﻿<strong>Malcolm Wade -- What a Lovely Singing Voice You Must Have...</strong><br/><br/>"--ange, then yes. Be careful about spiders..." Mal listened through the radio's tinny speaker to catch the new guy's warning, and rolled his eyes in disgust at the thought. Spiders. Of<em>course</em>, it would just<em>have</em>to be spiders. A shudder ran through his whole body at the notion of repeating his encounter in the dining room, with thousands of little arachnids standing in for the phantom ants. He brought the radio back to his lips and responded as Cathy launched into a soliloquiy about how helpful normal spiders were in their ecosystems.<br/><br/>"Spiders. Juuust great. Watch out for ants too, by the way...hell, you know what, just watch out for damn near everything in here. Whatever this thing is, I think it's only toying with us, but I suspect it'll start gettin' mean real soon." He glanced back at Cathy, still waxing poetic on the delicate balance of nature, and lifted one eyebrow; so New Guy had caught her voice? Well, at least Mal knew for sure the guy had talent. He clicked the radio's call button again.<br/><br/>"Ah, yeah, that was just my partner. I'll...introduce you guys later, if we have one. And speaking of which..." Mal turned up the volume and sent out another broad call to the others. "Hey, priest, superstar, you guys still with us? Can you give us your positions, do you need help?" He listened, wide-eyed and intent, as one of the radios -- no telling whose -- sounded to life, responding on all open channels.<br/><br/>An inhuman chorus whispered over the radios, a cacophony of unholy voices composed of the snarls of rabid dogs, the sobs of bereaved mothers, the slosh of raw sewage being poured over breakfast cereal and a hundred other sickening sounds of revulsion, each hissing and growling over one another to be heard. Much of it was horrific, ear-bleeding gibberish, but here and there Mal could detect a word or two. None of them were encouraging.<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><strong><br/>--hhuUNgRrrRyY... <br/>          --MmmmMOOorreEEe... <br/>   --CLOossSEerrr... <br/>                <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 7pt;">--freeEE UUusss...</span> <br/>        --ssSOoullSSs... <br/>   <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 5pt;">--ruuUNnn...</span> <br/></strong></span><br/>Mal swallowed hard and stared at the radio in his hand as if it had turned into a snake, and slapped at the 'OFF' button before the voices could continue. For a few moments he leaned against the wall, eyes closed as he counted down from thirty. Then, he straightened up, held the radio away from himself like a live grenade, and switched it back on.<br/><br/>Silence. Slowly he brought the walkie back to his lips and depressed the 'PTT' button. "Uh...okay. Forget about it 'getting mean.' I'd say this bitch was born ornery. I'm guessing by now the others are out of commission, so it looks like it's down to you and me, Jun. And whoever else is dumb enough to show up next, I guess. Watch yourself, bud, and stay in contact. I ain't in no mood to try runnin' this thing down by my lonesome."<br/><br/>Mal resumed walking, carefully testing the floor's older patches as he moved forward through the darkened halls. Cathy drifted lazily beside him, poking her head through the wall every few feet. Mal didn't really know what she could be looking for, and decided not to burden himself with the knowledge just yet. If she found anything of interest, she'd let him know. Or it would, either way. At the rate things were going, he was betting on the latter.