Page 55 of Silent Road

Secret weapons testing.Alien autopsies.Government conspiracies.

Now, shivering in the growing darkness, Mark wished he'd paid more attention to the actual layout.Where could he find supplies?Medical equipment?Some way to call for help?

His side throbbed, reminding him that he needed to deal with the wound.He pulled up his shirt, wincing at the sight of dried blood.The cut wasn't as bad as it had felt initially—more of a deep scratch than a stab wound.But in these conditions, even a minor injury could become deadly.

Mark tore a strip from his undershirt to make a rough bandage.The fabric stuck to the wound, but at least the bleeding had mostly stopped.Now, his biggest enemy was the cold.The temperature was dropping rapidly as night approached, and the concrete walls offered little protection.

He needed to find a better position, somewhere more defensible.And he needed fire.

His hands shook as he dug through his pockets, praying his lighter was still there.It was—a cheap plastic thing he'd bought at the resort gift shop.He never smoked, but his followers had requested a sunset shoot with atmospheric smoke effects.The irony wasn't lost on him.

Moving deeper into the facility, Mark tried to orient himself.The main corridor branched in three directions.Right led to the laboratories, if he remembered correctly.Left to offices and storage.Straight ahead to...what had they called it?The vault.A massive circular chamber that had probably housed some kind of equipment.

He chose left.Best chance of finding something useful.

The beam of his lighter revealed rows of offices, their doors hanging open.Paper scattered the floor, crunching under his feet.Old filing cabinets stood like sentinels in the darkness.The cold here was even more intense, seeping up through the concrete floor.

Mark soon found what he was looking for in the third office—an old metal trash can.Perfect for containing a fire.He gathered papers from the floor, his movements becoming more urgent as the light outside dimmed.Soon it would be fully dark.

The papers caught easily enough, but he needed something that would burn longer.He remembered seeing wooden chairs somewhere…

A sound echoed through the facility—metal scraping against concrete.

Mark froze, the lighter flame flickering in his trembling hand.Had something shifted in the barricade?Or was someone moving it?

He extinguished the light and pressed himself against a wall, listening.Nothing happened.

You're imagining things, freaking yourself out.There's no way that guy followed you through the snowstorm.And even if he did, he wouldn't know his way around this old place.

Maybe not.But if he found his way in and saw Mark's fire…

What's the alternative?Freezing to death?

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself.Then, coming to a decision, he struck the lighter again.He had to keep warm, had to—

This time, there was no mistaking the grinding shriek of metal being moved somewhere above him as his barricade was breached.

Nor the sound of footsteps on metal.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

"Nothing."Sheila swept her flashlight beam across the snow-covered ground."The storm's erased everything."

Tommy stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his coat pockets."We can't stay out here much longer.Temperature's dropping fast."

She knew he was right, but the thought of returning without finding Mark made her sick to her stomach.Two people were already dead.She couldn't let there be a third.

"Maybe he circled back toward the tower," she suggested."We could head there, see if we run into him."Even as she said the words, however, she knew the idea was no good.The snow was falling so heavily now that their own tracks had disappeared within minutes.

"Sheila."Tommy's voice was gentle."We need to regroup.Get more people out here when the storm lets up."

"When the storm lets up?"she asked."And if it snows all night?"

"Then we come back in the morning."

"He'll be dead by then."

"If he isn't already."

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