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Parking the van behind a closed convenience store two blocks away seemed the best option; Bryn locked it and stepped out into the cool predawn darkness. It was misting, and threatening to rain, but the hoodie that Pansy had given her was enough to counter that. The thin shoes were a pain, though. It was hard to feel badass in Payless.
At least she had the gun she’d stolen from Pharmadene, and a supply of ammunition, thanks to Joe. Not as well stocked as Manny Glickman in his fortress, wherever it was now, but it would do …
She pulled up short after a few steps, because someone was standing in the light of a street lamp twenty feet away, watching her.
Patrick McCallister.
The damp had matted his hair down in a sleek cap around his head, but she’d know him anywhere; if nothing else, nobody she’d ever met had that quality of coiled stillness to their posture. He was wearing dark clothes and a loose Windbreaker that wouldn’t have looked odd if it came with big reflective governmental-agency letters on it, but this one was unmarked.
“How’d you know?” she asked him, not coming closer. He shrugged and put his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.
“Where you’d park? It was tactically the smartest choice,” he said. “So I thought you’d find it. ”
That spoke volumes about what he thought of her … and made her ask, “So where did you park?”
“Someplace not as tactically sound, but unexpected,” he said. He pushed away from the streetlight and walked toward her, taking his time. “You look good. ”
“You should have seen me a few hours ago,” she said. Without conscious decision, she was also walking toward him. I should have my gun out, she thought. I really don’t know what he’s going to do. Maybe he’d knock her out and put her back in the van and go do the meeting himself. That would be typical McCallister.
“How bad was it?”
“Ever seen Night of the Living Dead? Like that,” she said. “Only you’re right. I wasn’t craving brains. ”
“At least that’s a bright side. ”
And then he was right there, a foot away, in her space, with only the gently drifting mist between them. His eyes were wide and dark, and she thought, He’s going to do it now; he’ll strike, and she was ready for that, ready to block a punch….
. . . But not, as it turned out, a hug.
She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into the embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said. “By the time I found out they’d taken you, they already had you inside Pharmadene. I didn’t have a chance to intercept. When you didn’t come out, I knew they were going to let you …”
“Decay,” she said, very quietly. “I have to face it. I’m dead. I’ll always be dead. This, all this feeling and looking alive, it’s just … just cosmetics. ” She pulled back and stared at him. “You can’t really feel anything for me, can you? Because I’m not really here. Underneath, I’m … that. ”
“Underneath, we’re all that,” McCallister said. “Everybody’s dying, Bryn. You’re just maintaining it better than most people—that’s all. ”
“You can’t actually believe that. ”
“I do,” he said. “I believed it from the moment I saw you wake up. I knew you were a fighter. I knew you’d break my heart. ”
He stepped forward, put his hands on either side of her head, and kissed her. His lips were cool, damp, sweet, and urgent on hers, and suddenly Bryn felt wildly out of control, but safe. Safe. It felt like such an amazing relief.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and pulled her into his arms. “I said I’d never let that happen to you, and I couldn’t … I’m sorry. ”
“You sent Joe. ”
“I should have gone myself. ”
“He did fine. I’m out. I’m … as good as new. ” She felt a flashback to that awful place, the white room, the sound of primal screams, her own silent, implacable dissolution caught in the staring eye of a camera. “I’m fine. ”
He knew she was lying; she could tell from the way his fingers traced damp lines on her cheek, and the gentle way his lips brushed hers. “I know how you are,” he said. “It’s in your eyes. They’re darker now. ”
He didn’t mean in color; she knew that. Her eyes were haunted. She’d seen that herself, in the scratched mirror of the safe house as she’d showered off the remembered stink of her own death, again and again. It was hard to feel clean now. Hard not to remember how little separated her from dissolution.
“I can’t think about this right now,” she said. “I’m sorry; I just can‘t. I have to think about Annie. I have to make sure she’s safe. ”
He hesitated for a moment, looking into her face, and then nodded and stepped back. “Let’s do it. But, Bryn, let me do the talking, all right?”
She didn’t agree or disagree, just walked with him into the darkness.
