The SUV's engine hummed beneath me, a steady vibration I could feel through the metal floor.
My senses mapped the convoy despite the hood over my head. Three vehicles, just as I'd noted before. The lead SUV held four operatives. Our vehicle—the middle one—had two guards in front, plus me and Alice in the back. The trailing vehicle carried the rest of the extraction team.
Alice's presence registered beside me, her enhanced signature pulsing with restrained energy. She was awake, alert, waiting. We'd discussed the plan in silent gestures before they'd hooded us—wait for the right moment, then strike together.
The sedative they'd injected was supposed to keep us unconscious for hours. It had lasted maybe twenty minutes. Enhanced metabolism had its advantages.
I tested the zip ties on my wrists. Industrial strength, designed to restrain normal humans. The plastic bit into my skin as I flexed, but I felt it stretch. Not break—not yet. I needed more leverage.
"Subject Harrison's vitals are elevated." The guard's voice came from the front seat. "Check his sedation levels."
"Scanner says he's under. Must be a system glitch."
"These two aren't normal. Call it in."
The radio crackled. A conversation I only half-heard, something about "anomalous readings" and "increase dosage upon arrival."
Arrival where?
My senses reached outward, trying to map our location. We'd been driving for maybe thirty minutes—long enough to be well outside Raccoon City's immediate suburbs. The road felt smooth, highway-grade. Heading north, if my internal compass was working right.
The Spencer Mansion was north. The Hive was beneath it.
They're taking us back.
It made a sick kind of sense. Umbrella's primary research facility was compromised, overrun with the infected they'd created. But their data was still there. Their equipment. Their other subjects.
And now, two successful integration cases to study.
I shifted my weight, testing the seat beneath me. Standard SUV configuration—bench seat, cargo space behind, partition separating us from the front. The guards had weapons, but they were facing forward, relying on restraints and sedation to keep us contained.
Time to show them why that was a mistake.
I caught Alice's attention with a slight movement of my hooded head. She responded with a barely perceptible nod. Ready.
I flexed my wrists with everything I had.
The zip ties snapped.
The sound was louder than I'd hoped—the guards started turning before I'd finished moving. But I was faster. My hands found the hood, tore it free, and grabbed the partition between seats.
The metal crumpled under my grip. I pulled, ripping the barrier apart, and lunged into the front compartment.
The passenger guard was still reaching for his weapon when my fist connected with his temple. He slumped against the door. The driver tried to swerve, throw me off balance, but Alice was already moving—her zip ties had snapped moments after mine, and she was through the gap I'd created before he could react.
Her hand closed around his throat. Not crushing—controlling.
"Stop the vehicle," she said. Her voice was ice.
He stopped.
I grabbed the radio from the unconscious guard's belt. "Convoy, this is vehicle two. We've got a situation back here. Subject Harrison is seizing—need immediate medical support. Pull over."
A pause. Then: "Copy, vehicle two. All units halt."
The convoy slowed. Through the windshield, I watched the lead SUV's brake lights flare red in the predawn darkness.
"When they approach," I said to Alice, "we take them fast. No weapons fire if we can avoid it—I don't know what kind of backup they can call."
"Understood."
The lead vehicle's doors opened. Two operatives stepped out, weapons lowered but ready. They approached our SUV with professional caution, clearly expecting a medical emergency rather than an ambush.
I kicked the passenger door open and hit the first operative before his brain registered the threat. He went down hard, weapon clattering across asphalt. Alice came through the driver's side, moving with that eerie grace her training had given her. The second operative managed to raise his gun—Alice was inside his guard before he could fire, her palm strike dropping him like a puppet with cut strings.
The trailing vehicle's team was faster. Doors flew open, four operatives spilling out with weapons tracking toward us. I grabbed the fallen guard's rifle, put two rounds into the trailing SUV's engine block. Smoke billowed. The vehicle lurched and died.
Alice sprinted toward them, using the disabled SUV as cover. I followed, suppressive fire keeping heads down. We reached the operatives before they could organize a proper defense—hand-to-hand combat that lasted maybe fifteen seconds.
When it was over, eight Umbrella operatives lay unconscious or groaning on the side of the road. Alice wasn't even breathing hard.
"We should move," she said. "They'll have GPS trackers on the vehicles."
"And they'll have called for backup the moment things went wrong." I checked the lead SUV—still functional, keys in the ignition. "We take this one. Head back toward the city."
"The city's falling apart. We saw the fires."
"Rain and the others are heading for Baltimore. The address I gave them—it's a safehouse. If we can reach them, regroup—"
"And then what?" Alice's eyes were hard in the early light. "Run? Hide? Umbrella won't stop looking for us. The virus won't stop spreading. Running just delays the inevitable."
She was right. Running was survival, not solution. But what was the alternative?
The samples. Spence's virus samples, hidden on the train in the Hive.
The thought crystallized into something like a plan. "The Hive," I said. "There are T-Virus samples hidden on the train—Spence stole them before the outbreak. If we can get them, get them to someone who isn't Umbrella—"
"A cure?"
"Maybe. Or at least proof of what Umbrella did. Evidence that could bring them down."
Alice considered this. Her memories were still fragmenting, rebuilding, but I could see the tactical mind behind her eyes processing options.
"The mansion is between here and the city," she said finally. "If we're going back to the Hive, we go through the mansion."
"The mansion's probably overrun by now."
"Then we fight through." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "It's what we do."
We climbed into the lead SUV. Alice took the driver's seat—her reflexes were better than mine, especially after the energy I'd spent breaking restraints. I rode shotgun, the stolen rifle across my lap, my senses reaching ahead for any sign of threat.
The road unwound before us, leading back toward the nightmare we'd escaped.
Behind us, the unconscious operatives would wake eventually. They'd report the escape, call for reinforcements, begin the hunt all over again.
But we'd have a head start.
And this time, we were going on offense.
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