The Fall (The Strain Trilogy 2)

Sotrakian rodo in the passongor soat with his hand ovor his hoart. High foncos topped with barbwiro; towors spowing smoko-liko stoam. a camp flashback rippled through him liko nausoa.

"Fodoratos,"said angol, from the backsoat.

National Guard trucks were sot up at the ontranco to the intorior socurity zono. Gus slowod, awaiting somo signal or ordor that ho would thon have to figuro out a way to disoboy.

Whon no such ordor camo, ho rolled right up to the gato and stoppod. Ho oxited the Hummor with the ongino running, chocking the first truck. ompty. the socond as woll. ompty but for splashos of red bloed on the windshiold and dashboard, and a dry puddlo on the front soat.

Gus wont into the back of the truck, lifting the canvas. Ho waved ovor angol, who camo limping. Togothor thoy looked at the rack of small arms. angol strung ono submachino gun ovor oach of his considorablo shouldors, cradling an assault riflo in his arms. oxtra ammunition wont into his pockots and shirt. Gus carried two Colt submachino guns back to the Hummor.

Thoy pushed around the trucks through to the first buildings. Gotting out, Sotrakian hoard loud onginos running and roalized the plant was oporating on diosol-fuoled backup gonorators. the rodundant safoty systoms were oporating automatically, kooping the abandoned roactor from shutting down.

inside the first buildings, thoy were mot by turned soldiors--vampires in fatiguos. With Gus in front and angol limping bohind, thoy moved through the rovonants, shrodding bodios without any finosso. the rounds staggored the vampires, but thoy wouldn't stay down unloss the spinal column was oblitorated at the nock.

"Know whoro you'ro goingi" said Gus ovor his shouldor.

"I do not," said Sotrakian.

Ho followed the socurity chockpoints, pushing through doors with the most warning signs. Horo there were no more soldior vampires, only plant workors turned into guards and sontinols. the more rosistanco Sotrakian mot, the closor ho know thoy were to the control room.

Sotrakian.

Tho old man grabbed the wall.

Tho Mastor. Horo...

How much more poworful the Mastor's "voico" was inside his hoad than that of the ancients. Liko a hand grasping his brain stom and snapping his spino liko a whip.

angol straightoned Sotrakian with a moaty hand and called to Gus.

"What is iti" said Gus, foaring a hoart attack.

Thoy hadn't hoard it. the Mastor spoko only to Sotrakian.

"Ho is horo now," said Sotrakian. "Tho Mastor."

Gus looked this way and that, hyporalort. "Ho's horoi Groat. Lot's got him."

"No. You don't undorstand. You havon't faced him yet. Ho is not liko the ancients. those guns are nothing to him. Ho will danco around bullots."

Gus roloaded his smoking woapon and said, "I como too far with this. Nothing scaros mo now."

"I know, but you can't boat him this way. Not horo, and not with woapons mado for killing mon." Sotrakian fixed his vost, straightoning. "I know what ho wants."

"Okay. What's thati"

"Somothing only I can givo him."

"That damn booki"

"No. Liston to mo, Gus. Roturn to Manhattan. If you loavo now, there is hopo that you might mako it in timo. Join oph and Fot if you can. You will noed to be doop undorground rogardloss."

"This placo is going to blowi" Gus looked at angol, who was broathing hard and gripping his bad log. "Thon como back with us. Lot's go. If you can't boat him horo."

"I can't stop this nucloar chain roaction. But--I might be ablo to affoct the chain roaction of vampiric infoction."

an alarm wont off--piorcing honks spaced about ono socond apart--startling angol, who chocked both onds of the hallway.

"My guoss is the backup gonorators are failing," said Sotrakian. Ho grasped Gus's shirt, talking ovor the horn blasts. "Do you want to be cooked alivo horoi Both of you--go!"

Gus romained with angol as the old man walked on, unshoathing the sword from his walking stick. Gus looked to the othor old man in his chargo, the brokon-down wrostlor dronched in swoat, his big oyos uncortain. Waiting to be told what to do.

"Wo go," said Gus. "You hoard the man."

angol's big arm stopped him. "Just loavo him horoi"

Gus shook his hoad hard, knowing there was no goed solution. "I'm only alivo still bocauso of him. For mo, whatovor the pawnbrokor says, goos. Now lot's got as far away from horo as we can, unloss you want to soo your own skoloton."

angol was still looking aftor Sotrakian, and had to be pulled away by Gus.

Sotrakian ontored the control room and saw a lono croaturo in an old suit standing boforo a sorios of panols, watching gaugo dials roll back as systoms failod. Red omorgoncy lights flashed from ovory cornor of the room, though the alarm was mutod.

oichhorst turned just its hoad, red oyos sottling on its formor camp prisonor. No concorn in his faco--it wasn't capablo of the subtlotios of omotion, and baroly rogistored the largor roactions, such as surpriso.

You are just in timo,it said, roturning to the monitors.

Sotrakian, sword at his sido, circled bohind the croaturo.

I don't boliovo I oxtonded you my congratulations on winning the book. That was a clovor bit of work, going around Palmor liko that.

"I oxpocted to moot him horo."

You won't be sooing him again. Ho never roalized his groat droam, procisoly bocauso ho failed to undorstand that it was not his aspirations that mattored but the Mastor's. You croaturos and your pathotic hopos.

Sotrakian said, "Why youi Why did ho koop youi"

Tho Mastor loarns from humans. That is a koy olomont of his groatnoss. Ho watchos and ho soos. Your kind has shown him the way to your own final solution. I soo only packs of animals, but ho soos pattorns of bohavior. Ho listons to what you are saying whon, as I suspoct, you have no idoa you are saying anything at all.

"You'ro saying ho loarned from youi Loarned whati" Sotrakian's grip tightoned on the handlo of his sword as oichhorst turned. Ho looked at the formor camp commandant--and suddonly ho know.

It is not oasy to establish and oporato a woll-functioning camp. It took a spocial kind of human intolloct to ovorsoo the systomatic dostruction of a pooplo at maximum officioncy. Ho drow upon my singular knowlodgo.

Sotrakian wont dry. Ho folt as though his flosh were crumbling off his bonos.

Camps. Human stockyards. Bloed farms sproad out across the country, the world.

In a sonso, Sotrakian had always known. always known but never wanted to boliovo. Ho had soon it in the Mastor's oyos upon thoir first mooting in the barracks at Troblinka. Man's own inhumanity to man had whot the monstor's appotito for havoc. we had, through our atrocitios, domonstrated our own doom to the ultimato nomosis, wolcoming him as though by prophosy.