Chain reaction, p.25
Chain Reaction, page 25
part #2 of Liar's Game Series
“We know there’s a man at the gate, and I’m certain he’s armed. Which moves the number of hostiles to six. Three with visible arms, the others probably packing.”
“Yes, but with their hands full they’ll definitely be handicapped.”
“Right. Beyond gate guy, there don’t seem to be any additional guards. Although there could be someone else on duty, and there’s no way to know who’s inside. There’s been no sign of either Davies or Waters, but my guess is the doctor is more likely to run for it than stay and fight.”
“Not exactly the best of odds, but we’ve faced worse.”
They hadn’t actually, but Nick smiled, anyway. “Thanks for doing this.”
“You know I never miss a party.” Matt’s answering grin was brief as he turned back to survey the scene below. “Is that the doctor?”
Nick lifted his glasses, adjusting them for a better view. Waters was standing in front of the building, speaking earnestly with one of the men carrying boxes. The man shot a look toward the canvas-covered pile and then nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Waters walked back into the building. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“How many people were on-site when you first arrived?” Matt asked.
“Besides Davies and Waters? A couple of nurses, a tech and maybe four armed guards. I wasn’t there very long, so that’s not a particularly scientific estimate.”
“I suspect it’s fairly accurate. And I’m guessing that considering they’re liquidating assets, so to speak, there probably aren’t a whole lot of nonessential staff on hand. Which means we’ve probably seen the worst.”
“Never assume, my friend.”
“Yeah, I know — makes an ass and all that. But I still say we’ve probably seen the worst, except maybe Davies.”
“Well, it’d be dangerous to ignore the man, but in my opinion he’s gotten a little too complacent. Otherwise I don’t think for a minute that we’d have managed to survive as long as we have.”
“You’re discounting your abilities, as usual,” Matt said, “but I hear what you’re saying.”
“The real point here,” Nick said, lowering his glasses, “is that we’re not prepared for a full-on frontal attack. Even assuming that some of the personnel down there aren’t armed or would at least have trouble getting to their guns, we’re still seriously outnumbered.”
“So we divide and conquer.”
“Great minds…” Nick said. “You think you can come up with a distraction? Something that will pull attention away from the building?”
“I can handle it, but you’re going to have to move fast. There’s no way I can hold them off for long. Where do you want me to hit?”
“I’m thinking the front gate. If nothing else, you’ll be able to slow down their ability to follow us. At least by car. Which, assuming I’m successful, will be a decided advantage.”
“Consider it done.” Matt nodded. “How you planning to get in the building?”
“I’ll improvise. Give me about ten minutes to get into place.”
“All right. I’ll need the extra ammo.” He held out his hand for the box Nick was carrying.
“Don’t blow it all in one place.”
“Actually,” Matt said with a grin, already heading around toward the front gate, “that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
MIA STRUGGLED TO PULL OUT of her drug-induced lethargy. Waters had removed the drip half an hour ago, but the sedative was still in her system. It was hard to know how much time had passed, and without a window she couldn’t even tell the time of day.
She yanked her arm, sending the handcuff rattling against the bed railing. Even with her altered state, Waters didn’t trust her not to try and escape. Wise man. She slid off the bed, wobbling on her feet a moment as she waited for her head to clear.
Something was going on. She could hear it even if she couldn’t see it. Her door was closed, but she was guessing not locked. All she had to do was figure out a way to get out of the handcuff. She took a step forward, the cuff sliding along the bedrail beside her. At least she was capable of mobility.
She moved forward as far as the cuff would allow, but the door was still tantalizingly out of reach, the additional latitude only allowing access to the end of the bed. There was nothing in the room but the bed; even the monitors had been removed.
She pulled against the handcuff, feeling the skin on the back of her hand tear. But even if she stripped it to the bone she wasn’t going to pull free. Cursing Waters, Davies and fate in general, she sat on the mattress, arm stretched behind her, trying to think of how to get rid of the blasted handcuff.
For a moment she considered giving in to the panic lurking at the edge of consciousness. She was so damn tired. She closed her eyes, drifting for a moment, fighting her emotions. And then, as clearly as if he’d been standing in front of her, she heard her grandfather.
“Mia, you can’t beat them if you’re not in the game.”
Sucking in a breath, she pushed her fear aside. She wasn’t about to let Davies win. There had to be something she could do to get free. Shifting back a little, she leaned down to study the underside of the bed. The springs were encased in heavy canvas, and even if she did manage to tear it open, she doubted she’d be able to manage the leverage to free a spring.
She’d already tried to liberate the railing, but it was firmly welded to the frame. Which left her absolutely nowhere. She straightened with a sigh, scraping her head on something in the process.
Muffling yet another curse, she bent down again, angrily trying to find the culprit — the bed crank. Leave it to Waters to cut corners on hospital equipment. She swallowed a laugh, knowing that it bordered on hysteria. Due in part, no doubt, to the chemically induced imbalance in her brain.
She shook her head, swatting at the handle. It flipped over once and then swung back and forth a couple of times before coming to a stop. Her synapses were definitely firing slowly, but they were firing. With grim determination she reached for the crank again, this time yanking with her free hand.
It didn’t come off, but it did move a little. She shifted, twisting so she could brace one foot against the bed railing. Then, using her good arm, she yanked again, but again the handle refused to budge.
Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she tried to shake off the fog in her brain. There had to be a way to free the handle. If it wouldn’t help her open the handcuff, at least it would provide a weapon of sorts. Something to tilt the balance of power at least a little in her direction.
She wiped at her eyes, angry at her own weakness, and tried again. Then suddenly, her brain caught up with the program, and she reached down, turning the crank counterclockwise. Five full turns and the handle was free.
It wasn’t exactly lethal. Metal and plastic with a screw at the tip. But it made her feel powerful nevertheless. Taking action, any action, beat the hell out of meekly standing by awaiting her fate.
Sitting back on the edge of the bed, she picked at the lock of the handcuff with the tip of the handle without success. Banging it against the handcuff proved to be even more useless, and worse, it created noise. Holding her breath, waiting for Waters to descend, she palmed the crank and slid back into bed.
Footsteps neared and she tensed, her right hand gripping the handle, but almost as quickly the footsteps faded away. Certain that everything was quiet again, she sat up, using the handle again to try to jimmy the handcuff lock. A hairpin might have worked, but the screw at the end wasn’t long enough or thin enough to do the job.
At least her head was clearing.
She closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, praying for strength, knowing that if a chance presented itself she had to be ready. Fortified, she stood up, the handle gripped at her side, screw outward. It might not be lethal, but she could sure as hell do a little damage. Hurried footsteps passed the door, someone yelling something. And then quiet descended, leaving her with hope. Whatever was going on, it seemed to have pulled people away from the door.
All she had to do was figure out a way to get free. Still holding the handle, she tugged at the bed, gratified when it inched forward. Five more tugs and she was exhausted, but she’d managed to move the bed so that the bottom half of it would be behind the door when it opened.
Climbing onto the middle, she knelt, waiting, handle at the ready. She wasn’t sure exactly what she hoped to accomplish, but it felt better to be doing something. And if nothing else, her new position would give her a momentary advantage.
She waited, breath held, but nothing happened. Minutes stretched to what felt like hours, and finally she sagged back, adrenaline leaving her spent.
Then she heard a quiet footstep, followed by another. The handle on the door turned ominously and she raised her hand, concentrating on the square of tile in front of the door. In one motion the door swung open and she slammed the handle downward, but the intruder twisted just in time, catching her arm before it could fully descend.
“Watch it, princess, a guy could lose an eye.”
“Nick,” she whispered, dropping the handle. He cupped her face in his hands, his kiss hard and full of promise. Then he gently pushed her back, his eyes hardening when he saw the bruises on her face.
“Did Davies do this?” he asked, his voice harsh with emotion.
“Yes. But it doesn’t matter,” she said, reaching out to touch him, to assure herself that he was real. “All that matters is that you’re here.”
“And that we’ve got to get out of here,” he said, pulling them both back to the present and the situation at hand. “For the moment they’re a little preoccupied. Matt blew up one of their trucks, but we don’t have much time.” His eyes moved to the handcuff on her wrist. “Looks like they’ve got you well and truly stuck.”
“Guess Davies thought I might try and escape. Which was actually a good call, when you consider that I’m not really fond of the accommodations.”
“Move as far away from the cuff as you can.” He passed her his rifle and pulled out a handgun. “Keep the rifle pointed at the door.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked, straightening her left arm and aiming the weapon with her right. “Nothing too drastic, I hope. I’m kind of attached to my hand.”
“Just keep your eyes on the door, and trust me.”
She nodded, her heart perfectly happy with the suggestion, her stomach not so certain.
The silencer on the gun hissed, accompanied by a somewhat more frightening ping. And then suddenly, the pressure from the handcuff was gone.
“Can you run?” Nick said, exchanging the handgun for the rifle.
“No problem.” Adrenaline alone would carry her across the country and back.
“All right then. Let’s get the hell out of here. And if anyone gets in your way, shoot to kill.”
“Not gonna be a problem. I’ve played this scene before, and believe me, I’ll take a gun over a chair leg anytime.”
Nick smiled, then motioned her still and stepped around the door into the hallway. She held her breath as the seconds passed, and then he leaned in, signaling her to follow. The corridor was empty and they raced down it, slowing as they came to the T. Leading with the rifle, Nick rounded the corner and again motioned her to follow.
“Looks like everyone is outside, dealing with Matt’s handiwork,” he whispered. “I want you to head for the back door, and no matter what happens I want you to keep going. Agreed?”
She nodded, not certain she really meant it, but determined not to slow things down. The sooner they were out from under Davies’s thumb the better. She veered right, delighted to see that the way was clear.
She’d only gone about halfway when the sound of gunfire drew her up short. Nick was still standing at the intersection, firing into the main hallway. She started to move in his direction, but froze as a man in uniform stepped out of an office, his attention on Nick’s exposed back.
Without even stopping to think, she lifted the gun and fired, a crimson cauliflower blossoming on the man’s back. Nick whirled around, getting off a second shot. The man fell, and Nick sprinted toward her. “I told you to keep going,” he yelled as he grabbed her by the arm, propelling her forward.
“Fine, next time I’ll let you die.”
His grip tightened, but the lines around his mouth quirked every so slightly upward. “You’re a real pain in the ass.”
“Yeah,” she countered, “but I’m your pain in the ass.”
They burst through the door into the night air, the back of the building less brightly lit than the rest of the compound. The first thing that hit her was the acrid smell of the fire, the odor almost overpowering. Off to her left she could see a pile of papers, a canvas tarp and other bits and pieces of what looked like medical supplies. She even recognized one of the monitors that had been in her room.
“What the hell?” she asked, turning to Nick, her pace slowing.
“They’re clearing out. My guess is they were getting ready to move you as well as whatever information they deemed crucial. The rest I assume they were planning to burn.”
“Well, thanks to Matt they got a head start.” She tilted her head to the flames that were now rising above the front of the building, casting the structure into eerie relief.
They started forward again, only to draw up short when three men, all with guns, rushed around the corner. “Run,” Nick said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She sprinted toward the pile of rubbish, her heart pounding as she rounded the edge and ducked down behind the tarp. Nick had managed to take out one of the men, and bracing herself against the refuse, she managed to get off a shot of her own, her bullet slamming into the second man. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest, as Nick’s rifle took out the third man.
Mia dropped to the ground, waited a beat and then started to stand again, intent now on running for the barbed wire fence. But as she started to move, her gun caught on the edge of the tarp. As she worked to free it, the corner of the canvas flipped up, the wind yanking it free, lifting it into the air.
A scream rose and then died in her throat, the gun falling from lifeless fingers as her brain tried to process the horror of what she was seeing. The ground was littered with bodies, thrown haphazardly as if they’d fallen there, limbs askew, eyes open in surprise. Patrick, Nancy, Carson, Joe. They were all there. Betty lying across Wilson McCullough, her hand reaching out as if pleading for something, her salt-and-pepper hair a stark contrast to the cold hard ground.
Mia struggled against the bile rising in her throat, tears filling her eyes. In their hurry to empty the facility — to destroy the evidence — Davies’s men had discarded the bodies, leaving them unburied. Abandoned. Exposed. The only sign of respect the flapping tarp. There was no question that they were dead, but still they called to her, their familiar faces twisted in anguish.
She struggled to breathe, her heart wrenching with an agony almost too great to be borne. Yet even as grief threatened to tear her apart, burning rage filled her. Fury at Davies and Waters and all of their colleagues. She scooped up the gun and started toward the front of the building — only to stop when she realized the fire had spread, the flames engulfing the piles of paper, crawling relentlessly toward her friends.
Acting on instinct, she ran into the fray, grabbing Patrick by the hands, struggling to pull him free of the fire. But she wasn’t strong enough. She couldn’t make him move.
“Mia, no.” Nick’s voice reached her, cutting through the haze of anger and grief. “He’s past help now. There’s nothing you can do. You have to let them go.”
“I can’t,” she gasped, tightening her hold on Patrick’s hands.
“Sweetheart, they’re not here anymore. Whatever happened, they’re long gone from this place. And I promise you, we’ll find a way to make Davies and the others pay. But to do that we have to get out of here. Now.”
As quickly as it had come, the rage retreated, leaving her drained, unsteady on her feet. Matt appeared from out of nowhere, his eyes dark with worry.
“Cover us,” Nick said, moving to swing her up into his arms.
“No,” she said, shaking off his hands, “I can do it myself. I have to do it myself.” She turned for a last look, her soul aching as the fire leapt forward, feeding on everything in its path. Turning her back on the inferno, she forced herself to take one step and then another, the sound of gunfire behind her barely registering. Then Nick was there beside her, helping her over the barbed wire, the crisp night air clearing her head, if not her heart.
Together they ran through the brush, heading for the mountains, the funeral pyre behind them shooting sparks into the starry Idaho sky.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT.” Nick stepped into the cabin holding out bags from a local burger joint. They were back at the Gardiner rental, figuring they were as safe there as anywhere.
“I’m not really hungry,” Mia said. She was sitting at the breakfast bar with an untouched cup of coffee. Remarkably, she was holding on to her composure, but the shredded napkin beside the cup reflected the reality of her emotional state, and Nick knew that eventually she’d have to let it out.
“Come on. You’ve got to eat something.” He crossed over to the counter, setting down the sacks, careful to give her the distance she needed. He’d been where she was. Holding everything together by sheer force of will. And he knew that even the littlest thing could shatter her control.
It wasn’t easy for him, either. He wanted to hold her. To swear that he’d keep her safe. But he knew it would be an empty promise. Mia needed to see this through. It was the only way she’d be able to survive the devastation. And that meant they’d have to go back to Biosphere. It was the only place where they’d be able to find answers.
“Where’s Matt?” he asked, pulling plates down from the cabinet. The gesture seeming maddeningly mundane, given the circumstances.
