Screaming.
***
Crane's living quarters. The scientist had several flashlights on, making the place reasonably bright. Nevertheless, sweat beaded on his brow. Afraid.
***
The place where it is tortured, hurt, harmed.
The place becomes dark.
The thing is relieved. Light is pain.
How long will the darkness last?
It moves. It extrudes a tendril and slides it between the bars to its prison.
And for the first time ever...nothing stops it.
***
The generator shack. Even over the howling wind, an audible click could be heard.
Then a humming as something inside began to work.
***
The Loon. All over the complex, lights went on and electromagnetic doors reactivated.
They had been loose for less than five seconds.
STUDYING
There is a click and a snap, and it screams. Pain racks its body as the lights come back on.
They are not as strong as they were. Not as intense. But strong enough. Intense enough. Wherever the light touches, the thing feels itself sizzling.
It screams.
Then something registers over the pain.
Its cage.
It is outside its cage. For the first time, it is outside.
The pain is still there; still real. But the thing fights through it. It flows over itself, its form wet and ever-changing as it constantly shifts.
Feet.
Tendrils.
Hands.
Unnamed things from genetic memory, from a time when everything lived in a primordial ocean.
The thing moves to the computers. To the monster's computers, to Crane's computers.
The computers are in shadow. The beast shudders as the light-pain subsides. But it is only afforded a moment's relief before a new pain grips it.
The hunger.
It is dying. Faster and faster, it can feel itself disappearing.
The computers have information, the thing knows that.
It extrudes a pseudopod, a tendril that dances across the keys of the computer, slick snakelike flesh wriggling and crawling and somehow managing to input the information it needs in order to find what it wants.
It has lived with the monster for its whole life. It has watched the monster. It knows the keys to press.
The computer screen blinks. The beast coughs and a thick bubble bursts open on its wet skin, exposing a dozen newly born eyes, blinking fleshily at the computer screen, looking at files.
Studying blueprints.
SCARED
Donald let out the breath he had been holding for what seemed like forever.
He and Vince were still in Dr. Bryson's office. Nothing had changed. Everyone had expected the lights to go out, and that's what had happened. Nothing to worry about.
So why did he feel so scared all of a sudden?
He almost asked Vince if he felt...different. Then decided that was a stupid question and, as he had since he was very young and the other kids had teased him about his cleft lip, Donald clamped his mouth shut and decided silence was the best course. Even so, Vince must have seen something in his gaze. The younger man's lip curled in scorn. "Gutless wonder," said Vince. "Scared of the dark."
Donald did not deny it.
LIE
Paul looked at Rachel and Becky as the lights came back on. Neither had moved, but he could see the tension in their features. Nor were they alone. Mitchell had his bedding clenched in his hands so tightly that if it had been a person, Paul would have been worrying about how to treat shattered ribs.
Paul grinned lopsidedly in what he knew was a hopeless attempt to lighten the situation. "That was fun, wasn't it?"
"Mommy," said Becky, and Paul's heart soared. She was speaking. Not that she was saying anything good: "The lights," said the little girl.
Rachel looked at Paul. "Why aren't they coming back on all the way?" asked the girl's mother.
Paul tried to smile again, but he was positive that his look did nothing to help their moods. "We're on emergency power," he answered. "It takes a while to cycle up, but it won't light up all the way in here. Full power goes to the security systems, the doors, and the computers." He shrugged apologetically. "This is the best we're going to get, I'm afraid. "
"There's no way to turn them up?" asked Rachel.
"Sorry," said Paul. "Not without stealing power from somewhere else. And believe me, you'd rather have the doors all working." He tried to raise everyone's spirits one more time. Directing his gaze at Becky, he said, "Besides, this way you're spared looking at all us ugly folks, kiddo."
Becky just stared at him wordlessly, never taking her eyes from Paul's face, and he felt curiously as though the little girl were measuring him.
He also realized with a chill that he had called her "kiddo."
He had called Sammy that, once upon a time.
And Paul shuddered. Because Sammy was gone, and for a moment he felt as he had that day when he had cut a perfect slice across his son's name on the birthday cake.
No, he said to himself. Nothing will happen to Becky.
But he felt – he knew – that was a lie.
TIME
Hip-Hop put the final touches on the inmates' meals, then nodded at Wade. To his immense relief, the incredibly stupid guard actually understood Hip-Hop's meaning. Either that or he was just acting naturally, and that worked, too.
"Have fun, boys," said Wade with a yawn. "I'm goin' to bed."
"That's right, brag, you prick," said Hip-Hop with a laugh that he hoped the newbie would not see as artificial and forced.
Apparently he didn't, for Jacky laughed, not sensing the animal tension that Hip-Hop felt boiling just beneath his skin. Hip-Hop started pushing a massive cart full of meals, and nodded to Jacky to do the same. A moment later he and the newbie were walking toward the door to the prison tunnel. Wade turned the other way, toward the lobby, and Hip-Hop saw the man looking at his watch and standing motionless before the doorway.
Waiting.
He didn't need Jacky asking questions, so he said loudly, "Come on, Fresh Meat, we don't got all day."
Jacky hustled after him, and Hip-Hop laughed like they were going to be best friends. And that might even be true...for another half hour or so.
After that, the newbie was on his own.
Speaking of time...Hip-Hop glanced at his watch.
6:58. Only a few minutes before things started to pop.
UNMANNED
Sandy was proud of herself. She had managed to go maybe ten minutes without thinking of Darryl. That was probably nine minutes longer than she'd ever managed to do before. It was nigh unto a Herculean feat, especially considering that he was sitting right next to her, watching the monitors with that signal intensity that was just one more thing she found so amazing about him.
The intercom buzzed. Crane's voice hissed out, the tinny sound the speaker imparted doing nothing to dull the imperious power in his words. "Sandy?" he barked.
She thumbed the 'com. "Yes, sir?" she answered.
"Who's at the monitoring station with you?" Crane asked.
"Me, Darryl, Jeff, and Leann."
"I want to see the four of you."
Sandy gawked at the intercom; saw Darryl doing the same.
"All of us?" she asked. That would leave the front desk completely unmanned. Not usual protocol. In fact, she could not remember that ever happening before.
Crane ignored the implied question and instead chose to address her breach of conduct. "I am not accustomed to having my orders questioned. All of you in my office, now," he said.
Sandy glanced at Darryl, who just shrugged his head and stood, leading the way to Crane's door.
She followed.
So the front was unmanned for a minute. What could happen?
SHOOTING
Wade heard the door to Crane's office close just as he stepped into th
e lobby.
That had been close. Crane liked to time things to the second.
He rushed to the front door, passing his keycard through the reader, then entering his code.
The door buzzed and he opened it. A flurry of snow burst through the egress almost instantly, and a gust of wind actually swatted him backward before he braced himself properly.
He pushed out into the snow, closing the door to the prison staff area behind him. The foul weather tore at him, ripping through his thin clothes, but he knew that there were parkas in the tower.
He just had to get there and be ready for Steiger when the lunatic got out.
Wade smiled. Things were going as planned.
And, he had to admit, even though he was out in the shithole of all snow storms, he was looking forward to shooting Steiger.
ALONE
The walk through the tunnel that linked prison to staff area seemed much longer than Jacky had remembered it being only a few hours earlier. Maybe that was because he was pushing a huge cart loaded with enough food for fifty wackos. Maybe it was because he was tired. But most likely it was because the blood-red lights in the tunnel were even dimmer than they had been the first time.
He was afraid. Afraid, and he wasn't even doing anything.
Still, he had thought he would feel better when getting into the prison. After all, at least the prison had full lighting, from what he understood. So he was surprised when Hip-Hop pushed the door open and they stepped in and Jacky felt the dread he was nurturing grow a foot or two within him. Fear was becoming a living, breathing being, and he knew that if he didn't push it down it would swallow him whole.
He thought about his mother. She always made him feel better. Her warm smile, her infectious laugh, the "Hug candy" she kept for neighborhood children who came by for a licorice whip in exchange for a quick hug with the kind-hearted woman.
It worked. It always did. He felt himself relax.
Then he jumped as a voice speared out at him: "Hey, man, we thought you maybe forgot about us or something," said Jorge, the thin and sarcastic man who Jacky understood was Rachel's brother.
"Seriously," echoed Marty, the other guard on duty, as taciturn-seeming as before.
"Relax, Wonder Twins," said Hip-Hop with a chuckle.
"Hey, man," said Jorge instantly, "I resent that. I ain't related to that," he pointed at Marty, "piece of pendejo white trash from the wrong side of the trailer park."
Jacky looked at Marty, a bit nervous. But Marty didn't say a word. Apparently this kind of ribbing was normal.
"Any problems when the lights went out?" asked Hip-Hop.
"Not after Jorge changed his underoos," mumbled Marty.
Jorge laughed, but even to Jacky it sounded forced. Nervous laughter, tinged with fear.
Hip-Hop sighed beside Jacky. "Get out of here you two," he said to Jorge and Marty. "Me and Newbie'll take first guard tonight."
"Diving right into it, eh?" said Marty to Jacky, but Jacky got the impression there was a strong undercurrent of "Good luck – you'll need it" beneath the actual spoken words.
"Glad it ain't me, man," said Jorge.
"Don't spook him," said Hip-Hop with a grin. Then his smile faded. "Jorge, you know your sister's here, right?"
Jacky saw the normally feisty guard get an unusually strained look on his face. The fun went out of him as he nodded, said, "Yeah," and then he and Marty stood to go.
They swiped through the door without a word.
Jacky and Hip-Hop were alone in the prison.
Jacky looked around. All the cells. All the crazy people in them, just waiting for their chance to....
He shuddered, unwilling to finish the thought.
Thank goodness for Hip-Hop, he thought.
COFFEE
Wade pulled the parka on, almost moaning in relief as the wind stopped cutting at him quite so mercilessly. He pulled a face mask from the pocket of the parka, put it on as well, then pulled up the fur-lined hood and pulled it tight.
Much better.
He grabbed the trank rifle from its storage space. It was a special military model, not your usual zoo-type dart gun. It could fire up to eight darts at the equivalent of semi-automatic, unlike the usual single shot guns that most places had. It was also much higher powered than any other dart rifle. This was imperative because in this wind, Wade knew it would take every shred of push the rifle had to get it to hit Steiger.
He walked out onto the guard tower parapet, looking over.
No Steiger. But soon, he knew.
He glanced over, and saw something odd on the ground nearby: a brown stain that glinted oddly. With a start, he realized it was the coffee that he had spilled on Sandy earlier to distract her from Steiger's previous escape attempt.
The coffee was frozen solid, grafted to the floor by the wind and hail.
Jesus, he thought. Come on, Steiger, get out here so I can blow your ass to sleep.
He settled down to wait.
Not long now.
PLOT
Hip-Hop stood outside the bars of the first cell, careful not to touch them. Touching them would not be good.
He took one of the paper food trays from the cart: it was thin, designed to go between the bars of the outer cell to each inmate's personal prison room. Using a plastic loid, Hip-Hop pushed the food through the outer cell, then flicked open a small slot on the inner cell door with the same long instrument. Then he used the loid to push the plastic plate through the slot, flicked it closed, and withdrew his tool.
A small light next to the food slot glowed green the entire time. Green was good.
He turned to Jacky.
Not Jacky, just the new guy. Don't think of him as Jacky.
The new guy was watching intently, but Hip-Hop knew from experience he'd have to explain the whole process.
"One hundred twenty six to go," said Hip-Hop. "That's it. Easy. First thing to remember is never touch the bars."
"Electrified?" asked the newbie.
Hip-Hop nodded. "Won't kill you, but you'll wake up with a helluva headache. Only way to turn off the bars is with the cell key. You'll need this," he added, handing Jacky a thick set of keys. "Keys to the outer cells, the inner cells, and the lift." Hip-Hop pointed to a skeletal one-man elevator in a nearby corner as he said this. "I'm going up to the ones on the third level," he said. You start on this level and work your way up. We meet in the middle."
"What about the little green light next to the food slot?" asked the newbie.
Hip-Hop nodded approvingly. Kid had a decent brain in his head. "Security measure," he answered. "You always, always, always check that light before coming near the outer cell. If the light's green, the inner door is locked. If it's red, the inner door is unlocked and you don't get anywhere near the bars?"
"Why not?"
Hip-Hop shrugged. "'Cause some psycho's liable to pop out from his cell and grab you and pull your face off with his teeth."
Hip-Hop left the newbie to think on that, pushing his food cart to the lift and riding it to the third floor. He could see Jacky below him, barely visible in the perpetual twilight of the storm lights. He saw the new guy turn to do his first cell, then disappear from view.
Hip-Hop got off at the third floor, pushing his cart over to a cell, then left it there.
He removed his shoes so they wouldn't clank on the metal decking of the prison walkways, then hurried to a nearby stairwell and walked quietly back down to the level below. On the second level he looked down and saw the new guy, already on his third or fourth cell, ass in the air as he carefully pushed trays into the occupied cells.
Hip-Hop drifted quietly over to cell two twenty three.
Steiger's cell.
KEY
Steiger lay on his small bunk, hands folded loosely across his chest.
A snick sounded. He knew it was the food. He had been getting hungry and his internal clock – which was as perfectly calibrated as the rest of him – told him it was time for
dinner. That dinner was late, in fact.
Then he heard something different. No soft swish of paper sliding across concrete.
No, there was a metallic scraping as something slid into his cell.
Steiger smiled. As usual, the universe was bending itself to help him in his quest to bring disorder; he knew what the sound was without even looking.
It was the sound of a key sliding into his cell.
SMARTY
Vincent was disgusted. Who did that woman think she was? He stomped across the hall to the staff sleeping quarters, which were wide open. Another problem caused by that woman. Wiseman had decreed from on high that the staff quarters should stay propped open so that woman and her demon kid would be able to get back and forth without having to be accompanied by someone with security clearance.
What? he thought. She shows up unannounced and so now we should all be at risk because she's an idiot?
He threw himself onto a cot, Donald close behind him as always. "That woman could give mean lessons to Don Corleone," he muttered.
Paul was in there waiting for him. Mitchell was in one of the beds, snoring snores appropriate for someone who could eat mountains for breakfast – that was a good one, he'd have to remember that and tell it to Donald later – and Marty was stripping down for the night. Marty was as big a prick as Wiseman was. He was a complete downer, a no-show in the party of life.
"Room all set up for them?" asked Wiseman.
"Yeah. The bed's where she wants it. No thanks, no tip, but she's happy with the freakin' bed."
"Hey, man," said Marty, his expression even more sour than usual. "You wanna keep it down and shut your mouth? Tryin' to sleep over here."
"Shut it for me, Marty. Where's your beaner friend?"
Wiseman left the room, probably so his delicate shell-like ears wouldn't be assaulted by someone who didn't use the word "tinkle" when they had to take a leak.
The Loon Page 14