"The chain of command," Sanchez stumbled. "Who’s on top of the general?"
"Forget that," she told him again. "That isn't going to happen. About the only shot there is, is to try and contact Gant's boss at his base — that was a General Friez, I believe. But Borman is his superior officer, so the Pentagon will not let him jump on anything fast and he's probably all the way back in California, where Archangel is based. But this isn’t just a military operation, is it?"
Sanchez failed to grasp her meaning..
"The Tall Company," she explained. "This is their baby, too."
"So?"
"So that Vsalov, he’s down there. Honestly, he strikes me as slime but he's scientist-slime so maybe he'll listen. If we make him see what’s going on, maybe he can stop it."
"Okay, but …" Sanchez started.
"But what?"
"But what if he’s like the general?"
Liz considered, then asked, "Do you know how to fly a helicopter?"
That threw him for a loop.
"What?"
"Never mind. Let’s go."
Captain Campion led Wells and Galati along the hall until they were stopped by a series of sounds: gurgling, munching, and snorts. He held up his fist and his comrades dropped into a "hold" position, on one knee and quiet.
The captain communicated with his team with hand signals: an open palm, a thumb to his chest, two fingers walking on air, two fingers pointing at his eyes.
They nodded in understanding and waited as Campion crept forward to a bend in the hall. It was dark — everything was dark down there — but there were some emergency lights on and his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see around the corner.
He was on one end of a four-way intersection. Straight ahead across a perpendicular passage was slightly ajar door with a biohazard symbol and the word "disposal" written underneath. The sounds came from that room.
A few paces closer, another corridor illuminated by red track lighting led to the main lab; the target area.
The V.A.A.D. must be activated in the laboratory!
Would whatever lurked inside that biohazard disposal room come out and interfere with reaching the lab? Obviously he could not be sure, but he had no alternative; the device needed to be activated, the mission must be completed.
He waved to his two comrades to join him. He had a plan, but they might not like it.
Liz and Sanchez moved fast through the underground halls. The colonel worried that Borman was not going to forget about their little incident, and given his unpredictable mental state, that could mean anything.
They made a series of sharp turns through the maze until they came to a rather wide, well-lit, and carpeted corridor marking the VIP residential section. It was one of the few areas that remained relatively well kept. No chipped paint here, no burned-out bulbs.
"There," Sanchez pointed. "He’s in 22."
Liz knocked on the wooden door.
"Dr. Vsalov? Are you in there?"
"Um … Colonel … I think the general has finished polishing his boots."
She saw what Corporal Sanchez saw: a pair of military policemen marching down the hall in their direction. Both carried M16s. Both stared at Colonel Thunder.
She knocked on the door much harder, causing her knuckles to actually crack.
"Dr. Vsalov, it’s Colonel Thunder. This is very important."
No voice came from within, but a sound akin to something large falling over, maybe a lamp or a chair overturned, reached their ears.
"Something’s wrong in there," she said to Sanchez and put her shoulder against the door.
"Halt," a freckle-faced soldier in fatigues yelled. His partner — a black soldier with a scar on his cheek — pulled the charging handle on his weapon.
It was quite possible, Liz figured, that the two MPs were under the influence of whatever haunted the complex. If so, instead of arresting her they might simply shoot to kill. The next few seconds were critical.
She turned toward them, ignoring the sound of another something big smashing over inside Vsalov’s quarters.
"Don’t you throw orders at me," she said, using her best commander’s voice. "Any orders here will be given by me."
Sanchez echoed, "Stand down, soldier."
"Orders from General Borman," the freckled kid addressed Thunder. "You are to be arrested and removed from this facility, with force if necessary."
Again a loud noise, this time smashing against the door and grabbing everyone's attention. Liz utilized the distraction and lunged at the scarred soldier, using her left hand to force his barrel up and her right to reach for the sidearm holstered on his hip.
The freckled MP turned on her with his own gun, but Sanchez managed to shove that barrel up, too.
The soldier Liz grappled with regained enough control of his rifle to drive the butt into her gut. She stumbled backwards into the wall.
The scarred MP then turned to help his friend, once more using the butt of his M16, forcing Sanchez to relinquish his grip on the other soldier. In the process the freckled kid discharged a round into the ceiling, sending a sonic shockwave up and down the hall. The loud bang in such close quarters caused everyone's ears to ring.
The door to Dr. Vsalov’s quarters swung open and out came something that was mad and ravenous and inhuman despite its human form. It reached for the freckled-faced soldier with both hands, grabbing his rifle and forcing another accidental discharge, this time into the floor.
Its hands occupied, the attacker lunged with its next weapon: its teeth. Its mouth cupped the soldier's throat and bit hard. A fountain of blood erupted and ruined the blue carpet.
"Jesus fucking Christ," the black soldier cried and came to his partner's aid with a rifle butt to the attacker’s head.
It did not budge.
The freckle-faced soldier tried to cry out, but blood filled his throat and bubbled over his gaping lips. Sanchez threw his arms up and under the thing’s shoulders and tried to pry it loose.
Liz realized that the thing that had burst from the VIP quarters was Vsalov. Except Vsalov had undergone a few changes.
His cheeks had been scratched into a tangled mess of shredded skin, blood, and exposed jaw. His hair — or at least the hair that had not been pulled free of his scalp — was matted in blood from a head injury that might have been from slamming his skull against the wall repeatedly. His oversized clothes were torn and covered with red.
Something had taken hold of Vsalov, driven him insane to the point of self-mutilation, and filled what remained with a monster of rage and insanity.
Finally Sanchez wrested Vsalov from his death bite and, together, they stumbled backwards into the apartment, falling over an overturned chair just inside the doorway.
Sanchez fell with what had once been Vsalov on top of him, albeit still in a half nelson.
The black soldier took a step inside the door and leveled his rifle at the monster. Liz hurriedly slapped the barrel away, sending two 5.56 rounds into the wall.
"You want to kill them both? Sanchez, get it off of you."
"I–I can’t—"
But he did. He rolled and let go, then rolled the other direction.
The beastly thing crawled toward Sanchez. The corporal cried out as he tried to stumble to his feet.
BLAM.
A single report rang out and a bullet from the M16 found its mark in Vsalov’s back. He stopped moving … for a moment. A long enough moment for Sanchez to gain his balance and stand.
Vsalov — or the creature that had been Vsalov — stood and gaped hungrily at the three.
"What are you waiting for?" Liz asked the soldier. "Waste that thing."
The soldier squeezed the trigger on his rifle and a three-round burst hit the monster square in the chest. More blood fell on the remains of the leisure suit.