Supernormal (20 page)
Cam woke to whiteness. He had to close his eyes, blink a few times before he got his bearings. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. Light from…somewhere overhead, but it was bright enough it hurt to try to see where it was coming from. Cam squeezed his eyes shut again. He had a searing headache, and he couldn’t be entirely certain the room wasn’t rocking around him like a toy boat on a tidal wave. Cam clutched around for something to hold him steady, found a metal bar, and realized he was lying on a bare, metal-framed bed.
When he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to throw up, Cam opened his eyes again. Carefully. Cot, yes. He was wearing hospital scrubs, blue ones. The color stood out like a flag against all the white. His actual clothes were nowhere in sight. It took a second to process that, mostly because he didn’t want to, and his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with how the room was swimming. He’d been kidnapped, held at gunpoint, drugged against his will, and somehow that was
almost as bad
as the thought that someone undressed him.
Cam tried to push away the disgust, to focus on the insult. He needed to be angry.
When the room started settling down he took another look around. It was a small rectangle, cot in one corner, toilet and sink in another. And a door, outlined by the barest hint of a seam in the wall. It was directly across from him, with a window at the top, a slot at the bottom, and no handle.
Cam sat up cautiously, then stood, his shoulder stinging as he pushed himself up off the bed. He felt his way to the toilet, and threw up. After, he clutched the sink and rinsed his mouth out ten, twelve times, until his mouth lost the horrible acid taste.
His shoulder ached. A different ache than his head, or the rest of his body, but it took a minute for his head to clear enough to focus on the gauze bandage, high on his arm, by his shoulder. He peeled the gauze back to find a neat row of stitches.
Time passed.
After twenty minutes, or two hours—it was impossible to tell in the white, white room—there were three dull knocks, and the door slid open. “Good morning,” said Proom.
Cam tried to charge at him, but his legs were still weak, and he had to grab the edge of the cot to keep from falling.
“Careful,” Proom chirped. He was wearing a long white lab coat over gray scrubs, and the same black, thick-framed hipster glasses. Cam wanted to knock them off. “Our little cocktail has rather a doozy of a half-life, but fear not. You’ll be on your feet again soon enough. Of course, once we get all those tiresome little preliminaries out of the way and can start on the real work, these nasty little side effects won’t bother you as much.” Proom tapped something into his tablet. “Shall we get started?”
“You haven’t already?” Cam managed, swallowing back against another wave of nausea. It helped that there wasn’t anything left in him to throw up.
Proom’s expression was confused for a moment, but then it cleared. “Ah, that.” He waved a hand at Cam’s shoulder. “No, no, that was just a precaution. Our friend Brody was trying to be clever, getting a tracking device under your skin. I suppose he thought he might pay us a little visit. Once we get you settled, we’ll have a look at those stitches, but I assure you there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.” He stepped back and nodded to someone outside the room. The two men who came in were large, and armed. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. Cam fought the urge to back up, clenching his teeth when his legs threatened to buckle.
“If you would be so kind as to escort Two-Thirteen to Medlab One,” Proom said.
Cam flung himself at one of the goons, laying the odds that they wouldn’t go to all this trouble if they intended to shoot him. He tried to remember everything he’d seen from Brody’s lessons with Ashley. Maybe if he landed one good punch, it would make him feel better when they inevitably overpowered him.
But he didn’t, and it didn’t.
With his arms twisted up behind his back, they marched him out of the room and down a long, white hallway, spaced with numbered doors. He wondered which ones were his friends and tried to dig his heels into the floor. They simply slid along the polished tile. “I demand to see Danny,” Cam said. If there was one thing he’d learned from his parents, it was if you said something with enough icy disdain, it didn’t sound ridiculous. “And Liz, and Ian Reese. I know you’re keeping them here.”
Proom wagged a finger at Cam, a happy light in his eyes. “You have me. I confess. We did…extend our hospitality to several of your friends, yes. But I am afraid we discourage interaction between subjects. After the excitement of our last round, we agreed it was best for everyone if we kept the subjects separate. You understand,” he continued with a sympathetic smile. “I can assure you, however, that the majority of our guests are responding positively to the treatment. For the most part. Two-Twelve was sleeping soundly when we last checked in on him.” Proom winked at Cam. “We may have helped with that a little. He needed it, the poor boy. He was wearing himself out with worry, and, well, I am afraid we didn’t help the matter very much. We’ve been running him through the preliminaries—trying to, that is. We haven’t encountered anyone quite like him before and it’s making it a little difficult to get proper readings. Do you know that he can absorb and process oxygen through his entire epidermis?
“As for Two-Eleven, I’m happy to say
that
is progressing faster than we anticipated. We learned so much from our last round of testing; we’ve already moved into the first stages with her.”
The long hallway ended in an elevator, which the doctor operated with a key card. Cam glanced as best he could at the two guards. They both appeared to have cards as well. He did not. He was going to have to get one. And find a way out of his cell. And a way to get his friends out as well. He didn’t think about the how. He’d plan the whole thing out first, then work on the details.
The elevator whirred up two floors, then opened to another hallway. This one branched off in different directions, all of them empty and quiet except for the sound of their footsteps and the muted hum of electronics. They took a left, and down a short hall was a set of big double doors. A discreet nameplate labeled this as MEDLAB 1. Cam’s stomach twisted. He didn’t think it was the nausea.
The doors opened smoothly as they approached, revealing actual people inside. Three of them, two men and a woman, all younger than Proom, all of them in scrubs and surgical caps. Cam kicked out, managed to hook an ankle around the doorframe. There was a moment where Proom gave Cam an exasperated look, but the problem was solved when one of the young men saw the trouble and came over to politely unhook Cam’s leg.
Inside, the room was one long rectangle with a number of hospital beds hooked up to various medical equipment, separated from each other by glass dividers. One of the beds was occupied. On it, a man lay prone, accompanied by the steady beep of a heart monitor. “What did you do to him?” Cam demanded.
“Oh, that is not my work,” Proom said, heading to an empty cubicle. “Our dear Doctor Burke had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a little too soft-hearted for his own good. Always did have a tendency to baby the subjects. However, with what we’ve learned and the leaps we’ve made, I am confident we can restore partial, if not complete mobility. Of course, he will need to wake up first, but I am sure it’s only a matter of time until we untie that little knot as well.” He tossed a smile to one of the men holding Cam. “Isn’t that so, Craig?”
“It better be. Doctor,” Craig said.
The two guards towed Cam along and settled him on one of the medical tables. There was a tray of instruments by the bed. Cam recognized some of them: scalpels, needles, various tweezers. No bone saw, for which he was profoundly grateful. And a number of things he didn’t recognize. He stared at the scalpels. They were lean and silver and very sharp. Cam thought he could use one on them. If he could get to it. If he was lucky, he could get one and—and use it. Grab a key card, and then run. Try to find his friends. Try to get out. Somehow. Even though he wasn’t sure where he was, or where they were, or even where this building was.
If it came to it, he thought he could probably use it on himself.
The lab doors slid opened again and two more guys with guns shoved in another prisoner. It took a second for Cam to recognize him, but he did. “Ian!” Cam was on his feet, but one of the guards shoved him back. “
Ian
!”
Proom gave a look of paternal patience to one of the young men in scrubs. “Clark. You know I don’t like to subject schedules to intersect.”
“Sorry, Dr. Proom,” the young man said. “But there’s only the four of us, and we’ve been getting in a lot of new subjects. Full isolation isn’t going to be possible unless we take on more staff, and maybe open another wing.”
Ian Reese looked like Cam felt. Gray-faced and dead-eyed. He shuffled to the medical table next to Cam and automatically edged onto it.
“Ian!” Cam twisted futilely against his guards. “We knew you were alive, we
knew
it—Diana—she knows you’re alive—she’s looking for you!”
“No interaction,” Proom said, tapping his tablet.
Cam ignored him. “They’re going to find us! Dr. Mac—”
Ian looked at Cam. His eyes, his face, were blank. “Who?” he asked, his voice as blank as his face.
“
Diana
—”
Proom touched a sensor on the divider, and the glass went opaque. “I said no interaction. Now. We have a great deal of work to do, and not very many people to help us do it, so how about we get a start on?” He set his tablet down, and went to the sink to wash his hands and snap on a pair of rubber gloves.
She is coming, Cam told himself. She is going to find you.
“We’re going to start with a simple physical examination, to set a baseline to go by. After that there will be a mental examination.” Proom moved towards the row of instruments. “Please remove your clothes.”
Two days.
Two days since Cam had been taken.
Two days since Brody’s call with Director Cole, which had…not gone as hoped. (“Well, obviously you weren’t watching him anywhere near close enough.”) Ashley had heard it all, curled up in the passenger seat of Brody’s plane, as Brody circled, arguing and occasionally punching things.
Director Cole had said,
We’ll take care of it
.
Brody had said,
Goddammit, Greg, you should have known, you should have stopped him. What did you think he was going to do? Sit on his fucking hands? Play fucking Tiddlywinks and wait for your fucking permission?
Cole had said,
You said four people? You could have told us earlier
.
Brody had said,
Tell me where that fucking lab is right now, so help me—
Cole had said,
Thank you for your assistance. We do appreciate, of course, the information.
Cole had hung up then, and Brody had shouted curses and kicked the hell out of his landing gear until he’d calmed down enough to go back and face Meg.
Ashley could hear Meg out on the back porch, talking to someone. Arguing, her voice sharp and angry and raw. Over the phone, Ashley guessed, judging by the tinny, feeble responses. Not that there were many; Meg didn’t give whoever much time to respond.
It had been bad, having to go back. Having to walk through that door where Meg was waiting. It had been a bad night. A long, ugly, awful night, and it seemed like it would never end. Even now, with time stretching out like taffy and the hours ticking brutally along, it still felt like that night, which would never, ever end.
Brody alternated between calling friends and associates, and going through those heavy black bags. Removing items, one by one, cleaning, checking, re-checking, and re-packing. He was able to eat, though, and sleep. Ashley wasn’t entirely sure when the last time she slept was.
Tyler had come over at some point, his Xbox under his arm. He set it up in Brody’s living room and had been there for…a while. Ashley wasn’t certain how long. She’d spent most of the time watching him. The game he was playing had aliens and spaceships. There was a story, but Ashley was having trouble following it. She liked it better when he had to stop to shoot aliens. It was simpler. At the moment there was a long stretch of dialogue; Tyler kept picking the little red options, the ones that had his space soldier person kick people out of windows and drop shipping containers on them.
“I thought Scepters were good,” Ashley said.
“Spectres,” Tyler corrected her.
“I thought Spectres were good.”
“They are,” Tyler said. “Good doesn’t mean nice. I don’t have to be nice. I’m not feeling
nice
just this fucking moment,” he added, as much to himself as to her. He paused the game and waved the control at her. “Want a go?”
Ashley eased herself off the couch and took the controller. It was harder than it looked. She couldn’t seem to make the buttons work.
“Why aren’t you running around, screaming and killing people?” Tyler asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Ashley tried to focus on the controller in her hand. Tried not to think. If she didn’t think, she could hold onto this sense of space and fog and distance. It was the only thing keeping her from screaming, but it was like a tightrope under her feet. If she thought too much, she could feel it wobbling. “Why aren’t you?” she echoed.
He nodded. “I’m sorry. About Cam. I know you guys were…actually, I don’t know what you guys were.”
“Friends.”
A trace of his old smirk crossed Tyler’s face. “Yeah. Right. I’m sorry,” he said again, turning serious again.
Ashley tried to swallow, nod. “I am sorry,” she told him. “About Liz and Danny.” Tyler blinked hard and looked away. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything.”
“Yeah, well.” Tyler let out a hard breath and got control of himself. “Join the club.” He took the controller back, and Ashley tucked her legs up, hugging them to her chest. “This Cole guy. He any good?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“And he’s going to—” Tyler’s jaw worked. “Get them back.”
“That’s what he said.”
“And you really have no idea where this place is.”
Ashley swallowed. They’d knocked her out, the first time they’d taken her to the facility, and then, after the incident, they’d managed to set up everything with Brody so quickly and she had been so badly injured that she hadn’t been capable of processing where she was, or where she was going. But she’d expected…
“North.” Because it had been cold there, always so cold, and she and Jase had broken through a wall at one point and she remembered the snow on the ground and the big, heavy trees. So north enough to have snow, and trees tall enough to crowd out the sky. Not Antarctica, and probably not Canada. She doubted Cole would have sanctioned crossing into another country. But Alaska. Washington, maybe, or Montana or North Dakota.
“North,” Tyler echoed with a snort.
“They didn’t let us out a lot.” It sounded pathetic. It was pathetic.
Still, his expression softened. “Nah, I guess not. This Cole guy won’t give you a clue?”
“He says he wants to take care of it himself,” Ashley heard herself say. She was only distantly aware that she was trembling. “He says it’s his mess to clean up.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
“No,” Ashley said, “I don’t think so,” and there was that feeling again. The tightrope wobbling underneath her feet. The sense of space stretching out below her. Of a very long fall, waiting.
There was a small, plastic crash from outside, and Meg came charging through the door. Brody met her halfway, took her hands. They kept their voices low, but still there was the sound of someone trying not to cry. It was a particular sound. It was hard not to notice. Tyler muttered obscenities under his breath and glared at the television. Ashley looked at him, saw her hand reach out and settle on his arm. She was pretty sure that was a decision. That she meant to do it. His skin was very warm, and she hadn’t realized until then how cold her fingers were. Tyler didn’t look over, but he paused for a moment and gave her a curt nod.
Ashley latched onto a fresh noise gratefully. “Car,” she gasped, and a few moments later Brody’s perimeter sensors beeped. Brody headed to the front window.
The car was black, with government plates. It parked in front of their home and two men climbed out, the one tall, young, and slim, and the other older, shorter, and still rather slim. They were both neatly dressed in gray suits; the older one was borderline fussy, with a vest as well, and his tie perfectly dimpled. Ashley would have run out, but Brody caught her arm, and by this point she could see that no one else was getting out of the car. She had hoped… She had hoped.
“They’d have taken them to the hospital,” Brody told her. His voice was low. “They’d have called and told us to meet them there. They wouldn’t have come here.”
Of course. Ashley forced herself to breathe in. Out. Of course they would have called.
Meg let out a harsh, unsteady breath and joined Brody at the front windows. “Friends of yours?”
The muscles in Brody’s jaw worked. “For the moment.” He gave Ashley a pointed look and headed out, the screen door thwacking shut behind him.
The younger man flipped a badge out as Brody approached and held it out for him to see, but the older one simply held out his hand. “Lieutenant.”
Brody ignored the outstretched hand. “I don’t see my friends anywhere.”
“No.” Director Cole glanced at the house, and Ashley felt Meg wrap an arm around her shoulders. “May we come inside?”
“No.” Brody crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m trying to decide if you’re as stupid as I think you are, or if it actually did occur to you to check that Proom shut down his little Frankenstein’s laboratory?”
“It did. As per our agreement after the death of Mr. Spencer,” Director Cole said, “the program, including any active data collection, was suspended pending Miss Garrett’s progress. Or lack thereof. However, Dr. Proom was permitted to keep on a small staff on location to continue researching the data they’d already accumulated. We understood, from Proom, that the majority of the facility was shut down and Proom himself relocated to his offices in Seattle.”
“Don’t suppose it occurred to you to keep a damn eye on him in case he was a lying bastard, you fucking
idiot
—” Brody broke off and raked a hand through his hair.
“It did.”
“Not enough.”
Director Cole drew himself up slightly, but his expression remained poker-player bland. “We are here to ask for your help.”
“Really.” The word was flat and unsurprised.
“Contrary to what you might think, Lieutenant, we had no intention of conduction this operation without you,” Cole continued. “We wished to gather a little information first. As high an opinion as we have of your skills, it never serves any mission to go in blind. For example, it may interest you to know that Proom has hired a few of your old friends. Ones who passed the beta testing.”
“Who?” Brody asked.
“Tier. And Steel. And we understand that Craig has chosen to continue his employment with Dr. Proom.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yes. Not that it is unexpected. He and Dr. Burke were discreet about their involvement during your group’s time there, but they did not attempt to conceal their relationship. I understand that Dr. Proom has continued his treatment of Dr. Burke, so it is not surprising that Craig chose to stay on. But,” Director Cole continued, “I have full confidence in your abilities. And you will not be going in alone. Agent Phillips will be assisting you.” The director gestured to the young man at his side. Before Brody could say anything, Cole shifted his attention to the house again and added, “And we would like to request Miss Garrett’s assistance as well.”
Ashley heard the screen door thwacking back into place, and realized she’d come out. It was early morning, the first warm yellow just starting to edge out the dark night blue in the sky, and the air was cool and damp and still. Her legs carried her over to where Director Cole turned to face her and held out a hand. “Miss Garrett. I’m not sure if you remember me. We’ve met once or twice.”
“I know who you are,” Ashley said.
He nodded to the younger man with him. “This is my colleague, Agent Phillips.”
Agent Phillips did not hold out his hand. He blinked down at her, his gaze bouncing from her to Director Cole for a long moment. “She’s very young,” the agent remarked, and it wasn’t clear who exactly he was saying it to.
“Her age is listed in her file,” Brody said.
“Yes. Yes,” Agent Phillips repeated. “But she’s…very young,” he added lamely, and then shot a look at the director. “Perhaps it would be better—considering her age—to let Miss Garrett stay here. It could be dangerous, surely we don’t need—”
“Her choice.” Brody turned to Ashley, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You can still back out, Ash. Wouldn’t hold it against you and, hell, I wouldn’t blame you either.”
“No,” Ashley said.
Brody tilted her face up so she was looking him in the eye. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she said, and ignored the rocky edge of fear that threatened to yank the tightrope out from under her.
Brody gave her a searching look, his eyes sharp and focused. “Remember what I told you? You’re not doing this alone.”
Ashley nodded.
“I’ll get my things,” Brody said, but Meg was already out the door, one of Brody’s black totes swinging from a fist, sledgehammer propped on her shoulder. Tyler stumbled down the steps after her, straining to drag the other tote bag after him. “All right.” Meg tossed the tote bag at Brody’s feet. Her eyes were still swimming, but she managed a nod. “Let’s do this.”
Ashley heard herself say, “Meg—” She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but Brody saved her the trouble.
“The hell you are,” he bit off.
“The hell I’m not,” Meg shot back.
“We went over this,” Brody said.
“And you were full of shit then, too,” Meg finished. “But I let you get away with it. Not again. He is my boy—”
“And I swear—Meg, I
swear
to you I will get him back. But you are staying here.”
Meg swung her sledgehammer down to heft it in both hands, her grip tightening until the knuckles went white. “I am not. Last time you left, you came back without Cam—I am not going through that again. I am going with you, and that is an order, soldier.”
Brody snatched up his tote, glaring at Meg with a look that could’ve melted steel. She didn’t blink. “Go to hell, Meg,” he snarled.
“Brody—”
“Meg.” Brody hesitated. “We’re not doing nothing.” He swung a bag up on his shoulder. “Trust me.”
“I do trust you. I don’t trust
him
. I’ve heard the two of you talking. I don’t trust what he’s doing to—” Meg couldn’t continue. Brody went to her, pulling her in close, and Ashley had to turn away from the sight, from the sound, from the thing that Meg had voiced that Ashley couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself face.