Seven

Mark groaned. Someone was shaking him roughly by the shoulder and he wished they wouldn’t. Reluctantly he opened his eyes. Where was he? Oh yes, on the floor of the video room. But why? What had happened?

He focused his eyes and saw Paul bending over him with a concerned expression. Behind him there was someone else. A woman in a white coat. With short blonde hair . . .

Then he remembered. He screamed again. Frantically he tried to scramble to his feet. He had to get away from her – the Woman With No Face. The Woman With The Round Eyes . . .

‘Mark!’

Paul’s yell coincided with a stinging slap on the side of Mark’s face. He stopped screaming and slumped back to the floor. He could see the woman plainly now. She had attractive green eyes, snub nose and wide, sensual mouth. She was very beautiful. He stared at her in amazement.

‘Mark, what’s wrong? What happened?’ cried Paul.

Mark couldn’t speak. He continued to stare dumbly at the woman. She was looking down at him with concern in her eyes.

She spoke. ‘He’s suffering from shock. I’ve seen it before. He needs to be kept warm.’

Mark finally managed to say something. ‘Who’s she . . . ?’

‘This is Dr Carol Soames. She’s who we saw on the TV screen. She’s going to help us. But what happened to you? What’s wrong?’ asked Paul.

Mark shook his head dazedly. ‘I saw . . . I saw something. It must have been another hallucination. I’m okay now. Help me up.’

As Paul did so he said, ‘What was it this time? More black slime?’

‘No, no . . . I can’t describe it. Don’t ask me to.’ He glanced at the girl and shuddered.

‘It must have been bad if it made you pass out,’ said Paul worriedly, then he turned to the girl. ‘You said you’d explain everything if we agreed to help you to get away from this place. As spokesman for the group I guarantee no one’s going to object to your coming with us so give – tell us what the hell is happening out here.’

She gave the door a nervous look then sighed and sat down on one of the room’s three swivel chairs. ‘We don’t have much time so I’m going to have to make this brief. The sooner we get going the better. Charlie is under temporary control at the moment but there’s no guarantee for how long . . .’

‘Who is Charlie?’ demanded Paul.

‘Charlie is a nickname we gave to . . . but I’ll explain from the beginning. I gather you’ve heard of Lloyd J. Brinkstone?’

Paul frowned. ‘No. But I know this platform is owned by the Brinkstone Company.’

‘Lloyd J. Brinkstone is the Brinkstone Company. He’s enormously wealthy – a dollar billionaire. A few years ago he reached the age where he decided he had to use some of his money to do something for the human race. In fact he decided to save the human race. Being a Texan he doesn’t think small . . .’ She smiled briefly and Mark saw that his first impression of her had been correct – she was very beautiful – but then he had a mental flashback to the image on the screen and nausea began to build up in his throat. It had been so real . . .

‘For years Mr Brinkstone had been obsessed by the fear that the human race would be wiped out by a nuclear war,’ she continued, ‘so finally he got a group of microbiologists together – I was one of them – and told us to see if there was any way the human body could be protected against hard radiation by means of genetic engineering. Money was to be no object. We could have whatever we wanted in terms of resources, equipment and so on. The result was this place . . .’ She gestured around her. ‘It cost millions of dollars to convert this disused rig into a secret laboratory complex. It had to be secret because we would be using genetic engineering techniques currently proscribed by most countries. The advantage of using the platform was that we could easily quarantine the labs if anything went wrong.’

‘And something did go wrong,’ said Paul.

‘I’m coming to that. The project was designated The Phoenix Project and from the beginning things went well. We made some marvellous breakthroughs and soon realised that we might actually be able to achieve what Brinkstone wanted. To be honest, most of us scientists were just humouring him at the start and looked upon the project as an opportunity to carry out experiments we couldn’t do anywhere else.

‘What we came up with was an artificial gene – a genetically engineered, all-purpose package of DNA capable of overriding the genetic code of the host body and enabling it to adapt suddenly to drastic changes in the environment. We called it the Phoenix unit. Basically you could describe it as a genetic repair kit. The idea was that people carrying Phoenix within their cells would survive a lethal dose of radiation because the unit would alter their metabolism accordingly. In a sense it would provide instant evolution . . .’

‘And you actually made this new gene?’ asked Mark.

‘Yes. In fact that was the easy part. The difficult bit was in finding a way of incorporating it into a host body. The plan was for it to spread through a body from cell to cell like a virus but, of course, there was the problem of rejection. Like any virus the Phoenix unit set off the host organism’s immune system. Somehow we had to build into Phoenix an adaptable set of antigens which would keep changing and not allow the host’s antibodies to bind onto Phoenix and destroy it.

‘This shouldn’t have been an insurmountable problem as some viruses possess this ability naturally but it began to seem as if we would never solve it. We made countless versions of Phoenix and tested it on different species of animal and in every case Phoenix was either rejected or provoked the host’s auto-immune system into such a violent reaction it died before Phoenix could complete its attachment to the nucleus of each cell . . .

‘It began to look as if the project was going to be a failure but then, unexpectedly, we found a species where everything worked as planned. Phoenix was able to overcome the creature’s simple immune system and incorporate itself into the chromosomes. This meant we would be able to study Phoenix in action and move onto the next stage, which was to devise a version suitable for use in humans. But then . . . then . . .’

A shadow passed across her face and her voice died away. Mark was reminded of the way Shelley had looked the previous night.

‘Something went wrong?’ prompted Paul.

‘Wrong?’ she repeated dazedly. ‘Yes. Wrong. Very wrong.’

‘This creature, the one that accepted Phoenix. What was it?’

She didn’t answer. Instead she turned and stared fearfully at the door. ‘It’s coming,’ she whispered.

Both men automatically looked at the door. Mark couldn’t hear anything but the tone of her voice made his skin crawl with atavistic fear.

‘What’s coming?’ asked Paul urgently.

She stood up quickly. ‘I’ve got to get away. You stay here. You’ll be safe here. It’s me it’s after . . .’ She began to hurry towards the door. Paul leapt to his feet, snatched up the M16 and followed her.

‘Wait, don’t go!’ he cried, making a grab for her arm. What happened next was totally unexpected. The girl spun round, grabbed the M16 out of Paul’s hand and then gave him a shove in the chest. It didn’t look a very hard shove to Mark but to his amazement Paul literally flew backwards through the air. He landed on the rack of video tapes which tipped over and hit the floor with a loud noise. Fearing the worst Mark rushed to him but was relieved to see that Paul was still alive. Obviously winded by the impact he was gasping for breath. As Mark helped him to sit up he choked, ‘The girl . . . stop her . . .’

But it was too late. Even as Mark turned he saw the door closing and heard a distinct click. He ran over to it and found, as he expected, it was locked. ‘Shit!’ he cried, ‘she’s locked us in!’

Still gasping, Paul staggered to his feet and lurched to the door. ‘We’ve got to get out of here . . . if that thing, Charlie or whatever it’s called . . . is on the loose again we’ve . . . got to warn the girls . . .’

Mark kicked at the door but it was solidly built and he knew it would be impossible to break it down. ‘It’s no use,’ he said disgustedly, ‘we’re trapped in here.’

‘Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann; Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann . . . !’

Linda felt for the handle of the small calibre revolver that she’d thrust into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back. The situation was looking bad. Alex was getting drunker by the minute and she knew it would only be a matter of time before he made a move against either her or Chris.

He was sitting on the couch eyeing them both in an increasingly suggestive way. The bottle of whisky that he’d unfortunately discovered in the back of a cupboard was almost empty now and he wasn’t even paying any more attention to the TV set on which an incredibly graphic pornographic video film was unspooling towards an imminent, and sticky, end. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a naked woman surrounded on a bed by several men making use of her every available orifice.

Alex took another swallow out of the bottle then resumed his maddening drone: ‘Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann; Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann!’ His eyes moved back to Linda, travelling slowly up and down her body, lingering on the tight crotch of her jeans. She felt as if he could see through her flesh as well as her clothes; that he was penetrating deep into her most vulnerable inner places. She could feel the waves of lust radiating from him like heat from a fire. She could sense the cruelty mixed in with the animal desire; if he got his hands on her she knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just sex, he would want to hurt her too. And badly. She gave an involuntary shiver which she hoped he hadn’t noticed. If only Paul and Mark would get back. Where the hell were they? They’d been gone all morning . . .

Even Rochelle’s return might be enough to avert what was undoubtedly going to be a nasty incident. But no, she didn’t really expect Rochelle to come back yet. She had left furious and in tears a half an hour ago after Alex had viciously slapped her when she’d tried to take the bottle from him. Linda knew now that she and Chris should have left with her. It was too late now. Alex would surely stop them if they made any attempt to leave.

Linda glanced at Chris. She looked pale and tense and was obviously thinking along the same lines as her. Linda wondered what to do when Alex made his inevitable move. Shoot him? She’d like to but she didn’t think she’d be able to. But then perhaps she wouldn’t have any choice . . . if he tried to rape either her or Chris she would have to shoot him. If only he would just pass out . . .

‘You. C’mere. I want you . . .’ He was pointing at her with the bottle.

The muscles of her stomach tightened. Oh shit. ‘What do you want?’ she asked calmly.

‘Wannafuck. That’s what I want.’ He lurched up out of the sofa, swaying badly. She hoped he would fall but he didn’t.

‘Linda . . .’ said Chris, in warning.

‘It’s okay,’ she said quickly, then, smiling at him, she stood up.

‘Sure I’ll fuck you, Alex,’ she told him sweetly, ‘but you’ve got to promise me you’ll behave. Promise me you won’t hurt me – that you won’t be rough. Do you promise that?’

‘Uh?’ He hadn’t been expecting this. He stared at her suspiciously through alcohol-glazed eyes. Then he grinned suddenly, pleased with himself. ‘Sure . . . sure, promise.’ The lie was so transparent it would have been amusing to observe his expression in different circumstances.

‘Good. Shall I undress now?’ She managed to keep smiling at him.

‘Uh?’ he grunted, frowning again. Then, ‘Yeah, take ’em off. Everything.’

She slowly undid the buttons on her shirt then pulled it open, baring her breasts. He stared at them with naked, leering hunger. All that was missing was drool falling from the corner of his mouth. She had to work hard to keep the smile on her lips.

She began pulling the shirt free of her jeans. Reaching behind her she then drew the gun out of her waistband . . .

There was a crash as the bottle hit the floor and shattered. Alex was lurching towards her, hands reaching for her breasts. At the precise moment he touched her she hit him very hard on the side of the head with the butt of the gun. There was an unpleasant thunk sound and he reeled backwards, eyes wide with shock.

She hit him again – this time right in the middle of his forehead. He yelled with pain and sagged to his knees, clutching at his head with one hand and trying to grab her with the other.

She tried to hit him again – thinking at the same time that knocking someone out with a gun never looked this difficult in the movies – but somehow he caught her wrist. ‘Run, Chris!’ she screamed as she tried to pull free from his grip. Then she kicked him in the stomach. He gave a bellow of rage but she was able to break free. The gun, however, was sent skittering across the floor.

She made a dash for the doorway. Chris was already there ahead of her and they collided together as they went through the door. ‘This way!’ she cried, tugging on Chris’s arm. They ran down the passageway in the direction of the kitchen where they’d eaten breakfast. She had no specific plan in mind – she just wanted to get as far away from Alex as possible.

As she ran she looked over her shoulder and saw, with a sick lurch of her stomach, that Alex was staggering out of the doorway. He was brandishing his switch-blade in one hand. There was blood on his face but he gave no sign of being seriously hurt. Oh shit! she thought, I should have shot him . . .

They ran into the kitchen and Linda wondered if she should grab something, like a carving knife – if there was one – and make a stand there. But she quickly dismissed the idea. She didn’t fancy her chances of winning a knife fight with Alex. If only half his stories were true he’d had a lot of practice at that sort of thing.

She herded Chris through the kitchen and into the next corridor. Their cabins were down there. All they could do was get in one and barricade the door. Somehow.

She pushed Chris through the first open door they came to. Checking to see that it had a key she slammed it shut and locked it. She knew Alex wasn’t far behind them. She heard the sound of his footsteps as he half-ran, half-staggered along the corridor. Then there was silence, apart from their own ragged gasps for breath.

Then came a noise. An unpleasant one. Linda realised that it was the sound of Alex’s knife being scraped across the door. Again and again. Then he began to speak. He no longer sounded drunk as he told them, in precise and clinical detail, what he was going to do to them both.

Chris’s sobs changed to retching sounds as she deposited her partly digested breakfast onto the cabin floor.

Rochelle had no idea where she was going. Nor did she care. The right side of her face was still stinging badly from the slap Alex had given her. Her eyes were filled with tears but more from anger than the pain. How dare that bastard hit her like that? Who the hell did he think she was? Did he think he could treat her like trash and expect her to sit back and take it like an obedient puppy? He’s just getting too damn big for his boots these days . . .

And it wasn’t just the slap, it was the way he’d made it plain he wanted to lay Linda, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes herself. Right in front of her. And of course the previous night he’d had Chris. She knew that for a fact. He hadn’t admitted it yet but nor did he bother to even deny it – just grinned that smug grin of his. Okay, so during the eighteen months they’d been going together they’d both screwed around with other people – him especially – but they had an unspoken agreement not to be goddamned blatant about it. Well, as far as she was concerned he’d gone too far this time. Once they got back to dry land she was giving him the elbow . . .

It was about then that Rochelle realised she was lost. She wasn’t even sure which level she was on. She knew she had gone up some stairs and passed through at least one set of automatic doors but how far exactly had she climbed? All these corridors looked the same. It was like being in a giant three-dimensional white maze.

She sighed and kept on walking. She would find the stairs and go down again. A tiny worm of worry was beginning to burrow into the edge of her mind but she tried to ignore it, turning her thoughts back to Alex again. She had never seen him that drunk before. It had been a bit frightening. But sometimes he was a little frightening even when he wasn’t drunk. There was a manic streak in him that scared her a little. But she was attracted to him in spite of – or perhaps because of – that. She knew it was unfashionable to admit such a thing these days, especially in front of a feminist like Chris, but she had always been something of a masochist when it came to lovers.

Not that she didn’t give as good as she got at times, but there did seem to be something about her that dragged the psychopaths out of the woodwork. Small-time psychopaths at any rate.

She stopped her musing as she turned a corner and saw that the corridor came to an end at a pair of doors. After a moment’s hesitation she went on through them and found herself in the big room containing all the empty cages and tanks. She frowned, trying to remember which level this had been on.

She walked down between the rows of cages, hoping to find a way out at the other end. There was still a strange, eerie atmosphere in the aquarium and for the first time that morning she began to feel slightly ill at ease. Maybe it hadn’t been a wise move to go off wandering on her own. The events of last night came back to her with painful clarity. The terrible sound that thing had made as it had tried to get into Paul and Linda’s cabin . . .

Rochelle began to quicken her pace. Suddenly she wanted to get out of that room. Badly.

Then she came to an abrupt halt and gasped with astonishment.

There was a body in one of the fish tanks.

A dead body.

Her heart pounding, she moved closer. It was in the big tank – the one bearing the mysterious label ‘Carcharodon’ . . .

It was a woman. She was floating face-down near the bottom of the tank. She was wearing a white lab coat and had short blonde hair. She seemed fairly young.

Transfixed, Rochelle bent down beside the tank trying to see the girl’s face. Then she recoiled in horror. The girl’s mouth was open and protruding from it was a mass of black tendrils. It seemed as if some sort of plant or fungus was growing out of her. And the tendrils were moving in the still water.

As Rochelle continued to stare at this bizarre sight the girl in the tank turned her head and looked at her through the glass.