No one asked him to clarify his comment. Their long association with Doc had accustomed them to his sometimes cryptic, often nonsensical remarks. But this time, Ryan cast him a sharp, one-eyed glance.
“All right,” he said, drawing his SIG-Sauer. “Let’s do this by the book. Triple red.”
The group formed a wedge, with Ryan and J.B. taking the point, the others fanning out behind. The wedge was the standard formation while exploring a strange redoubt. More often than not, the installations were deserted, abandoned for a hundred years or more. Every once in a while, they came across squatters, like the crazed twins who had staked claim to a redoubt in Colorado. In that instance, Ryan and Krysty had been forced by violent circumstance to chill them.
With the toe of a boot, Ryan eased open the door on the opposite end of the room. Beyond it was a small foyer and another door. It was a disk sheathed in gleaming metal surrounded by three concentric collars of steel. Affixed on the wall beside it was a sec-code keypad. Beneath the keypad was a plastic sign bearing red lettering: Biohazard Beyond This Point! Entry Forbidden To Personnel Not Wearing Anticontaminant Clothing!
Half a dozen one-piece coveralls hung from hooks on the wall. Hoods with transparent Plexiglas faceplates were attached to them.
“Fireblast!” Ryan muttered.
As far as he knew, biological warfare hadn’t played a large role in the nukecaust, since the actual active conflict had lasted less than a day.
Ryan touched one of the coveralls with the built-in baffle silencer of the SIG-Sauer. The flimsy fabric parted like an ancient cobweb, and he cursed again. He called Mildred forward. When she read the printed warning on the wall, she groaned.
“How bad could it be?” Ryan asked.
“Might not be bad at all,” she replied. “Then again, all sorts of bacteria, rickettsiae, viruses and fungi spores could be floating around in there.”
“Still potent, still communicable after all this time?”
“Could be,” she answered. “But you, John, Jak, Dean and Krysty were born in the Deathlands. More than likely, you’ve developed natural resistances to infectious agents that may be fatal to me and Doc.”
“Comforting notion,” Doc stated.
“Dark night,” J.B. muttered. “Why couldn’t this place be like most of the other redoubts?”
“Odds were we’d pop up into a medical installation sooner or later,” Mildred countered reasonably. “Frankly, I’m surprised we hadn’t before now, since we learned that bioengineering programs were going on prior to skydark. And after.”
Ryan caught the oblique reference to the perverted researches they had discovered within the Anthill complex in the Black Hills. Both she and Ryan retained vivid, sickening memories of the creatures being bred there.
“Mebbe we should try another jump,” Dean suggested.
Mildred shook her head, the beads in her plaited hair clicking. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Just because this place may have housed biological weapons, it doesn’t mean any of them got loose.”
Doc shuffled his feet uncertainly. “I recall reading an account of the expedition who entered King Tut’s tomb. Many of them died mysteriously, and though some believed an ancient pharaohs curse was responsible, more enlightened minds speculated that three-thousand-year-old microbes were responsible.”
“Muzzle it, Doc,” Mildred snapped. “You don’t have to try to scare us to death.”
“That’s for sure,” Krysty murmured.
Ryan met her gaze for an instant, and understood it wasn’t invisible germs she feared. The memory of the jump nightmare was still fresh. And mystifying. Quickly, she averted her gaze, almost as if she were embarrassed.
“Well?” he demanded. “Do we try our luck out there or back in the gateway?”
After a moment of considered silence, everyone decided, in monosyllables, to find out what lay beyond the steel portal.
Ryan’s hand poised over the keypad. He paused. “Should we hold our breaths?”
Mildred chuckled. “Not unless you’re trying to win a contest. If microorganisms are free in there, most likely they were designed to attack the human body through the skin.”
“Dammit, Millie!” J.B. said impatiently. “For the last time, what do you think the odds are of us contracting some kind of manufactured disease?”
“Slim to none. I’m basing that assessment on a lack of outbreaks of incurable illnesses in most of the villes we’ve visited.”