Silenced (21 page)

Tripp starts up for the booth, and we fall in a lazy line behind him. When we reach Gus, he gives us a gummy smile, then smacks down on something in his booth.

There is a low buzz, then a zap before the massive white walls creak open.

Gus waves us through. I’m the last one inside and I crane my back and stare at Juliet, wondering what she’s doing.

A clap makes me blink. I twist my head back around. There is a thirty-something, pale woman with thick-framed glasses beaming at us. She flips her raven hair over her shoulder and slides her hands into the pockets of her teal scrubs.

“You must be Colonel Jax’s people.”

My nostrils flare at the sound of his name.

“My name is Doctor Phila. Welcome.” As she smiles, the Asian guy steps out in front of Tripp.

“Doctor Lee.” He holds out a hand, and they shake. Lee gestures at each of us, rattling off names. Her gaze lands on me last.

“You must be tired.” With a tight smile, she points her thumbs back over her shoulders. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you settled in.”

I follow my group toward a two-story brick structure with white columns. Moonlight glistens off a glass booth in the center of the top step.

“Welcome to Brown Theatre,” Doctor Phila says as we make our way up the steps. “The citizens here at Compound Four like to use this space for prayer meetings and whatnot.” She leads us through a lobby with candles against the wall and names scrawled where play posters used to hang. “For your stay, we’ve set up lanterns and cots. You won’t be disturbed.” She stops next to the entrance of the theater, then jerks her head over her shoulder.

Tripp gasps as he saunters into the dimly lit room. His head jerks left and right, and I imagine his eyes are wide even though I can’t see his face.

He’s probably getting a gay guy boner.

Sorry, that’s not right. I’m sure not all gay guys love the theater. I just never met one that didn’t.

As we pass rows of theater seats, my throat tightens. I sniff. Something doesn’t feel right. I’m not psychic, but I tend to know when something is going to pop off.

I press my lips tight as I step onto a stage lined with cots. Whatever it is, isn’t my concern. My only concern is getting that cure. And the upper hand.

We eat and mingle with a few of the residents of Compound Four. They all seem to be science geeks of some kind. Med students. Nurses. Doctors. Researchers. I even overhear that one of the legendary biochemists on the team that came up with the Atera vaccine is somewhere on the grounds.

I tuck that information away for later use. Then, I take my shower and head back to the theater. I plop on a cot in front of Tripp and pull at my collar.

“Another things I miss,” I say. “Men’s clothing.”

Tripp chortles and backs up to lean against the wall. “And shoes?”

With a snort, I reach under my bed to pull out my guitar case. As I snap open the lid and pull out my guitarI say, “You must be thinking of yourself, or one of your former fag hags.”

He gasps. I sit up and glance over at him, then laugh at the look on his face. As I straighten, he winks at me.

“We both know your black ass owned a ton of shoes.”

I run my fingers over the strings, careful not to pluck any of them. “The thing all black men and gay men have in common. A love for shoes.”

He laughs and nods at the Gip.

“I’ve been wondering what’s up with that,” he says, stifling a yawn.

I run my gaze up and down the medium blue finish. The two white stripes on the left side. A Les Paul traditional, and one beautiful bitch.

The strings flicker with jolts of stored energy. That’s not me romanticizing. There’s literally power coursing through Gip.

“This is my focus,” I say, plucking the pick from the back compartment. “This is what gets us over and into the crossroads.”

There are a few moments of silence, followed by the stirring of our group. Kiwi slides in bed on the other side of Tripp, flips onto her side, and points her back at me.

“What does it do?” Tripp says, voice hushed.

I slip the pick over my thumb and hang it inches over the middle of the strings.

Warmth rushes into me, pounding my heart faster. I suck in a breath. My hand, the one holding the pick, trembles. My muscles tighten as I try to pull my hand back. With a gasp, I manage to slice through the call. I jerk my hand away, then quickly place the pick in its home.

I laugh and glance up at Tripp. “It magnifies my power a fuck ton.” Leaning over, I put the guitar in its case, then slide it back under the bed. I sit up, about to explain what else it does when something crosses my vision from the left.

Juliet has one foot perched at the edge of the stage. She leans over it, then raises her eyebrow at me. I mimic her expression, and she shifts her gaze to the other side of the stage.

“If everyone is settled, it’s two minutes till lock down,” she says,

A throat clears. I scan the stage until my eyes land on Lee.

“You’re locking us in this room? What if…”

Juliet holds up her hand to cut Lee off. “No worries. Support will sleep outside the door in shifts.” She flips her hair.

My eyes narrow almost out of instinct.

“Alright everyone. I need you to focus on getting your rest.” She nods. “Goodnight.”

As she turns to walk away, I reach up into my mind, he part of me that can visualize things into being, and watch her stop. She turns and meets my gaze with visible strain.

A flash of her ripping out my back teeth rushes my mind.

No, I don’t want to hurt her. I just want to remind her.

Her teeth clamp. “Do you need anything, Pike?”

I tilt my head to the side and pretend to think about it. Trying to get a rise out of her. Nothing.

The dynamic between us has changed, she knows it, I know it. This isn’t the Pit where they had me doped up on monkshood and my face covered in a mask. Here, I can make her do anything, and yet she refused to admit it. If she were anyone else, I’d be impressed.

I lift my hold on her and shake my head. “Nah, you can dip.”

With a nod, she turns and marches down the steps. I yawn, then start to reach for my lantern. A snort echoes on the stage. I pause.

“Were you gonna try and fuck her?” Kiwi says in a crabby tone.

I glance over at Tripp, who rolls his eyes as he lays down.

Shaking my head, I turn off the flickering light and lie on my back. The lanterns in the corners cast long shadows on the walls. I follow their ghost movements. My lids start to feel heavy, and I yawn again.

“Well, I told you I’d give you until tonight to spill. I guess it’s on me to tell him.” Tripp’s voice snaps my drooping eyelids awake.

A loud creak rings out. Then, the brush of movement.

“You keep your mouth closed or I will…”

“Girl, stop.” Tripp cuts Kiwi off. “You know I love you, but I don’t do secrets like this.” He clears his throat, and I sigh. Before I can tell them to shut the fuck up, Tripp says, “Kiwi was a part of what they did to Sadie because she can’t help it.”

I blink into the dim room, then prop myself up on an elbow. “What do you mean she can’t help it?”

There is a thud, then a blur of movement followed by Kiwi stomping down the stage. She throws herself onto the cot farthest from us. I shake my head.

“I mean, she has to. She’s a fury. They use her to ask about things that might screw up this mission. Well, they ask her sisters.” He pauses. “And when they asked them if you thought getting back to Sadie was more important than following orders, they said yes.” A cough. “They said you were already trying to think up ways to get Sadie out and bring Compound Six down.”

I sit rod straight. “They asked her… sisters?” I shake my head in confusion, even though I know he can’t see me.

“They told Colonel Deuce that the only way to guarantee you’d follow orders to the letter was to put Sadie’s life on the line.”

“I’m sorry, but how did they ask her sisters?”

“Through Kiwi. She hears them in her head.”

I’m not amused, but I burst out laughing. “Right. The voices made me do it. Gotcha.”

“I’m serious, honey. She’s the last of the three. She gets orders that lead to her sisters’ murderers. And she has to follow.” His voice is softer. “I’m sorry, Kiwi.”

Miles and miles of silence stretch out as I ponder what Tripp has just told me. I wait for the truth to thaw me. To stir some understanding.

It doesn’t happen.

Finally, Kiwi coughs. “Fuck you both.”

After that, no one speaks. My eyelids start to droop, and I’m out cold.

Something twists in my gut and my eyes shoot open. My ears perk, straining to catch what stirred me awake. It wasn’t a nightmare. Light snoring and measured breathing flow through my ears.

Nothing else. Nothing that should be tightening my gut.

I sit up, slowly, trying to breathe evenly. Then, I open my eyes and glance around the theater.

Still nothing.

Just flickering shadows and bodies shifting on cots. I give myself a few moments, then lower myself back down.

Shake it off.

I gulp in a few breaths, then start to lower my eyelids when it comes again.

The twist of panic in the gut. Then, a low hum, like an army of slowly approaching crickets, perks my ears.

Fuck is that?

I sit up slowly again. The hum grows louder. I swing my legs over the side of my cot and ease onto my feet. The hum grows even louder. I creep across the stage. To my right, a body stirs.

Juliet
.

There is gasp. The room seems to stir, then the theater doors fly open. Black, darker than an anthrax wound, rushes the room. Before I can react, I’m pushed back. I crash onto the hard floor. Three more crashes. My head explodes. Dark, unnatural pain. I twitch. My breath hitches.

I’m sealed to the floor, surrounded by wave after wave of screamed agony.

They float above me, draped in sheer sapphire and blue fabric. Their long limbs extend like tree branches. An army of dark predators. Their eyes beam red. Three slick spikes stick up on each of their heads.

Wraiths.

Shit burger.

I try to fight. Try to block their gaping mouths. Their long, black, searching tongues dart into my mouth, inside each ear, trying to eat me from the inside out.

I try to fight.

My own gurgle meets my ears, and saliva foams out of my mouth. They steal my air. My body freezes. They keep going until I feel stretched to the point of ripping in half.

Seeping tongues crawl up my nose and nip the corners of my eyes.

There is too much air.

Then, not enough.

A scream rips through the crippling hum. I think it’s me. And I think I’m dying.

“Pike!”

The sound scratches the edge of a maddening wall of noise. A thousand yellow jackets buzzing the harmonic styling of hell. I try to close my eyes but it’s an effort. Feels almost like my eyelids have been drizzled in super glue.

“Pike!”

When my eyelids finally shut, I turn my head toward the caw of my name. Sweat pools on my forehead, then a burning rips into my chest. With a grunt, I jerk upward, toward the pain. A sea of black wraiths pin me back down on the stage.

I feel like I’m being turned to ash. Juliet is calling my name from somewhere in the distance. I know this because of the connection I have with her. That’s all I can tell. I don’t know if she’s trying to reach me. If she’s made her escape. Or if the wraiths are making a meal of her screams.