For a man who hated silence and darkness, the Hilltop Bastion was a waking nightmare. The enclosed space was almost completely devoid of sound, as if he were walking in outer space. Sporadic high-pitched shrieks were the only break in the stillness—and the only thing worse than the silence.
Halfway down the next hall, he stopped and considered opening the comm up to Magnolia and Rodger, or even trying to reach Andrew, just to hear a human voice. But he resisted the urge, knowing that it would give away his position to anything hunting him.
The light from his battery unit and his helmet-mounted lamp spread over the passage. He moved out, keeping low and close to the wall. He had yet to see a single door, and the trail of blood had almost disappeared. Andrew’s bleeding had slowed to just a few drops here and there. If he lost the trail, there was no way he would find the man in time to save him—assuming he could be saved at all.
Weaver halted to reconsider his plan. Andrew might already be dead. In fact, given what he knew of the Sirens, it was likely the case. He missed his wife and daughter just as much today as he had ten years ago, when he lost them in the wreck of Ares, but he wasn’t in any hurry to join them.
A small, cowardly part of his soul worried that the darkness after death would be much worse than this, like being trapped underground for all eternity.
Think and focus, Rick. Think and focus.
The mission was screwed, no denying that. No one could have survived down here, and he didn’t buy the fairy tale about cryogenic chambers housing any survivors. He pulled out his coin to flip it. Would anyone blame him if he abandoned the search for Andrew and cut their losses while he still could? Jordan would probably give him a goddamn medal.
But Weaver wasn’t one to leave a man behind. Ever since X fell back to the surface of Hades, Weaver had made a promise to do everything he could to get all the divers home, no matter whose team they were on.
He put the coin away. Lifting his rifle, he continued into the darkness. The beam from his helmet illuminated a path that seemed to stretch on and on. He walked for several minutes until he saw what could be the outline of a door.
Weaver slowed as he approached, listening hard. The city was crawling with monsters, from the massive carnivorous plants to the Sirens, and he had a feeling even worse things lurked in this facility.
When he got to the door, he looked at his wrist monitor. His location was directly under the hill, but there were no details to show him what was on the other side.
He took a knee and brushed the dust off the ground. Tracks ran up and down the hallway, but the drops of blood stopped here.
Weaver stood and slung his rifle over his back. He drew his pistol and slowly pulled back the slide. The round clicked into the chamber. He winced at the noise and waited for a response.
The vacuum of silence remained undisturbed.
He grabbed the door handle. It felt loose. Bending down, he saw that it was already open. Claw marks covered the frame.
He was on the right track.
Okay, old man, let’s see if you still got it.
He took a breath and slowly pulled the door open onto a stairwell landing. With his gun up, he stepped inside and angled the barrel up the flight above. Then he moved around the corner of the stairway and looked down. Up or down? This time, he was going to have to use the coin. He was reaching for it when the speaker in his helmet crackled.
“Angel One, this is Raptor Three. Do you copy? Over.”
The sound of another human voice was reassuring and terrifying at the same time. He reminded himself that it would be difficult for the creatures to hear the voices from inside sealed helmets. Several seconds passed as he listened, but the monsters never came.
“Roger that, Raptor Three,” he said quietly.
“Commander, have you found Andrew yet?”
“Negative, Raptor Three. I just found a door that leads to a staircase.”
There was a short pause, followed by white noise.
“Angel One, if you are where I think you are, then down leads to a water treatment plant and a generator room. The backup power is still on over here. I found a hologram terminal and a map.”
“What’s above me?” Weaver asked.
“I think that’s the lookout post we saw on our way in. Might be a command room; I don’t know. Maybe a comms station.”
“Good thinking. Have you found anything else?”
“So far, there’s no evidence of survivors, but we did find something…” Magnolia paused again. “Something big was here, sir. Hard to say when. Most everything is covered in dust, but someone did put up one hell of a fight to keep whatever it was out. We’re heading deeper belowground to find the lab.”
“Roger that, Raptor Three. Stay sharp. I’m going to keep looking for Apollo One. Good luck. Over.”
“Good luck, sir. Over and out.”
Weaver flicked his light up the stairs and found muddy tracks, but no blood trail. He went back to the landing to check the descending flight of stairs. Specks of red dotted the treads. He unslung his rifle and raised both guns into the darkness.
The beam from his helmet shifted across a stairwell as he made his way down into the black abyss. His cautious footfalls made little noise, but it was his battery pack that worried him most. The beasts couldn’t see the light, but they were drawn to energy sources. One of the reasons the divers had such a hard time getting power cells for the ship was that Sirens tended to nest near the storage facilities.
The stairs led him deeper into the earth. With every step, he felt a growing sensation of being watched.
He turned and played his light over the walls.
Nothing.
The farther he descended, the stronger the sensation became. Something, or someone, was here with him. He could feel a presence.
Weaver reminded himself that he had enough firepower to kill a small army of Sirens. He passed three more landings before he finally saw a sign that read water treatment plant.
Magnolia’s map was right. He crossed the landing and was starting to walk around the corner when he felt the slightest draft of air rustle his right pant leg.
Weaver whirled and trained both guns back up the stairs. The gray walls and ceiling were clear. No Sirens prowling about.
He put his back against the wall and leaned left to peer around the corner. At the next landing, the double doors to the water treatment plant were wide open.
He moved back to the safety of the wall, trying to control his pounding heart, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps he was getting too old for this.
He licked the salty sweat off his mustache and holstered his pistol. Firing from the hip wasn’t going to save anyone down here. Calculated shots were the way to go.
If Andrew was below, Weaver had to be stealthy. He pulled the sound suppressor from his cargo pocket and screwed it onto the end of his rifle. Next, he reached up and clicked off his headlamp. Darkness shrouded the stairwell. The blue light emitted by his battery pack gave him only a few feet of visibility, and even then he couldn’t see much but shapes. He bumped on his night vision, but nothing happened.
Son of a bitch.
He tried a second and a third time.
A soft breeze hit his arm as he reached up for his helmet. His hand froze in midair. Was he imagining things, or was there a draft inside the passage? And if so, where was it coming from?
A snuffling came from his left. Then overhead. Another sniff came from the upper right corner of the stairwell.