David Morrell - Creepers

The professor groaned as he was lifted. With one arm around Rick and the other around Vinnie, he balanced on his good leg. They helped him limp forward.

Balenger headed along the balcony toward the hallway. Cora hurried next to him. Past an elevator, they flashed their lights at a sign: fire exit.

"Finally, a break," Balenger said.

He opened the door and flinched as something rushed past his legs. Cora shouted. Something hissed, racing toward the balcony. Almost drawing his pistol, Balenger heard Rick yell, "It's another white cat! The place must be lousy with them."

"No," Conklin said. "Not another."

He sounds delirious, Balenger thought.

"The same," Conklin murmured.

"The same? You're not making sense."

"Look at its hind legs."

Balenger flashed his light toward the panicked, awkwardly fleeing animal. So did Cora and everyone else. The glare of their beams showed it dashing along the balcony toward the grotesque tree growing through the floor.

But the albino cat was grotesque also.

"Three back legs," Rick whispered. "It's got three back legs. Just like the cat we saw in the tunnel.

"Not just like," the professor said weakly. "Mutations of that sort aren't common. The odds are against it."

"The same cat?" Balenger said.

"The one we saw on level four."

"But that's impossible," Cora said… "We closed the door that led from the tunnel into the utility room. I know we did. I insisted we do it. So how did the cat get in?"

"Maybe the rats chewed holes through the concrete walls, like the professor said," Vinnie suggested.

"Maybe," Balenger said.

"There's no 'maybe' about it," Vinnie said. "That's the only way it could have gotten in."

"No," Balenger said, moving toward the balcony. "There's another way."

"I don't see what."

"Someone could have come in after us and left the door open."

Except for the wind shrieking past the holes in the skylight, the hotel became deathly silent.

Then the silence was interrupted by another high-pitched sound. Slow but rhythmic. Beautiful but mournful.

"Wait a minute," Cora said. "What's that?"

Doom, Balenger thought. Through the gaps in the skylight, the wind carried the distant tolling clang clang clang from the strip of sheet metal flapping in the abandoned condominium building. But it didn't obscure the sound below him.

Lyrical. Terrifyingly evocative. A mournful tune that summoned lonely images to his mind.

In the dark abyss below them, someone was whistling "Moon River."

"Jesus." Cora lurched back from the balcony.

The others followed.

The whistling continued, echoing upward from the darkness. The melody evoked images of dreams and heartbreaks and longing to move on. Right, Balenger thought. What I wouldn't give to move on right now.

"Who?" Rick whispered.

"A security guard?" Vinnie kept his voice low.

"The police?" Cora shut off her headlamp and flashlight.

If only we're that lucky, Balenger thought.

Vinnie and Rick turned off their lights. Cora extinguished the professor's. As the gloom tightened around them, Balenger's headlamp and flashlight were the only illumination.

"Shut your lights off," Rick whispered urgently. "Maybe whoever it is doesn't know we're up here."

But Balenger left them on. At normal volume, his voice was forceful compared to their whispers. "A policeman wouldn't be strolling around, whistling in the dark. And whoever it is definitely knows we're up here. That's the tune you played on the piano."

"Oh." Rick's voice dropped with unease.

"Then who?" the professor asked. His weakness made his voice low.

"All of you change the batteries in your flashlights. Your headlamps will last quite a while, but the flashlights are fading. We need to be ready."

"For what?"

"Just do what I tell you." With the beam from his flashlight narrowing to yellow instead of white, Balenger took fresh batteries from his knapsack, unscrewed the end of his flashlight, and exchanged the old batteries with the new ones. The light blazed again.

He moved to toss the old batteries into a corner.

"No." The professor's voice was feeble. "We don't leave our trash."

With a sigh of impatience, Balenger shoved the old batteries into his knapsack.

The whistling drifted to a stop. Now the only sound was the shriek of the wind through the gaps in the skylight and the distant clang clang clang of the flapping sheet metal.

Whoever's down there knows we're here and took pains to tell us, Balenger thought. It'll look strange if we don't react. Time to find out what we're dealing with.

"Hey!" he yelled down.

The echo of his voice dwindled into silence.

"We work for Jersey City Salvage, the company that's stripping this place next week!" Balenger shouted. "A security guard's with us! We've got every right to be here, which is more than I can say for you! We'll give you a chance to leave before we call the police!"

Again, the echo dwindled into silence.

"Okay, you made your choice!"

A man's voice yelled from below, "Working at night?"

"We work when the boss says! Day or night! Doesn't make a difference! It's pretty much always dark in here anyhow!"

"Must be nice to get the overtime!"

Only one voice. Balenger felt encouraged. "Look, I'm not interested in a conversation! I'm telling you to leave! This place isn't safe!"

"Yeah, what happened to the staircase sure proves that! Leave? Naw, we like it here! You might say we're at home in the dark!"

We? Balenger thought.

"You bet," a second voice said. "We love it."

"And what was all that screaming a minute ago?" the first voice shouted. "Sounded like somebody got a Halloween screw."

Balenger stared down toward the darkness. He heard footsteps scraping, but he didn't see any lights.

He spun toward the group. "Cora, call 911."

"He's right, Professor," Vinnie said, helping to hold Conklin up.

"I don't care if anybody's life gets ruined because of the police," Balenger said. "At this point, I just want to make sure you get to have a life."

"You really think-?" Rick started to ask.

"Cora," Balenger repeated, "make the call."

She already had her phone out and was pressing numbers. Surrounded by shadows, the group watched her.

"A recording." Cora frowned. "A damned recording.

"What?" Balenger took the phone.

"Hey," the first voice yelled from below, "if you're trying to phone 911, you're in for a big surprise!"

Balenger pressed the phone against his ear. A recording said, "Due to an unusual amount of calls, all our emergency dispatchers are busy. Please wait and the next available person will speak with you."

"I guess you don't live around here!" the voice shouted. "Otherwise, you'd know! It was on TV! The local 911 got a new telephone system! It's all messed up! Nobody can get through! Won't be fixed till Monday! Maybe later!"

The message repeated itself. "Due to an unusual amount of calls …"

"Now the regular police line's jammed all the time!" the second voice yelled. "Takes thirty minutes to get an answer!"

"Progress!" another voice added. "Everything's new and fancy and so damned complicated, I can't figure how anything works!"

Three of them? Balenger thought.

"When it does work!" the second voice said. "Back when this old place was in business, they knew how to make things dependable!"

"Built to last!" the first voice said. "Hey, why don't you tell us more about those gold knives and forks we heard you talking about?"

Balenger gave the phone back to Cora. "Everybody, pack your stuff. The Leatherman. The duct tape. The rope. The hammer. The Pro Med kit. We might need all of it." He folded his knife and clipped it inside a pocket. "Got everything? Let's go."