He was perhaps halfway back, when he stopped, a perplexed look on his face, and turned to look back toward the shed.
Hamlin followed his line of sight. On the edge of the gloom, where the headlights faded to black, a form came into view. The movement drew his eyes toward the charging figure. It wasn’t Pechkin.
Kuvayev had gone through the same disturbing transformation. He was running full out, a huge, bearded monstrosity, plowing through the loose surface snow like it wasn’t even there. He appeared to have the remnants of a shirt and a pair of boots on. It might have been funny except for the crazy look in his wild eyes, the bulging veins in his neck, and the grotesque bellowing that Hamlin could now here. There was no doubt that he was coming for Sokolov. And there was no doubt he was going to reach the diminutive doctor before he could get to the possible safety of the Cat.
Sokolov had also worked that out. He spun to face the creature of destruction that was bearing down on him and managed to get one shot off before they made contact.
The powerful crack of the rifle’s retort was almost comforting. But would it have any impact on the roaring giant?
Kuvayev struck Sokolov without any attempt to slow. The impact sent Sokolov flying through the air, and Kuvayev fell, rolling over several times in the snow until his momentum was spent. Sokolov, to his credit, immediately sprang to his feet and made a run for the Cat.
Kuvayev stumbled back to an upright position, and then seemed to need a moment to process what to do next. He roared like a wild beast and then churned after Sokolov.
It was going to be close. Hamlin slid across the seat and threw the driver’s side door open. Sokolov threw himself into the Cat at the same time that Kuvayev reached him. The door slammed partially shut and pinned Sokolov in place. The roaring monster was on the ground, arms and legs churning as he tried to regain his footing. The door suddenly went slack and Sokolov popped into the cab. With adrenalin fueled desperation, he lunged for the door handle and slammed it shut. Kuvayev was now visible, obviously on his feet. He reached for Sokolov but seemed to be a least temporarily stymied by the glass.
“Go!” Hamlin screamed as Sokolov stomped his foot on the accelerator.
The Cat sprang forward, but its course intersected with the wall of the shed. Sokolov spun it at the last possible moment, then let it build up to maximum speed as it diagonalled away.
Kuvayev was in full pursuit, his muscular legs pumping like some mechanical device, plowing without hesitation through the snow. The Cat seemed to be slowly pulling away. That was the first good news Hamlin had experienced in some time.
“Are we losing him?” Sokolov gasped.
“Yes. I think so. I can’t actually see him anymore.”
The Cat was screaming along, and both of them wondered if that was sustainable. Sokolov decided to slow just slightly.
“My God. I fear have a problem.”
Hamlin looked in horror. Sokolov had lost a glove in the melee, and had apparently sustained a bite from Kuvayev in the process. Blood was running down his wrist and dripping on the floorboard. They both had a good idea what that meant.
“You didn’t cut it on the edge of the door?”
Sokolov sighed long and hard. “I’m afraid not. To be honest, everything happened so fast that I don’t know exactly how it happened.
They drove in silence. Francis was wracking his brain for an answer.
“Don’t panic yet. Let’s think this through.”
Sokolov stared straight ahead. “I’m afraid your advice has come too late.” He turned and looked at Hamlin. “Of all the things that could have happened, I really feel this is the worst. I just…have no idea what to do next.”
“Wait, wait. What do we know? What have we learned?”
“We know, or at least very strongly suspect that it can be transmitted through a bite. And I have just sustained a bite.”
“Wait a minute. There’s a first aid kit in here somewhere. Let me find it. I can clean the bite thoroughly right now. That couldn’t hurt. Who knows…maybe we can prevent the spread.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to continue to drive. One encounter with Kuvayev was quite enough.”
“I don’t mind at all. Wait a second…aha! Here’s the kit.”
“I can steer with one hand. When you’re ready, you may have the other.”
Hamlin had the kit open and was quickly rummaging through it.
“All right, let me have it. We’ll do this in stages. I’ll start by wiping off the blood and having a good look at it.”
“Doctor, wait! Make sure you put on gloves or you risk coming into direct contact yourself.”
“Hmm, good idea. I don’t seem to be thinking as clearly as I should. Here we go.”
Francis pulled on the gloves carefully, and then reached for the offered hand. He wiped it with sterile cloth and had a good look.
“Damn. It’s definitely a bite. I can see the curvature of his mouth. It’s not very deep, though. He must not have had time to give you a good chomp. That might be a good thing. The bite Pechkin gave to Kuvayev was very deep. Brace yourself, doctor; I’m going to disinfect the wound.”
“Don’t worry about my comfort. Clean it out as much as possible.”
Hamlin could feel Sokolov tense up as the disinfectant entered the wound. He grimaced, but didn’t make a sound. Francis alternated wiping and disinfecting for some time. When he finished, the wound looked quite clean and bleeding was slowing.
“That looks good. I’m going to put a temporary dressing on it and you should be fine until we get back to the barracks. Try to keep calm and don’t let your breathing get elevated.”
“Doctor, really. I’m way past that. Being attacked by a giant, crazed lunatic tends to raise one’s vital signs.”
Hamlin looked out the back window. There was only darkness.
“Do you think he has enough sense to follow the tracks this thing leaves?”
Sokolov was trying to be still while Hamlin applied the dressing. His voice was subdued when he responded.
“After seeing what he can do to a solid door, and what happened with Konstantine, I most sincerely hope not.”
One last bit of hope remained to be laid to rest. “Do you think you hit him when you shot?”
He shook his head. “I missed a great opportunity—one that I now regret tremendously.”
The Cat continued on its way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
All the remaining crew members were at the barracks when they arrived. The story they brought with them caused quite a stir. The research work was beginning to fade into the background. Survival was becoming the sole focus. The first concern raised from that line of thought was what to do with Sokolov. Kuvayev had agreed to being strapped down. The leader of the site was unwilling to submit to that. After his wound had been exposed, cleaned for the second time, and rewrapped, he spoke in the common area.
“Look,” he said, addressing what remained to the crew. “I have no intention of putting anyone in harm’s way. If I develop a serious fever in the next week, I believe we all need to be realistic as to what that means. If that should occur, I will take myself to a place where I will pose no threat to any of you. You have my solemn vow on that. I refuse to be tied down. At least let me control my own destiny if the worst case scenario begins to unfold. I do not want to become a walking abomination. I will leave this world with my senses and dignity intact.”
There was little reaction from the crew. An uneasy silence had fallen over the room.
“I’m going to put myself on a regiment of antibiotics. Also, I’m going to start immediately with medicinally controlling my body temperature. If any of you have any other suggestions, I would be very thankful to hear them. I must tell you, I have been through a number of harrowing situations, but I’ve never been scared like this before.”