Michael Crichton - Prey

"David Brooks?"

"Yeah. Him."

Ricky said, "Guys? We think it's David's car."

I said, "That's not going to do us any-"

And then I broke off, because Mae was pointing behind her to the backseat of our car. From the seam where the seat cushion met the back, particles were hissing into the car like black smoke.

I looked closer, and saw a blanket on the floor of the backseat. Mae saw it, too, and threw herself bodily into the back, diving between the seats. She kicked me in the head as she went, but she had the blanket and began stuffing it into the crack. My headset came off, and caught on the steering wheel as I tried to climb back to help her. It was cramped in the car. I heard a tinny voice from the earpieces.

"Come on," Mae said. "Come on."

I was bigger than she was; there wasn't room for me back there; my body jackknifed over the driver's seat as I grabbed the blanket and helped her stuff it. I was vaguely aware that the passenger door banged open on the Toyota, and I saw Charley's foot emerge from the black. He was going to try his luck outside. Maybe we should, too, I thought, as I helped her with the blanket. The blanket wouldn't do any good, it was just a delaying tactic. Already I sensed the particles were sifting right through the cloth; the car was continuing to fill. The air was getting darker and darker. I felt the pinpricks all over my skin. "Mae, let's run."

She didn't answer, she just kept pushing the blanket harder into the cracks. Probably she knew we'd never make it if we went outside. The swarms would run us down, get in our path, make us slip and fall. And once we fell, they would suffocate us. Just as they did to the others. The air was thicker. I started to cough. In the semidarkness I kept hearing a tinny voice from the headsets. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. Mae's headset had fallen off, too, and I thought I had seen it on the front seat, but now it was becoming too dark to see. My eyes burned. I coughed continuously. Mae was coughing, too. I didn't know if she was still stuffing the blanket. She was just a shadow in the fog.

I squeezed my eyes against the sharp pain. My throat was tightening, and my cough was dry. I felt dizzy again. I knew we couldn't survive more than a minute or so, perhaps less. I looked back at Mae, but couldn't see her. I heard her coughing. I waved my hand, trying to clear the fog so I could see her. It didn't work. I waved my hand in front of the windshield, and it cleared momentarily.

Despite my fit of coughing, I saw the lab in the distance. The sun was shining. Everything looked normal. It was infuriating that it should appear so normal and peaceful while we coughed ourselves to death. I couldn't see what happened to Charley. He wasn't in front of me anywhere. In fact-I waved my hand again-all I saw wasBlowing sand.

Jesus, blowing sand.

The wind was back up.

"Mae." I coughed. "Mae. The door."

I don't know if she heard me. She was coughing hard. I reached for the driver's side door, fumbling for the handle. I felt confused and disoriented. I was coughing continuously. I touched hot metal, jerked it down.

The door swung open beside me. Hot desert air rushed in, swirling the fog. The wind had definitely come up. "Mae."

She was racked with coughing. Perhaps she couldn't move. I lunged for the passenger door opposite me. My ribs banged on the gearshift. The fog was thinner now, and I saw the handle, twisted it, and shoved the door open. It banged shut in the wind. I pushed forward, twisted, shoved it open again, holding it open with my hand.

Wind blew through the car.

The black cloud vanished in a few seconds. The backseat was still dark. I crawled forward, out the passenger door, and opened the back door. She reached to me, and I hauled her out. We were both coughing hard. Her legs buckled. I threw her arm over my shoulder and half carried her out into the open desert.

Even now, I don't know how I made it back to the laboratory building. The swarms had vanished; the wind was blowing hard. Mae was a dead weight on my shoulders, her body limp, her feet dragging over the sand. I had no energy. I was racked with spasms of coughing, which often forced me to stop. I couldn't get my breath. I was dizzy, disoriented. The glare of the sun had a greenish tinge and I saw spots before my eyes. Mae was coughing weakly; her breaths shallow. I had the feeling she wouldn't survive. I trudged on, putting one foot ahead of the other. Somehow the door loomed in front of me, and I got it open. I brought Mae into the black outer room. On the other side of the glass airlock, Ricky and Bobby Lembeck were waiting. They were cheering us on, but I couldn't hear them. My headset was back in the car. The airlock doors hissed open, and I got Mae inside. She managed to stand, though she was doubled over coughing. I stepped away. The wind began to blow her clean. I leaned against the wall, out of breath, dizzy.

I thought, Haven't I done this before?

I looked at my watch. It was just three hours since I had narrowly escaped the last attack. I bent over and put my hands on my knees. I stared at the floor and waited for the airlock to become free. I glanced over at Ricky and Bobby. They were yelling, pointing to their ears. I shook my head.

Couldn't they see I didn't have a headset?

I said, "Where's Charley?"

They answered, but I couldn't hear them.

"Did he make it? Where's Charley?"

I winced at a harsh electronic squeal, and then over the intercom Ricky said, "-not much you can do."

"Is he here?" I said. "Did he make it?"

"No."

"Where is he?"

"Back at the car," Ricky said. "He never got out of the car. Didn't you know?"

"I was busy," I said. "So he's back there?"

"Yeah."

"Is he dead?"

"No, no. He's alive."

I was still breathing hard, still dizzy. "What?"

"It's hard to tell on the video monitor, but it looks like he is alive…"

"Then why the fuck don't you guys go get him?"

Ricky's voice was calm. "We can't, Jack. We have to take care of Mae."

"Someone here could go."

"We don't have anyone to spare."

"I can't go," I said. "I'm in no shape to go."

"Of course not," Ricky said, turning on his soothing voice. The undertaker's voice. "All this must be a terrible shock to you, Jack, all you've gone through-"

"Just… tell me… who's going to get him, Ricky?"

"To be brutally honest," Ricky said, "I don't think there's any point. He had a convulsion. A bad one. I don't think he has much left."

I said, "Nobody's going?"

"I'm afraid there's no point, Jack."

Inside the airlock, Bobby was helping Mae out and leading her down the corridor. Ricky was standing there. Watching me through the glass.

"Your turn, Jack. Come on in."

I didn't move. I stayed leaning against the wall. I said, "Somebody has to go get him."

"Not right now. The wind isn't stable, Jack. It'll fall again any minute."

"But he's alive."

"Not for long."

"Somebody has to go," I said.

"Jack, you know as well as I do what we're up against," Ricky said. He was doing the voice of reason now, calm and logical. "We've had terrible losses. We can't risk anybody else. By the time somebody gets to Charley, he'll be dead. He may be dead already. Come on and get in the airlock."

I was taking stock of my body, feeling my breathing, my chest, my deep fatigue. I couldn't go back out right now. Not in the condition I was in.

So I got into the airlock. …

With a roar, the blowers flattened my hair, fluttered my clothes, and cleaned the black particles from my clothes and skin. My vision improved almost immediately. I breathed easier. Now they were blowing upward. I held out my hand and saw it turn from black to pale gray, then to normal flesh color again.