Pretty safe bet that one of the S.T.A.R.S. came this way…
Jill edged out into a high-walled courtyard, low hedges set into brick planters on either side. Dark clouds hung oppressively low overhead. Across the open space was a barred iron gate just past an island of shrubs; to her left, a straight path overshadowed by the ten-foot-high brick walls that bordered it. The gentle waterfall sound seemed to come from that direction, though the path ended abruptly in a metal gate a few feet high.
Stairs going down maybe?
Jill hesitated, looked back at the arched, rusty gate in front of her and then at the curled bodies of the mutant dogs. They were both closer to the gate than the walkway, and assuming they'd been killed while attacking, the shooter would have been headed in that direction.
There was a sudden sound of water splashing wildly, making the decision for her. Jill turned and ran down the moonlit walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever was making the noise.
She reached the end of the stone path and leaned over the gate, then drew back a little, surprised by the sudden drop off. There were no stairs, the gate opened to a tiny platform elevator and a huge, open courtyard, twenty feet below.
The splashing was off to the right, and Jill looked down and across the wide yard just in time to see a shadowy figure walk through the waterfall she'd heard, disappearing behind the curtain of water that cascaded down the west wall.
What the hell?
She stared at the small waterfall, blinking, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. The splashing had stopped as soon as the person disappeared, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't hearing thingswhich meant that the rushing water concealed a secret passage.
Great, that's just what this place needs. Lord knows I didn't get enough of that inside.
The controls for the one-man lift were on a metal bar next to the rusting gate, the platform itself down in the courtyard. Jill toggled the power switch, but nothing happened. She'd have to get down another way, wasting time while the mysterious splasher got farther away.
Unless…
Jill looked down the narrow elevator shaft, an inset square only three feet across and open on the side facing the yard. Coming up would be a bitch, but descending? Cake. She could crouch her way down in a minute or less, using her back and legs to support her weight.
As she unstrapped the shotgun from her back in preparation for the climb, a disturbing thought occurred to her – if the person who'd gone through the waterfall was one of the S.T.A.R.S., how had they known that the passage was even there?
Good question, and not one she wanted to linger over. Holding the shotgun tightly, Jill pushed the gate open and carefully started down the shaft.
They'd given Barry a full fifteen minutes before heading through the winding halls of the west wing and finding the open back door.
They stood therenow, looking at the slab of copper and its four engraved crests.
Chris stared at the crescent moon that Barry had taken, feeling confused and more than a little worried.
Barry was one of the most honest, straightforward guys that he had ever known. If he said that he was going to look for Jill and then come back for them, then that's what he meant to do.
But he didn't come back. And if he ran into trouble, how did the piece I gave him end up here?
He didn't like any of the explanations his mind was giving him to work with. Someone could have taken it from him, he could've placed it himself and then been injured somehow… the possibilities seemed endless, and none of them good.
Sighing, he turned away from the diagram and looked at Rebecca. Whatever happened to Barry, we should go ahead. This may be the only way off the estate.
Rebecca smiled a little. Fine by me. It just feels good to get out of there, you know?
Yeah, no kidding, he said, with feeling. He hadn't even realized how accustomed he'd grown to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the house until they'd left it. The difference was truly amazing.
They walked through the tidy storage room and stopped at the back door, both of them breathing deeply. Rebecca checked her Beretta for about the hundredth time since they'd left the main hall, chewing at her lower lip nervously. Chris could see how tightly wound she was and tried to think if there was anything she needed to know, anything that would help her if they were forced into a combat situation.
S.T.A.R.S. training covered all the basics, but shooting at a video screen with a toy gun was a far cry from the real thing.
He grinned suddenly, remembering the words of wisdom he'd gotten on his first operation, a stand-off with a small group of whacked-out survivalists in upstate New York. He'd been terrified, and trying desperately not to show it. The captain for the mission had been a tough-as-nails explosives expert, an extremely short woman named Kaylor. She'd pulled him aside just before they went in, looked him up and down, and given him the single best piece of advice he'd ever received.
Son, she'd said, no matter what happens when the shooting starts, try not to wet your pants.
It had surprised him out of his nervousness, the statement so totally weird that he'd literally been forced to let go of the worst of his fear to make room for it.
What are you grinning about?
Chris shook his head, the smile fading. Somehow, he didn't think it would work on Rebecca and the dangers they faced didn't shoot back. Long story.
Come on, let's go.
They moved out into the calm night air, crickets and cicadas buzzing sleepily in the surrounding woods. They were in a kind of courtyard, high brick walls on either side, an offshoot walkway to their left.
Chris could hear rushing water nearby and the mournful cry of a dog or coyote in the distance, a lonely, faraway sound.
Speaking of dogs…
There were a couple of them sprawled out across the stones, soft moonlight glistening against their wet, sinewy bodies. Chris edged up to one of them and crouched down, touching its flank. He quickly pulled his hand back, scowling; the mutant dog was sticky and warm, like it had been sheathed in a thick layer of mucous.
He stood up, wiping his hand on his pants. Hasn't been dead long, he said quietly. Less than an hour, anyway.
There was a rusted iron gate just past some hedges in front of them. Chris nodded at Rebecca and as they walked toward it, the sound of rushing water increased to a dull roar.
Chris pushed at the gate and it swung open on violently squealing hinges, revealing a huge, cut stone reservoir, easily the size of a couple of swimming pools put together. Deep shadows draped and hung at every side, caused by the seemingly solid walls of murky green trees and lush vegetation that threatened to break through the bordering rails.
They moved forward, stopping at the edge of the massive pool. It was apparently in the slow process of being drained, the turbulent noise caused by the narrow flow of water through a raised gate on the east side. There wasn't a complete path around the reservoir, but Chris saw that there was a walkway bisecting the pool itself, about five feet below water level. There were bolted ladders at both sides, and the path had obviously been submerged until quite recently, the stones dark with dripping algae.
Chris studied the unusual setup for a moment, wondering how anyone got across when it wasn't being drained. Another mystery to add to the growing list.
Without speaking, they climbed down and hurried across, boots squelching against the slimy stones, a clammy humidity enveloping them. Chris quickly scaled the second ladder, reaching down to help Rebecca up.
The heavily shaded path was littered with branches and pine needles and appeared to border the east end of the reservoir, passing over the open floodgate. They started toward the forced waterfall and had only gotten a few feet when it started to rain.
Plop. Plop, plop.
Chris frowned, an inner voice informing him coolly that he shouldn't be able to hear raindrops over the roar of the draining water. He looked up and saw a twisted branch fall from the stretching foliage hanging over the rail, a branch that hit the stones and slid smoothly away – – that's not a branch – – and there were dozens of them
