With dark-adapted eyes, Jessica edged her way down the long hallway, moving deeper into the center of the building. Soon she came upon a makeshift control room. There were two VHS editing decks, their green and red lights glowing cataracts in the gloom. This was where the Actor had dubbed the tapes. There was also a television. On it was the website image she had seen at the Roundhouse. The light was dim. There was no sound.
Suddenly, on screen, there was movement. She saw the monk in the red robe move across the frame. Shadows on the wall. The camera lurched to the right. Colleen was strapped to the bed in the background. More shadows, darting and scurrying over the walls.
Then a figure approached the camera. Too quickly. Jessica couldn't see who it was. In a second the screen went to static, then to blue.
Jessica tore the rover from her belt. Radio silence no longer mattered. She turned up the volume, keyed it, listened. Silence. She banged the rover against her palm. Listened. Nothing.
The rover was dead.
Son of a bitch.
She wanted to fling it against the wall, but thought better of it. There would be plenty of time for rage very soon.
She flattened her back against the wall. She felt the rumble of a truck pass by. She was on an outside wall. She was six to eight inches away from daylight. She was miles from safety.
She followed the cables coming out of the back of the monitor. They snaked up to the ceiling, down the hallway to her left.
Of all the uncertainties of the next few minutes, of all the unknowns lurking in the darkness around her, one thing was clear. For the foreseeable future, she was on her own.