Something in its mouth. It chewed with a ruminative roll of the jaw. A human ear.
It leaned close like it was sniffing the lens.
Donahue kept absolutely still. She slowed her breathing. No sound but the pounding blood-rush of her pulse.
The creature couldn’t see her. A one-way spy hole. A bead of black glass. But it pressed against the office door like it could smell the intoxicating scent of fresh meat.
Donahue slowly backed away from the door. Crackle of bulb glass underfoot. She froze. No reaction from the creature outside in the hall. She kept walking.
She crouched in the corner and whispered into the Motorola.
‘I can see one of them in the ticket hall. Maybe I could take him.’
‘You’ve got a weapon?’
‘I lost my axe. Buried it in some guy’s head. Pretty sure I could do some damage with a chair leg. Drive it into his eye.’
‘These bastards are dumb, but they’re patient. They’ll wait us out, be ready to pounce the moment we show our faces. They’ll wait a week, a month, a year. They’ll never quit.’
‘Then we’re screwed.’
‘Leave it to me, okay? I’ll figure a way out of this mess. Get on the radio. Talk to Ridgeway. Tell them to send the damned chopper. Don’t take any shit from those guys. Get a firm ETA.’
‘I’m on it.’
Donahue hefted the transmitter and laid it on the floor. She sat cross-legged. She fumbled headphones in the darkness and positioned them on her head.
She flicked on. The power light glowed brilliant green.
She passed the watch-light over the transmitter panel. She tapped needle-dials, checked battery levels, volume and frequency.
She jacked the microphone and pressed Transmit.
‘Rescue to Ridgeway, do you copy, over?’
It took fifteen minutes to raise a reply.
The Chief, shouting through whistling static.
‘Go ahead, Rescue.’
‘This is Donahue.’
‘Where’s Captain Nariko?’
‘Dead, Sir.’
‘Say again?’
‘The Captain is dead.’
‘What about Ekks?’
‘We found him.’
‘What is his condition?’
‘Unconscious. He’s sick, heavily irradiated, but he’s breathing.’
‘Has he spoken? Has he talked?’
‘No, sir. Completely unresponsive.’
‘What’s the status of his team? Are there any other survivors?’
‘They’re dead.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘They didn’t survive the bomb. But we have their papers, their data.’
‘Good job, Donahue. Tell your people. Outstanding work. The site is secure?’
‘Negative. We’re losing ground. We’re drawing heavy heat down here. Getting worse by the minute. There are still plenty of infected people among the ruins, messed up but moving. They’ve sniffed us out, big time. We’re pretty much overrun. We need backup, anything you got. Guns, grenades, RPGs. We’ve got a serious fight on our hands.’
‘I’ll put a couple of men on the helicopter. They will provide cover fire during extraction. But you must protect Ekks until we can reach you. Everything in your power, yes?’
‘We need a ride out of here asap, Sir. We need immediate evac.’
‘The helicopter is scouting for a new base. It’s out of radio range. We can’t reach the pilot.’
‘I don’t mean to speak out of line, sir, but ten hours from now we’ll probably be dead.’
‘Problems of our own, Donahue. Hundreds of infected bastards massing outside the perimeter.’
‘Don’t forget us, Chief. Don’t leave us stranded.’
‘I’ll come myself. And like I said, I’ll bring a couple of guys with AR-15s. We’ll take care of you.’
‘Copy that.’
‘Good luck, Donahue. You are in our prayers.’
43
Sicknote stood at the plant room door. He caressed the wood grain. He rested his hand on the panelling and closed his eyes, like he was trying to commune with the creatures milling in the ticket hall.
Tombes crouched by the wall. He watched through half-closed eyes as Sicknote stroked blistered varnish.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Sicknote jumped back.
‘Nothing.’
‘Then get away from the damned door.’
Sicknote shrugged and gave a dreamy smile. He wandered to the back of the room. He sat beside Ekks and drew patterns in the dust with his finger.
Tombes stood and checked the rack pinning the door closed. He shook it. Heavy iron. Solid. Hadn’t moved an inch.
He checked the door. Sturdy. No cracks. Rusted strap hinges holding firm.
Lupe joined him. She yawned and stretched.
‘No sound from our guests outside,’ she said. ‘I guess they’re automatons. Just kind of shut down if they don’t have an obvious target. Go dormant. Soon as they catch a scent, they perk up and snap into action.’
‘They don’t sleep. I know that much.’
‘Best if we keep our voices down. Don’t remind them we are here. Maybe they’ll leave us alone. Get bored and head back to the surface.’
‘You honestly believe that?’ asked Tombes.
‘Grasping at straws. We could encourage them to leave, I guess. Maybe cut power to the ticket hall, put out the lights for a while. Let them stumble around in the dark.’
‘They like the dark.’
‘What’s the deal with you and Sicknote?’ asked Lupe.
‘I don’t like the way he keeps heading for the door. Can’t take his eyes off it. He’s mesmerised. How long has he been off his meds?’
‘A while.’
‘Look in his eyes,’ said Tombes. ‘Batshit. Pure madness. He’s walking around nice enough, but there are bombs going off in his head. He’ll hurt someone, given a chance.’
‘Think he wants to open the door? Let those bastards inside?’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me. Kind of crazy thing he might do. He’s going to die. Might want to take the rest of us with him. Like Galloway.’
‘You want to tie him up?’ asked Lupe. ‘Lash him to a water pipe?’
‘What else can we do with the guy? They won’t let him on the chopper, that’s for sure. If he gets back to Ridgeway, the Chief will give the order. And if his men hesitate to pull the trigger, he’ll do it himself.’
‘He needs a shrink, not a prison cell. Sure as shit deserves to get out of this dungeon.’
‘I saw him on TV. He doesn’t deserve a damned thing.’
Cloke sat cross-legged in the corner of the room. He thumbed through the battered notebook. He flipped pages patched with tape, studied the dense biro scrawl. He rubbed his eyes. He tried to make sense of letters and symbols.
He lay a crumpled sheet of paper across his knee and began to make notes with the stub of a pencil.
Lupe sat cross-legged beside him.
‘So what is it?’ She gestured to the notebook. ‘The letters. What do they mean?’
‘I have no idea. Ekks had this book in his hands when we found him. Gripping it tight. Must be significant. But look at it. Line after line, page after page. What the hell is it? An insanely long equation? Some kind of epic chemical formula? The whole notebook. Letters and little hieroglyphs. Triangles, circles, diamonds. Symbol clusters. Recurring patterns. The slashes seem to indicate word breaks. If I had to make a guess, I would say we are looking at some sort of crude substitution code.’