nism. Neat trick, that. When she'd reached the area
where the pit had been, she'd thought that maybe
she'd gotten lost after all. The gaping hole had been
gone, smooth stone in its place. Looking up, she'd
seen the ragged edges of the pit suspended overhead;
the entire center section of the tunnel had been
flipped over, turned like a giant wheel by some miracle of engineering.
The doors had led to another straight, empty tun-
nel. A giant boulder stood at one end, and past that,
the room she was about to leave.
Jill grabbed the handle of one of the doors and
pushed it open, stumbling out into yet another
gloomy passage. She leaned back against the door and
breathed deeply, barely resisting the urge to brush
wildly at her clothes.
I can blow away zombies and monsters with the best
of 'em; show me a spider and I lose my freaking
mind.
The short, empty tunnel ran left to right in front of
her, a door at either end, but the door to her left was
set into the same wall as the one she'd just exited,
leading back toward the courtyard. Jill opted for the
one on the right, hoping that her sense of direction
was still intact.
The metal door creaked open and she stepped in,
feeling the change in the air immediately. The tunnel
split in front of her. To the right, a thickening of
shadow where the rock walls opened into another
corridor. But to her left was a small elevator shaft like
the ones in the courtyard. A warm, delicious wind
swept down and over her, the sweet air like a forgot-
ten dream.
Jill grinned and started for the shaft, seeing that the
lift's platform had been taken up. Chances were good
that she was still on the trail of Enrico's killer. . .
. . . but maybe not. Maybe he went the other way,
and you're about to lose him.
Jill hesitated, gazing wistfully at the small shaft-
and then turned around, sighing. She had to at least
take a look.
She walked into the stone corridor that stretched in
front of her, the temperature immediately dropping
back to the now familiar unpleasant chill. The tunnel
extended several feet to her right and dead ended. To
her left, a massive, rounded boulder like the one she'd
seen before marked the other end, a good hundred
feet away. And there was something small laying in
front of it, something blue. . .
Frowning, Jill walked toward the giant rock, trying
to make out the blue object. Halfway down the dim
tunnel was an offshoot to the left, and she recognized
the metal plate next to it as the same kind of mecha-
nism that had moved the pit.
She stepped into the small offshoot, examining the
worn stones at its opening. There was a small door to
her right, and Jill realized that the passage and room
could be hidden by way of the mechanism, the walls turned to block the entrance.
Jeez, it must've taken them years to set all this up.
And to think I was impressed with the house. . .
She opened the door and looked inside. A mid-
sized square room of rough stone, a statue of a bird on
a pedestal the only decoration. There was no other
exit, and Jill felt a sudden rush of relief as the
implications sank in. She could leave the under-
ground tunnels; the killer had to have left already.
Smiling, she stepped back out into the corridor and
started toward the giant rock, still curious about the
blue thing. As she got closer, she saw that it was a
book, bound in blue-dyed leather. It had been thrown
carelessly against the base of the stone, laying face
down and open. She slung the Remington across her
back and crouched down to pick it up.
It was a book-box. Her father had told her about
them, though she'd never actually seen one. There
was a cut-away section of pages behind the cover
where valuables could be hidden, though this one was
empty.
She flipped it closed, tracing the gold-leaf letters of
the title, Eagle of East, Wolf of West, as she started
back toward the elevator. Didn't sound like much of a
thriller, though it was nicely bound.
Snick.
Jill froze as the stone beneath her left foot sank
down a tiny bit-and she realized at the same instant
that the entire tunnel gently sloped away from where
she was standing.
-oh no-
Behind her, a deep, thundering sound of rock
grating against rock.
Dropping the book, Jill sprinted for cover, arms
and legs pumping as the rumbling grew louder, the
tripped boulder picking up momentum. The dark
opening of the offshoot seemed miles away -
-won 't make it, gonna die-
- and she could almost feel the tons of stone
bearing down on her, wanted desperately to look but
knew that the split-second difference would kill her.
In a final, desperate burst of speed she dove for the
opening, crashing to the floor and jerking her legs
in as the massive rock rolled past, missing her by
inches. Even as she drew in her next gasping breath,
the boulder hit the end of the tunnel with an explo-
sive, bone-jarring crunch that shook the underground
passage.
For a moment, it was all she could do to huddle
against the cold floor and not throw up. When that
passed, she slowly got to her feet and dusted herself off. The heels of her hands were abraded and both her
knees bruised from the running dive, but compared to
being smashed flat by a big rock, she thought she had
definitely made the right choice.
Jill unstrapped the Remington and headed for the
elevator shaft, very much looking forward to leaving
the underground behind and keeping her fingers
crossed that whatever came next, it wouldn't be cold.
And that there wouldn't be any spiders.
The basement was flooded, all right.
Chris stood at the top of a short ramp that led to the
basement doors, staring down at his own unsmiling
face reflected off of the shimmering water. It looked
cold. And deep.
After he'd left Rebecca, he'd continued down the
hall and found room 003 at the end, the ladder to the
basement level tucked discreetly behind a bookcase in
the neatly kept bedroom. He'd descended into a
chilled concrete corridor with buzzing fluorescent
lights overhead, a dramatic change from the plain
wood and simple style of the bunkhouse above.
At least I found the basement.
It appeared that killing Plant 42 was their only
option for escape after all. He'd seen no other exit
from the bunkhouse, which meant that it had to be
past the plant's room or else there was no back
door, a thought that left him distinctly unsettled. It
didn't seem possible, but then, neither did a carnivo-
rous plant.
And you won't find out until you get this over with.
Chris sighed, and stepped into the water. It was
cold, and had an unpleasant chemical smell. He
waded down to the door, the water sliding up over his
knees and finally stopping at mid-thigh, sloshing
gently. Shivering, he pushed the door open and
moved inside.
The basement was dominated by a giant glass-fronted
tank in the center of the room that extended
floor to ceiling, a large, jagged hole toward the bottom
right-hand side. Chris wasn't that good at judging
volume, but to fill the whole area with water, he
figured that the tank had to have held several thou-
sands of gallons.
What the hell were they studying that they needed
that much? Tidal waves?
It didn't matter; he was cold, and he wanted to find
what he needed to find and get back to dry land. He
started off toward the left, slowly, straining against
the push and pull of the gently lapping waves.
It was totally unreal, wading through a well-lit concrete room, though he supposed it was no stranger
than anything else he'd experienced since the Alpha
'copter had set down. Everything about the Spencer
estate had a dream-like feel to it, as if it existed in its
own reality far removed from the rest of the
world's . . .
Try nightmare-like. Killer plants, giant snakes, the
walking dead-all that's missing is a flying saucer,
maybe a dinosaur.
He heard a soft sloshing behind him and glanced
over his shoulder...
...to see a thick, triangular fin rise up from the
water twenty feet away and slide toward him, a
wavering gray shadow beneath.
Panic shot through him, an all-encompassing panic
that seared away rational thought. He took a giant,
running step and realized that he couldn't run as he plunged
face first into the cold, chemical water and came up
gasping, spluttering tainted liquid from his nose and
mouth, hoping to God Rebecca was right about the
virus having burned itself out.
He whipped his head around, eyes burning, search-
ing for the fin and saw that it had halved the distance between
them. He could see it now - a shark, its rippling,
distorted body sliding easily through the water, ten or
twelve feet long, its broad tail lashing it forward - the
black, soulless eyes set above its pointed grin.
-wet bullets misfire-
Chris stumbled away backwards, knowing that he
didn't stand a chance of outrunning it. Wheeling his
arms for balance, he sloshed heavily through the
dragging water, turning himself sideways and manag-
ing a few more steps before the shark was on top of
him...
...and he leaped to the side, dodging the animal
and slapping the water as violently as he could,
churning it into foaming waves. The shark slid past
him, its smooth, heavy body brushing against his leg.
As soon as it was past, Chris stumbled after it,
splashing wildly to keep up as he turned the corner in
the flooded room. If he could stay close enough, it
wouldn't be able to turn, to get at him - except
that in seconds, the shark would have the
room to maneuver. He could see two doors ahead on
the left but the giant fish was already leaving him
behind, heading toward the next corner to turn
around and come back for him.
Chris took a deep breath and plunged into the
water, knowing it was crazy but that he didn't have a
better chance. He stroked desperately toward the first
door, kicking off against the cement floor to propel himself forward in great, bounding leaps.
He hit the door just as the shark was turning up
ahead and grabbed for the handle, choking -
- and it was locked.
Shit, shit, shit!!!
