Abandon The Night (12 page)

At last, they came to the stairwell. This one was dirtier and danker than the one down which she’d come, although it was still lit with grimy yellowish lights.

Up the first flight of stairs, slowly, heavily, she groaned softly as she stepped with her right leg, playing up her injury. Dantès, as was his habit when she allowed him, edged just a bit ahead of her—three or four stairs—then eased back to meet up with her. When they were approaching the landing of
B1
, the first level below the ground, the dog got there first and began to bark furiously. A sharp, high-pitched yip that echoed in the stairwell.

Remy knew that bark and what its nuance meant, and suddenly she smiled.

She called Dantès back and he obeyed, changing from a bark to a brief whine of reluctance. But he obeyed. He always did.

Dick didn’t ask what had bothered the dog, and Remy wasn’t about to offer. She reached the landing first, and just as she got there, she managed to “dump” her bag off her shoulder as she lurched to the side, as if losing her balance. The bag opened, and something—she hoped it wasn’t anything important, but, oh, well—fell a few steps down behind Dick, and, as she’d expected, he turned back to retrieve it. At least the guy had manners.

This gave her time to get to the landing and find the source of Dantès’s annoyance. She ordered the wary dog up past the landing, and quickly kicked up the pile of leaves and debris in the corner. The bright green reptile with its black markings tried to slink away, but she was too fast.

Remy picked up the snake—it was at least three meters long, as thick as her wrist, and quite harmless—and, holding it behind its head and one end of the tail, kept her back to the stairwell as she heard Dick approaching. Huddling the snake against her, she waited till he was almost there

Just as she heard his shoe grind softly on the nearest stair, she turned and flung the snake into his chest. Dick reacted just as she’d expected—he shouted, flailed, and then fell back as he lost his balance.

But by the time she heard his furious swearing echoing up from the stairwell, she had bolted through an external door and out in to the sunlight.

Quent and Elliott were walking across what had once been the divided six-lane Las Vegas Boulevard toward the infirmary when a shout drew their attention.

Wyatt had come dashing around the corner of the building and obviously seen them. “She’s gone,” he called, coming toward them. Even from a distance, Quent could see that Wyatt looked bloody pissed off. “She got away.”

“Who?” Elliott asked as their friend drew near.

“The woman. Remington Truth,” Wyatt told them when he was close enough not to have to shout.

“Remington Truth was here?” Quent repeated. “And she got away?”

Elliott was shaking his head, his eyes full of reluctant comprehension. “Shit. Don’t tell me she was the patient with the leg injury.”

“I don’t know what injury she had, but she came from the infirmary. She was limping a bit…I saw her—Dantès found her, tracked her somehow. When she recognized me, she took the hell off.”

“Didn’t you go after her?” Quent asked, then realized what a rubbish question. And that was before Wyatt slammed him with a dagger look. “Right. But she got away anyway.” He was careful to keep any hint of disbelief from his voice. “What’d she do? Sic the dog on you again?”

“She threw a fucking
snake
at me. On the stairs. Damn lucky I didn’t break my fucking neck, falling down.”

“A snake? Bloody hell. What’d you do to her?” he said with a grin.

“Fuck you.”

Always lots of brotherly love between the three of them.

“So that was Remington Truth,” Elliott said, looking at the building ahead of them as if searching for Remington’s room window. It had been one of the smaller casino resorts, and now part of it had been turned into the infirmary. “Damn. I shouldn’t have left her alone, but I didn’t know.” For Wyatt’s benefit, he described the crystal he’d seen during his scan. “I knew there was something unusual about her.”

“Did you check with the guards to see if she got through the gates?” Quent asked.

“Was just on my way there when I saw you,” Wyatt said. “She had Dantès with her, so she’ll be easy to spot.”

“You go check the gates,” Quent said. “I’ll go look around, see if she’s hiding somewhere up that way.” He gestured toward the southwest end of the enclosed city that remained mostly uninhabited and where Lou and Theo Waxnicki had created a secret entrance. Not that there was any chance Zoë would know about it if the rest of the Envy population didn’t, but there was still a chance.

Remington
. He reminded himself. Not Zoë. He was looking for Remington.

Right.

Of course, if he found Zoë, he could try and talk some sense back into her. Or at least lure her back upstairs. He didn’t have his gloves with him, but he’d be careful and quick. And if the worst happened, they’d know where to look for him.

Quent walked behind New York–New York, away from the neat and landscaped Strip, toward those older buildings that were still safely inside the enclosure, but hadn’t been maintained as residences. The protective walls had been made early on, after the Change. Instead of stone or brick, the enclosure had been cobbled of whatever large masses the survivors could find—billboards, cars, semi-truck trailers, airplane wings, and filled in with smaller debris from the ruined buildings. They stretched more than fifty feet high, and were impossible to climb—for
gangas
, animals, and humans.

As he moved along, Quent couldn’t hold back a snicker at the image of Wyatt having a snake thrown at him. It was lucky he hadn’t been hurt badly in his stumble down the stairs, although Wyatt was well used to having to defend himself in a variety of unexpected situations. A former Marine who’d seen action in the First Gulf War, and who’d come home and made his way up to fire chief in a suburb of Denver, Wyatt had gone on the same humanitarian mission to Haiti in 2004 that Quent and Elliott had.

All three of them had met there for the first time, helping to rebuild a hospital after Hurricane Jeanne. Quent had gone because he knew it would wank off his father if he actually got his hands dirty as well as donated a six-figure stipend, and also because his celebrity status would give the mission more media attention. Elliott had finished med school at Michigan, and Wyatt was just returning from the Middle East.

The three men had bonded as only people can do when working together on a life-and-death mission, and from what Quent had seen, there was much more death than life in the poverty-stricken country.

A noise caught his attention, pulling him from his thoughts. He paused, listening and looking. He wasn’t alarmed, for there was nothing more threatening behind the walls of Envy than a few rodents or, apparently, reptiles and other members of the human race. Quent had no qualms about handling any of the above.

Although he waited, he heard nothing unusual, and after a moment, continued his walk. This time, he edged closer to the building along which he walked, noticing that the sun was lowering enough that shadows from the tall, close buildings had grown long. The area was growing darker, making it more difficult to see anything on the ground or through the glassless windows and doors.

As he avoided puddles from the previous day’s rain and chunks of concrete or hunks of rusting metal, Quent realized he was wasting time. He should be hunting his father, not looking for Remington—or, to be honest, Zoë. Hanging out in Envy and doing buggering nothing, bringing nothing to the table or offering anything as compensation for what he thought of as his room and board here in the city. The arrangement was one of a commune, and though he and the other chaps from Sedona had been afforded heroes’ accommodations because they’d helped to save the lives of some teenagers a few weeks ago, Quent just didn’t see himself fitting in here much longer.

Just as he hadn’t gone to work or had a career back in 2010, other than to manage his billions of investments, he saw no place for himself here. His life had consisted of shagging lots of gorgeous women, attending charity functions, giving media interviews occasionally, and planning and taking his friends on Indiana Jones-like adventures that, while often exciting and dangerous, really had little benefit to offer to the world.

Sure, he’d visited places like Kuala Lumpur and Cambodia, and that had prompted him to help bring attention to those in need there—call him a male Angelina Jolie, but with smaller lips and definitely no urge to adopt a dozen children, but that was about—

The next thing Quent knew, he was flying through the air. He landed with an
oomph
on something hard and unforgiving, and realized he’d tripped on something he’d missed in the shadows.
For chrissakes.
He hoped no one had seen him, and he supposed it served him right for laughing at Wyatt and his snake.

Quent pulled himself up, his fingers closing around something that…
too late
…he realized was an old car door. With a door handle, rough and rusting, but nevertheless filled with memories that captured him.

He opened his hand, pulled away, but at the same time his other palm rested on a different area of the car. Because he had no other way to drag himself to his feet, before he knew it, he was slipping into a maelstrom of speeding images and squealing tires, a dizzying blur of memories that sucked him right in.

“Quent! Open your fucking eyes!”

Deep in a swirl of whizzing pavement and loud, rushing noises, Quent felt himself being shaken and shifted, and he filtered back to awareness. Zoë was there, sounding more than a little panicked, and just before he opened his eyes, he felt her hand crack against his cheek.

The slap brought his lids wide and he looked up to find her bent closely over him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, sitting back on her haunches. “Are you playing some kind of game?”

The sun had sunk much lower, and the shadows grown long and dark. He could hardly see her face. But from the tone of her voice, he got that she was more terrified than angry.
Not a bad thing. As long as she doesn’t slap me again.

“Thanks,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “It wasn’t a joke. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me, you pissed me the hell off.” She’d backed away. “Dammit, I knew I should have left when I had the chance,” she added in a mutter.

And at that moment, the plan crystallized in his mind like a bunch of glass shards coming back together to form a very clear window.
Yes. Kill two birds with one stone.

Quent pressed a hand to his forehead. “Ugh,” he said, and made a show of struggling to his feet. “Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to keep you.”

“Mate?
What the fuck does that mean?” She stood next to him and Quent found himself having to hold back from touching her warm skin.

“Just…it means friend,” he explained.

“Oh.” She paused, looking at him with mistrust in her very stance. “What the hell was wrong with you?”

“Remember today when you asked me about the deep dark pit that Wyatt was talking about? Well, you saw me fall into it.”

“You seem fine now.”

He nodded. “I am. I’m usually more careful.”

“Whatever.” She turned to go, which was exactly what he was waiting for.

“So if you’re going to disappear off into the dark again, I should probably warn you.”

Zoë snorted and turned back. “About what? The
gangas
? The lions? The wolves? I can take care of myself.”

Quent smiled, knowing that his teeth probably gleamed mockingly at her. “I know that. I was talking about me.”

“What do you mean?” she said suspiciously. And she took a step back.

“I mean that I’m going with you this time, Zoë.”

“No fucking way.” Her voice was adamant, and filled with affront. “I don’t want or need you or anyone with me.”

He kept smiling because he knew he bloody well had her. “That wasn’t what you were saying earlier today, when you were begging for more.” His voice dipped low and he sought her eyes in the dim light.

“I can get that anywhere.” She tried to sound blasé, but he could hear the unsteadiness in her voice. As if she, too, were remembering. Oh, so reluctantly.

And don’t you even fucking think about getting it anywhere else.
“All right, then. No sex, if that’s the way you want it. Purely platonic. Neither of us needs the distraction anyway, so I’m on board with that. But I’m coming with you, like it or not.”

“Definitely fucking
not
.”

“Look,” Quent said. “I know you’re looking for Raul Marck—”

“Yeah, and I finally found him. I would have scrambled his fucking brains to bits if that damn woman hadn’t messed everything up by getting herself cut up. Now I have to find the bastard again, and I don’t need anyone getting in my way. Especially you.”

“Right, then. But it’ll be a lot easier if you just let me go with you.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m going to follow you if you don’t. And then you’ll waste even more time rescuing my incompetent arse. I’m blond, remember?”

“For fuck’s sake. I should have just let you lie here.”

And the fact that you didn’t speaks volumes, Zoë, luv.

“Why do you want to go with me?” she demanded.

“It’s certainly not because of your charming personality,” he said with a soft edge to his voice. “Although there are some parts about you that I find more than a little delightful. It’s because I want to talk to Raul Marck before you kill the guy.”

“What for?”

Quent opened his mouth, then decided to wait. “I’ll tell you all about my mission on the road. It’s not so different from yours. Deal?”

Zoë stared at him for a minute, and he could feel the annoyance coursing off her in waves. Her hair sprung out in tufts all over and the high curve of her cheekbone caught the last bit of sunlight just right and gleamed sharply. She’d settled her hands on her hips, and she looked as if she were about to launch into some long tirade or lecture and tear him a brand-new arsehole.

But after a moment, she released her tension, sighing in defeat. “All right. I’ll let you come with me, but
only
because I don’t want to be wasting my time saving your ass. And you have to do exactly what I tell you at all times. No questions, no arguing.”