‘Not just yet,’ Swain said, staring intently out at Reese. ‘They’re out there, and Reese knows it . . . There!’
Abruptly, Reese spun to her right, away from them. Something had caught her attention.
Swain tightened his grip on Balthazar. ‘All right everybody, get ready, this is it.’
Slowly, Swain pulled the door open and ventured into the photocopying room. The others followed him to the outer door.
Reese was still facing the other direction.
Swain rested his free hand lightly on the outer door, his eyes locked on Reese, praying that she wouldn’t turn around and charge.
He opened the door wider, and stepped out.
He could see the stairwell now, off to the left. Reese and the elevators were about twenty feet to the right. Beyond Reese, he could see the wide empty space that fell away to the Ground Floor atrium below. He figured if he could just ease out of the doorway and quietly make his way to the—
Suddenly, Reese whirled around.
For an instant Swain’s heart stopped. He felt like a thief discovered with his hands in the till—totally exposed. Caught in the act.
He froze.
But Reese didn’t stop to face him.
She just kept turning until she came a full three hundred and sixty degrees. A full circle.
Swain breathed again. He didn’t know what was happening until he realised that Reese’s quick circling movement wasn’t a threatening move at all.
It was a defensive move.
Reese was frightened, agitated, desperately looking—no, smelling—in every direction.
She’s surrounded, Swain thought. She knows we’re here, but she’s decided we’re not worth worrying about. There’s something else out there, something more dangerous . . .
There was no time to waste.
This was the chance.
Swain turned to the others and whispered, ‘Come on! We’re moving now.’
Swain half-dragged, half-carried Balthazar out through the doorway, not daring to take his eyes off Reese. The others raced past him and headed for the open stairwell. Swain limped as fast as he could toward the stairwell, straining under Balthazar’s dead weight. He was almost at the stairwell when the attack on Reese began.
A hood.
Squealing fiercely, it leapt over the railing from the Ground Floor, claws extended, jaws wide open.
Swain heaved Balthazar into the stairwell, trying as he did to watch what was happening behind him. And as he disappeared into the stairwell, the last thing Swain saw was a fleeting glimpse of Reese, shrieking madly, swinging her tail around to defend herself against the onslaught of incoming hoods.
Feet pounding, Swain hurried up the stairs, Balthazar’s weight pressing heavily down against his shoulders.
The others were waiting for him at the fire door marked ‘3’. When he joined them, Swain passed Balthazar over to Hawkins.
‘Why are we stopping here?’ the young cop asked. ‘Shouldn’t we keep going up?’
‘We can’t go any higher,’ Swain said. ‘We can’t get out there. The door to the roof’s electrified.’
‘Daddy, what are we doing?’ Holly said.
Swain eased the fire door open slightly. ‘Looking for a hiding place, honey.’
‘Daddy, where are the monsters?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully not up here.’
‘Daddy . . .’
‘Shh. Just wait here,’ Swain said. Holly stepped back, silent.
Swain stepped through the doorway and scanned the room.
Yes. He was where he wanted to be.
The wide low-ceilinged study hall stretched away from him, its L-shaped desks creating a waist-high maze that spread right across the room. The whole room was dark, save for the soft blue city light that filtered in through the windows on the far side.
Slowly, Swain bent down to look under the desks. Through the legs he could see all the way across the room. There were no feet—or whatever the hell these creatures walked on—in sight.
The study hall was empty.
He poked his head back through the fire door. ‘Okay everyone. Inside, quickly.’
The others filed into the study hall. Swain took Holly’s hand and led her through the winding maze of desks.
‘Daddy. I don’t like it here.’
Swain was looking around the room. ‘Yeah, me neither,’ he said, distracted.
‘Daddy?’
‘What, honey?’
‘Daddy, can we go now—?’
Swain pointed to a corner near the windows. ‘There it is.’ He quickened his pace, pulling Holly harder.
Hawkins was walking behind them. ‘What is it?’ he asked. All he could see was a sign on the wall reading:
QUIET PLEASE.
THIS ROOM IS FOR PRIVATE STUDY ONLY.
NO CARRY BAGS PERMITTED.
‘Next to the sign,’ Swain said.
Beside the sign on the wall, Hawkins saw a large, solid, grey door. It looked like some sort of maintenance door.
Swain reached for the knob. It turned easily. Unlocked.
The door opened slowly, with the distinctive hiss of a hydraulic valve. Swain didn’t think much of it. All the big doors at the hospital needed hydraulics to help people open them, they were that heavy.
He reached for the light switch, but decided against it. Any light would be a certain giveaway.
He surveyed the room before him. Cold grey concrete walls, a janitor’s cart filled with buckets and mops, shelves packed with bottles of detergent and floor wax, and several tarps stretched over large mounds of more janitorial equipment.
Diffused white light from the streetlights outside streamed in through two long rectangular windows high up on the left-hand wall. Directly opposite the door, dividing the room in two, was a floor-to-ceiling cyclone fence with a rusted iron gate in its centre. Beyond the fence were more shelves of detergent and a few more piles of equipment covered in dark hessian cloth.
The group moved inside and Swain closed the door behind them. The hydraulic door shut with a soft whump.
Holly sat away from the door, up against the cyclone fence. Hawkins put Balthazar on the floor beneath the windows and scanned the maintenance room, nodding. ‘We should be safe here.’
‘For a while, yes,’ Swain said.
Selexin asked, ‘How long do you think we should stay here?’
‘As long as we can,’ Swain said.
‘Hooray,’ Hawkins said blandly.
‘And how long is that?’ Selexin again.
‘I don’t know. Maybe right up till the end. At the moment I’m not quite sure.’
‘You cannot forget that there will always be something out there,’ Selexin said. ‘Even when all the contestants are dead, you will still have the Karanadon to face.’
‘I don’t have to face anything,’ Swain said harshly.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means, I’m not here to fight. It means I’m not here to win your stupid contest. It means that at the moment all I’m worried about is getting my daughter and the rest of us out of here alive.’
‘But you can’t do that unless you win,’ Selexin said angrily.
Swain looked hard at the little man. He was silent for a few seconds.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ he said softly, almost to himself.
‘What was that?’ Selexin said. It was an argument now.
‘I said, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’
‘You believe you can get out of the labyrinth?’ Selexin challenged.
Swain was silent. He looked over at Holly by the cyclone fence, sucking her thumb.
Selexin said again, ‘Do you seriously think you can get out of the labyrinth?’
Swain was silent.
Hawkins whispered to him, ‘You think we can get out?’
Swain looked at the windows near the ceiling, thinking to himself. At last he spoke. ‘Yes.’
‘Impossible.’ Balth
azar’s guide stepped forward. ‘Absolutely impossible.’
‘You stay out of this,’ Selexin snapped angrily.
Swain stared at Selexin. The little man had been indignant before, distressed even, but he had never been downright angry.
Balthazar’s guide stepped back immediately. Selexin spun back to face Swain.
‘How?’ he demanded.
‘How?’
‘Yes, how do you propose we get out?’
‘You want to get out?’ Swain couldn’t believe it. After the lecture he had received before about the grandeur and honour associated with the Presidian, he found it difficult to believe that Selexin would want to get out.
‘As a matter of fact I do.’
Balthazar’s guide interrupted again, ‘Oh, you do, do you? Well forgive me for reminding you of an unpleasant fact, Selexin, but you can’t!’
Selexin didn’t say anything.
Balthazar’s guide went on. ‘Selexin, the Presidian has begun. It cannot and will not be stopped until a winner has been found. It is the only honourable way.’
‘I think any honour this thing had went flying out the window when your friend Bellos brought his bloodhounds along,’ Swain said.
‘I agree,’ Selexin said, glaring at Balthazar’s guide. ‘Bellos has broken the rules. And with hoodaya, he cannot and will not be stopped. We must get out.’
‘And do what?’ the other guide sneered, ‘use our witnessing teleports to call for help? They transmit vision only, Selexin, not sound.’
‘Then anything,’ Selexin said. ‘If two contestants leave the labyrinth and initialise their witnessing teleports and wave for the cameras, the controllers of the Presidian will have to realise that something is amiss.’
The other guide stared at Selexin. ‘I do not think our two contestants will last very long outside the labyrinth,’ he said smugly.
‘Why?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ the other guide smiled, ‘I would say that they would not last any longer than exactly fifteen minutes.’
‘Oh,’ Selexin frowned, remembering. ‘Yes.’
Swain was bewildered. It was as if Selexin and Balthazar’s guide were speaking in another language.
‘What does that mean?’ he asked Selexin.
Selexin spoke sadly. ‘Do you remember what I told you before about your wristband?’
Swain looked down at the heavy grey band around his wrist. He’d forgotten about it entirely.
The little green light still glowed brightly. The display now read:
INITIALISED—6
Six? Swain thought. He remembered the contestant on the Ground Floor—the Konda—that had been killed by the hoods. The wristband, it appeared, was counting down now. Striking out a number as each contestant was eliminated. Until only one remained.
And when only one was left, then came the Karanadon that Selexin kept talking about. Whatever that was.
‘Do you remember?’ Selexin said again.
‘Yes, I think I remember.’
‘Do you recall that if your wristband detects that it is outside the electronic field surrounding the labyrinth, it will automatically set itself to detonate?’
Swain frowned. It all suddenly made sense. ‘And I get fifteen minutes to get back inside.’
‘Exactly.’ Balthazar’s guide spat.
Nobody spoke. There was silence for a full minute. Someone took a long, deep breath.
Balthazar’s guide spoke: ‘So even if you get out, you are still a dead man.’
Swain looked at him and snorted. ‘Thanks.’
‘You know, you’re a real great help,’ Hawkins said to the little man.
‘At least I am realistic about my situation.’
‘At least I give a shit about somebody else’s life,’ Hawkins said.
‘I would be more concerned about taking care of my own if I were you.’
‘Yeah, well you’re not me—’
‘All right. All right,’ Swain said. ‘Settle down. We’ve got to find a way out of this, not fight among ourselves.’ He turned to Selexin. ‘Is there any way we can get this thing off my wrist?’
Selexin shook his head. ‘No. It doesn’t come off . . . unless you . . .’ he shrugged.
‘I know, I know. Unless I win the Presidian, right?’
Selexin nodded. ‘Only the officials at the other end have the proper equipment to remove it.’
‘Can we break it open?’ Hawkins suggested.
‘Can anyone here break down that door?’ Balthazar’s guide asked, pointing to the maintenance room’s heavy hydraulic door, knowing the answer. ‘If not, then no-one here can break open that wristband. It’s too strong.’
The group went silent.
Swain looked down at the wristband again. In the last minute it had suddenly begun to feel a lot heavier. He crossed the room and sat next to Holly, resting his back up against the cyclone fence.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked softly.
She didn’t answer.
‘Holly? What’s up?’
Still no answer. Holly was staring vacantly straight ahead.
‘Come on, Hol, what is it? Did I do something?’ he waited for a response.
This was not unusual. Holly would often refuse to talk to him when she felt rejected or left out or just plain stubborn.
‘Holly, please, we don’t have time for this now,’ Swain shook his head in exasperation.
Holly spoke, ‘Daddy.’
‘Yes.’
‘Be very quiet, Daddy. Be very, very quiet.’
‘Why—?’
‘Shh.’
Swain went mute. The others had sat down over near Balthazar, beneath the high windows. Everyone sat in complete silence for ten seconds. Holly leaned over to Swain’s ear.
‘Do you hear it?’ she whispered.
‘No.’
‘Listen.’
Swain looked at Holly. She was sitting dead still, her eyes wide open, her head set rigidly upright, backed up against the cyclone fence. She looked frightened. Frightened out of her mind. She spoke again.
‘Okay Daddy, get ready. Listen . . . now.’
And then he heard it.
The sound was barely audible, but it was unmistakable. A long, slow inhalation.
Something breathing.
Something not very far away.
Suddenly, there was a snorting sound, like the soft grunting of a pig. It was followed by a shuffling sound.
Then the inhalation came again.
It was slow and rhythmic, like the breathing of someone sleeping.
Selexin heard it, too.
At the grunting sound, his head snapped up immediately. He scrambled silently on all fours across the concrete floor to Swain.
‘We have to get out,’ he hissed in Swain’s ear. ’We have to get out now.’
The inhalation came again.
‘It’s in here,’ Selexin said. ‘Quickly, give me your wrist.’
Swain offered his wristband for Selexin to see.
The green light was still on.
‘Phew,’ Selexin breathed.
‘It?’ Swain asked. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s behind us, Daddy,’ Holly hissed, her body frozen.
‘Oh, Jesus Christ . . .’ Hawkins gasped, getting to his feet on the other side of the room. He was looking through the cyclone fence. ‘I think it’s time to get the hell out of here.’
The inhalation came again, louder this time.
And then slowly, ever so slowly, Stephen Swain turned around.
It was over by the far corner of the cage, under some shelves mounted high up on the wall. In the dark it looked like just another large mound of equipment covered in a tarp.
Only it was moving.
Slowly and steadily.
Rhythmically rising and falling, in time with the deep inhalations.
Swain’s eyes followed the outline of the ‘mound’. It was big. In the dim light of the storage room he could just make out
long spiky bristles on top of an arched back—
There was a loud grunt.
Then the whole mound rolled over onto its side and the deep inhalations resumed.
Selexin was tugging on Swain’s shirt. ‘Let’s go! Let’s go!’
Swain rose to his feet, plucked Holly from the floor, headed for the door. He was reaching for the door’s handle when he heard a soft, insistent beeping.
It was coming from his wristband. The little green light was flashing.
Selexin’s eyes went wide with horror.
‘It’s waking up! Get out!’ he screamed. ‘Get out now!’
He barged past Hawkins, hauled open the door, pushed Swain through it, screaming, ‘Out! Out! Out!’
Swain and Holly were out in the empty study hall again. Hawkins emerged from the janitor’s room with Balthazar over his shoulder, the other guide close behind.
Selexin was already charging in among the L-shaped desks of the study hall. ‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Keep moving, we have to get as far away from here as possible!’
Swain followed with Holly in his arms—weaving quickly between the desks, away from the janitor’s room—the others close in tow.
Up ahead, Selexin was darting between the desks, constantly looking back to see if Swain was still with him.
‘The band! The band! Look at your wristband!’ he called.
Swain looked down at the wristband. It was beeping horribly loudly now, and quicker, too.
And then he stopped.
The green light on the wristband had gone out.
Now the red one was on.
And it was flashing rapidly.
‘Uh-oh.’
Hawkins caught up with them. He was panting desperately. ‘What is it?’
‘We’re about to be in for some serious trouble,’ Swain said.
At that moment the heavy hydraulic door to the janitor’s room exploded from its hinges and flew out into the study hall, landing with a deafening bang!, crushing several desks.
It was followed by a blood-curdling roar that boomed out from within the janitor’s room.
‘Oh, man,’ Hawkins breathed.
‘Let‘s move!’ Swain took off, winding through the maze of desks, heading for the stairwell in the opposite corner of the room.
He was glancing over his shoulder when it emerged from the janitor’s room.
It was huge.
Absolutely huge. It had to double over just to fit through the wide doorway that no longer had a door.
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