Claire and Rebecca both nodded, Rebecca leaning on Claire; other than a limp, she seemed to be doing well. She'd said she was still dizzy and that her head hurt, but the confused and erratic thoughts that had so frightened him earlier had apparently passed. David turned and eased along the wall of the structure closest to the fence, hugging the shadows, frequently glancing back to be sure both women were keeping up. They reached the end facing west and slipped around, David first, checking for the west guard's position. It was almost too dark to see, but there was a density of shadow against the metal mesh that marked him. David raised the M-16 and pointed it at him, prepared to fire if they were seen. Too bad we can't just shoot him now… but a shot would alert the others, and while David wasn't con– cerned with the fence men, the one posted at the van could be a problem; he was far enough away that he might radio before coming in to check.
These two will be easy enough, but how to approach him? There was no cover if the man at the mini spotted them coming… That could wait; they had work to do before worry– ing about the guards. Crouching, David waved Claire and Rebecca across, the M-16 trained on the shadowy figure at the fence. He held his breath as they slipped across the open space, but they managed it with hardly a sound. As soon as they were across, David followed, his years of training allowing him to move as silently as a ghost. Once they were cloaked by the building's shadow, David relaxed a bit, the worst of it over. They could cross to the middle building in the thick black of the corridor between the structures. In less than a minute, they'd reached the crossing point. Nodding at the women to stay back, David went across, stopping at the closed door to their destination. He touched the icy metal of the handle and pushed it down, nodding to himself as he heard the tiny click of the unlocked door.
It's communications, then; the team leader would have left it open for the men posted, access to a satellite uplink in case we returned. A calculated guess, but a good one. It was time to pray for a bit of luck; if the lights were on, opening the door would be like a beacon to anyone even glancing in their direction. The guards had been facing away from the compound when he'd reconned, but that didn't mean much. A deep breath, and David pushed the door open, registering that the light was low as he slid inside and closed it behind him. He leaned against the door and counted ten, then relaxed, inhaling the warm air thankfully as he studied the interior. The warehouse– type structure had apparently been divided into Rooms – and the one he'd stepped into was packed with computer equipment, thick cables trailing across the floor and up the walls, dish connectors… everything that links this facility to the world outside…
David hit the wall switch, turning off the single ceiling light, and grinning, opened the door for Rebecca and Claire to join him.
"Back against the wall!" Leon shouted, and Cole did it before he even knew why. The phlegmy rattling sounds seemed to be coming from somewhere ahead -
– and then he saw the creature coming slowly toward them from behind, making it impossible to retreat, and barely held back a scream. It stopped fifteen or twenty feet away, and Cole still couldn't seem to get a good look; it was just too bizarre. Oh, Jesus, what is it? It was four-legged, with split hooves, like a ram or goat, and was about the same size – but there was no fur, no horns, nothing else that even remotely resem– bled a natural development. Its slender body was coated with tiny reddish-brown scales, like a snake's skin, but dull instead of shiny; at first glance, it looked like it was covered in dried blood. Its head was somehow amphibian, like a frog's – an earless flat face, small dark eyes that bulged out at the sides, a too-wide mouth – except there were pointed teeth sticking up from a protruding lower jaw, a bulldog's jaw, its head also covered in the dried-blood scales. The thing opened its mouth, exposing only a few sharp teeth, upper and lower, none of them in the front – and that terrible wet rattling sound came from the darkness of its throat, the bizarre call matched by others, somewhere on the other side of the artificial mountaintop. The call built, going louder and deeper as the thing raised its head, turning its hideous face to the ceiling -
– and in one sudden, jerking motion, it dropped its head and spat at them. A thick, tarry blob of reddish semiliquid flew at them, at Leon, across the wide open space -
– and Leon raised his arm to block it even as John started to shoot, stepping away from the wall and spraying the monster – – Spitter -
– with bullets. The goop hit Leon's arm, would have hit his face if he hadn't blocked, and in response to the hail of clattering rounds, the Spitter turned and jumped up the sculpted mountain in long, easy jumps that took it to the top in seconds, that didn't denote panic or pain or any stress at all. It loped back about twenty feet, then skipped nimbly back down to the ground, stopping in front of the connecting hatch. As if it knew it was blocking their escape. And it didn't even flinch, holy shit… The multiple cries from just out of sight didn't get any louder, but they didn't retreat, either. The gar– gling noises stopped, one at a time, the lack of targets giving them no reason; suddenly, it was silent again, as quiet as it had been when they'd entered. "What the good goddamn was that?" John said, grabbing another magazine from his pack, his expres– sion one of total incredulity. "Wasn't even hurt," Cole whispered, holding the nine-millimeter so tight that his fingers started to go numb. He barely noticed, watching as Leon touched the thick, wet handful of maroon goop on his sleeve and hissed in pain, drawing his hand back as if he'd been burned. "Stuff's toxic," he said, quickly wiping his fingers on his shirt and holding them up. The tips of the index and middle fingers on his left hand had gone an angry, inflamed red. He immediately stuck his hand– gun in his belt and pulled the black shirt off, carefully avoiding contact with the acidic ooze, dropping it to the stone floor. Cole felt sick. If Leon hadn't blocked… "Okay-okay-okay," John breathed, his brow fur-rowed. 'This is bad, we want out of here as fast as possible… you say there's a bridge?" "Yeah, goes over the, uh, trench," Cole said quickly. "Like twenty feet across, I didn't see how deep it was." "Come on," John said. He started walking toward where the path turned out of sight, striding quickly. Cole followed, Leon right behind. John stopped about ten feet short of the turn and backed against the wall again, glancing at Leon. "You want to cover, or me?" Leon asked softly. "Me," John said. "I step out first, draw their fire. You run, Henry, right behind him – and head down, got it? Get across, get to the door – if you can, help me out -" John's face was solemn. "– if you can't, you can't." Cole felt a by-now-too-familiar rush of shame. They're protecting me, they don't even know me and I
got them into this… if he could do something to return the favor, he would, although he was suddenly quite sure that he'd never be able to even things out; he owed these guys his life, a couple times over already. "Ready?" John asked. "Wait…" Leon turned and jogged back to where he'd dropped the sweatshirt. The Spitter by the hatch stood as silent and immobile as a statue, watching them. Leon scooped up the shirt and hurried back, slipping a pocket knife out of his pack. He cut off the offending sleeve, letting it fall, then handed the rest to John.