Стефани Перри - Code Veronica

– don't think about it, now, go now "Now!" Steve said, and Claire ran out from behind him, darting to the right and down the hall as he opened fire again, twoand three-round bursts. Feathery pieces of wing and warm, repulsive goo rained down as he fired into the whirling dark shapes overhead, splashing him, making him gag, the moths dying as silently as they attacked. He felt one of them in his hair, felt something warm and wet touch his scalp,

and frantically brushed at the top of his head, firing, knocking a sticky egg case away. "Open!" Claire shouted, much closer than he expected, and though he'd planned to back down the hall, firing as he went, the feel of that crap in his hair was the last straw. He ducked, covered his head with one arm, and sprinted. He saw her silhouette in a doorway on the right and plunged ahead, running directly into her outstretched arm. Claire grabbed a handful of his shirt and jerked him inside, slamming the door closed behind them and then turned and started firing, blocking his body with hers.

"Hey, what's…"

Bam! Bam! The room was huge, the shots echoing from faraway corners. There was a trace of light coming from somewhere, but Steve heard them before he saw them. Zombies, moaning and gasping, three or four of them closing in on their position. He could only make out their outlines, staggering and weaving forward, saw two of them go down but two more moving in to take their place. "I'm okay!" he called out between rounds, and Claire stepped aside, shouting for him to take the right flank. Steve targeted and fired, blinking and squinting against the dark, trying to get head shots. He took down three of them, then a fourth, so close that he felt blood splashing his hand. He immediately wiped it against his pants, praying that he didn't have any open cuts, that he wouldn't run out of ammo, but there was another zombie, and another… … and then Claire was pulling him again and he stopped firing, let her lead him through the dark toward where the mining room was supposed to be. Behind them, zombies shuffled and wailed, giving slow motion chase. He tripped over a warm body and stepped on another, feeling something crunch underfoot, but as helpless and afraid as he felt, it was nothing to suddenly hearing Claire cry out in pain, to feel her fingers leave his arm. "Claire!" Terrified, Steve reached out for her, felt only air… "Watch your step, I stubbed my goddamn toe," Claire said irritably, no more than two feet away, and he felt his knees go weak. He could also feel a cold metal railing against his right shoulder the steps to the mining room. They'd made it. Together, they climbed the few steps, Claire still in front and when she opened the door, real light spilled out in shafts, piercing the blackness. "Praise Jesus," Steve muttered, holding the door from behind as Claire stepped inside… … and before he could follow, he heard that disturbed, girlish giggling that he'd come to know and hate, and

Claire had slipped one hand behind her back and was motioning him to freeze. He let go of the door and she didn't move, letting it settle on her hip as Alfred said something and she slowly raised both her hands. It seemed Alfred had gotten the drop on Claire… … but not on me, Steve thought, unaware that he was wearing a tight, grim smile. Alfred had a lot to answer for, but Steve was pretty certain that in another minute or two, he wasn't going to be saying much of anything, ever again. He had her. As he'd surmised, they well, she had come to see about the tunnel, the one exit from the terminal that didn't require a key. She wasn't a stupid girl, by no means, but he was superior, in intellect and strategy. Among other things. Still standing in the doorway, Claire raised her hands, her expression annoyingly blank. Why wasn't she afraid? "Drop your weapon," Alfred snapped, his finger on the rifle's trigger. His voice, naturally amplified by the mining pit that took up most of the floor, emanated throughout the icy chamber, sounding authoritative and a bit cruel. He liked the strong sound of it, and knew it was effective when she let the handgun drop from her fingers without hesitating. "Kick it toward me," he commanded, and she did so, the weapon clattering across the concrete. He didn't pick it up, instead kicking it beneath the rail to his left, both of them listening to her only hope bounce away over frozen rocks, lost to the depths of the icy pit.

How wonderful, to exert such control! "What happened to your traveling companion?" he asked, sneering. "Has he met with an accident? Oh, and step away from the door, if you don't mind. And keep your hands when I can see them."

Claire edged forward, the door mostly closing behind her, and he saw a flash of some unhappy emotion cross her face, knew immediately that he'd scored a point. Less of a hot meal for father, it seemed, but he doubted the monstrosity would complain. "He's dead," she said simply. "What happened to Alexia? Or am I speaking to Alexia you know, you two look so much alike…" "Shut your mouth, little girl," Alfred snarled. "You don't deserve to say her name. You already know that it's time for her return, that's why your people attacked Rockfort, to lure her out or were you hoping to kill her outright, to cut short her first breath?"

Claire acted confused, determined to keep up her pretense, it seemed, but Alfred didn't want to hear any more of her lies. The game was losing interest for him.

In the face of Alexia's imminent triumph, everything had paled by comparison. "I already know it all," he snapped, "so don't bother. Now, if you'll come with me…"

Claire suddenly looked up and right, to the raised platform where the tunnel began. "Look out!" she shrieked, collapsing as Alfred spun around, seeing only the massive ice digger machine, the tunnel's dark entrance… … and the door had crashed open behind Claire, the boy diving in and landing on his side, pointing a weapon at him, at him. Furious, Alfred swung the rifle and pulled the trigger, three, four times, but he hadn't had enough time to target properly, the explosive shots going wide… … and it was as though a giant hand suddenly shoved Alfred backward, taking his breath away, the boy firing and then clicking on empty, out of bullets. Alfred stumbled back another step and opened his mouth to laugh, ready to kill them both and, and the rifle wasn't in his hands anymore, he'd dropped it for some reason, and his laugh was only a wet, painful cough –

– and something gave way behind his back, and then he was falling into the mining pit. He landed on a thick crust of ice and started to get up, but there was a great, searing pain in his chest. Was it possible that he'd been shot? With barely a sound, the ice gave way all around him and he screamed, falling, he had to see her once more, had to touch her but he could hear his father screaming, too, coming for him, and then everything was lost in pain and dark. The sound of the terrible, monstrous howl that had risen up to meet Alfred's got them moving, Claire pausing just long enough to grab the Remington before climbing after Steve to the high platform. With Steve on empty and her own gun kicked into the pit, it was their only weapon. They clambered into the cab of the huge yellow machine parked in front of the slanted, rising tunnel, Steve taking the wheel and again, they heard that deep, insane scream, and it was definitely closer, the monster prisoner loose somewhere inside. Steve flipped a bunch of switches, nodding and mumbling to himself as he went. Claire listened as she checked the rifle only six rounds gathering that the machine's digging device, an enormous screw-looking thing, actually heated up to melt the ice. She didn't care what it did, as long as it got them out before the monster came looking for them. With the heavy machine humming to life, Steve explained that the tunnel was probably unfinished because the workers would have had to go slowly and without using the heating element, to avoid flooding half the facility, "But we don't," he said, grinning. "What do you say we make a lake?" "Go for it," she said, grinning back at him, wishing she felt a little more enthusiastic. God, they were getting out, and with Alfred Ashford finally dead, there was no one standing in their way. So why was she still so uncertain?