and Jo's voice, thick with pain, said, 'One of the little bastards got to me before I got him ... bit me . . . can't walk.'
He dragged her over the parapet and got a firm grip around her waist just as a dozen white shapes materialized from the darkness, uttering little mewing cries like babies demanding to be fed.
Chase looked up sharply as a siren welled through the peaceful laboratory. For several seconds everyone stood frozen, heads raised, eyes locked in their sockets. Threats from outside were something that everyone had learned to live with, a fact of existence, yet it still caused a tremor of shock whenever the alarm sounded.
Everyone knew the drill: Return to living quarters for essential personal belongings, account for members of the family, and assemble in the mess hall on Level 2. On average there were three or four alerts a year, usually false alarms caused by an animal triggering the electronic warning system.
Chase hurried to the operations room, worried because Dan's party was still outside and might have run into trouble. It wasn't the first time they had failed to meet the deadline, though this time the alarm made him doubly anxious. The duty officer told him that they had an unauthorized entry in one of the sealed tunnels. Somebody had located an access point and was approaching the Tomb underground from the west.
'How near are they?'
'The last sensor to be activated was here'--the duty officer put his finger on the map--'about a mile from the enclosure.' He traced the grid to an area shaded in orange. 'If they keep to the same tunnel they'll come up against a sealed entrance down on Level Four.'
That was one of the lower levels no longer used, a warren of empty corridors and rooms, once the living quarters and dormitories. 'Is that entrance permanently sealed or is there access?' Chase asked. Some of the tunnels spreading out into the wider complex had been filled with concrete blocks, while others had steel doors.
'There's access.'
'Have you posted men there?'
'Yes. We'll be ready for them.'
'Tell them to identify the intruder before taking any action. It could be one of our parties.' Chase paced up and down, kneading his hands. The duty officer watched him circumspectly and raised an eyebrow at one of his colleagues; under normal circumstances the director would have left security to the men whose responsibility it was, but now he was clearly agitated.
Chase stopped pacing and said abruptly, 'I think we ought to send somebody out to investigate. If it is the reconnaissance party they might need help.'
The duty officer shifted uneasily to another foot. 'That'll mean opening the doors. They're our last line of defense.'
'Listen, there are five people still outside somewhere. It could be them in the tunnel. Send three men to take a look--if they run into trouble they can get back and seal the doors. It's a risk we have to take.'
Still reluctant, the duty officer relayed the order while Chase brooded in a corner. It wasn't a risk they had to take at all, he knew damn well. Not when set against the lives of the 130 people in the Tomb. For all anyone knew the tunnels could be swarming with mutes or prims--there could be an army of them. Anyway, they'd soon know.
By the early hours of the morning the Tomb was buzzing with rumors. They had been attacked via the underground complex and six men had been killed. There was a huge encampment of prims on the surface, waiting for someone to emerge. The UFOs had landed and they were surrounded by aliens. . . .
It was unusual for an alert to last more than a couple of hours and the atmosphere in the crowded mess hall was tense and edgy. Nick, Jen, and Ruth sat together, surrounded by people who were dozing fitfully. Some were playing cards at the tables and others standing in line for coffee and sandwiches.
'What did Gav say?' Nick asked Ruth. He tried not to let his voice betray the fear that was like a cold lump in his stomach. 'Is it an attack?'
He doesn t know. Somebody or something triggered a sensor in one of the tunnels, which they're investigating. He thinks it might be Dan, Jo, and the others.'
Jen looked at her husband, troubled. 'Why come back that way? It's easier and faster on the surface. Besides, they could get lost.'
Easier and faster, Nick thought, unless you're hiding from someone, but he didn't say anything.
In the operations room Chase was having to deal with a fraught Ron Maxwell, concerned about his daughter.
'It's been over an hour since we sent three men to check it out, Ron.' Chase tried to sound reassuring. 'We should know something soon.'
'Are they in radio contact?' Maxwell's tall thin figure was hunched as if he carried a millstone on his back. He cracked his bony knuckles distractedly.
'It isn't possible in the tunnels. They'll have to investigate and then return to the Orange Sector entrance on Level Four and report on the internal phone.' Chase gripped his shoulder. 'They're capable men, Ron. If it
'And if it isn't?' said Maxwell bleakly. 'Will you send a surface party to look for them?'
It was a demand rather than a question. Chase nodded. 'As soon as we know,' he said quietly.
'For Christ's sake, take that light out of my eyes!'
Dan held up a shielding hand, his face behind it contorted with irritation and fatigue.
The beam swiveled away, striking blank concrete, and two pairs of hands took the burden of Jo's weight from his shoulder. His knees buckled and he collapsed in a sweating, shaking heap. He'd supported her, sometimes carrying her, for almost four hours through the labyrinth. Sometimes he thought they were staggering into the bowels of the earth.
The man with the flashlight lifted him and asked him a question. It sounded urgent but the words had no meaning. The man had to repeat the question twice more before he understood.
'Dead,' Dan said wearily. 'The others are dead.'
'Are they following?'
'No, I just told you.' Dan's head lolled. 'They're dead. . . .'
'Not your friends--the ones who killed them!' the man said tersely. 'The mutes or whoever they were. Did they follow you into the complex?'
Dan nodded weakly. 'I think so. I'm not sure.'
It took forty minutes to make their way back to the safety of the Tomb. Once inside the doors were sealed and barred. Then the man who had helped Dan grabbed the handset from its wall cradle and reported to the operations room.
As they listened over the speaker Chase saw Ron Maxwell's face lose color. He was bowed, the millstone a crushing load, the green-shaded lights deepening the etched lines on his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. He put a trembling hand to his mouth and the Adam's apple in the beanstalk neck jerked convulsively.
Chase leaned over the bed in the sick bay and shook his son into consciousness. 'How many? Twenty? Thirty? Dan, how many of them were there?'
Dan struggled to open his eyes. He felt light-headed, a pleasant dreamy torpor pressing him down and down into the infinitely soft mattress. His lips formed words that sounded in his own ears as if they'd come from a great distance.
'We never saw them clearly ... too dark.' 'Did they come after you into the tunnels?'
Dan opened his eyes and tried to focus. 'We heard them crying.'
'Crying?' Chase stared at him, two deep frown marks rising vertically from between his black eyebrows. 'You heard them
'Like babies. They were white ... all white . . .' Dan closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep, but after a moment he said, 'We killed some of them, ten or more, but it didn't seem to matter. They fell down and others kept on coming. They didn't care.'
Chase straightened up. He couldn't decide whether Dan was delirious or was relating what had actually happened. They sounded likj mutes, but he wasn't sure. White things that cried? 'Were they armed, did they have weapons of any kind?' he asked.
'Didn't see any,' Dan mumbled. 'Babies . . .' He was breathing in long moaning sighs, fully asleep.
