Doom 3™: Maelstrom Page 9

  That door had been open. So someone—or something—had shut the door.

  His hand flexed a bit around the trigger of the gun. Had the blast that rocketed through Mars City made the door shut? Could that have done it? Was that the reason the door was now shut?

  A sudden howl erupted from behind him. More of those high-pitched, guttural squeals.

  He realized two things: that he didn’t know what shut that door.

  And that he had no choice, none at all, but to walk up to it, open it, and keep going. The horrific sounds behind him reminded him of that.

  19

  KANE CLIMBED OVER TO A PAIR OF TWISTED metal girders that had fallen into each other, making a perfect X, blocking the way forward. The destruction down here varied wildly, with some sections intact and others looking as though a massive detonation had ripped the place apart.

  What determined whether one spot got hit and another spared? He didn’t know, but Kane imagined it had something to with why certain people were transformed by whatever emanated from Delta, and others could avoid it. It all depended on how the red tide of light and color hit you, or even if it hit you at all.

  His right knee sent a spike to his brain, reminding him that he still had a dozen parts of his body that could all use medical attention. He had injected a stim just after the first outbreak, but already he felt it wearing off. There was a limited time he could continue using them before his body would fail to respond even to the injection of chemicals telling him that, somehow, he could keep going.

  He had—he guessed—at best two hours before he’d collapse. Not a lot of time….

  He crawled his way through the maze of metal and stood up. No lights ahead. Even the emergency lighting system throughout the complex had gone spotty and erratic. And ahead of that loomed nothing but blackness. He grabbed his small tungsten flashlight from his side. Not designed for navigating dark subterranean corridors, the small flashlight was for doing close-up work where you needed more light.

  He turned it on. The light, bright and piercing, still shed only a small pool. And when Kane pointed it dead ahead, that milky-white pool faded into the gloom.

  But it was all he had.

  He looked at his gun, the magazine now full with the ammo he had found on a pair of dead marines he passed. There was another magazine strapped to his left side. His pistol was also fully loaded, with plenty of ammo rounds left for that. He was as set as he was going to be.

  He started walking down the hallway.

  Campbell lifted up the metal case slowly. The metal hinges made a creak that filled this secure room off the transport area. The transport area had been deserted—everyone scrambling to get someplace safe, or trying to join their squad.

  Nobody wanted to be stuck out here alone. He couldn’t blame them.

  The case lid up, Campbell looked look down at the gun. It had been his idea to bring it up. No telling what could happen, he had told Kelliher. They had one version of the situation from Hayden, another from Betruger, and still a third in the disturbing images from Kelliher’s mole, Dr. Kellyn MacDonald.

  “I’d like to bring up a BFG-9000,” he had told Kelliher. “Just in case.” And there was no argument. Now Campbell slid one hand under the massive stock of the gun and another under the thick barrel, which was surrounded by a hydraulic cooling system. The gun wouldn’t do much good if it over-heated. And with the ability to reload in seconds, this massive weapon was made for long-term, nonstop shooting of its heavy-duty shells.

  And now Campbell knew that there would be plenty of things to shoot.

  He lifted the gun out and slid its reinforced strap over his shoulder. For such a big gun, the weight wasn’t too much of a killer. The newest polycarbonate and synthetic metals made it as light as it could be, and the design—for something that looked so awkward—was also incredibly well balanced.

  The BFG. It was, in fact, the Biggest Fucking Gun. Unless the desert labs of the New World Terrorist Confederation were working on something bigger, something to take into the streets of New York or Moscow. Campbell doubted it.

  He touched a button, and the gun’s computer-assisted targeting system came on. The targeting system immediately linked to an infrared HUD. But for now Campbell would just use his eyes. If he hit spots where the emergency lighting was out, the gun had its own mounted lights.

  And though it was more than well suited to annihilating whatever creatures Delta Lab seemed to be spawning, there was something else he might have to use it for.

  Swann was still out there. Cut off from any contact with Mars City Command. And that had Campbell worried. What if Swann made a decision on his own—a bad decision? What if Swann began to think that getting the Comm Center up and contacting the Armada was a good idea? What if he got through, and before anyone could stop it, the Armada came here, landed troops, brought the big transports down? What would happen then?

  If there was one thing Campbell knew, it was this: whatever was happening here on Mars had to stay here. Even if it meant that every still-human soul on the Red Planet died.

  Whatever happened here couldn’t get back to Earth.

  He gave the big gun a slight shake. The small control board on the weapon showed that all its high-tech systems were ready, ammo fully engaged, targeting assistance available.

  It was a long way to the Comm Center. And only God knew what he’d find along the way.

  Or maybe, he thought, even God doesn’t know anymore.

  There was no time to waste, so he stepped out of the storage room and started heading into the mayhem that filled the halls and corridors and labs of Mars City.

  Slash!

  The open mouth of the scissor blades, twisting on the end of an arm, hacked at the metal, chewing their way to Theo.

  The boy kept whipping his head from front to back, turning away from the scissors to the hands that had somehow smashed into the shaft.

  He started sucking air in and out fast as he realized that he was trapped. Every second brought them closer to him, and there was no way that he could get past them. He wanted to close his eyes so badly. Just close them, and this would all go away. But he knew that wouldn’t make these monsters disappear. In fact, he knew that would only mean he wouldn’t see which one of them got him.

  And what would they do when they got hold of him?

  Would they fight over him, like dogs back on Earth tugging at the same bone dug out of a garbage can, snarling and pulling at it?

  No, he told himself. Don’t think about that. There was only one thing he should think about: how to escape. Maybe he could find his father in the lab.

  Though he didn’t really think his dad was okay. Not anymore….

  He kept looking to see if there was any way past the two things ripping the metal to get at him. There had to be a way, had to be—

  But he could see that there wasn’t. No way to escape.

  Suddenly Theo felt himself move. The section of the shaft started falling. He felt that same giddy feeling in his stomach that he did on the rides in the amusement park that opened each summer.

  Back on Earth, back when he was safe…

  Now the chunk of shaft tumbled forward. Theo pasted his hands against the metal sides even as he felt the shaft smash to the floor and roll over, once, then again—the piece turning into some fun-house ride.

  But when it stopped, he saw two open ends.

  Open, with no grabbing hands there, no scissors slicing at the metal.

  And with every moment he spent in this world, Theo was learning things. Learning how to stay alive.

  Like how important it was to be fast. To move fast, act fast. To move without thinking.

  He picked one of the shaft openings and, ignoring the jagged bits of metal that sliced and caught at his clothing and skin, he scurried out, not letting himself think about what would happen next.

  20

  MARIA LOOKED AROUND THE JUNCTION OF THE two corridors, one leading back to Reception, the other t
o Alpha. At her feet lay marines who only minutes ago had been talking to her, counting their good fortune that—hell, yeah—they were alive.

  Now they were all dead, still oozing what was once blood but somehow had changed so quickly into something thicker, darker. The bodies, riddled with bullets, gave off a stench and thin funnels of steam as if the shots had opened fissures to something deep and subterranean.

  I’ve seen a lot of things, Maria thought. But this…this—

  Her stomach tightened, and she felt that wave—again—of revulsion and fear, a feeling that she couldn’t continue, that maybe she best give up. She tapped her earpiece, then looked over at Andy Kim, standing a few feet away, his gun also still pointed at the pile of corpses.

  “Andy, you okay?” Andy nodded, but his glassy eyes remained fixed on the bodies. “Andy! You okay?” She had raised her voice, and now the other private turned to her.

  “Yeah. Just great, Maria. Couldn’t be better.”

  Maria smiled at him. “Me too.”

  Thinking: Come on, Andy. Smile back. Break the tension. ’Cause if I’m here all alone, I’m not sure I can hold it together. Finally Andy allowed a half smile to make his lips turn up at the side.

  Good, she thought. The more we can act like goddamn human beings, the better.

  “Anything on your earpiece?” she asked. She knew the answer to that. Of course there was nothing. The system was maybe down for the count this time. Just an expression for most people, but Maria, with her thirty-three professional bouts, knew what that meant. When an opponent hit the mat and the referee started counting…and you stood there, if you were the person who decked the other boxer, and hoped that the person wouldn’t get up.

  Because she knew too well how quickly the tide could turn. If they got up, driven by hunger or desire or some crazed burst of adrenaline, anything could happen, and the whole story could change.

  Are we down for the count, too? she wondered. What’s happening throughout the Mars complex? How many left alive? How many of these things walking around? Is help coming, and will it be enough help?

  “Maria,” Andy said, “what the hell are we going to do?”

  “Good question.” She looked up and down the corridors. On her orders, two patrols had set off, one to Alpha, the other back to Reception. Without a radio, she couldn’t tell what was going on. Were they dead, transformed, or even now hurrying back here?

  “I think—” She looked at her watch, wondering how much time had gone by since she sent them out. Was it twenty minutes ago? Thirty? They could be heading here. “Okay, I think we should stay right here for a—”

  “You’re kidding me. Here? And wait for more of them to come?”

  “Look. Either way we got a clean shot at anything that comes to this point. If it looks like it isn’t a human…anymore, we can blow it away. I think we need to see if any of the others make it back, then plan where we go—together. Could be the radio will come back on by then.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Lot of things to doubt, Andy. Including my ideas. But I think to move now, without knowing anything, without waiting to see what happened to the others—that’s crazy.”

  Andy looked away from her, back to the pile. He said his next words with eyes locked on the pile of bodies. “How long? How long…do we stay here?”

  “Let’s give it fifteen. If no one returns in that time, we move to Plan B.”

  “And that is?”

  “We go to one of two places. To Delta. Kelly was there. Lot of marines with him. Can’t all be dead or—you know.”

  “I know. What’s the other place?”

  “We go to Reception. That way transport is close, and if somebody got the word out to the Armada, they could be close already. More marines, and an old-fashioned rescue.”

  “If they got word out.” Now he looked back up. “If they were willing to come down here.” He raised his voice, and the sound of it frightened Maria.

  Come on, Andy. Hold it together.

  “If they didn’t think that whatever’s happening here is too dangerous.”

  Maria took a breath through her mouth. The stench seemed to grow the longer the bodies sat there. “You asked for a Plan B. There, you got it. Plan B.” Now she looked at her watch for real. “I said fifteen minutes. So now, look alive, gun ready, and we wait.”

  They both glanced to the two long dark shafts, lit only by the emergency lighting that was glaringly bright in spots, and barely reached the outer areas.

  Andy clicked the ammo chamber of his gun, moving the clip out of, then into, position.

  “All set. Start the clock.”

  “Started.”

  Kane’s small flashlight flickered. Come on, he thought. Don’t die. Don’t tell me they issued me one of these little flashlights with a low charge.

  He tapped it and made the light bounce back to life. And even though the small circle of light shooting through the gloom seemed pretty pathetic, Kane was glad for it.

  He walked slowly, making sure he didn’t outpace the ability of the light to show what was ahead. Wouldn’t do to walk into something hugging a wall and have it reach out and grab him.

  I’ve been damn lucky so far, Kane thought. Beat up a bit. But alive. Luck could change, and he also knew there was a limit to what the stim injections could do. Fatigue must eventually take over, and his judgment would slip, his reflexes would fail, his muscles would begin to lose their trained ability to respond.

  So how much time did he have? Kane wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  He came to an L in the corridor—always a tricky moment when you can’t see what’s on the other side. All he could do was move as far to the right as possible. He slowed his pace even more. And with every step, he listened. Was there something there, waiting?

  Back on Earth he had access to all sorts of devices that could let him see around a corner like this. Even something as simple as one of those old recon scopes—heck, even a mirror would do the trick. But now, here, he had nothing.

  Another step. All quiet. He took a breath, half prepared for something to leap out as soon as his head cleared the corner. The muzzle of his gun remained level with his head.

  As soon as he could see around the L, he could shoot there. As if that might make a difference….

  One last step—and Kane had to wonder why he felt so cautious here. The fatigue? Instinct? Was all this insanity finally getting to him?

  And then he was at the point where he could see into the other corridor, and now his light immediately grew even more pathetic. This section of the corridor opened up to twice the height, and much wider, though a quick scan with the flashlight showed a series of large curved areas.

  He stopped and pulled up the PDA, quickly making the map of this section come to life. Hydrocon Reservoirs. The Hydrocons were essential to Mars City, providing clean hydrogen fuel, with pure water as a by-product. It was technology ultimately intended for Earth, but would it ever get there? The units here worked well enough, according to the PR info on his PDA, but they were still in prototype stages.

  Kane didn’t think that Earth had time to wait for any prototyping. If they work, start building them.

  He started down the corridor, walking right in the middle, moving his flashlight from left to right. The Hydrocon Reservoirs hid dark recesses where anything was possible. The other wall bore the signs of the stress and explosions from above, dimpled here and there as though someone had backed an armored ARV into it.

  Nobody else down here.

  And Kane thought—not for the first time—how great it would be to have Chadbourne with him, cutting the tension with some crack that somehow made it seem like the two of them could face anything. Or Tompkins, absolutely fearless because he had seen far worse in the streets of what they now called Outer New York.

  Yeah, Earth needed the Hydrocon technology fast. And anything else they might learn on Mars.

  Well, not exactly. They didn’t need whatever roare
d through the complex and transformed humans into zombies. Or made other things appear from who knew where, those tall monsters (Such a stupid word, he thought again), and that dog thing he had killed back near Reception. No, Earth didn’t need those.

  He swung the light left, a steady rhythm back and forth, scanning each side, his gun muzzle following the light. And he didn’t change that pattern until he heard a sound from above, and only then brought the light slowly up to the tall ceiling.

  But what he saw moved so fast that the light really didn’t do much good at all.

  21

  UAC HEADQUARTERS PALO ALTO

  INSTANTLY, ALL SIGNALS FROM MARS CITY were simply gone. Ian Kelliher tried hitting some of the keys on the floating screen before him, hoping against hope that it was some local problem, maybe only his own feed somehow malfunctioning. But his instincts were too well trained to allow that faint flicker of a possibility more than a moment’s existence.

  Something had happened again on Mars. Immediately an analogy popped into Kelliher’s head: it was like when you feel an earthquake tremor, and then it all goes quiet while everyone braces for what will surely be the real thing, the big one to come.

  He had hoped that Hayden was right, that everything was secure, Delta all locked down, the situation slowly getting back under control.

  (And all the monsters were dead. No more monsters now, folks, and we can all go back to business as usual.)

  “Fat fucking chance,” Kelliher whispered, repeating one of his father’s favorite expressions. His father was never one to leave anything to chance. Chance is for fools, Tommy Kelliher used to tell him. Once you’re waiting for chance to give you a break, you might as well put a gun to your head because you’ve lost control.

  Had Kelliher done just that? He had let himself believe—hope—that all was well. And now, with this, he could barely imagine what was happening. The images from the first outbreak were sufficient fodder to feed a thousand nightmare scenarios.