“You can’t beat yourself up over it,” I said. “He’s a grown man who makes his own choices.”
“Andrew is Andrew. I’m used to it.” A determined expression settled across her face, though I now suspected that Tough Determination was as much of a fake front as Andrew’s Cool and Unruffled Businessman. “Once we get Marcus and Kyle back I’ll have room to rant about my brother’s priorities,” she continued.
“Right.” I gave her a quick hug. “Gotta go check in with Pierce on the plan.” I started to turn away then paused. “You have any tweezers?”
She gave me a baffled look, but dug a pair out of her bag and handed them over.
“Thanks. I’ll bring them back before we leave.” I didn’t know the plan yet, but I knew that part of it depended on Pierce passing himself off as the real Pierce Gentry.
I found Pierce in the garage. The SUV was gone, and in its place was a white cargo van. He closed the van’s back doors and looked over at me.
“Angel? Is something wrong?”
Grinning, I waggled the tweezers at him. “Let’s go, dude. We got some eyebrows to tame.”
Chapter 32
This is what my life has become. Stuffed into the bottom of a garbage bin.
It was a clean one, at least, and pretty darn roomy, for a garbage bin. Pierce and Brian had muttered stuff about specs and load capacity and two cubic yards, blah blah. About three feet deep with a footprint a smidge smaller than a hospital bed, it was basically a big ass blue industrial plastic mini-dumpster on wheels.
I’d been curled up inside of it for the last few minutes, or ever since we crossed the river heading into midtown Manhattan toward Saberton’s headquarters. The not-bad part was Brian curled up inside it as well. Spooning me, in fact, which I couldn’t help enjoying on a primitive physical level even though I considered Brian to be in the special category reserved for Best Friends and Big Brothers.
In turn, I spooned a blanket-covered selection of tools we figured might come in handy, and, for a slightly lumpy pillow, I had an insulated lunch box containing a few baggies of diced brains, since we were down to only three packets remaining from the lab. Maybe it’s a good thing Philip had to stay behind with Dr. Nikas, I mused. Philip was a pretty big guy, and I had a hard time imagining him and Brian cuddled up in the dumpster.
“Entering the garage now, folks,” Pierce said, interrupting my mental wanderings, which was probably a damn good thing considering the direction they were headed. I felt the van turn, and then some bumps, followed by a sense of going down a slight incline. “We have our plan, but everyone needs to keep their senses sharp,” he continued. “Anything could change at any time.”
The van backed up, stopped, and the engine died. Brian shifted positions behind me slightly, and I bit down on an insane need to giggle.
“What’s wrong?” Brian whispered.
“You’re poking me in the butt!”
He made a strangled sound, and I couldn’t tell if it was laughter or exasperation. Possibly both. “It’s my gun. Sorry.”
I clamped both hands over my mouth and shook with laughter.
“Not that kind of gun, you dork!”
The back doors of the van opened, and I quickly got myself under control.
“I’ll take care of this myself, sir.” That was Pierce’s voice. We were inside Saberton walls, which meant we were probably under surveillance already.
“Thank you, Gentry,” Andrew replied. He sounded tired and stressed but holding it together.
“Can’t let anything happen to the goods,” Pierce said, surprising me with a sharp yank on the bin. For an instant I thought we were going to tumble out of the back of the van and onto the ground, but instead I felt only a rough bump.
The loading dock, I realized as I did my best to relax again.
“Close your eyes and go limp,” Brian said very softly in my ear. “Someone could open the bin to check at any time.”
Right. Play tranqed. I obediently closed my eyes and went as limp as possible. It helped that Brian had moved the gun.
I heard a jingle of keys followed by a beep and a door opening. Andrew using his fob to activate the latch, I decided.
The cart moved through the door. “Morning, Ferguson,” Andrew said after a moment, as if he’d simply been out for a stroll—plausible since we figured that only Nicole and her Special Security Team would know Andrew was missing. After all, the bastards didn’t want cops snooping around.
“Morning, Mr. Saber.”
Another set of doors, a long roll, then the beep and ding of an elevator. Bump-bump going in, then silence while the car descended. According to Andrew, they’d converted old maintenance offices into a temporary holding area. Nothing fancy, but serviceable—a secure door to a corridor with a half dozen rooms, and a closed camera system to monitor a few makeshift cells.
“I’ll take care of the retina scan, Gentry,” Andrew said as the elevator doors opened.
“Yes, sir.”
I kept my eyes closed, barely daring to breathe as the cart moved. Things beeped, and a heavy door swung open with a slow metallic creak. I heard a scrape of metal on plastic, then a pop that was Pierce jamming the latch to make sure we couldn’t be locked in, and I only knew that because he’d told me he was going to do so.
A couple of seconds later we passed through. The air smelled different in here, antiseptic and rotten, along with something else that made my hair stand on end.
“Mr. Saber! Gentry!” A scrape of boot on linoleum was most likely a guard near the door. “I didn’t know you’d returned.”
“Now you know,” Pierce replied, tone hard and clipped. “Has the older Ivanov specimen been recaptured?”
“Not yet,” the guard replied. “No fucking leads either.”
“Are Marcus Ivanov and,” disgust filled Pierce’s voice, “Griffin secure?”
“Locked down tight.” The guard gave a sharp and nasty laugh. “Griffin’s been getting a lesson in loyalty. Ms. Saber’s orders. And, with the Dallas lab tech here, it’s been pretty entertaining.”
Brian tensed behind me while I trembled. Holy shit, did I ever want to leap out of the bin and tear off the ugly smile I heard in this guard’s voice.
“I have two more,” Pierce said with a note of triumph. I forced myself limp again as he pulled the hinged bin lid up and let it fall open with a loud plastic clatter. “Crawford and Archer. But we have a change of plans. We’re moving them all out of here. With Pietro Ivanov on the loose, and no clue how he got out, we can’t risk him returning to free Griffin and his nephew. Mr. Saber, you can arrange the plane to Dallas?”
Andrew cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course.”
“Thank you, sir,” Pierce said and pushed the cart farther along. “I’ll check the condition of the specimens and prepare them to move.”
“After yesterday’s bullshit in the conference room, this one got his arms broken and no brains,” a different guard said as the cart came to a stop. I carefully opened my eyes a thin crack and peered through my lashes, relieved that it was enough to allow me to see nearby people over the lip of the dumpster. A brawny, bald guard stood in front of Pierce. “He’s chained up now, and a rotting mess,” he added without a trace of compassion in his voice as he nodded toward the door beside him. “Griffin’s another story.” His smile widened, cruel and vicious. “The tech tested some new shit on him that supposedly keeps them aware and slows the rot when they get injured and hungry. It worked like a fucking charm.”
Brian’s hand curled into a fist against my back. I bit the inside of my cheek, quivering with rage.
A small frown crossed Andrew’s face. “I hope my mother is taking care not to do irreparable damage. They’re useless as test subjects if they become unstable, like Philip Reinhardt.”
I held back a growl with effort. Fuck you too, Andy.
“Bring out whatever brains we have left,” Pierce ordered. “We’re going to need to get them into shape to move.”
“Yes, sir.”
As the guard stepped out of my thin field of vision, Pierce dropped a quick glance down and gave us a very slight Not Yet head shake. I fought to look limp and tranqed, and focused on running through the plan in my head. At Brian’s signal I was to leap out with him right behind me, then he’d get through the door, mod up, and kick some serious ass. The effect of the mods didn’t last very long, so activating it before the time was right would only waste it.
The bald guard returned with a Ziploc freezer bag, presumably containing brains. He handed it to Pierce then turned at the sound of the entrance door swinging open.
“Yes, ma’am.” It was the head of security, Thea Braddock, and it sounded as if she was talking on the phone. “I’d just gone off duty when I heard. I came back to check it out.” A pause. “Crawford and Archer, or so I’ve just been told, ma’am,” she continued. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know more.”
Shit shit shit shit. She was on the phone with Nicole Fucking Saber.
Approaching footsteps. “Good to have you back safe and sound, Mr. Saber,” Braddock said, sounding genuinely pleased that he’d returned. “Gentry? You’re the one who got him back?”
Pierce offered a tight-lipped smile. Having Braddock show up complicated things that much more. “Yes, ma’am. And took down these two as well,” he said, flicking fingers toward us. “Lost Reinhardt and Comtesse though.”
Braddock peered into the bin and gave a low whistle of appreciation. She wore an emerald green hoody, a bag strap over one shoulder, and a hospital-blue sling supporting the arm Philip had injured. “Solid work, Gentry,” she said. “I need to call Ms. Saber back and let her know it’s confirmed. She’s on her way in now.”
“Leave off calling her for the moment, please, Thea,” Andrew put in quickly. “With Pietro Ivanov in the wind, we can’t risk staying in New York. This section wasn’t meant to be anything more than a temporary holding place for specimens.” He made a noise of aggravation. “I’m shocked the other two haven’t escaped as well, considering how quickly this floor was refitted for this purpose. We’re moving the lot to the airport for transfer to Dallas. No one escapes from there.”
Braddock looked briefly pained. “Yes, sir. I understand your concerns regarding the security of this section, but I don’t know if Ms. Saber will support that decision.”
“She won’t,” Andrew said tightly. “But it’s the right move in order to maintain security. I’ll make sure she understands.”
Pierce turned away, murmured to Baldy to open the door beside us.
“Yes, sir,” Braddock said. “However, I still need to call her with an update.”
She wrinkled her nose as a choking wave of rot smell poured out of the open door. A gurgling yowl and the rattling of chains followed it.
Marcus! I stiffened, and only Brian’s hand tight on the back of my jacket kept me from leaping up to see him. Braddock’s gaze went beyond Andrew and into the room. She took a half step back, face suddenly ashen, and for a second I thought she was going to hurl. Had she never seen Saberton’s loving care of zombies?
“Of course I understand she needs to be told,” Andrew was saying. “I’m making the call to Dallas to coordinate transport, but it’s easier on everyone for me to wait and tell my mother face to face. You know that.”
Yes, please, get Nicole in my grasp again, I seethed.
But Braddock wasn’t listening to Andrew anymore. She stared into the room, her entire focus locked on its rotting occupant.
“Braddock!” Andrew snapped to get her attention. “Why are you down here anyway? You shouldn’t be in this far.” It was obvious he wasn’t at all happy that Thea Braddock was witness to what happened behind these closed doors.
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir,” she replied, voice taut. “I had to come down when I heard the report that you were back.”
“You know my mother,” he said. “You do understand that it’s best I inform her of this move in person, yes?”
She didn’t immediately answer. Her gaze tracked from the doorway, down to Brian and me, then back to Andrew. “Yes, sir. I do,” she finally said. The unspoken “but” hung between them. She had questions. Her instincts told her something was seriously off. Maybe she was wondering why Pierce or Andrew hadn’t called ahead to let them know they were coming in with prisoners. Or maybe Pierce’s mannerisms didn’t match the Pierce Gentry she knew. Whatever it was, the seed of suspicion was getting a whole lot of fertilizer.
“I respect your opinion, sir,” Braddock said as she took a step back and out of my view. “But it’s my duty to notify Ms. Saber.” I heard the soft beep of a phone.
I didn’t need Brian’s quick double-hand squeeze to let me know it was time to move. Baring my teeth in a snarl, I surged up and vaulted out, though far less gracefully than I’d hoped, which turned my dash to Marcus’s door into more of a stagger. Brian was right on my heels, but none of us had considered the instability of the bin. Brian’s weight had stabilized it for my exit, but he didn’t have that advantage. The instant he came over the side the whole thing tipped to throw him off balance, then slammed back to the floor as his weight shifted off it.
Brian recovered in a zombie-speed flash, but Braddock had solid instincts and damn good reflexes. She had her gun half out of her purse even as the dumpster slammed back down. No doubt realizing Brian was the bigger threat—and apparently well aware it was pointless to tell a zombie, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”—she brought bag and all to bear on him and fired twice.
I yelped and ducked as the sound of the gunshots slammed through the corridor. Brian staggered back against the wall as both rounds hit him center chest. Fortunately for him, that was the best place to get hit, considering his body armor, though I had to give an instant of mad respect for Braddock’s shooting skill, especially with the purse in the way.
“Angel! Take care of Marcus!” Pierce tossed me the bag of brains, and the instant it left his hands he pulled a knife, spun, and sliced Baldy’s throat open in a spray of blood.
As I caught the bag, the guard gurgled, clutched at his throat, and crumpled. Braddock got off another shot that seared a line across Pierce’s shoulder, but he retaliated with zombie speed and stepped into a vicious side kick directly on her injured arm. She let out a choked cry as she crashed back into a partially open door then tumbled out of sight into an unlit room.
Down the corridor past Brian, the first guard grabbed his tranq gun and pointed it our way. I heard a dart skitter off the wall as I turned toward Marcus’s open cell door. The guard fired again, and I distantly heard the thuk sound of a dart hitting flesh and Brian’s grunt of pain. On my other side, as if from far away, I heard Andrew curse then saw him bolt toward the opposite end of the corridor and the exit door. But the instant I took in the sight of Marcus everything else seemed to retreat.
Marcus stood chained to the wall like a storybook ogre—naked, shackles at wrists, ankles, neck, and another chain wrapped around his waist. His arms were bent at odd angles and seemed to have too many joints. Rotted flesh peeled away from bones where the chains bit into him, and black blood dripped from a deep gash in his thigh. His breath came in ugly, wet rattles, and drool streamed from the corner of his mouth to string over his chest.
Eyes wild with hunger, he lunged at me a with wailing scream that sliced right through my core, then slammed to an ugly, flesh-shredding stop at the limit of his chains.
“Angel. Angel!” That was Pierce. “Get Andrew!” he shouted as he sprang toward the tranq wielding guard.
Cursing, I tossed the open bag of brains to Marcus, pausing only long enough to make sure he caught it before I pushed off into a sprint to chase down Andrew. Behind me I heard Marcus’s growl and the squish slurp of him devouring
brains.
I tackled Andrew before he made it to the door, then hauled him right back up with the idea of using him as a handy dandy human shield. Pierce dropped the other guard and turned our way, even as Braddock emerged from the room and ran at me, gun in hand and face twisted in pain and determination. A stupid little squeal slipped out of me at the sight of the security chief charging in my direction, and I thrust Andrew at her as hard as I could.
Braddock caught Andrew and staggered back a couple of steps which gave me all the time I needed to dash past her. She lifted her gun again, but I dodged to the other side of the blue mini-dumpster and shoved it at her to knock her off balance.
“I have this,” Pierce said as Andrew went sprawling. “Check on Kyle.” He gestured to the next door as he slapped our last three brain packets into my hand, then shifted his attention to Braddock and Andrew.
Hands shaking from adrenaline, I yanked a blood-drenched ring of keys from Baldy’s belt and got Kyle’s door open. I steeled myself for a sight similar to Marcus: broken, twisted, rotting, mindless, and slavering—
It was a thousand times worse.
Head lowered, Kyle crouched against the wall, naked and covered with areas of deep rot that showed bone and organs in places. Only one chain around his waist held him, and it took me a hideous second to process that his wrists weren’t shackled because his hands had been cut off. He lifted his head, eyes full of fury and agony, and I received a second vicious shock as I saw what was left of his face. No lower jaw or tongue—nothing but a gaping and ragged hole. He breathed in wet gurgles, blood bubbling from his throat with each exhalation.
My reeling mind fought to make sense of the scene before me. With that much rot Kyle should’ve been mindless and hunger-crazed, yet his eyes reflected full awareness of me and his agony.
Realization shot through me. The new drug. The first guard said they’d used a new drug on him that slowed rot and kept him aware.