Contest

by Matthew Reilly

  Shards of glass sprayed everywhere as the window exploded inwards. The hood clung to the broken window, reaching into the room, lashing out indiscriminately with a single claw.

  The other hoods were ramming the door, pounding it repeatedly.

  ‘What do we do!’ Hawkins yelled. ‘It won’t hold for long. The other door didn’t!’

  ‘I know! I know!’ Swain was trying to think.

  The hoods continued to pound loudly on the door. The door’s hinges creaked ominously. The hood with its arm inside the broken rectangular window was now trying to stick its head through, but the gap was too small. It hissed and snarled maniacally.

  Swain spun. ‘Everyone to that corner,’ he pointed to the far corner. ‘I want—’

  He stopped—listened to the sound of the soft rain pattering against the windows. Something had changed. Something he almost hadn’t noticed. He listened in the silence.

  The silence.

  That was it.

  The pounding had stopped.

  What were they doing?

  And then Swain looked at the door.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the doorknob began to rotate.

  Hawkins saw it, too. ‘Holy shit . . .’ he gasped.

  Swain dived for the door.

  Too late.

  The knob continued to rotate and then . . .

  . . click!

  It was locked. Swain breathed again.

  The knob turned again. Clicked again.

  Turned. Clicked.

  They’re testing it, over and over, he thought in horror.

  It was at that moment, as Swain was staring up at the door from the floor, that a long black claw slid slowly and silently through the broken window.

  The bony black arm reached downward, slowly flexing its jagged razor-sharp fingernails. The lethal black claw was moving across and down to the right when suddenly Swain realised what it was doing.

  Swain snapped round to look at Balthazar—to see if the big man could throw another knife at the claw. But, having thrown the two knives earlier, Balthazar was now spent. He just sat on the floor with his head bowed. Swain saw the knives on his baldric, thought about using one, but then decided he didn’t want to get too close to the hood’s vicious-looking claw.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said to Hawkins. ‘Handcuffs.’

  Puzzled, Hawkins reached for his gunbelt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Swain grabbed them.

  The clawed hand edged slowly downwards, coming closer to the doorknob.

  ‘It’s trying to unlock the door . . .’ Hawkins breathed in awe. As soon as it turned the knob from the inside, the door would unlock straight away. Unlock. And open . . .

  Swain reached up to the door, trying to prise open the cuffs. But the cuffs wouldn’t open.

  The doorknob rattled again and Swain jumped, ready for it to burst open.

  The door remained shut.

  It had come from the outside. One of the hoods out-side was trying to turn the knob again. The door was still locked. But the clawed hand on the inside was still getting closer to the knob on this side.

  ‘They’re locked! The cuffs are locked!’ Swain shouted in disbelief, fumbling with the cuffs.

  ‘Shit, of course.’ Hawkins pulled some keys from his pocket. ‘Here. The smallest one.’

  Swain took the keys, hands shaking, and tried to insert the smallest key into the cuffs.

  ‘Hurry up!’ Selexin said.

  The claw was at the knob now. Feeling.

  Swain’s hands were shaking so much that the key slipped out of the cuffs’ keyhole.

  ‘Quickly!’ Selexin yelled.

  Swain inserted the key again, turned it. The cuffs popped opened.

  ‘There!’ he said, moving across the floor, sliding underneath the doorknob.

  The clawed hand was moving over the knob now, trying to get a grip on it.

  Swain reached for the light switch next to the door. Its wired remains flowed out from a solid, stumpy metal housing. Swain clamped one ring of the cuffs through a gap in the metal housing.

  The clawed hand slowly began to turn the door-knob.

  Swain reached up to the knob, sliding the second ring of the cuffs in behind the clawed hand and around the narrowest part of the doorknob—the part closest to the door itself.

  Then he clamped the cuff rightly around the door-knob just as the clawed hand turned it fully. There was a loud click! as the door unlocked. The door swung slightly inward, opening an inch.

  And then suddenly, shockingly, the door was rammed from the outside.

  The handcuffs went instantly taut, securing the door to the metal housing on the wall.

  The door was open six inches now and Swain fell backwards as one of the hoods swiped viciously at him through the narrow gap between the door and its frame.

  The hoods were snarling loudly now, scratching at the doorframe, hurling themselves bodily at the door.

  But the cuffs held.

  The gap between door and frame was too narrow.

  The dog-sized hoods couldn’t get in.

  ‘Well done,’ Hawkins said.

  Swain wasn’t impressed. ‘If they can’t open it, They’ll soon break it down. We have to get out of this room.’

  The hoods kept pounding on the door.

  Swain turned around—searching for another way out—when suddenly he saw Holly standing over by one of the windows. She was bent over the window sill as if she were injured.

  ‘Holly? You all right?’ He hurried over to her.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Distracted.

  The pounding continued. The hoods’ snarling and hissing filled the room.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said quickly.

  ‘Playing with the electricity.’

  Swain stole a glance back at the door as he came up beside her and looked over her shoulder. Holly was holding the broken telephone receiver two inches away from the window sill. As she moved it closer, the small forks of blue lightning seemed to pull away from it in a wide circle—away from the phone.

  Swain had forgotten Holly still had the phone receiver at all. He frowned at what he saw, though. He didn’t know why the electricity should move away from the phone receiver. After all, the phone was dead . . .

  The pounding and the grunting of the hoods continued.

  The door still held.

  ‘Can I have that?’ Swain said quickly. Holly gave him the phone as he looked back at the door.

  Then, abruptly, the pounding and the snarling stopped.

  Silence.

  And then Swain heard the hoods scamper out of the photocopying room.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Hawkins said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Swain moved to look out through the gap in the door.

  ‘Are they coming back?’ Selexin said.

  ‘I can’t see them,’ Swain said. ‘Why did they leave?’

  Peering out through the gap in the door, Swain saw the outer door to the photocopying room swinging wide open, left ajar by the hoods. Beyond that, quite a way away and shrouded in darkness, the doors to the elevators.

  And then he saw the reason why the hoods had left so abruptly.

  With a soft ping the doors to the far elevator slowly began to open.

  Slow night, Bob Charlton thought wryly as he stepped into the bustling offices of the New York Police Department’s 14th Precinct.

  He had been here a few times before, but this time the main foyer was much less crowded—there were only about eighty people here tonight. He stepped up to the reception desk and shouted above the din: ‘Bob Charlton to see Captain Dickson, please!’

  ‘Mr Charlton? Henry Dickson,’ Dickson said, extending his hand as Charlton entered the relative silence of his office. ‘Neil Peters said you’d be coming down. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ve got a problem downtown that I was told you could help me with.’

  ‘Yeah . . .’

  Charlton said, ‘Sometime in the last twenty-fo
ur hours we lost a main in one of the south-central grids. Lieutenant Peters said that you picked up a guy in that area earlier today.’

  ‘Where’s your grid?’ Dickson asked.

  ‘It’s bounded by 14th and Delancey on the north-south axis.’

  Dickson looked at a map on the wall next to him.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. We did pick up a fella in that area. Just this morning,’ Dickson said. ‘But I don’t think he’ll be much use to you. We picked him up in the old State Library.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘Small-time computer thief . Apparently they’ve just put in a new set of Pentiums down there. But this poor bastard must have stumbled onto something bigger.’

  ‘Something bigger?’ Charlton asked.

  ‘We found him covered in blood.’

  Charlton blinked.

  ‘Only it wasn’t his blood. It was a security guard’s.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Damn right.’

  Charlton leaned forward, serious. ‘How did he get inside? Inside the library, I mean.’

  ‘Don’t know yet. I’ve got a couple of babysitters down there now. As you can see, we’re pretty busy round here. Site squad’ll be going in there tomorrow to determine point of entry.’

  Charlton asked, ‘This thief, is he still here?’

  ‘Yeah. Got him locked up downstairs.’

  ‘Can I talk to him?’

  Dickson shrugged. ‘Sure. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. he’s been talking gibberish ever since we brought him in.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’d like to try anyway. Some of those old buildings have booster valves in funny places. I’m thinking he might have busted something on his way in. That okay with you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Both men stood up and walked toward the door. Dickson stopped.

  ‘Oh, a word of warning, Mr Charlton,’ he said. ‘Try to hold your stomach, this ain’t gonna be pretty.’

  Charlton winced as he looked again at the black man in the small cell in front of him.

  Quite obviously, they hadn’t been able to get all the blood off his face. Perhaps those designated to wash him had retched, too, Charlton thought. Whatever the case, they hadn’t finished the job. Mike Fraser still had large vertical streaks of dried blood running down the length of his face, like some bizarre kind of warpaint.

  Fraser just sat there on the far side of the cell, staring at the concrete wall, talking rapidly to himself, making darting gestures at some invisible friend.

  ‘That’s him,’ Dickson said.

  ‘Jesus,’ Charlton breathed.

  ‘Hasn’t stopped talking to that wall since we put him in here. Blood on his face has dried, too. He’ll have to get it off himself later, when he’s got sense enough to use a shower.’

  ‘You said his name was Fraser . . .’ Charlton said.

  ‘Yep. Michael Thomas Fraser.’

  Charlton stepped forward.

  ‘Michael?’ he said gently.

  No response. Fraser kept talking to the wall.

  ‘Michael? Can you hear me?’

  No response.

  Charlton turned his back on the cell to face Dickson. ‘You never found out how he got into the library, is that right?’

  ‘Like I said, site squad goes in tomorrow.’

  ‘Right . . .’

  Dickson said, ‘You won’t get anything out of him. He hasn’t said a word to anyone all day. Probably can’t even hear your voice.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Charlton mused. ‘Poor bastard . . .’

  It’s hearing your voice,’ Mike Fraser whispered into Bob Charlton’s ear.

  Charlton jumped away from the cell.

  Fraser was right up close to the bars, only inches away from Charlton’s head. Charlton hadn’t even heard him come across the cell.

  Fraser kept talking in an exaggerated whisper, Whatever it is, it’s hearing your voice! And if you keep talking . . .’

  The black man was pressing his bloodstained face up against the bars, trying to get as close to Charlton as possible. The streaks of dried blood running vertically down his face gave him an aspect of pure evil.

  Whatever it is, it’s hearing your voice! And if you keep talking!’ Fraser hissed crazily. He was starting to wail.

  ‘And if you keep talking! Talking! Talking! Ah-ah-ah!’ Fraser was looking up at the ceiling, at some imaginary creature looming above him. He held up his hands to ward off the unseen foe. ‘Oh my God! it’s here! It’s after me! It’s here! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!’

  Frantically, he began to shake the bars of the cell. Finally he fell limp, his arms hanging through the bars. At last Fraser looked up at Charlton.

  ‘Don’t go there,’ he hissed.

  Charlton leaned closer, spoke gently. ‘Why? What’s there?’

  Fraser offered a sly, evil grin through his mask of dried blood. ‘If you go, you go. But you won’t come back alive.’

  ‘He’s nuts. Lost it, that’s all,’ Dickson said as they walked back to the main entrance of the station.

  ‘You think he killed the guard?’ Charlton asked.

  ‘Him? Nah. Probably stumbled on the guys who did, though.’

  ‘And you think they messed him up? Scared him to death by painting him in the guard’s blood?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Charlton stroked his chin as he walked. ‘I don’t know. I think I better check out our links with that library. It’s worth a shot. Might be that whoever got hold of Michael Fraser decided to hack up my junction line, too. And if they hacked the junction at the booster valve, it would definitely be possible to bring the whole main down.’

  They reached the doors.

  ‘Sergeant,’ Charlton said as the two men shook hands, ‘Thank you for your time and help. It’s been, well, interesting, to say the least.’

  Stephen Swain peered out from behind the handcuffed door of the New York State Library’s rather generously named Internet Facility.

  The doors of the darkened elevator were fully open now but nothing was happening.

  The elevator was just sitting there.

  Open and silent.

  For their part, the hoods were nowhere to be seen. Having hustled out of the photocopying room, they must have been out on the balcony somewhere. Hiding . . .

  Swain watched intently, waiting for something to emerge from the lift.

  ‘Could be empty,’ Hawkins whispered.

  ‘Could be,’ Swain replied. ‘Maybe whoever pressed the button never got in.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Selexin hissed, ‘something is coming out.’

  They turned back to face the elevator.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Hawkins said.

  ‘Oh man,’ Swain sighed, ‘doesn’t this guy ever quit?’

  The tail emerged first, pointing forward, hovering horizontally three feet above the ground. Swain could easily see the slight kink in the tail a few inches from the tip where he had broken the bone. The antennae came next, followed by the snout, cautiously moving out from the elevator.

  ‘She is not a guy,’ Selexin said. ‘I told you that before, Reese is female.’

  ‘How did she figure out the elevator?’ Hawkins asked as they watched Reese lower her snout and sniff the floor.

  ‘I imagine,’ Selexin said, ‘she smelled Mister Swain’s residual scent on one of the buttons—’

  Abruptly, Reese’s snout snapped up and pointed directly at them. Swain and Hawkins ducked instantly behind the door. Selexin didn’t move.

  ‘What are you doing? She cannot see you,’ he whispered. ‘She can only smell you. To hide behind the door won’t extinguish your scent-trail. Besides,’ he added sourly, ‘she probably already knows we are here.’

  Swain and Hawkins resumed their positions at the door.

  Hawkins said, ‘So why isn’t she coming after us?’

  Selexin sighed. ‘Honestly, it is a wonder that I bother explaining anything to you. I would think that the rea
son why Reese has not come directly after us is perfectly obvious.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Hawkins said.

  ‘Because she smells something else,’ Selexin said. ‘Some other creature that I would safely assume is far more worrisome to her than you are.’

  ‘The hoods,’ Swain said, not taking his eyes off Reese. She was standing perfectly still at the mouth of the elevator.

  ‘Correct. And since they were out there only very recently, their scent is probably very strong,’ Selexin said. ‘I would therefore assert that at the moment, Reese is feeling particularly concerned.’

  For a long minute they watched Reese in silence. Her long, low, dinosaur-like body didn’t move an inch. Her tail was poised high, tensed, ready to strike.

  Hawkins said, ‘So what do we do?’

  Swain was frowning, thinking.

  ‘We get out,’ he said finally.

  ‘What!’ Selexin and Hawkins said at the same time.

  Swain was already reaching up for the handcuffs, unlocking them.

  ‘For one thing, we can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later one of those bastards out there is going to break down this door. And when that happens, we’ll be trapped. I say we get ready to run as soon as something happens.’

  ‘As soon as something happens?’ Selexin said. ‘A rather inexact plan if you don’t mind my saying so.’

  Swain put the cuffs in his pocket and shrugged at the little man. ‘Let’s just say that I’ve got a feeling something is about to happen out there. And when it does, I want all of us to be ready to make a break for it.’

  Several minutes later, Swain had Balthazar draped over his shoulder while Hawkins held Holly by the hand. The door was open a full two feet.

  Outside, Reese stood rigidly in front of the elevator, visibly tensed, alert.

  They waited.

  Reese didn’t move.

  Another minute ticked by.

  Swain turned to face the group. ‘All right, when I say go, run straight for the stairwell. When you get there, don’t stop, don’t look back, just go straight up. When we hit the Third Floor, I’ll lead the way from there. Okay?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Good.’

  Another minute passed.

  ‘It does not look like anything is going to happen,’ Selexin said sourly.

  ‘He’s right,’ Hawkins said. ‘Maybe we better put the cuffs back on the door . . .’