Creepers

51

Balenger descended first. He had to move slowly, probing the air with his pistol to test for razor wire. They crept downward, constantly turning. The revolving flash of headlamps was dizzying. The stairwell amplified the noise from the storm. Approaching the fifth level, Balenger heard water streaming, then realized that the sound didn't come from the rain outside but from something in the stairwell. His headlamp reflected off a torrent rushing along a hidden corridor.

A flash of lightning revealed a huge hole in the roof, the water on the upper levels channeling into it. The crash of water cascading down the stairwell reminded Balenger of a cistern being filled. At once, his headlamp showed an object floating along the corridor. A corpse. Amanda gasped when she saw it. A desiccated woman. Dressed. Holding a purse. Blond. Diane? Balenger wondered in dismay. But before he had a chance to see more, the stream carried the corpse into the stairwell, and it disappeared into the roaring darkness.

We can't get out this way, Balenger realized. For all he knew, Ronnie was on the opposite side of the wall, about to blast a hole with his shotgun. He motioned for Amanda and Vinnie to retreat to the penthouse. They didn't need encouragement, and he followed them as they scrambled through the hatch. In shadows, breathing hoarsely, they sank to the kitchen's floor.

"We'll try another staircase," Amanda murmured.

"Maybe," Vinnie said without conviction. He raised his head slowly. "Or maybe we don't need to do a thing."

"What do you mean?" Balenger asked in confusion.

"The professor left a note with a colleague. When the professor doesn't call him by nine this morning, the colleague's supposed to open the note and tell the police where to send help."

They were so close to the outside wall that the pounding of the rain cloaked their muted voices.

"No," Balenger said. "Bob didn't leave a note."

"But…"

"When Bob got fired, he stopped trusting people in his department. He assumed the colleague would open the note and show it to the dean to get brownie points. Bob was afraid we'd all get arrested."

Vinnie tried another plan. "How about this? The salvagers come on Monday. They'll rescue us. All we need to do is wait for a day."

"Ronnie can arrange plenty of surprises if we give him that much time. I told you before, if we're passive, we'll lose."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Static crackled from the walkie-talkies.

"He's trying to get me to talk." Balenger spoke softly. "He's hoping he'll hear my voice and have something to shoot at."

"That could work the other way around," Amanda murmured. "If you hear him talking, you can shoot at his voice."

Balenger debated. "Tell me more about this bastard. Was he lying when…"

"He never touched me." Amanda shuddered. "He always treated me with terrifying politeness. I had the sense that something was building in him, that he struggled against it. The last time I saw him, when he brought me the nightgown, he stopped being polite. He yelled. He threw things. He called me a bitch and a whore. It was like he hated me because he felt aroused."

From the walkie-talkie, more static taunted Balenger.

He shut off Vinnie's unit, then lowered the volume on his own, put it to his lips, and pressed the transmit button, keeping his voice down. "I don't understand why you use different names, Ronnie. Why do you call yourself 'Walter'?"

Static.

"Is your last name really Harrigan?" Balenger didn't dare remain in one spot too long. He shifted into the dining room. Again, he whispered into the walkie-talkie. "Ronnie, what's your last name?"

No answer.

"What's your last-"

"Carlisle," the voice said.

Amanda and Vinnie crouched, trying to determine where the voice was below them.

"That's not true," Balenger whispered. "Carlisle didn't have children."

"He's my father."

Continuing to move, Balenger eased into the exercise room, where weights propped open the elevator's door.

"No," Balenger said. "He's not your father."

"He acted like one."

"That's not the same thing."

"Sometimes, it's all there is."

"What about you?" Balenger asked. "Did you act like a good son?"

Balenger shut off his headlamp before shifting into the candlelit medical room. Amanda and Vinnie did the same. Otherwise, their lights would show through the holes in the floor. The sight of the two bodies made him feel cold.

"You're moving cautiously," the voice said, "but the candles react to the air you displace. Through the holes, I see them flicker."

Abruptly, Balenger realized that Ronnie stood directly below him. He barely had a chance to step back before a shotgun blast tore through the part of the floor where he'd been.

Balenger aimed toward the fresh hole, about to shoot, only to decide Ronnie wanted him to do that, to waste ammunition on a phantom target.

"Did you disarm the explosives up there?" the voice said from the walkie-talkie. "I assume a former Ranger has the ability to do that."

Balenger forced himself to stay quiet.

"You wonder how I know your background?" the voice asked. "It's not just because I heard you talking to the others. The first time you came to my office and questioned me, I knew you were trouble. When you showed up the next time, I had a stack of information about you. A shame about that Gulf War syndrome. At least you had someone to take care of you. Your wife made clear how devoted she was."

The reference to Diane struck Balenger like a punch in the stomach. His emotion bent him forward. At once, rage took the place of pain and loss. He aimed toward where he thought the voice was below him. With all his heart, he wanted to shoot. No! he warned himself. Not till you're sure. Don't let him goad you into making mistakes.

Desperation crept over him. Our lights, he thought. We shut them off so Ronnie can't see them through the holes in the floor. But we can't get out of here without using them. And he has night-vision goggles.

Reluctantly, he understood what needed to be done. What he didn't want to do.

Drawing Amanda and Vinnie to another room, he kept his voice low. "You need to distract him for me. Vinnie, have you ever fired a gun?"

"No."

"Hold it with both hands. Like this." Balenger curled Vinnie's right fingers around the grip. Then he curved the left fingers over the opposite side, the tips overlapping. "Aim along the top of the barrel. Keep your fingers tight on the grip. There's a kick. When you shoot, you don't want to get startled and drop the gun."

"When I shoot?"

"Go back to the medical room. Count to fifty. Then turn on your walkie-talkie. Increase its volume. Set it on the floor and back away. My voice will distract him. When he shoots, shoot back. You won't hit him, but we don't care about that. Just make sure he doesn't hit you."

"But what about-"

"I'm going to try to get the other night-vision goggles."

Vinnie nodded, but Balenger couldn't tell if it was in hope or despair.

"Amanda, lock the hatch behind me." Balenger spoke with desperate softness. "Don't open it unless you hear two taps, then three, then one. Can you remember that? Two, three, one?"

"I'll remember."

"Vinnie, fifty seconds after your first shot, throw something on the floor of the exercise room. Make sure you're a distance away. Try to make him shoot again. Then shoot back and move to another room. Keep distracting him. But don't use more than one shot each time. We need the ammunition. Can you do this?"

"Don't have a choice."

"If I can get those night-vision goggles, we'll have a lot of choices." Balenger hoped he sounded convincing.

Far from the holes in the medical room's floor, they could safely switch on their headlamps. Balenger moved quietly through the kitchen, the library, and the surveillance room, finally coming to the bedroom. He stared at the locked trapdoor. In theory, the door to Danata's suite remained barricaded, so Ronnie couldn't get in and shoot at anyone coming down the staircase.

In theory.

Balenger took the pistol from Vinnie, then motioned for Amanda to unlock and open the trapdoor. He aimed as his headlamp pierced the darkness of the stairwell. No one. Breathing slightly easier, he gave the gun back.

"Start counting to fifty." He climbed into the stairwell and motioned for Amanda to close it. As he heard her lock the hatch over his head, he had the terrible sense of descending into hell.