Relic

D’Agosta didn’t answer.

“The hell with this,” a voice said. “Someone get on my shoulders. We’ll go up one by one.”

“Stow it!” D’Agosta snapped. “It’s too damn high for that.”

Smithback coughed, cleared his throat. “I’ve got an idea!” he said.

There was a silence.

“Look, that steel ladder appears to be pretty strong,” he urged. “If we can fasten our belts together and loop them over that ladder, we can wait for the water to rise enough so we can grab the lower rung.”

“I can’t wait that long!” someone cried.

D’Agosta glared. “Smithback, that’s the fucking worst idea I ever heard,” he growled. “Besides, half the men here are wearing cummerbunds.”

“I noticed you have a belt on,” Smithback retorted.

“So I do,” D’Agosta replied defensively. “But what makes you think the water will rise enough for us to reach the rung?”

“Look up there,” Smithback said, shining his flashlight along the wall near the bottom of the metal ladder. “See that band of discoloration? It looks like a highwater mark to me. At least once in the past, the water has risen that high. If this is half the storm you think it is, we ought to get fairly close.”

D’Agosta shook his head. “Well, I still think it’s [424] crazy,” he said, “but I suppose it’s better than waiting here to die. You men back there!” he shouted. “Belts! Pass your belts up to me!”

As the belts reached D’Agosta, he knotted them together, buckle to end, starting with the widest buckle. Then he passed them to Smithback, who looped them over his shoulders. Swinging the heavier end, he braced himself against the current, leaned back, and tossed it up toward the lowest rung. The twelve feet of leather fell back into the water, missing by several feet. He tried again, missed again.

“Here, give me that,” D’Agosta said. “Let a man do a man’s job.”

“The hell with that,” Smithback said, rearing back dangerously and giving another toss. This time Smithback ducked as the heavy buckle came swinging down; then he slid the far end through and pulled the improvised rope tight around the lower ring.

“Okay, everyone,” D’Agosta said. “This is it. I want you all to link arms. Don’t let go. As the water rises, it’ll carry us toward the ladder. We’ll play this back to you in sections as we rise. I hope the son of a bitch holds,” he muttered, eyeing the linked belts dubiously.

“And the water rises far enough,” said Smithback.

“If it doesn’t, you’ll hear about it from me, mister.” Smithback turned to respond, but decided to save his breath. The current crept up around his chest, tugging at his armpits, and he felt a slow, inexorable pressure from below as his feet started to lose their hold on the smooth stone floor of the tu

= 59 =

Garcia watched as the pool of light from Allen’s flashlight moved slowly across a bank of dead controls, then back again. Nesbitt, the guard on monitoring duty, slouched at the coffee-stained “panic desk” in the middle of Security Command. Next to him sat Waters and the ski

“What was that?” Waters said suddenly, stopping his pistol in mid-spin.

“What was what?” Garcia asked morosely.

“I thought I heard a noise in the hall just now,” Waters said, swallowing hard. “Like feet going by.”

“You’re always hearing noises, Waters,” Garcia said. “That’s what got us here in the first place.”

[426] There was a brief, uncomfortable silence.

“Are you sure you read Coffey right?” Waters spoke up again. “If that thing destroyed a SWAT team, it could easily get to us.”

“Stop thinking about it,” said Garcia. “Stop talking about it. It happened three floors above us.”

“I can’t believe Coffey, just leaving us here to rot—”

“Waters? If you don’t shut up I’m going to send you back to the Computer Room.”

Waters fell silent.

“Radio Coffey again,” Allen told Garcia. “We need to get the hell out of here, now.”

Garcia slowly shook his head. “It ain’t go

“Who’s his boss?” Allen insisted. “Give me the radio.”

“No way. The emergency batteries are almost dead.” Allen started to protest, then stopped abruptly. “I smell something,” he said.

Garcia sat up. “So do I.” Then he picked up his shotgun, slowly, like a sleeper caught in a bad dream.

“It’s the killer beast!” Waters cried loudly. All the men were on their feet in an instant. Chairs were thrown back, smashing against the floor. There was a thump and a curse as somebody struck the side of a desk, then a splintering crash as a monitor fell to the floor. Garcia grabbed the radio.

“Coffey! It’s here!”

There was a scratching, then a low rattling at the doorknob. Garcia felt a gush of warmth on his legs and realized his bladder had given way. Suddenly, the door bent inward, wood cracking under a savage blow. In the close, listening darkness, he heard somebody behind him start to pray.

¯

[427] “Did you hear that?” whispered Pendergast.

Margo played the flashlight down the hall. “I heard something.”

From down the hall and around the corner came the sound of splintering wood.

“It’s breaking through one of the doors!” said Pendergast. “We need to attract its attention. Hey!” he shouted.

Margo grabbed Pendergast’s arm. “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want it to understand,” she hissed.

“Ms. Green, this is no time for jokes,” Pendergast snapped. “Surely it doesn’t understand English.”

“I don’t know. We’re taking a chance, anyway, just trusting the Extrapolator’s data. But the thing has a highly developed brain, and it may well have been in the Museum for years, listening from dark places. It might understand certain words. We can’t take the chance.”

“As you wish,” Pendergast whispered. Then, he said loudly: “Where are you? Can you hear me?”

“Yes!” Margo shouted. “But I’m lost! Help! Can anyone hear us?”

Pendergast lowered his voice. “It must have heard that. Now we can only wait.” He dropped to one knee, right hand aiming the .45, left hand bracing right wrist. “Keep playing the light toward the bend in the hallway, move it around as if you’re lost. When I see the creature, I’ll give you the word. Turn on the miner’s light, and keep it aimed on the creature, no matter what. If it’s angry—if it’s just hunting for revenge now—we have to use any means possible to slow it down. We only have a hundred feet of corridor in which to kill it. If it can run as quickly as you think it can, the beast can cover that distance in a couple of seconds. You can’t hesitate, and you can’t panic.”

“A couple of seconds,” Margo said. “I understand.”

¯

[428] Garcia kneeled in front of the monitor bank, the butt of his shotgun snug against his cheek, the barrel pointing into the gloom. Before him, the outline of the door was faintly visible. Behind him stood Waters in a combat stance. “When it comes through, just start firing, and don’t stop.” Garcia said. “I’ve only got eight rounds. I’ll try to space my shots so you can reload at least once before it reaches us. And turn off that flashlight. You trying to give us away?”

The others in Security Command—Allen, the programmer, and Nesbitt the guard—had retreated to the far wall and were crouched beneath the darkened schematic of the Museum’s security grid.

Waters was shaking. “It blew away a SWAT team,” he said, his voice breaking.