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“Hold on,” I said. “That's all you've got. I'm layered up. "
He turned his head away. I stripped off all three shirts, gritting my teeth as the fabric brushed my wound. I reminded myself that I'd barely felt it before he told me it was bad.
I put the top two shirts back on and handed him my tee. He ripped it, the sound echoing. I must have looked alarmed, because he said, “No one's around. I can hear them searching the warehouse. ”
He wound the strips around my arm. Then his head lifted, tracking something, and I caught the faint sound of a voice calling, then an answer.
“They're all in the warehouse now,“ he whispered. ”Time to move. I'll try picking up Simon's scent. Follow my lead. "
Derek zigged and zagged through the obstacle course of debris, never slowing. Luckily, I was behind him, where he couldn't see how many times I rapped my knees or elbows swerving past some obstacle.
Finally, he slowed. “Got him,” he whispered, and jabbed a finger at the south side of the factory. We steered that way. When we neared the corner, a figure leaned from a recessed doorway, then retreated fast. Simon. A moment later, Rae stepped out and waved wildly before being yanked back, presumably by Simon.
We raced over and found them in a deep narrow alcove that reeked of cigarette smoke and looked like a main entrance.
“What are you doing here?” Rae whispered, staring at Derek as if in alarm. “You're supposed to be—”
“Change of plans. ”
“Good to see you, bro,” Simon said, slapping Derek's back. “I was worried Chloe'd never find us. There's a whole bunch of people looking for us. ”
“I know. ”
Simon moved to the edge, looked out, then walked over to me, handing me my backpack. “You okay?”
I nodded, keeping my injured arm out of sight. “They have guns. ”
“What?” Rae's eyes rounded. “No way. They'd never—”
“Tranq guns,” Derek corrected.
“Oh. ” She nodded, as if tranquilizer guns were standard issue for tracking runaway kids.
“Who've you seen?” Derek asked Simon.
“Van Dop, Davidoff, and, I think, Talbot, but I'm not sure. No sign of Gill. ”
“She's back at the house,” I said. “But there are two more we didn't recognize. A man and a woman. ” I looked at Derek. “Undercover cops, you think?”
“No idea. We'll worry about that later. Right now, we're sitting ducks. We need to get out of here. ”
As Derek moved to look out, Simon leaned down to my ear. “Thanks. For finding him. Was everything okay?”
“Later,” Derek said. “There's another warehouse farther back, with broken windows. It's probably abandoned. If we can get to that—”
“Chloe?” Rae said, staring down at my arm. “What's all over your sleeve? It looks like…” She touched the fabric. “Oh, my God. You're bleeding. You're really bleeding. ”
Simon ducked around to my other side. “It's soaked. What—?”
“Just a cut,” I said.
“It's deep,” Derek said. “She needs stitches. ”
“I don't—”
“She needs stitches,” he repeated. “I'll figure something out. For now—” He swore and jumped back from the opening. “They're coming. ” He looked around, scowling. “This is the lousiest hiding place…”
“I know,” Simon said. “I wanted to find a better one, but. . . ” A pointed look at Rae said she'd refused to leave.
“What's wrong with here?” she said. She backed up against the wall. “It's completely dark. They won't see me. ”
“Until they shine a flashlight on you. ”
“Oh. ”
Derek strode to the door, grabbed the handle, and gave it a test pull. Then he braced his feet, took the handle in both hands, and heaved until the tendons in his neck bulged. The door quivered, then flew open with a crack as loud as a gunshot.
He frantically waved us inside. “Find cover!” he whispered as I hurried past.
We raced through into a wide hall flanked with doors, some open, some closed. Rae headed for the first. Derek shoved her past.
“Keep going!” he whispered.
He loped by her and led us to a second hall. Then, he motioned for silence as he listened, but even without super senses, I heard the whoosh of the door and the clamor of footsteps.
“It's open!” a man yelled. “They came through here. ”
“We've got to get out,” Derek whispered. “Split up. Find an exit. Any exit. Then whistle, but softly. I'll hear you. ”
Forty-four
AROUND THE NEXT CORNER, we split up to search for an exit.
The first door I tried opened into a long, narrow room filled with worktables. No sign of a way out.
Back in the hall, I could hear voices, but distant, searching the rooms nearest the entrance, presuming we'd ducked into the first one we saw.
Hurrying toward the next door, I spotted a figure in the room across the hall. I stopped short, but too late. I was already standing in plain sight.
As I pulled my heart from my throat, I realized the man had his back to me. Dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, he was the same size as the man with the gun, and had the same dark hair. I didn't remember the plaid shirt, but he'd been wearing a jacket.
He stood on a raised platform, gripping the railing, looking down at a big industrial saw. He seemed intent on whatever had caught his attention.
I took one careful step forward. When the man shifted, I froze, but he only seemed to be readjusting his grip on the railing. I lifted my foot. The man did the same—stepping onto the lower bar of the barrier.
He climbed onto the railing and crouched there, hands gripping the bar. Something moved below him and my gaze shot to the saw. The blades were turning—spinning so fast that the glint of a distant emergency light bounced off like a strobe. But there was no sound, not even the motor's hum.
The man tested his grip on the railing. Then, suddenly, he pitched forward. I saw him hit the blades, saw the first spray of blood, and I fell back against the wall, my hand flying to cover my mouth but not before the first note of a shriek escaped.
Something—some part of him—flew from the saw, landing in the doorway with a splat. I ripped my gaze away before I could see what it was, staggering back as running footsteps sounded behind me.
Arms grabbed me. I heard Simon's voice at my ear. “Chloe?”
