She had administered morphine-based analgesics and was down to the last pack of vials, which on half-dose might go around one more time. With the fever and lack of water there was a danger of salt depletion and dehydration, but there was nothing else she could do.
The room was airless and sweltering and it was getting hard to breathe. Every breath required a conscious effort. She'd never realized how difficult it was when you had to concentrate on the simple act of replenishing your lungs. Breathe in, breathe out. In and out. In. Out.
The storm had faded to a background rumbling. Mingled with it was the sound of weeping from the next room. Jen had wanted to go to him, unable to bear the thought of her husband lying alone, untended, uncared for, but Dan had restrained her. He didn't give a reason, only that it was safer to stay here and not venture into the corridor.
It was very peaceful now that the storm had abated. Ruth felt comfortably drowsy and relaxed, only dimly aware of the tightness across her chest, drifting into a deep dreamless sleep.
"They're blocking off the air!"
Dan was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the door. She watched him hazily. He seemed to be babbling.
"If they fill the corridor we won't be able to breathe."
Ruth flinched, then cowered away as he grabbed hold of a chair and smashed it with all his strength through the large window. The glass collapsed in the frame and tinkled away into the night. At once the fetid smell of the jungle wafted into the room, but now Ruth found that she could draw breath without the constricting pain in her chest. She struggled to her feet, gasping.
"Dan, who's out there? Is someone--something--in the corridor?"
He didn't answer. She followed his gaze to the door. Paint was flaking off. The door seemed to be bulging. The sound of straining timber sang a low steady note of protest. There was a metallic screeching as the hinges were forced out of their seatings.
"What is it? For God's sake, tell me!"
Dan was crouching, arms hanging limply, his face drained of expression. "They're growing in the corridor," he said faintly. "I don't see how because there's nothing to eat out there. The food's in here. But they're growing all the same ..."
The door split down the middle and something white seeped through.
Ruth grabbed him, her nails digging into his arms.
Jen appeared in the doorway, mouth working, eyes wide with shock, and behind her Art Hegler shouted hoarsely, "They're breaking through! Stop the bastards, stop them!"
"There's nothing we can do," Dan said helplessly. "They must be everywhere by now."
He glanced up as the ceiling creaked. A woman scuttled into a corner, screaming through her hands. Dan stared upward as bits of plaster showered down and a jagged crack opened up with a noise like a rifle shot. He couldn't believe it. The pressure! Pulpy soft bodies surely wouldn't have the strength. But their combined weight might do it, packed tightly together, struggling and squirming for growth, for expansion, for life.
Plaster and shreds of insulation were falling all around, filling the air with dust. Dan pulled Ruth to the wall and together they stooped, trying to protect themselves from the debris. Shielded by a raised arm, Dan peered through the thick pall of dust, quite certain that he was hallucinating. The aliens had landed- A silver-suited humanoid figure was descending slowly from above, hovering in midair. Another followed, and another, and they were being invaded by a swarm of aliens from the hole in the ceiling.
Standing there like an apparition, the bulky helmeted figure looked all around and then stepped toward Chase. Ruth tried to get in the way, using her body as a shield, but the silver figure pushed her aside and knelt down as if to inspect the man on the mattress more closely. In place of a mouth there was a metal grille.
"Dr. Chase, I presume," said the alien. He spoke in English.
Chase opened his eyes, adrift in a sea of pain and confusion. He nodded slowly and closed his eyes.
"Glad we got to you before the uncles did," said the alien cheerfully. "Ready to leave?"
29
"Uncles," said the man in the green smock. "Never heard of them before?"
Chase paused from sipping the amber liquid through a plastic tube to shake his head. It was concentrated glucose with a cocktail of protein and vitamin additives. Far too sweet for his taste, but Dr. Pazan insisted that he consume 300 ccs every twelve hours--essential if his body were to combat the effects of the polluted rainwater.
Dr. Pazan made a brief notation on the chart and clipped it to the bed rail. He was a small brown man with elliptical close-set eyes and a runway of bare skin through black glossy hair. "Uncles are what we call the homunculi, a species of mutant that breed and disseminate by spores. Very odd. A hybrid of animal and plant life; unique I should say."
"Where on earth did they come from?"
