Area 7 ss-2

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Area 7 ss-2 Page 48

by Matthew Reilly


  And so they had met Hawkins.

  Swain turned to Selexin. "Tell me more about Reese."

  "Reese," Selexin said. "Well, for one thing, Reese is, in

  human terms, female. Her tail tapers sharply to a point, like

  a spear. Males of her species possess only blunted tails. This

  is because in their clans, the female is the hunter, and her

  chief weapon is her sharp pointed tail.

  "Did you see, when Reese was moving in on your new friend here," Selexin nodded to Hawkins, "that her tail was

  poised high over her body, in a large arc, pointing forward?

  And he couldn't move an inch.

  "That is why I told you not to make prolonged eye contact

  with her antennae. Any extended visual contact with them will cause instant paralysis. Just like it did with him."

  Selexin gave Hawkins a look. "That is how Reese hunts. You

  look at her antennae for too long and you suffer hypnotic

  paralysis, and--bang!--before you know it, she's got you

  with that tail. Right through the brain."

  The little man smiled. "I would say she bears a rather

  strong resemblance to the female of your own species, aggressive and instinctive. Wouldn't you say?"

  "fey," Holly said.

  Swain ignored the remark. "Tell me more about her

  hunting methods. Her stalking methods."

  Selexin took a breath. "Well, as you no doubt observed,

  Reese has no eyes. For the simple reason that she

  does not need them. She comes from a planet surrounded

  by opaque, inert gases. Light cannot enter their atmosphere,

  and the inert gases are impervious to any chemical

  change. Her race has simply adapted over time to utilize

  and enhance their other senses: increased auditory acuity,

  sensitive ampullae for detecting the distressed heartbeat of

  frightened or wounded prey, and, most of all, a highly

  evolved scent detection mechanism. In fact, I would say that

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  Matthew Reilly

  her sense of smell is her most well-developed hunting tool."

  "Wait a second," Swain said, alarmed, "she can smell us?"

  "Not now. Reese's sense of smell has a very limited

  range. No farther than, say, a couple of feet."

  Swain breathed in relief. Hawkins did, too.

  "But within that range," Selexin went on, "her sense of

  smell is incredibly astute."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean," Selexin said, "that the manner by which she

  detected him,"--Selexin pointed roughly at Hawkins--"was

  by his scent."

  "But I thought you said her range wasn't that good.

  How could--"

  Swain cut himself off. Selexin was waiting for him

  again, giving him an expectant "are-you-finished?" look.

  "That is correct," Selexin said, "in a way. You see,

  Reese didn't smell him. What she smelled was the scent he

  left behind. Do you remember when Reese first came into

  our view in the stairwell? She bent low and sniffed the

  floor?"

  Swain frowned. "Yeah ..."

  "Footprints," Selexin said. "A trail not long cold. With

  any fresh trail like that, Reese doesn't need to smell anything

  beyond two feet, because she just follows the scent of

  the trail itself."

  "Oh," Swain said.

  And then it hit him.

  "Oh, shit!"

  He shot up to look out through the glass partition above

  him--

  And found himself staring at Reese's menacing four pronged jaws--wide open, foully salivating--pressed up against the other side of the glass, only inches away.

  Swain fell backward, stumbled away from the glass.

  Hawkins leaped to his feet, mouth agape.

  Reese slammed against the partition, smearing saliva

  everywhere.

  Contest 50

  "Eyes down!" Swain yelled, snatching Holly up in his

  arms. Reese rammed the partition again--hard--and the

  whole office shook. "Keep your eyes away from the antennae! Go for the door!"

  There were two glass doors to this square-shaped office--one leading west, one east. Reese was banging on the

  eastern wall of the room.

  Swain ran for the other door, threw it open and charged

  into the next office, Selexin and Hawkins close behind him.

  With Holly in the crook of his arm, he slid smoothly over a desk in the center of the office, opened the next door.

  "Close the doors behind you!" he yelled back.

  "Already doing it!" Hawkins called forward.

  And then, from behind them, there came a loud crashing

  sound--the sound of breaking glass.

  Up ahead, Swain continued to run. Over desks, through

  doorways, dodging filing cabinets, sending paper flying

  everywhere. Then he came to the last office and emerged on a wide marble-floored hallway. Off to the right were the elevators

  and the main stairwell. To the left--and closer--was

  a heavy blue door that read: To Parking Lot.

  Hawkins was yelling. "She's coming! And she seems

  really pissed!"

  Beyond Hawkins, Swain could see nothing but offices

  divided by glass partitions.

  And then he saw it. Saw the long pointed tail flashing

  up above the waist-high wood paneling. It was barging

  through anything that lay in its path--like a shark's fin slicing

  through water--launching desks and cabinets and swivel

  chairs high into the air.

  Two offices away and heading directly for them.

  Moving fast.

  Closing in.

  Swain glanced back at the heavy blue door at the end of

  the hallway. It looked strong, with a hydraulic opening

  mechanism. It might give them time.

  Better do something ...

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  Matthew Reilly

  With Holly in his arms, he hurried to the hydraulic door,

  opened it. He stepped into the threshold, pulled Selexin

  through, and turned to look for Hawkins.

  Hawkins was running hard, down the length of the marble

  hallway. Abruptly, Reese skidded out into the hall behind

  him.

  Hawkins dashed past Swain, through the doorway, and

  Swain shut the big hydraulic door behind him. It closed with

  a dull, vacuumlike thud.

  Then he turned and took in the area before him.

  An underground parking lot.

  It looked new--almost brand new, in fact A recent renovation.

  Glistening newly paved concrete, white-painted

  floor markings, shiny yellow wheel clamps on the ground,

  pristine white fluorescent lights. It was quite a contrast to the

  old dusty library they had seen so far.

  Swain scanned the parking lot.

  No cars.

  Damn.

  There was a Down ramp in the center of the lot, about

  twenty yards in front of them, and an Exit ramp going up to

  the street on the far side of the lot.

  There came a sudden, very loud bang from somewhere

  behind them.

  Swain spun.

  Reese was ramming against the other side of the door.

  He quickly led the others over to the Down ramp. It was wide--wide enough for two cars to pass each other side-by

  side. They had just reached the top of the ramp when there

  came a crashing bang and suddenly he heard a hissing sound

  from behind them.

/>   Swain turned around slowly.

  Reese was standing at the entrance to the parking lot,

  her guide positioned silently behind her.

  Swain swallowed--

  --and then, abruptly, he heard another sound.

  Clop ...

  Clop ...

  Contest 507

  Clop ...

  Footsteps. Slow footsteps. Echoing loudly in the deserted

  parking lot.

  Swain, Holly, Selexin and Hawkins all spun at the same

  time--and they saw him.

  Coming up the Down ramp.

  Walking slowly, purposefully.

  A six-foot-tall bearded man, dressed in a broad

  shouldered animal-skin jacket, dark pants and knee-high

  black boots that clip-clopped loudly on the concrete ramp.

  And behind him, yet another guide, dressed completely

  in white.

  As the big bearded man stepped onto level ground and

  stopped, Swain instinctively pushed Holly behind him.

  At the sight of this new contestant, Reese became visibly

  agitated. She hissed even louder.

  They all stood in silence--the three groups forming a

  precarious, unspeaking triangle.

  It was then that Swain looked down at his wristband. It

  now read:

  INITIALIZED--7

  Seven.

  Swain looked up slowly.

  The Presidian had begun.

  MATTHEW REILLY was born in 1974 and

  studied law at the University of New South Wales.

  At twenty-seven, he has written four novels and

  several screenplays. His books are published in

  14 languages and sold in over 30 countries. Film

  rights to his worldwide bestseller Ice Station were

  optioned by Paramount Pictures earlier this year.

  His other novels include Ice Station, Temple, and

  Contest. He lives in Sydney, Australia.

  AREA 7

  It is America's most secret base, hidden deep in the Utah,

  desert, an Air Force installation known only as Area 7. And

  today, it has a visitor - the President of the United States.

  He has come to inspect Area 7, to examine its secrets for

  himself. But he's going to get more than he bargained for

  on this trip. Because hostile forces are waiting inside.

  Among the President's helicopter crew, however, is a

  young Marine. He is quiet, enigmatic, and he hides his

  eyes behind a pair of silver sunglasses. His name is

  Schofield. Call-sign: Scarecrow. Rumor has it, he's a good

  man in a storm. Judging by what the President has just

  walked into, he'd better be. ...

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 1da25fe4-65a5-4c8d-a72c-eb8e009f83db

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 23.8.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.65 software

  Document authors :

  Matthew Reilly

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