Bonus Chapter
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*****
The sound of shattering glass echoed down the corridor outside the conductor's room.
It was followed by a heavy, wet thud.
Someone—or something—had breached the train.
The argument died instantly.
"Move," Atlas commanded.
He took point, racking the slide of his Remington 870. The three of them exited the room, moving into the narrow corridor connecting the conductor's cab to the passenger decks.
At the far end of the hallway, near the broken window, a figure was standing. He was swaying on his feet, clutching his side.
"Wait..." Rebecca squinted through the gloom. "That uniform..."
The figure stumbled into the light. It was a large man, wearing a green S.T.A.R.S. uniform. He was drenched in rain and blood.
"It's Edward!" Rebecca gasped. "Edward Dewey!"
She broke into a run, holsterring her weapon. "Edward!"
"Rebecca, wait!" Atlas called out, but she was already at his side.
Edward Dewey, the Bravo Team's helicopter pilot and rear security, collapsed against the wall. He slid down to the floor, leaving a streak of crimson behind him.
His condition was catastrophic. His chest was ravaged, deep claw marks tearing through the Kevlar vest. His skin was pale, sweat beading on his forehead. One of his arms hung uselessly at his side, clearly bitten.
"Oh god," Rebecca whispered, dropping to her knees. She ripped open her medical pouch, her hands fumbling for gauze and coagulants. "Edward, stay with me! I've got you. Just hold on."
Atlas and Billy stopped a few feet away.
Atlas looked at the wounds. He saw the blackened veins radiating from the bite mark on the arm. He saw the glassy look in Edward's eyes.
He's infected, Atlas realized. T-Virus. Incubation time is nearly over.
"Rebecca..." Edward wheezed, coughing up a mouthful of blood. He reached out with his trembling good hand, stopping her from applying the pressure bandage.
"Edward, don't move," Rebecca pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "I can fix this. I can stop the bleeding."
"No..." Edward gasped, his eyes darting around in terror. "The forest... it's full of them. Zombies... monsters... inside the train..."
He gripped her arm weakly.
"We can't... deal with them. Get out... get out of here... quickly..."
His breath hitched. A final, rattling exhale escaped his lips. His hand slipped from her arm and hit the floor with a heavy thud.
His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
"Edward?" Rebecca whispered. She shook him gently. "Edward?"
Silence.
Rebecca slumped back on her shoes. Her first mission. Her teammate. Dead in front of her.
She let out a small, broken sob, burying her face in her hands.
Atlas walked over. He didn't pull her up roughly. He knelt beside her, his massive presence blocking out the rest of the world.
"He's gone, Rebecca," Atlas said gently. He placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow, comforting circles. "He died trying to warn us. Don't let that be for nothing."
"I couldn't save him," she choked out. "I'm the medic. I'm supposed to fix people."
"You can't fix a bullet hole with a band-aid,"
Billy said from the doorway. His voice wasn't mocking this time; it was grim. "And you can't fix whatever ate him."
Atlas sighed, giving Edward's body a respectful nod.
"Rebecca," Atlas said, his voice firming up. "We need his ammo. And we need to move. If he came in through the window, others can too."
He reached down and gently unclipped Edward's ammo belt. He pressed the magazine into Rebecca's trembling hand.
"Take it," Atlas ordered softly. "Carry the weight for him."
Rebecca looked at the ammo, then at Edward's face. She wiped her eyes, her expression hardening into something brittle but functional.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
She stood up.
"We have to leave quickly," Billy warned, looking at the window. "Otherwise, we will suffer the same fate."
As if on cue, the storm outside intensified.
SMASH!
The remaining glass in the window exploded inward.
Two dark shapes leaped into the corridor, landing with wet slaps on the carpet.
Zombie Dogs.
Their skin was rotten, ribs showing through the tears in their flanks. Yellow pus oozed from their snouts. They growled low in their throats, muscles bunching to spring.
Rebecca froze, her gun half-raised.
"Go!" Atlas roared.
He grabbed Rebecca by the back of her vest and shoved her physically into the conductor's room behind them.
"Get inside! I'll handle them!"
"Atlas!"
"Move!"
One of the dogs lunged at Atlas before he could raise his shotgun. It aimed for his throat.
Atlas didn't step back. He stepped into the lunge.
He swung the Remington like a club.
CRACK.
The heavy wooden stock connected with the dog's skull mid-air. The creature was batted aside like a ragdoll, slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch.
The second dog snarled and leaped, going for his legs.
Atlas racked the slide.
BOOM.
The shotgun flash illuminated the narrow corridor. The buckshot caught the dog point-blank in the chest. It was lifted off its feet and thrown backward out the broken window, dead before it hit the ground.
Atlas walked over to the first dog, which was twitching on the floor. He stomped on its neck.
SNAP.
"Filth," he muttered.
He turned back to the room. Rebecca and Billy were standing there, eyes wide.
"Okay," Atlas said, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. "Let's leave quickly."
LURCH.
Suddenly, the floor beneath them jerked violently.
Rebecca stumbled, grabbing Atlas's arm for support. The train groaned, metal stressing against metal.
The rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels on the tracks sped up. Clack-clack. Clack-clack. Clackclackclack.
"What's going on?" Rebecca asked, panic rising in her voice again. "Why is the train moving so fast suddenly?"
Atlas looked out the window. The trees were blurring past.
"Someone engaged the throttle," Billy said, his face grim. "Or something fell on it."
"The brake override," Atlas said. "It's at the front. We need to get there."
They moved out of the conductor's room, heading toward the front of the train. The ride was rougher now, the carriage swaying dangerously as they took the mountain curves at unsafe speeds.
They reached the end of the corridor. A heavy electronic door blocked the way to the engine car.
On the ground nearby, slumped against the keypad, was another corpse—a kitchen staff member.
"Check the body," Atlas instructed.
Rebecca knelt down, fighting her revulsion. She patted down the pockets.
"Found a key," she said, holding up a small brass key. "Tag says 'Dining Car'."
"Good. Keep it," Atlas said.
He stepped up to the electronic door. He pulled out the Blue Keycard he had ripped from the suitcase earlier.
"Let's see who's driving this ghost train," Atlas murmured.
He swiped the card.
BEEP. HISS.
The pneumatic door slid open.
They stepped onto the connector platform between the cars. The wind and rain whipped at their faces.
Atlas held up a hand, stopping them.
"Shhh."
Through the roar of the wind, he heard voices. Not groans. Not growls. Human voices.
Coming from the engine room ahead.
Atlas signaled for silence, raising a clenched fist.
He pressed his back against the cold steel wall of the engine car, inching toward the slightly ajar door. The wind howled through the gaps in the train, but the voices inside were clear.
Rebecca and Billy crowded in behind him, weapons drawn, their breathing shallow.
"....Delta Team has landed," a voice crackled over a radio speaker inside. It was cold, synthetic, and carried an authority that made the air temperature drop. "We take control of the train, over. Secure the perimeter. The train is compromised. Initiate sterilization."
"Understood," a second voice replied—a soldier, live, inside the room. His tone was professional, devoid of empathy. "What about the assets on board? There are survivors."
"Expendable," the radio voice said. "Wesker out."
Atlas narrowed his eyes.
Wesker.
The name hung in the air like smoke. He looked at Rebecca. She hadn't heard the name over the roar of the wind; she was too focused on keeping her hands steady. But Atlas heard it. The puppet master was cutting his strings.
He tightened his grip on the Remington 870.
"Company," Atlas whispered.
He peered around the edge of the door frame.
There were two soldiers standing near the control console. They were clad in the full-body grey tactical armor of the U.S.S. Delta Team. Gas masks, H&K MP5 submachine guns, grenades on their belts. They were pros.
"Two tangos," Atlas murmured to Billy. "On my mark, we—"
SQUELCH.
The sound came from the vents above the soldiers.
Before Atlas could give the order, a mass of black slime dropped from the ceiling. It hit the floor with a wet slap and instantly surged upward, reforming into a writhing column of leeches.
The soldiers spun around. "Contact! Open fi—"
They never finished the sentence.
The leeches swarmed them. It wasn't a fight; it was a consumption. The creatures burrowed into the gaps in their armor, sliding through the seals of their gas masks. The soldiers screamed—a muffled, gargling sound that was cut short as their windpipes were crushed from the inside.
They dropped to the floor, twitching as the leeches finished their work and slithered away into the ventilation grates, leaving the corpses behind.
Silence returned to the engine room.
"Jesus..." Billy whispered, his face pale.
"Clear," Atlas said grimly. "Move in. Scavenge what you can."
They stepped over the bodies. The smell of copper and ozone was overpowering.
Billy and Rebecca moved quickly. Billy stripped a submachine gun and two clips from the first soldier. Rebecca, her hands trembling, managed to unclip a belt of flash grenades and a second MP5 from the other.
"Take this," Atlas said, tossing a walkie-talkie to Rebecca. He had grabbed it from the console. "Standard frequency."
Billy moved to the main control bridge. He looked at the massive array of levers and dials. The speedometer was climbing. 90 MPH. The train was shaking violently, the wheels screeching against the tracks as they took the mountain curves.
"We need to stop the train," Billy yelled over the noise. "Otherwise, it will derail on the bridge!"
He grabbed the emergency brake lever and pulled.
CLANK.
It didn't budge.
"Damn it," Billy cursed, slamming his hand against the console. "The brake is locked. The magnetic clamps are engaged. Someone needs to go to the rear deck and manually unlock the coupling system while I override it here."
"I'll go," Rebecca volunteered, though her voice was small.
"No," Atlas interrupted. "You stay here. You cover Billy."
He looked at the map on the wall. It was a long run back to the rear car.
"Leave it to me," Atlas decided. He grabbed the Blue Keycard and the Magnetic Key from the console. "I'm faster."
He turned to leave.
"Atlas!"
Rebecca reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his leather jacket.
He stopped and looked down.
She was looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes. In the span of a few minutes, her world had collapsed. Her team was dead or missing. She was trapped on a runaway train with monsters.
And this stranger—this terrifying, capable stranger—was the only thing making her feel safe.
"Stay safe," Rebecca whispered, her voice trembling. "We'll be waiting for you here."
She didn't know him. She didn't know his past.