– and something gave way behind his back, and then he was falling into the mining pit. He landed on a thick crust of ice and started to get up, but there was a great, searing pain in his chest. Was it possible that he'd been shot? With barely a sound, the ice gave way all around him and he screamed, falling, he had to see her once more, had to touch her but he could hear his father screaming, too, coming for him, and then everything was lost in pain and dark. The sound of the terrible, monstrous howl that had risen up to meet Alfred's got them moving, Claire paus– ing just long enough to grab the Remington before climbing after Steve to the high platform. With Steve on empty and her own gun kicked into the pit, it was their only weapon. They clambered into the cab of the huge yellow ma– chine parked in front of the slanted, rising tunnel, Steve taking the wheel – and again, they heard that deep, in– sane scream, and it was definitely closer, the monster prisoner loose somewhere inside. Steve flipped a bunch of switches, nodding and mum-bling to himself as he went. Claire listened as she checked the rifle – only six rounds – gathering that the machine's digging device, an enormous screw-looking thing, actually heated up to melt the ice. She didn't care what it did, as long as it got them out before the monster came looking for them. With the heavy machine humming to life, Steve ex– plained that the tunnel was probably unfinished because the workers would have had to go slowly and without using the heating element, to avoid flooding half the fa– cility, "But we don't," he said, grinning. "What do you say we make a lake?" "Go for it," she said, grinning back at him, wishing she felt a little more enthusiastic. God, they were getting out, and with Alfred Ashford finally dead, there was no one standing in their way. So why was she still so uncertain?
It's that shit he was babbling about his sister…
Crazy, yeah, but it had brought up the one question she still didn't
have an answer for – why had Rockfort been attacked?
Steve jammed on the throttle and the machine lurched
forward. There weren't seat belts, so Claire put one
hand on the roof, the digger bouncing almost as much as
their plane had right before it crashed. Their view was
mostly blocked by the giant twisting screw-thing, but it
was obvious when they hit the end of the tunnel, big-
time.
The noise was incredible, deafening, like rocks in a
blender times a hundred. There was a burning steam
smell, and as they inched forward through total black-
ness, she could hear the thaw even over the digging, as
torrents of water rushed past the cab.
The grinding, waterfall noises seemed to go on for-
ever as they continued to climb – and then the machine
stuttered, jerking, and the treads were straining – and
sudden light flooded into the cab, gray and shadowy and
beautiful.
The digger crawled out of its brand-new hole near a
standing tower, Claire recognizing it as a helipad even
as Steve pointed out the snow-cats parked near the base.
It was snowing, fat wet flakes spinning down from a
slate sky, the humid cold seeping into the cab before
they'd been on the surface a minute. There was a wind
blowing, the snow angled slightly – not a big wind, but
steady.
" 'Copter or 'cat?" Steve asked lightly, but she could
see that he was starting to shiver. So was she.
"Your call, fly boy," she said. A helicopter would be
faster, but staying on the ground seemed safer. "Can we
even take off in this?"
"As long as it doesn't get any worse," he said, looking
up at the tower, but he didn't seem sure. She was about
to recommend one of the 'cats when he shrugged, push-
ing his door open and sliding out, calling back over his
shoulder.
"I say we hit the tower, fly girl," he said. "We can at
least see if there's actually a choice."
She got out, too, craning her neck back, but she couldn't see the top of the tower, either. And it was cold, frostbite cold. "Whatever, let's just hurry," Claire said, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. Steve jogged for the stairs, Claire following, freezing but exhilarated, suddenly totally high on being free to choose, to decide what they wanted to do, how they wanted to do it. And either way, they'd be at the Aus– tralian station in an hour or so, wrapped in blankets and drinking something hot and telling their story. Well, at least the more believable parts, she thought, climbing the recently sanded stairs after him. Even the most open-minded people in the world wouldn't believe half of what they'd been through. Her happiness was wearing thin as they neared the top, three stories later, her teeth chattering it away – and when Steve turned around, frowning, she no longer cared about much of anything beyond getting warm. "There's no helicopter," he said, snow starting to stick to his hair. "I guess we'll…" He saw something behind her and his face suddenly contorted with horror and surprise. He reached out to pull her up but she was already moving. "Go!" she said, and he turned and bolted up the stairs, Claire barely a half step behind him. She didn't know what he'd seen -
–yes you do
– but from the look on his face, she knew she didn't want it behind her.
It's the thing, the monster, it was loose and now it's coming for you, her fear helpfully provided, and then Steve was grabbing her arm and jerking her up the last few steps. She stumbled onto a giant, empty, square platform, the landing lines mostly obscured by fresh snow, a gray haze of anomalous fog making it hard to see clearly. "Give me the rifle," he breathed, and she ignored him, turned to see if it was true, if she would recognize the awful pain of the thing that had screamed so horri– bly – and as it gained the platform, she saw that it was true, and she recognized it with no trouble at all. She un-slung the rifle and backed away, motioning for Steve to stay behind her.
Alfred woke up in a world of pain. He could barely breathe, and there was blood on his face and in his nose and mouth, and when he tried to move, the agony was instant and overwhelming. Every inch of bone was bro– ken, cut or smashed or punctured, and he knew he was going to die. All that was left was his surrender to the dark. He was very afraid, but he ached so badly that per– haps sleep would be best…… Alexia… He couldn't give up, not when he'd been so close, not when he was still so close. He forced his eyes to open, and saw through a thin red haze that he was on one of the lower level platforms that jutted out into the mining pit. He'd fallen at least three levels, perhaps as many as five. "Aa…lexi…iaa," he whispered, and felt blood bubbling up from his chest, felt bones grinding as he shifted, felt afraid of the pain he'd have to endure – but he would go to her, because she was his heart, his great love, and he would be sustained by his name on her lips.
"Give me the rifle," Steve said again, watching the thing take its first stumbling step in their direction, but Claire wasn't listening. She had her eye to the scope, was seeing what he saw but under magnification – and what he saw was an abomination. Blindfolded, its hands tied behind its back, wearing only a shapeless and stained cut of leather knotted around its waist, the thing had suffered horribly, that much was clear; he could see the raised scars, the an– cient welts, bloody shackle marks around its ankles. It looked almost human, but for its oversized body and strange flesh – gray and mottled, sitting over lean mus– cles that had ruptured through in places, exposing raw tissue. Its torso was bare, and he could see a kind of pulsing redness in the center of its chest, a clear target, and for a few seconds, Steve thought they were safe after all, it doesn 't have any weapons…… and there was a splintering, cracking sound, and four asymmetrical appendages, like the jointed legs of an insect, unfolded from its back and upper body, the longest easily ten feet, curling from its right shoulder like a scorpion's tail. It reeled forward another step and some dark liquid was spraying from its body, from its chest or back. As the droplets struck the frozen ce– ment, a thick, purplish-green gas began to hiss upward from where they landed, blown by the snowy wind first one direction, then another. It rumbled out some heavy, wordless sound and took another step toward them, the new arms whip– ping around its hairless head, making it weave from side to side. It could barely keep its balance, and as the thought occurred to him, Steve was already run– ning.