Swain barged through the crowd and raced up the stairs toward the surface.
‘What do we do now?’ Holly whispered fearfully.
‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ Selexin said.
The two hoods stood at both ends of the aisle, trapping Holly and Selexin in the middle.
Selexin, four feet tall, and Holly, about the same, were scarcely bigger than the two hoods.
Selexin looked anxiously around himself, at the bookshelves that stretched up to the ceiling. They seemed to form an impenetrable wall on either side of the aisle.
The hood in front of them edged closer. The other didn’t move.
Holly noticed why.
The second hood, the one preventing their retreat, had no left foreclaw. Just a bloody stump at the end of its bony black arm. It must have been the one that Balthazar had pinned to the railing with his knife up on the First Floor.
Holly jabbed Selexin with her elbow and pointed at the hood and he saw it, too.
Selexin edged away from the first hood, toward the injured one, still eyeing the impenetrable walls of shelves on either side of them.
Wait a minute, he thought.
He scanned the bookshelves again.
They weren’t impenetrable at all.
‘Quickly,’ he said.’ Grab the books. The ones here,’ he pointed to a low shelf. ‘Grab them and start throwing.’
He reached down to the bottom shelf and grabbed a large hardback and hurled it at the able-bodied hood, striking it in the face. The hood snarled angrily back at him.
A second book hit it again. Then a third. The fourth book hit the injured hood.
‘Keep throwing them,’ Selexin said.
They kept hurling books at the hoods, who backed off slightly. Holly threw another and was reaching down for more when suddenly she understood what Selexin was doing.
He wasn’t just using the books to keep the hoods at bay. He was using them to create a hole in the bookshelf. The more books they threw from the shelf, the bigger the gap in the shelf became. Soon Holly could see through to the next, parallel aisle.
‘Are you ready?’ Selexin said, throwing a book, hitting the injured hood on its wounded forelimb. The black creature howled in agony.
‘I think so,’ Holly said.
The able-bodied hood began to move in.
‘All right,’ Selexin said. ‘Go!’
Without a second thought, Holly dived cleanly through the gap in the bookshelf and landed with a thud in the next aisle.
But Selexin continued to stand in the original aisle.
The injured hood stepped cautiously forward.
The two hoods closed in on either side of the little man.
‘Come on!’ Holly said from the next aisle. ‘Jump through!’
‘Not yet,’ Selexin didn’t take his eyes off the approaching hoods. ‘Not yet.’ He threw another book at the injured hood. It hit. The hood hissed angrily.
‘Come on!’ Holly said.
‘Just get ready to run, okay,’ Selexin said.
Holly looked frantically down her aisle. On one side she could see the stairwell. On the other . . .
She froze.
It was Bellos.
Striding down the aisle toward her with long strong powerful steps.
‘Selexin, jump! Jump right now!’ she screamed.
‘They’re not close enough yet . . .’
‘Just jump! He’s almost here!’
‘He . . . ?’ Selexin was momentarily startled. The hoods were very close now.
‘Oh! Him!’ Realising, Selexin immediately dived through the gap in the shelf, landing in a heap at Holly’s feet. She pulled him up and they ran for the stairwell.
Behind them, Bellos began to run.
They bolted down the aisle. Holly could hear the able-bodied hood grunting and snorting as it ran down the parallel aisle.
They hit the stairs running and climbed them two at a time.
Behind them they heard the distinctive scratching sound of claws on marble as the hood charged into the stairwell. That sound was quickly followed by a sudden thudding, crashing sound as the hood lost its footing on the slippery marble floor and slammed into the concrete wall.
Breathlessly, Holly and Selexin kept climbing and climbing until they could hear nothing behind them.
The stairwell was silent.
They kept hurrying upward.
And then there came a voice, from way down at the bottom of the shaft, echoing loudly through the stairwell.
‘Keep running!’ Bellos’ voice boomed. ‘Keep running, tiny man! We will find you! We will always find you! The hunt has begun, and you are the game. I will hunt you, and I will find you, and when I do, tiny man, you will wish to God that somebody else had found you first!’
The voice stopped. And as Holly and Selexin climbed higher, an evil laugh resounded throughout the stairwell.
‘Here they come,’ Levine said to Marshall as they stood beside his car.
A massive blue van rounded the corner and stopped behind Levine’s Lincoln. It looked like a big TV van, with a revolving satellite dish on the roof and flashing blue police lights.
Levine shielded his eyes from the glare of the van’s headlights as a barrel-chested man dressed completely in blue stepped down from the passenger-side door and stood to attention before Marshall.
It was Harold Quaid.
Commander Harold Quaid.
Levine hadn’t actually worked with Quaid before, but his reputation was legendary. Apparently Quaid had given himself the title of ‘Commander’—there was no such rank in the NSA—when he had assumed command of Sigma Division’s field team. Rumour had it that he had once killed a civilian by mistake while following up a bogus alien sighting. No investigation into the incident was ever held.
Tonight he was dressed exactly like a SWAT team member: blue fatigues, bulletproof vest, boots, cap and gunbelt.
‘Sir,’ Quaid said to Marshall.
‘Harry,’ Marshall nodded. ‘You made good time.’
‘As always, sir.’
Marshall turned to Levine. ‘You’ve cordoned off the site?’
‘They’re finishing now,’ Levine said. ‘Tape’s set up all around the building. Thirty yards. Even in the park.’
‘Nobody’s touched the building?’
‘They were given strict instructions.’
‘Good,’ Marshall said. On the Eavesdropper satellite’s last pass—now targeted directly at the New York State Library—an unusually large amount of electromagnetic energy had been detected surging through the outer surface of the building. Marshall didn’t want to take any chances.
He turned to Quaid. ‘I hope your boys are ready. This is the big one.’
Quaid smiled. It was a cold, thin smile. ‘We’re ready.’
‘You’d better be,’ Marshall said, ‘because as soon as we figure out how to bring down the electric field around that building, you’re going in.’
For the first time that night, Stephen Swain beheld the exterior of the New York State Library.
It was a beautiful building. Four storeys high, square-shaped, flat-roofed, with six majestic Corinthian columns stretching all the way up from the front steps to the roof.
In fact, it looked like an old Southern courthouse, grandly situated in the middle of a beautiful inner-city park, as if part of a town square. Only this was a dated town square, dwarfed by the skyscrapers that had grown up around it.
Swain watched the library from across the street, from the entrance to the subway station. He was breathing hard, and the wounds to his chest and forearms burned.
His wristband was still beeping.
8:00
7:59
7:58
Time was running out and the situation didn’t look good.
The library had been sealed off.
A single ribbon of bright yellow police tape stretched from tree to tree in the park surrounding the big dark building, leaving at least thi
rty-odd yards of open ground between the tape and the walls of the library.
Half a dozen unmarked cars—their headlights still on—formed a tight circle in front of the main entrance to the library. And in the centre of the circle, towering above the cars, stood a big blue police van with a revolving dish on its roof. Next to the dish, flashing blue police lights spun crazily, splashing the park around the library in a strobe-like blue haze.
Damn it, Swain thought, as he watched the big blue van.
For the last two hours all he had wanted to do was get out of the library—to get himself and Holly away from Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon—to get out of the electrified cage the library had become.
And now?
Swain smiled sadly.
Now he had to get back in.
To get back in and stop this bomb on his wrist from going off. To get back inside the cage, where Reese and Bellos and the Karanadon were waiting for him, waiting to kill him.
But most importantly of all, to get back inside and save Holly. The mere thought of his only daughter trapped inside the library with those monsters made him feel ill. The thought of her being trapped in there after he was dead, made him feel terrible. She’d already lost one parent. She wasn’t going to lose another one.
But he still had to penetrate the electrified walls.
And who were these new people?
7:44
Swain’s gaze came to rest on some shadows at the rear of the library building. Darkness there. Good. It was a chance.
Swain ran across the street.
The park surrounding the State Library was a pretty one, flat and grassy, with evenly spaced oaks spread around three sides of the central building—only now, the oak trees were joined by the bright yellow tape.
Outside the perimeter of oaks, on the eastern side of the building, stood a splendid white rotunda. It was essentially an elevated circular stage, free-standing, with six thin pillars supporting a beautiful domed roof twenty feet above the stage itself. A lattice handrail circled the stage.
It was a beautiful structure, popular for outdoor weddings and the like. Swain even remembered taking Holly to the pantomimes they held here in the summer—Wizard of Oz-type shows that involved clouds of coloured smoke and the deft use of a trapdoor in the centre of the stage.
Swain scampered across the open grass and ducked behind the rotunda’s stage, out of sight.
Twenty yards to the nearest oak.
Thirty yards from the oak to the library.
He was about to run for the treeline when he saw a garbage bin next to him.
He stopped. Thinking.
If they had set up police tape around the library, it was likely they would have someone patrolling the building, warding off any would-be intruders. He had to find a way . . .
Swain rummaged through the bin and found some crumpled old newspapers. He was grabbing a handful of them when he caught sight of something else.
A wine bottle.
He picked it up and heard the sloshing of liquid still inside it. Excellent. Swain upended the bottle and poured the excess wine onto his hands. The alcohol stung the scratches on his hands.
Then, with bottle and newspapers in hand, he bolted for the treeline.
7:14
7:13
7:12
Swain thrust himself up against the thick trunk of the tree and felt his pockets.
The broken phone receiver and the equally broken lighter were still there. He cursed himself for leaving the handcuffs back at the train tracks.
In the flashing blue light of the van, he saw the nearest corner of the building.
Thirty yards.
He took a deep breath.
And ran out into the open.
Levine yawned as he leaned on the bonnet of the Lincoln. Marshall and Quaid had gone off to check out the parking lot while he had been left to watch the front of the building.
His radio crackled. It would be Higgs, the agent in charge of the surveillance team he had just sent out.
‘Yeah,’ Levine said.
‘We’re on the western side of the building and there’s nothing here, sir,’ Higgs’ tinny voice said.
‘Okay,’ Levine said. ‘Just keep circling the building, and let me know if you find anything.’
‘Roger that, sir.’
Levine clicked off the radio.
Swain reached the south-eastern corner of the building and ducked into the shadows of the southern wall.
He was breathing hard now, his heart pounding loudly inside his head.
He scanned the wall.
7:01
7:00
6:59
There. Near the far corner.
Swain ran forward and dived to the ground.
The radio crackled again. Higgs’ voice.
‘We are approaching the south-west corner, sir. Still nothing to report.’
Levine said, ‘Thank you, Higgs.’
Swain lay on the grass next to the southern wall of the State Library, still holding the newspapers and the wine bottle.
He was peering at a small wooden window set into the wall at ground level, not far from the southwestern corner of the building. The window was old and dusty, and it looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. His wristband still beeped softly.
6:39
Swain leaned close and saw a jagged fork of tiny blue lightning lick out from the old window’s frame—
A twig snapped.
Somewhere close.
Swain pulled the newspapers to his body and immediately rolled up against the library wall, his eyes inches away from the tiny sparks of electricity that licked out from the window.
Silence.
And then a soft beep . . . beep . . . beep.
The wristband!
Swain thrust his left wrist under his body to muffle the sound of the beeping just as he saw three sets of black combat boots step slowly around the corner.
NSA Special Agent Alan Higgs lowered his M-16 and winced at the figure lying huddled up against the wall before him.
A filthy body, curled up in the foetal position, wrapped in crumpled newspapers in a vain attempt to counter the cold. His clothes were filthy rags and the man’s face was covered in black grime.
A bum.
Higgs put his radio to his mouth. ‘Higgs here.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just a bum, that’s all,’ Higgs said, nudging the body with his boot. ‘Rolled up tight next to the building. No wonder nobody saw him when they set up the perimeter.’
‘Any problem?’
‘Nah,’ Higgs said. ‘This guy probably never even noticed the perimeter going up himself. Don’t worry about it sir, we’ll have him out of here in no time. Higgs out.’
Higgs bent down and shook Swain’s shoulder.
‘Hey, buddy?’ he said.
Swain groaned.
Higgs nodded to the other two agents—like himself, they were dressed in full SWAT gear—who slung their M-16s and bent down to pick up the man.
As they did so, the bum grunted loudly and rolled sleepily toward them, feebly stretching out with one hand, pressing it against the face of one of the agents, as if to say, ‘Go away, I’m sleeping here.’
The agent made a face and pulled back. ‘Oh, man, does this guy stink.’
Higgs could smell the wine from where he stood. ‘Just pick him up and get him the hell out of here.’
Swain kept the beeping wristband pressed tightly against his stomach and covered in newspapers as he was carried away from the library building, back into the park.
To his ears it was beeping louder than ever, almost certain to be heard.
But the two men carrying him didn’t seem to notice. In fact, they seemed to be trying to keep their bodies as far away from his as possible.
Swain began to sweat.
This was taking too much time.
He desperately wanted to look at the wristband. To see how much time was left.
He had to get back inside.
‘Ambulance?’ one of the two carriers asked the third—and presumably superior—man walking in the lead.
Swain’s body tensed as he waited for the response.
‘Nah,’ the third man said. ‘Just get him outside the perimeter. Let the police pick him up later.’
‘Roger that.’
Swain breathed a sigh of relief.
But if they weren’t taking him to a hospital to clean him up, and if they weren’t police officers, then there were still two questions to answer: where would they take him, and who the hell were they?
The heavily armed men carried Swain through the treeline and across the park, toward the rotunda.
Okay. You can put me down now, Swain willed them. You’re taking too long . . .
They carried him up the steps of the rotunda and laid him down on the circular wooden stage.
‘Here will do,’ the senior one said.
‘Good,’ the one whom Swain had rubbed in the face said as he released Swain’s arm.
‘Come on, Farrell, he doesn’t smell that bad,’ the senior one said.
Swain breathed again, and his body relaxed.
There would still be time.
Now go, boys. That’s good. Keep going . . .
‘Wait a minute . . .’ the one named Farrell said.
Swain froze.
Farrell was looking down at his gloves. ‘Sir, this guy is bleeding.’
Oh shit.
‘He’s what?’
‘He’s bleeding, sir. Look.’
Stay calm. Stay calm.
They are not going to come over.
They are not going to look at your arm . . .
Swain’s whole body tensed as Farrell held out his gloved hands and the senior man came over.
Higgs examined the blood on Farrell’s gloves. Then he looked down at Swain, at the newspapers covering his arms, at the tiny splotches of red that had seeped through the newsprint on his right arm. The strong odour of wine pervaded it all.
Finally, he said, ‘Probably just a cut he got falling into a gutter. Leave him be, I’ll radio it in. If they think it’s necessary, the others can come by later and check him out. I don’t think this guy will be going anywhere fast. Come on, let’s get back to work.’
Contest Page 18
