Clay let out a soft snarl of frustration. The dinosaur gallery was right under the European galleries, but U-shaped, guiding traffic in one end, then around and out the other, with no possible side trips.
I looked at Clay. We were both thinking the same thing--we had a surefire shot at catching Rose here...if we split up.
A moment's hesitation, then Clay nodded and motioned for me to cover the exit.
I watched him stride through the exhibit entrance, then ducked in the exit and stopped to get my bearings. In any other gallery today, this would have been a simple matter of looking down the empty hall for the first sign of life. But there were quite a few other people here, most under the age of five, as if parents were taking advantage of low attendance at the museum to give their preschoolers as much face time with dinosaur bones as they could want.
Children raced along the corridor, under the snouts of the looming beasts as their parents sat or stood in twos and threes, chatting and laughing. The noise level, replete with choreographed booms and shrieks, made listening for Rose impossible. Sniffing was also out of the question--the old and well-loved gallery was overpoweringly ripe. So I had to look for her...which would have been much easier if the lights weren't cranked down to simulate primeval darkness.
I walked down the center of the hall, my gaze drifting from side to side, only registering life-forms four feet and taller, which cut the prospects dramatically.
I hit a stroller barricade and murmured an "excuse me," my gaze still focused ten feet ahead. Someone caught my arm, and I swung back, hand balling into a fist...then realized I was about to deck a smiling woman holding a baby.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Excuse me--"
"When are you due?" she asked.
"Due?"
She motioned to my stomach. I looked down, and for a split second stared at my jutting stomach, wondering "where did that come from?" before my brain slammed back on track.
"Oh, ummm, soon. Excuse--"
Another woman in the group let out a squeak. "Oh, my God. See, I'm not the only crazy one." She laid her hand on my arm. "Lee was just reminding me about last August when I was--" She motioned to my stomach. "That huge, and whining about the heat."
"I warned you, never get pregnant at Christmas," the third woman said. "As romantic as it might seem, it isn't nearly so nice eight months later, when it's baking hot and you're carrying an extra twenty pounds." She looked at me. "Am I right?"
"Er, uh..." I struggled for something to say, something other than: excuse me, I have a homicidal zombie to catch.
The women were all beaming my way, ready to welcome a temporary addition to their clique, and I realized just how much I was not going to be "moms and tots" playgroup material. Had I already doomed my child to life as a social misfit? A father who'd never coach Little League...a mother who'd never host PTA bake sales...an entire family whose idea of an exciting summer getaway was chasing down zombies? Which reminded me...
"Excuse me--" I began.
"Oh, speaking of warm, show her the sweater set."
The first woman, the one with the baby, lifted a paper from her stroller and held it out. On it was a picture of a matching knit sweater, booties and hat.
"That's...cute," I said, scanning over their heads for Rose. "Great idea for winter. Maybe I'll buy one. Now if I could--"
"Buy one?" The second woman laughed. "It's a pattern. For knitting. Old-fashioned, I know, but it's a great way to relieve stress."
Knitting? I stared in horror at the outstretched pattern, mumbled my excuses and finally squeezed through, hurrying back to less terrifying pursuits.
I rounded the corner at the same time as Clay came barreling around the other side. We stopped, twenty feet apart, looked at each other, then searched the gap between us, our lips forming a silent curse--probably the same curse.
We strode forward and met in the middle.
"She didn't get past me," I whispered.
"Me neither. It's not crowded or dark enough to have missed her circling back."
I looked for potential hiding places, but the layout was simple--too simple to misplace an entranced toddler, let alone a woman. Then I remembered the stroller barricade.
"I was stopped," I said. "Back there. The hall was blocked. Maybe, when I got through, if she was right on the other side, in the shadows or something..."
"You could have missed her. Probably not, but..."
"We should check."
The strollers were still there, the women now talking to a pair of preschoolers. Their faces lit up when they saw me again.
"Oh, is this your husband?" one said. "Lucky girl. I can never get mine anywhere near this place."
"We were with another woman," I said as I reached them. "A friend. We've lost her. Did anyone come back this way?"
"No one's been by since you, hon," said the oldest. "It's dead in here today."
As I thanked them and turned to go, the one with the baby grabbed the sweater set pattern and thrust it out.
"Here, take this. I have a copy."
Clay glanced down.
"Isn't it sweet?" she said. "I'm making one for Natalie." She looked at me. "You'll love knitting. It's so relaxing...and you're going to need all the relaxation you can get soon."
As the women chuckled, Clay grabbed the pattern.
"Knitting?" He looked at me. "Yeah, I can see that."
He thanked the woman and stuffed it into his pocket.
As we strode away, I muttered, "When that page leaves your pocket, it better be headed straight for a trash can."
"You heard the lady. You'll need relaxation. Knitting would be--" His lips twitched. "--fun."
"You ever buy me knitting needles, and I'll show you a whole new use for them."
"I'll remember that." His grin vanished. "Now where the hell did--"
He stopped as our eyes traveled in the same direction...and reached the same destination. An exit door, concealed in the back wall.
"Shit."
Clay jerked his chin at me. Not much of an instruction, but I understood it. Stay and watch while he opened the door.
I did, he did, and we slipped through the doorway and into a narrow service hall. There was no one in sight, so I dropped into an ungainly crouch and took a deep breath.
When I caught the scent, we set out, jogging quietly along the back hall. Patrons weren't the only ones avoiding the museum that day. Only once did we hear footsteps echoing through the maze of corridors, and they turned off before getting anywhere near us.
At each doorway or branching hall, I stopped, dropped and sniffed. The trail stuck to the main passage. Did Rose know she was being followed? Or had her near-death upstairs spooked her into picking a back exit?
When we hit a flight of service stairs, the trail went down. She hadn't stopped at the first floor, but had kept going, into the basement. All the better. I pulled out my cell phone and turned it on. Despite its tumble, it still worked. I called Nick and told him to meet us downstairs. As I hung up, I almost missed a step. Clay caught my arm. As he moved, I caught the scent of blood. I grabbed his wrist. He looked down at the dripping "scratch" and snorted, as if it was a cause for annoyance not concern.
"It's deeper than I thought," I said.
He shook his head. "Probably nicked a vein or something. No big deal. Jeremy will take care of it--later."
"Maybe I should check--"
"Keep walking. I'll fix it."
He stripped off his T-shirt and tore a few inches from the bottom. I tried to get a better look at the scratch, but then we hit the bottom step and he swung around me to take the lead.
Hull
THE TRAIL ENDED AT A DOOR LEADING BACK INTO A SEMI-DARK construction zone. It was an obstacle course of construction materials--piles of drywall and lumber, sawhorses, tarps and rubbish. A room full of places to hide.
Clay cocked his head, nostrils flaring--listening, looking and sniffing.
I squinted to let my eyes adjust, and c
ounted the exits. The farthest, an open doorway, led to what looked like another hall.
A shape passed that distant door, and I tapped Clay's arm, redirecting his attention. He nodded, and we split up again, heading for that far door.
I made it there first and glanced around the doorway to see a figure obscured behind a sheet of opaque plastic hanging from the ceiling. Clay tensed but, after a deep breath, I shook my head.
"Nick," I mouthed.
I cleared my throat, so I wouldn't startle him. Zoe pulled back the plastic and waved us over. Nick was on her other side, hunched down, trying to pick up a scent.
"Don't bother," I said. "She went down this hall. I can smell her already."
"So can I," he said. "It's the other one I'm trying to pick up."
"We were wondering when he'd show up."
Nick shook his head. "I don't think it's a zombie. I didn't smell the same--"
"That's because we've only killed him once so far. He's not as ripe as she is."
Clay waved us to silence. "Let's concentrate on the one we have--the one that's getting away as we stand here."
We followed Rose's trail to a door that opened into an outdoor construction zone. This site was empty, someone having apparently decided current events were sufficient grounds for a mass personal day.
Tarps flapped in the breeze, against the distant roar of the streets. Clay tapped my arm and gestured to a security van parked off to the side. I nodded as he alerted the others.
Zoe shook her head and whispered, "There's no one here. I can tell."
I bent to pick up Rose's scent, winnowing it out from all the others. Once I found it, I started forward, weaving around piles of building material.
Within ten feet, we hit a spill of some kind, as if someone had dumped building chemicals--hopefully by accident. The trail became indistinct, the smell of rot more apparent on the air than the ground. Clay and I headed around the piles of material in one direction, while Zoe and Nick took the other.
I finally picked up Rose's scent again, but only got about twenty feet more before I lost it behind trailers stacked with lumber. When I bent, Clay waved me up.
"You shouldn't be bending so much. Can't be comfortable. I'll take a turn."
As he crouched, I heard the crunch of stones underfoot. I motioned to Clay, but he'd already stopped, head tilted, following the noise. He grabbed the edge of the trailer and swung onto it. I followed...with more heaving and clambering than "swinging."
By the time I was atop the trailer bed, Clay was on the lumber pile. He looked over the other side, then helped me up. As I scrambled to the top, a fair-haired head bobbed from behind a truck. A man stepped out. Thirties, maybe nearing forty, and small, though that was probably the fault of my vantage point.
The man was dressed in slacks and a dress shirt. An office worker cutting through the empty construction yard. Then I noticed his pants were an inch too short and his shirt was too large in the collar and long in the sleeves. Not as ill-fitting as the bowler-hatted man's clothes, but enough to make me take a second look. In that look, my gaze slid down the overlong sleeve...to a semiconcealed knife in his hand.
"Zombie?" Clay mouthed.
I took a deep breath, but he was downwind.
"Can't tell," I whispered.
He was below us--about a dozen feet away. Decent positioning for a jump. As Clay crouched, neither of us moved or said a word, but the man stiffened, and his gaze swung up and around. He caught Clay before we could backpedal.
The man's face paled and his eyes widened. I shifted, and the man's gaze shot my way, as if he hadn't noticed me there before.
"Oh, thank God," the man murmured in a soft, British-accented voice. "It's you." He lifted a hand to shield his eyes as his gaze turned to Clay. "Yes, yes, of course it is. I should have recognized you as well, but--" His eyes closed and he shuddered. "Dear God, my heart. When I saw you up there, I was certain I'd run straight into a trap, that you were another of those--" He shuddered again. "--those things."
"Things?" I said.
"That...Those..." He faltered, as if he couldn't find a word. "The man and the woman. They--" He took a deep quavering breath. "I'm sorry. Just give me a moment."
He lifted his hand. The knife blade flashed. Clay dropped, ready to leap, and the man nearly fell backward, arms going up to ward Clay off.
"D-don't--I mean you no harm. Please--"
"Drop the knife," Clay said, his voice a nearly unintelligible growl.
"The--?" The man's gaze dropped to his hand. "Oh, oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry." He stooped and laid the knife down, then gave a small, nervous laugh. "I can't blame you for being wary. I know they've been after your wife, which can't be very pleasant." His gaze slid to my stomach. "Particularly considering her delicate condition. But I believe--" He swallowed. "That is to say, I hope I can help you."
"Not interested."
As Nick and Zoe approached, I could see that my assessment of the man's size hadn't been skewed by our position--he wasn't much bigger than Zoe, in height or weight.
Zoe stopped and looked at him, head tilting as if puzzled. Nick was downwind, so I motioned for him to sniff the air. He did--twice--then shook his head.
"Hello," the man said, his head bobbing in greeting. "I was just speaking to your friends. I saw you together earlier. I was following you. That is to say, I was following her, that...thing. The woman. She led me to you, and I continued on here, in hopes of getting an opportunity to speak to you. But before I could go inside, the other one cut me off."
"The other one?" I said.
"The man. Her partner. He saw me and--" The man swallowed, his gaze tripping around the construction site. "I hid, and I thought I lost him. Then I heard noises. I was preparing to run when I saw you."
"Who are you?" I asked.
Clay grunted, telling me not to engage him.
I leaned closer and whispered, "He's not a zombie."
Clay's expression didn't change. "Don't care."
"I'm not one of them," the man said, then hesitated. "Or, I should say, I do not believe I am. It's all very..." He shook his head sharply. "It doesn't matter. My name is Matthew Hull, and yes, I did come through that...whatever it was. I could use your help, and in return, can offer my own."
I glanced at Clay, but he was staring at Hull as if he could bore into his thoughts and read his intentions.
Hull continued, a near-pleading note in his voice. "My perspective is one you're not likely to have, or be able to find elsewhere. A firsthand account, so to speak."
Clay's scrutiny was obviously making Hull uncomfortable. He shifted from one foot to the other, glanced over his shoulder at Zoe and Nick, then took a sideways step, as if preparing for a quick escape.
"Perhaps we could speak in someplace more...public," he said. "We passed a park south of here. When I was following you. The road appeared to circle around it."
"Queen's Park," I said, as Clay tensed, ready for the leap. "Fine, but we have someone else who'd like to speak to you, and he's not here right now, so why don't I give him a call..."
I took out my cell phone. A momentary distraction that worked better than I expected because, as I lifted it to my ear, the man stared at me in confusion. The perfect opportunity for Clay to take him down. When he didn't, I looked over to see him staring out over the construction yard. There, on the other side, a man was creeping around a dump bin. While I couldn't make out his features, I recognized his form and his stance, slightly stooped. The other zombie.
Below, Hull had noticed our attention wander. I motioned to Nick, telling him to go after the zombie and leave this one to us. He slipped away. Zoe hesitated and glanced at me for instructions. When I didn't give any, she followed Nick. The man watched them leave.
"They--they're still here, aren't they?" he stammered. "Those...things. Perhaps I should leave this to you--"
"Don't move," Clay said.
"We could still meet in the park," the man said, gaze
darting about for the clearest escape route. "Shall we say, dusk? At the north end?"
Clay leapt just as Hull bolted. A second sooner, and he would have landed atop him. As it was, he hit the ground about five feet behind the already running man. As I moved forward to jump down, the toe of my sneaker snagged on an exposed nail. Any other time, that would have just meant an embarrassing stumble and quick recovery as Clay sprinted away, leaving me to catch up. But the moment Clay saw my shadow stutter, he stopped, turning fast, arms going up as if I was about to fall headfirst off the trailer.
"I'm fine!" I said. "Go!"
He hesitated until he saw that I was indeed okay. Then he continued the pursuit, but slowly now, as if my stumble had reminded him where his priorities lay. As the gap between Clay and Hull widened, I knew that the only way we were going to get him is if I caught up--and fast. So I concentrated on forgetting the twenty-pound weight on my gut and the sweat streaming into my eyes.
As I sprinted forward, something jumped from behind a pile of lumber. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught only a furry brown blur, and my brain screamed "wolf." I backpedaled so fast I tripped and thudded down on my backside, letting out a whimper as I felt the jolt slam through to my stomach. I jerked forward into a semi-seated fetal position, protecting my stomach.
Something hit my shoulder, teeth catching in my shirt. A strangled snarl from Clay. A high-pitched squeal of rage from whatever was clinging to my shoulder, then the thump of flesh hitting wood as it flew off. I caught a whiff of my attacker then, and knew what it was even as I turned to see it lying dead beside a pile of boards.
"A rat?" I said. "In daylight?"
"Elena?" Clay's voice was oddly quiet, with that same strangled note I'd heard in his snarl. "Don't move. Please, don't move."
I started to ask "why?" then realized speaking probably fell under the heading of "moving." Instead, I moved only my eyes, following Clay's gaze up to the pile of boards beside me. There, perched on top, were four rats, all staring at me. Their mouths were open, lower incisors revealed. The fur on their foreheads was flattened, their ears rotated forward. They let out short hisses and the occasional squeak. Definitely not a display of welcome.
Clay's gaze slid to the other side of me, where I remembered seeing a pile of bricks. I couldn't look that way without moving, but a crosswind brought more rat stink, and I knew I was surrounded by them.