by Stark, Ken
Barely had they stepped into the hallway when the second wave came in a rush. They clawed, they gnashed their jaws and they howled like banshees, and each and every one of them died in a most horrible fashion. Five. Ten. Twenty. Mason lost count before the fight was halfway done. When this second wave finally slowed to a trickle, he pummeled one last skull to dust, wiped the blood of a dozen or more alphas from his face with his sleeve, and led the way over the jumble of bodies, to the stairs that would get them out of this abattoir.
At last, he could see daylight, and he gladly followed it like a moth to the flame. But then his nerves began to tingle, and he held up a fist, bringing them all to a halt.
Something was wrong. The roar from the Quad should have been muffled, but it wasn’t. Not by a long shot. He crept up the last two steps and poked an eye around the corner. Then, he crept back down and whispered a few words into Sarah and Hansen's ears.
They were deep in shit, and it was about to get deeper.
The way up to the main floor was clear enough, but most of the building's facade was made of glass, and the swarm had done its damage. All six massive windows had great gaping holes where some part of an alpha had broken through – leaving behind blood and gore and spider webs of cracks that radiated outward from the breaks in all directions. Worse, the two glass doors fronting the building were nothing but empty frames. Indeed, those open doors undoubtedly accounted for the huge number of alphas they'd had to battle to get this far. Mason could only thank whatever malevolent god was looking down on this hellscape, that the roar of the swarm had covered the sounds of battle as much as it had. But the crush of bodies in the Quad was rapidly filling the space left behind by the alphas that'd come down after them. It was only a matter of time before another one or ten or fifty discovered the open door.
But there was no way back. Their only chance lay forward. So, forward they went.
Mason took the lead, but then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned to see Sarah's pretty face wearing an expression he knew all too well. He relented with a nod, and he and Hansen hung back as she went up alone.
It was a frightening thing to watch, but an endlessly fascinating one as well. The entire stairway was littered with broken glass, but the woman moved like a jungle cat. With one eye always on the swarm, she would tiptoe around the worst of it, and where no clean spot existed, she would sweep a few shards soundlessly aside before planting a toehold. Then, she'd survey the ground for a full yard ahead, pick out the most advantageous spot, and toe a few more bits of glass away before bringing her foot down again.
Mason had seen this many times before. Both Sarah and Mack could move like spectres through a swarm, as silently as kittens on a bed of down. Maybe it was their tiny feet or perhaps it was a female's lower center of gravity. Whatever the basis of their unique talent was, he'd never been able to duplicate it. His two hundred plus pounds and size twelves didn't move the same way. When he imagined how a flatfoot like Hansen would do, trying to accomplish the same feat, his heart sank into his belly.
When Sarah reached the landing halfway up the stairs, and was just feet from the open doors, she held her position, with her kukri raised high, ready to strike, as she waggled a pair of fingers down to Mason. Every bit of common sense he possessed fairly screamed at him to go ahead of Hansen before the clumsy ox could bring the whole house down. But he simply couldn't. He gave Hansen a flick of his head, and the ox started up.
The man could hardly be mistaken for a jungle cat, but he obviously knew his limitations, and he straddled the line just north of disaster. He followed in Sarah's footsteps as best he could, and when he couldn't, he held on to the handrail for dear life, used the toe of his boot to clear a reasonably bare patch of ground, and lowered his foot as slowly and cautiously as he could. It was like watching a water buffalo performing an adagio from Swan Lake. But much to Mason's surprise, the old man made it to the top of the stairs and the house still stood. Hansen struck a pose beside Sarah, his huge spiked club at the ready, and Sarah waggled another finger.
It was Mason's turn.
He started up, following in Sarah and Hansen's footsteps, but every lowering of his foot seemed to come with an accompanying crunch of glass or grit. And every time, his breath caught on his throat. With one hand on the railing and the other clutching his rebar, he took one slow step after another, each one bringing him closer and closer to the maelstrom. A dozen footsteps and eight full minutes later, he stepped silently onto the landing, and Sarah pursed her lips in a silent sigh of relief.
But they were nowhere near safe. In fact, this was the most dangerous spot they'd ever been in before, bar none. The swarm was just feet away and hundreds strong, and there was absolutely nothing to stop them should they decide to storm in. All it would take would be one of them probing their way, and it would be over.
Mason looked around for something, anything he might use to block the doors. But it was no use. There was just too much damage and too many ways in.
The only thing they could do was let the swarm be and continue the rest of the way up. Mason nodded for Sarah to take the lead while he and Hansen covered her. And it was while he watched the swarm swirl and eddy just beyond all of those open doors that he saw it – just twenty feet past the corner of the building. Big enough to tower over the swarm. Close enough that he could almost reach out and touch it. It was Gloria, that big beautiful Peterbilt, with the sun glinting off of her chrome trim like a guiding star.
For one crazy second, he imagined himself barging into the swarm and hammering a path all the way through to that big, beautiful truck. And then came the crazier idea. Why not? After all, it wasn't like he'd be amending a carefully laid-out plan on the fly, right? Whatever exceedingly dubious plan they'd hobbled together to get this far, went to shit with one blast of a shotgun. So, why not try?
He sized up the nearest alphas and plotted a route through and over that surging ocean of flesh. Then, he looked farther into the swarm and began to pick out those elements among them that would give him the best chance. Was that a gap? And those alphas moving in a cluster. Weren't they just a bit slower than the others? That big one had a pronounced limp. Broken leg, probably. And that other one was so near to death, it was barely able to raise a claw.
It was possible. If he moved fast enough and hit hard enough, he might just be able to do it. And once he got to Gloria, he could come back for Sarah and Hansen, and they could all go save the rest of them. Mack. Alejandra. Becks. Everyone!
He had just about convinced himself to go for it, when a hand like a steel trap grabbed his shoulder. He turned to see Hansen's ugly mug wearing the deepest of scowls. They glared at one another for what seemed an eternity, then Hansen flipped his head in the direction Sarah had gone, and his scowl only deepened.
Apparently, whatever else Hansen was, he was also a mind reader. But in this case, the mind reader was right. He'd never make it. He'd be throwing his life away for nothing, and leaving his friends one more man short when they needed him the most. A little embarrassed at being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and a lot pissed off that it'd been Gary Super cop Hansen who'd caught him, he returned every bit of the old man's scowl and then some. Then, he flipped his own head after Sarah. In the ensuing and most ridiculously adolescent staring contest since the beginning of time, the two men took turns flipping their heads up the stairs and thinking up harsher ways to scowl.
At last, Mason acquiesced, but only just. He dropped the glare and the scowl and even gave Hansen what might have amounted to a nod. Then, he flipped his head up the stairs one last time. Hansen narrowed his eyes looking for tells and, finding none, he gave Mason one last glare that threatened all manner of horrific violence should he renege on their unspoken agreement, and he turned to make his way up.
Mason watched the swarm for any sign of change, but the surefooted water buffalo wasn't making a whisper of sound. In fact, at one point, he even spared a quick look over his shoulder, half
-convinced that Hansen hadn't gone anywhere at all, and that he was standing right behind him, waiting for him to do something stupid. But what he saw was Hansen and Sarah both at the top of the stairs, kukri and spiked bat at the ready and waving him on.
He looked across to big, beautiful Gloria one last time, and like a man turning his back on a dream, he spun slowly around and began picking his way through the minefield of broken glass.
CHAPTER XIX
“What'sa matter... Gettin' too old for this shit?”
The climb should have taken seconds, but five minutes later, Mason had only reached the halfway point. He happened to look up just then and saw a war-ravaged echo appear behind Sarah while her attention was elsewhere. All he could do was wave and point and mouth silent words of warning up to her. Luckily, Hansen caught sight of the thing just in time, and silently dispatched it with a knife through the base of the skull. But then, more came.
In another world, Mason was already rushing to join in on the fight. In this world, though, with so many hungry ears a mere handful of yards away, he simply couldn't. And so, in the cruelest test of strength he could ever have imagined, he lowered his eyes, shut his mind off from both the swarm raging down below and the silent fight for survival going on above, and concentrated on taking just one more step.
He could have kicked himself for not watching Sarah’s ascent. If he had, he could have followed in her footsteps. But he hadn't dared take his eyes from the open doors. Then, Hansen followed, and he hadn't watched him either. So now, he was forced to pick his way through a fresh minefield.
But... wait. A clear patch, just at the edge of the next stair. Was that Sarah's doing? It had to be. He lifted a boot and prepared to mount that next step, but then he saw it. A tiny bit of glass, barely visible. Not trusting his big size twelves with the job of toeing the thing aside, he bent down, picked up that tiny fragment of glass between finger and thumb, and placed it as gently as he could a few inches away. Then and only then did he trust that spot enough to take that next step.
From then on, that was how he operated. He'd bend low, scour the step with his eyes, pick up each individual bit of debris, place them all gently aside, then up one more step. Then the next. And the next. And finally, after what seemed a lifetime, he took that very last step to the top and allowed the world back into his head.
Sarah and Hansen were still at work clearing the last of the echoes, and they were doing so without a breath of sound. Sarah was using her kukri with silent efficiency, and Hansen seemed to be doing alright with his knife, but having neither, Mason leaned his rebar against a doorjamb and tip-toed bare-handed into the fray.
The closest was a girl. A teenager at best. San Jose Sharks t-shirt. Long, blonde hair matted with blood. One shriveled eye dangling against her cheek. The thing had been going for Hansen, but when Mason came close enough for his light to shine brighter than the other, the echo turned and came directly at him, clawing the air and snapping its pearly-white teeth. He batted one claw aside and grabbed the other by the wrist. Then, he spun around behind the creature and craned the arm up its back until he heard it snap. Wrapping one arm around the creature's chest then, he planted a boot between its feet and pivoted his hips, and with the thing suddenly off-balance, he lowered it slowly and soundlessly to the floor, pinning it down face-first under a heavy knee. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled it slowly back until he felt more than heard something pop in its neck, and still he pulled. At last, whatever shard of bone had broken loose in the echo's neck pierced its spinal cord, and all of the fight drained immediately out of the thing. The jaws continued to snap as he lowered the head to the floor, but the body would never move again. He left the broken echo where it was and had at the next.
Female. In life, probably tall, probably lanky. And if those long, bare legs stretching out from under that leather miniskirt were any indication, probably hot as hell. Now, most of its face was gone, along with a goodly quantity of guts and one entire breast. It came hobbling toward Mason on one high-heeled shoe, so it was an easy enough thing for him to get around behind it. He put a hand on each side of its head and gave it a sharp twist, before lowering the ragdoll quietly to the floor.
Sarah was making quick work of a pair of echoes, dancing lightly around them until she was in the perfect position to deliver a killing blow to the back of each creature's neck. But she didn’t see another one just emerging from the shadows. It was a big male. Linebacker type. Broad shoulders. Thick neck.
Mason launched himself into the thing and spun it around. While its jaws gnashed uselessly at empty air, he grabbed the thing with a hand on each side of its head, drove a pair of fingers through each of its eyes, and didn't stop digging until he felt the ooze of brain matter squishing between his fingers.
With the last of the echoes gone, Mason reclaimed his rebar and the three of them regrouped. The college library was dead ahead, and though its doors were made of glass, at least they were doors. They crept through as silently as ghosts and found two more echoes within. One was a college kid – big, muscular, but too hollowed-out to put up much of a fight. Hansen ended the big kid’s suffering with a knife through the base of its spine. The other was female, more cadaver than echo. One stab of a kukri was all it took. Sarah knelt before the creature and read the name-badge pinned to a dowdy, old-lady dress. ‘Mrs. Lancaster, Head Librarian,’ it read. So, Sarah addressed her as such.
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Lancaster. I truly am. I'm sorry for everything that's happened, and I apologize for disturbing the sanctity of your library.”
Mason thought he saw her wipe away a tear, but it might have just as easily been a bit of gore. Either way, he let it go.
“I’m sorry too,” Mason said, before he proceeded to tear great swathes from her dowdy old-lady dress, and use them to tie the door handles together.
At last, he collapsed to his knees, only to have Hansen come looming over him to say those very words.
“What'sa matter... Gettin' too old for this shit?”
It was typical Hansen, but this time there was no snark in it. And then, the old man did something Mason was wholly unprepared for. Cop-of-the-century, self-righteous Detective Sergeant, Gary Bad-ass Hansen, actually reached down and offered Mason his hand. Reluctantly, Mason took it, and he allowed Hansen to help him to his feet. He stood there in stunned silence, not knowing quite what to say.
Fortunately, Hansen said it for him.
“Not bad, tough guy,” he said. “I guess my old man was right. Even an asshole is good for something.”
While Mason chewed on the words he wanted to say back, Sarah broke in with a few of her own.
“If you guys can handle the bromance without me, I have a book to find.”
She descended on the old-fashioned card file beside a bank of dead computers and began thumbing through drawer after drawer, while Mason and Hansen spread out to reconnoiter the rest of the library.
It was an expansive space, running the entire width of the floor from east to west. There were enough windows to let in every bit of daylight, and there were computers and work desks and easy chairs and couches galore. And there were books. Shelf after shelf of books. Sarah stopped thumbing and gave a silent fist-pump, before she disappeared into the stacks. As she hunted down her elusive tome, Hansen perched himself at a window overlooking building six, and Mason squatted down beside him to have a look at where they'd come from.
Mother of God...
He didn't think the grounds could get any more crowded, but he was wrong. If he'd had a pair of snowshoes, he might've been able to walk right across the swarm. But on the plus side, from this vantage point they had a clear view into building six, and a quick head count confirmed ten souls present. So, at least no one else had been lost when the plan went to shit.
Well, thank Christ for small favors. Two were enough. Hell, two were a damned sight more than enough!
“That place can't hold,” Hansen said, plainly. “There's too many now. The
y'll mow the place down through sheer mass of bodies.”
“You're right,” Mason had to agree. “But on the bright side, we'll go before they do.”
“Small consolation,” Hansen gruffed, more at himself than at Mason. “This was a stupid idea. What the fuck were we thinking?”
“We were thinking of the only way to keep people alive. This was the best in an impossibly bad list of options.”
“And now, even that shitty-ass option is gone, thanks to your... your friend. Now, we're over here, they're over there, and every single one of us is well and truly fucked. Goddam it to Hell!”
For the first time ever, Mason thought he saw something akin to fear in Hansen’s eyes. But no... not fear. So what, then? Sorrow? A million regrets for a million things he'd either done or hadn't done? If Sarah was here, she'd know. One look at that face and she'd be able to read every tell the man ever had. But of one thing, Mason was certain. Something was clearly eating its way through Hansen's heart.
“I'm sorry about Beverly,” Mason told him, sincerely. “I thought she'd be able to hold it together, but I was wrong.”
“Hell of a time to find out. Some fucking leader you turned out to be.”
“Hey, I'm just trying to do my best, same as everybody else. Believe me, I am no leader.”
“I believe you,” Hansen snarked, and for once, Mason took it gladly. “We have a big job ahead of us, tough guy. Between here and your monster truck, there are too many ‘50s.”
“We knew there would be. That's why we came up with Plan C, remember?”
“Oh, I remember alright. I remember saying how the whole plan sucked cow shit.”
“I didn't hear you come up with anything better.”
“Why choose between a firing squad and a noose? So tell me, big man, do you really think you'll be able to get to your precious Tonka toy in one piece?”
