sobbing child.
“Colonel,” said the soldier reporting in, “we’ve got an eyewitness who says the organism pursued some civilians into the sewers.”
The child’s voice burst out over the radio. “My name is Anthony, and that thing has Eddie and Kevin and Meg down there!”
Dr. Trimble blinked. The sewer system. Of course. That was where it probably traveled with greatest ease in its present form. And what better place to stopper the thing up?
“Excellent,” he said. “We need a schematic of the sewer system. We’ll isolate it and contain it down there. I want that organism
“What about the civilians?” asked Colonel Hargis.
Dr. Trimble sighed. “I’m afraid, Colonel, that we are dealing with a matter of paramount importance. In this situation civilians, I’m sorry to say, are expendable.”
The words rang in Brian Flagg’s ears.
“It’s got Eddie and Kevin and Meg down there.”
Outrage filled him. But more, Brian felt fear for Meg Penny. This was his fault. He felt ashamed.
Most of all he felt angry. That creature, that hungry blob of death—it was more important to these scientists, these military men, than the lives of the citizens of Morgan City.
And though Morgan City had never done much for him, it was his home. And the people… well, they hadn’t been much of a family to him, but they were all he had.
And they were human beings. Not monsters, like those goons down there, blithely talking about Morgan City residents being “expendable”!
A hand reached down and grabbed him by the shoulder, yanking him up. He found himself staring into the faceplate of a soldier.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the soldier demanded.
As Brian struggled to get away, he could see the men down by the crater turning toward him. He caught Dr. Trimble’s eyes, and knew at once that Trimble recognized him.
Damn. Had to get outta here. Had to.
He pulled out Moss’s ratchet and cracked the soldier across the head with it. The man staggered back, dropping his gun, blood running into his eyes and down his nose, and gave off a blubbering scream.
Brian lit out through the bushes, back for his bike, running for his life.
He’d seen his death in Dr. Trimble’s eyes. Trimble knew that he’d overheard.
He raced to where he’d left his bike, lifted it up, kick-started it into grumbling life, and gunned the motor.
Behind him he heard the loudspeaker blast away with a message. He recognized Trimble’s amplified voice, and it sounded cold and menacing, echoing through the night above the sound of his growling motorbike.
“WE HAVE AN INFECTED CIVILIAN TRYING TO ESCAPE. STOP HIM AT ALL COSTS BEFORE HE REACHES A POPULATED AREA. SHOOT TO KILL.”
Up ahead, bathed in moonlight, was the road to freedom. The road away from Morgan City. All he had to do was to hit that road, put on some speed, and get the hell out of there.
But he knew he couldn’t do it. He knew now he couldn’t leave Meg and the rest of Morgan City at the mercy of that mutated organism, that mutated scientist.
He turned the handlebars, cutting a hard U-turn.
If he could just get around that army, now.
Above he could hear the distant sound of helicopter rotors. Ahead he could hear the yapping of dogs, the shouts of men. He cut off to the field past the trees and gunned the engine, zooming and bouncing along away from the main encampment.
A whole crew of soldiers were running down the hill now toward him, and bright flowers of gunfire blossomed in the dark. The dogs were let loose, and he could hear them barking behind him. A searchlight from the approaching helicopter raked along the field like a starship’s laser, looking to fry one desperately fleeing biker.
No, he thought, riding hard, riding low. It didn’t look good. Didn’t look good at all.
But up ahead all was clear.
No soldiers coming toward him; they were all behind him.
And then the jeeps cut him off.
The staccato blasts of gunfire ripped the ground just yards from him. These bastards meant business.
He was trapped!
Desperate, with only seconds left before they closed in on him tight as a bear trap, he recognized where he was.
Up ahead was that ridge of the riverbed, the one with the jutting bridge ruins, the one that had beaten him before. It was his last hope. He turned around, gunned the bike, and jammed it into gear, racing for the gully.
Even as he picked up speed, the dog pack closed in on him, snapping at his heels. But he upped his speed, racing ahead of them.
He threw the throttle even wider, all the way and then some…
And just as when he’d tried it before, the engine sputtered. The bike lost speed. The dogs gained.
“Not now!” Brian Flagg cried. “Please… !”
He heard the sound of gunfire behind him. A bullet smashed through his rearview mirror, shattering it.
“C’mon, c’mon!” he cried. Damn thing! He stepped down on the kick start.
Hard.
The engine screamed to life, and the bike rocketed forward with a burst of new speed. Brian hung on for dear life as the ramp of the bridge approached.
“Whooaaaaa!” cried Brian, feeling as if he were surfing on a tornado.
The ramp loomed. Brian’s bike hit it. He felt the bike lift up with a tremendous surge, like the fiercest roller coaster ride imaginable. The helicopter’s searchlight flashed across him briefly, but he was going too fast. It lost him, and then he started coming down.
Coming down, coming down.
Coming down, heart in his throat, the wind blasting into his face. He had to concentrate on keeping the wheels straight, or he was lost. Wheels straight… wheels straight…
Thump! Thump crunch! He landed, the wheels turning beneath him, and all his powers of balance were put to the test.
Somehow, with the help of his shoes angled out against the old road, he stayed upright.
He roared off into the night, flipping the bird to the barking dogs on the other side of the bridge.
Brian Flagg gunned his motorbike and headed toward Morgan City.
But he couldn’t get there.
Not on his bike, anyway.
It was that helicopter, that goddamn whirlybird. It was after him, and fast as Brian Flagg was on his Indian bike, it was much faster.
Its searchlight caught him once, but Brian pulled a neat evasive maneuver, heading off to the west of Morgan City.
Besides, he had an idea.
He knew where he was going now, and he ate up the distance quickly, the helicopter still on his tail.
The aqueduct was up there, in the foothills. Yeah, he thought, pushing the engine hard, praying it didn’t quit on him. When he reached the aqueduct, he rolled down into the concrete riverbed.
The helicopter swept past, searching, searching.
Gotta hide the bike, he thought, cutting the engine, laying the machine down in a pile of reeds.
Then, dodging the probing searchlight, he splashed up through the trickle in the concrete riverbed, up to the dark cave of the entrance. He crouched down in the shadows by the huge round pipe.
In the spring when the snows in the mountains melted, Morgan City would have floated away but for the
