There was movement on one of the wall screens, midway through the second row from the top. John stepped closer to the monitor, wondering who the hell it could be, the employees got out and that's two people, can't be… "Oh, shit," John said, and felt his stomach drop, a sickening plunge that seemed to go on and on, his horrified gaze fixed to the screen. Reston, with a gun. Dragging Rebecca through some hall, his arm around her throat. Rebecca's feet half– dragging on the floor, her head hanging, her arms slack.
"Claire!"
John glanced away, saw Leon staring at a second monitor, saw David and Claire, armed, moving quickly down another featureless corridor. "Can we refill the tube?" John barked, his gut still lurching, feeling more terrified by the sight of their friends than he had all night, that miserable bastard's got 'becca… "I don't know," Leon said quickly, "we can try, but we've gotta go now…"
John stepped back from the wall, searching the pictures for one of the laboratory area, his exhaustion falling away as fresh adrenaline pounded into his system. There, a dark room, a single light in the corner pointed at the tube, at the moving, thrashing thing inside. In seconds, dripping hands plunged through the clear matter, tearing, shattering, a massive, pallid, reptilian leg stepping through. Too late: Fossil was out.
TWENTY-ONE
THE CREATURE DESIGNATED TYRANT SERIES ReH1a, more commonly known as Fossil, was moti– vated purely by instinct and it only had one: eat. All of its actions stemmed from that single, primal urge. If there was something between it and food, Fossil destroyed it. If something attacked, tried to stop it from food, Fossil killed it. There was no reproductive impulse, because Fossil was the only member of its species. Fossil woke hungry. It sensed food, picking up on electrical charges in the air, scents, distant heat – and destroyed the thing that held it. The environment was unfamiliar to Fossil, but not important; there was food, and it was hungry. At ten feet tall and weighing roughly a thousand pounds, the wall that stood between Fossil and food didn't stop it for long. Past that was another wall, and then another – and the rich feels and smells of food were very close, so close that Fossil experienced the closest thing it had to an emotion: it wanted, a state of being that went beyond hunger, a powerful extension of its instinct that encouraged it to move faster. Fossil would eat almost anything, but living food always made it want. The wall that stopped it from food was thicker and harder than the others, but not so much that it could stop Fossil. It ripped through the layers of substance and was in a strange place, nothing organic there but the moving, screeching food. Food ran at it, hard to see but smelling quite strongly. Food raised a claw and swiped at Fossil, crying in fury, its desire to attack and kill; Fossil knew this because of the smell. Within seconds, Fossil was surrounded by food, and again, it wanted. The animals that were food howled and screamed, dancing and leaping, and Fossil reached out and picked up the closest. Food had sharp talons, but Fossil's hide was thick. Fossil bit into the food, tearing a great chunk from the writhing body, and was fulfilled. Its sense of purpose was met so long as it chewed and swallowed, hot blood dripping down its throat, hot flesh ripping between its teeth. The other food animals continued to attack, mak– ing it easy for Fossil to eat. Fossil ate all of the food animals in a short period of time, and its metabolism used the food almost as quickly, giving Fossil strength to find more food. It was an extremely simple process, one that continued as long as Fossil was awake. Finished with the dark and cavernous room that had housed the screaming food, Fossil licked blood off its fingers and opened its senses, searching for its next meal. In seconds, it knew that there was more, living and moving close by. Fossil wanted. Fossil was hungry.
TWENTY-TWO
THE GIRL WAS SICK, HER SKIN CLAMMY, HER attempts to get away from him pathetic and weak. Reston wished he could get rid of her, just drop her and run, but he didn't dare. She was his ticket through the forces on the surface; surely they wouldn't kill one of their own. Still, he wished the stupid girl wasn't so ill; she was slowing him down, hardly able to walk, and he had no choice but to continue dragging her along, north through the back corridor, then east at the far corner of the facility, heading for the connecting door to the cell block. From the cells the service elevator was a two-minute walk.
Almost there, almost done with this impossible, incredible night, not much farther…
He was an extremely important man, he was a respected member of a group that had more money and power than most countries, he was Jay Walling– ford Reston – and here he was being hunted in his own facility, forced to take a hostage, to hold a gun to the head of a sick girl and sneak out like some criminal; it was ludicrous, just unbelievable. "Too tight," the girl whispered, her voice strangled and rasping. "Too bad," he answered, continuing to drag her along by her slender throat, her head tucked through his arm; she should have thought of that before she decided to invade the Planet. He pulled her through the door that led into the cell block, feeling better with each step he took. Each was another step closer to escape, to survival. He would not be gunned down by some pious, self-righteous group of visionless thugs; he'd kill himself first. Past the empty cells, almost to the door – and the girl stumbled, falling into him so hard that she almost knocked him down. She gripped him tightly, trying to regain her balance, and Reston felt a sudden insane rush of anger at her, of rage. Stupid bitch, assassin, spy, I should shoot you right here, now, blow your slack, stupid brain across the walls…
He regained control before he could pull the trigger, but the loss of composure frightened him a little. It would have been a mistake, and a costly one. "Do that again and I'll kill you," he said coldly, and kicked at the door that led into the main hall, pleased at the merciless quality of his voice. He sounded strong, like a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill if it served his purposes – which, he was coming to dis– cover, was what he was. Through the door and into the hall…
"Let her go, Reston!"
John and Red were at the corner, both of them with weapons trained on him. Blocking the path to the elevator. Immediately, Reston dragged the girl back, they'd just have to go back into the cell block while he decided how to handle… "Forget it," Red growled. "They're right behind you, we saw them tailing you. You're trapped."
Reston pushed the gun barrel against the girl's head, desperate, I've got the hostage, they can't, they have to let me go… "I'll kill her!" He backed up again, moving toward the anteroom of the test program, the girl staggering
to stay on her feet. "And then we'll kill you," John said, not a whisper of lie in his deep voice. "If you hurt her, we'll hurt you. Let her go and we leave."
Reston reached the closed metal door and reached around for the control panel, hitting the button that would unlock the gate and the hatch into One. "You can't possibly expect me to believe that," he sneered as the sheet metal slid up; there was only one Dac left alive and he'd left their kennel open – I can climb, I can still get away from them, it's not too late!
At that second, the door to the cell block opened and the other two stepped out – stepped in between the gunmen and him, and he acted before he had time to think, taking his chance. Reston pushed the girl away, hard, throwing her toward all four of them and he jumped left in the same motion, hitting the hatch with his shoulder. The door into One flew open and he was through, slam– ming it closed. There was a bolt and he threw it, the the metal making a sound like music. As long as he stayed away from the clearings, he was safe. They couldn't touch him. Strong hands caught her before she could crash into the ground – and she could breathe again – and John and Leon were alive… the relief was an ocean of warmth rising up over her, making her feel even weaker than she already was. The extended chokehold had taken most of what little strength she'd had. In fact, now that she thought about it, Rebecca felt an awful lot like death on two legs; like crap on a cracker, as she used to say when she was a child… Claire held her steady – it was Claire's strong hands that she'd felt – and everyone gathered around her, John picking her up easily. Rebecca closed her eyes, relaxing into her exhaustion. "Are you alright?" David asked, and she nodded, relieved and happy that they were together again, that no one had been hurt -