to a halt. He was close, now. Almost to the bunker steps.
“Scott! Can you hear me? I’m standing right above you. Outside. On the surface. Are you picking me up?”
He waited, holding his gun against his side, the transmitter tightly to his ear. Time passed. He strained to hear, but there was only silence. Silence, and faint static.
Then, distantly, metallically—
“This is Scott.”
The voice was neutral. Cold. He could not identify it. But the earphone was minute.
“Scott! Listen. I’m standing right above you. I’m on the surface, looking down into the bunker entrance.”
“Can you see me?”
“Through the view sight? You have the sight trained