Stones gave way, the side wall of the chamber entrance collapsing as Setrakian crawled away. The roar was loud but brief, the chamber filling with dust, smothering the remaining light. Setrakian crawled blindly over the stones, and a hand grabbed him, its grip strong. The dust parted enough for Setrakian to see that a large stone had crushed the Thing’s head from crown to jaw—and yet it was still functioning. Its dark heart, or whatever it was, still throbbed hungrily. Setrakian kicked at its arm until he escaped the Thing’s grip, and in doing so dislodged the stone. The top half of the head was split, the skull slightly cracked, like a soft-boiled egg.

Setrakian grabbed a leg and dragged the body with his one good arm. He hauled it back to the surface and out of the ruins, into the very last vestiges of daylight filtering in through the tree cover. The dusk was orange and dim—but it was enough. The Thing writhed in pain as it quickly cooked, settling into the ground.

Setrakian raised his face to the dying sun and let loose an animal howl. An unwise act, as he was still on the run from the fallen camp—an outpouring of his anguished soul, from the slaughter of his family, to the terrors of his captivity, to the new horrors he had found…and, finally, to the God who had abandoned him and his people.

Next time he met one of these creatures, he would have the proper tools at his disposal. He would give himself better than a fighting chance. He knew then, as surely as he was still alive, that he would follow the tracks of that vanished coffin for years to come. For decades, if necessary. It was this certainty that gave him a newfound direction and sent him forward in the quest that would occupy him for the rest of his life.

Replication

REPLICATION

Jamaica Hospital Medical Center

Jamaica Hospital Medical Center

Eph and Nora swept their badges through security and got Setrakian through the emergency room entrance without attracting any undo attention. On the stairs going up to the isolation ward, Setrakian said, “This is unreasonably risky.”

Eph said, “This man, Jim Kent—he and Nora and I have worked side by side for a year now. We can’t just abandon him.”

“He is turned. What can you do for him?”

Eph slowed. Setrakian was huffing and puffing behind them, and appreciated the stop, leaning on his walking stick. Eph looked at Nora, and they were agreed.

“I can release him,” said Eph.

They exited the stairwell and eyed the isolation ward entrance down the hallway.

“No police,” Nora said.

Setrakian was looking around. He was not so sure.

“There is Sylvia,” said Eph, noticing Jim’s frizzy-haired girlfriend sitting in a folding chair near the ward entrance.

Nora nodded to herself, ready. “Okay,” she said.