long, long time for it to stop. Karen frowned, wonder-
ing how that could be...
...and then saw David and John step back out into
the blue light of the moon, and realized that she was
happy to see them. Even with their strange and
distorted faces, their long bodies that moved too
quickly. . .
. . . what's happening to me. ..
Karen shook her head but the buzzing only seemed
to get louder and she was afraid again, afraid that
David and John and Steve and Rebecca would leave
her behind. They'd leave her behind and she wouldn't
have anyone to ... to ease her mind. That was bad.
David was in front of her, staring at her with eyes
like wet, dark cherries. "Karen, are you okay?" At the look on his round and pointed face and the
sound of softness in his voice, Karen felt happy again,
and knew that she had to tell him the truth. With a
tremendous effort, she found the strength to say what
had to be said, her voice coming out of the crawling
body and the buzzing, sounding as strange to her as
the wind.
"It's getting worse now," she said. "I don't think right, David. Don't leave me."
John and Rebecca, their hot, hot hands touching
her, leading her away and to the darkness of the open
door. Her body worked, but her mind was clouded by
the trembling buzzing hum. There were things she
wanted to tell them, things that drifted through the
cloud like flashes of pretty pictures, but the building
they moved her to was dark and hot, and there was a
body on the floor holding a rifle. His face, she could
see. His face wasn't strange; it was white, white and
curling, textured like the buzzing and the crawling. It was a face that made sense.
"I got the door," Steve said, looking up and grin- ning, white, white teeth. "One-three-five." There was a keypad next to an open hole, stairs leading down,
and Steve's teeth disappeared, his flat face wrinkling.
"Karen..."
"We have to hurry."
"Hang on baby, hang on, we'll be there soon."
Karen let them help her, wondering why their faces
looked so strange, wondering why they smelled so hot
and good.
FOURTEEN
ATHENS HAD FAILED.
Dr. Griffith stared at the blinking white light by the
door, cursing Athens, cursing Lyle Ammon, cursing
his luck. He hadn't told Athens how to get back
inside, which could only mean that the intruders had
made it past him. Ammon had left them a message or
sent them one, it didn't matter - all that mattered
was that they were coming and he had to assume that
they had the key. He'd torn down the markers weeks
ago, but perhaps they had directions, perhaps they'd
find him and...
Don't panic, no need for panic. You prepared for this,
simply move on, next plan. Division first, twofold
effect - less firepower, bait for later. . . and a chance
to see how well Alan can perform.
Griffith turned to Dr. Kinneson and spoke quickly,
keeping the instructions clear and simple, the route as
easy as possible. Griffith had already worked out the
questions they'd probably ask, though he knew there
was a chance they'd try for more information. He
gave Alan several random phrases to respond with,
then gave him the small semi-automatic pistol from
Dr. Chin's desk drawer, watching as Alan tucked it
beneath his lab coat to make sure it was hidden. The
bullet carrier was empty, but he didn't think it was
possible to tell, not if the hammer was pulled back.
He also gave Alan his key; a risk, but then the entire
scenario was a risk. With the fate of the world resting
in his hands, he'd take any chance necessary.
After Alan had gone, Griffith sat down in a chair to
wait for a reasonable amount of time, his gaze wan-
dering to the six stainless canisters in restless antici-
pation. His plans wouldn't fail; the righteousness of
his work would see him through this invasion. If Alan
was caught out, there were still the Ma7s, there was
still Louis, there were still the syringes and his hiding
place, the airlock controls in easy reach.
Past all of that, there was still the sunrise, waiting.
Dr. Griffith smiled dreamily.
Karen could still walk, still seemed to understand
at least part of what they were saying to her, but the
few words she could manage didn't seem to relate to
anything. As they'd gone down the stairs from the
lighthouse, she'd said "hot" twice. As they'd walked
into the wide, dank tunnel at the base of the steps,
she'd said, "I don't want," an expression of fear on her deathly pale, searching face. Rebecca was terrified
that even if they found a way to reverse the viral load,
it would be too late.
It had all happened so suddenly, so fast that she
could still hardly comprehend it. There'd been a man
waiting for them in the darkness of the lighthouse, a
trap just as David had intuited. As soon as they'd
gone in, he'd opened fire with an automatic rifle,
strafing the door from the shadows beneath the wind-
ing metal stairs. Thanks to David's plan, it had been
over in seconds and as Steve had discovered the
access door and punched in the code, Rebecca and
John had looked over their waiting attacker, had seen
in the narrow beam of John's flashlight that the man
had been infected his paper-white skin was flaking
and creased with strange, peeling etched lines. He'd
looked somehow different than the Trisquad victims
she'd seen, less decayed, his open, staring eyes some-
how more human . . . but then David had gone to get
Karen and Rebecca's interest had been suddenly and
cruelly diverted.
It had been the walk up the hill, she'd decided.
Even though it shouldn't have made a difference, she
couldn't imagine what else might have brought on the
amplification so quickly. Somehow, the T-Virus must
have responded to the physiological changes of Ka-
ren's increased heart rate and circulation, but as
they'd led the confused and stumbling woman into
the lighthouse, Rebecca had found that she'd stopped
caring about how; all she wanted was to get to the lab,
to try and salvage what was left of Karen Driver's
sanity.
The tunnel beneath the lighthouse seemed to lead
back toward the compound in a curving, twisting
trail, and was carved from the heavy limestone of the
cliff. Mining lights were strung along the walls, casting
strange shadows as they moved forward, silent and
grimly afraid, John and Steve half-pulling Karen
between them. Rebecca was last, again feeling a
horrible sense of deja vu as they stumbled along,
remembering the tunnels beneath the Spencer estate. The same cold damp emanated from the stone, and
she felt the same terrible feelings of moving toward
unknown danger, exhausted and afraid of screwing
up - of not being able to prevent a disaster.
The disaster has already happened, she thought
helplessly, watching Karen struggle to keep walking.
We're losing her. In another hour, probably less, she'll
be too far gone to ever come back.
As it was, John and Steve shouldn't be touching her.
In a single, easy movement she could get at either one
of them, biting before they had a chance to let go.
Even that concept made her sick with sorrow and an
aching, heavy feeling of loss.
The tunnel veered to the left, and Rebecca realized
they had to be incredibly close to the ocean; the walls
seemed to tremble and shake from a muted thunder
beyond, and the tunnel was thick with a damp and
fishy smell. Parts of the floor seemed too smooth to
have been created by human hands, and Rebecca
wondered vaguely if the tunnel opened up ahead
somewhere, perhaps had once been flooded by the
sea...
"Bloody hell," David whispered angrily. "Shit." Rebecca looked up. When she saw what was ahead,
she felt her last flicker of hope for Karen die.
We'll never find it in time.
The tunnel did open up, a few hundred meters
ahead of where David had stopped. It widened con-
siderably, in fact and was connected by five smaller
tunnels, each branching off in a slightly different
direction.
"Which way is southwest?" John asked anxiously. Karen leaned against him, her head rolling forward.
David's voice was still angry, frustration raising his
words to an echo that bounced through the five stone
corridors, circling back to fill the cavern.
"I don't know, I thought we were already headed
southwest and yet none of these is in direct align-
ment, and none head directly east, either."
They moved into the rough-hewn cavern, staring
helplessly at the smooth tunnels, each of them strung
with lights that disappeared around turns and bends.
They had obviously been carved by water, perhaps
had once been connected to the sea caves that David
had originally meant for them to find. The tunnels
weren't as wide as the one they stood in, but were
wide enough to accommodate human passage com-
fortably enough, and at least three meters high. There
was no way to guess which one was used to get to the
lab - or if any of them lead to the lab, we don't even know for certain that it's down here. . .
"If none of them goes east, then we have to pick the
one that looks the most likely to go southwest," Steve said quietly. "Besides, east of here is water."
Karen mumbled something unintelligible, and
Rebecca stepped forward worriedly to see how she
was. Though John and Steve still steadied her, she
seemed to have no trouble standing on her own.
Rebecca touched her clammy, sweating forehead
and Karen's rolling eyes fixed on her, glassy and red,
the pupils dilated.
"Karen, how are you doing?" she asked softly. Karen blinked slowly. "Thirsty," she whispered, her voice bubbling and liquid sounding.
Still responsive, thank God. . .
Rebecca touched her throat lightly, feeling the
rapid, thready pulse beneath her fingers. It was defi-
nitely quicker than before, up in the lighthouse.
Whatever the virus was doing to her, it wouldn't be
much longer before Karen's body gave out.
Rebecca turned, feeling desperate and angry, want-
ing to scream for somebody to do something
and heard the pounding footsteps, echoing up
through one of the tunnels. She grabbed for her
Beretta, saw John and David do the same as Steve
held onto Karen.
Which one, where's it coming from? Griffith? Is it
Griffith?
The sound seemed to circle, coming from every-
where at once and then Rebecca saw him, appearing
from around a comer in the passage second from the
right. A stumbling figure, a flapping, dusty lab coat
and then he saw them, and even from fifteen
meters away, Rebecca could see the stunned and
almost hysterical joy that swept across his face. The
man ran for them, his short brown hair wild and
