"Is it broken?"
This time Twiste removed his hand so he could be clearly heard.
"No, maybe sprained. Thanks for pushing me down the hatch, buddy."
Of course he did not sound mad but Gant felt guilty enough to explain for the third time, "A ball of fire was filling the shaft, probably burning fuel. If I had not pushed you down the hatch, you would have third-degree burns, not merely a bump on the cheek and a sore foot."
"This isn't just a bump on the cheek," he objected, but his tone softened as he admitted, "I sort of bit the inside of my mouth and I've got a loose tooth."
"Clearly we need to find the infirmary."
"Speaking of that, besides the obvious—" Twiste waved at the decal above his head—"where are we?"
Gant’s immediate answer was up shit’s creek. He decided that actually saying as much would be counterproductive.
"We’re on level 7, searching for a way down to the Red Lab on level 8. According to the map on my computer…" he tapped the wrist-mounted unit "… we should find several options for doing just that, but they are all further along this level."
"Elevators and stairs that go only one floor at a time, spread out across levels the size of football fields, full of hallways that feel like they go in circles. Your federal government at work."
"You are pouting again, Doctor." Gant tried to muster good humor, but came up dry. Truth was, his unit might be wiped out by an enemy he still did not know.
A sound like something metal rattling as if knocked over echoed through the maze. Gant could not discern from which direction it had come; there were several side passages not far behind and more ahead. It was even more difficult to gauge proximity. He guessed it was not too close … but why take chances?
"Come on, Captain, we need to get moving."
Twiste did not protest. He accepted assistance from Gant in getting to his feet, grabbed his bag, and limped forward. Thom stayed a pace ahead with both hands on his MP5, using the tactical light to help steer their way.
They came to a large four-way intersection with a SECURITY SUB STATION kiosk in one corner. To their left and right the passages disappeared into complete darkness; no lighting whatsoever. Ahead of them, however, about a third of the fluorescent lights worked, albeit with a constant flickering that produced a strobe light effect.
"Why do I not feel good about this," Twiste asked, eying the better-lit corridor like a fish that had grown wise to worms.
Gant consulted his map, looked ahead, consulted the map again, pointed forward and in an unsure voice said, "According to the blueprints, that direction would be our best option."
Twiste opened his mouth, most likely to say something witty, but a groaning noise drifted into the corridor, stopping him short.
Gant glanced behind. He saw only the darkness from which they had come, but he felt sure the noise originated from that direction. Still some distance away, but closer than the rattling metal sound they had heard a minute before.
The two men stood still for several seconds, very much like deer caught in oncoming headlights.
Footsteps. Or something very much like footsteps. Not boots, more of a shuffling sound, and not consistent as would be expected from a man walking. No, this sounded lazy and haphazard and as such had an animal quality about it.
Gant threw his arm around Twiste’s shoulder and moved them at a fast clip. Brandon bit his lip in pain but made no noise. Still, the footsteps sounded louder and Gant realized the extra light in the corridor made them much more visible.
He risked a glance behind. The flickering strobe lights provided vision all the way back to the intersection, but no further. He saw nothing.
"Turn here," Twiste said, shifting his weight to the left and moving them off the main corridor and down a different stretch, this one with no lights other than the bouncing fluorescents seeping in from the main passage.
More noise, this time a grunt. The source of the sounds had at least reached the security substation, maybe twenty yards behind. Considering Twiste's limp, they were not going to outrun the threat and the major was well aware that he had lost contact with his team after they had been attacked, which raised the possibility that bullets might not be capable of dispatching whatever it was that haunted them in this dungeon.
That left one option, and when he spied a metal door with a small window he took it, grasping the dusty, cold latch and turning. For a moment he feared it would be locked or that it would open with the same type of blood-curdling screech the elevator hatch had emitted.
His luck held on both counts. The bolt gave way easily and the door opened without complaint, revealing more blackness than the hallway they escaped, but in this case, the dark might be their ally.
Gant forced Twiste inside and then softly shut the heavy door. Sharp flashes from the flickering fluorescents followed them in through the small square window.
He helped Twiste to the floor, propping him against a metal shelf, then he knelt next to the closed door, his finger floating on the trigger guard of his HK.
Gant heard footsteps, shuffling, and as they neared his ear sifted through the sounds and he realized that he heard more than one entity. He heard a group, although he could not be sure how many.
Shadows blocked the flicker of the fluorescents. He felt them just outside the door, inches away on the far side of the aging steel. A sound like a snort or grunt, a squeal from another source, a stranger noise — a chuckle? — from another still. Three distinct creatures.
He dared a sideways glance out the window and was rewarded with a quick glimpse of the enemy.
His eyes picked them up just as they moved from the light of the strobe-like fluorescents into the darkness further down the corridor. At the lead was what appeared to be a man, sort of stumbling along as if sleepwalking. He wore what might be army BDUs but they appeared tattered, grimy, and bloody to the point that Gant wondered if he saw a zombie soldier who had dug himself out of a grave. Caucasian skin, possibly, but cracked and covered with wounds and blemishes. The zombie analogy stuck.
Two smaller entities followed the first, and what he saw of their appearance made him nearly vomit in disgust. They were horror incarnate, one about four feet 000tall, the other perhaps over five, but exact dimensions were hard to estimate because both walked with wild gaits, like rabid animals, shuffling back and forth between the walls, bumping into one another, snarling and snapping.
Their pale skin was covered with all manner of sores, warts, and rashes stretched tightly over spindly arms and legs. He might have seen a scrap of clothing on one, but all three quickly faded into the black further down the passage.
Thom slowly slid to a seated position. He worried the creatures might return to investigate the side rooms, but that assumed they were actually searching for them. Given their primitive, barbaric appearance, he realized they might merely live in this dungeon and not even be aware of the intruders.
Are these levels some kind of new ecosystem? Did those things cross over from some other world, thanks to the Briggs experiment?
"What did you see?"
Thom saw Brandon watching him with wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar, probably a reflection of his own expression.
"I …" Thom stopped, considered. "I'm not sure what I saw. What might have been a man, but something was wrong with him. Two other … two other things that resembled, well, I am not sure what they resembled. They were, they were …"
"I can see by the look in your eyes. That alien in the swamp didn't throw you this much. Are we out of danger?"
"No, not by a long shot. But I think they passed us by this time. If they are searching for us, they are not operating with any intelligent pattern, otherwise they would go door to door."