Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

  The lock gave with a particularly satisfying screech of metal. Cole grinned. He undid the catches on the door, then tried to make himself wait patiently for Sterner and Jason to catch up with him. But, he couldn't resist a quick look inside.

  As he opened the door, light from the weak bulb spilled over into the dark hallway. The layout of this wing was totally different, and Cole realised that the place from which they'd come was more like an annexe. He peered to his right, down a corridor lined with windows on one side, and doors on the other.

  As he turned his head to look, the flashlight in his teeth turned, too. He'd almost forgotten it was there, he'd been clenching it like that for so long. The pool of light drifted and thinned as he lifted his head to look into the distance.

  At first, he couldn't figure out what he was seeing. There was a lumpy something lying midway along—on the window side. Cole froze, and spat the light out into his hand to get a better look.

  It was a person. Cole's first thought was that he'd found Jace. He'd forgotten the locked door—forgotten everything in the shock of seeing the body lying on the floor. The flashlight shuddered in his hand. “Jace?” he asked, in a voice that quavered, “i-is that you-u?”

  He moved up the hall, leaning on to the wall for support. As he neared the body, he forced himself to shine his light full on it.

  What he saw made him gasp. The face was swollen and distorted, with the tongue sticking out between the lips and the eyes crusted and swollen nearly closed. No, it wasn't Jace—it wasn't like anything Cole had ever seen before. He lurched away and vomited up the little he'd had for dinner.

  When he'd finished, he felt so weak he could barely stand. But he determined he wasn't going to hang out here with this bloated corpse. Cole did a three-limbed crawl back the way he'd come.

  He stood up, slammed the door behind him, and searched for the broken lock. Finding it, he slid it through the hole, hoping it would be enough to keep that corpse where it belonged.

  He had a sense of urgency—and dread—now about finding Jason. Pushing himself away from the door, he headed back down the dark stairs.

  * * * *

  “What's that?”

  There was a prolonged thumping rumbling sound, and then silence.

  Eric Sterner quickly flicked his light up the hall, then cursed loudly. “That fuckin’ idiot!” he complained.

  Never, ever again will I work with amateurs.

  He gave Jason a shove, that almost knocked him over. “Get a move on, Stratton!” he ordered. “I think your damned friend Calloway just toppled down some stairs.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rick took a look around; his eyes resting briefly on each of the people in the room. He was trying to assess how each would react when Caroline appeared. The violence of the moment—when Angsley had bashed Simon—had affected the atmosphere. Whereas before, the tension in the room had been sponsored by fear, now it was fraught with an almost irrational flush of testosterone—and anger. Hylton was furious at the eruption of internal strife, Geraldo and Jamaal were still churning with adrenaline, Simon was watchful through a kind of bleary-eyed pain. Even Rutgers was abnormally quiet and subdued, and Rick had the feeling he was trying to conceal something. Rick sighed. Not exactly the kind of atmosphere to encourage a calm approach. If she were to come in right now, no one would even question it: they'd simply blow her to bits.

  The part they could reach, that is.

  All of a sudden he felt like a fool. Like he was making far too much of this entire thing. The scepticism in the DSO's faces rankled. As a scientist, he was usually the sceptic—not the one inspiring scepticism. It bothered him to be thought of as the wacko, the loony, the weirdo with the crazy ideas.

  Am I being reasonable? he asked himself.

  Maybe, instead of suggesting things, I should have relied on what Rutgers, Rodrigal, and Zeneeba had to say. After all, they're the virologists. The ones with the background to handle something like this. What did Zeneeba recommend? Produce an antiserum, then destroy all sources of infection.

  I'm just a plant pathologist. Doubts flooded him. The idea of offering Denaro a transfusion suddenly seemed as stupid as planning to host a fireworks display on an oil tanker. He no longer felt certain of anything.

  Least of all that—when the time came—he'd be able to do anything to stop Denaro from killing them all.

  Reason. Think it out. One of Rick's biggest fears had been that he'd run out of energy before Denaro ever arrived. Well, one of the reasons she was taking so long was his fault. I told them to turn off the damned lights.

  One thing his mutation hadn't left him with in abundance was patience. It suddenly occurred to him that there was no reason to wait. Why not face Denaro now? It would be much better to get this over with, than sit here waiting for doom to arrive. That way, any encounter would be on his terms—and without endangering all these people. If he failed, then they could do what they would probably have done anyway: blast Denaro out of her non-existent shoes.

  It was now or never. Hylton wasn't about to remain in one place while decisions were made for him. Right now, he was having a discussion with Vizar, and looking seriously disturbed about something. Rick had a feeling that whatever the something was, it would make him act quickly.

  Rick suspected both Vizar and Hylton would object to his decision to go it alone, so he kept up his pacing. But he made a point of snatching up the paraphernalia Rutgers had prepared for him—and concealing it within the folds of the towel he was using to mop his face.

  Only two people noticed: Rutgers, who had learned to treat any change in his movements as a warning sign—and Simon. Through slitted eyes, Simon saw Rick pick up the equipment, and knew what he was about to do.

  Should I try to stop him? he wondered. He glimpsed his friend's face, and saw the determination there. It was something he recognised; something he'd seen in his own mirror. Richard Lockmann wasn't looking forward to this—it was just something that needed to be done. And he wasn't going to let anyone stop him.

  * * * *

  With the aid of Sterner's flashlight, Jason ran up the stairs, leaving Eric to follow behind. They went up one flight, to the landing, where Cole was attempting to pick himself off the floor. “Cole!” Jace asked anxiously. “Are you okay?”

  “I didn't hit my arm again, if that's what you mean,” Cole replied irritably. “I was so busy trying to not hit it, that I almost broke my neck instead.”

  “How bad's the bleeding?” Jason carefully peeled back the soggy sweatshirt sleeve, to see the bandage underneath. “Never mind,” he said. “I can see for myself.”

  “What did you go up there for, anyway?” Eric asked impatiently. “Why didn't you stay put?”

  “I was looking for Jason,” Cole explained.

  Jason flashed him a quick grin. “Let me guess—you found a locked door.”

  “Not for long. I used my bent crowbar on it.” He hesitated. “Jace, there's a body up there, behind the door.”

  Jace looked up. “Not—”

  “Rick or Simon? No.” Cole gave a shudder. “I think it might have been a severe case of WTV, Jace,” he said seriously. “The guy was swollen, and his tongue hung out—”

  "Did you touch him?"

  Cole shook his head. “No way.” He added sheepishly, “I lost my lunch, then crawled back down to the doorway.”

  Jace taped a new bandage around the old one, then placed Cole's arm in a sling, that he secured to his chest. “Don't even think of taking the sling off, Cole. Keep this up and you could damage the nerve.” He looked at the way he was sprawled on the ground. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

  “Not any place I want you to examine.” Cole grinned. “Give me a hand up.”

  The other two helped him to a standing position. Cole swayed a little, but stood there. “See? Good as new.”

  “If this is new, spare me the old,” Eric muttered.

  Cole sniffed and grimaced. He asked Jason, “Is this green
bit your idea of camouflage gear, or are you some perverted superhero wanna-be? You know—Mucous Man, or The Green Flush?” He grinned.

  “Neither. I got locked out on the roof of the hospital, and had to come down the contractor's chute—into the dumpster.”

  “Locked out?” Cole repeated sheepishly.

  Jason knew him well enough to recognise the near admission. “When we get back, Cole—I'll give you a personal tour of my escape route.”

  * * * *

  Richard Lockmann went over to the nearest grow lamp, and stood for a moment in the full intensity of its beam. Then he turned, to look at Simon. Rick's keen eyesight caught the slight difference in depth between his friend's nearly-closed lids. He knew Simon was both conscious, and watching him.

  In the next moment, Simon confirmed it by shaking his head, ever so slightly, and mouthing the word, “Don't—”

  Rick came over to the bed, and Simon reached out with his good hand and gripped Rick's arm. “Don't do it, Rick,” he whispered. “Not alone—”

  “Thanks for everything, Simon,” Rick said, with a smile. He gently disengaged Simon's grip, and forced his arm down on to the bed.

  Then, before Simon, or any of the others could react, Richard Lockmann moved away and out of the room—with that speed, agility, and surety of motion that Simon was beginning to expect.

  * * * *

  “Lockmann's gone,” Rutgers told them bluntly.

  Both Daniel Vizar and Steven Hylton turned mid-argument, with gaping mouths. Simon would have laughed if he wasn't so upset about Rick.

  "Where is he?"

  “I'm not sure, but I think he's gone to visit Dr. Denaro.” Phillip Rutgers pictured the shredded phantom and a shiver of gooseflesh danced down his spine.

  “Finlay! Jamaal!” Hylton barked out. “Go find him! Now!”

  “Wait!” Rutgers said. He'd had Sacchara help him compile a short video screening of “Denaro's greatest hits". He'd discovered Sacchara could function almost normally, if given something to do. “Justin, can you run those sequences now?”

  Hylton looked impatient. After a warning from Vizar, he'd tried to contact Roland Chandler on the roof, but hadn't had any success. That meant the mission was a scrub, and he wanted to get the rest of his people out of here. But, he didn't want to leave Lockmann behind—the man, if “man” you could still call him, was too damned valuable. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that Finlay and Jamaal should carry on.

  “It'll only take a minute. Then they'll know what they're up against.”

  Hylton gritted his teeth, but nodded. “One minute.”

  Sacchara walked around the room, switching on all the computer monitors. “Ready,” he said.

  Phillip Rutgers clicked the mouse.

  Caroline Denaro surrounded them, her image on multiple screens, in full colour. Shredded, tissues agape, fading, then reappearing; sometimes in her body—sometimes not. “Here she is within her body,” Phillip narrated calmly, knowing that the scenes were graphic enough not to require any added dramatics. “We have visuals of the infection process: extrusion of the tongue into subcutaneous tissues.” The scene changed to a close-up of Denaro, licking Sy Morgan's cut arm. “Lockmann picked up on that one, by the way. Insect vectors infect the subepidermal tissues of plants with their saliva.” Next, he ran three clips of people either being actively hunted, or snared by Denaro.

  “She needs to be destroyed,” Hylton muttered, trying to hide the queasiness he was feeling.

  “This is her ‘out-of-body’.” Rutgers ran the video twice of Denaro flinging Richard Lockmann across the room. “That's what you're going to have to deal with if you destroy the body. It's also the part that infected Lockmann,” Rutgers reminded them all, including Vizar. “He claims he never met her ‘corporeal’ form.” He added, “Lockmann said if you destroy her body, you'll only piss her off.”

  “What the hell can we do?” Finlay asked, appalled at what he was seeing.

  “Wish Lockmann luck,” Rutgers told them grimly. “And hope to bloody hell that he's right.”

  * * * *

  As Rick entered the anteroom, he saw someone standing at the sink. Damn! he thought. He thought he'd accounted for everyone except Geraldo, who was standing guard in the corridor.

  The man turned. It was Denis Rodrigal. “What are you—”

  But, Lockmann had already pushed the release button for the far door. The one they'd kept locked, against unexpected arrivals. The only other access into the main building.

  Rodrigal poked his head back into the main room, saw that Hylton and Vizar were still arguing, then turned and ran, to follow Richard Lockmann. “Wait, Rick!” he said. “I'm coming with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you might need help.”

  It was obvious that Rodrigal was terrified. Rick smiled. “I'm going to find Caroline Denaro,” he said. “Are you still sure you want to come?”

  “W-wouldn't miss it,” Rodrigal muttered. “I've heard she's quite a gal. Just don't feel you have to introduce me.”

  For the first time in hours, Richard Lockmann laughed.

  * * * *

  “No—I don't like it!” Hylton said. If anything, the video had reinforced his concerns about leaving the site. “Get Kerrington and Angsley ready to travel,” he ordered. “We're leaving.”

  “Raeiti's on the roof. It's the only way out,” Vizar told him. “The windows are all barred, the elevator's blocked off, and the stairs are barricaded at level two. Short of explosives, you can't get through.”

  “We can if your Security staff opens up the lower levels.”

  Daniel Vizar hesitated. To open up the building would destroy all chances of keeping Denaro's disintegration a secret. It would reveal not only what had happened to her, but what she'd done to Raeiti's people. It might even risk the virus getting beyond this building, into the general population.

  “What if the virus gets away?” Vizar was already tallying up the costs to Genetechnic. Costs in lives, costs in reputation, costs in reparation, costs in fines. Lawsuits, recriminations. Add to the list the risk that Denaro could easily go out of control, infecting hundreds of people, who might then infect someone else.

  “Don't you have anything in place?” Steven asked. “To handle situations like this?”

  Daniel resented the implication. Genetechnic worked with leading edge technology—the majority of it consumer-oriented. Only a few of their projects were this controversial, and those were generally funded, and overseen, by third parties whose vested interests included a kind of discreet association. Parties who were conscious of both protecting and concealing their involvement—and its results. But, Hylton was suggesting that Genetechnic had incidents like this frequently enough to warrant some kind of regular action.

  “Raeiti was supposed to handle this,” Daniel said stiffly. “But he's never been needed before. He's over-reacted.”

  “'Over-reacted’ my ass,” Hylton told him. “He's killed three of my people.”

  Jamaal, Finlay, and Kerrington looked at him in surprise.

  “That's right. Raeiti's in control of the roof. Which is why we're going down.” He turned back to Vizar. “Have Security open the door—”

  Vizar nodded. “It's your funeral,” he said, but there was nothing trite about the words. He was serious.

  “Ours, and maybe everyone else's,” Finlay muttered.

  * * * *

  “Vizar's in trouble,” Ainsley told Leon Jeller, one of his Security team. “We've got bodies on the ground, and people have been going back and forth over the fence for the last half hour. Get hold of Sigley and Droglecht, and have them get over here. We're going to unseal Section 14.” As Jeller turned toward the phone Ainsley called him back. “Jeller? Be sure to warn them it's ‘black tie’.”

  * * * *

  Simon sat up and, leaning on his good arm, forced himself on to his feet. He made an effort to put the isolation suit back over his injured arm.


  Jamaal, seeing what he was trying to do, came over to help. “Going somewhere special, Kerrington?” he asked.

  “You got it,” Simon grunted. He turned, to say quietly to Phillip Rutgers, “Do you have any kind of tranquilliser gun—a dart pistol—anything like that?”

  Rutgers didn't bother with quiet. He was glad to see someone else was searching for a solution. “Vizar! Does your arsenal include a tranquilliser gun? Like the kind they use on animals?”

  “I can order one in—”

  “Too long,” Simon muttered. “It'll have to be this.” He pulled a Taser out of his bag. “What'll this do to her?” he asked.

  Rutgers shook his head. “I don't know. You'd have to get awfully close to find out.”

  “Kerrington! Sit down before you fall down. We'll handle this as a group—” Hylton began.

  Simon's eyes were cold. “Did you see that video?” he asked. “By the time you ‘handle’ it, Rick will be dead.” Picking up the Taser, he turned around and stalked out the door.

  Phillip Rutgers was right at his back. Once the door had swung closed behind them, Phillip commented, “I've been wanting to do that since I got here.”

  Simon's smile was strained. “Do you think he was impressed?”

  “So impressed that you're probably out of a job. I don't think I'll get paid for this one, either.” He grabbed Simon's good arm and pulled it over his shoulder, taking most of the other man's weight.

  “Thanks,” Simon said. They'd reached the stairs. “Ready?” Simon asked him.

  “Never,” Rutgers told him. “But let's find him anyway.”

  * * * *

  “What're you doing?” Steven Hylton turned around, to find Daniel Vizar at the computer console, with Justin Sacchara at his side. For Hylton, Kerrington's exit was like some terrible kind of deja vu. Since the time they'd arrived at the hospital, all their plans had been disrupted into a chaotic mess.