detective.
Sweat had begun to bead on the professor’s forehead. It was nothing compared to the soak matting Dollins’ thinning hair to hisskull, but it was reminder enough that things were escalating at a fantastic rate there in the basement. Also, knowing their time was certain to be running out, Knight went on the offensive, snarling back at the detective;
“And just how am I supposed to know what in hell is in there until we open the door?”
His face going a deep red, from both the heat as well as frustration, Dollins took a step toward the professor, bringing their faces only inches apart as he growled;
“This is not over, wise guy.”
Then Dollins turned abruptly, moving on the door to the property room. Still carrying a weapon in each hand, the detective was just about to shove one into a pocket so he could safely open the door when he stopped—transfixed. Closing with him, a worried Knight caught sight of what the officer had seen and stopped moving himself. Both men blinked involuntarily, Dollins shaking his head violently, as if the motion might change the image before him.
It did not, however, and there in the silent, smoke-filled basement the center of the steel property room door continued to glow, a harsh electrical steam fizzing away from it as the thick metal of it began to melt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Back up—move. Hurry!” shouted Knight, coughing as his sudden exclamation caused him to breathe in far more of the acrid smoke swirling in the hallway than his lungs could handle. The taste of the smoke frightened him, its increasingly bitter tang telling him far more than he wished to know. Pushing at Dollins, trying to force the far larger man into moving even while still choking, the professor barely managed to add, “Now!”
“Why?” The detective snapped the word defiantly, as if whatever response he received to that question might answer many others. Grabbing Knight’s arm, he demanded, “What’s in there? Just what in hell is in there?!”
“Something that can melt its way through steel, you idiot!” Pointing at the growing spot in the center of the door, the academic focused the large man’s attention on the streaks of fiery liquid metal beginning to ooze downward from the glistening core. Then, shaking off Dollins’ grasp,the professor began backing down the hallway, forcing words out in between coughs;
“I don’t possess … any means to combat that … whatever that is. We’ve got to get—get out of here!”
Free from the detective’s formidable grip, Knight took two more rapid steps backward. Working hard to control his breathing, desperate to stop coughing, to clear his eyes of the terrible burning sensation gnawing its way into them, the professor knew with an unshakable certainty that whatever was coming through the door could not be stopped by two mere mortals.
Because of the growing taste of copper in the air, Knight believed he might have some slight idea as to what might be melting the door. But, he also knew that if he was correct, he and the detective would be lucky to escape the building, and then only if they turned and ran—immediately.
“You know what it is that’s in there,” insisted Dollins. Following the retreating professor down the hall, he growled, “I know you do. Fer Christ’s sake, tell me what it is—what we need to do to put it down!”
Stopping for a moment, the last time he planned to do so before he reached the street, Knight placed his hand atop his head, wiping the remaining water in his hair down into his eyes. Then, placing his still-wet hand over his mouth and nose, he dragged down as deep a breath as he could through his fingers, then told the detective;
“Listen to me. Believe me when I tell you this. Yes—I might have some idea what it is that’s breaching that door, but even if my guess is correct, that doesn’t mean that we can stop it. Do you understand me—we can’t. We can … not … stop it
Sweat had begun to bead on the professor’s forehead. It was nothing compared to the soak matting Dollins’ thinning hair to hisskull, but it was reminder enough that things were escalating at a fantastic rate there in the basement. Also, knowing their time was certain to be running out, Knight went on the offensive, snarling back at the detective;
“And just how am I supposed to know what in hell is in there until we open the door?”
His face going a deep red, from both the heat as well as frustration, Dollins took a step toward the professor, bringing their faces only inches apart as he growled;
“This is not over, wise guy.”
Then Dollins turned abruptly, moving on the door to the property room. Still carrying a weapon in each hand, the detective was just about to shove one into a pocket so he could safely open the door when he stopped—transfixed. Closing with him, a worried Knight caught sight of what the officer had seen and stopped moving himself. Both men blinked involuntarily, Dollins shaking his head violently, as if the motion might change the image before him.
It did not, however, and there in the silent, smoke-filled basement the center of the steel property room door continued to glow, a harsh electrical steam fizzing away from it as the thick metal of it began to melt.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Back up—move. Hurry!” shouted Knight, coughing as his sudden exclamation caused him to breathe in far more of the acrid smoke swirling in the hallway than his lungs could handle. The taste of the smoke frightened him, its increasingly bitter tang telling him far more than he wished to know. Pushing at Dollins, trying to force the far larger man into moving even while still choking, the professor barely managed to add, “Now!”
“Why?” The detective snapped the word defiantly, as if whatever response he received to that question might answer many others. Grabbing Knight’s arm, he demanded, “What’s in there? Just what in hell is in there?!”
“Something that can melt its way through steel, you idiot!” Pointing at the growing spot in the center of the door, the academic focused the large man’s attention on the streaks of fiery liquid metal beginning to ooze downward from the glistening core. Then, shaking off Dollins’ grasp,the professor began backing down the hallway, forcing words out in between coughs;
“I don’t possess … any means to combat that … whatever that is. We’ve got to get—get out of here!”
Free from the detective’s formidable grip, Knight took two more rapid steps backward. Working hard to control his breathing, desperate to stop coughing, to clear his eyes of the terrible burning sensation gnawing its way into them, the professor knew with an unshakable certainty that whatever was coming through the door could not be stopped by two mere mortals.
Because of the growing taste of copper in the air, Knight believed he might have some slight idea as to what might be melting the door. But, he also knew that if he was correct, he and the detective would be lucky to escape the building, and then only if they turned and ran—immediately.
“You know what it is that’s in there,” insisted Dollins. Following the retreating professor down the hall, he growled, “I know you do. Fer Christ’s sake, tell me what it is—what we need to do to put it down!”
Stopping for a moment, the last time he planned to do so before he reached the street, Knight placed his hand atop his head, wiping the remaining water in his hair down into his eyes. Then, placing his still-wet hand over his mouth and nose, he dragged down as deep a breath as he could through his fingers, then told the detective;
“Listen to me. Believe me when I tell you this. Yes—I might have some idea what it is that’s breaching that door, but even if my guess is correct, that doesn’t mean that we can stop it. Do you understand me—we can’t. We can … not … stop it
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