by James Axler
And all the while, the alarm kept going off, and a computerized female voice repeated, “—is not a drill. A fire has been reported in the compound. All personnel are to go to their assigned stations and evacuate immediately. This is not a drill—”
Chapter Thirty-Three
From the moment she had put her plan into action, Mildred had run into obstacle after obstacle.
The first one had been that these symbiote people apparently didn’t need a lot of sleep. She had been waiting with lessening degrees of patience for several hours, hoping that the lone nurse on duty would nod off, but she remained at her desk, awake and alert. Just when Mildred had despaired of her ever moving, she had finally stretched and got up, then started walking toward her bed. Mildred quickly slowed her breathing and feigned sleep, watching her guardian approach through slitted eyes. If those damn slugs can sense my heartbeat, I’m screwed, she thought.
The nurse looked her over for a few moments, then headed back to the other side. She kept going, walking past her desk to a door on the far wall side, which might have been a washroom. Apparently they don’t take care of everything, Mildred thought.
The second the door closed, Mildred hopped out of bed. She tossed her pillow under the cover, knowing it wouldn’t pass a close inspection, and trotted into the examination room that was straight across from the nurses’ station. She figured she’d probably have about sixty seconds to find what she needed and get into position.
The light came on automatically, and she closed the door behind her and crossed to a locked, glass-fronted cabinet filled with vials and bottles of drugs. The lock looked sturdy. Turning, she put her elbow through the glass, wincing at the sharp crack of breaking glass. Carefully reaching in, she unlocked the doors and began searching for what she needed. “Come on, come on, where are you.... Yes!”
The small bottle with a clear liquid inside was labeled Methohexital, and was the best chance for her to take the nurse down without killing her or having her symbiote alert anyone else.
Mildred searched through drawers for a hypodermic needle, all too aware of the seconds ticking away. Finding them in the third drawer, she pulled a handful out, tore one open and drew 8 ccs of the drug. “Should be about right for her weight....” Tapping the barrel to remove any air bubbles, she crept back to the door and peeked out.
The bathroom door was still closed and the desk was unoccupied. Beyond the desk, Mildred saw the automatic double doors leading to the outer hallway and the single guard posted there. She took a deep breath—it was now or never.
Easing the door open just enough for her to slip through, Mildred began creeping toward the bathroom. She was still a few feet away, however, when the knob turned, and the door began to swing out toward her.
Without thinking, she rushed to hide behind its other side, just making it there before the nurse walked out into the room. She paused to look down the ward again, and that was when Mildred struck.
It wasn’t perfect coming at her from the side, but she had no choice—the damn door was in the way. Mildred stepped out and clamped a hand over the nurse’s mouth while stabbing the hypodermic needle into the flesh at the joint of the neck and shoulder and pressing the plunger home. She figured that even if she didn’t inject straight into the symbiote, she’d get close enough for it to absorb the dose of the drug and knock out the host fairly quickly.
That, however, wasn’t what happened. Immediately, the nurse jabbed an elbow into Mildred’s ribs hard enough to take her breath away. She let go of the syringe, but maintained her grip on the other woman’s mouth. The nurse twisted to give her another shot to the chest, but Mildred slipped behind her, snaked her other arm under her shoulder and hauled her back into the bathroom.
The nurse raised her leg and drove her heel back into Mildred’s shin. Though the blow hurt like hell, she kept her hand clamped over the woman’s mouth, even as she tried to open it wider to bite into her palm. Trying to scream through Mildred’s hand, the nurse flailed backward with both her arms, her fists thumping into already sore ribs and grazing her face. Mildred did her best to avoid the punishment while trying to hear if the outer doors were opening, or the guard was going to appear in the doorway at any moment.
The drug was starting to take effect now, and the woman’s blows became more uncoordinated and less forceful. Not taking any chances, Mildred held on and rode her down to the floor, daring to remove her hand only when she was sure the nurse was out cold. And even then, she waited for thirty seconds, ready to pop her one if she suddenly woke up.
When she was positive the woman was unconscious, Mildred dragged her into the other room and quickly began stripping her of her uniform. The nurse was about her height, but stockier, so the outfit was a bit baggy. Mildred didn’t care. It was close enough to do what she had to do. With her disguise in place, she quickly bound the hands and feet of the nurse—just in case the symbiote recovered from the tranquilizer faster than expected—and began looting the rest of the infirmary’s stores for the necessary supplies to carry out the remainder of her plan.
Five minutes later, she was ready to go. Her pockets bulged with the simple materials she was going to need to take the Overbrain down. All she had to do was get to it.
Taking a deep breath, Mildred crept to the doors to the hallway. She peeked through the window just enough to get a glimpse of the guard standing facing the other way. Removing a syringe from her breast pocket, she took off the cover and was about to open the door and go over and stab him when he turned and said something.
Jesus, did he see me? Mildred ducked below the window, her heart revving up to jackhammer speed. When no one burst through the door, she slowly moved to the other side and looked out the opposite window.
Dammit! They’d posted a second guard outside the infirmary doors. Of course, Mildred thought, I should have expected this. There were two outside my room after all. One I could handle—two, very doubtful.
Mildred retreated back to the supply room, thinking furiously. She considered just hitting the alarm from here, but figured the guards’ first order would be to make sure she was safely evacuated, so the moment the alarm went off, they’d be coming for her—the exact opposite of what she wanted. But how to take them both out at once? Realizing she was still holding the live syringe, Mildred carefully capped it and put it back in her pocket. Then it hit her. Liquid or gas!
She went back into the supply room and began looking around. To her surprise, she found a non-rebreathing anesthesia setup in there, holding two tanks of isoflurane. It was exactly what she was looking for. It was easy to operate, and on wheels for portability. Grabbing a length of surgical tubing, she prepped the tank and slowly wheeled it to the door, hoping none of the wheels squeaked.
Because isoflurane was heavier than air, she stretched up on her tiptoes and inserted the end through the crack at the top of the door, pushing as hard as she dared to make sure it protruded into the hallway. When she was pretty sure it was where it needed to be, she pulled the tank as far from the door as possible—it wouldn’t help if she knocked herself out while trying to incapacitate the guards—and slowly turned the control dial to maximum output while holding her breath and counting to thirty in her mind. Halfway through, she heard a heavy thump from outside, followed a few seconds later by another one. She finished her count, however, then sealed the canister. Now the hard part of her plan.
Mildred made sure her supplies were secure while giving the anesthetic cloud another thirty count to settle. She ran into the bathroom, soaked a handful of paper towels and held them to her face as she went to the door and looked outside.
The two guards lay on the floor, out cold. She listened carefully, already smelling the musty, pungent scent of the isoflurane. When she heard no alarms being sounded, no raised voices or hurried footsteps, she took a deep breath through the wet paper, held it and shoved the door open.
>
While looking down to step over the guard right in her way, Mildred spotted a Beretta 92F pistol in his side holster. She bent to tug it free and instantly felt the gas affect her, making her dizzy. Yanking the gun from its holster, she straightened fast and kept moving, taking a breath only when she was well down the hallway.
At the T intersection, she checked the corridor, then examined the pistol. Quietly chambering a round, she flicked off the safety. Holding the weapon down and behind her leg, she checked the corridor. As she expected, it was empty. With hardly anyone in the infirmary, there simply wasn’t much traffic here.
But that doesn’t mean Morgan isn’t coming back to “question” you again, so get your ass moving, she chided herself.
The elevator doors faced the corridor to the infirmary. Mildred located the nearest alarm lever, but pressed the elevator button before activating it. While waiting for it, she suddenly realized another flaw in her plan—what if there’s someone in the elevator?
Her plan had been to wait until the elevator arrived to activate the fire alarm, but if there was more than one person inside, she’d be screwed. It was too late to go back for the isoflurane tank, so when the doors dinged, Mildred pulled the lever down.
The alarm was deafening. A harsh, buzzing klaxon sounded, echoing in the empty corridor, and the normal white lighting was replaced by red emergency lighting. A computerized female voice began issuing instructions:
“Attention, attention: this is not a drill. A fire has been reported in the compound. All personnel are to go to their assigned stations and evacuate immediately. Do not use the elevators. This is not a drill—”
The doors opened and the three people inside immediately ran down the corridor, apparently toward the nearest stairwell, Mildred assumed. She ran into the elevator, hoping it wouldn’t be locked out during such an emergency. It didn’t appear to be, and she hit the button for the Overbrain level.
As it descended—she knew it was going down this time—she let the pistol hang free at her side. Now if someone tried to stop her, she would get past them by the simple expedient of a bullet to the face.
But the elevator made no stops during its journey, and Mildred realized that it made sense; the symbiotes were probably controlling their hosts and making them leave in the orderly, proscribed fashion—using the stairs.
The elevator reached her destination, and Mildred steeled herself for what was about to come next. The doors slid open, and she stepped out into the Overbrain room.
“WHY ARE YOU HERE, MILDRED WYETH? A FIRE ALARM HAS BEEN ACTIVATED. YOU SHOULD BE— WAIT...I AM SENSING NO ACTUAL FIRE FROM ANYONE IN THE COMPLEX.... THERE IS NO FIRE.”
“You got it, big brain,” Mildred said as she ran to the large tank. She exchanged the pistol for a plastic container from one of her pockets, unscrewed the cap and began pouring its contents into the tank.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING—WHY DOES OUR LIQUID BURN NOW?”
“It burns because I’m pouring isopropyl alcohol into it,” Mildred replied as she emptied the bottle and grabbed another one. “I thought about shooting you, but I didn’t know if the bullets would actually kill you. But poison will work much better.”
“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?” With that frantic thought, Mildred felt the Overbrain’s psychic power bear down on her mind, filling it with the thousand jumbled conversations of everyone it had absorbed over the years. The deluge of thoughts hammered down on her, and Mildred sank to one knee from the tidal wave of information flooding into her mind. Even so, she retained enough awareness to twist off another cap and pour a second bottle into the nutrient pool.
“YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, MILDRED WYETH. YOU CANNOT KILL US. AS LONG AS A SINGLE PART SURVIVES, WE ARE IMMORTAL. THIS IS ONLY ONE PART OF OUR BODY.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be taking care of the other parts as soon as I can,” she replied.
The elevator dinged behind her, and Mildred turned to see Morgan step out, followed by four armed sec guards. Dropping the bottle into the pool, she jerked the pistol out of her pocket, aiming at them and repeatedly pulling the trigger as she staggered around the side of the pool.
“Watch your fire! You could hit the Mind!” Morgan shouted. Mildred didn’t hear any other orders, but she was pretty sure he would have the men divide into pairs and come at her from both sides. It was what she would have done.
“IT BURNS! IT BURNS!” The brain pulsed in agony, but couldn’t do anything to help itself. It redoubled its mental assault on Mildred, who felt as if her brain were being squeezed in a vise now. She opened a third bottle and splashed it directly onto the brain itself.
“Dammit, why...won’t...you...die?” she gasped through the agony.
“Freeze—aaah!” The sec man who had come around the tank and pointed his longblaster at her suddenly grabbed his head as he writhed in pain.
“Stop it, Mildred!”
A hard shove pushed her away from the tank. Her equilibrium was gone as well now, and Mildred couldn’t stay on her feet. She rolled over to see Morgan standing over her. “What have you done?”
“I’ve freed you,” she replied. “I’ve freed you all from this...tyranny!”
“HELP US, MORGAN! YOU MUST HELP US!” the Mind shrieked.
“I will, Mind, I will—after I deal with this traitor,” Morgan said as he came at Mildred. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand! The Mind offers peace and hope, not terror and despair!”
“But at what price—the cost of being human!” she shouted. “Without free will, we are nothing! You are simply this abomination’s slave, its servant. That’s no way to live.”
“And that is nothing you have to worry about anymore,” Morgan said as he grabbed a dropped longblaster and aimed it at her. As he did, Mildred sniffed the acrid scent of rubbing alcohol fumes in the air. Her eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t fire that if I were you,” she said.
He sniffed, as well. “You’re right. I’ll just kill you with my bare hands.”
“Morgan, wait. I lied!” she said, making him pause in confusion as he bent and reached for her throat. “There was no fire in the complex.”
He looked down at her hands, which were clutching the Beretta.
“But there is now.”
“NOOO!” The psychic pain was blinding, but she already had the Beretta in hand.
Morgan lunged for her as she squeezed the trigger. The bullet disappeared into the brain, but the muzzle flash was enough to ignite the alcohol vapors in the air.
Morgan was caught in the flash fire, his hair and skin catching as he fell on her, his hands still seeking her throat. Mildred shoved him off and rolled away from the tank to make sure she snuffed out any flames that might have started on her.
As she did, she felt an enormous psychic shriek welling up from some other place, somewhere primal, expanding to take up every bit of her senses. Thought, touch, sight, sound—all were subsumed in this massive outpouring of pain. And yet, she could also sense a relief in that sound, too, as if there were those who were welcoming the oblivion they sensed coming to them.
Gradually, the tide of mental anguish subsided, and Mildred cautiously cracked an eye open, praying she wouldn’t be looking into the barrel of an automatic rifle.
She wasn’t. The nutrient pool—and the brain—burned with a blue-white fire. Huge portions of its outer skin covering had crisped away, and as she watched, it shuddered one last time, then became still. As it did, Mildred felt its psychic influence finally die for good.
It was getting hard to breathe in the room, and as she headed around the tank for the elevator, a hand grabbed her ankle. With a startled yelp, Mildred pointed her pistol at the blackened face of Morgan, who stared up at her with a smile on his face.
“Thank you...Mildred.... You were right.... You have freed us.... Thank...you
....”
The grip on her ankle slackened. Mildred didn’t know if Morgan was dead, but she didn’t waste time to find out.
Grabbing the edge of the tank, she hauled herself to her feet and trudged over to the rifle Morgan had dropped. She picked up it, then walked to the edge of the tank and poured in the remaining four bottles of alcohol she had with her—all she could carry. The last one she saved to splash all over the rest of the Overbrain.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said as she leveled the M4 at the burned carcass. “But I don’t.”
The roar of the automatic rifle made her ears ring, but it was worth it to see the bullets chew holes into the middle of the large mass. The flames flared up again, even brighter this time, and Mildred didn’t look back as she ran to the elevator.
Even better, she didn’t hear a whisper of noise in her mind as she went.
The doors opened and, coughing a bit, she hit the button for the top floor. There’d be some smoke damage, but overall, the base should be livable in a day or so, she thought.
The doors opened, and she looked out at a hallway filled with the fallen bodies of the last remnants of the staff. Apparently the overload was too much for them.
She walked out to the main entrance, where she found Krysty, J.B., Jak and Ricky all looking as if they had just gone through their own hell. Even worse, however, was the slumped form they were carrying in—it was Ryan, and he did not look good. His skin was ashen, and he was shaking all over.
“Mildred! Thank Gaia!” Krysty said. “Something’s wrong with him. The parasite—it’s hurting him!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Let’s get him inside right now!” Mildred turned and started leading them toward the elevator, raising her voice to be heard over the klaxon and alarm. “What happened?”
“We arrived as everyone was coming out for the fire drill,” Krysty said. “They all just milled around at the entrance with Ryan organizing the sec men, and then suddenly everyone just screamed, clutched their heads or did both and collapsed.”