A moaning howl vibrated through the speakers.
“Jesus Christ!” Sam breathed as a fourth wave appeared.
“I told you that the Baxters were going to give Bill Gates a run for the top of Fortune 500!” Mitchell said. “But did anyone believe me? Nooo.”
Derek didn’t even bother to try to contain Mitchell. As a matter of fact, the teen kind of had a right to tell them all that he told them so.
A deep, steady thump came through the speakers.
“What the hell ...?” Derek asked no one in particular.
“It almost sounds like a heartbeat,” Jill whispered.
She was right. Derek knew the sound all too well, as his own had slowed and nearly stopped in that abandoned warehouse. Like the sound of his own weakening pulse mocked him. Reminding him that he had no control over his own life, or even the ability to save a little girl who’d just wanted to play jacks.
Well, not this time. This time, Derek was in control.
Up until now, the added sounds had simply seemed like special effects. This, though? This deep bass shook his bone marrow. Sure, it was creepy, but it didn’t make him feel like jumping through the glass window.
“This is beyond cool!” Mitchell said, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“This can’t be ...” Sam whispered as a fifth wave popped up on the screen.
The line fluttered and shimmied on the screen.
Derek shifted from one foot to the other. This line was different from the first four. It wasn’t a steady, solid line. Derek wasn’t an expert, but he’d seen enough audio waves to know that this one wasn’t normal.
“Bring it up,” Derek ordered Sam.
“The darkest hour …” Mitchell stated.
“What?” Derek asked, not taking his eyes off the monitor.
Mitchell also seemed too engrossed in the screen to answer, so Jill responded. “It’s a screenplay adage. By ninety minutes, our movie heroes must be facing their darkest hour, where everything is against them.”
Mitchell nodded absently. “It also corresponds to the highest number of deaths.”
“I think I almost have it,” Sam said, sliding the controllers on the panel. “Bugger’s elusive.”
The wave coiled and twisted as Sam adjusted a knob.
“Got it! But it’s faint ...” Sam pressed the earphone to his ear, his face intent as he listened to whatever was coming through his headphones.
“What?” Derek asked. He couldn’t hear a damn thing.
Then, static screeched through the speakers. Everyone jumped back. Sam jerked his headphones off and threw them on the console. Derek looked down to where Jill’s white-knuckled grip clutched his arm.
Sam pressed his fingers to his ears. When he pulled them away, blood streaked his fingers. Sam turned to Derek, his eyes wide with fear.
“Taht saw lleh eht tahw?” Sam blabbered.
“What’s he saying?” Mitchell asked leaning in closer to Sam.
“Is it Chinese?” Jill asked. “Korean?”
Why the hell are they asking him? Did Derek look like he had a PhD in screwed-up linguistics? He walked up to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You okay, Sam?” Derek asked softly.
“Yako ma I ekil kool ti seod?”
“Sam, I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”
His friend clenched his jaw. Frustration was stamped on his features.
“Yllamron gniklat ma I! enoyreve htiw gnorw si tahw?”
“I got it!” Mitchell announced. “The Exorcist!”
“Damn it,” Derek rumbled. He could see the pain and confusion on Sam’s face. He did not need a film history lesson from Mitchell right about now. “Be helpful, or get in the corner.”
“No, no!” Mitchell countered. “In The Exorcist, a priest interviews Linda Blair to decide whether she’s possessed. She was speaking this weird, creepy language that none of the linguists could recognize.”
“And your point?” Jill asked.
“It wasn’t some cryptic, dead language. It was English, spoken backward.”
Before Derek could retort, Mitchell pulled a microphone off the console and pushed it in front of Sam’s mouth. “Say something.”
The teen hit Record as Sam frowned at the microphone. The same garbled language came out of his mouth.
Mitchell hit Rewind.
“That is the stupidest theory I have ever heard,” Sam’s voice said distinctly.
“My God!” Jill said as she stumbled into Derek. He steadied her as the hairs rose on the back of his neck.
“Great, but how did this happen?” Derek asked Mitchell. So okay, the kid might be coming in handy.
“I think the damn film ... I think it set him on rewind.”
Derek studied the monitor. “So the Baxters built this ‘switch’ into their film?”
Sam grabbed the microphone again and recorded himself, and then hit Rewind.
“I don’t think that they specifically made this happen. If you look at the other occurrences, there are wide-ranging issues. Just like a bright strobe light can cause seizures, disorientation, or nausea, this wave is affecting each person’s brain differently.”
“See?” Jill said. “We don’t know that the Baxters did any of this on purpose.” She pointed to the screen still showing the wavering fifth sine wave. “They are audiophiles. Maybe they were just experimenting. That’s what indie film is all about,” she reasoned.
“Experimenting?” Derek said, as Sam recorded again. “These are intelligent men. If you are going to experiment, you do it in a controlled environment.” Damn, but he was mad. Los Angeles had changed Jill, and not for the better. “Then, you study the side effects. Repeat. Until you have accurate data built. Until you know it’s safe. You don’t let it loose on millions of unsuspecting people.”
Sam nodded vigorously, seeming to agree with Derek, and then he hit Rewind. “Maybe we could chalk up the first round of deaths to unintended consequences. But now? The Baxters are masters of audio. There is no way that this slipped by them.”
“Thank you!” Mitchell announced, shaking Sam’s hand. “Exactly! This has been planted.”
Those bastards! Whatever kind of hypnosis shit they embedded in their film was jacked up. They were altering people’s brains without a care for the consequences. No matter, whatever they had done to Sam, the Baxters were going to undo.
“My God, and this happened with just exposure to the audio!” Mitchell stated.
“You’re right,” Derek acknowledged. Sure, the brothers were all about audio, but what if they had altered the video as well? “Sam, can you call up the video section that matches the last audio sampling? But turn the audio off.”
Sam said, “Hud,” but it was pretty damn obvious that he meant “duh.”
All eyes were glued to the monitor as an image of an altar, blood dripping down the sides, appeared on the screen. In the background, trees swayed in sync, their roots squirming under them. A large shadow moved across the screen.
“I remember this scene,” Derek said, bracing his hands on the desk. “I saw it when I nabbed our film thief. I interrupted their show right here.”
Sam’s hand flung out in front of him, as though he were trying to push something away. He screamed as his back arched. Derek grabbed his friend, trying to keep him from hurting himself.
“It’s okay! There’s nothing there,” Derek tried to reassure him, but Sam’s arms and legs flailed, and his eyes looked ready to bulge out of their sockets. Derek looked at Mitchell. “Turn the damn thing off!”
The teen rushed to the console, but it was too late. A strangled gurgle escaped Sam’s mouth as his body went limp in Derek’s arms. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not this time.
“Sam!” Derek yelled as he lowered his friend to the floor. “Jill, call for an ambulance!”
Sam’s mouth twitched, then his entire face, and then his whole body. Muscles locked up on themselves as Sam convulsed. Foam b
ubbled out of his mouth. Desperate, Derek tried to pry open Sam’s jaw. His friend was choking to death on his own tongue.
“Damn it!” Derek yelled. “I need a pen or a ruler, something to get his mouth open!”
“Yes, he is having a seizure. Come quickly!” Jill cried into the phone as her other hand fished around the desk for something. But in this modern age, who had rulers on their desks? Derek reached back on his belt and pulled his cuffs out. He could use them as leverage. But before he could unlock them, Sam’s body fell quiet. Too quiet.
Sam’s eyes were wide and unseeing as a bloody tear dripped down his cheek.
Derek felt Sam’s neck for a pulse. Nothing bounded back under his fingertips.
“No!” Derek pushed Sam’s lab coat out of the way and began CPR.
One. Derek thrust hard into Sam’s sternum. He had to exert enough pressure to squeeze the blood from Sam’s heart to his brain.
“It’s going to blow!” Mitchell screamed behind him, but Derek ignored the teen.
Two. Sharp, fast compressions. He could keep Sam’s brain oxygenated until the EMTs got here.
No. He was keeping Sam alive. Period.
Three.
* * *
“Jill, you’ve got to breathe for him on every fifth compression,” Derek said to Ms. Connor, but Mitchell pulled Jill toward the console.
“Mitchell, Sam’s down,” Jill said, but he kept tugging anyway.
“Look!” he screamed, finally drawing her attention to the monitor.
Jill blinked, and then blinked again. No kidding!
He knew that Sam was down, but sparks were shooting out of the projector as the film caught fire. And Mitchell swore that the flames reached out toward them like claws. And the roar? Like a lion with a hard-on for them.
“Jill!” Derek barked. “Breathe for him!”
Still looking stunned, Jill turned back to Derek. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“No!” Derek yelled. “We’ve got to ...”
Even the agent stopped his compressions as he witnessed the growing conflagration. Finally, the fire alarm sounded, setting the sprinklers off. Water rained down upon them, but it barely seemed to affect the fire.
“Shit!” Derek picked up Sam’s body. “Everyone out!”
Jill ran forward to get the door for Derek, but Mitchell couldn’t go. Not yet.
Fire danced and popped between him and the console, but he wouldn’t leave without some evidence. The Baxter brothers couldn’t get away with all of this. Without evidence, though, how could they ever prove any of this was their doing?
A strand of flaming film slithered its way across the floor like some kind of celluloid snake. Mitchell had seen what the film could do firsthand. Still, he had to get proof.
“Mitchell!” Derek yelled as he left with Sam. “Move it!”
Gulping searing air, Mitchell braced himself. He just needed to snatch the disc. Leaping over the serpentine flame, Mitchell landed next to the console. He punched the button that opened up the DVD backup disc. Who knew how much of the information was on there, but if Sam was half the technician that Mitchell thought he was, there should be plenty of information on the DVD.
So great, he got the darn thing, but as he turned back to the door, a wall of fire blocked his exit. A flame snapped at his leg, probably trying to get a taste of Mitchell. This was it. The moment of truth. Mitchell actually had to be brave.
Leaning back, Mitchell tried to give himself as much room as possible, wishing, really wishing, that he had drunk that protein powder stuff his mom was always forcing on him.
Here goes.
Then Mitchell realized that there was no way he could leap over that burning barrier. Not even Superman could do it. Well, not if there was a piece of kryptonite in the room. No, Mitchell wasn’t strong, but by golly, he was smart.
“Get out of there!” he heard Jill cry.
Come on, brain. Kick in.
He put his hand on the back of the chair to steady himself. He might really die here. Consumed by Terror’s avenging fire. How poetic. And how incredibly sucky.
Wait. The chair. Without giving himself too much time to talk himself out of the plan, Mitchell crouched down on the chair, and then pushed off as hard as he could from the console. The chair skidded across the slick linoleum floor, bursting through the flames.
Whoosh! The fire blew over, blasting his back with a furnace full of heat. His clothes were singed, but he was alive! Alive, but spinning to the right.
“Mitchell!” Jill said as he skidded toward her.
He jumped off the chair, unfortunately catching his foot in the wheel. His body slammed to the ground. Great. He’d just pulled off the most awesome escape in the history of fire escapes, except of course, for Backdraft. Mitchell didn’t think he was Ron Howard or anything, but to end it doing a face plant in front of Ms. Connor?
“Come on!” she said, tugging him up, but his leg wouldn’t budge.
Smoke billowed toward them, making it hard to breathe. Mitchell coughed, fanning the smoke away to find a tendril of film tied around his ankle.
Damn, but Terror was persistent! He kicked, but to no avail.
It looked like he was going to die by film. Mitchell wanted it written on his tombstone, “Every student complains about his workload, but Mitchell’s thesis really did kill him.”
But wait. Would his father really spring for all those letters?
* * *
Jill took the scissors she had found for Derek and opened them wide. Using a slicing motion, she cut the film that Mitchell had entangled himself in. The strand snapped, releasing Mitchell’s ankle. But did it just retract? Recoil?
She shook her head. All of this talk about Terror.
Of course, the fire had just buffeted the film’s end. It hadn’t moved of its own accord. It couldn’t have.
“Jill!” Derek yelled from far down the hallway.
Grabbing Mitchell, she pulled him forward. “Get your butt moving.”
“Just watch my butt!”
They rushed down the stairs as the fire alarm blared and a torrent of water came down upon them. The exit was only down the hall, but it turned out to be too far.
An explosion rent the air. The force picked her and Mitchell up, carrying them those last few yards, and then slammed them against the wall. Her ears rang. Her back screamed, and her head pounded. Winded, Jill struggled to her feet, dragging Mitchell with her.
She shoved open the exit door to find as much chaos outside as inside.
Luckily, it looked like the fire alarm had evacuated the building. Stumbling, Jill made her way to Derek. He knelt beside Sam, still giving him compressions, even though two EMTs hovered over Derek, trying to get him to back away.
“What’s going on?” Jill asked, but then she looked down upon Sam’s ashen face, streaked with bright crimson.
An EMT shook his head. To everyone else, it was clear that Sam was gone. Try telling that to Derek.
“Would someone breathe for him, goddamn it!”
Jill put a hand on his shoulder. “Derek, let the EMTs do their jobs.”
“They weren’t doing their jobs,” Derek said as he counted, “One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” He leaned over, pinched Sam’s nose, and gave him a breath, and then went back to compressions. “They gave up on him.”
“Derek,” she said as gently as she could. “He’s gone.”
“No,” Derek stated. But were his compressions less energetic?
Jill slipped her hand under his elbow and urged him up. “Come on.”
“No,” he said again, but this time he stopped the compressions altogether.
“Come with me, Derek,” Jill coaxed.
Now that he wasn’t pounding on Sam’s chest, the EMTs edged Derek out of the way.
She didn’t know how to comfort Derek, but she knew that she needed to get him away from here.
CHAPTER 10
Chaos erupted around Derek, yet he barely registered an
y of it. Agents, coughing and choking, stumbled over each other in their mad dash out of the building.
Boom. Another explosion. Glass shattered, raining down on the ground and upon his head. Jill tried to get him out of harm’s way, but Derek’s feet simply wouldn’t move.
An agent in command barked orders. Agonized screams echoed from the building. The screech of sirens wailed in the distance. The sky above them darkened, masked by churning clouds of acrid smoke.
“Derek, we need to get to safety.”
First, Derek didn’t need to do anything. Second, where was safe anymore?
Jesus, he’d rained down death, yet again. It wasn’t bad enough that the little girl’s eyes haunted him, but now? Sam had died in his arms. Again, Derek was helpless to stop any of it.
Jill rubbed his back with her hand. “Derek, I am so sorry.”
Too little. Too late.
Besides, what did her sympathy get Sam? Nothing. And that’s exactly what it gave Derek.
“Agent Boulder!” the agent in charge yelled over the churning chaos, but he ignored the call, not even sure if he was an agent anymore.
“Derek …” Jill said, indicating the supervisor. “They are calling for you.”
Like he cared.
Jill put a finger on his chin and forced him to look at her. “You’ve got to snap out of it.”
Derek snorted. She thought he was in shock, afraid, or cowed. If anything, it was a white-hot iron that burned within him. Rage at himself. Rage at fate. Rage especially at the Baxter brothers. It seared up and down his chest and low into his belly.
“Boulder! Front and center!”
Slowly and carefully, Derek pushed all of that anger away. He pushed it behind an internal steel door, just like he had done after D.C. Derek then slammed that door closed and spun the lock. He swore he could feel it actually click closed.
Now he was ready to get the job done.
“Here!” he yelled, striding over to the agent in charge.
* * *
Jill watched Derek’s back. Muscles rippled under his shirt. He was gutting it out. Jill could tell. She’d seen it before. Any time an agent went down or Derek had to shoot someone in the line of duty, he would put on this mask. Derek wasn’t big on processing emotions. Her ex- fiancé subscribed more to the John Wayne style of coping. One of the reasons he was an ex.
Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) Page 24
