There were millions of images. She felt as though she was drowning in those simple scenes of life.
She knew that she was seeing through alien eyes.
But there was something more to those seemingly simple observations. Something that she couldn’t quite grasp—yet.
Something that tied them all together.
Something she should have sensed but—
The images were suddenly, violently yanked away, replaced by a sucking void of darkness that screamed inside her brain.
And in the darkness she felt the invaders trying to draw her closer . . . trying to end her life . . .
Before she could understand what it was that they were doing.
* * *
Sidney opened her eyes with a gasp.
“Your nose is bleeding again,” she heard someone say over the sound of running water. Rich came into her view. “Here,” he said, holding out a damp paper towel.
She took the towel and put it beneath her seeping nostrils. “You’re up,” she said groggily.
“Yeah,” he said, kneeling beside the bunk.
“Did I kick you out of your bed?” she asked.
“Yeah, but that’s all right, I was getting bored,” he said. She could see that he was still pale.
“You feeling better?” she said as she tried to sit up but was stopped by a wave of dizziness.
“I’m better—weak, but better. I think the fever’s broken. . . . What about you?”
She shook her head, wet paper towel still beneath her nose. She then removed it. “Still bleeding?” she asked, sniffing and tilting her head back a bit.
“Looks like it might’ve stopped,” Rich said.
She dabbed at her nose again, and then gave sitting up another try. This time she did it without the dizziness but caught Rich watching her.
“What?” she asked him.
“Nothing,” he said, but his expression said so much more. “I’m just worried about you,” he added, looking everywhere but at her.
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” she said. “Just some nasty side effects from our island adventure.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“They think that there’s something really wrong with you,” he said.
“They?”
“Sayid, Langridge, and Cody.”
Snowy was lying on the floor nearby, watching her with great intensity.
“Snowy wasn’t in on this?” She gestured for the shepherd to come to her, and the dog bounded up from the floor. With two graceful movements she joined Sidney on the bunk, demanding affection.
“I have to agree with them,” Rich said. He was looking intently at his bandaged arm, gently touching, probing the bandage.
“I’m fine,” she said, patting her dog.
“What’s that old saying?” Rich asked. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter?”
Sidney smiled and shrugged. “It’s nothing that I can’t handle.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Rich told her. “Don’t think there’s much that you can’t handle . . . you’ve been like that since I first met you.”
She smiled as she rubbed one of Snowy’s pointy ears.
“I’ve always admired that about you,” he said. He was scratching Snowy’s broad chest with the tips of his fingers. “Doesn’t seem like there’s ever been anything to slow you down.”
“You’d be surprised what slows me down,” she said, her thoughts going to her father and her broken relationship with Cody.
“Bumps in the road.” He chuckled. “You’re relentless.”
“Relentless,” she repeated with a smile. “I kinda like that.”
“Sid,” he began, then stopped.
She held her breath. This wasn’t the time or the place to have the conversation she dreaded, but how could she stop him cold once he began?
“I’m scared, Sid,” he said finally.
She could see the fear in his eyes, even as she breathed a silent sigh of relief.
“Terrified, really.”
“We all are,” Sidney said, reaching out to take his hand. “But it’s okay, we’ve got each other’s backs. We’ll be fine.”
“It’s all just so much to take in. And when I start to think about it, to try to understand what’s going on . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t even know if my folks are alive.”
Sidney nodded, understanding exactly where he was coming from. “We just need to stay focused,” she said. “One thing at a time . . . we’ll be good.”
He looked at her. “Promise?”
Sidney nodded again and smiled. “Remember who’s relentless here,” she said, hooking a thumb toward herself. “This gal.”
They both laughed at that until the boat began to rock fiercely, and the sound of the wind outside became nearly a howl.
“We must be near the city,” Sidney said, looking nervously about the cabin. “Closer to the storm.”
“We were only an hour or so away when they brought you down here,” Rich confirmed.
She and Snowy climbed from the bunk, heading toward the steps that would take them above deck.
“Relentless,” he said to her as she passed him.
“Relentless,” she agreed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Deacon cautiously opened the door to the patient ward, Delilah close behind him.
“What the hell?” he asked, stopping short and looking around.
“Oh my God,” Delilah managed as she slipped around him and farther into the room.
The ward was large, separated into twenty-five life-support units. But now it was in complete disarray. Bloody fingerprints were on nearly every surface. The walls had been ripped open; wiring dangled from the holes; pipes were bent. Pieces of the various machines used to keep the patients alive lay scattered upon the floor, opened and scavenged, only their outer shells remaining, like discarded fast food containers. Even the special beds had been torn open, dissected, the high technology within ravaged.
But why?
Delilah studied the scene around her, and a strange picture began to come together. She was about to try and explain her idea to Deacon when something clattered onto the floor in the tub room in the far corner of the ward.
Deacon flinched. “We should get out of here before . . .”
“What if it’s somebody?” Delilah asked. She was already inching toward the back of the room.
“What if it’s somebody . . . or something that wants to kill us?”
She knew he was right, but what if it was someone like Betty, someone they might be able to help this time.
She kept moving, trying not to step on random screws and attachments that had been discarded to the floor.
“Delilah,” Deacon warned, although he was following her now.
There were noises coming from the tub room for sure. She peered carefully around the corner. She saw nothing and was about to venture farther into the room when a powerful hand grabbed her arm.
Deacon looked at her, wide-eyed. Where? he mouthed silently.
“At the back,” she said as quietly as she was able. “Behind that curtain.”
Deacon moved around to stand between Delilah and the curtain. He was about to reach for the curtain when he paused, looking around, then stepped over to an old plunger standing up in the corner. He pulled off the rubber end and glanced quickly over his shoulder at Delilah as he raised the wooden handle and grasped the curtain. He pulled it aside with a hiss.
A naked man stood there, eyes bulging.
She saw it immediately, the right eye, shrouded in a shiny metallic covering, but then she saw what was behind the man, wedged into the corner of the large, and quite open, shower stall.
It pulsated with life, expanding and contracting as it spread out across the damp tiles, what could only be described as tentacles writhing upon the floor, its pale flesh shifting colors from blue to green and then to an angry red.
Delilah saw, but she didn’t understand.
&
nbsp; And then the naked man attacked. He slipped as he lunged, grabbing hold of the front of Delilah’s scrubs and dragging them both to the floor.
She went down hard on her back, the wind punched from her lungs. The man was atop her, his hands seeking out her throat as she struggled to slap them away.
“Get off her!” Deacon screamed, his voice echoing off the tiles. He swung his plunger handle, striking the man on the side of the head with little effect.
Delilah focused on the man’s silver-coated right eye. It was as if it was taunting her as it glared at her. With a sudden surge of adrenaline she reached up, hooking her thumb into the corner of that eye and gouging the shiny silver orb with her thumbnail.
The man went rigid, but something else in the room screamed. The sound wasn’t even remotely human, and then Delilah heard something wet and heavy begin to slide across the floor.
She rolled out from beneath her attacker as Deacon turned toward the dragging sound.
The thing that had been in the corner, whatever it was, moved toward them in a strange, undulating fashion. It was unlike anything that she had ever seen before, something out of her worst nightmares.
Deacon positioned himself between it and Delilah, and jabbed at it with the ragged end of his plunger handle.
Again it screamed, and she saw multiple holes—like wailing mouths—open on the surface of the thing. A whiplike appendage suddenly appeared from beneath its mass, rearing up like a snake, before striking at Deacon. He swung the plunger, batting the tentacle aside.
“Delilah, get out of here,” he ordered without turning around.
“No,” she immediately responded, moving closer.
The appendage sensed her movement, turning its attention to her, swaying mesmerizingly in the air.
“Go,” Deacon cried out, moving forward suddenly.
The tentacle lashed out at him, wrapping around the wooden plunger handle and yanking it from Deacon’s grasp. Before either of them had a chance to react, it dropped the club and wrapped itself around the man’s throat, drawing him forward.
Delilah froze, stunned, and then her eyes fell on Deacon’s makeshift weapon. She went for it but fell hard, her chin striking the tile floor and causing stars to appear before her eyes. It took her a moment to gather her wits, but then she snatched up the plunger shaft and jumped back to her feet. Deacon hung limply, his body held up by the single appendage wrapped about his throat. Other, thinner tentacles had appeared, entwining themselves about him as he was drawn toward the monstrous thing.
“No,” she screamed, terrified that she could be alone now.
Holding the shaft of wood like a spear, she made her way across the room toward the monster. The thing’s skin turned a scarlet red, and even more of the thinner, wriggling tentacles emerged. Delilah let out a primal scream as she jammed the rough end of the plunger shaft into its gelatinous form.
There was some resistance, the end of the handle stretching the rubbery skin of the monster before finally plunging into the meat of its body.
She had heard the thing scream before, but nothing like this. It was like somebody’s nail running down the length of a blackboard, amplified by a million.
And not only did she hear it in her ears, she felt it inside her skull as well.
The thing bucked and writhed, its mass expanding toward her as more tentacle-like appendages appeared, lashing out at her as it attempted to pull itself away from her assault. One of the boneless limbs whipped out, sweeping her feet out from beneath her, sending her crashing to the floor. Delilah made sure that she held on firmly to her weapon, for she knew that without it she would surely be dead.
She saw that the thing had dropped Deacon, and he lay unmoving upon the shower room floor. Quickly she slid over to his side, keeping her eye on the pulsating creature as she gave his arm a shake.
“Deacon,” she shouted. “Deacon, wake up!”
She heard the man moan and felt immediately better, or at least as better as she could feel given the current situation.
Glowing a bloody red, the monster came at her. She could still hear it inside her head, the screaming so loud that she thought her eardrums might burst. It moved so quickly that she barely had time to react, falling backward to the floor and raising the shaft straight up as the thing fell upon her.
Its full weight landed on her, and again she felt the end of the weapon puncture its rubbery hide. The thing wailed and writhed as it lay atop her, thousands of tiny, clawed limbs that it must have used to propel its gelatinous bulk ripped at her clothes and flesh. Delilah was screaming now, holding on to the shaft for dear life, pushing upward with all her might, piercing more and more of the creature’s internal workings.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear the weight of the thing, it was becoming harder and harder to breathe, but then—suddenly—the weight was lifted, and she greedily sucked in fetid air as she scrambled to move away.
There was a ruckus and the clatter of falling supplies as the thing fled to the other side of the room, leaving a slimy black trail in its wake.
Delilah crawled over to Deacon again.
“Hey,” she said, again tugging on his arm. “You gotta get up.”
He moaned softly but did not move.
“Let’s go,” she said. She reached over and slapped one of his cheeks.
Deacon’s eyes flew open as he instantly reacted, pulling in his legs and scrambling across the tile floor until his back hit the wall, stopping him.
“Where is it?” he asked, the terror clear in his tone.
“It took off to that last stall,” Delilah told him. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
He started to look himself over. “Think I’m good,” he said. His hands went to his throat, and he swallowed. “Thought I’d bought the farm there for a minute.”
She moved in close, looking at his neck, the intense bruising, as well as strange, red circular impressions left by the weird, tentacle-like limb.
“Do those hurt?” she asked, touching one of the puffy rings of flesh. Deacon winced.
“Yeah,” he said. “They burn.”
“Bet they’ll scar,” she told him.
“Better than being dead,” he retorted as he fought to stand.
There was a crashing sound, and the two of them instinctively grabbed hold of one another.
“Do you have any idea what the thing is?” Delilah asked, feeling a mortal terror begin to creep upon her.
“No idea,” Deacon said, reaching out to take the plunger shaft from her.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Delilah said, reluctantly releasing her weapon.
“Don’t think anybody around here has.” Deacon slowly moved in the direction of the racket.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I don’t think it’s from here.”
“Then where’s it from?”
They had reached the last shower stall that was clearly being used to store supplies. The area was in a complete shambles.
“I don’t know,” he answered tersely. “Space.”
“Space?” she repeated. “Like some kind of alien?”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
The wall in the corner had been broken open, exposing the inner skeletal structure of the wall behind it.
“There was a grate here,” he said, poking at the wall with the shaft of wood. The floor around it was covered in thick black slime. “It got away through here.”
“If it’s an alien, how did it get in here? Where’s its spaceship?” Delilah demanded.
Deacon squatted down in front of the hole. Carefully he looked inside and then upward into the wall.
“This passage goes up to the roof,” he said, and then looked at her hard. “Maybe it’s parked up there.” He wedged his body farther up into the space as more noise came from the hallway.
Delilah turned toward the front of the tub room and felt her heart begin to race
as the door opened.
Patients that she recognized, and some that she didn’t, had found their way into the room. They stopped inside the doorway and stood stiffly, their heads moving at strange angles as they scanned the room with their right eyes.
Searching.
Delilah turned back to find that Deacon had disappeared into the hole in the wall. “Deacon!” she hissed as softly as she could.
She heard the sound of movement within the wall, and then his head popped out.
“What’s—” he began, but she didn’t let him finish.
“The patients are here. We’re trapped,” she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
“Not necessarily. C’mon,” he said, reaching through the hole for her hand. “This building is part of the old Elysium before the big renovation,” Deacon continued. “When it was still called Boston Neurological.”
“Where?” she asked, bending into the jagged opening.
“Maintenance shaft. My father worked at Boston Neurological when I was a little boy, knew the place like the back of my hand.”
He drew her up into the dark, cramped space with him. There was a sharp odor, like rotten meat and something chemical. She guessed that it had something to do with the creature that had traveled inside the wall before them.
“Saw the new construction get built up around the old,” Deacon went on. He grabbed her hand, leading it toward something.
Her fingers wrapped around something cold and metal. The rung of a ladder.
“Climb,” he ordered.
The sounds of movement outside the room were getting louder, and she wasted no time.
The rusty rungs cold and damp beneath her fingers as she started to climb.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The bug spray actually helped.
Doc Martin buttoned up tight against insect bites and whatever else was waiting for her as she found her way to the garage and the awaiting Ford inside.
The wasps were the main source of attack, and she took the can of bug spray from her pocket and sprayed a noxious cloud all around her as she made her way to the driver’s-side door. The spray seemed to do its job, shutting down their systems even though an alien force was controlling them.
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