Don't Look Now (26 page)

The sight of Mason heading toward the exit provided a renewed burst of stamina.

Peter stumbled forward. His brain fought him every step of the way, a small voice in his head murmuring for him to give up and lie down. His eyelids were sliding closed—through the slits, he watched Mason push open the door.

Peter could never have explained what gave him the strength to make it those last fifteen feet. He tripped and nearly went sprawling over the unconscious guard. His feet twisted over each other; it was more of a slow, sustained fall than anything else. But somehow, he made it to the end.

Mason had taken no notice of him; either the gas mask had restricted his sight and hearing to such an extent that he was unaware of Peter’s ragged pursuit, or he didn’t consider him enough of a threat to care.

When Peter launched into him from behind, Mason’s head snapped around and his eyes widened with surprise. His arms flung out for balance, but too late—Peter’s forward momentum sent them both tumbling down the stairs. They landed in a pile at the bottom.

The gas had numbed his nerves to the point where Peter barely registered the collisions with hard concrete. Mason wasn’t so lucky. He landed on his side, with Peter on top of him.

Using his last ounce of energy, Peter tore the mask from Mason’s head.

Mason struggled to extricate himself. With a leap, he regained his feet, one hand cocked back in a fist.

Peter lay on the ground panting. The adrenaline was dissipating, his will to fight leaving along with it. He braced himself for the blow.

It never came.

Mason suddenly went completely rigid. His eyes sprung wide, the pupils dilating as his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Then he collapsed in a pile on the floor next to Peter.

A kid was standing behind him. A scarf covered his mouth, and he held a Taser in both hands.

He eyed Peter, then said, “Good to see you again, Vallas.”

Peter managed a weak nod. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by his handle.

“You, too,” Peter gasped. The darkness was overwhelming him. Luke swayed and flickered like a mirage. Before it swept him away entirely, he muttered, “Took you long enough.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

N
oa raced through the trees toward the wreckage of the house. The fire didn’t show any signs of stopping, but thanks to the thick layer of moisture in the air, at least it hadn’t spread to the surrounding forest.

Within seconds she’d reached the house. Teo was hunched down next to Zeke. Daisy stood beside them, her face buried in her hands. Teo looked up at Noa, his eyes steady and surprisingly calm. He looked like he’d aged a decade in the past hour.

“Roy’s gone,” he said bluntly. “But Zeke’s still breathing. Together, we should be able to carry him.”

Noa’s heart gave a thud at the news. There was still a chance to save him. “We have to hurry,” she said, bending down and tucking her arm under his shoulder. Teo followed suit on the other side. “Do you know where the beach is?”

“Yeah,” Teo said. “Daisy showed me earlier.”

“Okay. There are kayaks stowed at the south end. We’ll take them to Steamer Lane. There’s a truck in the lot by the pier—”

Noa paused, suddenly concerned. Roy had given her this plan, and she was no longer certain he could be trusted. Would the kayaks and truck be waiting for them?

If not, she’d come up with something else. There was no alternative. The beach was their last chance. “Let’s go . . . now!”

They made it to the stairs that led down to the beach without incident. The sound of sirens in the distance: Someone had finally alerted the fire department. Too late to save the house, but hopefully the firefighters would drive off their pursuers. Project Persephone strike teams usually vanished when the authorities showed up.

She and Teo struggled to bear Zeke between them. At the top of the stairs, they carefully lowered him to the ground and peered dubiously down the steep, rickety wooden staircase.

“Do you see anyone down there?” Noa hissed.

“No one.” Teo shook his head. “No lights, either.”

“It’s pretty dark,” Daisy said doubtfully. “Do you really think we can carry him?”

Noa hesitated. Could these two scrawny kids haul Zeke down a hundred feet of stairs? She’d help, but someone had to watch their backs. And she didn’t want to saddle them with the responsibility of shooting anyone, not even the bastards who were after them.

“It’s okay, Noa,” Teo said, reading her expression. “We can handle it.”

He and Daisy carefully lifted Zeke up, cradling him in their arms. As they started down the stairs, Noa stayed low, keeping an eye on the tree line. Occasionally she thought she discerned darting shapes, and each time her heart clenched; but no one approached.

When Daisy and Teo were nearly at the bottom, she eased onto the stairs. In the dark, it was hard to make out where one step ended and the next began. Mist draped from the cliff in folds like a dense gray curtain, which didn’t help visibility. It seemed to take an eternity to reach the bottom.

Teo and Daisy had lowered Zeke to the ground and were standing over him uncertainly. “Find the kayaks and get them in the water,” Noa said, kneeling on the sand beside him. “I’m going to try to stop the bleeding.”

Daisy broke into a run, headed for the far end of the beach. Teo ran a few steps, then stopped and turned back. “This isn’t your fault,” he said.

Noa looked up at him. “What?”

“You’re everything I thought you’d be,” he said. “Just thought you should know that, just in case.”

He turned and bolted after Daisy.

Noa was already pulling off her scarf. She drew Zeke onto her lap and started to carefully wrap the makeshift bandage around his waist. There was so much blood everywhere, soaking his shirt, his pants. His face was so pale, it practically glowed. Noa ran a hand over his forehead. It was still warm to the touch, which was reassuring.

“Where’d they go?” a voice suddenly yelled from the top of the cliff.

“Dunno. Didn’t see them by the house.”

“Spread out and keep looking, we gotta roll in five. Fire department won’t hold off forever.”

Zeke’s eyes blinked open. “Noa?” he said groggily.

“Shh,” she warned. A red laser light flicked across the sand like a rogue firefly. Carefully, she dragged Zeke closer to the base of the stairs, where a rocky outcropping hid them from view. “We’re almost out of here.”

Zeke tried to sit up, then winced and fell back. “My . . . side . . .”

“Easy,” Noa said, gently pressing on his shoulder to settle him. “You have to stay still.”

The pungent, coppery smell of blood saturated the air. Noa did some mental calculations: a mile south in the kayaks to the parking lot—that could take up to an hour, depending on the current. Once on the road she could stop at a pharmacy and get basic first-aid supplies, or maybe Roy had had the foresight to leave a medical kit in the truck. . . .

“It hurts,” he gasped through clenched teeth. “God, Noa, it hurts so much.”

The terror and pain in his voice almost unhinged her. Noa struggled to sound reassuring as she stroked his hair. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. Roy stashed some kayaks, we’re going to get out of here.”

Just saying Roy’s name made her feel sick. Zeke had no idea how badly they’d been betrayed. And in the state he was in, she couldn’t bear to tell him.

“The others?” he asked in the same strained voice.

“Teo and Daisy are here,” Noa said, hesitating before she continued, “I’m not sure about the rest.”

Zeke reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You have to go.”

“
We
have to go,” she insisted. “I’m not leaving without you.”

More yelling above. Any minute now, they’d find the stairs. She had to get them out of here before that happened.

Her heart sank. It was impossible. She could barely make out the dim forms of Daisy and Teo, digging frantically in the sand at the other end of the beach.

“Noa,” he wheezed. “Go.”

“No,” she said fiercely. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to.” Zeke’s voice hardened as he continued, “I need to know that you’re safe.”

“We’re all making it out of here,” she protested desperately, battling pinpricks of tears. Noa realized she was squeezing his shoulder hard, and forced herself to ease her grip.

“Please, Noa,” he said softly. “I won’t make it anyway.”

Noa shook her head, refusing to acknowledge what he was saying.

“Do you still have the gun?” he asked.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Give it to me. I’ll make sure they don’t follow you.” He held out a shaky hand.

Noa could feel his blood, hot and wet, seeping across her legs as she held him in her lap. She searched her mind desperately for an alternative, but couldn’t come up with one. He was right. There was no way he’d make it all the way to Steamer Lane, not after losing so much blood. The strange wheeze in his chest was becoming more pronounced with every breath.

With trembling hands, she passed the gun to him.

Zeke’s fingers closed around it, and he sighed. Half-smiled, then said, “You really don’t remember me from The Center, huh?”

It took Noa a minute to understand, but then she shook her head. When they’d first met, he’d told her that they’d overlapped in Boston’s foster care facility years earlier. But she hadn’t recognized him.

“I remember you,” he continued softly. “You walked in wearing black jeans and a T-shirt. Your hair was longer then.” He reached out a cold hand and carefully swept it back from her face. “I swear I stopped breathing. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen in my whole life. I watched you grab a glass of milk and go to a table by yourself. I wanted so badly to go over and sit next to you, but I was scared.”

Noa had a hard time speaking past the lump in her throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I should have said it a long time ago,” Zeke said. “I fell for you the minute I saw you. It was like you were something I’d lost that I never even knew was missing, until right at that moment. But I was too much of a coward. I figured I’d see you again, but the next day, you were gone. Probably got placed somewhere. And I hated myself for letting you go without even finding out your name.”

“But you did find me,” Noa said, her voice quavering. “You never told me how you found me.”

“I never stopped looking.” Zeke closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. I wish I could’ve gotten there sooner.”

“Noa!” a voice hissed.

Noa looked up. There were two shadowy figures by the surf line, each bracing a rocking, narrow ocean kayak.

“Go,” Zeke said softly. “They need you.”

“But they’ll take you again,” she choked.

Zeke shook his head slightly, then winced, as if even that small movement hurt. “I won’t let them,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

The ramifications of what he was saying sank in, and more tears coursed down her cheeks.

“Hey,” he said gently. “It’ll be okay.”

“No,” she sobbed. “It won’t. I can’t do this without you.”

“You can.” Zeke dug a hand into her hair and pulled her face down. This time, Noa let herself sink into the kiss. His lips were dry but soft. He pressed his mouth gently to hers, and breathed out her name.

His eyes twinkled as she pulled away. “Man,” he said. “You sure do make a guy regret dying.”

Noa was crying too hard to answer. Zeke trailed the back of his hand against her cheek, then said, “I love you. Now go.”

Noa stumbled to her feet. Somehow she made it to the kayaks, even though she could barely see through the tears. She was dimly aware of the paddle Teo thrust in her hands, and of nearly capsizing as Teo tried to maneuver them past the breakers.

The next ten minutes were a blur of biting water and crashing waves and gunshots that receded in the distance as they rounded the point. There were four shots in tight succession, answered by a much louder barrage.

Noa flinched as one final shot rang out, followed by silence. She slumped in her seat, letting the paddle drop into her lap as she bowed her head and let the tears flow freely.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

P
eter sat beside Amanda’s hospital bed, head perched on his fists. She was asleep, probably sedated. Her hair spread across the pillow like a fan. She looked angelic, almost like she wasn’t ill.

He’d torn off the paper mask as soon as the nurse closed the curtains. He’d spent months in a PEMA ward with his dying brother without getting sick. If he was willing to risk it then, he could certainly do the same for Amanda. Part of him almost hoped he’d catch the disease—it would help assuage his guilt.

It still wasn’t clear why her name hadn’t registered when he’d searched the hospitals; the nurse claimed it must have been an oversight, some sort of computer glitch. He knew better. Either Mason had been lying—which was likely—or Charles Pike had taken an interest in Amanda, too. Either way, when he’d regained consciousness, there had been a text message from Diem explaining that Amanda was a patient at Boston Medical. And that it didn’t look like she’d be released anytime soon.

Gently, he took her hand. It was limp in his, and disconcertingly cold. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he whispered.

Amanda didn’t respond. She hadn’t moved the entire time he’d been here. Peter had arrived a few minutes before visiting hours ended, waiting until her parents had left before slipping inside. He didn’t have long. And there was a chance that after tonight, he’d never see her again.

Thank God he’d sent that Mayday, asking Luke’s unit to keep an eye out while he went into Mason’s apartment. They’d tailed him and Mason to the warehouses, hanging around outside until it was clear that something had gone wrong. The nerve gas had slowed them down, but they’d come through in the end. They’d left Mason tied to the bottom of the banister, a present for Charles Pike. Peter hoped he appreciated it. And that he made sure the smarmy bastard never saw the light of day again.

Luke had initially tried to enlist him, abashedly admitting that he was having a hard time keeping the group in line, especially since they hadn’t had a real operation in a while. But the Northeast unit was based too close to home, and Peter wanted out. Boston only held bad memories for him now. So Luke offered to help get him where he needed to go. He hawked the Prius to a chop shop and gave Peter the cash, and set him up with a Taser, radio, and other things they employed during raids. Peter had no idea if he’d ever use any of it, but decided it couldn’t hurt to have just in case. He ditched his laptop and cell phone—better to start fresh, just to be on the safe side. Where he was going, he needed to be absolutely certain no one followed.

Peter brushed his fingers over Amanda’s forehead, pushing back the stray strands of hair plastered there. “I’ll be back,” he said softly. “But I have to go do something first. Don’t—”

His voice broke, and it took a minute to regain his composure. “I’ll see you again,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’m coming back with a cure. Wait for me.”

Peter nervously shifted the backpack, the weight of the hard drives heavy against his lower back. It was freezing outside the bus terminal, an icy wind buffeting him as he sat on a bench, waiting.

He’d spent the past few days on buses, frequently backtracking, meandering across the country in an unpredictable pattern designed to throw off any pursuers. So far, at least, it appeared to have worked. He’d studied the faces of every fellow passenger from Boston to St. Louis, Memphis to Columbus; none had been familiar. They all looked as tired and worn as he felt, resigned to rattling across the uneven topography of America’s back roads and highways in rickety Greyhounds.

The miles had given him time to think, his mind running over the same tracks over and over like the groove in a record. He wondered how Charles Pike had reacted to finding Mason locked up in his building, and all his medical research gone. He wondered if Amanda had regained consciousness yet. He wondered what his parents thought of the note he’d left, explaining that he was leaving and never coming back. Had they sent anyone after him? Did they even want him found?

It didn’t matter anymore. Because he’d finally arrived.

Peter wished the terminal was still open so that he could at least grab a warm drink from a vending machine. It was almost three a.m., and the few passengers who had disembarked with him had already vanished into the night. This was a desolate stretch of land on the outskirts of Omaha, a rickety depot with only a few slots for buses to park and offload passengers. Most of the spaces were occupied by silent, still metal behemoths whose tinted windows seemed to be glaring at him. The single bulb overhead barely penetrated the shadows. It was spooky as hell. He had to fight the sense that he was the last person left alive after some terrible apocalyptic event.

Headlights approaching. Peter jumped to his feet, relieved. If they hadn’t shown up, he didn’t know what he would have done. This was as far as he’d planned.

The lights swung into the parking lot, bouncing up and down as they navigated through a pothole. An ancient SUV stopped a few feet away, its engine idling.

The rear passenger door opened, and Noa got out. They stood there for a minute staring at each other, then Peter nodded and said, “Hey.”

“Hey.” She looked thinner than he remembered, and paler. Older, too, like the past few months had aged her in some incalculable way.

But then, he probably looked much the same. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” she said, smiling thinly. It was hard to tell if she meant it, though. Her voice sounded weary, defeated. This wasn’t the same girl who had left him four months ago, determined to wage war against a massive conspiracy.

“Is Zeke in the car?”

Her face fell. “No. Zeke . . . He didn’t make it.”

“Oh. God, Noa. I’m sorry.” Peter wanted to take her into his arms and offer some comfort, but she actually took a step back and went rigid.

“Amanda’s sick,” he said, hands dangling uselessly by his sides. “PEMA.”

“Bastards,” she spat.

“Yeah. But I’ve got new data. I think that maybe this time, there’s something there.”

Noa just shrugged, which worried him. He wasn’t expecting her to jump up and down with elation, especially not at this hour, but some sort of positive reaction would’ve been nice.

“So where are we going?” he asked.

Noa’s shoulders slumped even farther. “I have no idea,” she said, looking utterly bereft. “It’s all gone. They’re all gone.”

“Hey.” He reached out and rubbed her arm awkwardly. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out together, all right?”

She raised her head to look at him. They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, a flicker of a smile flitted across her mouth. “I could really use some of your eggs.”

He laughed, feeling inexplicably relieved. “Yeah? Well, this time I’ll try not to burn them.”

They smiled at each other for another beat, then she gestured to the backseat and said, “We should get off the streets.”

“Definitely,” Peter answered firmly. “Let’s get out of here.”

You probably heard that we’re beaten, that we’ve been taken out. That Project Persephone managed to crush us.

Well, it’s not true. We’re still here—in smaller numbers, but those of us who are left are stronger than ever. And we’re coming for them.

We still need help. The people we’re facing are ruthless and cruel, and they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. There is a cure for PEMA, and they have it.

We’re going to get it from them.

Even if it kills us.

Stay strong. Protect each other. And know that this fight is far from over.

Posted by PER5EF0NE on February 22nd

/ALLIANCE/ /NEKRO/ /#PERSEF_ARMY/

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