Lincoln Child - Terminal Freeze

There it was: a well of blackness. She dashed up to it and raced down the steps, flashlight clattering against the metal handrail, no longer making any attempt to conceal her panicky flight.

She paused at the bottom step, looking about. Another dim corridor stretched on ahead, desks and tools piled up on either side. It was empty.

She blinked hard, wiped the back of a hand across her eyes, looked again. Nobody.

“Evan?” Ekberg said into the emptiness.

She felt her breathing grow shallower. No, no, no…

And there it was again: that low singing noise, almost like a whisper in her ears. Whimpering, she took a step forward, off the bottom step and into the corridor. She felt an overpowering need to look over her shoulder, up the stairwell. The light twitched in her hand…

“Kari!”

She glanced down the corridor again. A figure had come into view at the far end, a dark silhouette in the low light. With a cry she ran toward it. As it approached she recognized Marshall, worried expression on his face, an automatic rifle slung over one shoulder.

“Kari,” he said, coming up to her. “Thank God. Are you all right?”

“No. It’s after me, the monster, I heard it just now-”

“Hurry.” And with an urgent tug of his hand he led the way back down the hall.

Despite her growing exhaustion, Ekberg followed closely as Marshall traced a circuitous path past storage spaces and repair bays. Once they stopped at an intersection as he tried to recall the correct route. Another time they radioed back to Gonzalez for directions through the labyrinth.

“Where are we going?” she panted.

“The science wing. It’s one deck below. It’s protected by a thick hatch. It’s much safer than the upper decks. And we’ve assembled a weapon, a sonic weapon, that we hope to test on the beast. But first things first-let’s get you safely behind the hatch.”

They reached another stairwell and Marshall practically dove down it, three steps at a time. Ekberg followed as quickly as she could. E Level was a tomb, its low ceilings covered by thick rivers of conduit and cabling. They jogged past several rooms, Marshall ’s light illuminating the way. They turned right at a T junction. And then Marshall stopped so abruptly that Ekberg almost plowed into him.

Ahead the corridor ended at a massive hatchway, thrown wide open, brilliantly lit from the spaces beyond. Just inside was a strange contraption on a wheeled cart, all wires and antennas and electrical components like a confection from a 1950s science-fiction film. Two of the scientists-Faraday and Sully-were toiling over it. Beside them stood Sergeant Gonzalez, machine gun at the ready, pointed in their direction.

“What’s wrong?” Marshall said. “Why isn’t the weapon out here, away from the hatch?”

“No batteries,” said Faraday. “We had to connect it to the power supply inside. This is as far as the wires will reach.”

“Well, for God’s sake,” said Marshall, “find a connection out here!”

“No time,” replied Sully.

“You’re damn right there’s no time! That thing’s behind us, and we can’t compromise the safety of the science wing with an open-”

Marshall stopped in mid-sentence. Then Ekberg became aware of it, too: a creeping presentiment, more sixth sense than sensation, that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and sent fresh fear coursing through her. Once again, every instinct cried out for her to turn and look back. And this time she yielded, glancing over her shoulder.

Around the corner, just within eyesight, a black shape was crawling stealthily down the staircase toward them.

“Move, move!” And Marshall physically propelled Ekberg down the corridor and through the reinforced hatchway. The M16 that thumped against his back as he ran was an unfamiliar-and yet too familiar-weight. Just inside the hatchway, Sully-white-faced but determined-was manning the controls of the sonic weapon. Long power cables led away from it back into the electrical room, pulled taut, at the limit of their range. The big drivers sitting on the bottom tray crackled and hummed with latent power, the woofer trembling slightly. Directly behind were Faraday and Logan, looking on anxiously. They were flanked by Gonzalez and Phillips, both kneeling, automatic weapons pointing out through the hatchway and down the corridor. Usuguk stood behind them. He was holding his medicine bundle in both hands and chanting a low monody.

Marshall looked around quickly. This was exactly the situation he had hoped to avoid: hatchway wide open; weapon inside the science wing, untested and unproven; all of them now utterly exposed and vulnerable to attack. “We should close the hatch,” he said. “Just close it, now.”

“We’ll have time,” Sully replied. “If it doesn’t work, if it doesn’t stop the creature, we’ll have time.”

Marshall opened his mouth to protest again but at that moment there was movement at the corridor junction. All eyes turned to the dim hallway beyond the hatch. Slowly, a huge form came into view. Marshall stared in disbelief at the features: the wide, spade-shaped head; the teeth that gleamed wickedly; the dozens of razorlike tentacles that hung beneath. It was the creature of his nightmare, only worse: he’d seen the top of the head through the ice, but the dark occlusions had mercifully hidden the hideous lower half from view. Although perhaps it wasn’t merciful, after all, because surely if they could have seen those dreadful teeth through the ice, those vibrissae that slithered like a nest of snakes, they would never, never have allowed such a horrible beast ever to be unfrozen…For a moment he simply stared in horror and surprise. Then he unslung the weapon and pulled Ekberg over to Faraday.

“Take her deep into the science wing,” he said. “Find the safest, most secure spot you can. And lock yourselves in.”

“But-” Faraday began.

“Do it, Wright. Please.”

The biologist hesitated a moment. Then, nodding, he reached for Ekberg’s elbow and together they retreated back down the passageway, past the soldiers and the softly chanting Usuguk, rounded the corner, and disappeared from view.

Marshall turned back to the nightmare that was now crouched, fully exposed, at the corridor junction. From over his shoulder he could hear somebody breathing stertorously. “No,” said Phillips in a high desperate voice. “No, God, please. Not again.”

“Steady, soldier,” growled Gonzalez.

Sully-also breathing loudly-wiped his hands on his shirt, replaced them on the potentiometers and oscillator pots. Marshall crept forward half a dozen paces to the inner fairing of the hatchway, ducking behind the metal lip. He smacked the bottom of the ammo clip to make sure it was properly seated, pulled back the slide rod at the top of the weapon to chamber the first round, felt around the handle for the safety and toggled it off.

The creature took a step forward, looking at each of them in turn with unblinking eyes.

“Any time you’re ready, Doctor,” said Gonzalez.

The creature took another stealthy, deliberate step. There were bare streaks here and there in the matted hair that lay across its powerful shoulders-bullet tracings-and through those streaks Marshall could see the dull gleam of what looked like a snake’s scales.

Sully’s hands were shaking badly. “I’ll, I’ll try the wash of white noise first.”

For a moment, all Marshall heard was Phillips’s labored breathing and the rattle of another weapon being cocked. Then a squeal of static came from the drivers.

The creature took another step.

Sully’s voice was high and tight. “I’ll raise the sound pressure to 60 decibels, apply a low-pass filter.”