American, the silenced pistol she had carried in the final assault against the Womb. A stainless steel six-inch Python from the pistol cabinet, then considering, a second one, as well. Perhaps for Annie, perhaps just to hold in reserve.
He had sent Michael on alone with the last batch of weapons and ammo for them, working fever-ishly to deactivate the weapons Natalia and Paul had not had the time to take care of earlier. To reactivate them, a machinist with gunsmithing abilities would be needed—he doubted any of the cannibals would qualify. He replaced the last of the revolvers—the firing pin removed—in the cabinet, dropping the firing pin with the others in the musette bag at his left side. He turned when he heard the sound of fingers rapping against a door frame, one of the Detonics Scoremasters coming from his trouser band into his right fist. But it was Natalia.
She was smiling. “I found our door. Another air lock. It looks as though it was never used. I opened it. It leads out on the far side of the mountain— there’s a valley beyond, I climbed up some distance. I got our bearings. We can ride through the valley and then go directly south for perhaps a day and then turn east and intersect our original trail here. It should even save us a day’s travel time and the path down from the doorway isn’t so steep that we can’t walk the bikes.”
“What can I say?” Rourke smiled.
“I know what you’ll say. Go get Michael and Paul and Madison and meet you by the doorway.”
“Where is it?”
“In the back wall of the conference room.”
Rourke started toward the doorway. “We’ll get the others together—come on,” and he took her hand in his and started into the corridor.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Madison showed me the hydroelectric power plant for this place—it was only a matter of time. No one had repaired or serviced the generators for so long some of the parts were starting to seize with rust. They would have lost their electrical power here in another year at the most. And the backup generator was so heavily greased it wouldn’t have functioned,” Michael announced, walking beside his father.
Rourke only nodded, turning into the corridor which led toward the conference room. He glanced back once —Michael was wheeling one of the Harleys, Paul another and Natalia a third. Madison—like Rourke—was festooned with ar-mament, bringing up the rear.
“When we reach those doors, Natalia, you go first to lead the way—I’ll leave last in case anything goes wrong inside here,” Rourke or-dered. They were at the conference room doors now and Rourke stopped, letting Michael roll the Low Rider past him, then letting Natalia and Paul do the same with the other two bikes. As Madison passed through, looking nervously behind her, Rourke fell into step with her. “Relax,” he told her. “The worst is over—you and Michael will be happy together.”
“But this place—the Place—I—“
“It’s all right now—don’t worry, you’re safe,” and he stopped near the head of the conference table, Natalia pulling open the inside air lock door, Paul Rubenstein helping her.
Natalia looked back once. “It’s very steep seeming—but it can be walked without difficulty, you’ll find. We’ll each need help getting the bikes over the door flanges here and beyond.”
“Natalia can help me after I help her, John,” the younger man volunteered. “Ml take care of it on this end— Natalia, be careful,” Rourke told her matter-of-factly.
Natalia smiled, nodding. Rourke stepped to the other side of her bike, helping her roll the Harley over the inside air lock flange—the air lock was similar to the type found on a submarine and, Rourke theorized, likely bought from surplus or manufactured to naval specifications in the same factory. Natalia’s bike was through, Rourke helping Rubenstein then. He heard Paul Rubenstein’s voice from beyond the interior air lock door. “Wait up a minute—have Michael wait—crowded in here—too crowded.” “Right,” Rourke called back—he looked at his son, standing beside Madison. “You two are next,” he told them. And then Rourke heard another sound—almost too low to hear but his hearing had always been good and he had always trained himself to listen for sounds that shouldn’t be there.
This was such a sound—almost impossible to discern, it was the guttural cry of
one of the cannibals and it came from beyond the conference
%
room doors and somewhere inside the Place.
Chapter Sixty
Michael had pushed Madison through the inside air lock door and swung his M-16 forward so rapidly that momentarily Rourke had been shocked by his son’s instant apprehension of the danger. He was learning, John Rourke thought. Rourke started toward the conference room doors, running now, the M-16 in his right hand. He called to his son, his voice a rasping whisper,
“Don’t open lire—don’t make any loud noises. Let’s keep ‘em searching for us long enough to get everyone through. You go back—get Madison on the back of one of the bikes and ride like hell.”
“I’m staying with you. We’re—“
“Fighting together, that’s just what we’re doing. But the more people we have to get through that air lock the longer it’ll take. Just do as I say— I’m not plannin’ to wait around any longer than I have to. Have Paul ride with you—Natalia can be the last away. She’s gonna have to wait for me— we’re sharing the same bike.”
His son’s brown eyes could only be described by one word, Rourke thought—intense. Michael Rourke extended his right hand. “Dad—“ Rourke took his son’s hand in his, then folded his arms around him. “I love you— now get out of here.” v He felt the pressure of his son’s arms embrace him for a moment, then Michael was starting in a long-strided run back toward the air lock. “If you aren’t following us in five minutes—well, Paul can carry double on his bike too and I’ll be back, Dad.”
Rourke smiled at his son. “I know you will— now hurry,” and Michael started the last bike through the interior air lock door.
Rourke worked the selector of the M-16 to auto, waiting. Rolling back the knit cuff of his battered brown bomber jacket, he glanced at the luminous black face of the Rolex Submariner—he would give Michael and the others three minutes only. No more would be needed.
Rourke reached into his inside jacket pocket— he clamped the cigar, unlit, between his teeth, biting down hard on it, waiting. The shouts, the cries—they grew louder now.
Footsteps behind him—Rourke wheeled, the M-16 low, his finger nearly touching the trigger.
“Natalia—what the hell are—“ “Paul and I decided. Michael and Madison can make it on their own—Paul’s outside with the bikes.”
Rourke shook his head, then turned back to the doorway, Natalia taking the opposite side, an M-16 locked in each fist. “When they come,” Rourke told her, “empty your guns down the center of the corridor and run for it. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Agreed—I love you.”
“I love you too—what the hell we’re gonna do about it, I don’t know.”
“Sarah will change her mind.”
“I don’t think so—but she’s still my wife.”
“I understand that—I always have. It doesn’t change how I feel.”
“I know that,” Rourke told her. “I’m sorry—“
“For the way you are? Don’t be—don’t ever be, John. If someday—well, then we will. But I don’t need that to love you, do you know that?” “Yes,” Rourke almost whispered. “I’m glad you’re with me.” He saw them—the first of the cannibals as they raced along the corridor from where the corridor bent. “Don’t shoot yet,” Rourke commanded. “I want the whole corridor full of them.”
Natalia didn’t answer. Rourke shifted the M-16 from his right fist into his left. With his right hand, he drew one of the recently liberated Detonics Scoremaster pistols, jacking back the hammer, the chamber already loaded in this pistol as well as its twin still tucked into his belt. More of the cannibals, the cannibals filling the corridor. “Now!” Rourke shouted, pumping the M-16’s trigger in a three-round burst, Natalia stepping into the doorway, both M-16s spitting fire from her hands, the Scoremaster in Rourke’s right fist bucking again and again, waves of the cannibals going down, stone clubs launched toward them, falling just short of the doorway. “Empty!” Natalia shouted.
fi
“Run for it—I’ll cover you!”
