Frankenstorm: Survivors Read Online Free PDF Page A

dulled now by the lack of illumination. The only light in the office was a gentle, golden glow that came from behind the large corporate logo on one wall. It was a brass representation of the atomic symbol in which the oversized nucleus was the planet earth with a large gold V emblazoned on it.
    The tinny squeak of a voice at the other end of the line came from the small cell phone the man held to his ear.
    “Yes, our information says the storm is moving northeast and it’s on its way out of Eureka.”
    More tinny sounds from the phone.
    “I think we should get a team in there immediately and clean up this mess while we can. It’s a disaster, but it can be handled if it’s handled immediately. . . . Good. Do it now.”
    He severed the connection, then turned his chair around and stood. He slipped the phone into his pocket, walked around his desk and crossed the room to a small closet. He got his coat and put it on.
    He could go home now. He was done for the day.

5
    For the first time since he was small boy, Dr. Jeremy Corcoran wet himself. He stood in the black corridor with his back pressed against the wall, unable to see anything in the dark. Wind howled down the corridor like angry ghosts, much louder and stronger since the loud rumbling he’d heard in the front of the building earlier. He was paralyzed with fear, unable to move, barely able to breathe, and his bladder, which he hadn’t even known was full, suddenly released and he felt the hot urine run down his thighs.
    Only a minute earlier, he’d been waiting in what he was almost certain was a restroom. He’d paid little attention to anything in the old hospital that he did not use himself, and the only bathroom he used was the one in his quarters. But after being ejected from his quarters into the darkness of the corridor, he’d panicked. He’d walked and jogged along the wall, never losing touch with it, keeping one hand on it at all times, sometimes stopping to listen when he heard something close. When he’d heard footsteps hurrying toward him, he’d panicked and started groping for a door, any door, and he’d gone into the first one that came long. He’d assumed it was the restroom because of the tile wall, but it didn’t matter. He’d stayed there, just inside the door, for a long time, waiting, listening, trembling, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying to will his thundering heart to calm down. After hearing nothing for a while, he’d opened the door and listened, then stepped outside and listened. Nothing. He’d continued again, hurrying back the way he’d come, back toward Fara’s office. Until he’d heard something within the wind, movement that was steady and human, and . . . a voice. He’d frozen again and pressed his back against the wall.
    And now, having wet his pants, he tried to determine if the sound warranted such a response. Was it just the wind?
    He heard a gunshot somewhere in the hospital—there had been a few of those—and the clatter of detritus being blown along the corridor floor by the wind. He thought he’d heard the slap of bare feet on the tile and the secretive grumble of voices. But now, all he heard was the wind.
    He continued along the wall, more cautiously now, and thought about what he would do once he got back to the safety of Fara’s office. He would get out of here. Somehow. He would pay money to someone to drive him away from Springmeier. He would scare someone into doing it if he had to, telling them that if they stuck around, they’d be cleaned up with the rest of this mess once Vendon’s team of problem-solvers arrived. He would threaten someone if he had to, steal a car, but he was getting out of and away from that building no matter what, storm or no storm.
    Shouting. Someone was shouting angrily farther down the corridor. No, it was two voices. And footsteps running in the dark. Toward him. It was two men, and they were fighting. One seemed to be chasing the other, then they would stop and