Another Kind Of Dead (18 page)

“Did you leave earlier to meet up with Phin?” I asked after we’d passed the first twenty minutes of the trip in complete silence.

“I hadn’t intended to,” Wyatt said. He spoke to the road in front of him. “He called my cell while I was in the city. I said you were up and around. I met him, and he followed me back.”

“Oh.” I skated my fingertip across the dash, leaving a dark trail behind on the dusty molded plastic. Gross. “You left to run an errand.”

The steering wheel cracked under his hands. “Yep.”

“Which was what?”

“Are you interrogating me now, Evy?”

“You left and he came, Wyatt. I think I’m entitled to ask where you went.”

His profile looked pained, then angry. I expected to see a cartoon thundercloud hovering above his head. “There’s a bag under your seat.” Clipped. “That’s what I went out for.”

I bent and retrieved a paper sack. The top of the bag was rolled closed, its bulky shape awkward. “Easterbrook Pharmacy” was printed on the side in blue letters. I opened it without ceremony and peered inside.

And almost burst into tears.

A toothbrush, ladies deodorant, a hairbrush, cherry-vanilla body wash and a mesh sponge, a pack of pink disposable razors, aloe-infused shaving lotion, and vanilla lip gloss were jumbled together in the bag. I stared at them, struck dumb. He’d gone out for a bag of
female items that had probably embarrassed the hell out of him to purchase. The gesture was so sweet, so simple, it made my heart soar.

“I … This is … Thank you.”

He nodded, never looking away from the road, but his expression had softened. “You’re welcome. It seems kind of dumb now.”

The only dumbness about it was my questioning him. I tucked the bag back under my seat for safekeeping. Once we reached the highway bypass and crossed the northern branch of the Anjean River, going south by way of East Side, Wyatt started talking. He described each of the three upper floors of R&D in detail—hallways and rooms and blind corners. The first sublevel was as far down as he’d ever gone. It was all laboratories and storage lockers and closets. Those closets would be my best bet for a landing zone. I pictured it all in my head without much trouble, since the details he remembered were amazing—as long as they proved accurate. He wouldn’t guess, though; guessing only meant we could transport into a wall or, worse, a person.

Soon we’d left the city behind and, minutes later, the bypass. Two miles past the road that wound its way to Boot Camp, Wyatt turned down a badly paved access road marked with a faded sign. “Reservoir” was the only word still legible. Half a mile down, the road opened into a small gravel lot, bordered on one side by a metal shack the size of a trailer and on the other by water.

“I didn’t know this was here,” I said, climbing out after we parked. A thick, musty odor mingled with the scents of earth and pine and made me want to sneeze.

“It’s not used anymore as a water source,” Wyatt said. “It was contaminated about fifteen years ago, so they cut off the pipes and forgot about it.” He pointed opposite us, near the start of the tree line. “Kids come up here
sometimes and have bonfires, but mostly they’re smart enough not to swim.”

Bright orange signs were posted near the concrete water barrier, the words too small to read from my position. Probably things like “caution” or “biohazard area.”

“Too bad. It’s kind of lovely here.”

“How far are we from Boot Camp?” Phin asked, joining us by the trunk of the car. He’d left his shirt in the backseat, wings already out and tucked close to his back.

“You need to fly about a mile northeast,” Wyatt said. “That will put you within a half mile. You should be able to see the valley from that distance.”

“And when we do, that’s my cue,” I said. “Barring any unexpected resistance, we should be back in thirty minutes, max.”

“Speaking of which …” Wyatt popped the trunk of his car, opened a small black suitcase, and removed a GLOCK .22 pistol. He checked the magazine and the chamber, then held it toward me, butt first. “In case of unexpected resistance.”

I hesitated, understanding the reasons and hating the implications. “What kind of rounds?”

“Something new that Morgan’s and Sharpe’s teams are field-testing to use on civilians who get in the way. Rubber bullet with a tiny shatter-tip that injects victims with a sedative capable of knocking them out and impairing their memory of the incident.”

“Impairing memory,” I repeated, and took the gun. I hated guns, but the new rounds were impressive. As impressive as our a-c rounds and their ability to make a flesh wound fatal through the injection of an anticoagulant. “It’s a roofie bullet?”

Wyatt snickered. “Yeah, basically. Like I said, it’s being field-tested, but I’d rather send you in with that
than with something that could kill.” They were still our allies.

I tucked the gun into the front of my jeans and covered it with the hem of my T-shirt. “Guess we should do this thing. Time’s wasting.”

“Be careful.”

“You know me.”

“Be careful anyway.”

Familiar banter that should have been easy was slightly strained by what had happened at the cabin. I shook it off and assumed the position. Phin drew up behind me, his warm chest to my back. Locked arms around my waist and held me closer. His heartbeat thrummed, faster than mine.

A cyclone of air swirled dust and grit, and then we were shooting up, rocketed by the strength of Phin’s wings. My legs dangled, helpless, and I struggled to keep from kicking. The parking area disappeared, replaced by the low tops of trees. Very low tops. Leaves and pine needles rustled beneath us as Phin flew hard and fast toward our destination. The wind beat against my face, cool and crisp here in the mountains.

It was nothing like the other two times I’d been flown by a Coni. This time I felt free, as if I were soaring through the air on my own wings, heedless of the world and its stresses. Was this what it felt like when Phin flew as an osprey? Was he going anywhere close to his maximum speed? I wanted to ask, but sound roared in my ears and would have stolen my voice.

Up and down, cresting one peak and swooping down the other side, he flew us onward. I imagined unsuspecting campers below suddenly looking up and seeing two people coasting above the treetops. I laughed. Phin made an indeterminate sound that rumbled from his chest into my back.

“It’s coming,” he said all too soon, mouth very close to my ear. “Prepare yourself, and I will say when.”

I closed my eyes and tugged on a visual of the first sublevel. The carefully described storage closet at the south end of the corridor. Two rows of metal shelving inside, full of supplies. An empty area near the door, kept clear so carts could be brought in to load supplies. Pale yellow tiled floor, gray walls, plaster ceiling. I held on to that, then cast my line for loneliness. With the tension still palpable between me and Wyatt, it was easy to find. My tap to the Break sparked and fizzled, ready. And still we flew.

“Now,” Phin said.

I pushed my energy toward him deliberately this time, caught it around him like a net, and pulled us both into the Break. Behind my eyes, a steady throbbing began, the lightest start of a headache. We shattered apart like a shotgun pellet, invisible pieces hurtling toward the image in my mind. Faster, faster. The throb increased to a slight pounding as we moved through solid walls. Almost there.

A tang of astringent cleaning products announced our expulsion from the Break. My knees wobbled, and I would have fallen without Phin. Warmth trickled down to my lip from my nose. The pounding remained, flashing colorful lights behind my eyelids. I shuddered; Phin pulled me tighter to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Woozy. I just need a second.” Two deep breaths later, I blinked my eyes open. The room didn’t tilt. Nausea was ebbing again. My wrist-ache was tolerable. I tapped Phin’s arm and he let go. The nosebleed had already stopped, and I swiped at the remnants. The occasional tiny tremor still stole through my guts, but for the most part, I was fine. Not too bad for my first long-distance transport.

We’d landed exactly in front of the storage room door. It had a simple aluminum knob. Yellow light spilled through beneath in a narrow line. I pressed my ear against the smooth metal.

“The hallway is empty,” Phin whispered. Excellent hearing was a species perk. “I hear muffled voices to our left, about twenty feet away, behind a door. Unless the rooms are soundproof, no one else is on this level.”

“Terrific.” I turned the knob, grateful it didn’t squeal. Neither did the hinges. With my heart in my throat, I led Phin along our predetermined path. Right and down three doors to the stairwell. Each step seemed to ring loudly, even though my sneakers were mostly silent on the clean linoleum. The astringent odor followed us into the stairwell, its door as squeak-free as the other.

We descended past sublevel 1—marked by a simple white plaque next to the landing door—and made our way to sublevel 2. Same plaque, new problem.

“Shit,” I muttered. A numbered keypad was fixed below the plaque, and the door looked mechanized. Tighter security around the beasties. “I don’t suppose you know how to override one of these?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Then let’s hope no one’s standing on the other side of the door.” I grabbed his right hand with my left; he gave the gentlest squeeze and said, “I hear no one close by.”

Good enough. I oriented, then dragged us both into the Break, through the door, and back out the other side. The throb became a relentless pounding, a single hammer knocking at the front of my skull. But Phin was right—the room in front of us was empty of human beings. The same couldn’t be said for other things.

It looked like a dog pound from Hell. Cell after cell lined the walls both left and right. Cement blocks made up the floors, ceilings, and partitions, with thick iron
bars for doors. The things inside them snuffled, shifted, snorted, and growled. A maelstrom of odors wafted toward us, cloying and intoxicating and thick. Phin made a soft gagging sound. I gave the hand I was still holding a gentle squeeze. I didn’t envy him his sense of smell.

Four metal gurneys, each one bolted to the floor, took up the majority of the room’s center. Each one had overhead lights, rolling trays full of equipment, and individual drains in the floor. I stared, struck by just how similar it was to the morgue in which I’d first woken up, three weeks ago. Really similar, because one of the gurneys wasn’t empty. A white sheet covered a lone figure, its actual shape or species impossible to guess.

“Should we check each cage?” Phin asked.

“Only if you want to have nightmares tonight.”

I’d seen some of the abominations Thackery had created—a small child with oily black skin and a prickly dorsal fin down its spine; the living corpse of a house cat with fangs longer than my thumb. I’d heard wings flapping, animals growling, monsters hissing, and skin squelching.

Near us, something gurgled. I glanced at a cage and just as quickly looked away. All I’d seen were its snakelike yellow eyes, swimming in madness.

I approached the gurney, drawn by morbid fascination, and lifted the sheet. A familiar face lay beneath it—one I’d seen many weeks ago in Tovin’s underground lab. Once a teenage boy, half his body had been turned to stone, rendering it immobile and useless. Seeing him there, dead, his human side cold and gray, churned my insides into a mass of quivering anger. We hadn’t been able to save him.

“Fucking hell,” I said, then spun in a complete circle. “Token?” My voice bounced. Something growled, while
another something made a high-pitched hissing noise. “Token?”

“Master?”

I cringed, then followed the sound of the call. All the way to the last cage, past glimpses of red skin, scales, shiny teeth, and swiping claws. Token bounced to the front of his cage and wrapped bandaged hands around the bars. His face was a puzzle of cuts and bruises, a horrible reflection of the patterns on his bare chest and arms. I knew they’d torture him for information, but for some reason I couldn’t understand, seeing it made me sick.

“You came,” he said. “Knew you would, knew it.”

He was getting loud. I shushed him. “I need to ask you an important question. Will you answer me?”

“Token answer, yes.”

“Do you remember the place you used to live? With your old master, the human man named Thackery?”

“Yes. Took me away, told me to hunt and kill.”

Yeah, I remembered that part. “Token, if I take you to the place where he left you, do you think you can find your way back? Can you smell a path to your old home?”

His brown, too-human eyes widened. Narrowed as his brow furrowed. “Can try, yes. For new master, yes.” He shifted his attention behind me, and those haunting eyes widened to comical proportions. “Angel.”

Phin made a rude noise.

“He’s a friend,” I said. “Promise me, Token. Promise me if I let you out, you won’t hurt anyone. You will do as I say and find your old home for me.”

“Token promises. Will do anything for master.”

“Good.”

It took several minutes to find the collection of flat plastic key cards that opened the cells, and another to sift through them for the correct one. The lock light finally
flashed green, and the mechanism released. Token limped out in a cloud of urine-scented air. I swallowed hard.

“We should go,” Phin said. “I hear voices.”

I folded my arms into position. Phin wrapped himself around me. Token stared.

“Token,” I said, “I need you to listen. We are going to get out of here, but you have to hold on to me.” Every muscle in my body rebelled at the idea of the human-goblin half-breed clutching me. “Hold on to my legs with both arms, tight, and do not let go. Don’t let go until I tell you. Understand?”

Facial muscles twitched as Token struggled with my request. He looked at my legs, my face, legs again.

“Evangeline,” Phin said.

“Token, you must. Your master commands it.”

His small body flinched. “Token understands.” He did me one better by sitting on my feet and wrapping his legs around my ankles. Arms locked around my knees, he held so tightly I feared loss of circulation.