Doom 3™: Worlds on Fire

37

ELLIOT SWANN TOOK A FEW STEPS, STOPPED,then looked left, right, and then left and right again. As if he were making his way across a narrow mountain cliff edge, a mile above the ground. His breathing came so fast, the room felt like it had no air. He kept rubbing his eyes; did fear make then go watery, teary?

A few more steps, hands flush against the wall.

(Don’t want to fall off that cliff.)

He heard some distant gunshots ahead. Maybe already killed. Maybe dead like the others he had seen, the other—

(What are they? What happened to them? What’s happening here?)

Left, right, left, right, and—

A voice in his ear. “Swann?”

He whispered through his gasping, heavy breaths. “Yes?”

“Campbell here. They’re getting systems back online, counselor. But any deep space comm is still going to depend on your getting there, creating a secure channel, and getting the word out to the armada. Where are you now?”

Though it was just a voice in his head, Swann shook his head. His voice was annoyed, raspy.

“I—I don’t know. I haven’t checked the layout in a bit. B-but I’m going the right way.”

Nothing for a second. Then: “Good. Just stay calm. You got to be pretty close. Just let me know when you’re there, okay?”

Another pointless nod. Then: “Yes. I will.” And Swann took some more cautious steps down the corridor.

Kohl looked at the two scientists who had entered the room. Ignoring him, they went to the monitors and began talking to each other.

“We can divert to a different energy processor. And reroute the dedicated power from the Hydrocon—at least temporarily.”

“Deep Space Comm will need a separate feed.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Then one of them looked at Kohl. “Lieutenant, we’re going to need another pair of hands in here as we change things. Just do what we say, okay?”

“Sure,” Kohl said, but the scientist turned away without waiting for an answer.

“Right. Good. Just keep me fully informed.”

General Hayden looked away from the screen floating above his conference table and then right at Campbell.

“A fucking mess, Campbell. And we don’t know what the hell happened? This may take down the entire Mars project.”

Hayden waited for Campbell to answer, but the UAC security chief just looked around the room, as if sizing it up.

“General, we don’t want to make any advance judgments on what may or may not happen, okay? We would of course like to know what the helldid happen today. If it’s a virus, there will be issues of quarantine, protection…I assume we can eventually get access to all of Delta’s video and—”

A blast of gunfire from outside, and Campbell stopped.

“Christ,” Hayden said, “I thought we had this area secure.”

“Guess not that secure.”

Hayden turned back to the holo screen. His finger jabbed at it as if stabbing someone. “I said I wanted updates on any activity in this sector. When you say secure, goddamn it, you better mean secure.”

Then back to Campbell.

“Cleaning up?” Campbell said.

“Right.”

“And General, I’m going to set up shop here, during the crisis. If you don’t mind.”

The bastard,Hayden thought.Taking over just because he has Kelliher’s backing. “You’re going to stay here?”

“Yeah. Once Comm is fully up and operational, I’ll want full access.” A beat. “Your access.”

“I will have a lot to—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way. And General, I even showed up with a little something to make us both feel better.”

Campbell pointed to a large metal crate that had just been delivered minutes before.

“A little insurance policy—just in case…”

Hayden was about to ask what was in the crate, but then decided that—for now—he didn’t even want to know.

Kane kept running in the direction of the scream, now horribly aware that it was the shrill and terrified sound made by a kid.

He turned a corner and didn’t see anything. But he kept up his pace and came to another turn, to a corridor that didn’t look like it led anywhere.

Another scream echoed horribly. Kane took the corner and kept running, sweat dripping off him, the air growing thick and heavy with the environmental systems down.

Then, at the end, he turned and saw the boy. Curled up tight into a corner, yelling.

“Son, it’s okay. You’re going to—”

The boy interrupted his screaming for just a moment to point…right past Kane, behind him, to the other hall that led into this cul-de-sac.

Kane turned. It was one of those things. Someone who used to be okay, Now, a stumbling creature ready to attack. He could see what was left of a woman’s clothing—patches of mottled skin exposed. The hair shooting out wildly from the skull. One eye drooped as if it had been damaged, the poached-egg eyeball rolling around in its socket. A long thick dark tongue lolled out of its mouth. The teeth—exposed to their roots—now all cracked, with sharp edges.

Mom…

Kane lowered his guns to her, then thought of the boy. He couldn’t. No fucking way. Not in front of the kid.

He turned to the boy, quickly. His voice no longer soothing or reassuring.

“Start running, son. Down there—the direction I came from.”

The boy didn’t move. Only seconds left.

“Start moving now!” Kane yelled, hoping that his voice alone could make the kid get up and move.

The mother-thing kept coming, its one good eye straying from her son to Kane.

Then, amazingly, Kane heard movement from behind.

He lowered his voice: “That’s it. Just start running. And run as fast as you can.”

Kane felt the boy whiz behind him, then the out-of-place sound of steps running down the hall.

He snapped back to the problem at hand. He took the butt of the shotgun and carefully charged the zombie, smacking the gun butt into its jaw.

It made only the slightest of grunting noises.

But then it recoiled, which Kane knew too well meant that the thing was going to jump at him. The boy’s steps receded, faded, until Kane couldn’t hear them anymore.

The kid was gone. And the mother was about to fly.

“Sorry…” Kane whispered, not knowing to whom…or why.

He pumped two rounds into the thing’s head. Large chunks of skull went flying away. Then, since it still wobbled around like—God—it could still move—he fired a third round. And finally, in its tattered and stained rags, what was left of the boy’s mother fell to her knees, then forward.

His earpiece crackled on. “Kane? You there yet?”

“Almost, Sergeant…almost.”