“Shit,” he yelped, then fell to the floor. With a loud thunk, the thing he’d stumbled into—which he now realized was some kind of wheeled storage cart—hit a nearby counter, coming to a listing, inching halt.
“You have activated the Head Start Heart Smart,” a tinny female voice suddenly chirped.
What the hell? Andrew’s gaze darted back to the window, his heart jackhammering. Scrambling to his feet, he rushed to the cart and found a machine, some kind of unfamiliar computer with a small display screen now aglow and alight.
“Please follow the voice prompts provided for correct application and use of this electronic device,” the machine said.
“Shit,” Andrew hissed. There weren’t many buttons to choose from, and he began pushing them all quickly, frantically, shooting alarmed looks over his shoulder toward the door, sure at any moment, a soldier would pop into view, alerted by the clamor.
“If you are near a telephone or have access to a cellular device, please call for emergency service now,” the mechanized woman’s voice said.
“Shut up.” Andrew smacked it, grabbing at some wires dangling from the side, hoping one might be a power cord he could unplug and disable. At the unattached end of each was a small, square-shaped pad, one with a bright red trim, the other bright yellow.
“You have removed the Head Start Heart Smart cartridges. Please review the on-screen diagram for appropriate placement and press the start button to begin the automatic assessment.”
“Shit, shit, shit.” Andrew picked the machine up, turned it this way and that, trying to find the on-off switch. As he looked behind him again, he froze in bright, frightened panic to see a shadow in the doorway, the outline of a head peering up into the window.
Shit!
He scrambled around the side of cart and sat on the floor, holding the machine in his lap. Now the voice was muffled against his stomach, but still audible.
“You have disengaged the automatic assessment function. Please select the joule level you would like to administer,” it mumbled into his shirt.
“Shut up,” Andrew whispered, thumbing buttons, turning the solitary knob, trying anything. On a small LED screen on top of the console, he watched numbers correspondingly fly up and down, from 25 to 10, then back to 50, then 110, then 200. “Shut the fuck up.”
A wild look toward to door revealed a soldier peering through the window, and Andrew could hear the door rattling as he tried vainly to open it. Miraculously, the machine fell silent and stayed that way, the vocal prompts muted. Hugging it against his chest again, just to be sure, Andrew risked another glance at the window. The soldier was gone.
Sitting back, closing his eyes, daring to hope, Andrew waited. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi
At thirty-Mississippi, he knew the soldier had gone and heaved a sigh of relief. Opening his eyes, he glowered down at the console in his lap. No longer panic-stricken, he realized what it was—a cardiac defibrillator. The irony that he’d damn near suffered a heart attack trying to get it to shut up wasn’t lost upon him.
“Piece of shit,” he muttered, shoving it away from him, sending it sliding across the room, the red and yellow paddles trailing behind like the tails of a kite.
Andrew limped to his feet and looked around, trying to get his bearings. The overhead lights were off, but thin fluorescent tubes mounted beneath periodically positioned overhead cabinets cast dim puddles of pale glow on countertops and the floor. He saw a suite of small examination rooms on one side, rows of supply shelves and medicine cabinets on another
The infirmary.
Though he’d seen Prendick and the haz-mat clad soldiers leaving the infirmary shortly before being locked in his room, and Suzette had said she would bring O’Malley there on the wheeled stretcher, the area was strangely empty and quiet.
Where did everybody go? Andrew crept forward, curious and cautious. He picked his way across the infirmary, slipping in and among more carts and tables along the way. Once he reached the examination rooms, he walked slowly down the row, pushing each door open and peering inside, flipping light switches on each in turn and frowning to find everything vacant.
That doesn’t make any sense, he thought. Suzette wouldn’t have ordered O’Malley back to his room. He was way too bad off. She’d have kept him here, where she could keep an eye on him, give him medical attention.
Andrew stopped all at once, a peculiar, creeping chill stealing down the back of his neck. You don’t need medical attention when you’re dead.
“Shit,” he whispered, because he’d reached the end of the line, literally. The last examination room was empty. There was no one in the infirmary.
He heard a loud clatter from behind him, the tinkling crash of broken glass as something large and heavy fell to the floor. Andrew whirled, eyes flown wide.
There was no further sound except the rush of his own frightened breathing. Not at first, anyway. Then he heard something moving through the shattered remnants of glass. Out of his view around the nearest wall dividing the main infirmary from the exam rooms, it sounded distinctively like someone walking, or shuffling, more specifically, a heavy, clumsy, dragging sound.
That soldier is back. He must’ve gone to get the pass code, then come back.
“Shit.” Andrew cut his eyes around quickly, catching sight of an empty IV stand in one of the exam rooms. Leaning across the threshold, he grabbed it. Twisting the chrome shaft between his palms, he unscrewed it, leaving the plastic base behind. Warily, keeping the metal rod poised in his hands, he crept back toward the main area once more.
He didn’t hear footsteps anymore, but a new sound had taken their place—a gurgling sound, soft and thick, like someone trying to breathe through a lungful of oatmeal. It reminded him of the way O’Malley had sounded earlier that night, congested, nearly sodden. Maybe this guy’s sick, too, he thought, visions of ebola and anthrax dancing in his head. Maybe there’s been some kind of breach in Moore’s lab, that’s what the alarm’s about. There’s some kind of outbreak they’re trying to contain.
As he inched forward, ahead of him, he could see the expansive main room coming more and more into view. Scattered pieces of broken glass, hundreds of shards, glittered in the faint light, winking like stars. One of the fluorescents from somewhere out of view had started blinking on and off as if on the verge of burning out, a strobe-like effect bouncing off the floor tiles and walls.
Then he heard something else, a quick, staccato-like flurry of sounds, sharp inhalations that made him think of a dog trying to scent the wind.
Sniffing, he thought. No—smelling. Like something’s out there and it smells me.
He’d reached the doorway, but didn’t venture past. Instead, he pressed himself back against the wall. He could feel fear-infused adrenaline coursing through him, causing his arms to tremble, his palms to sweat, slick against the chrome IV stand.
He heard another shambling step, a coarse dragging sound, the muffled tinkling of glass crunching under foot. He leaned forward enough to still have the cover and protection of the doorway, but peek into the room beyond. Though he couldn’t look back in the direction of the sound, ahead of him, he could see another wheeled cart. Waist-high and square shaped, its sides were made of polished steel, and though its reflective quality was anything but mirror-perfect, through it, he caught sight of a figure outlined in silhouette against the backdrop of the flashing, pulsating light.