FIFTEEN
FROM THE TERRIBLE, BAKING HEAT OF THE
blinding scorpion desert, they stepped into the cold
shade of a mountain peak. They stayed by the door,
surveying their newest crucible, Leon wondering if
they'd be facing Hunters or Spitters in this very gray
room.
Gray the rock-studded, sharply angled mountain of
stone that loomed in front of them. Gray also the
walls and ceiling, and the winding path that snaked
west, bordering the "mountaintop." Even the scrubby
grasses in and around the misshapen boulders were
gray. The mountain looked real enough, rough-hewn
chunks of granite mixed into cement, dyed to match
and sculpted into crags. The overall effect was of a
lonely, windswept ridge high on a barren mountain.
Except there's no wind and no smell. Just like the
other two, no smell at all.
"Might want to put your shirt back on," John said,
but Leon was already untying it from his waist. The
temperature had dropped at least sixty degrees, already
freezing the sweat he'd worked up from Phase
Two.
"So where do we go?" Cole asked, his eyes wide and
nervous.
John pointed diagonally across the room, southwest.
"How 'bout the door?"
"I think he meant which way," Leon said. He kept
his voice pitched low, just as the others did. No point
in alerting the inhabitants to their position; they'd
probably be interacting soon enough.
The three of them examined their options, all two
of them: take the gray path or climb the gray mountain.
Hunters or Spitters . . . Leon sighed inwardly, his
stomach knotted, already dreading whatever came
next. If they made it out, if they found Reston, he was
going to give old Mr. Blue a solid ass-kicking. It went
against the belief system that had led him to be a cop,
but then, so did White Umbrella's very existence.
"From a defensive standpoint, I'd say trail," John
said, looking up at the rough surface of the slope. "We
could get trapped if we head up."
"There's a bridge, I think," Cole said. "I only did
one of the cameras in here, that one..."
He pointed up and right, into the corner. Leon
couldn't even see it - the walls were fifty feet high,
and their monotone color blended into the ceiling. It
created a kind of optical illusion, making the room
seem endlessly vast.
"... and I was on a ladder, I could see over, kind
of," Cole continued. "There's a gorge on the other
side, and one of those rope bridges going across."
Leon opened his pack while Cole was talking,
assessing his ammo situation. "How's the M-16?"
"Maybe fifteen left in this one," John answered,
patting the curved mag. "Two more full, thirty
each . . . two clips for the H&K, and one more grenade.
You?"
"Seven rounds left, three clips, one grenade. Henry,
have you been counting?"
The Umbrella worker nodded. "I think five shots,
I fired five times."
He looked as though he wanted to say something
else, glancing back and forth between Leon and John,
finally staring down at his dirty workboots. John
looked at Leon, who shrugged; they didn't really
know anything about Henry Cole, except that he
didn't belong there any more than they did.
"Listen ... I know this isn't really the time or
place, but I just want to tell you guys that I'm sorry. I
mean, I knew something was weird about all this.
About Umbrella. And I knew Reston was a serious
asshole, and if I hadn't been so greedy or so stupid, I
never would have got you into this."
"Henry," Leon said. "You didn't know, okay? And
believe me, you're not the first to be duped..."
"No doubt," John interrupted. "Seriously. The
suits are the problem here, not guys like you."
Cole didn't look up, but he nodded, his thin shoulders
slumping as if in relief. John handed him another
clip, nodding toward the path as Cole tucked it into
his back pocket.
"Let's hit it," John said, talking to both of them but
addressing Cole. Leon could hear it in his deep voice,
a note of encouragement that suggested he was starting
to like the Umbrella worker. "Worse comes to
worst, we can retreat to Two. Stick close, keep quiet,
and try to shoot for the head or eyes - assuming they
have eyes."
Cole smiled faintly.
"I'll bring it up," Leon said, and John nodded
before stepping away from the hatch and turning left.
The chilled air was as quiet as it had been since they'd
come into the room, no sounds but their own. Leon
brought up the rear, Cole walking slowly in front of
him.
The path was grooved, as if someone had run a rake
through the cement before it was dry. With the
"peak" to their right, the trail extended about seventy
feet and then turned sharply south, disappearing
behind the craggy hill.
They'd gone about fifty feet when Leon heard the
trickle of rock behind them. Loose gravel falling down
the slope.
He turned, surprised, and saw the animal near the
top of the peak, thirty feet up. Saw it and wasn't sure
what he was seeing, except that it was walking,
skipping down the hill on four sturdy legs, like a
mountain goat.
Like a skinned goat. Like ... like...
Like nothing he'd ever seen, and it was almost to
the ground when they heard a wet, rattling sound
erupt from somewhere ahead of them, the sound of a
snot-clogged throat being cleared, or a dog growling
through a mouthful of blood - and they were trapped,
cut off from escape, the terrible sounds coming toward
them from both sides.
Getting back into the compound was remarkably
easy. Rebecca needed help getting over the fence, but
with each passing minute, she seemed to be improving,
her balance and coordination sharpening. David
was more relieved than he cared to admit, and almost
as pleased with Umbrella's guard, or lack thereof.
Three men, two at the fence and another at the van; it
was pathetic.
They'd started back as soon as the helicopter had
lifted and headed south, stretching frozen muscles as
they moved silently through the dark. When they'd
come within a few hundred yards, David had left the
others for a quick recon, then come back and led
the two shivering women over the fence and into the
compound. Before they could take out the watchmen,
David knew they needed to get to a safe place out of
the cold, to go over their procedure and better assess
Rebecca's condition; he chose the most obvious of the
buildings, the middle structure. It boasted two satellite
dishes and a series of antennae, plus a shielded
conduit running down one side. If he was right, if it
was a communications relay, it was exactly where
they wanted to be.
And if I'm wrong, there are two others to check; one
will be a generator room, it's bound to have some sort
of climate control. I can leave them there and do the
sabotage work solo. . .
They'd scaled the fence from the south, David
amazed at how poorly Umbrella had planned for their
re-entry. The two men covering the perimeter were
stationed at the front and back, as if there was no
chance that anyone would enter from another direction.
As soon as they were inside, David led them to
the far side of the last building in line, then motioned
for a huddle,
"Middle building," he whispered. "Should be unlocked,
if it's what I think it is. The lights will be on,
though. I'll go inside, then signal for you to follow; if
you hear shots, get inside as quick as you can. Stay
close to the buildings and stay low when we cross.
Yes?"
Claire and Rebecca both nodded, Rebecca leaning
on Claire; other than a limp, she seemed to be doing
well. She'd said she was still dizzy and that her head
hurt, but the confused and erratic thoughts that had
so frightened him earlier had apparently passed.
David turned and eased along the wall of the
structure closest to the fence, hugging the shadows,
frequently glancing back to be sure both women were
keeping up. They reached the end facing west and
slipped around, David first, checking for the west
guard's position. It was almost too dark to see, but
there was a density of shadow against the metal mesh
that marked him. David raised the M-16 and pointed
it at him, prepared to fire if they were seen.
Too bad we can't just shoot him now . . . but a shot
would alert the others, and while David wasn't concerned
with the fence men, the one posted at the van
could be a problem; he was far enough away that he
might radio before coming in to check.
These two will be easy enough, but how to approach
him? There was no cover if the man at the mini
spotted them coming. . .
That could wait; they had work to do before worrying
about the guards. Crouching, David waved Claire
and Rebecca across, the M-16 trained on the shadowy
figure at the fence. He held his breath as they slipped
across the open space, but they managed it with
hardly a sound.
As soon as they were across, David followed, his
years of training allowing him to move as silently as a
ghost. Once they were cloaked by the building's
shadow, David relaxed a bit, the worst of it over. They
could cross to the middle building in the thick black
of the corridor between the structures.
In less than a minute, they'd reached the crossing
point. Nodding at the women to stay back, David
went across, stopping at the closed door to their
destination. He touched the icy metal of the handle
and pushed it down, nodding to himself as he heard
the tiny click of the unlocked door.
It's communications, then; the team leader would
have left it open for the men posted, access to a satellite
uplink in case we returned. A calculated guess, but a
good one.
It was time to pray for a bit of luck; if the lights were
on, opening the door would be like a beacon to
anyone even glancing in their direction. The guards
had been facing away from the compound when he'd
reconned, but that didn't mean much.
A deep breath, and David pushed the door open,
registering that the light was low as he slid inside and
closed it behind him. He leaned against the door and
counted ten, then relaxed, inhaling the warm air
thankfully as he studied the interior. The warehousetype
structure had apparently been divided into
Rooms - and the one he'd stepped into was packed
with computer equipment, thick cables trailing across
the floor and up the walls, dish connectors . . .
. . . everything that links this facility to the world
outside. . .
David hit the wall switch, turning off the single
ceiling light, and grinning, opened the door for
Rebecca and Claire to join him.
"Back against the wall!" Leon shouted, and Cole
did it before he even knew why. The phlegmy rattling
sounds seemed to be coming from somewhere
ahead -
- and then he saw the creature coming slowly
toward them from behind, making it impossible to
retreat, and barely held back a scream. It stopped
fifteen or twenty feet away, and Cole still couldn't
seem to get a good look; it was just too bizarre.
Oh, Jesus, what is it?
It was four-legged, with split hooves, like a ram or
goat, and was about the same size - but there was no
fur, no horns, nothing else that even remotely resembled
a natural development. Its slender body was
coated with tiny reddish-brown scales, like a snake's
skin, but dull instead of shiny; at first glance, it looked
like it was covered in dried blood. Its head was
somehow amphibian, like a frog's - an earless flat
face, small dark eyes that bulged out at the sides, a
too-wide mouth - except there were pointed teeth
sticking up from a protruding lower jaw, a bulldog's
jaw, its head also covered in the dried-blood scales.
The thing opened its mouth, exposing only a few
sharp teeth, upper and lower, none of them in the
front - and that terrible wet rattling sound came from
the darkness of its throat, the bizarre call matched by
others, somewhere on the other side of the artificial
mountaintop.
The call built, going louder and deeper as the thing
raised its head, turning its hideous face to the
ceiling -
- and in one sudden, jerking motion, it dropped its
head and spat at them. A thick, tarry blob of reddish
semiliquid flew at them, at Leon, across the wide
open space -
- and Leon raised his arm to block it even as John
started to shoot, stepping away from the wall and
spraying the monster -
- Spitter -
- with bullets. The goop hit Leon's arm, would
have hit his face if he hadn't blocked, and in response
to the hail of clattering rounds, the Spitter turned and
jumped up the sculpted mountain in long, easy
jumps that took it to the top in seconds, that didn't
denote panic or pain or any stress at all. It loped back
about twenty feet, then skipped nimbly back down to
the ground, stopping in front of the connecting hatch.
As if it knew it was blocking their escape.
And it didn't even flinch, holy shit...
The multiple cries from just out of sight didn't get
any louder, but they didn't retreat, either. The gargling
noises stopped, one at a time, the lack of targets
giving them no reason; suddenly, it was silent again,
as quiet as it had been when they'd entered.
"What the good goddamn was that?" John said,
grabbing another magazine from his pack, his expression
one of total incredulity.
"Wasn't even hurt," Cole whispered, holding the
nine-millimeter so tight that his fingers started to go
numb. He barely noticed, watching as Leon touched
the thick, wet handful of maroon goop on his sleeve
and hissed in pain, drawing his hand back as if
he'd been burned.
"Stuff's toxic," he said, quickly wiping his fingers
on his shirt and holding them up. The tips of the
index and middle fingers on his left hand had gone an
angry, inflamed red. He immediately stuck his handgun
in his belt and pulled the black shirt off, carefully
avoiding contact with the acidic ooze, dropping it to
the stone floor.
Cole felt sick. If Leon hadn't blocked...
"Okay-okay-okay," John breathed, his brow furrowed.
'This is bad, we want out of here as fast as
possible ... you say there's a bridge?"
"Yeah, goes over the, uh, trench," Cole said
quickly. "Like twenty feet across, I didn't see how
deep it was."
"Come on," John said. He started walking toward
where the path turned out of sight, striding quickly.
Cole followed, Leon right behind. John stopped about
ten feet short of the turn and backed against the wall
again, glancing at Leon.
"You want to cover, or me?" Leon asked softly.
"Me," John said. "I step out first, draw their fire.
You run, Henry, right behind him - and head down,
got it? Get across, get to the door - if you can, help
me out -"
John's face was solemn. "- if you can't, you can't."
Cole felt a by-now-too-familiar rush of shame.
They're protecting me, they don't even know me and I
got them into this ... if he could do something to
return the favor, he would, although he was suddenly
quite sure that he'd never be able to even things out;
he owed these guys his life, a couple times over
already.
"Ready?" John asked.
"Wait..." Leon turned and jogged back to where
he'd dropped the sweatshirt. The Spitter by the hatch
stood as silent and immobile as a statue, watching
them. Leon scooped up the shirt and hurried back,
slipping a pocket knife out of his pack. He cut off the
offending sleeve, letting it fall, then handed the rest to
John.
"If you're gonna be standing still, keep your face
covered," Leon said. "Since they don't seem to notice
bullets, you won't need to see, to shoot. Once we're
across, I'll give a yell. And if it's not safe, I'll..."
The rattling, peremptory calls had started up again,
making Cole think of cicadas for some reason, the
almost mechanical ree-ree-ree sound of cicadas on a
hot summer night. He swallowed hard, trying to
pretend to himself that he was ready.
"Outta time," John said. "Get ready to go..."
He held up the sweatshirt, then - astoundingly
grinned at Leon. "My man, you must invest in a
stronger deodorant; you stink like a dead dog."
Without waiting for a response, John put the shirt
over his head, holding it open at the bottom so he
could see the floor. He jogged out into the open, his
face down, Cole and Leon both tensing...
... and there was a rapid patpatpatpat, and the black
material over John's face was suddenly dripping with
great strings of the poison red snot, and he jerked his
hand at them...
... and Leon said, "Now!" and Cole ran, head
down, seeing only Leon's boots sprinting in front of
him, a blur of gray rock, his own thin legs as he
sprinted. He heard a gurgling cry to his left and
ducked down even farther, terrified -
- and there was the thump of wood in front of him,
and then he was on the bridge, flat wooden slats
rippling underfoot, tied with scrawny twine. He saw
the vee-shaped gorge underneath, saw that it was
deep, that it had been dug into the earth beneath the
Planet, forty, fifty feet...
... and then he was back on gray land, before
vertigo could even occur to him. He ran, thinking of
how wonderful it was that all he needed to think
about was Leon's boots, his heart hammering against
his breastbone.
Seconds or minutes later, he didn't know, the boots
slowed, and Cole dared to look up. The wall, the wall
and there was the hatch! They'd made it!
"John, go!" Leon screamed, taking a few running
steps back the way they'd come, his semi up and
ready. "Go!"
Cole turned, saw John rip off the black hood, saw
the handful of Spitters grouped loosely in front of
him, six, seven of them, calling once more. John tore
through their ranks, and at least two of them spat, but
John was fast, fast enough that only a tiny bit hit his
shoulder, at least as far as Cole could tell. The
monstrous creatures started after him in their jumping,
hopping movements, not as fast but close.
Run run run!
Cole pointed the nine-millimeter in the direction of
the Spitters, ready to shoot if he thought he could get
a clear shot, as John hit the bridge...
... and disappeared. The bridge collapsed, and John
disappeared.
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