A loud thump and scuttling noise from above cut him short. He wheeled around to see an enormous shadow rear up where the ceiling met the wall. Scrambling backward, he took shelter behind a shelf.
Frantically looking around, Billy spied a sub-machine gun hanging by a strap from a deceased soldier tangled in webs above. To his left sat a ladder and cleaning tools - a broom and mop. Moving quickly but quietly, Billy set up the ladder beneath the soldier's dangling corpse.
Broom and mop in hand, he cautiously poked his head above the shelves. Across the warehouse, he could see the massive spider - at least ten feet tall - clutching George's lifeless body in its dripping fangs. Getting a closer look at its cluster of glassy gray eyes made Billy shudder.
Using the tips of the mop and broom, Billy carefully worked at the strap holding the gun in place. After several agonizing moments, it finally released, sending the weapon clattering to the floor along with his makeshift tools. The noise echoed deafeningly through the empty space. Billy ducked down just as the spider dropped George's body and scuttled toward the sound, footsteps amplified against the concrete floor.
The spindly legs of the spider can be heard approaching rapidly. Billy grabbed the Uzi, fumbling to disengage the safety as the hulking arachnid crashed through ceiling tiles. Bullets ricocheted wildly until one struck the overhead light, casting everything into inky darkness.
Billy scrambled backward until his back hit the wall, the spider's frenzied footsteps receding after its chilling shriek. Holding on the dim flashlight with his teeth, he did a quick check of the Uzi's magazine before pressing onward, hyperaware of any signs of movement in the eerie blood-red glow.
Reaching the first row of shelves, he paused, flashlight bobbing from side to side. At the next row, a dangling corpse jerked abruptly as if shoved. Breathing growing ragged, Billy continued while scanning the ceiling.
Before the third aisle, a heavy thud presaged the spider bursting from the floor right at him. Billy crashed backward in a barrage of gunfire as the creature changed course before reaching him. Tracking its retreat with the flashlight proved futile, the darkness swallowing it in an instant.
Billy pushed himself back up, flashlight clenched in his teeth while checking his ammo. He moved toward the next-to-last row when another thump sounded behind him. Whirling around, the flashlight revealed the spider mid-lunge just before it slammed into him, sending the light spinning away.
It rolled to illuminate the struggle, the arachnid's fangs clamped around the gun. With enormous effort, Billy wrenched the barrel around and fired point-blank into its mouth. It relinquished its grip with an ear-piercing shriek as the Uzi fell away. Seizing the opportunity, Billy buried his knife in the soft tissue beneath its jaws. Writhing in agony, the spider released him and disappeared into the gloom.
Scooping up the gun and flashlight, Billy followed the trail of oozing blood up the wall and onto the ceiling. Catching the glint of fluid dripping down, he anticipated its position and expended the remainder of his ammo overhead. The spider wailed as it fell backwards to the floor with a reverberating thud.
Clicking impotently at the empty gun, Billy cast it aside and grabbed the Molotov cocktail he had strapped around his waist. Flicking the lighter ablaze, he ignited the rag fuse and slowly approached the prone spider.
"I hope you like flaming cocktails," he muttered. Hurling the improvised bomb, the spider erupted into flames, its screeches intensifying as it thrashed violently. Billy watched the grisly spectacle.
"Keep the knife" he said with finality, leaving the charred arachnid behind.
Reaching the final corridor, Billy discovered George's mutilated corpse. He stared at it before calling out, "Danny, it's dead! You can come out now." Only silence answered him. With a dismissive shrug, Billy took the keys and left his former companion corpse behind without a backward glance.
The door knob to the meeting room turned fruitlessly, halted by an office chair jammed under the handle. After a momentary respite, the unseen struggler resumed shoving against the obstruction. The legs of the chair squealed across the tile floor before toppling over, freeing the path. The door instantly flew open, banging against the interior wall. Rebecca Chambers burst into the room, pistol drawn.
Her eyes methodically scanned the dim space, flickering past the scattered paperwork and focusing on a water cooler still burbling out a stream. A discarded glass rested on the carpet below the spout. Rebecca crept toward it, her aim dropping to check under the broad conference table.
A faint whimper of fear caught her attention. Rebecca's stance softened as she lowered her gun. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help."
The concealed woman emitted another whimper. Holstering her pistol, Rebecca said gently, "I'm putting my gun away, see? I just want to talk."
"Wha-who are you?" quavered the hidden woman.
"My name is Rebecca Chambers. I'm a field medic with the special forces. Are you hurt?"
"N-No, are you? Are you bitten?!" The woman's voice quivered with panic.
"No, I'm fine," Rebecca assured her calmly. "Why don't you come out from under there so I can check you over?"
"You're alone? No team?" Asked Linda.
"We split up. I'm trying to contact them for help." Rebecca inched closer. "Listen, I know you're scared, but if we want to get out of here we need to cooperate, okay?"
"O-Okay." The woman crawled hesitantly from her hiding place. She was an African American in her thirties, dressed in a business suit with her hair in a tight bun.
Rebecca extended a hand and helped pull the woman to her feet. "Please, have a seat." She guided the shaky woman into a chair, then shut the door and poured a glass of water from the cooler. This she placed on the table beside the seated woman. After sanitizing her hands with alcohol wipes from her med kit, Rebecca clicked on a penlight and checked the woman's pupils.
"Sorry if I scared you earlier. I didn't know anyone was in here." She pressed two fingers to the woman's wrist, taking her pulse. "I didn't catch your name."
"Uh, Linda. Baldwig."
"Nice to meet you, Linda. Did you know your name means 'pretty' in Spanish?" Rebecca asked conversationally as she felt Linda's forehead for signs of fever.
Linda blinked in surprise. "Uh, no I didn't know that."
"Are you in any pain?"
"No, I think I'm just hungry."
Rebecca tucked her penlight away and settled into the chair opposite Linda. "Well, you seem okay physically. Linda, is it alright if I ask you some questions?"
"S-sure."
"What are you doing here?"
Linda straightened her posture. "I'm an executive economist for Umbrella. I came here two days ago to present a restructuring plan."
"I guess you don't know how all this started then."
"No, I'm in charge of finance. I didn't even work at this facility. They transferred me from another location." Linda rubbed her temples. "When the evacuation notice sounded, we tried to escape but it went wrong. I ended up coming back here."
Rebecca leaned forward intently. "Do you know if anyone else is alive?"
Linda shook her head helplessly.
"Damn. Billy had the map." Rebecca sighed in frustration.
"I know who might have one - a map, I mean." Linda sat up. "Carla, the architect. She was here exhibiting her project with me. She must have the plans in her briefcase."
"Where is she?" demanded Rebecca.