“Did you hear that?” whispered Pendergast.
Margo played the flashlight down the hall. “I heard something.”
From down the hall and around the corner came the sound of splintering wood.
“It’s breaking through one of the doors!” said Pendergast. “We need to attract its attention. Hey!” he shouted.
Margo grabbed Pendergast’s arm. “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want it to understand,” she hissed.
“Ms. Green, this is no time for jokes,” Pendergast snapped. “Surely it doesn’t understand English.”
“I don’t know. We’re taking a chance, anyway, just trusting the Extrapolator’s data. But the thing has a highly developed brain, and it may well have been in the Museum for years, listening from dark places. It might understand certain words. We can’t take the chance.”
“As you wish,” Pendergast whispered. Then, he said loudly: “Where are you? Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” Margo shouted. “But I’m lost! Help! Can anyone hear us?”
Pendergast lowered his voice. “It must have heard that. Now we can only wait.” He dropped to one knee, right hand aiming the .45, left hand bracing right wrist. “Keep playing the light toward the bend in the hallway, move it around as if you’re lost. When I see the creature, I’ll give you the word. Turn on the miner’s light, and keep it aimed on the creature, no matter what. If it’s angry—if it’s just hunting for revenge now—we have to use any means possible to slow it down. We only have a hundred feet of corridor in which to kill it. If it can run as quickly as you think it can, the beast can cover that distance in a couple of seconds. You can’t hesitate, and you can’t panic.”
“A couple of seconds,” Margo said. “I understand.”
ˉ
Garcia kneeled in front of the monitor bank, the butt of his shotgun snug against his cheek, the barrel pointing into the gloom. Before him, the outline of the door was faintly visible. Behind him stood Waters in a combat stance. “When it comes through, just start firing, and don’t stop.” Garcia said. “I’ve only got eight rounds. I’ll try to space my shots so you can reload at least once before it reaches us. And turn off that flashlight. You trying to give us away?”
The others in Security Command—Allen, the programmer, and Nesbitt the guard—had retreated to the far wall and were crouched beneath the darkened schematic of the Museum’s security grid.
Waters was shaking. “It blew away a SWAT team,” he said, his voice breaking.
There was another crash, and the door groaned, its hinges popping. Waters screamed, jumped up and scrambled backward into the dark, his gun lying forgotten on the floor.
“Waters, you prick, get back here!”
Garcia heard the sickening thud of bone against metal as Waters stumbled under the desks toward the far wall, banging his skull. “Don’t let it get me!” he screamed.
Garcia forced himself to turn back toward the door. He tried to steady the shotgun. The foul reek of the creature filled his nostrils as the door shuddered under another heavy blow. More than anything, he did not want to see what was about to force its way into the room. He cursed and wiped his forehead with the back of a hand. Except for Waters’s sobbing, there was silence.
Margo shined the flashlight down the hall, trying to imitate the random motions of somebody searching for a way out. The light licked across the walls and floor, giving dim illumination to the display cabinets. Her heart was hammering, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Help!” she cried again. “We’re lost!” Her voice sounded unnaturally hoarse in her ears.
There were no more sounds from around the corner. The creature was listening.
“Hello?” she called, willing herself to speak again. “Is anybody there?”
The voice echoed and died in the corridor. She waited, staring into the gloom, straining to see any movement.
A dark shape began to resolve itself against the far darkness, at a distance where the flashlight beam failed. The movement stopped. It seemed to have its head up. A strange, liquid snuffling sound came toward them.
“Not yet,” Pendergast whispered.
It moved a little farther around the corner. The snuffling noise grew louder, and then the stench, wafting down the hall, violated her nostrils.
The beast took another step.
“Not yet,” Pendergast whispered.
Garcia’s hand was shaking so violently he could hardly press the transmit button.
“Coffey!” he hissed. “Coffey, for God’s sake! Do you copy?”
“This is Agent Slade from the Forward Command Post. Who’s speaking, please?”
“This is Security Command,” Garcia said, breathing thick and fast. “Where’s Coffey? Where’s Coffey?”