Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [106]
But now Clarence was bracing himself, back to the wall and foot on the door they needed to pass through. He grunted, his boot squeaking with the effort, but the door didn’t budge. A makeshift barricade on the other side was the culprit. It wasn’t the first they’d seen. They’d seen too many, in fact.
The corridor was too straight and dark for her tastes, like being devoured by a throat. Even the continued sight of swatches of blood—across walls, across ceilings—had begun to get to her. Blood still didn’t bother her, but she’d never seen so damn much before, over such a long period. She’d run out of jokes about it. Even the dull smell of it was getting to her. She didn’t like that she couldn’t raise Burgundy, either.
Gersten muscled in beside Clarence, but gave up after a moment.
“No good, not gonna move.” Gersten, a great hulk of a man, spoke almost as rarely as Clarence, and with as much authority.
Clarence shook his head in agreement, even as he gave the door another kick.
A high-pitched shriek tore through the corridor, dissolved into a cackle, cut off.
“What the hell was that?” Tsardikos asked.
“Just the ship, probably,” Benti said, lying.
“Yeah,” he replied, barely heard her. “Right.”
“Hang on,” Orlav said as she scrolled through the schematic a lot quicker than she had been. “I’ll find us another route.”
The tension was thick between them, the muted light shifting imperceptibly across Orlav’s face as she traced out paths and access points. Benti could hear the others trying to breathe quietly, trying not to breathe at all.
Benti had a good imagination. She remembered that Elite, unarmed and naked and shushing her so it could listen, and she listened, too. She knew that ships were never silent. They had their own language. Humming ventilation, the drone of the engines, the electronic pitch of a million circuits, the groan of vast plates resisting the vacuum of space. That shriek hadn’t been a ship noise, not even close.
As Orlav continued to scroll, a new sound brushed up the corridor and overhead—like an enormous feather sliding across tin foil that then resolved into something soft and sickening and chittering. A sound you’d tell yourself you’d imagined, because you couldn’t imagine what would have made it. It didn’t repeat. Benti never wanted to hear it again.
Benti held her flashlight steady, deliberately steady, staring into the darkness at nothing, gathering herself. Then she cast a quick eye around the walls. “Ducts?”
“You can get into the damn ducts,” Tsardikos said. “I’m not.”
“Not enough space for anyone anyway,” Gersten said, looking as spooked as Benti felt.
“Okay.” Orlav’s voice made Benti start. “We need to backtrack. Should be access to the lower level two junctions over from the last intersection. This will take us through the recycling plant.” Orlav sounded triumphant, which bothered Benti a bit. Don’t applaud work-arounds until they actually work around.
“Yum,” she said, with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.
She cast a last look over the blocked door. None of them had said it, but the barricade that had stopped them hadn’t held. The wreckage—an unholy flotsam and jetsam of chairs, couches, smashed up boxes, machine parts, and even a potted plant or two—had been pushed back and jammed the door after it had been broken. Just like so many other barricades and blockades they’d passed on their way, as if a frantic siege had rolled its way through the ship. Prison riot, she thought, trying it on for size. It didn’t fit. Not really.
There had been a glimpse, in the narrow sliver of passage still open, of the corridor beyond. It was painted purple with Covenant blood. At the edge of the torch light she thought she’d seen a shape on the floor, something with dimensions that didn’t sit well with her.
They should have found someone by now. Nobody