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Head lowered, Kyle crouched against the wall, naked and covered with areas of deep rot that showed bone and organs in places. Only one chain around his waist held him, and it took me a hideous second to process that his wrists weren’t shackled because his hands had been cut off. He lifted his head, eyes full of fury and agony, and I received a second vicious shock as I saw what was left of his face. No lower jaw or tongue—nothing but a gaping and ragged hole. He breathed in wet gurgles, blood bubbling from his throat with each exhalation.
My reeling mind fought to make sense of the scene before me. With that much rot Kyle should’ve been mindless and hunger-crazed, yet his eyes reflected full awareness of me and his agony.
Realization shot through me. The new drug. The first guard said they’d used a new drug on him that slowed rot and kept him aware.
Kyle’s gaze tore from mine and went to my left. I followed it to where a large metal bowl containing red and brown lumps rested in the corner.
No. Containing his hands and jaw and tongue.
A white hot scream of rage tore from my throat. I grabbed the bowl and ran to him. “Fuck. Fuck them. These fucking assholes.” I seized the severed jaw first, ripped open a packet with my teeth. No way would three packets—or even all the brains we had with us—be enough to fix this. “Oh, Jesus fuck, Kyle.” He wouldn’t be able to eat the brains properly, I realized, and so I squeezed the paste out onto the exposed flesh of the jaw, then set it against his face as best I could. “Hold still,” I said as a heavy shudder went through him, but once it passed he held himself motionless, eyes blazing with hatred and anger that I knew wasn’t directed at me. My hands shook as I squeezed the rest of that packet and a second one into his mouth and throat, but fortunately the parasite seemed to know its business. Within seconds the jaw shifted in my hands as the tendons and muscle began to knit together to pull the bone into place.
As soon as I knew his jaw wouldn’t fall off, I grabbed up one of his hands, ripped open the third packet and squeezed more brain paste out onto the stump of his forearm and the severed hand. I caught myself right before sticking the right hand onto the left arm. That would’ve been a bit embarrassing. I hurriedly grabbed up the other, brain-pasted it, and put left hand to left arm then flicked a glance up to his face. To my relief his jaw continued to adjust and knit back in place, though it sagged open still.
“I’ll be right back,” I said once I knew his hands weren’t going to fall off. I darted out of the cell in time to see Andrew face down on the floor with his wrists zip-tied behind him, and Pierce bodily shoving Braddock into the room next to Marcus’s.
“Remember that and come over to the dark side sometime,” Pierce said to the security chief as he slammed the door closed and locked it. I didn’t waste time trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean and instead grabbed the lunch box of brains from the bin and raced back into Kyle’s room.
His hands and jaw hadn’t fallen off in the few seconds I was gone, but he let out a heart-wrenching cry of pain. I bit off a corner of the baggie and squeezed diced brains into his mouth, relieved to see his tongue move sluggishly to help him swallow, though his hands didn’t seem to be functioning yet.
From the corridor, I heard the crackle of a radio.
“Rutledge,” said a voice I recognized as Edwards. “What’s your status down there?”
“Mr. Saber and Gentry are in with the guests,” Pierce answered in a gruff voice convincingly close enough to Baldy’s to send a shiver through me.
“Davis and Gordon are running late, but should be here in five. You got anywhere you need to be?”
“I’m good. Checking new guests into the hotel. I’d pay for the privilege.”
“Roger that. I’ll be down to tuck them in later.”
Kyle shifted. “Hate . . . them,” he gurgled, deep anger boiling in his eyes.
“You and me both, dude,” I muttered, hands shaking with my own fury. While he swallowed brains, I tried keys from the guard’s ring until I found the one that opened the padlock on the chain.
I turned sharply at a clatter behind me. It was Pierce, pushing the mini-dumpster through the door. His eyes flicked from Kyle’s jaw to his hands to the bloody bowl, and rage tightened his face as he drew the correct conclusion.
Kyle sucked in a wet breath at the sight of Pierce. “An . . . gel.” Even through the gurgle I heard the alarm and warning in his voice.
Oh, right, he didn’t know about Pietro/Pierce. “It’s okay,” I assured Kyle. “He’s an ally. I promise. I’ll explain later, but right now we need to get the fuck out of here.”
Kyle growled low but didn’t resist when Pierce slid his arms beneath him, lifted him gently and placed him in the bin with the tranqed Brian and messed up Marcus. I peered in, disturbed to see Marcus lying with his head lolling and eyes glassy. After eating the bag of brains he should have been better off, more responsive. “Marcus?”
Pierce answered instead. “He was coming out of the hunger craze then went down. Most likely due to whatever they drugged him with earlier.” He placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “He seems stable for now.”
“Stable” didn’t do much to ease my worry.
The radio crackled again.
“Jenkins. Ms. Saber just got here and says she can’t get Mr. Saber, Ms. Braddock, or Gentry via phone. Who’s still down there with you?”
Pierce shook his head. “Can’t fake Jenkins. We’re out of time.”
“Jenkins, do you copy?” A pause. “Rutledge.” Another pause. “Gentry.”
“Best for me not to answer. That way I can surprise them.”
“How many more guards are between us and The Fuck Out Of Here?” I asked Pierce.
