The young Hispanic was still watching the bizarre luncheon, his mouth literally hanging open in dismay;
Karen was swallowing Thurman’s nose, and making quite a mess. He’d have to dispose of her before Louis’s arms gave out, though that gave him plenty of time.
Stepping forward quickly, Griffith jabbed the nee-dle into the youth’s burly arm and depressed the plunger.
Only then did he struggle, his shocked gaze turning to Griffith, his body twisting and flailing. One of Alan’s arms seemed to give a little, but he had a good, tight hold on the fighting Hispanic.
Griffith smiled into his face, shaking his head. “Relax,” he said soothingly. “In just a few moments, you won’t feel a thing.”
Slowly, too slowly, they backed toward the chamber they’d started in, the lizard-creatures following, care-ful not to step into view, screaming their terrible song. John kept thinking of Karen and Steve, led off to God knew where by the Umbrella doc, and wished desper-ately that the monsters would just charge. He felt the moments slipping by, moments that may have already cost Karen her only chance, moments in which Steve might be fighting for his life—
Come on, you stupid shits! We’re right here, free lunch! Come on!
They’d tried yelling, tried firing and stamping their feet, but the creatures wouldn’t take the bait. Once, David had tried to fake them out, the three of them slipping back around a corner—and when the big lizards had skulked through the tunnel after them, they’d jumped back around and started blasting. John got a single round into one of them, and they’d seen that there were only two of the beasts left—but both had gotten to cover before any serious damage had been done, and hadn’t fallen for the ploy again. “Sly bastards,” John snarled for about the twenti-eth time, backing up as quickly as he could. “What the hell are they waiting for?”
Neither Rebecca nor David answered, since they’d already discussed it, talking over the creeping shrieks of the stalking monsters. They were waiting for the three of them to turn around.
After what felt like an eternity of slow motion, of backing through the empty tunnel one sliding step at a time, they heard the distant, familiar sound of the cavernous chamber they’d left—muffled waves and thundering vibrations as background to the echoing howls.
Thank God, thank God, how long? Fifteen, twenty minutes?
“When we get into the open, flank the tunnel,” David said tightly. “I’m going to turn and run, draw them out—“ Rebecca shook her head, her young features pinched with worry. “You’re a better shot than I am, and I can run faster. I should do it.”
They had almost reached the chamber. John shot a glance at David, could see him struggling with the decision—and finally he nodded, sighing. “Right. Run as fast as you can, back for the stairs to the lighthouse. We’ll pick them off as soon as they’re too far along to turn around.”
Rebecca blew out sharply. “Got it. Just say when.” John could feel the change in the air just behind him, the drafts that swirled around the underground chamber fluttering against the back of his neck. An-other step and they were surrounded by open space. John quickly side-stepped, standing between the tunnel they’d just backed out of and the one next to it. He saw David get into position, Rebecca standing perfectly still in the mouth of the passage—
“Go!”
Rebecca spun and ran, sprinting away, and John tensed, Beretta held close to his face, listening for the rising shrieks, the pound of feet—
“Now!” David shouted, and they both swung into the passage, firing.
Crack-crack-crack-crack!
The howling monsters were less than six meters away and the heavy rounds smashed into them, great, bloody holes exploding through their rubbery skin, bone and watery red splattering wildly. The shrieks died beneath the thundering bullets, neither of the reptilian things making it as far as the opening. Two strange bodies fell still, crumpling to the stone floor in ragged heaps.
As soon as they stopped firing, Rebecca came jogging back into the chamber, her cheeks flushed, her
“Let’s go,” David said, and then the three of them were running into the passage that Kinneson had disappeared into, the lost time lending a desperation to their flight.
John finally let the fear slip inside, giving up the angry frustration he’d suffered through their back-ward crawl.
Karen, be okay. Please, don’t let anything have happened to her, Lopez—
The tunnel turned, angled down, the three of them curving with it, terror for their friends and teammates driving them faster. John swore to himself that if they were all right, if there was still time for Karen, if they could all make it out of this alive, he’d give anything. My car, my house, my money, I won’t screw anyone else till I get married, I’ll clean up my act and walk the straight and narrow—
It wasn’t enough, and he didn’t know why anyone would want it—but he’d sacrifice anything, do what-ever it took.
The passage swerved again, still sliding down and they tore around the corner—
• and there was a wide open set of doors, a tiny passage between the outer and inner, a giant and dimly lit room behind it. Steve leaned against the frame, holding his Beretta, his face pale and blank. “Steve! What happened, what—“ David started, but the look on Steve’s face as he turned to watch them approach, the terrible emptiness there, made them all stop in their tracks. Even as his mind searched to deny it, John’s heart filled with a horrible, aching loss.
“Karen’s dead,” Steve said softly, then turned and walked into the room.
SixfEEn
OH, NO... .
Rebecca felt a welling rush of sadness inside as she stared after Steve, John and David both grim and silent beside her. The blank shock on Steve’s face before he’d turned away told them what must have happened.
Poor Karen. And Steve, what must it have been like. ..
They’d found the lab too late. She glanced down at the key card slot next to the door as she stepped into the double seal, feeling a horrible sense of futility at the pointlessness of it all. They’d come to find infor-mation, only to find tests, only for Karen to get infected—and then to turn against Steve even as they’d reached the one chance they might have had to cure her . . .
... but Kinneson. Thurman—
She stepped through the second door, frowning. The laboratory was huge, counters lined with equip-ment, desks piled incredibly high with stacks of paper—but it was the open hatch across from them that first commanded her attention, her gaze immedi-ately drawn to the thick sheet of plexi or reinforced glass set into the thick door.
It was an airlock, the inner door standing open. And behind the second sealed door, past a mesh grate,
the dark waters of the ocean swirled past, bubbles spinning by. The laboratory was underwater. The second thing she noticed was the blood, a thick trail of crimson leading across the concrete floor in splatters and pools, but ending in a sliding smear. Steve must have moved a body—
• so much! God, not Karen’s...
Steve had walked to the airlock and turned, seemed to be waiting for them to cross the room. Rebecca started toward him, her throat tight with sympathy and swelling tears. John and David were right behind her, quiet, looking around the vast room—
• when behind them, the door back into the pas-sage slammed shut.
They spun around, saw Kinneson standing there, holding a tiny semi-automatic, a .25, pointing it at them with no expression on his face.
“Drop your weapons.”
The low, quiet voice was Steve’s.
Rebecca turned again, confused—and saw Steve pointing his Beretta at them, his face as blank as Kinneson’s. Now that she was close enough to the airlock, she saw the body on the grated floor. It was Karen, her white face streaked with blood, a gaping blackness where her left eye had been.