“Security! Move to D and Zone Three,” Cornelius cried into the intercom.
“He’s entering the service tunnels,” Carol Hines warned next.
Cornelius began to sweat. “If he gets in there, he could go anywhere. Even to the surface.”
“Doc!” It was Major Deavers. “I got five men down. We’re gonna need more than tranquilizers to handle this situation.”
Cornelius didn’t answer. For a moment, his attention was wholly diverted by the puzzling sight on his small monitor. The Professor was having an animated conversation over a secure frequency. Cornelius listened intently. The conversation might be one-sided for his ears, but he had to hear it—
“… Are you aware of what’s happening at this time?” the Professor was asking.
“Dr. Cornelius? This is Deavers. Do you copy?”
Cornelius cursed. “Yes,” he told Deavers. “I… uh, I copy.”
“We can’t take him without artillery. Do you understand?”
“Yes… yes,” said Cornelius, still trying to listen in on the Professor’s private communication.
“… That is correct,” the Professor was saying on his end, “Experiment X is out of my control. Running amok, you might say…”
“Ms. Hines,” Cornelius snapped, pointing at the Professor on the small monitor. “Who is he talking to?”
“Computer shows exterior unit, sir. Satellite transmission can’t be traced. He’s obviously forgotten to turn off his intercom, doesn’t know we can hear him.”
“… Precisely…“ continued the Professor. “Killing everyone in sight… But you see, Logan is fully harnessed. Yet my control panels are inactive…”
“Doc! Professor!” yelled Deavers. “For crying out loud! You gotta authorize weaponry I got men down there—two of them. Trapped in Level Three by the sealed hatches. Logan’s blocking the security ladder and they have to get past him to get out. They’re armed with tranquilizer guns—goddamn peashooters. They haven’t got a chance in hell.”
Cornelius shifted his gaze to the monitor tracking Logan. The pair of security guards moved cautiously through a dim access tunnel. They looked like sewer rats to the scientist, foraging rodents, and Cornelius suddenly realized that’s exactly what they were. Crawling without forethought, without higher intelligence, without any better awareness than the hapless vision provided by the weak, battery-powered beams of their flashlights dancing on the walls and ceiling. Before Cornelius could cry out, a stab of light pinned Logan, who was crouching against the wall like the higher form he was, like all higher forms who need do nothing more than wait for their traps to spring.
The moment the guards saw Logan, they nervously raised their tranquilizer guns.
“Don’t fire! Don’t fire!” Cornelius screamed. “Deavers, get your men out of there. Now!”
Too late. The sound of the firing darts, like toy pop—guns, reverberated off the tunnel’s close walls. Screams came next, echoing down the metal-lined underground tube in shrill, earsplitting waves, as Logan charged.
“Security Zone Three!” Deavers screamed. “Get out of the tunnels—”
Logan struck the first guard in the abdomen. His adamantium claws plunged through Kevlar and flesh with equal ease. When the claws were withdrawn, they left a cavity so large the man’s intestines flowed onto the floor in a steaming pink-and-yellow mass.
As the second guard turned to flee, a slashing cut severed his left shoulder from his torso. The appendage slid sideways to the floor; still twitching as it hit the ground. Barely alive, gushing black blood, the hysterical guard crawled out of camera range.
Logan did not pursue.
“Oh God,” rasped Deavers “That was Conran and Chase.”
In the armory the security men reacted to the butchery with revulsion and rage.
In his command center, the Professor continued to drone on, still oblivious to the fact that Hines and Cornelius were listening in. His conversation became background music to the mayhem.
“We are losing our security guards somewhat precipitately …” the Professor shared with his satellite up—link.
“Professor,” called Cornelius, finally breaking in, “I need your clearance to issue the men firepower. Do you read me, Professor?”
“…Given this … I’d like to ask … do you have a hand in these occurrences?”
Cornelius turned to Hines. “He’s not listening to me. I think he’s lost his mind.”
Carol Hines did not respond.
“Ms. Hines?”
She appeared to be hypnotically focused on the data streaming into her Reifying Encephalographic Monitor.
“Carol!”
Carol Hines looked up, her face hopeful. “Sir, I think I’ve found something important.”
* * * * *
Cutler had organized the men into what he hoped was a formidable enough force to counter Weapon X.
Because of the tight quarters they would be forced to fight in, Cutler had only issued fifteen UMPs to those he judged to be his best men—personnel with years of military experience, or those who kept their heads despite the chaos going on around them. Among that group was Agent Franks.
“Stick close to me as we go into action,” Cutler said to Franks as he thrust the weapon into the agent’s hands.
The rest of the guards were outfitted with short-barreled M14s, semiautomatics that had a much slower rate of fire than the machine guns. Right now, Cutler judged his men too jumpy to work effectively without close supervision, so he figured that the less bullets flying, the less chance of friendly-fire injuries.
And how many bullets is it gonna take to stop Logan, anyway? Cutler speculated. He’s only human—well, sorta. . .
Now, armored up and armed, Cutler led his men into the service tunnel above Zone Three. Once inside, he formed them into a phalanx—a wedge-shaped formation with the highest concentration of firepower at the apex.
“I’ll take point,” Cutler said, hefting his UMP
“No, I’ll take point,” said Erdman, stepping into position.
“What’s the problem, Erd? Don’t trust me?”
“I do trust you, Cutler. That’s the reason I want to take point,” Erdman replied. “Major Deavers is vacillating, trying to convince the eggheads we should be armed. But you took charge, made sure we were armed despite what the mad scientists want. That makes you the only leader we got.”
Then Erdman grinned behind his visor. “Anyway, I want another shot at that bastard.”
Cutler relented and moved to the right flank. “Okay. Move out.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Logan has breached three zones and is now within two hundred and twenty yards of the Professor’s command center on Three and C-Block,” said Carol Hines.
“Jesus.” Cornelius rubbed the back of his neck. Sweat was trickling from every pore of his body, his brown beard felt like it was crawling with insects.
“And it is not a coincidence, sir,” continued Hines. “I’ve traced his movements from the holding bay at Lab Two. He has made a definite path to the Professor’s quarters.”
“I don’t know, Ms. Hines. Doesn’t seem logical. How could Logan know where the Professor is?”
“You’ll recall that he just hunted down a bear in less than four minutes, Dr. Cornelius. Our Mr. Logan has shown uncanny tracking abilities.”
“But that was a controlled situation, Ms. Hines.”
Carol Hines glanced at the small monitor, where the Professor continued his strange conversation. “And who says this isn’t a controlled situation, sir?”
“… I see, I see,” said the Professor. “Sort of biting the hand that feeds, eh?… A clean sweep, as it were … get rid of the deadwood, eh?”
Cornelius activated the intercom. “Security? Major Deavers? Break out the big guns. Shoot to kill.”
“Did the Professor okay it, then, Doctor?” Deavers asked.
“No,” Cornelius said as he watched Logan’s swift progress toward the Prof
essor’s sanctum. “But he won’t mind, believe me. And make that on the double, okay? Over.”
Deavers signed off leaving only two pronounced sounds over the general hum of the equipment in the lab: the ticking of Hines’s monitor and the droning voice of the Professor.
There is just one thing… let me ask… should I leave now, or should I take refuge here while—as you put it—Weapon X clears the deadwood…”
Cornelius stared at the madman on the screen, having a polite conversation while chaos swept through the entire complex. As he watched, the Professor’s chair exploded upward. A clawed forearm ripped through the steel plates from the floor below.
Screeching, the Professor fell as Logan moved through steel and concrete, slashing his way up, reaching for purchase and the chance to find his hated prey.
Cornelius took a startled step back from the monitor. “Good Lord. We’ve got to do something.”
Ms. Hines stood, hugging herself, face tense. “The security force is almost there, sir. They should be able to handle it.”
“But we should help him, too … shouldn’t we?”
Carol Hines could not reply. She began to sob with terror as she listened to the Professor’s shrieks. Cornelius stepped closer to her, but when he reached out to put his arm around her shoulders, she shrank from him.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t ever, ever touch me!” she shouted, trembling uncontrollably.
* * * * *
The guards exited the service tunnel on Level Three. The elevators were shut down and the stairwells sealed, per emergency security procedures. Fortunately, there were no innocent civilians wandering the corridors. If anyone was here, they were probably quivering behind sealed hatches.
The alarms still blared, however, and the din was becoming a distraction. “Why doesn’t somebody cut that damn thing off?” Altman complained.
“Can’t,” said Cutler. “Only our pal Deavers can turn it off from the security command center.”
A voice crackled in their helmet receivers. “This is Deavers to all security units. Assemble immediately in the armory, where heavy weapons will he issued.”
“Speak of the devil,” whispered Altman.
Erdman tapped the headset in his helmet like he couldn’t believe his ears, then turned to the men behind him and slightly lifted his Heckler & Koch UMP .45 caliber submachine gun. “That’s our major. On top of the situation, as usual.”
Laughter followed from a few of the men, but most were too nervous to respond. They had all seen what happened to Anderson and Lynch, to Chase and Conran. They were filled with dread but weren’t about to admit it, least of all to their comrades.
On the right flank, Cutler played lieutenant to Erdman’s tough sergeant, letting Erd shoot the orders and prop up the men’s spirits while he focused on the overall strategy—what there was of it. He decided now was a good time to report to “management.”
“Cutler to Deavers. Come in…”
The major reacted as if he’d heard the voice of God. “Cutler! Are you in the armory?”
“Just finished issuing heavy weapons. Sir? Could you cut that damn alarm?”
“Alarm? Yeah, sure, the alarm.” A moment later, silence descended like a forest snowfall.
“Where are you, Cutler?” Deavers asked, some of the old authority returning to his voice.
“We’re moving toward Level Three, Zone Three now.”
“How far are you from C-Block?”
Cutler raised his hand to Erdman, who halted them all. “Major,” Cutler replied with a whisper. “We’re right outside of C-Block now. What’s the situation?”
“Weapon X is—”
Deavers’s reply was cut off as they heard a scream, followed by the Professor’s panic-stricken pleas. “Help me! Help…”
“—coming for the Professor,” Deavers said. “He’s—” Cutler cut the major off, then used his master communications code to cut off Deavers’s transmission from the rest of his crew, too. He looked up, to see Erdman staring at him with curious eyes.
“Deavers isn’t down here, so he’s not in charge anymore,” said Cutler. “I’m calling the shots.”
Erdman nodded approvingly, then turned to face the others. “Let’s move it.”
The hatch to the Professor’s command center was closed but not locked. On the opposite end of the corridor, the second entrance was ajar, according to the real-time images coming through to Cutler’s helmet screen.
“This is it,” said Cutler. “We’re going through both doors at the same time. Erdman, take ten men and circle to the other entrance. You got fifteen seconds to get into position. Now go!”
As they hustled around the corner, Cutler faced the rest. “You,” he called to Franks. “Take these men and block the exit to this level. If Weapon X gets through us, it’s up to you to take him out.”
“But Cut—”
“Now!”
Franks turned and led nine relieved security men to the elevator shaft on the opposite end of the long corridor.
Cutler faced the dozen men still with him. “Five seconds,” he whispered as he silently unlatched the hatch and popped it open a crack. “Three … two… one… Go! Go! Go!”
Cutler slammed his shoulder against the heavy steel hatch, and it swung open. He leaped over the threshold, UMP raised.
The Professor was on the floor, pinned helplessly under the weight of his ergonomic command chair, which had been uprooted from its mounts in the floor. A giant hole yawned where Logan had burst through. Wires dangled and sparked in the opening.
Agent Abbot came in right behind Cutler. “Where’s the bastard?” he cried. “Where’s Weapon X?”
With a feral roar, Weapon X leaped to the floor directly in front of them—he’d been lying in wait among the heating and air ducts over their heads.
“Look out, Cut!” Abbot shouted, shoving him aside and raising his UMP
But Logan was faster. With a slashing backhand, he knocked the machine gun out of Abbot’s grasp. Then he brought down his right, claws extended. The adamantium steel cut through helmet, skull, and brain, dividing the agent’s head into four neat slices, like a ripe watermelon on a cutting board.
Abbot’s legs kicked out and he slammed onto the deck with a clang. Cutler rolled away from his comrade’s twitching corpse as Weapon X lunged for him, claws striking sparks from the metal floor.
Then Erdman burst through the other hatch, UMP blazing. At least three shots danced across Logan’s naked torso, each followed by an explosion of gore. But Weapon X didn’t even flinch as he spun to face his newest foes. With a single quick stroke, Logan decapitated Erdman. The head bounced off the wall, the body took one final step forward before it toppled. Dying spasms pumped off three more shots, which blew out monitors and shattered computer consoles.
Behind Erdman, another guard pumped three shots into Weapon X at point blank range, forcing him back.
“Get the Professor outta here!” Cutler screamed as he struggled to his feet. Two men raced past him, then a third and fourth. One dropped to the Professor’s side while the other three struggled to lift the heavy chair and drag the shrieking man out from under it.
“It’s okay, Professor,” a guard said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the chaos. “We’ve got you now. You’re going to be all right…”
More shots, ripping into Logan, tearing the command center up in a shower of sparks.
“He… he tried to kill me,” the Professor cried. A bullet bounced off the wall and sent debris spilling onto the Professor’s upturned face. He howled as his glasses were knocked away. “My glasses… can’t see.”
“I got them, sir,” said the guard leaning over him, his voice echoing behind his visor.
The Professor slipped his rectangular-rimmed glasses on, but suddenly, he heard a hollow, meaty sound. The man looming over him stiffened and his eyes rolled up in his head. He opened his mouth and blood burst from it, to coat the inside of his visor. The guard slumped ove
r him, the weight of his dead body and the Kevlar armor he wore crushed the Professor.
With a strength borne of desperation, the Professor pushed the corpse aside. He reached up his hand to grip the edge of his command-and-control console.
A silver slash. For a long, agonizing moment, the Professor’s world was defined by pain—sudden, excruciating, all-consuming. Reflex made him yank his arm back. Through tearing eyes, he saw the stump gushing gore, cleanly severed at the wrist.
“My hand!” howled the Professor. Then, as his own blood splashed his face, rage replaced anguish.
“Kill him! Kill!” shouted the Professor. “Destroy Weapon X now!”
Strong arms grabbed his torso as two guards dragged the Professor out of the command center, into a side corridor.
Meanwhile, Cutler watched as the guards, firing and moving forward with precision, forced Logan to give ground until his back was against the wall. But as they aimed their machine guns to finish him off Weapon X surged forward unexpectedly, disemboweling a guard who was foolish enough not to retreat.
Cutler, seeing his men die one by one, threw himself into the fray, only to be knocked aside again. He tried to get a clear shot at Logan, but the fighting was too close. Weapon X seemed to be completely covered by a mass of squirming, fighting guards struggling vainly to bring him down.
“Did you get the Professor out?” Cutler cried. “Did you get the Professor out? Come in. Answer me, somebody. What’s going on?”
“Professor secured,” came the reply. “He’s okay.”
Cutler heard other voices as well. Shouted commands, screams of pain and surprise.
“Target’s all over the place … No clear shots… Get back … Too late… Losing men… Goddamn monster…”
Cutler watched as Altman was lifted off his feet by claws embedded in his torso. Logan slammed the man’s head against the ceiling with so much force, his Kevlar helmet shattered. When Altman hit the ground, his broken face stared up at Cutler, nose twisted, eyes askew, like the face on a Picasso painting.
Over a dozen body shots, no effect. It’s a stupid, senseless massacre. Fuck!
Cutler keyed his communicator. “Fall back, everybody. Fall back… into the corridor…”
Wolverine: Weapon X Page 23