Matthew Reilly - Area 7

That made fourteen in the last hour, on her panel alone.

All coming from inside grid two-twelve--central Manhattan.

A 401--power out due to a probable short in the main.

The switchboard operator looked at the words on her computer screen: "Probable short in the main." Electronically, she didn't know what a short in the main meant nor how it was caused. She simply knew all the symptoms of power cuts and failures and, in much the same way as a doctor identifies an illness, all she did was add up the symptoms

and identify the problem. To know how it was caused was

someone else's job.

She shrugged, leaned forward and pressed the next

flashing square, ready to face the next complaint.

THE LOWEST FLOOR OF THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY--THE

Stack contains no toilets, no offices, no desks, and no computers.

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Matthew Reilly

Indeed the Stack holds nothing but books, lots and lots of

books.

Containing over 75 miles of shelving, the New York

Public Library is the largest circulating library in the world.

If a patron seeks a certain book they fill out a slip & the book

is found--by staff only--down in the Stack after which it is

presented to the patron in the Reading Room.

Wherefore, the Stack acts as little more than a holding

pen for over ten million books.

Lots of books. In lots of bookshelves. And these bookshelves

are arranged in a vast rectangular grid formation.

Long rows of bookshelves stretch the length of the floor,

while horizontal cross-aisles cut across these rows at intervals

of twenty feet--creating an enormous maze of right-angled

twists and turns, blind corners, and long straight aisles that

stretch away into infinity.

An enormous maze, thought NYPD Officer Paul

Hawkins as he wandered through the Stack. Wonderful.

Hawkins had been wandering through the dusty aisles

for several minutes now and had so far found nothing.

Damn it, he thought, as he turned back for the main

stairwell. --

A soft noise.

From off to the right.

Hawkins' hand whipped to the pistol by his side. He listened

intently.

There it was again.

A low, rasping sound.

Not breathing, he thought. No. More like ... sliding. Like a broom sweeping slowly over a wooden floor. Like something sliding along the dusty floor of the Stack.

Hawkins drew his gun and listened again. It was definitely

coming from the right, from somewhere within the maze of bookshelves around him. He swallowed.

There's someone in here.

He grabbed the radio on his belt.

"Parker!" he hissed. "Parker! Do you copy?"

No answer.

Contest 493

Jesus.

"Parker, where are you?"

Hawkins switched off the radio and turned to look back

at the receding rows of bookshelves before him. He pursed

his lips for a moment.

Then he lifted his gun and ventured out into the maze.

gun in hand, hawkins quietly zig-zagged his way between

the bookshelves, moving quickly and purposefully,

searching for the source of the sound.

He came to a halt at the base of a bookcase full of dusty

hardcovers. Held his breath for a moment. Waited ...

There.

His eyes snapped left.

There it was again. The sweeping sound.

It was getting louder--he must be getting closer.

Hawkins darted left, then right, then left--moving

smoothly in and out of the aisles, stopping every few meters

at the flat end of a bookcase. It was disorienting, he thought.

Every aisle looked the same as the one before.

He stopped again.

Listened.

Again, he heard the soft brushing sound. Like a broom

on a dusty wooden floor.

Only louder now.

Close.

Very, very close.

Hawkins hurried along a cross-aisle until suddenly he

was confronted by a wall of bookshelves--a solid wall of

books that seemed to stretch away into darkness in both directions.

A wall? Hawkins thought. He must be at the edge of

the floor--at one of the long sides of the enormous rectangle.

The sound came again.

Only this time, it came from ... behind him.

Hawkins spun, raised his gun.

What the hell--? Had it turned?

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Matthew Reilly

Cautiously, he edged his way down the alleyway of

books.

The aisle closed in around him. The nearest cross

passageway branched away to his right--there was nothing

but the unbroken wall of bookshelves to his left--about

twenty feet away. It was cloaked in shadow.

Hawkins stepped forward slowly. The passageway

came fully into view.

It was different.

This wasn't a T-junction like the last one. More like an

L-shape.

Hawkins frowned, and then he realized. It was a corner

--the very corner of the floor. He hadn't realized that

he'd come this far from the murder scene at the center.

Listening.

Nothing.

He came to the L-junction and listened again. There

was no sound.

Whatever it was, it was gone now.

And then Hawkins began to think. He'd followed the

sound, the source of which had presumably been unaware of

his presence. But its last few movements had been odd.

It was as though whoever it was had lost direction and

had started circling ...

Circling, Hawkins thought.

No one would consciously go in a circle, would they,

unless they were lost or ... or unless they knew someone

was following them.

Hawkins' blood went completely cold. Whoever it was,

it wasn't just circling.

It was doubling back.

It knew he was here.

Hawkins spun to face the long aisle behind him, jamming

his back into the corner shelving.

Nothing.

"Damn it!" he whispered. He could feel beads of cold

sweat forming on his forehead. "Damn it, shit!"

Contest

He couldn't believe it. He'd walked right into a corner.

A goddamn corner! Two options--straight or left. Shit, he thought, at least among the bookshelves he'd have had room.

Now he was trapped.

And then suddenly he saw it.

Off to the left, moving slowly and carefully out into the passageway.

Hawkins' eyes widened.

"Holy shit."

It looked like nothing he had ever seen before.

Big and long, but low to the ground like an alligator, the

creature looked almost dinosaurian--with black-green pebbled skin, four powerful stubby limbs and a long, thic

counterbalancing tail.

Its head was truly odd. No eyes, and--seemingly--no mouth. The only distinguishing feature: a pair of long spindly antennae that jutted up from its forehead and

clocked rhythmically from side to side.

It was twenty feet away from Hawkins when the tip of

its tail finally came into view. The tail itself must have been

eight feet long, and it slid across the floor in long, slow arcs, creating the soft sweeping sound. Hawkins saw that the tail

tapered sharply to a point at its tip. The whole animal must

have been at least fourteen feet long.

Hawkins blinked. For an instant there, behind the tail, he thought he caught a glimpse of a man, a small man

dressed completely in white--

And then the creature's head eased slowly upward--the folds of its skin peeling back to reveal a hideous four-sided

jaw that opened with a soft, lethal hiss. Four rows of hideously

jagged, saliva-covered teeth appeared.

"Jesus Christ!" Hawkins stared at the creature.

It moved forward.

Toward him.

One of the animal's forelegs caught his attention. A green light glowed from a thick gray band strapped to the

creature's left forelimb.

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Matthew Reilly

It was close now--its jaws wide, salivating wildly, dripping