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“Please,” she said. “I need to back him off the ledge. ”
Kneeling down with her stiff and still-healing leg hurt, but it was better than risking Manny going all hair-trigger on them; Bryn was more concerned about Joe, who’d had a very full day for a man with a recently collapsed lung. He shrugged off her silent concern, though, and sat down a lot more easily than she did. By unspoken agreement, they kept their hands in the air.
“Okay, they’re down,” Pansy said. “Can I please come talk to you?”
“If they move—”
“They’re not going to move. Can I?”
He hesitated for a long moment, and then said, “I’m coming down. Stay there. ”
His heavy footsteps clanked overhead and down a staircase somewhere in the shadows to the right. When Manny finally came back into the glow of the overheads, he was dressed in black—black turtleneck, black pants, a black tactical vest with pockets bulging with ammunition. He carried the shotgun at a neutral but ready position.
And his eyes were more than a little crazy. He didn’t take his gaze away from Bryn and Fideli, except for a very fast glance at Pansy.
He handed her a syringe.
“What’s this for?”
“Blood sample,” he said.
“She’s okay, I told you—”
“Not from her. From you. ”
“Jesus, Manny!”
This time, the glance he sent her lingered, and was half-apologetic. But still half-crazy. “I need to know that you’re still you. They could have revived you. You could be acting under protocols. ”
She didn’t try to talk him out of it, and Bryn thought it was sad that Manny’s paranoia was actually quite practical now; she wouldn’t have believed that kind of thing two weeks ago, but now, it was surprisingly rational. Pansy just walked over to the nearest flat surface, drew a sample of her own blood (not something Bryn thought she could have accomplished with nearly as much aplomb), and handed back the full syringe. Manny backed up, keeping his eyes fixed on all of them, opened up a box nearby, and took out what looked like a sheet of paper. He squirted a small amount of the blood onto the surface. It soaked in quickly, and a blue ring spread out from the crimson blot.
Manny’s body language visibly relaxed. “You’re okay,” he said. He sounded shaken. “You’re really okay. ”
“Of course I’m okay, idiot. ” Pansy took the shotgun from him, broke open the stock, and set it aside. Then she hugged him, hard, and kissed him. “Thanks for worrying. ”
“I always worry. ”
“Okay, worrying more than normal. ”
Manny looked over his shoulder, first at Bryn, then Fideli. “I know about her. What about him?”
“He’s all right. ”
“Test him. Prove it. ”
“Okay. First, we don’t need a whole syringe full, right?” She took the syringe from Manny’s fingers and disposed of the rest of the blood in a haz-mat container off to the side, grabbed a test sheet from the box, and went to Fideli’s side. “Knife?”
“Yo,” he said, and took one out of his belt—a big, wicked thing with an edge sharp enough to cut the light. Pansy pressed it lightly to his thumb and smeared the thin crimson line that appeared onto the paper.
Blue halo.
“See?” she asked, and handed Fideli’s knife back. “You can get up now. It’s okay. ”
Manny clearly didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “I’ve already called the vans. We’ll be moved by the end of the day and in the new location. ”
“Manny, there’s no need to do this. We can stay here. ”
