented with humanoid mutants for just that purpose... the 'Cleaners,' they were called. They were considered too expensive in the long run, however..."
"So there are more of those guys running around?"
"There are many things like them in the general rotation, young lady," Bromwell says. "Following Umbrella's official dissolution, it left many men with much to hide with nowhere to hide. 2001 was a bloody year, and 2002 was worse. Now that things have finally settled down into something resembling a status quo... here you all are. The leading enemies of this secret industry, all banded together and officially backed. It's a nightmare scenario."
Claire pats her vest, making sure the tape recorder is still humming in a way that sort of suggests it's working. After a moment's deliberation, she presses Stop. "Look. I don't care about any of that right now. I care about what happened to Martinson."
"Oh?"
"What he was infected with... that was T-Veronica, right? Alexia Ashford's project?"
Bromwell nods. "A derivative thereof, I'd imagine."
"I need you to tell me who has it and who's using it now."
Bromwell shrugs. "Fair enough. Globochem, I believe, or one of its shell corporations."
Claire writes the name on her hand, then stands up and points the pistol at Bromwell. "You're under arrest."
"I'm almost positive that your unit does not have that authority, young lady," Bromwell says softly, "and in any event, I won't live to see the inside of a cell."
Claire looks at the whiskey glass, thinking it's poisoned, which is all the distraction Bromwell needs. He's faster than a man of his age should be, and before Claire realizes what he's doing, he has a small derringer pressed against the hollow of his temple.
In the silence of his bedroom, the gunshot sounds louder than it is.
Claire watches the body slump over onto the desk, then takes out her phone and calls Chris.
They had to be tracking her. There was no other way the goons in the SUV could have kept finding her.
Whoever was driving their car was simply better at it than Claire was, but the LA traffic should've been a decent equalizer. Claire, unlike them, didn't care if the cops got involved, so she felt pretty good about driving along the shoulder for long distances. The gridlock worked well for that, if for nothing else.
She tried to get out of the car long enough to gear up and call Chris, or maybe Parnelli at the LAPD, but she'd just gotten the kit bag out of her trunk when the SUV pulled around a corner down the street. Claire threw the bag into her passenger seat and drove off, trunk open, as a hail of gunfire tore into the body of the car.
One bullet found a tire, but she hadn't gotten up enough speed yet to do anything spectacular. Instead, her steering and acceleration just went to hell. Claire put the pedal down anyway, and before too long, the right back wheel was making a winding metal-on-roadside grind.
She wrenched the wheel right, cutting off three separate cars and turning into a parking garage. As the car hit the ramp, Claire grabbed the kit bag, kicked open her door, jumped out, and let the car roll down the ramp to crash into a bright yellow pylon. Claire managed to hit the ground without breaking anything she really needed, and ducked into one of the stairwells.
Claire slipped behind the staircase, and as quietly as she could, removed her tactical vest from the bag and put it on. Behind her, she could hear people coming into the crash site to rubberneck, right up until the SUV, loud and obnoxious, came into the garage.
The doors opened, and people got out. At the same time, other people made startled strangled exclamation sounds and ran the hell away. Claire listened to this and nodded; okay, so they had their weapons out. They'd completely abandoned the attempt at subtlety.
Claire had packed that morning to deal with anything up to and including a Tyrant. She reached into the kit bag and took out her M79, then flipped it open.
"Okay," one of the men said, "she's gone to ground. Dossier said she's a tricky one, but she doesn't have any real training--"
Claire loaded the M79, slowly closed it, and moved out from behind the stairs.
"--and she's alone. I want you and you to head up. You and me, we'll head down. We have to make absolutely sure--"
Claire pushed the door of the stairs open and came out into the open, the grenade launcher up and leveled at the SUV. The man doing the talking saw her a split-second before she fired.
The SUV lifted up into the air, and would've flipped over entirely if it hadn't hit the ceiling. In that enclosed space, the shockwave from Claire's concussion round spread out wide, flattening the men and sending one flying into the far wall with a bonebreaking crack. Another had just rolled to a stop when the burning wreck of the SUV landed on top of him.
The leader was thrown into the windshield of a parked BMW, and lay there without moving.
Claire dropped the launcher, drew her forty-five, and walked up to the last man, who was groaning and prone several feet away from the explosion. Around them, every car alarm on the block was going off simultaneously, accompanied by the shallow roar of foot traffic.
"At least two more," Claire said to herself, and pointed the forty-five at the last man's head from several feet away. "You're under arrest."
The man looked blearily up at her, then collapsed, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard.
"I think I can arrest you, anyway."
"And...?"
"And nothing," Claire says to Bromwell. "They were ghost people. No records, no ID, no serial numbers on the weapons. They'd all even had their fingers burnt, so no fingerprints."
Bromwell nods, like this makes sense to him, and refills his glass. "Not entirely unusual for Umbrella's men. They actually briefly experimented with humanoid mutants for just that purpose... the 'Cleaners,' they were called. They were considered too expensive in the long run, however..."
"So there are more of those guys running around?"
"There are many things like them in the general rotation, young lady," Bromwell says. "Following Umbrella's official dissolution, it left many men with much to hide with nowhere to hide. 2001 was a bloody year, and 2002 was worse. Now that things have finally settled down into something resembling a status quo... here you all are. The leading enemies of this secret industry, all banded together and officially backed. It's a nightmare scenario."
Claire pats her vest, making sure the tape recorder is still humming in a way that sort of suggests it's working. After a moment's deliberation, she presses Stop. "Look. I don't care about any of that right now. I care about what happened to Martinson."
"Oh?"
"What he was infected with... that was T-Veronica, right? Alexia Ashford's project?"
Bromwell nods. "A derivative thereof, I'd imagine."
"I need you to tell me who has it and who's using it now."
Bromwell shrugs. "Fair enough. Globochem, I believe, or one of its shell corporations."
Claire writes the name on her hand, then stands up and points the pistol at Bromwell. "You're under arrest."
"I'm almost positive that your unit does not have that authority, young lady," Bromwell says softly, "and in any event, I won't live to see the inside of a cell."
Claire looks at the whiskey glass, thinking it's poisoned, which is all the distraction Bromwell needs. He's faster than a man of his age should be, and before Claire realizes what he's doing, he has a small derringer pressed against the hollow of his temple.
In the silence of his bedroom, the gunshot sounds louder than it is.
Claire watches the body slump over onto the desk, then takes out her phone and calls Chris.