Chapter 26: THE INFECTED
The maintenance hatch exploded outward.
Something that had been human lunged through the opening, moving with speed that shouldn't have been possible for a body so visibly transformed. Blue filaments covered its face like a mask, its eyes glowing with bioluminescent light, its mouth open in a sound that was half-scream and half-broadcast.
Amos fired without hesitation.
Three rounds center mass. The body jerked, stumbled—and kept coming.
"Head!" I shouted. "Structural damage!"
Amos adjusted. Two rounds to the skull. The infected collapsed, twitching, the glow in its eyes fading to nothing.
"They're not people anymore," he said quietly. There was no judgment in his voice, no horror—just assessment. "Good to know."
More movement in the corridor ahead. Shapes in the darkness, moving with that same wrong coordination, the blue glow of their transformed bodies providing just enough light to see them coming.
"Defensive formation," I ordered. "Move and shoot. Don't let them close."
We pushed forward through corridors that had become alien tunnels, the walls covered in organic growth that pulsed with its own rhythm. The infected came in waves—sometimes one or two, sometimes half a dozen—and we put them down with professional efficiency.
But efficiency cost ammunition. And Eros was vast.
"Barrier ahead," Naomi reported. Her voice was steady despite everything we'd seen. "Corridor's completely blocked."
She was right. The passage we'd been following terminated in a wall of biomass—living, pulsing, the protomolecule's growth filling the space from floor to ceiling. Blue light emanated from within, casting strange shadows that seemed to move independently.
"We need another route," Holden said. "Miller, check the schematics—"
"Wait." I moved toward the barrier, drawn by something I couldn't name. The proto-resistance was active now, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with exertion.
The biomass reacted to my approach.
Not aggressively—curiously. The surface rippled, shifted, and then... parted. Just slightly. Just enough to create a gap that might have been navigable.
I stepped back quickly. No one else had noticed—they were focused on the schematics, on finding an alternate path. But I'd seen it. Felt it.
The protomolecule recognized something in me. And it was uncertain how to respond.
"There's a service tunnel two corridors back," Miller announced. "It should connect to the main passage further in."
"Then we take it." I kept my voice level, my expression neutral. "Stay alert. They could be anywhere."
We backtracked, and I didn't look at the biomass again. Didn't let myself think about what had just happened.
But I filed it away. Another piece of the puzzle.
Miller found the signs thirty minutes later.
"Footprints," he said, kneeling beside marks in the organic growth that covered the floor. "Human. Recent. Someone came through here alive."
"Could be survivors," Holden said hopefully.
"Could be." Miller followed the trail with his eyes, tracing it down the corridor. "Could also be someone like Julie—infected but fighting it."
"Would that be better or worse?"
"Depends on your perspective." Miller stood, checked his weapon. "Trail leads toward the research section. That's where Protogen would have had their people."
"If anyone's alive, that's where they'd be," I agreed. "Defensible, probably stocked with supplies. It's what I'd do."
We moved through the darkness, following signs that might lead to survivors or might lead to something worse. The whispers had started now—not quite voices, not quite sounds, the protomolecule's attempt to communicate with systems it wanted to absorb.
My mental shielding filtered it automatically. The others weren't as fortunate.
"Does anyone else hear that?" Naomi asked. Her voice was tight, controlled. "Like... voices, but not quite?"
"It's the protomolecule," I said. "Broadcasting. Don't listen to it. Focus on the mission."
"Easy for you to say," Amos muttered. "Some of us don't have whatever magic resistance you've got."
He'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed. Amos noticed everything—filed it away, used it when he needed it.
"Not magic," I said. "Training."
"Sure." He didn't believe me. But he didn't push either. There would be time for explanations later, assuming we survived long enough for later to happen.
The research section appeared ahead—emergency lighting brighter here, signs of organized activity. Someone had set up a base camp in the middle of hell.
"Contact," Miller reported. "Movement behind the barrier. Looks like... people. Normal people."
We'd found survivors.
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