Blackwell turns toward the plane and gestures toward two other men who have come down the steps and are standing side by side, awaiting his orders. They walk past us and get into the vehicle. “But . . . ,” O’Donnell says, dumbfounded. “What are they doing?”
“Coming with us,” Blackwell says. “Don’t tell me Avery’s clients never bring their own security details.”
“Yes, they’re usually invited to hunt with us,” O’Donnell replies.
“Well then,” Blackwell says succinctly. And with O’Donnell leading me by the arm, he follows us to the car.
46
MILES
WITHIN MINUTES, THE CLAN HAS MOBILIZED. Juneau’s father seems to be in charge, but he barely needs to do anything. You can tell these people have been preparing for emergencies their whole lives.
The children are awakened, dressed, and out of the huts within minutes. There are about a dozen of them, and it seems that one parent has been chosen from each family to accompany their kids, bringing the number of people meeting Tallie up to seventeen.
For some reason, in my head, it was women and children who would be going with Tallie. But there are more men going with the children than women, and I wonder if Juneau’s group was able to move past the typical male/female family roles along with the rest of society’s “ills.”
A tall girl with blond hair pulled back into a braid walks up to me, looking like a female Viking: suntanned and bold and outdoorsy. She has the same fearless aura that Juneau has, and I know who she is before she even opens her mouth.
“Nome?” I ask.
She smiles broadly and hands me a wet cloth. “Kenai said you might want to wash your face.”
I take it and scrub my skin until she nods. She crosses her arms and brazenly inspects me. “So you’re the guy Juneau’s been hanging out with,” she says. “You’re cuter than you looked in the fire.”
“Um, thanks?” I say. Juneau told me her people say exactly what they think. She wasn’t lying, I think, as I feel my ears get hot.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend here,” says Kenai, walking up with a big pair of wire cutters. “No manners. It’s what you get from growing up in the wild. Try to stop drooling, Nome. He’s with Juneau, remember?”
Unembarrassed, she just winks, takes the wire cutters from Kenai, and strides toward the fence. “Can’t ask the little ones to climb that high,” Kenai explains. “Cutting an opening’s a better option.”
“Where did you get wire cutters?” I ask in astonishment.
“Stole them off the back of a jeep. They were to be used in our last escape attempt, but once Badger was taken we buried them. Saved them for a rainy day.” Kenai laughs, and his teeth glow white in the firelight. “Walter needs you back there, by the way. Wants you to draw them a map to where your friend with the truck is waiting.”
“Walter?”
“Juneau’s dad. Mr. Newhaven, for outsiders.”
“Oh, right,” I say. Would he still consider me an outsider if he knew I’d gone through the Rite? I wonder if I would ever be able to fit into this group. I doubt anyone could, unless you were born into it.
“Miles,” Juneau’s dad . . . Walter . . . calls. I meet him by the fire, take the piece of paper and pen he offers me, and sketch where I remember the road was in relation to the adobe village.
By the time I’m done, the children and accompanying parents have gone through the hole Nome cut in the fence and immediately set out to find Tallie.
Those who stay spread out and begin preparations. The woman I guessed was Badger’s mother walks up to me. “Holly,” she says, introducing herself. “How did my son look?”
“He was asleep in bed. He looked fine to me.” She nods, relieved, and swings a crossbow over her shoulder. I look into the nearest hut, and see one of the men digging in the earth floor and pulling out a homemade crossbow of his own.
Holly sees me watching. “We haven’t just been sitting around.”
“Were you preparing to attack?” I ask.
“We were waiting for Juneau. Seeing how things played out. So not planning for attack per se, but readying ourselves for any contingencies. Our strategy has always been to be prepared for anything.”
“Everyone ready?” Walter says to the group, and counts us: twenty-four. About half are armed. They huddle around us, waiting for instruction.
“What is the situation with the guards?” Walter asks me.
“Besides the two in the house watching Juneau and Whit, the only others I saw were sitting outside the barracks, playing cards and drinking,” I say, loudly enough for all to hear.
“They have been doing random checks on us throughout the night,” Walter says, “so we’ll have to be careful, but if Juneau’s just given Avery the Rite, I doubt his people will be focusing much on us.” He looks up into the clear night sky. “Storm’s coming,” he remarks, and the others nod their agreement. “Okay, people, let’s go. Miles—take us the way you came in.”
I sling my crossbow over my shoulder and begin walking, hyperconscious of the fact that I am leading two dozen people toward danger. Leading anyone at all is a foreign-enough concept. But these are Juneau’s people, and they know more about the land than I do.
Fear pricks my skin and dread sharpens my senses. But I feel an overwhelming sense of being where I am supposed to be. Finally doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
47
JUNEAU
NO ONE TALKS ON THE WAY TO THE MANSION. The smell of rain is in the air, although the sky is clear and the stars burn brightly overhead. I sit in the backseat with Blackwell’s guards, and think about how much Miles looks like his dad. Will he grow up to be like him, I wonder? A businessman so driven by success that he would resort to abducting a teenage girl in order to get what he wants? No. I can’t imagine it.
Blackwell’s not as bad as Avery, I think. The hunter’s use of force goes beyond a show of strength into the realm of threatened violence. I can’t imagine Blackwell actually killing someone to get what he wanted, although driving into the heart of a fortified ranch with his two burly security guards doesn’t seem the most peaceful of statements. But that’s what makes me doubt his intentions are violent. There’s no way he’ll try to strong-arm Avery’s men into giving me and Whit up. He’s counting on talking his way into what he wants. Making Avery’s men an offer while their boss is out of the picture.
My wrists chafe from leaning back against the metal cuffs. I lean forward and flex my fingers to get my circulation going. The guard sitting next to me notices. He gets the keys from O’Donnell and unlocks me, and I massage my wrists with my thumbs.
We drive over a hill, and the house and barracks lie spread before us. In the mansion, the ground floor is lit up as before but two additional lights are on in the top floor. O’Donnell takes us down the drive and around the fountain, parking the car outside the front door. The men pile out, the guard sitting next to me positioning himself behind me as I walk in front of them.
Before we can even get to the door, Whit’s guard steps out, and stands, gun in hands before us, face twisted in anger as he berates O’Donnell. “What’s she doing out here? Where have you been?” He waves his gun toward Blackwell. “And who are they?”
O’Donnell gestures toward Miles’s dad. “This is Mr. Blackwell. Mr. Blackwell, Ben Nursall, Head of Security.”
“What the hell is going on?” Nursall says, taking a step forward. Blackwell’s men do the same, puffing themselves up to look more menacing.
Whit walks out the door behind Nursall. “Blackwell,” he says, his voice steeped in shock.
“You know him?” Nursall asks.
“Let me introduce myself properly and tell you why I’m here,” Blackwell says, raising his hands to show he knows he’s on Nursall’s turf. “It is in my interest to take these two guests of yours with me. Since I hear that your employer is currently indisposed, I will take a rather unfair advantage of the situation to offer you double what Aver
y is currently paying you to come work for me in L.A., as well as a substantial finder’s fee for handing over Mr. Graves and Miss Newhaven—which is the same deal I have offered your colleague here.”
Nursall looks at O’Donnell, raising an eyebrow as if to ask, “Is this guy for real?” O’Donnell nods.
“I have air transport available for all of us, and am ready to leave immediately,” finishes Blackwell, clasping his hands together and awaiting the burly guard’s response.
Whit speaks up before his guard can respond. “I’m not sure we will be able to work with you, Mr. Blackwell, since we have a very specific deal arranged with Mr. Avery.”
Blackwell fixes Whit with a cynical stare. “Have you seen any of that money yet, Mr. Graves?”
Whit is still for a moment and then shakes his head.
“To be quite frank,” Mr. Blackwell says, “I think Mr. Avery has already gotten what he wants: virtual immortality. I very much doubt his interest was to reproduce and distribute the drug, no matter what he told you.”
I speak up, surprising everyone. “I don’t care about money. I’m not going anywhere while my people are being held prisoner.” As if I have a choice.
Blackwell raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks, emphasizing the plain-as-day state of my powerlessness.
“I’ll fight you every step of the way,” I promise, clenching my fists by my side. I know how ridiculous I look. Five foot five and unarmed, up against these giant men with guns. But I give it all I’ve got and exude every ounce of resistance inside me.
Blackwell rolls his eyes, and holds up his hand to Avery’s guards, asking them to excuse us for a moment. They shift uncomfortably. “As I said before, if you had cooperated back in L.A., I would have been happy to help your people escape. But as things are . . .”
He looks quickly from scowling me to cautious Whit and back, and I can tell from the change in his posture when he switches tactics.
“All right. Although I’ve been described as a snake, I am not a monster. Since my move leaves you without negotiating power to get your people out, once you are safely within the care and employ of Blackwell Pharmaceutical, I am willing to make a deal with Avery—let’s call it an act of goodwill—which should soften the blow of losing the two of you, and ensure that your people are free to leave his hospitality. Now how does that sound to you all—Messieurs Nursall and Graves, Miss Newhaven?”
The situation has been defused. Whit’s guard’s posture has relaxed, and he seems to be considering Blackwell’s offer. Whit too has lost some of his defensiveness and the guards standing behind Blackwell have deflated slightly, when, in the open door, Avery’s doctor appears, his face as white as his lab coat. “He’s awake! Avery’s awake!” he says, and everyone is once again on alert.
“That’s not possible!” exclaims Whit. “It’s barely been four hours.”
“But he is awake, and he’s ripped all of his monitors off. He insists on getting up. And the way he’s talking . . . it seems to me like he’s having a psychotic break.”
Avery’s huge form appears behind the doctor, hair wild and eyes wide. Something is tucked beneath his arm, and for a moment I can’t tell what it is. And then I taste bile as I realize it’s the dog head, defrosted and dripping a thick, glutinous fluid.
Avery slams his fist against a button inside the front door, setting off a high-pitched alarm. Lights shoot on around the property, illuminating the yard in an artificial yellow glow. Shouts can be heard coming from the barracks, and an armed guard comes barreling down from upstairs.
“They’re coming,” Avery gasps, and pushes past the doctor to stand outside. Clasping the dog head by its soggy fur, he yells, “They’re after me!” His cheeks are hollow, his look haunted. He lets go of the dog head, throwing his arms up to shield himself, as if to fend off a flock of attacking birds. The head rolls around at his feet, trailing dark liquid across the porch floor.
Everyone looks at one another in astonishment, no one knowing what to say. I take a step toward him. “Who’s after you?” I ask. Avery’s crazy eyes fix on me, and he stretches an arm forward tentatively, as if afraid to touch me.
“The animals,” he says. “They want their revenge, and they’re coming for it. I heard them. They spoke to me.”
Whit reaches up to put a hand on Avery’s shoulder. “Mr. Avery, you are hallucinating. You’re not supposed to be up yet. You need to get back to the lab, lie down, and let the drug run its course.”
The alarm sounds again—a loud wailing noise piercing the velvety silence of the dark night.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Avery roars. “They’re coming! Nature herself is rising up against me. They say I’ve exploited her—stolen lives that aren’t mine to take.” He shakes off Whit’s hand and pushes past Blackwell without even seeing him.
Blundering down the front steps, he plants himself firmly in the middle of the drive and bends over, grasping his head in his hands. “It’s over,” he moans, as his paper shirt flaps in the strengthening wind.
Responding to the alarm, guards pour in from around both sides of the house, outfitted in combat gear with guns at the ready. Others sprint across the yard and disappear through the trees. The siren wails again, and Nursall ducks into the house and shuts it off, and then jogs down the steps to confront his colleagues. A dozen guards group around Avery, watching him with worried expressions. Nursall pushes through them and speaks.
“Mr. Avery isn’t well. His doctor is here. The alarm was set off by accident. You can return to barracks.”
“It’s no accident,” yells Avery, and shuddering violently, he slumps to his knees.
Nursall takes him by the arm. “O’Donnell,” he calls, “help me take Mr. Avery back inside.” O’Donnell leaves my side and runs to help.
“Get off me, you bumbling dipshits,” Avery growls, trying to shake them off.
Just then a shout comes from the trees to the south. A pair of guards with guns drawn walk toward us, herding before them three people with their hands raised in the air.
One is a woman—and as they near I recognize her. It’s Holly, one of the clan elders. Badger’s mother. And with her are two people I recognize even before they come into full view. My heart beats wildly as they grow nearer and I see defeat written on their faces. It’s my father, and beside him walks Miles. I feel like pinching myself. The two of them together? I must be dreaming.
“The inner fence was turned off!” one of the guards yells when they get closer. “These three got across and were headed this way.”
The wind whips against us, sending a cloud of dust into the air. A second later, the heavens open and rain dumps down, drenching everyone instantly. “Everybody inside!” yells Nursall. He and O’Donnell make their way up the steps supporting a weeping Avery between the two of them. Whit disappears inside the house with the doctor, and Blackwell and his men take shelter on the porch, in spite of the fact that the wind blows the rain almost horizontally.
I wait until Miles and my father are closer and, ignoring their guards’ protests, throw myself on both of them. “Miles! You’re here!” I yell, the noise of the storm snatching my words away. My father gives me a grim smile and kisses my forehead before continuing on with Holly toward the house, their guard steering them ahead with the barrel of his gun. Miles drops his defeated look and stands there looking supremely proud of himself. With a conspiratorial grin, he winks at me and then, prodded by the second guard’s gun, makes his way toward the house.
48
MILES
I TAKE THREE STEPS ONTO THE PORCH AND freeze. My dad is standing there under the porch roof, sheltering from the rain. We’re both surprised, but I’m staring at him like he’s a ghost, and his expression is more one of startled inconvenience. What is he doing here?
And then, it all falls into place. The phone call I heard O’Donnell make—he was talking to my dad. Of course, I should have realized it sooner! Who else had a vested interest in Amrit? Whit told us last
night that he had only offered it to two people. This O’Donnell guy must have been playing both sides from the beginning. He’s probably the one who my dad called his “source,” feeding him information from Alaska, and alerting him that Juneau must be found.
Dad has known where we were heading this whole time.
I think of how I must look to him now: I haven’t showered, besides rinsing off in the river, for a week, and my arms and neck are still caked in mud. I’ve got to look pretty rough.
He marches over and, grabbing me by the arm, pulls me toward the front door. The guy guarding me yells and swings his gun toward us. My father’s men step forward, like they’re ready to tackle the guy, but Dad doesn’t budge—only stares him in the eye. “Follow us if you like. I’m not taking him anywhere.” My guard looks confused but lowers his gun and pushes us through the door into the entranceway.
The storm inside the house is wilder than the one raging outdoors. Avery’s fighting the doctor and Whit, who are both trying to subdue him. The guy who was guarding Whit is now in the office berating O’Donnell, as O’Donnell fumbles with the computer, trying to reset the electrical fences. Without orders, the two guards who brought us in seem confused about where they’re supposed to take us. And before they can do anything about it, Holly heads up the stairs on her own.
“Stop right there,” one of our guards says.
“Fat chance,” Holly replies, and continues climbing the stairs.
“I mean it, come back here—now,” he insists.
“Go ahead and shoot me,” she responds as she arrives at the top. She glances at me, questioning. I point to the right, and she disappears down the hallway. Stage One of our plan is complete: reunite Holly with Badger. Now to get both of them out of here and find a way out ourselves.
I glance over at Juneau. She saw the exchange between Holly and me and is staring like she doesn’t recognize me. I grin and she narrows her eyes. She can’t figure out what’s going on, and I know how much she hates not having complete control over her situation.