Creepers

26

"What are you doing?" Conklin asked. "Calling 911."

"No." The professor found the strength to raise his voice. "Don't."

"No choice," Balenger said. "You need an ambulance, Bob. A hospital. Stitches, antibiotics, treatment for shock. Maybe an EKG. If that duct tape stays on too long, you'll get gangrene."

"You mustn't call 911."

"But we can't screw around with this. Just because I patched you up doesn't mean you're out of danger."

"No," Conklin said. "Put down the phone."

"But he's right, Professor," Cora said. "We need to get you to a hospital as soon as possible."

"Outside."

"What?"

"Take me outside. Then call 911. If ambulance attendants find you in here, they'll alert the police. You'll all be arrested."

"Who the hell cares about being arrested?" Vinnie said.

"Listen to me." Conklin drew a breath. "You'll spend months in jail. The legal bills. The fines. What happened to me is exactly why the police don't want us doing this. They'll make an example of you." He shivered. "Vinnie, you'll lose your teaching job. Rick and Cora, no university will hire you. If Frank makes that call, your lives will be ruined."

"He said 'Bob.' " Rick frowned. "What's going on?"

"I don't understand," the professor said.

"A minute ago, Balenger called you 'Bob.' Not 'Professor,' not even 'Robert.' 'Bob.' I'd never dream of calling you that. At the motel, he introduced himself, but after three hours, for the life of me I couldn't remember his first name. Not you, though, Professor. Just now you called him 'Frank.' My God, the two of you have met before. You know each other."

"You're imagining things," Balenger told him.

"Like hell. You came in here as an observer, and all of a sudden, you're running the show. You saved two of us from getting killed and acted like it was business as usual. Clint Eastwood crossed with Dr. Kildare. Who the hell are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Balenger said, his stomach churning. "There isn't time for this. We need to get the professor to a hospital."

"Get me outside," Conklin said. "Then phone 911."

"It took us two and a half hours to go this far."

"Because we dawdled. If you hurry, you can get me outside in a half hour."

"Quicker, if we use the crowbar to pry the front door open," Vinnie said.

"No! You can't leave a sign that you were in here. If the police look around and find a broken door…" The professor trembled. "I'll never forgive myself if I ruin your lives. You need to take me back the way we came in-through the tunnel."

"But what about your life?" Balenger demanded. "What if you hemorrhage while we're trying to get you out of here?"

"I'll take that risk."

"This is crazy."

"In your experience, does duct tape seal a wound for an acceptable length of time?" Conklin asked.

Balenger didn't answer.

"Who the hell are you?" Rick repeated.

"The duct tape," the professor said. "How long?"

"If it's removed within a couple of hours…"

"Help me up," Conklin said.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Get me up. Rick and Vinnie can support me. I can hobble on my good leg."

"But-"

Conklin winced. "I weigh two hundred and ten pounds! It'll take forever if you try to carry me!"

"Calm down," Balenger said. "You don't want to have a heart attack on top of everything else."

"Why is he trembling?" Cora asked.

"Shock."

"We could have been on our way by now," Conklin said. "We're wasting time."

Balenger studied him. "Bob, is this really what you want?"

"'Bob,' " Rick said again.

"I've lost my professorship."

"Lost your…?" Vinnie looked stunned. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been ordered to leave the university by the end of the term."

"What in God's name happened?"

"The dean found out what I was doing. He's been looking for ways to cut costs, especially tenured positions. He had the faculty senate terminate me for breaking the law and endangering students."

"No," Rick said.

"I'm an old man. I don't have much to lose, but you three are just starting. I'll never forgive myself if I ruin your future. Help me up! Get me out of here!"

"How?" Balenger asked. "The staircase collapsed. What are we supposed to do? Lower you by rope from balcony to balcony?"

"There'll be emergency stairs."

They scanned their lights around.

"Over there. A corridor," Rick said.

"Keep us together. Rick. Vinnie. Help me up."

The professor groaned as he was lifted. With one arm around Rick and the other around Vinnie, he balanced on his good leg. They helped him limp forward.

Balenger headed along the balcony toward the hallway. Cora hurried next to him. Past an elevator, they flashed their lights at a sign: fire exit.

"Finally, a break," Balenger said.

He opened the door and flinched as something rushed past his legs. Cora shouted. Something hissed, racing toward the balcony. Almost drawing his pistol, Balenger heard Rick yell, "It's another white cat! The place must be lousy with them."

"No," Conklin said. "Not another."

He sounds delirious, Balenger thought.

"The same," Conklin murmured.

"The same? You're not making sense."

"Look at its hind legs."

Balenger flashed his light toward the panicked, awkwardly fleeing animal. So did Cora and everyone else. The glare of their beams showed it dashing along the balcony toward the grotesque tree growing through the floor.

But the albino cat was grotesque also.

"Three back legs," Rick whispered. "It's got three back legs. Just like the cat we saw in the tunnel.

"Not just like," the professor said weakly. "Mutations of that sort aren't common. The odds are against it."

"The same cat?" Balenger said.

"The one we saw on level four."

"But that's impossible," Cora said… "We closed the door that led from the tunnel into the utility room. I know we did. I insisted we do it. So how did the cat get in?"

"Maybe the rats chewed holes through the concrete walls, like the professor said," Vinnie suggested.

"Maybe," Balenger said.

"There's no 'maybe' about it," Vinnie said. "That's the only way it could have gotten in."

"No," Balenger said, moving toward the balcony. "There's another way."

"I don't see what."

"Someone could have come in after us and left the door open."

Except for the wind shrieking past the holes in the skylight, the hotel became deathly silent.

Then the silence was interrupted by another high-pitched sound. Slow but rhythmic. Beautiful but mournful.

"Wait a minute," Cora said. "What's that?"

Doom, Balenger thought. Through the gaps in the skylight, the wind carried the distant tolling clang clang clang from the strip of sheet metal flapping in the abandoned condominium building. But it didn't obscure the sound below him.

Lyrical. Terrifyingly evocative. A mournful tune that summoned lonely images to his mind.

In the dark abyss below them, someone was whistling "Moon River."