Parched (26 page)

“Where are they?” Naz yells ahead of me, all of us still running. The alarm continues to shriek painfully, blue light streaking everywhere.

“I don't know!” Achilles says. “They're gone.”

The three Quicks should've found us by now. And there were more at the other entrances.
Where are they?
I catch up to the others. We're outside the kitchen—the window's still open, rope still in place.

Naz yells, “Let's get out of here!”

“But where are they?” I gasp.

“Who cares, let's just go!”

“Who are you?” Frog asks in confusion.

Benji's eyes whip past me. “Where's Angel?”

“Behind me.”

Suddenly, the alarm stops. So do the flashing lights. A weird, eerie silence descends.

“She was right behind me,” I repeat, looking back at the corner we'd just rounded.

Just as the thought forms that we shouldn't, we all double back to look. And then everything changes. I forget about the pain in my hand.

“What the hell?” says Frog.

“Oh no,” Benji whimpers. “No, no, no.”

The corridor is filled with a sea of gleaming Quicks. The two closest to us have Lana. One holds her hands behind her back. The other has a smooth, chrome hand at her throat, holding her head in place. Her mask is on the ground. She is breathing fast, eyes twitching in terror.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispers. The Quick tightens its grasp, cutting off her ability to speak.

“Lana!” Benji lunges forward a step, his voice shooting high in fear.
He used her real name
.

The Quicks begin speaking, their collective voices a passionless monotone. “By order of the Trust and Project Aevum, we are authorized to act against individuals found guilty of crimes against the state.” A pause, and then: “We are authorized to execute.”

“No!”
Benji screams.

With one flick of its wrist, the Quick twists Lana's head hard to the left. There's a soft snap, and her body goes limp. Her blond hair falls across her face as her head lolls forward. When the Quick lets her go, she crumples to the floor.

Lana is dead.

We will be next
.

I whip my head to Ling. She's got a grenade and is taking aim. So is Naz. Ling's eyes meet mine. “Run!” she screams.

The grenades fly forward. I have a second to spin on my heel and take one, maybe two steps before a deafening explosion blasts me off my feet.

I slam into the wall, hitting my skull so hard I can feel every bone in my head. Smoke and the sharp, abrasive smell of burning fills the air around me. The thick sound of falling rubble—a wall collapsing. My ears are ringing with a scratchy, high-pitched whine. The alarm, the blue light, and a sprinkler system all burst into life at once.

“Run, run!” Naz or maybe Ling yells, but I can't see them through the smoke and water. I don't stop to take in the damage of the grenade
or to see where the Quicks are. I scramble to my feet. There's water in my eyes. No, it's blood. A cut on my head where I hit the wall? I can't tell because of the mask.
Run
.

My cut hand bent like a claw, I half run, half stumble down the corridor. Coughing, eyes watering, I shove open the first door I can find, needing to get out of the stinking, itchy smoke before I pass out.

I am in a dark, silent laboratory. Shiny silver benches. A spinning chair. I fall into it, twirl in a circle. Another exit. I stumble through someone's office. Scratch on a desk, a silent stream of a gently flowing waterfall. A photogram of a family, two grinning kids, Mom and Dad. I'm in another corridor, passing a blue water cooler, knocking over a plant. Where am I? The others? The Quicks?

I fumble my way along the corridor, my head throbbing savagely, the high-pitched whine still invading my ears. No, it's the comm. It must have smashed when I was thrown against the wall. I pull the broken thing out of my ear. The good news is the staticky, high-pitched whine is gone. The bad news is my lifeline to Kudzu has been severed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse movement. My heart stops. A Quick? No, just a blue flashing light, circling around the corridor in a never-ending race. I back into an open doorway.

Whoosh
. A set of clear doors slams shut, almost taking my nose off. I jump like a jackrabbit and spin around to face an identical set of closed clear doors.

I'm trapped.

I hear a long, low hiss. White clouds of subtly sweet-smelling gas start to fill the small space I'm in. For a second I start to panic—poison gas?—before I remember: This is decontamination gas. Standard procedure for entry into any part of the building with live specimens, like skin or hair. I know this place. It's Innovation Lab B. It only takes about five seconds, I remember now. I'm right—the inner door to the lab slides open then locks behind me once I'm through. It'll take another ten seconds or so for the system to reset. I can't open the doors again until it does.

Both doors are so thick they completely block out the alarm. Silence hangs around me like a shroud.

It's likely the Liamond system just registered someone entering this lab. But I'm rooted to the spot by the surreal sight in front of me.

Two rows of square glass cases line the room. And in each case, suspended in blue liquid, is a mutant.

That's the only word I can use to describe them. The first one, on
my left, is a baby with a bulbous forehead that billows out as if holding a supersized brain. To my right, a toddler-aged boy with two heads crammed onto a thick neck. One of his faces is so deformed it looks like someone tossed his features on without looking.

They're not mutants. They must be cloning experiments. Mistakes.

The beep of the decontamination system finishing its reset cycle is enough to startle me out of my reverie. I decide not to go back the way I came—I should put as much distance between me and the bomb site as I can. I force myself to walk down the aisle of horrors to the exit at the far end of the lab.

There's something covered in so much hair it looks more animal than human. Its long, dark strands hang motionless in the liquid blue. I see a human mouth that all but covers the thing's face—a ghoulish slash of teeth and gums that stretches from ear to ear.

They all hang silently in their blue-liquid coffins, eyes closed. I have no idea if they're living or dead or something in between.

I know I should keep moving but I'm captivated by the next one. He's definitely the oldest and the most human looking, except for a long scar on the right side of his body, as if his skin has been folded inward. Even though he's completely hairless, he looks strangely . . . beautiful. I give my head a little shake, and wonder briefly if I have a concussion. But the scarred boy is lovely. My feet move toward him.

My eyes drift over a strong nose and pearly skin. The scar travels his body like a road, past his eye, down one side of his neck, his chest, all the way down to his feet.

My face is only six inches from his. I'm realize I'm holding my breath.

His eyes pop open. My heart explodes.
It's alive
.

Purple eyes the color of a bruise glue onto me. In wordless panic, I back away.

I hear a familiar
whoosh
. I know what it is before my eyes confirm it.

A low hiss fills the entrance I came through. Clouds of white steam surround the powerful bodies of two Quicks. Their blood-red eyes cut through the gas, aimed directly at me. The only thing that separates me from them is the inner glass door that'll open when the system finishes gassing them. I'm dead.

No. The other exit. I have to make it there before the inner doors open. Thirty feet away. I won't make it. I whirl around and start to run.

The mutants blur on either side of me. I hear the whoosh of the inner door opening. I hear the Quicks.

The other exit comes jerkily closer as my feet pound the floor. I'm almost there. They're almost at my back. I can almost
feel
them. Inside. The doors slide shut behind me. Their hard bodies crash against the door.

I gasp out a cry of hot relief.

Panting more out of fear than exertion, I spin around. The two Quicks are right on the other side of the doors. We stare at each other as the low hiss begins, filling my would-be coffin with cloud-colored gas. They don't try to break the door. They must know they can't, and robots, unlike humans, are never overcome with anger or desperation. No, they just wait, freakily immobile and close. I force myself to turn away. I should have a luxurious fifteen-second start on them while the doors stay locked to regas, then gas the two Quicks.

I can't go back to the kitchen. The Quicks were there and there is no way I can ride the rope down with an injured hand. That leaves the stairs.

Ready
. I lower my center of gravity to get ready to run.

Set
.

Go
. The doors open with a whoosh. The alarm rushes my head with its awful screech.

I race out and around the corner. The corridor is empty except for a low bench and a plant. I see a red sign on a door:
EMERGENCY EXIT: STAIRS
.
Yes
. I shove the door with my shoulder.

It's locked.

I curse loudly and kick the door in a fury. The Quicks will be here any second.

My eyes race around the empty corridor, the walls, the ceiling. . . . They lock on to something. I know what to do. I yank a smoke bomb from my belt and toss it down the corridor. Instantly, plumes of woodsy-smelling gray smoke hiss out of the little bomb, filling the corridor. I watch the smoke rise, body tense. C'mon.
C'mon!

There's a short click, then the water sprinkler system switches on, drenching the entire corridor.
Yes
.

This time when I shove the door, it swings open.

Blue lights streak everything, even in here.

I take the first flight two stairs at a time. I pass the fifth-floor landing, then the fourth, then the third. I'm back in the woods behind Milkwood, legs pounding, breath rasping. I taste blood in my mouth, warm and salty. I think it's coming from the cut on my head.

Finally, I reach Level One. I throw the doors open, the alarm reverberating through my body with its incessant high-pitched scream.

I try to run, but it's more like a lurching, staggering limp, down the empty corridor. I hear shouts. Human voices at the other end, around the corner. I hear the word
Aevum
. I turn back the way I came, noticing as I do the drops of blood. My blood. I spit out a bit more.

I round the corner and hurtle straight into a scientist.

No. It's Hunter.

I barely have time to wonder why Hunter is here, now, before he drives me back against the wall. One forearm, strong as steel, presses against my throat. I claw at it, unable to breathe.

He's going to kill me, right here in the corridor
.

I am numb with shock, then I realize,
He doesn't know who I am
. I still have the mask on.

I try to choke out his name, but he just pushes his arm farther into my throat.

I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe
.

My eyes are wide with terror. I try to signal something, anything, with them.

I'm Tess! Abel's niece! Don't kill me! Please, please, don't kill me!

His eyes don't leave mine. Then they falter. His head cocks slightly to one side, and he isn't gazing coldly anymore, he's actually looking into my eyes. He loosens his grip, enough so I can breathe again. I choke in massive gulps of air, raspy and frenzied.

He's looking at my necklace. “Tess?” Spoken in quiet, horrified disbelief. At that exact moment, the alarm and flashing blue lights stop.

In one quick movement, he pulls my mask off. I wince as the material scrapes the cut on my forehead.

My hands clutch my throat. I wheeze, “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?”

I pull my knife from my belt and back away from him.

“Tess, I've authorized those Quicks to kill you.” He reaches one hand out—to touch or grab me, I can't tell. Without thinking, I slash my knife forward as hard as I can. It plunges straight into the center of his outstretched palm.

“Hunter, I'm sorry!” I cry before I realize he doesn't look like he's in pain. And despite my force, the knife barely pierced his skin.

A tiny drop of blood seeps from where the knife tip is stuck in his palm. It is a vibrant sky blue.

I stare at him, feeling my mouth fall open.

A clatter of pounding feet. Our heads spin in the direction of the sound. Three Quicks at the far end of the corridor, running toward us.

I wrench Mack back and yank a grenade from my belt. I pull the pin with my teeth and toss it in their direction. With lightning reflexes, the Quick shoots up a hand and bats the bomb back to me. The bomb sails back down the corridor, hitting me in the chest, then bounces to land just a few feet away.
It's about to explode
.

Hunter grabs me, putting himself between me and the bomb. For the second time tonight, a white-hot explosion rips through the world. Hunter and I are swept off our feet, shooting forward like a missile. He spins his body as we start to fall. His back crashes into the ground, protecting me. It feels like being wrapped in a brick wall. We skid across the slick floor, to a halt.

I push myself away from him, crawling on all fours, coughing. The biting smell of the blast fills my mouth and nostrils.

Hunter stands up quietly, uninjured and not coughing. “Tess . . .”

I see an exit sign glowing red above a door.

I pull myself up. As soon as I put weight on my left foot, a jagged spear of pain shoots through my entire body, and I cry out. My ankle.

“Tess,” he says again. I don't stop. Limping over, I try the door. It's locked.

I jam Mack between the door and the frame, trying to pry it open, shoving my shoulder against it again and again and again. Panic transcends pain. I have to get out of here. Like a wild thing, I pry and shove until suddenly, almost magically, the door shoots open, and I stumble out into in the night.