Chapter Twenty-Eight
Endless. Endless corridors and endless hallways, all filled with darkness and a pregnant silence that seemed to hate being disturbed. Or it would have done, if the storm outside wasn't battering the sides of the windows, the walls, the paper-thin ceilings that seemed to sport a thousand leaks or outright holes, letting in the driving rain and wind.
And paper-thin was exactly how Clint was feeling, half jogging and half walking along with Wilson and his pack of assholes. And all they need do is realise this pistol isn't loaded and that paper gets ripped apart. They'll kill me and leave me in this endless labyrinth. He gripped the pistol and the cold embryo case tighter. Best they don't find out then. These things are my only chance right now.
Clint hated all of it. The darkness. The storm. The never ending twists and turns of this musty and dank smelling lab. And the group he was with. The group he was beginning to realise he was one of now, in a way. He felt a stab of regret, wishing he was back with the innocent survivors that he'd come to know the past few days. Good people. Good people that he knew he didn't fit in with. He wasn't a good person. As Gail so kindly reminded me.
They had been shuffling through the bowels of the lab for twenty minutes now, taking countless turns and passing through countless rooms. Wilson had vented more fury, finding fallen debris from outside obstructing one route they'd tried, forcing them to backtrack around and taking just as long to get the other side of the huge pylons that had toppled through the walls across the corridor. Clint looked out at the angry weather, pummelling the nearby jungle and seeming just as ferocious as some of the monsters that he knew were out there. At least they aren't in here.
They were passing along a carpeted corridor, and in the flashes of light from the storm Clint could make out the words on some of the doors as they passed. Conference Room 02, Auditorium, Admin, Restrooms. The list went on.
Wilson pushed the door open to the auditorium room, leading them across a small stage area with a desk and projector screen, facing several banks of ascending seats. Looked like the classroom Clint had been in on his first and only day at college, before he'd decided education wasn't for him. Before he'd started making all his bad decisions. Might be I should have stuck it out.
They made their way up the central aisle of steps, pushing through a door at the top and swapping one dark room for another dark corridor. The door banged shut behind Clint and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Made him aware of just how tense he was. The sound brought everything he'd done recently into sharp relief for him.
He'd made his choices, first with Dodgson, now with Wilson. Seemed he had a habit of choosing the easy way out. Except it wasn't easy, was it? Wilson or anyone of these men might suddenly decide to chance his luck with him and his empty pistol. He'd caught Wilson glancing at the case more than once, clearly dying to get his hands on it. And small wonder. I know why you want these embryo's, you prick. Nedry didn't deliver, and this is your ticket just as much as it is mine. Well, you just keep on walking. Prick. Thing was, how easy was it going to be to carry on this charade?
He was very aware of just how close Rhodes was stood to him, the barrel of his gun not far away. Clint had seen far too many gun barrels near him recently. He manoeuvred himself away from Rhodes, trying to look like he wasn't bluffing his way along with them, with everything. Which they probably all know I am doing anyway. Look at them, the pricks, just waiting for me to slip up. Maybe I am just waiting for me to slip up too.
He heard something thump, maybe in the auditorium room they'd just passed through. Could have been a door closing or could have been one of the folding chairs swinging on its hinge. Or it could have been anything, like the storm or just the strange way the whole building seemed to creak and bump. Or it could be her. My shadow.
Clint glanced at the others, stood there as Wilson looked up the corridor, checking his orientation. Seemed like they hadn't heard the sound. Clint frowned, wondering if he should say something. He opened his mouth but found it was dry, no words were willing to come out. He felt very out of place right then, caught in the company of people he really didn't want to be with, and even worse, knowing there was no way out. No backing out now. He'd made that choice, thrown his lot in with a murderer and his goons, and their way was the only way now. Am I any less of a murderer though?
"How much further to this communication room then?" said Cutter suddenly, his voice slicing through the corridor and making Clint's mouth snap shut. Wilson huffed in response, his face pinched irritably.
"Its the other side of the complex,'' he said.
"That sounds far,'' said Cutter, his voice flat.
"I'm taking us the quickest route I can,'' snapped Wilson. "Come on, this way." Wilson stalked off into the gloom and Cutter and his men followed, their eyes darting this way and that, always snapping back to Clint, watching him. Clint watched them back, trying to look as mean as they did. Didn't feel very convincing. He glanced over his shoulder at the door they had come through, still sure he'd heard something. It stayed closed even as he rounded the corner and it disappeared from view.
He could hear Cutter again, that voice sounding harsh in the confinements of the hallways.
"The woman. Who is she?"
"Which one?" asked Wilson, not looking at Cutter as they crossed a high catwalk above a wide room, the floor lost to darkness. Clint moved closer to them, pushing past Rhodes and Clem.
"The dangerous one." They crossed the catwalk and Wilson led them through a door, then tried another which was locked. He hissed in annoyance again.
"Dangerous one? What are you talking about? You mean Jane Marsden?"
"No, the tall one,'' said Cutter, moving Wilson aside and kicking the locked door open in one fluid and savage movement. The splinters of the ruined doorframe fell to the floor as Cutter poked his head in the room and then back at Wilson, his eyebrows raised in expectation of an answer.
"He means Gail,'' said Clint, suddenly finding his voice. And suddenly wondering why he'd spoken. Too late now. Cutter and Wilson rounded on him, Cutter suddenly looming up. He really was quite a large man, now that he was stood in front of Clint. Definitely too late.
"Who is she?" said Cutter again. Wilson looked bewildered as he stood beside him.
"I don't know,'' said Clint, trying to not let his voice crack, and trying to show everyone he still had hold of the pistol. And the case. "But she knows. She knows everything. About Nedry."
"Everything!?" snarled Wilson. "She works the control room on Nublar. She's a nobody! What do you fucking mean she knows everything?" Clint could feel the hole he'd dug getting deeper. He didn't know why it felt wrong to be saying all this, especially since Gail was his enemy now, and always had been. This was your choice.
"She said InGen knew about Nedry, knew that someone was talking. She knew about me."
"And me?" Wilson's eyes were bright, wild.
"Not until you started pointing guns at people," said Clint, shaking his head. Wilson's lip curled, those eyes growing darker. Colder.
"This doesn't answer who she is,'' said Cutter. "She moves like an operative. She knows what she's doing."
"Surprisingly she didn't tell me any of that,'' said Clint. Although I figured that bit out anyway when she gave me that beating. "I only know she works for InGen, but it wasn't Hammond who hired her. Someone else must be pulling the strings on her."
Wilson huffed again and spun away, raising his hands up.
"This just keeps getting better,'' he said incredulously. "So not only is she a dangerous operative of some sort, that knows all about what is going on here, but she's also been hired by someone else at InGen who also had an inkling some of us weren't playing ball? If she gets off the island then that's it. We need to find her." He looked off into the darkness beneath the catwalk. "She's got to die."
"Don't be a fool,'' said Cutter. "You worry about getting us to the communications room. I'll worry about this Gail woman." He pushed past Clint, his shoulder bumping against Clint's painfully. Watch it you prick. "Clem, you hear all that?" The British man nodded. "Eyes open, I want you watching our six. This bitch will come to us, so let's not stop her." His leant closer to Clem, his voice dropping lower. "We won't be her first targets either. Let's use that as an advantage." Clem nodded and checked his rifle, a grim look on his face. Clint pushed the doubt aside that he'd just betrayed Gail. How could it be a betrayal anyway. The bitch had me bound and beaten an hour ago. What do I care if these assholes kill her?
Clint swallowed the sour spit in his mouth, pushing that doubt even further down and summoning up that desire to just survive. That desire he felt to just get through all this, and to hell with who got hurt. The time for doing the decent thing was long gone now. No more pulling people from trucks or volunteering to go look for some lost colleagues. No more offering to put his life on the line to help anyone else, to hold onto them as they hung inches from the jaws of the fucking monsters out there. His fingers curled around the handle of the case, the metal squeaking beneath his grip. He'd been selfish when he'd accepted Dodgson's deal, when he'd fired blindly on the ship, dooming others. It was time to be selfish again. Time to survive.
"Fine. Let's get going then,'' said Wilson, running a hand through his greasy blonde hair. Cutter grunted and followed after him, stepping through the ruined doorway. Clint jogged just behind them with Rhodes, whilst Clem hung back, keeping an eye behind them all. Clint heard one of them checking the magazine of their rifle and re-fitting it, the metallic clicks sounding ominous in his ears.
Clint found himself beside Wilson, following the mans lead as he picked their way through the dark lab. Clint watched him, as best he could see, seeing that hard face, those hard eyes. Had I looked like that? When Gail pointed that gun at me on the ship? That moment that had sent all this spiralling out of control? Probably not. Probably just too terrified. Clint remembered the last time he'd really seen Wilson, back at the village. Those hard eyes looking down at that old doctor who been slashed to ribbons. Clint sighed, realising.
"It was you, wasn't it?" he said.
"What?" said Wilson, his voice prickly.
"The old doctor. Sturridge. You killed him didn't you?" Wilson shot Clint a look in the dark, as if he had just poked him in the side with a knife and he wasn't too happy about it. A look of pain and anger.
"It doesn't matter what I did. Just getting out of here matters."
"Why did you do it though?"
"What do you care," spat Wilson. "Grew fond of him, did you?"
"You know what I mean,'' said Clint, feeling his dislike for Wilson deepen to new depths. Wilson huffed.
"I didn't want to. He found me, talking to Dodgson. It just…got out of hand." Out of hand? Guess I can't judge. I blew up the ship after all. But then again, I know it doesn't hold much weight when you say you never meant for anything to happen.
"And giving those false coordinates, on the radio,'' said Clint. "Was that 'out of hand'?
"What are you, my fucking conscience?'' said Wilson. "I was never even speaking to anyone then. Just made the whole thing up. Had to make it look like there was a reason for everyone to stay at the village." He pushed his way through another door, the others following behind them. "I was trying to do everyone a favour. Trying to get away, so there weren't anymore accidents. Like Graham."
"Great planning,'' muttered Clint.
"Everything just kept going to shit,'' said Wilson. "That idiot Bertram running off, that fucking icy toned bitch Marsden getting into trouble going after him." Clint could see him opening and closing his hands, his frustration clear. "Then I got caught up with Williams, helping go look for them. Always a delay. Always a damn hitch." Clint frowned, realising he hadn't thought about Williams, or Bertram or any of the others really. He bit his lips angrily, hating that he cared.
"What happened to them?" asked Clint.
"The hell if I know,'' said Wilson. "I got away, even with a whole fucking pack of velociraptors after us. Left them at a handler station. I thought they'd be safe there." His voice sounded like he was being sincere. Tortured, but sincere.
"Meaning they weren't?"
"I don't know. Shit, get off my case. They got here in the end. That bitch Marsden made sure of it. But, well, Bertram didn't." Clint felt like someone had pulled something in his guts.
"What?"
"Don't ask me for the details. I don't know. But he's dead." Clint felt himself frowning, seeing BB's big face in his mind. He was just a child. A big, overgrown child. What the fuck? Oh fuck no. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, or hold off the crack in his voice. He didn't sound very successful.
"You said the others got here? Williams?" Adam looked sideways at him, one hard eye glinting in the dark.
"The time for sentimentality or second thoughts has gone Barker. As long as you are holding that case, you're with us. You got that?"
"Oh, I got it. Don't you fucking worry.'' He tried to sound stern, but he was pretty unsuccessful at that too. I sound frightened. And unsure. And who the fuck could blame me? Probably everyone, actually. Clint sighed, trying to sound like a purposeful huff. He hung his head, feeling more alone than he had ever felt before.
"When I left to find Wallace, and the others,'' said Clint, wrinkling his nose at the expected answer coming, "you asked me to find them. Pleaded. Saying they were your friends. Was that true? Or just more ballshit?" Wilson was quiet for a few moments, just the trudging sound of their steps in the dark and the occasional sniff from the other men.
"I did want you to find them. They are my friends. Did you find them?" Clint shook his head, and Wilson's lip curled.
"Really? Even if they knew all about this?" said Clint, trying to poke at Wilson to shift some of the misery.
"What do you think?" said Wilson coldly. "As I said, I didn't mean for any of this. I was hoping to be long gone by the time you either found Sid or not. I had to do what I needed to." He was quiet again. "And I'd do it again. This is the only way for me." He pushed open another door and strode ahead, leaving Clint a few steps behind. The only way for me too.
They moved through the lab slightly quicker now, Adam picking up his pace a bit. They crossed a large open room with tall ceilings and high catwalks. They moved along the ground, amongst what looked like large glass domed containers of some sort. Large mechanical arms leant across the room from solid looking bases, their sides covered in a dizzying array of buttons and wires. Clint frowned at the robotic machinery, half fearing the arms would come to life, plucking at him or ripping away the case from his hands.
The lightening continued to flash above, through the high glass ceilings, throwing the room into sporadic bursts of white and black, and leaving Clints eyes smarting, needing to constantly adjust. Phantom people walked beside him, the shadows of the armed men and Wilson. He caught glimpses of their faces between the light, hard and grim. Probably just like his own. Faces determined to do what needed to be done. To survive. Or to commit murder. Clint felt it was becoming harder to tell the difference now.
He watched Wilson as they descended some stairs, wondering what had happened to the affable doctor that had willingly patched people up on the beach and on the way to the village. The man who had grasped Sidney Wallace's hand on the beach when the warden had first appeared and seemed so relieved to see a friend alive. The man had made the odd joke, here and there, despite the danger they had all passed through. Was it all an act? Just like me? A man hiding who he really was?
They reached a wide set of double doors, and Clint could hear the storm outside, the rain drumming on the doors and the wind seeking out any cracks or holes to howl through. Clint thought he could feel tremors through the ground, but it could have just been the thunder in the sky above. Please be thunder.
Wilson threw the doors open and the storm attacked them immediately. Clint felt rain on his face, the wind blowing his hair across his eyes. He looked out of the doors, seeing a wide-open forecourt, similar to the loading area they'd arrived at and found on fire. This one looked mercifully deserted of fire, dinosaurs and anything else. Just an open space of dark between the arms of the building, the darker mass of the jungle off to the left, its swaying bulk making it look like some writhing monster. Across the forecourt Clint could see a flickering emergency light above another set of double doors. Lightening flashed and revealed the shape of the building, rising up two storeys with sets of windows looking down into the open area in front of them. A shadow moved in one of the windows, distorted and strange, and then it was gone. Clint rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the blinking shapes swimming in his vision. He looked hard at the window, but it was just a dark square now.
Another flash of lightening and Wilson pointed up and beyond the far wing of the lab. A tall tower loomed in the night, its top just poking above the roofline in front of them. It put Clint in mind of a control tower at an airport.
"There,'' shouted Wilson, above the storm. Cutter nodded, and that seemed to be the signal to move. They ducked out into the rain, moving quickly across the forecourt. Not nearly quickly enough. Clint couldn't take his eyes off the jungle to his left, just waiting for one of those monsters to come charging out at them. Or a whole fucking horde of the damn things.
They reached the far wall and Cutter shouldered the door open, ducking inside and pointing his rifle into the dark. Clem and Rhodes urged Clint in after them and they shut the doors behind them. Water dripped down Clints nose as he panted in the dark, the short dash taking more of a toll on his lungs than he cared to admit. He felt the strong urge for a cigarette.
"This way," murmured Wilson, and then they were off again, moving through more hallways and office style corridors. Vending machines and water coolers lined the walls, with the occasional potted plant, their long climbing stems and leaves making Clint jerk away as he passed them. In the dark, anything could look like a grasping set of claws. And in the daytime too.
They reached the end of the hallway and Clint caught the unmistakeable smell of food in the air. Not fresh food, not by a long way, but the mouth-watering smell of food that has been cooked in a room day in and day out. He peered off into the gloom and saw tables and chairs in a wide space, the flashes from outside catching the chrome and dull metal edges of the furniture. He could even see the small caddy's of salt and sachet's of sauces on each table. Beyond, the serving hatches of the cafeteria hung like dark holes in the blackness. For once though, the blackness was inviting. Fuck but a hamburger would be welcome right now. Some onions too. And some French fries. Oh God.
Wilson led them through the cafeteria, weaving between the tables and chairs. Clint caught the edge of a chair and dragged its metal legs across the floor, a horrible squeal tearing through the heavy silence of the dining room. Cutter frowned at Clint, his bushy eyebrows sinking into his eyes.
"Don't do that again,'' he said, looming up. His slab of a face said more than if he'd held the gun to Clint's face. Clint held the mans eyes, staring into the two pin pricks of light in those dark sockets. The threat was very real, and Clint did not doubt the man. He felt his guts churn a bit at the thought that this man might well be the one to put a bullet in his head. Don't give him a reason though. He caught Wilson staring at him again, and then at the case, the mans face a picture of annoyance and fear.
"Hey, nobody touches him whilst he's holding that case. Anything happens to those embryo's…"
"Yes, yes, yes,'' hissed Cutter, flapping his hand at Wilson. "Clem, keep a watch on that rear entrance, I saw a figure abo…"
A sound echoed down the far corridor. A strange sound. Alien. But Clint had heard it. Only a few times, and even as they'd driven away from the village he'd known there was something to be feared. The terror and urgency in Lockwood when she'd seen that animal had been enough for him. The sound came again, and then again, and then an animalistic scream, unlike anything Clint had ever heard finished it off, fading back into the storm. He looked at Wilson, and the man's hands were twitching.
"Fuck,'' he breathed. "They shouldn't be here."
"What is it?" said Cutter, tilting his head back slightly and looking down his nose.
"Raptors,'' said Wilson. Cutter squinted at him.
"Like the birds?"
"No, not like the damn birds,'' said Wilson, looking about quickly. "Velociraptors. We need to go."
Lightening flashed and barking started again, somewhere far off. Clint felt his had shake slightly, the empty gun in his hand rattling. Those things wont care if its loaded or not. Shit.
"Rhodes, with me,'' said Cutter, flicking a bolt on his rifle. "You two, in there with Clem until we're back." He pointed at the serving hatches to the kitchen area. Wilson frowned, looking like hiding was furthest from his thoughts. Ah, so you're a flyer rather than a freezer. "Clem, you see anything with a tail…"
"Got it," said Clem, checking his weapon. Cutter and Rhodes slipped away towards the far hallway like two shadows. Clint was already moving, keeping the case close to his body as he pushed his way through the swing door into the kitchen. The smell of once cooking food was stronger here, and his stomach growled painfully in between the twists of fear that were gripping him.
The snarls and screams of the raptors came again, echoing off the walls and in between the thunder. Wilson came pushing through after Clint, with Clem hovering in the doorway in a sort of crouch, his weapon pointing out into the dining area. The light flashed in his eyes, calm and focused. Anything but how Clint felt. He doesn't know what these things can do though. Neither do I, for that matter.
Clint crouched down by the lower sill of the hatch, not close to Wilson but not too far either. He could hear the doctor muttering to himself.
"Not my fault, not my fault…" Clint looked sideways at him, and Wilson frowned back at him. "What?" he whispered harshly.
"Just wondering how you ended up in such a mess like I did," whispered Clint. "Wondering what he promised you that was worth all this for." Wilson turned away, his lip curling again in that way. He poked his head above the sill and looked out into the quiet dining room before ducking back down.
"Its not what he promised me,'' said Wilson quietly. "It what he threatened me with." Wilson looked like a defeated man in that brief moment, caught between what he needed to do and what he didn't want to do. "I didn't want any of this. Didn't want to hurt anyone. But he got dirt on me. He threatened, and we struck a deal." Wilson's hands gripped the sill, his knuckles pale. "Not my fault."
Clint didn't say anything. Just felt the hopelessness washing off of Wilson right then. The same feeling of desperation he'd felt when Dodgson had found him and offered him that cash to do a little job for him. A little job that had turned into a much larger nightmare. He looked at Wilson again, and for a brief moment felt the pity. Or at least imagined it, as he had hoped others might feel for him. Maybe the jury, when they hauled him in front of the court for the espionage charges. Or Gail, when she next found him, surely intent on finishing the job.
Clint breathed out slowly, the confusing emotions in his head and heart swirling in a maelstrom of nausea. The survivor inside him flared up again, he sniffed. Fuck him. Regret of not, this prick will hang me out to dry first chance he gets. So will the rest of them. At least the dinosaurs won't fuck me before they kill me. I'm getting out of here, and never looking back.
Something clacked on the hard floor of the dining area and they all stiffened. Clint saw Clem coiling up, his arms raising his weapon as he pressed himself against the doorframe. Clint held his breath as something hissed out in the darkness beyond. The blood thumped in his neck, and he could feel his palms beginning to sweat. As if they have ever really stopped.
There was a scuffling of something on the floor and then a big dark shape vaulted through the hatchway, thumping down in front of Clint, who squeaked in fright, kicking his legs away from the shape. The black thing spun around, arms flashing and back twisting. A finger suddenly appeared at Clints lips, along with the barrel of Rhodes gun. Rhodes stared into his eyes for a moment, before reaching out and pulling a tray out of the nearest trolley. Clint caught sight of a few food items. Looked like part baked pastries or pies of some description. He could smell the flour dusting on their tops, and then Rhodes was throwing them out into the dining hall as far as he could.
"Distraction," mouthed Rhodes. Clem appeared by his side and together they pressed themselves against the wall besides Clint and Wilson, all of them silent. Rhodes put his finger to his lips again. Not really necessary. I'm too busy trying not to piss my pants to make any noise.
Something moved out in the dining hall. Clint heard it. A solid and confident thump followed by a click. Thump, click. Thump, click. Thump, click.
Then the purring. The throatiest, heaviest purr Clint had ever heard. Something was moving, out in the dining hall, stalking and prowling. Clint could hear it breathing, hear the air moving in and out of its body. It sounded horribly close. Maybe just the other side of the thin divide between the kitchen and the hall. He could feel his own breath, moving quickly, dragging at his throat, threatening to wheeze its way out of his lungs and make him cough. He looked about, seeing wide eyes around him in the dark. It did nothing for the terror pulsing through him.
The lightening flashed and illuminated the back wall of the kitchen, throwing the shadows from the oven hoods and shelves across the plaster wall. And the shadow of the dinosaur.
Even for the fleeting second, Clint caught a good look at its shape. Just like the thing he'd seen at the village. A tall animal, with a long snout. He could see the forearms, held low. The lasting impression of sharp claws flashed across his vision before the light faded and plunged them all back into darkness. All of us, and that thing. Just stay calm. It will leave. It has to. Please, please, please.
He heard a strange snuffling, and then snorting and sniffing. It was investigating something. Then the nasty sounds of its mouth going at something. The pastries? Shit. What if it wants more and comes this way. Suddenly that distraction doesn't seem like such a good idea.
There was a reptilian snort and a shape appeared above them. Clint held his breath and pressed himself into the wall, trying to squash himself into the underside of the hatch sill. A sill that, just above, currently had a dinosaur sticking its head through.
He could see the wrinkles and scales of its throat and underside of its jaw. Pale, even in the dark. He could smell it, as it hovered there, its snout swaying slightly as it looked about the kitchen. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, itching at his scalp. If it looks down its going to see us. Oh Jesus. Clint wished the pistol in his hand really was loaded. He felt so small, cowering from this thing.
The dinosaur snarled and leapt forward, landing on the hatch opening sill. Two pointed toes dug into the metal of the sill, inches above Clint's face. Then the huge sickle shaped talon clicked down, sending a metallic ding throughout the kitchen. It sprang forward again, a dark shape flashing above and landing in the kitchen, its tail swaying just above Clint and brushing against the open hatch. In the flashes of lightening, he could see its muscled legs, its hanging claws. Its back was striped with black against a dull orange colour.
The animal sniffed deeply at the trolley of pastries, its head coiling and twisting as it investigated the food. It's purring was so loud. Almost hypnotic. Clint looked at it, wide eyed, waiting for it to realise they were all there, like sitting ducks. He heard movement shuffle beside him and he turned just as Rhodes aimed his weapon at the dinosaur. Clint gasped, watching the man's forearm flex as his finger curled around the trigger. Rhode's eyes were narrowed. The animals tail scraped along the wall as it turned, and Clint saw it look directly at him.
There was an inhuman screech, mixed with a hungry snarl, and then Rhodes was yelling as he opened fire. The room ignited in sporadic flashes of yellow light as his weapon discharged, jumping and flashing shadows jerking all around them as the kitchen erupted into chaos.
The raptor moved like a bullet as well. A dark blur of muscle, claw and screeching fury. Clint thought he heard wet thuds and flashes of red on its body before it crashed past another trolley, sending trays and food scattering across the floor and banging off work surfaces. Rhodes was yelling again, standing up and firing after it as it sprang through the shadows between the units. Clint felt hands grasp his shirt. He wheeled around, his face snarling in sudden anger and terror. Clem was shouting at him.
"Let's go!" The man was hauling Clint towards the door, and then Wilson was pushing past him, throwing the door open and running out into the dining hall. Chairs toppled over as Wilson pushed past them, half throwing them out of the way. Rhodes appeared by Clint, grabbing him.
"Move your fucking ass, idiot!"
Clint heard snarling and more crashing coming from the kitchen, and then he was moving with the others, through the dining hall and down the hall that Cutter had gone. Clint was already panting, his heart beating fast and threatening to jump up his throat. His arms pumped up and down as they ran, the case in his hand feeling heavier and heavier with every step. He was sorely tempted to throw it away and take his chances without it.
Cutter suddenly appeared up ahead, pressed into the wall by a turning in the hall. His bald head swivelled round, hard eyes locked in a narrow glare of focus.
"This way, now!" he said. Wilson almost skidded to a stop.
"The communications room is further down that way!"
"And so are more of those damn turkeys,'' said Cutter. "And I'm not fighting my way through them. I don't have the ammo or the men." His voice left little room for argument, and neither did the way he grabbed hold of Wilson and slung him down the turning of the corridor. Clint followed, Rhodes and Clem flanking him as they ushered Wilson along. Clint could hear them all panting as well. He caught a look at Clem. The mans eyes were like Cutters: focused, hard, but with a trace of nervous fear.
Cutter pushed his way through them, leading them up a set of steps. Clint's elbow bumped painfully on the banister as they sprang up the steps. Behind them, the enraged noise of the raptors seemed to echo throughout the halls. Sounded like there was hundreds of them.
Cutter shouldered his way through a door at the top of the steps and Clint stumbled through after him, almost falling to his knees as his momentum carried him through.
They were in a locker room. Or maybe some sort of staff room. Small sofa's were in the centre, with a couple of coffee tables. Mugs and plates were still on the tabletop. Clint could even smell the coffee. Around the walls and encroaching out into the room in two places were lockers, some of the doors with name tags across them or pictures of who the hell knew what. On another wall was a worktop with cabinets, a sink and all the apparatus to make bad coffee.
"Someone go check out th…" began Cutter before something slammed into the door as he was closing it. Cutter cried out as he was pushed back against the wall, and then Clem was rushing to his side, shouting and trying the heave the door shut. Clint could see the dinosaur, huge and snarling, as it pushed against the door, taloned hands gripping the doors edge, leaving long scratches in the wood. It screamed at them as it pushed, its eye visible in the dark. Wilson was then at the door too, pushing it closed. All the men were yelling, filling the room with the sound of madness and terror. Clint watched it all with his mouth open.
Cutter looked at Rhodes, sweat lining his bald head.
"Check the rear of the room!" Rhodes nodded and spun on his heel, disappearing into the dark beyond the lockers. Clint turned back just as the three men managed to push the door closed, shutting the raptor out amidst a cacophony of snarls and screeches. Clint felt nothing but the utter shock of seeing an animal so hell bent on death. He had seen its eyes, seen the murderous intent in them. Something Wilson has in common with these monsters.
Cutter twisted the door lock, and the door flexed slightly as the weight from outside pushed against the solid door. Clem and Wilson were still braced against it, but it seemed to be holding. Outside, the fury of the animal gradually subsided, allowing Clint to finally let go his breath. He felt a great urge to itch his leg, and piss. It had been too long since he'd not felt extreme terror around every corner. I wonder what will give out first, my bladder or my luck.
Cutter let go his own breath, a raspy sort of huff. He sniffed, looking angry.
"A little warning next time, eh?" Wilson shot him a look.
"I told you the dangers here. You're the ones with the guns!" Cutter just glared at him.
"Rhodes!" Cutter called. "Are we secure?" There was an unpleasant silence that followed, disturbed only by the faint drumming of the rain on a roof somewhere above. "Rhodes?!" Cutter's voice was picking up that angry rasp again, and his hands were itching towards his weapon.
"Its ok!" called Rhodes suddenly from the gloom. "One door. No turkeys. We are secure. Just sealing it now." Clint heard a door somewhere beyond being thumped. Rhodes apparently liked to make sure of the doors sturdiness. I don't blame him.
"Fucking hell,'' muttered Clem, as he moved away from the door. Not quite relaxing.
"Now what then?" said Wilson. "We just wait in here? We're trapped now."
"Wrong,'' said Cutter. "Rhodes has the other door. We re-group, get our shit back together and we push on. Now that I know what I am dealing with here."
Wilson spun away, muttering to himself and throwing dark looks at everyone. Clint just tried to fade into the background, clutching the case tight and taking a few minutes to settle his nerves and heart rate. That was too close. We really should push on.
He moved away from the locker he was leaning against and wound his way over to Rhodes by the other door. The breath caught in his throat when he saw a pair of boots on the floor, the toes pointing up.
"Fuck,'' he said. Must have been a note in his voice that immediately brough the others, Cutter at the forefront. They all moved towards the body on the floor slowly, the two rifles of Cutter and Clem pointed at the doorway. The door was ajar, the edge shut against the legs of the body.
Cutter reached Rhodes first, and pushed the door all the way open, looking down grimly. Clint drew level and looked down.
Rhodes lay fairly straight, his arms by his side and his legs together. His neck however was bent at an angle, a horribly unnatural angle. The points of the bones in his spine pushed against the skin, looking like they were trying to burst through, the skin around each point already bruised and swollen.
His face was still locked in a look of surprise, his mouth open in a silent gasp, his eyes looking. His weapons, rifle and handgun, were both gone. Beyond his body and down the hall were a criss-cross of long shadows, appearing and fading from the lightening as it flashed through the high windows.
"It's her,'' said Clint. Wilson looked at him with a look of barely contained fury. Maybe a touch of fear? Good. Now you know. My shadow's not done with us yet. Not done with me.