His voice dropped considerably. “We’re hunting Pechkin?”
Sokolov remained resolute. “We’re hunting what remains of Pechkin. For the sake of all of us here, we need to put him down.”
Hamlin looked the gun over. “I’ve never shot anything quite like this before.”
“But you have fired guns?”
“Yes. I used to own one myself.”
“The basic principles are the same. Once you take off the safety, it becomes a simple point and shoot interface. A man sized, unmoving target at close range shouldn’t be any problem at all.”
Hamlin had doubts. “You wouldn’t think so.”
“Do you wish to trade spots?”
Even afterward, when he had time to really analyze his thoughts, he had no idea why he answered the way he did.
“No, I’ll keep the gun. I can do it if I have to. You keep driving.”
“Excellent. Steady on, Doctor. Let’s go for some touring.”
In the end, it mattered not who held the gun. They had no more success than the mining crew. They never once saw so much as a hint of where Pechkin might be or what kind of condition he might be in. After a couple hours, Hamlin asked to return to the lab. He figured that Konstantine would be a bundle of nerves by now. Reluctantly, Sokolov complied.
As the Cat covered the final few feet and aligned itself perfectly with the entrance to the lab, Hamlin noticed something extremely unnerving in the glow of the headlights. The door was ajar. Grasping wildly at theories that would ultimately result in a happy ending to this unexpected scenario, he wondered if Konstantine had heard their approach and was rolling out the welcome mat in a matter of speaking. There was no sign of him, however.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sokolov said as he opened his door. “Doctor, if you would please pick up the rifle and join me. Perhaps the just in case rule would apply here.”
Hamlin, reluctantly, did just that. He checked and the safety was off. He was more than happy to follow behind and let someone else go in first. Once Sokolov got in the doorway, he seemed to freeze in place. Seconds ticked by and still no perceptible signs of movement.
“Dr. Sokolov, are you all right?”
His shouldered slumped just a little. “No, I’m afraid not. Perhaps you should take a moment to brace yourself before entering. Actually, I wouldn’t find any blame in you simply returning to the Cat while I investigate further.”
All of Hamlin’s internal warning systems were now going off in a big way. But he simply couldn’t walk away without looking. He followed Sokolov into the building, his mind nowhere near prepared for what he was about to see.
His eyes swept to the right upon entering. This was the direction of the work areas. His eyes were wide open, and the grisly scene had every opportunity to imprint itself in his mind and memory—an indelible vision that he would never be completely rid of for the rest of his life.
His first impression was that Konstantine had somehow exploded. Half of the spacious room was literally covered with blood and gore. It was even on the ceiling, contrasting boldly with the otherwise bright, white paint. Konstantine himself, or at least what remained of him, was sprawled on his back across the table along the back of the room. The flesh that was in and around his mid-section had been destroyed to a degree that Francis could see his individual ribs poking up from the center of the carnage. There appeared to be parts of him strewn about in random fashion—a section of an arm was on full display on the linoleum floor. It seemed to be reaching for something. At least from this angle, he couldn’t see his face.
There was so much more to assault his senses, but this was when Hamlin made the unconscious decision to run for the door and vomit in the snow. He made a good production out of it, fully losing what remained of his lunch and then throwing in some dry heaves for good measure. When he finally looked up and wiped the tears from his eyes, Sokolov was standing on the porch watching. Hamlin didn’t realize that he had dropped the rifle, which Sokolov now cradled.
“My God! That’s the most horrible, disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree. And I’ve been in wars.”
Hamlin was nowhere near recovered from the shock. In fact, it hadn’t had time to fully manifest itself yet. That would continue for days and weeks.
“What do we do now?”
“I may need some time before I can answer that.”
Francis realized that he was starting to shake. It was only partially from the cold.
“Doctor,” Sokolov said, “go back into the Cat and get warm. I’m going to walk around the building and look for signs of tracks. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I finish.”
Barely able to think, Hamlin simply complied. He sat limply, shut the door, and was satisfied to meditate upon the sound of the idling diesel engine. His mind was reacting by trying to shut itself down. He didn’t fight it.
Sokolov climbed in behind the wheel.
“Any tracks?”
“There is one set leaving the area, but it is only visible up close to the lab. The wind has filled them in once they get more than a few feet away.”
“Pechkin?”
Sokolov hesitated. “I would estimate that these tracks are larger. And they appear to be boots, not bare feet. I’m afraid neither of those things are good news for us.”
Hamlin found he was largely incapable of generating a lot of creative thought. His mind was quite muddled.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we are taking a small detour on the way back to the barracks.”
The Cat started to roll and Francis tuned out. His mind went fuzzy; a grey haze in place of where his conscious thoughts usually formed. And that was fine. As a result, Sokolov was almost upon the outer storage shed before Hamlin realized where they were going. When it finally caught his attention, he immediately noticed more bad news. The door had been knocked completely off its hinges and lay partially submerged in the snow.
“That was fixed, right?”
“Yes. It was.”
The power and violence necessary to rip it out of the frame and off its hinges was readily apparent. The frame itself had suffered great damage; splintered pieces of wood easily visible even from this distance away.
“Did Pechkin do this? Is he really that strong?”
“I think not.” Sokolov spoke slowly, as if taking extra time to formulate his words. “If you look carefully, it is apparent that the door was pushed out from the inside.”
The nightmare continued to unfold, getting worse with every subsequent revelation.
“You mean…” Hamlin had trouble verbalizing his fear.
“I’ll have to go in to know for sure.” He grabbed the rifle and then swung his door open.
The frigid air that swept in was all but forgotten in the face of larger concerns. The Cat’s door made a solid ‘thunk’ when it shut, and all that was left for Hamlin to do was watch Sokolov walking cautiously.
Sokolov approached slowly, the rifle held in position for a quick shot. He paused to look at the door before continuing his slow pace toward the entranceway. He was almost in, and he hesitated, standing perfectly still, while all his senses were no doubt on full alert. Sokolov seemed to brace himself, and then he stepped in and out of Hamlin’s line of sight.
Now it was Hamlin’s senses that were on full alert. He strained to hear any possible sound. He feared screams and gunshots, but the low howl of the wind was all he heard. A full minute went by before Sokolov stepped back out. He seemed to be in good shape, and as if anticipating Hamlin’s concern, he gave a quick, dismissive wave. He seemed to be working something out. After standing motionless for a few moments, he finally started walking back toward the Cat.