Page 341 of Immune

Fletcher’s mouth tightens. “How do you know?”

“The angle.” Xeon points. “Short reach. Upward. She was lower than him.”

Maine exhales shakily. “That’s Kota.”

The tunnel opens near the south service road under a collapsed drainage channel. And past it, night stretches across the sky in a blanket of darkness. The industrial estate sits half a mile past the quarry, all broken warehouses, rusted fencing, andold loading bays. Most of the compound avoids it because the dead gather in low ground.

Vector chose it because of course they did. No one with the right amount of common sense would attack a fortress head-on when they can build one out of rubble and ruins.

We reach the outer fence just before midnight, and that’s where we see the first cage. Not for people, though. Well, not quite. A Biter snaps against welded bars, jaw broken, arms chained back through the wire so it can’t claw itself free. A speaker hangs above it, quiet for now. A lure system, from the looks of things.

Fletcher studies the layout from behind a burned-out delivery truck. “They use the infected as perimeter defense.”

Ewan’s voice is flat. “That’s fucking vile.”

Maine looks at the chained Biter and grimaces. “That was a person.”

“Mhm,” I mutter, then I shut the start of those thoughts down, resorting them to just things almost as quickly. Can’t get into those thoughts when there’s something more important on the line. Instead, I look past the cage to the warehouse behind it.

There are floodlights. Two patrols. Three roof points. One cargo truck backed against a loading bay. A helicopter pad marked in faded white paint on the far side of the lot.

Transport.

My bond pulls toward that warehouse with a yank hard enough that it tries to steal the air right out of my lungs. Hell, I’d give every ounce if it meant getting Dakota out of here.

“She’s inside,” I tell them.

Fletcher’s focus sharpens. “Entry points. East loading bay, roof ladder, storm tunnel grate.”

“Storm tunnel,” Xeon says after a single beat. Fletcher looks at him, and Xeon points toward the far drainage line. “Lesslight. Not as many guards. They’re trusting the infected more than the fence.”

Ewan removes his headphones then, dropping them around his neck before tilting his head, listening carefully. “Two guards by the grate. One’s having a cig. One’s pacing. Pattern is lazy.”

Maine shifts forward but I catch his sleeve without looking at him. He stops, just barely.

“I know,” I say.

His jaw trembles. “You don’t.”

I look at him then.

I think of Dakota’s hand on my face, of the truth I handed to her because she gave me a reason to believe it again after so many years.

You are dangerous.

So am I.

That doesn't make us unsafe.

“I do know what it’s like to have someone make a weapon out of family,” I tell him quietly, flashes of my father running through my mind without prompting. I lock those fuckers down, too, and add, “Don’t let them make a weapon out of your love for your sister. That’s how they’ll get you, too. Only, they don’t need you alive. Dakota does.”

Maine’s eyes shine and I can tell straight away that he absolutely hates me for being right. That’s okay. He can hate me while he’s still breathing.

We move on Fletcher’s signal. Xeon reaches the first guard before the man even hears him. His hand wraps over his mouth so quick that the guy can’t catch his next breath. Then he receives a blade under the ribs and he goes down as silent as the dead. The actual dead, not the groaners or screechers.

Ewan takes the smoker with a suppressed shot through the throat and Fletcher catches the body before it falls againstthe fence. Maine stares for one breath, a little stunned, then helps lower it.

I cut the lock on the grate. Inside, the storm tunnel runs directly under the warehouse, narrow and wet, lined with old pipes and fresh cables. The cables are new. Too clean. Too organized.