The
House of Screams, Isla Dos Diablos
Sunday, August 29, 3:43
P.M.
Time Remaining on
Extinction Clock: 68 hours, 17 minutes
E.S.T.
Eighty-two ran as fast as he could. Gunfire
echoed through the halls and he thought he heard the screams of the
tiger-hounds inside the building. There were eight of them on the
island, including two mated pairs that were bigger than Siberian
tigers. If they got past the guardhouse and into the House of
Screams they would slaughter every last one of the New Men. It had
been genetically bred into them to react to New Men as their
primary source of prey-something Eighty-two had heard Otto discuss
with one of the animal handlers. It allowed them to sell the
animals to anyone who had bought sufficient numbers of New
Men.
The building was in panic now. White-coated
scientists ran past him; cooks and house staff scrambled for any
way out of the compound. The sound of gunfire was continuous and
there were explosions, too. Eighty-two knew the sounds of arms and
ordnance. He recognized the hollow pops of small-arms and rifle
fire and the heavy bark of grenades. This was a full-out assault,
but there was no way to know who was winning.
He ducked into a closet long enough to try
his radio, but all he heard was a high-pitched squeal. A jammer.
That would be an automatic response initiated by the compound’s
auto defense systems, and the controls for that were in the
guardhouse. He’d never be able to shut it off.
Eighty-two shoved the radio back into his
pocket and dove back into the hall, turning right and heading for
the dormitories where the New Men would be huddled. He could
imagine their terror and uncertainty at what was happening. The
alarms, the gunfire, the screams of the
tiger-hounds.
Would she be there? Would the female be back
in the dormitory, or had she been taken to the infirmary after
Carteret had finished with her? Doubt made Eighty-two slow from a
run to a walk.
And that’s when the man who was following
Eighty-two grabbed him by the hair.