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footsteps running. When he raises his head, the boy sees the blond woman fleeing up the concourse, her
bright hair flapping against her back. Someone bumps him and he opens his mouth to cry out.
"Who's that?" a raspy voice demands.
Cole blinked awake.
"I said, who's that?" The same voice, petulant now, almost mocking. Cole rubbed his eyes, his
fingers smeared with grit, and stared blearily into the dimness. A tiny cell, with the same bare cement
walls, the same high ceiling as the isolation room at the county hospital. There was no one in it but
himself.
"Hey, Bob what's your name?"
Cole dug his elbows into his pallet and raised himself, looking around in vain for the source of the
voice. Was this part of the dream? He shook his head, trying to force himself into full wakefulness. His
held felt numb, his mouth was raw and tasted of bile.
"Yo, Bob! Whatsamatta, cat got your "
Suddenly Cole's eyes focused on a vent no wider than his hand, high up on the wall. Could the voice
be coming from there? "Where are you?" he croaked.
The voice laughed with a nasty jubilance. "You can talk! Whaddja do, Bobby Boy? Volunteer?"
Cole squinted at the vent. "My name's not Bob," he said at last.
"No prob, Bob. Where'd they send you?"
Cole licked his lips, tasted dried blood. "Where are you?" he asked.
A pause. Then, "Another cell maybe."
Cole winced and pulled himself upright, straining to see something behind the vent's steel mesh a
face, a shadow, a hand, anything. "What do you mean, maybe ? What's that supposed to mean?"
" Maybe means maybe I'm in the next cell, another volunteer like you. Or maybe I'm in the central
office spying on you for all those science bozos. Or, hey "
The voice took on a more ominous tone. "Maybe I'm not even here. Maybe I'm just in your head. No
way to confirm anything, right? Ha ha. Where'd they send you?"
Cole hunched silently on his pallet.
"Not talking, huh, Bob? That's okay. I can handle that."
"1990."
"Ninety!" the voice exclaimed in exaggerated delight. "oooh! How was it? Good drugs? Lotsa
pussy? Hey, Bob, you do the job? Didja find out the big info? Army of the Twelve Monkeys? Where
the virus was prior to mutation?"
"It was supposed to be 1996."
The voice cackled. "Science isn't exactly an exact science with these clowns, but they're getting
better. Hey, you're lucky you didn't end up in ancient Egypt!"
A rattle of keys in the door behind Cole. He turned, painfully, as the voice whispered, "Shhh!
They're coming!"
The door creaked open and two guards stepped in, wheeling an ancient gurney. Cole let himself be
strapped to it without protest. As they pushed him into the corridor, his eyes remained fixed on the vent
in the wall, its steel grille a mouth drawn in a grimace.
It took them only minutes to reach their destination, a gloomy chamber lit by a single flickering
fluorescent bulb. The room's walls were of cracked concrete, pleached with mildew. Veins of water bled
onto the floor. Cole could hear a soft slurping as the gurney's wheels slid through puddles rank with
mold.
"Well, Cole. No mistakes this time." Several pairs of gloved hands tightened the restraints. "Stay
alert. Keep your eyes open."
Cole recognized the earnest tones of the silver-haired astrophysicist, but in the darkness all he saw
were pale faces, a row of white-clad bodies moving efficiently through the murk.
"Good thinking about that spider, Cole." The zoologist's gentle voice sounded in his ear as the gurney
creaked forward. She stroked his arm, let her hand rest for a moment on his forehead. "Try and do
something like that again. Here, now "
At the end of the room he could just make out a huge, rounded shape, an immense, faintly glowing
tube made of some kind of transparent material. Cole's heart began to pound. He had seen this before,
where had he seen this? In his dream, at the airport? Or, no a flash as he momentarily saw a room at
the county hospital where he had fled before Billings tackled him. A technician's stunned face, a sign on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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footsteps running. When he raises his head, the boy sees the blond woman fleeing up the concourse, her
bright hair flapping against her back. Someone bumps him and he opens his mouth to cry out.
"Who's that?" a raspy voice demands.
Cole blinked awake.
"I said, who's that?" The same voice, petulant now, almost mocking. Cole rubbed his eyes, his
fingers smeared with grit, and stared blearily into the dimness. A tiny cell, with the same bare cement
walls, the same high ceiling as the isolation room at the county hospital. There was no one in it but
himself.
"Hey, Bob what's your name?"
Cole dug his elbows into his pallet and raised himself, looking around in vain for the source of the
voice. Was this part of the dream? He shook his head, trying to force himself into full wakefulness. His
held felt numb, his mouth was raw and tasted of bile.
"Yo, Bob! Whatsamatta, cat got your "
Suddenly Cole's eyes focused on a vent no wider than his hand, high up on the wall. Could the voice
be coming from there? "Where are you?" he croaked.
The voice laughed with a nasty jubilance. "You can talk! Whaddja do, Bobby Boy? Volunteer?"
Cole squinted at the vent. "My name's not Bob," he said at last.
"No prob, Bob. Where'd they send you?"
Cole licked his lips, tasted dried blood. "Where are you?" he asked.
A pause. Then, "Another cell maybe."
Cole winced and pulled himself upright, straining to see something behind the vent's steel mesh a
face, a shadow, a hand, anything. "What do you mean, maybe ? What's that supposed to mean?"
" Maybe means maybe I'm in the next cell, another volunteer like you. Or maybe I'm in the central
office spying on you for all those science bozos. Or, hey "
The voice took on a more ominous tone. "Maybe I'm not even here. Maybe I'm just in your head. No
way to confirm anything, right? Ha ha. Where'd they send you?"
Cole hunched silently on his pallet.
"Not talking, huh, Bob? That's okay. I can handle that."
"1990."
"Ninety!" the voice exclaimed in exaggerated delight. "oooh! How was it? Good drugs? Lotsa
pussy? Hey, Bob, you do the job? Didja find out the big info? Army of the Twelve Monkeys? Where
the virus was prior to mutation?"
"It was supposed to be 1996."
The voice cackled. "Science isn't exactly an exact science with these clowns, but they're getting
better. Hey, you're lucky you didn't end up in ancient Egypt!"
A rattle of keys in the door behind Cole. He turned, painfully, as the voice whispered, "Shhh!
They're coming!"
The door creaked open and two guards stepped in, wheeling an ancient gurney. Cole let himself be
strapped to it without protest. As they pushed him into the corridor, his eyes remained fixed on the vent
in the wall, its steel grille a mouth drawn in a grimace.
It took them only minutes to reach their destination, a gloomy chamber lit by a single flickering
fluorescent bulb. The room's walls were of cracked concrete, pleached with mildew. Veins of water bled
onto the floor. Cole could hear a soft slurping as the gurney's wheels slid through puddles rank with
mold.
"Well, Cole. No mistakes this time." Several pairs of gloved hands tightened the restraints. "Stay
alert. Keep your eyes open."
Cole recognized the earnest tones of the silver-haired astrophysicist, but in the darkness all he saw
were pale faces, a row of white-clad bodies moving efficiently through the murk.
"Good thinking about that spider, Cole." The zoologist's gentle voice sounded in his ear as the gurney
creaked forward. She stroked his arm, let her hand rest for a moment on his forehead. "Try and do
something like that again. Here, now "
At the end of the room he could just make out a huge, rounded shape, an immense, faintly glowing
tube made of some kind of transparent material. Cole's heart began to pound. He had seen this before,
where had he seen this? In his dream, at the airport? Or, no a flash as he momentarily saw a room at
the county hospital where he had fled before Billings tackled him. A technician's stunned face, a sign on [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]