Easier and faster, Nick thought, unless you're hiding from someone, but he didn't say anything.
In the operations room Chase was having to deal with a fraught Ron Maxwell, concerned about his daughter.
"It's been over an hour since we sent three men to check it out, Ron." Chase tried to sound reassuring. "We should know something soon."
"Are they in radio contact?" Maxwell's tall thin figure was hunched as if he carried a millstone on his back. He cracked his bony knuckles distractedly.
"It isn't possible in the tunnels. They'll have to investigate and then return to the Orange Sector entrance on Level Four and report on the internal phone." Chase gripped his shoulder. "They're capable men, Ron. If it is our party in the tunnels they'll bring them back safe and sound."
"And if it isn't?" said Maxwell bleakly. "Will you send a surface party to look for them?"
It was a demand rather than a question. Chase nodded. "As soon as we know," he said quietly.
"For Christ's sake, take that light out of my eyes!"
Dan held up a shielding hand, his face behind it contorted with irritation and fatigue.
The beam swiveled away, striking blank concrete, and two pairs of hands took the burden of Jo's weight from his shoulder. His knees buckled and he collapsed in a sweating, shaking heap. He'd supported her, sometimes carrying her, for almost four hours through the labyrinth. Sometimes he thought they were staggering into the bowels of the earth.
The man with the flashlight lifted him and asked him a question. It sounded urgent but the words had no meaning. The man had to repeat the question twice more before he understood.
"Dead," Dan said wearily. "The others are dead."
"Are they following?"
"No, I just told you." Dan's head lolled. "They're dead. . . ."
"Not your friends--the ones who killed them!" the man said tersely. "The mutes or whoever they were. Did they follow you into the complex?"
Dan nodded weakly. "I think so. I'm not sure."
It took forty minutes to make their way back to the safety of the Tomb. Once inside the doors were sealed and barred. Then the man who had helped Dan grabbed the handset from its wall cradle and reported to the operations room.
As they listened over the speaker Chase saw Ron Maxwell's face lose color. He was bowed, the millstone a crushing load, the green-shaded lights deepening the etched lines on his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. He put a trembling hand to his mouth and the Adam's apple in the beanstalk neck jerked convulsively.
Chase leaned over the bed in the sick bay and shook his son into consciousness. "How many? Twenty? Thirty? Dan, how many of them were there?"
Dan struggled to open his eyes. He felt light-headed, a pleasant dreamy torpor pressing him down and down into the infinitely soft mattress. His lips formed words that sounded in his own ears as if they'd come from a great distance.
"We never saw them clearly ... too dark." "Did they come after you into the tunnels?"
Dan opened his eyes and tried to focus. "We heard them crying."
"Crying?" Chase stared at him, two deep frown marks rising vertically from between his black eyebrows. "You heard them crying?"
"Like babies. They were white ... all white . . ." Dan closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep, but after a moment he said, "We killed some of them, ten or more, but it didn't seem to matter. They fell down and others kept on coming. They didn't care."
Chase straightened up. He couldn't decide whether Dan was delirious or was relating what had actually happened. They sounded likj mutes, but he wasn't sure. White things that cried? "Were they armed, did they have weapons of any kind?" he asked.
"Didn't see any," Dan mumbled. "Babies . . ." He was breathing in long moaning sighs, fully asleep.
Chase turned to the doctor. "There's nothing seriously wrong with him, is there? Anoxia?"
"He's exhausted, that's all. Breathing in rarefied air saps all the strength. If we let him sleep undisturbed for ten hours he'll be fine."
"Let's hope we can," Chase said, and with a last look at his son went out.
In the corridor he found Ruth, Nick, and Jen waiting for him. From their expressions he knew that Jo too was going to be all right. Nick confirmed this by saying that her wound had been dressed and she was sleeping peacefully.
They went along the corridor and Chase discussed with them the wisdom, or otherwise, of taking the initiative and launching a counterattack.
"How dangerous are they?" Ruth asked him. "Have they got weapons? Explosives?"
"Not according to Dan." Chase combed his fingers through his beard. "I'm wondering how many of them are in the tunnels. We're safe enough inside the Tomb with the access points sealed, but if we don't clear them out it's an open invitation to every mute and primitive within a hundred miles to move into the complex and set up house." He glanced around grimly at the others. "How do you feel about living next to a city of freaks?"
"Think we'd notice the difference?" Nick murmured.
Jen hugged herself and shuddered. "I don't like the idea of sending somebody into the tunnels after them--I know / wouldn't go."
They turned a corner and pushed through double doors into the
mess hall. Chase said, "That's true, we can't order anyone to go, but we have to get them out of there before they build up in strength."
Relief brightened the tired faces as he told everyone that the situation wasn't immediately critical. The Tomb was secure and everyone could go back to bed. There was a slight stir of unease when he mentioned the possibility that intruders had broken into the complex, and Chase had to raise his hands for silence. "You can all rest easy; there's no way they can get in. But if any of you want to volunteer, we're sending a squad of armed people into the complex to flush them out and seal off the outer access points so they can't get in again. It's not going to be pleasant, but it has to be done. If you feel like volunteering report to the operations room at noon tomorrow."
"You mean today?" somebody called out. "It's five o'clock."
"Right. Noon today."
There was a general movement toward the door. Nick turned to Chase, smothering a yawn. "You've got your first volunteer. But if they happen to break in before eleven, don't bother to wake me." He put his arm around Jen and they joined the rest of the dispersing crowd.
Chase arched his head back, massaging his neck muscles. "Get to bed," he said to Ruth. "I'm going up to the operations room to make sure everything's secure. I won't be long."
Ruth eyed him critically. "Don't be. You need to rest too." She said with mock severity, "Doctor's orders."
"Yes, Doctor." Chase squeezed her hand and went off. As he came into the corridor, worming his way through a knot of people, a distraught woman snatched at his sleeve. Her eyes were red and puffy and it took him a second or two to recognize her. It was Sonia Maxwell, Ron's wife.
"Have you seen him? Is he here?" She looked up at him and then jerkily from left to right and back again, scanning the faces.
"You mean your husband? No, not since we came down from the ops room."
"He told me." Her lower lip quivered as she fought to keep control. "About Fran. That was nearly two hours ago and I haven't seen him since."
"I'm sorry about your daughter." It sounded so feeble, this polite phrase of condolence, so meaningless. He tried instead to reassure her by saying that perhaps Ron wanted to be alone for a while--maybe he'd gone to the lab? Sonia Maxwell nodded and wandered off in a trance.
Chase escaped gratefully. Was it right that he should feel guilty? Because there was no doubt he did. His son was alive, her daughter was dead. By some obscure association he felt shamed by his own relief that Dan had returned safely. The emotion scraped at his nerves and distracted him as he mounted the stairway to the operations room and walked into a taut silence that at first he didn't notice. All eyes were fixed on a winking red light on the wall plan of the Tomb, down on Level 4.