by S. D. Perry
Chapter Eighteen
THEY WERE IN TROUBLE, FALLING INTO THE building and moving to the back wall through the dark, sweating and gasping, Cole expecting the flimsy door to crash open any second.
-boom, and they come pouring in, screaming, clawing us to shreds before we even see them -"Got a plan," John panted, and Cole felt a flicker of hope, a hope that lasted until John's next sentence. "We run like hell for the back wall," he said firmly. "Are you nuts?" Leon said. "Did you see that one jump, there's no way we can outrun them. "
John took a deep breath and started talking, low and fast. "You're right, but you and I are both good shots, we could take out some of the streetlights along the way. Even if they can see in the dark, it'll be a distraction, stir up some confusion maybe. "
Leon didn't say anything, and although he couldn't see his face clearly, Cole saw him rubbing at his shoulder where the creature had smacked him. Slowly, like he was actually considering John's idea.
They're both nuts!
Cole struggled to keep the blatant terror out of his voice. "Isn't there some other option? I mean, we could. . . we could climb, go across on the rooftops. " "Buildings are all different heights," John said. "And I don't think they're built to hold much weight. " "What if we. . . " Leon interrupted softly. "We don't have the ammo, Henry. " "So we go back to Phase Three, think it over. . . " "We're closer to the southwest corner," John said, and Cole knew they were right, knew it and hated it, a lot. Still, he searched for some other option, trying to think of some other way. The Hunters were terrible, they were the most terrible things Cole thought he'd ever seen - and from somewhere outside, one of them screamed, the screeching, furious sound blasting through the thin walls, and Cole realized that they didn't have time to come up with a better plan. "Okay, yeah, okay," he said, thinking that the very least he could do would be to suck it up and face the inevitable like he actually had guts. I won't drag them down, he thought, and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders a little. If this was the way it had to be, he wasn't going to shame himself in front of them by turning into a sniveling coward - and he wasn't going to lower their chances by becoming a burden. Cole pulled the clip that John had given him out of his pocket and fumbled through swapping it for the empty, his heart pounding - and was a little surprised to find that now that he was committed, that the decision was made, he felt stronger, braver. I might very well die, he said to himself, and waited for the rush of horror - but it didn't come. He'd already be dead if it wasn't for John and Leon, and maybe this would be his chance to keep one or both of them from getting hurt. Without another word, the three of them moved for the door, Cole thinking that his life had changed more in the last couple of hours than in the last ten years and that in spite of how it had come about, he was glad for the change. He felt whole. He felt real. "Ready. . . " John said, and Cole took a deep breath, Leon grinning at him in the soft light from the window.
". . . now!"
John yanked the door open and they ran out into the street as all around them, the night was shattered by the savage screams of the Hunters. Reston's eyes glittered. He leaned forward, staring at the screen intently, delighted by the suicidal deci- sion. All three of them, storming out into the dark like lunatics. Like dead men who didn't have the sense to stop moving. They ran south, John in the lead, Red and Cole right behind. From a sidewalk to their right, a Hunter leapt out to greet them. . . . . . and there was a flash of light, a brilliant burst of white-orange high above, burning glass like glitter raining down across the street. One of the street-lamps, they'd shot out one of the lamps, and the 3K seemed to go mad as the broken glass pelted down over it. The red-turning-gray Hunter whipped its body around, frenzied and screaming, searching for its attacker. . . . . . and completely ignored the running men. All three were sprinting past, raising weapons, firing into the sky. Firing at more of the lights, and Reston saw another Hunter spring out into the street, almost lost as a shadow among shadows. . . . . . and Cole, Henry Cole feinted left then right, slamming the barrel of his gun against the crouching 3Ks head. . . . . . and there was a burst of liquid, of brain and blood projectile gushing from its temple, the electri- cian firing at point blank range. The Hunter's arms and legs were spasming, flailing, but it was already dead. Cole jumped away and kept running, catching up to the others as more of the streetlights exploded, glass flying from strobing flashes of white light. "No," Reston whispered, unaware that he'd spo- ken, but quite aware that things were going horribly wrong. John ran, paused to fire, ran again. The violent shrieks chased them, the rain of glass and smell of burning metal was coming at them from every-where. . . . . . and he saw one of them in the street, in front of them at the intersection that would take them to the cage, saw the strange flashing eyes and the open black hole of its screaming mouth -
- save the ammo Jesus it looks just like the street
- and he kept running straight at it, taking aim, the thundering rounds of the nine-millimeters behind him, the screaming monster less than ten feet away when he fired.
Now!
A short burst, measured, directly into the howling, unnatural face -
- and it didn't go down, and although he swerved to avoid it, he didn't get far enough. Its screeching face seeming inches from his, visible, thick with blood, it swung one impossibly long arm out and slammed it into John's chest. The blow crashed into his left pectoral, and John expected to be crushed, thrown through the air, his body shattered, but the creature must have been weakened by the bullets, disoriented, blinded per- haps, because though he could feel his pec contracting in pain - the strike had been brutally solid - he'd taken harder punches. He'd staggered but didn't fall, then he was past and turning left, headed west. He shot a look back, saw the others still with him, looked ahead -
-there it is!
The street ended at the painted wall less than a block ahead - and there was an opening set about five feet off the ground, a hole eight feet wide and at least ten feet high. . . . . . and there was another scream to his right, he couldn't see the camouflaged Hunter but bam-bam, Leon or Cole shot at it, the shriek going frantic with rage. John raised the M-16 and took out another streetlight, ten seconds and we're there. . . . . . and a panel of deep blue wall started to slide down over the opening, slow but steady. In seconds, there'd be no escape. Reston stabbed frantically at the kennel lock, the gate creeping down on its tracks like a goddamn snail, his hands clammy with sweat, his drunken mind reeling with disbelief.
No no no no. . .
He'd closed Two and Three but there'd been a Hunter still inside before, he'd left it open, forgot- ten and now the animal was gone and the three men were about to get away. To get away from him, from the deaths assigned to them.
Faster!
John was shooting a look back, screaming, Red right behind, Cole almost at his side -
- and there was a Hunter less than twenty feet behind them, gaining ground, its massive body flick- ering between tan and asphalt, its claws scraping gouges in the street.
Kill them, do it, jump, kill!
John made it to the opening, hands hitting the bottom, vaulting him through in a graceful blur. One hand shot out and Red was there, grabbing it, being jerked inside in an instant -
- and there was Cole, and he was going to make it through, too, the gate wouldn't close in time and there were hands reaching out to him -
- and then the Hunter behind him swept its arms down, its talons ripping into Cole's back, through the shirt and skin, through muscle, perhaps through bone. The others swept Cole inside as the gate settled closed. Cole didn't scream as they set him down, though he must have been in agony. They placed him on his stomach as gently as they could, Leon feeling sick with sorrow when he saw the shredded mess that had been Cole's back.
Dying, he's dying.
In seconds, he lay in a pool of his own blood. Through the tatters of his wet, crimson shirt, Leon could see the ripped flesh, the torn mu
scle fibers and the slick shine of bone beneath. The crushed bone. The damage had been done in two long, ragged tears, each starting above the shoulder blades and ending at his lower back. Mortal wounds. Cole was breathing in low, shallow gasps, his eyes closed, his hands trembling. Unconscious. Leon looked at John, saw the stricken expression, looked away; there was nothing they could do for him. They were in a giant mesh cage that stank of wild animal at the end of a long cement hall, one that apparently ran the length of the four testing areas. It was dark, only a few lights on, revealing the kennel in shadows; the cages were separated by partition walls with huge windows, and Leon could just see the one next to them, the Spitters' home. It was covered in thick, clear plastic, the floor littered with bones. The Hunters' cage was empty, at least thirty feet wide and twice as long, a couple of low troughs at the mesh walls. It was a cold and lonely place to die, but at least he was out, he wasn't feeling any. . . "Turn. . . me, over," Cole whispered. His eyes were open, his lips quivering. "Hey, lie easy," John said gently. "You're gonna be fine, Henry, just stay where you are, don't move, okay?" "Bull, shit," Cole said. "Roll me over, I'm, dying. . . "
John locked gazes with Leon, who nodded reluc-tantly. He didn't want to cause Cole any more pain, but he didn't want to refuse him; he was dying, they should give him anything they could.
Carefully, slowly, John lifted Cole and turned him. Cole moaned when his back touched the floor, his eyes wide and rolling, but seemed to feel some relief after a moment. Maybe the cold. . . or maybe he was past the point of pain, going numb. "Thanks," he whispered, a blood bubble popping on his pale lips. "Henry, try to rest now," Leon said softly, wanting to cry. The man had tried so hard to be brave, to keep up with them. . . "Fossil," Cole said, his gaze fixing on Leon's. "In, tube. Guys said. . . if it got, out, it'd. . . destroy every. Thing. In the. . . lab room. West. Understand?"Leon nodded, understanding perfectly. "An Um-brella creature in the lab room. Fossil. You want us to let it out. "
Cole closed his eyes, his waxy face so still that Leon thought it might be over, but he spoke again, quietlyenough that they had to lean in to hear him. "Yeah," he breathed. "Good. "Cole took one last breath, letting it out - and his chest didn't rise again. Within minutes of Cole's death, the two men fig- ured out how to escape from the Hunter cage. Reston stared at the screen, feeling nothing, determined not to be surprised. They simply weren't human, that was all; once he'd accepted that, there was nothing to be surprised at any longer. The feeding troughs had been wedged firmly into long, narrow gaps in the steel mesh so that the handlers could feed the specimens without entering the cage; enough of the trough was outside so that one could simply drop food in, the animals taking it fromtheir side. That the 3Ks might try to pull the feeding containers inside or push them out wasn't a concern, since the gaps were much too narrow for their bodies.
But not for human bodies. . . or for theirs, whatever they are.
John and Red both started to kick at the trough, and as it started to edge out, Reston picked up his revolver and stood, turning away from the screens. There was no point in watching. He'd failed, the Planet's tests had proved too easy and he would be severely disciplined for what he'd done, perhaps killed. But he wasn't ready to die, not yet - and not at their hands.
But the elevator, the surface people. . .
It wasn't safe to go up, either. The compound was probably overrun with these S. T. A. R. S. soldiers by now, they'd cut him off and now were just waiting for their two boys to drive him out. . .
Can't go up, can't kill them, not enough time. . . the cafeteria!
His employees would help him. Once he freed them, once he explained things, they'd rally around him, protect him from harm. The specifics would have to be edited, of course, but he could work that out on his way.
Have to go now, they'll be out soon, out and looking for me. Looking to avenge Cole, perhaps. Looking to make me sorry, when I only did my job, what any man would do. . .
Somehow, he doubted they'd understand. Reston walked out, already working through his story, won- dering how things had gone so terribly awry.