Coldbrook (Hammer)(34)

‘Can’t you tell him—’

‘No, Vic! You’re the one who ran, and you’re out there now, boy. So that’s down to you, face to face. I’ve got to stop any more of these bastards getting out.’

‘And how the hell are you going to do that?’

‘Do you care?’ Jonah shouted. ‘Just do your part.’

‘Jonah. Everyone else?’

I don’t have to tell him, Jonah thought, but such cruelty was beyond him. ‘Holly escaped through the breach,’ he said. Then he disconnected, turned the satphone off, and went back to the window.

The face from hell was still there, pressed against the glass, staring at him: jaw moving slightly, tongue squashed, wounds not bleeding. ‘Because it’s dead,’ Jonah said, and he no longer found the idea ridiculous. You’re talking about zombies, Jonah. Yeah, well. What you see, you see, Wendy used to say when Jonah tried to impress upon her the question of scientific proof versus spiritual nonsense and he’d held her comment close to his heart. What you see, you see.

‘Right, then,’ he said, looking at the door window but talking to himself. ‘Let’s see how I can get out of this one.’ He returned to the desk and turned his back on the door, tilting the laptop screen so that he could not see its reflection, and accessed two programs. Some of the afflicted had escaped – Alex the guard captain, at least – but the more he could keep down here with him, the better. They’d be contained, and when the time came to start testing antidotes there’d be a supply of captive subjects.

‘When that time comes,’ Jonah muttered, feeling a chill at the prospect. This was a condition seeded in the other Earth. How would anyone here have a clue how to combat it? And if it spread . . .

After his calls, help would be on its way. But there was no saying what form that help might take.

The scratching at the door became more agitated and Jonah glanced back. There was another face pressed against the glass panel now. Uri. He seemed undamaged, but his eyes had changed. No more laughter or jokes in there. He stared in at Jonah, and Jonah wondered what he saw.

‘Damn it!’ He turned away again and checked to see if he could do what he had planned. It had been a passing thought but, the more he considered his options, the more likely it seemed to be the only possibility. Better than staying trapped in here, at least. Secondary had always been considered a backup location for control of Coldbrook, not an emergency one, and it was as basic as that consideration warranted. There was access to all systems, air conditioning in case of lockdown, and a small cupboard with dried foods and water to last eight people for two days. There was a small bathroom, but nowhere to sleep.

It also had a gun cabinet. Only in America, Jonah had commented to Bill Coldbrook several times during the construction of the facility. They don’t have gun cabinets at CERN.

Don’t they? Bill had replied, and a raised eyebrow had silenced Jonah.

The guns had always been the part of Coldbrook that troubled Jonah most. The argument for them was solid enough, but that didn’t mean he had to like them. If and when they did eventually succeed in their experiment, then through and beyond the breach chamber would be another Earth, perhaps with its own geography, flora and fauna. And perhaps with people. There was no guarantee that anything through there would be friendly, but no certainties otherwise, either. He hated the feel, sight, and smell of guns, but he also grudgingly saw the logic behind their presence here. Should’ve built this thing in the Welsh mountains. Safer, and would’ve brought some money to the valleys, he’d once said to Bill, and Bill had countered with, And you really think the British government wouldn’t station an SAS platoon there?

Jonah left his desk and went to the gun cabinet, entering his ID code into the electronic lock. The door popped open with a gentle click. Inside, two pistols hung on clips, and a shotgun was strapped in one corner. There were two boxes of shotgun shells, and a dozen loaded magazines for the pistols. He had not fired a weapon for seven years, when Vic had taken him to a range a mile outside Danton Rock. After an hour of shooting Vic had declared, If I asked you to shoot at the sky I’d lay good odds that you’d miss. Jonah had taken it as a compliment.

He plucked a pistol from its clips and, after a few moments pressing and prodding, the magazine slipped out. It was fully loaded, so he pushed it back in until it clicked into place. The pistol had a safety built into the grip, he remembered, so he’d have to squeeze tight when he was shooting, and he had to make sure he aimed for—