Creepers

There was a driver's license inside. A shudder swept through him when he saw the name on it. The name told him almost everything.

Need to get back. His thoughts were frenzied. Need to look in Vi

He shoved the license in a Windbreaker pocket, then grabbed the crowbar and the walkie-talkie. As thunder rumbled, he raced toward the staircase.

Watch out for the razor wire.

Poking with the crowbar, he found it. He squirmed under and rushed higher. His arm ached from the crowbar's weight as he thrust it up and down ahead of him in case Ro

At the fifth, he halted again, unable to restrain himself from peering into the secret corridor. He remembered thinking he'd seen an object propped against a wall in there. Now his night-vision goggles revealed that he was right. Another corpse of a woman. Blond. Fully clothed, this time in slacks, a turtleneck, and a blazer.

No, Balenger thought.

The clothes were familiar to him.

No.

53

He stumbled toward her. When a rat appeared on her shoulder, he swung the crowbar, smashing it against a wall. Overcome with emotion, he sank to his knees. The woman wasn't as shrunken as the corpse on the bottom level. Her eyes were gone. Chunks had been chewed from her, but the face was nonetheless impossible not to recognize.

Diane.

Grief cramped his chest. It took away his breath. Tears burned like acid on his cheeks. Wracked with sobs, he raised a hand, caressing her leathery face. Her blond hair hung below her shoulders, longer than she preferred it-because it had continued growing after her death. Her expression was a grimace of terror. Like the corpse on the bottom level, her neck bones were cracked inward from having been strangled. His Diane. His wonderful Diane.

He knelt, worshiping her, mourning her. Diane. Eleven years together. She never gave up on him, never tired of taking care of him after he came back sick from his first time in Iraq. He had tried to make it up to her, tried to make her realize how much he loved her. Kind, selfless Diane. Beautiful Diane with holes chewed in her face.

A gunshot brought him back to the moment. Continuing to sob, he opened her purse, took out her wallet, and put it in his Windbreaker. He kissed her parched forehead, picked up the crowbar and the walkie-talkie, and stalked up the stairs.

Fury made him want to rush, but that would be playing Ro

He climbed to the trapdoor. Beyond it, he heard a commotion, hurried footsteps, a gunshot. Frenzied, he knocked twice, three times, once.

No response. What if they think I'm Ro

As he knocked again, he heard the lock being freed. The trapdoor was lifted. A headlamp blazed toward his face, stressing the sensor in his goggles, creating a flare that made him temporarily blind. The headlamp jerked away, allowing his night vision to return. He hurried up and locked the trapdoor behind him.

The smell of burnt gunpowder was everywhere. Vi

"How many rounds did you fire?" Balenger took the pistol.

"Three. I hope you don't think I wasted-"

"You did your job. You distracted him. Nine rounds left. We'll need to make them last."

"He's been shooting at random through the floors."

"He can't get into Danata's living room and shoot at us from there. We're safe for a moment. Give me your knapsack."

Balenger raised the walkie-talkie to his lips. "Hey, asshole, guess what?"

Static.

"I asked you a question, jerkoff."

"What am I supposed to guess? Are the vulgarities necessary?"

"When it comes to you? Absolutely. I found my wife, you piece of shit."

Static.

"You strangled her. You strangled them all."

Balenger took the knapsack from Vi

"Candlelight gourmet di

He studied the name on the driver's license: Iris McKenzie. When Amanda listed the names of Ro

"Found it!" he said to the walkie-talkie. "Iris McKenzie. Age: thirty-three. Residence: Baltimore, Maryland. Occupation: advertising copywriter. Hair: blond. Sound familiar, you bastard? She ought to. If I'm right, she was your first." Balenger sca

His mouth dry, his chest aching, Balenger needed to pause. He felt as if his surging emotions could cause his veins to explode.

He raised the walkie-talkie. "Amanda says you treated her with terrifying politeness. Apart from locking her in the vault, of course. But what the hell, nobody's perfect, right? Then you showed up with a sheer nightgown for her to wear. What happened, Ro