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Jane bared her teeth, a cornered animal ready to bite.
“Well,” Bryn said, and stripped the seal off the vial she held. “Congratulations. You found it. ”
She had time to savor Jane’s look of incomprehension, and horror, just for a second before she forced Jane’s head back with a grip on her hair and poured the serum straight down Jane’s severed throat.
Then she kicked her into the corner, bleeding out, and turned to Patrick.
He was watching Jane with the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. Colder even than Jane’s. But when he looked at her, the ice broke, just a little.
He held his hand out to her, and she took it. They watched for long enough to see Jane start to convulse as the cure took hold, shutting down her nanites.
Ending her.
And then they walked out. The door shut fast behind them on a peculiar whispering sound, and it took Bryn a moment to realize what it was.
Jane was trying to scream.
She supposed she ought to have felt guilty about it but in truth, she just felt relieved.
Patrick paused to strip weapons from the guards and tossed her one; she checked the clip, nodded, and fell in behind him. The paper slippers were annoying, so she kicked them off in favor of bare feet as they went down a narrow concrete hall lined with cinder-block walls. More doors, all shut. Patrick rapidly entered a code into one of the locks and opened it, and Bryn saw, over his shoulder, that Riley was lying on the floor with her arm over her eyes. She sat up quickly to stare at them. The paper jumpsuit didn’t look any better on her, Bryn thought, and despite what Riley had done, what she’d cost them . . . the joy that ignited in Bryn on seeing her was undeniable.
Riley threw herself to her feet and stumbled toward them. Bryn buried her in a hug that lasted only a few seconds, then gave her a sidearm. “Good to go?” she asked.
“God, yes,” Riley said, and double-checked the gun. “Where’s that evil bitch?”
“Dying,” Bryn said.
Riley looked up and smiled, with teeth. “Good. ”
Patrick had already moved off to the next cell. It was empty. So was the third.
The fourth held Joe.
“Oh Jesus,” Bryn whispered, appalled. The big man was lying on his back, like Riley, but that was the only real similarity. He was black and blue, and very bloody; he was still breathing, but the sound was labored and disturbingly wet. Patrick knelt down next to him. Riley, after that first horrified glance, watched the hall, ready to shoot. “Patrick . . . ”
Patrick was unsnapping Joe’s paper jumpsuit, which was wet with blood, and he uncovered a gaping gut wound. A wide pool of red soaked the concrete beneath Joe’s body, and a wide stream ran toward the drain in the center of the room.
He’d been bleeding for a while—steadily, fatally bleeding. Hours. Maybe days.
His skin, beneath the bruising, was a shocking blue-white. The fact that he was still alive, still breathing was nothing short of a miracle, but . . . but it was a battle he couldn’t win.
That was obvious to all of them.
“Joe,” Patrick said, and put his hand on the man’s forehead. “Joe, can you hear me?”
Joe’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and he said, “Jesus, took you long enough. Bitch got me. Sorry. Kinda lost my temper. ”
“You? Never. ”
Joe’s eyes slowly fixed on Patrick’s. “Been friends a long time,” he said. His voice was soft and lazy-slow. “Brothers. ”
“Brothers,” Patrick agreed, and took Joe’s weakly upraised hand.
“She said she was fucking you,” he said. “I pretty much had to shut her up, you know?”
Patrick shut his eyes for a moment and went very still, but he somehow kept smiling. Bryn couldn’t imagine the strength it took to do that. “Rest, man. We’ll get you help. ”
“Help’s not coming; we both know it. Don’t fucking lie to me,” Joe said. “You tell Kylie I love the hell out of her. You tell my kids the same, all right? And you take good care of them. ”
