Light Play: Book One of The Light Play Trilogy

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

“Yes, but what happened to her shouldn't happen to anybody. The way I keep thinking of it is, ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I’.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “When this is over, I'm going to sleep for five days straight,” Cole muttered. They'd just climbed yet another set of stairs. “How many stairs does this place have, anyway?” He was so exhausted that they seemed to be going on forever.

  “More like, what did you eat for lunch? You weigh a tonne.”

  “Hey, look—I gave up my dinner to lighten the load. It's too much to expect me to forfeit lunch, too.” Pride asserted itself and Cole pulled away from Sterner. He hadn't realised how heavily he'd been leaning on the other man. Suddenly, he felt like a wuss. After all, he had a hole in his arm, not his head.

  “I didn't mean to—” The guy was such a joker, Eric'd thought he'd be able to take a friendly ribbing.

  “No sweat,” Cole told him. “It's not like it's going to kill me or anything.” He admitted sheepishly, “It's just that I've never been shot before.”

  “You're about to get shot again. Sit down, Cole,” Jason ordered. He took out a hypodermic.

  “What's that?” Cole asked, looking at it warily. “You know I hate needles.”

  “Wuss to the end,” Eric muttered, then grinned.

  “Superstrength antibiotic, plus a painkiller. There are so many germs floating around in here that I'm not taking any chances on an open wound.”

  “It's closed. With tape.”

  “And bleeding again. You must have hit it when you fell down the stairs.”

  “Or over the fence,” Eric put in.

  “Can't you leave me any dignity?” Cole asked. “According to you, I'm a fat, clumsy wuss. I should have left you back in your precinct.”

  “Are they still after us?” Jason asked Eric.

  “I haven't heard any signs of pursuit.”

  “You didn't ask me if I heard anything.” Cole yawned, and tried to hide it.

  “Would it be safe to hide him here someplace, and come back for him?”

  “What am I, some kind of unwanted baggage? The parcel gets broken, so let's throw it away?” Cole muttered sarcastically. He yawned again, leaned his head against the wall, and was almost instantly asleep.

  “What did you do? Give him a sedative?”

  Jason shook his head. “Look at his arm.”

  Eric flicked the light at the bandage. “Shit.” There was blood dripping from the bandage, and he could see a splotchy trail of it down the stairs.

  “Yeah. If we can keep him quiet, I can probably control the bleeding with a pressure bandage. It's all this bouncing around that's aggravating it.”

  Eric Sterner shook his head. “What about the ‘vector’? What if it's hiding in one of these rooms?” He flashed the light on the doors lining the corridor. “We've been so busy running, that all we've done is sneak down the halls and try a few doorknobs.”

  Jason told him sheepishly, “Most of the rooms have those keypads, so I figured they were a waste of time. Besides, I thought the action would still be a few levels up. Where the lights were.”

  “You're probably right, but there was hours’ old ‘action’ on that second level. There might just be more of it behind one of these doors.”

  Jason stood up, and stared at the numerous doors with new respect. “I think I was trying to convince myself we were in control.”

  Eric smiled. Amateurs, he thought. If there was one thing you learned early on, it was that you were never really in control. You'd chase your tail, and each time get a little closer to reaching it, and just that much closer to being prepared. But the times when everything went according to plan were so rare that they stuck out in his brain—and were the teaser that kept him chasing his tail. “What I'm trying to say,” he said kindly, “is that I don't want to leave him behind. If the vector doesn't find him, then they'll find him with the video cameras as soon as the power comes back up. When that happens, he'll be safer with us.”

  “Video cameras?” Jason asked in dismay. “I saw the ones outside—”

  Eric shone the light on the nearest camera. It made a hideous shadow in the light from the beam. “Right there.”

  “Then, Cole's got to come with us. There's no way we can leave him behind.” Jason shook Cole's shoulder. Cole jumped and flailed out at him. “Hold it! It's me—Jace.”

  “Hi, Jason,” Cole said sleepily. “Are we on a break or something? I must've dozed off.”

  “Yeah,” Eric told him. “I was going to find your friends myself, but Jace convinced me I needed your help. Are you ready to get your fat ass off the ground?”

  Jace tightened the bandage, splinted it, and secured it high up against Cole's chest.

  “What the hell are you doing, Jace?” Cole complained.

  “Why? Does it hurt?”

  “Not since you stuck me with that elephant needle. But, this isn't exactly a good look for me,” he said, pointing at the awkward placement of his injured arm.

  “Tough. So punch me. If it's a lady you're trying to impress,” Jason added, picking up his bag, and helping Cole to his feet, “the only one we're likely to find is Denaro.”

  “Let's get this over with,” Eric said. He took out his gun and moved swiftly down the hall.

  “Now he hurries,” Cole muttered. He felt like he was in a daze. It was all he could do to keep walking. “You better go with him, Jace. I'll be right behind you.”

  “That's okay,” Jace said, slowing his pace to match Cole's, and shining the light so they could see where they were heading. “I always liked playing doctor a whole lot better than playing policeman.”

  * * * *

  “How're you doing?” Rutgers asked.

  “Fine,” Simon grunted. “I'm just glad this is downhill. Can you remember if there were any flashlights in the lab? There's a chance other labs will be laid out the same.”

  “Fire extinguishers, yes. Flashlights, no. If we had a laptop, and one of us could figure out the way into the system, we could turn the lights back on.”

  “Hold it!” Simon gripped the other man's arm. “I think this is it.”

  “How can you tell?” the other man asked.

  Simon didn't know how to explain it. It was like a sixth sense that he'd acquired in his work; a “thickness” to the atmosphere when someone else was there. A shift in substance—the soft scrape of skin rubbing skin—the whisper of almost negligible breath—the swirling of the air from movement. He doubted that he'd feel it so strongly, if it weren't for the fact that everything was so dark, and he was trying to rely on senses like hearing and touch to find his way.

  “There's someone here,” he whispered, suddenly uncomfortable with the knowledge. “And I don't think it's Rick.”

  * * * *

  The screams were trapped within the confines of insulated ceiling, off-white walls, and flat wooden doors. Like a stream of water through a venturi tube, the sound shot down the hallways, becoming garbled and muffled on its way, which only added to the thick runnels of terror that burst upon their ears.

  Rodrigal froze. Somehow, that slicing rendering of sound was so much more piercing than the dull echo that had exploded out of Raeiti's phone, or the TV imagery that had appeared on the computer. This—was—real.

  Richard Lockmann ran, swearing as he went. I had the level—I knew she was here. He knew it, but he hadn't seen her. She'd been here all right—but down one of the other endless corridors that made up Genetechnic's little gene-stringing complex. She, who probably knew her territory so much better than anyone else here, could even have hidden from him if she'd chosen.

  He wondered who it was: who'd been her latest victim. More than that, he wondered whether he was going to be too late to do anything about it.

  * * * *

  Phillip Rutgers’ scream left Simon feeling deafened—until it stopped. The sudden dearth of noise, to someone standing wobbly-legged in the darkness, was enough to fill anyone with a chilling dread. Simon
was no exception. Only the way he responded differed from the norm.

  He forced himself to listen, so he'd know how and when to act.

  All he could see was a vague and shifting cloud of blacks and greys. He held the Taser extended, like a talisman against Denaro's lethal touch. Where the hell was she? Rutgers had been yanked to the left, and Simon was almost certain Denaro had him snagged—on that damned extended umbilicus he'd seen on the video. He'd seen the way it captured and held her victims while she scraped the skin and extruded her tongue into the wound—

  "No!" he yelled. That kind of thinking wasn't going to help. He could still save Rutgers if he could stop the process. Tear the man out of her grip. Somehow stop her from that final act.

  He reached out, moving to his left, until his curled fingers brushed the warm cloth of the other man's shirt. He drew back slightly, then rammed the Taser against Phillip Rutgers's chest.

  "No-o-o-o!" Simon yelled and kept on yelling—more to give himself courage than to have any effect on the she-beast lurking in the dark. "Damn you, Denaro!" he bellowed. The sharp, electrical burst exploded into Rutgers’ body, shot along his nerves, and into his spinal column. To the point where Caroline Denaro's obscene umbilicus had him snagged.

  At that moment, Phillip Rutgers collapsed on top of him like a limp doll. The last thing Simon remembered, was the sound of Caroline Denaro's rasping scream of agony, mingling with his own.

  * * * *

  It's Simon!—

  Rick had heard Simon Kerrington yell before, but never with that shrill note of terror to it. At the end, the sound was garbled, and Rick set new track records as he raced down the hall. He was moving so fast he nearly missed his turn—sliding past it for two metres before he could brake to a stop.

  He took in the scene with the proficient vision of one trained for detail, and his brain sought Denaro's location, even as his eyes sought Simon's. As he tugged Simon out from underneath Phillip Rutgers’ limp form, he took a mental note of what Caroline was doing.

  Her body had collapsed close to Rutgers, and at first Rick thought she was dead. Until he spied the untidy movements to his right—the queasy, jerking, spasmodic eruption of that other part of her. The part that needed to be included to make any death complete.

  She was suffering. He didn't know how she could feel pain without the benefit of nerves and brain, but whatever underlying connection still linked her to her body must have had some feedback on her spirit. The Taser's pulse had severed that tenuous umbilicus so abruptly that she was still suffering some kind of withdrawal, and Rick wondered if that's how it had been for her when she was first shunted out of her body.

  “Simon!” Rick peered through the hood, but there wasn't much to see. Rick's colour vision was distorted, but he guessed from the look of it that Simon's face was grey. He pulled Simon far to one side, then set to work on Rutgers. The man was unconscious, but he looked a heck of a lot better than Simon did. Rick latched on to the back of both suits, and dragged the two men down the hall, away from Denaro.

  After a quick glance to ensure that both parts of Caroline were where he'd left her, Rick turned back to Simon. “Simon!” he said, shaking him slightly. “Can you hear me?”

  * * * *

  They were still on the stairs when they heard it. “Jesus Christ! That's Simon!” Cole yelled.

  Jason left him, to start up the steps two and three at a time. He dashed past Eric and kept going. Eric followed at his back.

  Cole was left behind, alone and in the dark. “I'm coming, Simon!” he yelled, knowing that no one was listening, but figuring that the advent of one more body might help to deter Simon's attacker.

  Jason cleared the last step and flicked the light down the hallway. Where had it come from? His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could hardly hear himself think.

  * * * *

  Richard Lockmann, who could face a tumorous mutant, or a shredding, vindictive phantom without compunction, began to panic at the thought of one of his best friends dying in his arms. What'll I do?!

  Unaccustomed as yet to his high energy levels, that extra little bit of adrenaline nearly drove him over the edge. He jumped jerkily to his feet, then hefted Simon up and onto his shoulder. He started to walk away, then realised he was leaving Phillip Rutgers defenceless. Rick grabbed the back of Rutgers’ coveralls again, and awkwardly made his way along the hall, in a kind of jerky, trotting jog.

  He'd already gone up two stairs when he came out of his panic enough to realise he was banging Rutgers’ head on the steps as he went. By that time, he'd also heard a sound he wouldn't have welcomed only minutes before: running feet. He turned to greet the newcomers, an almost comical look of desperation on his face. “These men need help—” he started to say, then froze. There was something damned familiar about the first figure—despite the coat and mask and goggles. “—Jace,” he finished lamely.

  * * * *

  It was Sterner's light that caught Rick first. Following an involuntary movement of Sterner's arm, it passed over him, froze, and came back. Eric Sterner fumbled for his gun.

  It was the guy's eyes. They reflected the light weirdly, like some animal blinded by a car's headlamps. They shone some kind of eerie green with reflective bits of purple and red.

  Jason saw it, too. The involuntary smile that had creased his lips when he saw Rick was alive and well faded when Rick turned in his direction. “Rick?” he asked, confused.

  Rick had two people with him. Two victims of what? WTV?

  Virus vector.

  "Could it be Rick?” Cole's words popped into his head. These victims. Victims of what? Or who?

  “Rick?” he repeated, uncertain.

  * * * *

  Rick saw Eric Sterner take aim. Who was this guy? And what was he doing with Jace? Rick sighed. He was getting so tired of baddies every where he went. Very slowly, he released his hold on Rutgers, and let him settle on to the stairs, figuring that the man with the gun wouldn't hurt one of his own. Then, he tightened his grip on Simon.

  Eric Sterner took a final step up, and his hand shook a little. Or, maybe, he just blinked his eyes. Whatever it was, it only took a second. When his eyes re-focused, Richard Lockmann had disappeared.

  Eric stared for a second, then turned to ask Jason, “Where did he go?", but there was no one to ask.

  Richard Lockmann, Jason Stratton, and whoever it was Lockmann had been carrying, were gone.

  * * * *

  There weren't all that many left to account for. For the first time in many years, Steven Hylton felt rattled. The mission had gone wrong, and all he had left in his ledger was a trio of agents, a few worthless virologists, an unconscious assassin, and an enmical counterpart. Kerrington was a write-off—if he didn't kill himself with his injury, he'd almost certainly die from the virus. They'd lost Lockmann, they didn't have any kind of handle on Denaro's research, the virus and its vector were still running amok, and Raeiti's killers were growling at their backs. Even if he were to get the remainder of his people out of here alive, he'd have to count the mission as a loss. Hell, he'd even lost his helicopters on this one.

  He'd called in reinforcements, but because of the virus problem, it could take hours to get anyone adequately equipped in here to mop things up. He could call on the armed services, and he halfway considered blasting the hell out of this facility. Not in a bomb drop, but in a stealthy, drop-the-buildings mission that could be written off as chemical explosion. Vizar wasn't the only one who could hide behind chemical spills and confusion.

  Hylton blamed himself. He'd miscalculated; somehow underrating the seriousness of the situation because it involved the friend of one of his people. Because the notification had been by word of mouth instead of anything official. Vizar had thought it serious enough to induct a mini army. But I thought I could handle it with nine semi-unprepared, and only modestly armed, individuals. Hylton didn't have to be told he'd blown it.

  Vizar had found flashlights for them
, and they made their way quietly and quickly through the corridors. Despite Hylton's urging, none of the lights were aimed for more than a few minutes at the corridor behind them; all were intently shining on the long hallway ahead. Caroline Denaro had shone up too well in video for anyone to worry much about Raeiti's proximity.

  Daniel Vizar led them, as they made their way through the dark. When they reached Level Five, he began to watch warily for any movement in the corridor. The last sighting of Denaro had been on this floor.

  “From here on out, watch for her,” he said tersely.

  Finlay's grip on his gun tightened. What did the guy think they'd been doing?

  “What happened to the stairs?” Jamaal's question sounded abnormally loud in the hushed atmosphere.

  “Stairs are an anachronism in a complex like this, Mr. Jamaal,” Vizar told him in a whisper. “We expanded the landing and incorporated it into one of our laboratories.” His light bobbed toward the right-hand corridor. “The stairs will be picked up again, at the end of that hall. There are also two more sets, somewhere in the building.”

  “You don't know where?”

  Daniel Vizar coolly returned Steven Hylton's look. “There are twenty-one buildings in this complex,” he replied, “most of them multi-storeyed. I don't make a point of memorising unnecessary information.”

  “Information is never necessary,” Steven Hylton told him, his voice equally cool, “until you try to operate without it.”

  * * * *

  Cole rounded the last set of steps and saw Eric Sterner's light shining above. “Sterner!” he whispered, unnecessarily loudly.

  Eric turned the light towards him, shining the light unintentionally in the other man's eyes. Cole flinched. That's the way ordinary eyes look in the glare of a flashlight, Eric thought. Richard Lockmann's eyes had looked anything but ordinary.

  “Get it out of my face!” Cole complained.

  “Sorry,” Eric said, his mind returning to the present.

  “Where's Jace?!” Cole asked anxiously. “Did you find Simon?!”

  “I don't know—”

  “Don't know what?” Cole inquired impatiently. “About Jace? Or Simon?”