The Web

Haygood stopped. "That so?"

"Right in there." I pointed to one of the sleeping areas. Haygood's eyes followed. "Want to see?"

Before he could answer, I shouted, "Kids! Kids! Kids!"

Creedman cursed and Haygood's hand tightened around his gun. But he stayed calm and kept his eyes on the sleeping-room entrance.

Nothing happened. Haygood smiled. "Very fu

Then a small white face appeared in the doorway to the music room. Two others.

Three, four, five, six. All of them, openmouthed and wide-eyed with wonder.

Except the blind one. He was making quick little circles with his hands.

Lesions and scars bright as strip-joint neon.

Haygood's calm finally shaken.

Creedman's face lost its color. "Oh, shit," he said, and took his eyes off me. I hit him hard under his nose, grabbed for his gun as he went down, but missed. Shoving Robin out of the way, I threw myself on top of him.

Haygood wheeled around. The soft people began croaking and rasping, looking at Moreland, moaning that burn-victim moan.

Moreland ran toward them. Haygood aimed his gun at the old man's back. The soft people kept coming and Haygood's bafflement gave way to revulsion and fear as he stepped back.

I had Creedman's gun now and was punching blindly at his face.

Haygood charged Moreland, shoved him to the floor, kicked at his head, aimed at me. The soft people were between us. I crouched low. They kept coming at Haygood and he struck out at them wildly as they cowered and moaned. Retreating closer to the door he believed was rigged to blow, he stopped. Trapped, confused.

Brassy hair visible above the throng. I pointed Creedman's gun at it.

But I was an easy target, too, and he raised his gun arm high while fending off the soft people with his free hand.

I shifted sharply to the right, trying to stay clear of the soft people so they wouldn't be caught in the middle.

Haygood lost sight of me, as he shoved and circled.

Moreland got to his feet, hurled himself at Haygood.

Haygood turned reflexively at the movement and fired. Moreland's left arm turned red and he fell.

The soft people converged upon his prone form. Haygood looked for me, but I was behind him.

I shot him five times.

His black slicker exploded. He stood there for a second. Collapsed.

The soft people were all over Moreland, croaking and moaning as he bled.

Robin was shouting my name and pointing.

Creedman trying to get up, holding his face. Blood gushed through his fingers. One eye was swollen shut and his nose was already blackening.

I put the gun to his forehead. He sank back down.

Robin pressed herself against the wall, staring at me. All the blood.

Moreland struggled to stand, the wounded arm dangling, dripping, the other arm trying to shield the soft people.

They were entranced by Haygood's corpse. Gray skin, eyes really dead now, dull and empty as the shark's. Gaping mouth leaking pink vomitus.

Blood spread from under him, settling in the crevices of the stone floor.

I'd turned him into a sieve.

I felt big as a building, sick to my stomach.

I'd never owned a firearm, never imagined killing anyone.

Robin, being there to see it.

37

Moreland's blood took me away from those thoughts. His sleeve was dyed crimson, and red drops hit the floor with a soft plunk.

He seemed unaware, kept trying to calm his kids.

As Robin ran to him, he said, "It's all right, dear. Right through the muscle- the latissimus- and I'm leaking not spurting, so the brachial artery's been spared. Probably the basilic vein… I'll be fine. Get me a clean shirt from the basket in there and I'll staunch it."

He smiled down at the smaller of the men who'd met us at the end of the tu

"Go, Eddie. Tell him everything's okay."

The little hunchback obeyed. Robin came back with a plaid shirt and Moreland pressed it against his arm. Smiling at me, he said, "Wonderful bluff. We're a good team."

One of the soft women looked at Haygood's body and started to whimper.

"Bad man," said Moreland. "Bad, bad man. All gone, Sally. He'll never come back."

Creedman gasped. His face was ballooning. I yanked him to his feet.

"Let's get out of here," said Robin.

"There's still Jo to consider," I said. "Where is she, Tom?"

Creedman stared at me. More shock than defiance, and his eyes were glassy. Had I hit him that hard?

I repeated the question. He cried out in pain, held his head, started to go loose. When I saw his eyes roll back, I propped him up.

Moreland had managed to quiet the soft people and was guiding them back into the game room. Despite the wound he looked revitalized.

"Play some more music, kids. How do the daddies on the bus go?"

Silence.

"Come on, now: "The daddies on the bus go…' "

"Ee ee ee."

"Right! Read read read-you should read, too. It'll make you smart- go get some books down, Jimmy. Give everyone a book. I'll be right back."

He smiled, closed the game room door, bolted it.

From inside, the music resumed.

"All right," he said, eyes full of fear.

"Is there another way out besides the two ramps?" I said.

"I'm afraid not."

"So either way, we could be walking into something."

"But we're trapped down here, too," said Robin. "The longer we stay down, the more dangerous it gets, and you're still bleeding, Bill."

"I'll be fine, dear."

"Taking the rear ramp," I said, "will lead us into the forest and zero visibility, so I vote for the tu

Moreland didn't argue.

I shook Creedman back to consciousness. Holding him by the scruff, I pushed him past the smaller rooms and into the large entry cavern. His weight dragged. The hand I'd pummeled him with was begi

"Stay behind me," I told Robin and Moreland. "If she's waiting for us at the hatch, Mr. Gourmet here will be her first course."

The return trip seemed a lot quicker, Moreland maintaining a good pace despite his age and his injury. Silent, no attempts to convince us of anything.

The one time our eyes met, his begged.

To let go? Forget about the things he hadn't revealed?

Creedman was limp with dejection, but conscious. He tried to get me to do all the work, and I had to shove him every other step. The silence of the tu

Remembering what he'd done to A

Trophies. I didn't want one.

Fifty feet from the hatch, I ordered Creedman to stay silent. His face was so bloated that his eyes could barely open, and his nose leaked filmy, blood-streaked mucus.

We reached the AstroTurfed steps and the open hatch. The lab above was a square yellow sun.

Someone had turned the lights on.

No choice but to go on. Motioning Moreland and Robin back, I propelled Creedman up, one step at a time. His rain boots squeaked but he kept quiet. Then, as we approached the top, he began to struggle.

A sharp jab of the gun in his back stopped him.

Three more steps. We waited.

Quiet from above.

Two more steps. One.

No sign of Jo.

We were in.

The room was just as we'd left it. Except for the doorway to the front office.