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I count down from three and then I’m kicking through the door, ready for anything.
But nothing’s there. Just a cement stairwell smelling like piss and covered in graffiti. Somewhere below us another door slams. And locks. Recon and I share a look that says we both heard it, the sliding of a heavy-duty bolt.
“Looks like we’re going down.” I’m moving as I say it, taking the steps as quickly as I dare, considering there are pools of moisture where piping has leaked who-knows-what onto the concrete.
We’ll need Steel to help us bust through the locked door we’re bound to find at the bottom of these stairs.Even as I have the thought, Recon speaks into his mic, as if he read my mind.
“Recon to Steel. Head our way STAT. We’ve got a locked door for your metal-working pleasure.” I’ve stopped being surprised by coincidences like that. In fact, I’ve stopped thinking of them as coincidences. It’s either part of our Gifting, the two of us being able to work together so seamlessly, or our instincts just plain run in tandem. That’s why he’s second in command at the ranch. Anything happens to me, I trust him to lead the others in a way that would make me proud.
Our boots hit the bottom level with a splash in greasy water that’s built up from the slope of the uneven floor. “He on his way?” I ask Recon, testing the door as quietly as I can. Yep. It’s locked up tight, and there ain’t no key in sight.
“Should be here any minute.” Recon puts an ear to the door.
“Hear anything?”
He shakes his head. “Negative. It’s quiet.” With no warning, he jumps back. “Mother fucker!”
For a second, I think he’s been electrically shocked, but then I see it, a misty, transparent shape passingthroughthe door from the other side.
“Get back!” Hand on Recon’s chest, I shove him away from the door. “Could be some kind of gas!” Does Raptor have some kind of chemical weapon in there that the target just released to keep us out?
Together, we begin backing up the stairs. There’s no way we’re touching that stuff, whatever it is.
But if it’s a gas, it’s not behaving like any gas I know. Instead of spreading out, it’s pulling into itself, taking on an elongated form. Its shape is coalescing, and its transparency is fading, like it’s becoming more solid.
I aim my weapon at it, and so does Recon. We’re halfway up the first flight of stairs, our footing secure on the platform.
“The fuck is that?” Recon says. Normally, I’d chide him for cursing so freely, but these are special circumstances.
“I don’t know,” is my honest answer. “But we hold our position.”
“Copy that.”
The form straightens up, and suddenly, we’re looking at a man. I can see the doorthroughhim, but it’s definitely a man. A partially transparent, gangly man around six-two with shaggy hair like an unkempt lion’s mane, an out-of-control beard, and hollows beneath his eyes. His clothing, which is just as transparent as the rest of him, is a college sweatshirt withTulanewritten across the chest and a pair of tattered jeans that hang precariously on bony hips. He’s unarmed. Doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. This could be one of Raptor’s crew.
“I overheard Shithead say we have company,” the man says. Like his physical constitution, his voice has a not-quite-all-the-way-there quality. It’s thready, as if the vocal chords making it aren’t fully formed. He sounds like he’s talking from way back in a tunnel, but I can make out what he said just fine. Now that I hear him, I can tell he’s young. His emaciated face and body initially made him appear older, but now that I really look at him, I’m guessing he’s in his early twenties.
Recon and I keep our weapons on him. If he’s worried about getting shot, he’s not showing it. His shoulders are rounded forward, and his hands are burrowed in the single front pocket of his sweatshirt. He has a defeated look to him that tugs an ounce of pity from me.
This kid doesn’t look like the others on Raptor’s crew. They were a rough bunch. The kind of men who ride hard and live dangerously. This is just a college kid, though his hair and clothes suggest he’s been homeless a while, possibly since Week Zero.
“You with Raptor?” I ask, point blank.
He scoffs. “Not a chance. Are you here to take over New Orleans?” His voice lifts with hope.
I lower my weapon, but only a few inches—this friendly act could be a trick. “We’re here to end Raptor’s regime, but we’re not interested in this city.” I decide to go with the truth. Maybe this kid knows something about Jud. “We’ve got a home we’ll go back to, but before we can do that, we’ve got a prisoner to find. A man Raptor took from Montana. You know where he is?”
The kid nods. “Yeah. But he’s probably, uh, dead. Sorry.” He shrugs, looking legitimately regretful. “They brought him in, like, a week ago and put him in the old hospital. That’s where they leave people to die.”
“Shit.” Recon opens his mic and relays the information to the others.
I don’t like the sound of that, but according to our friends, Jud is strong. If anyone can survive in the old hospital, it’s him.
I wish I could do more for Jud right now, but I have to trust the mission. I have to trust my team. The search party will get to him, and, thanks to the heads-up Recon is giving over the comms right now, Doc is headed in that direction. If Jud’s still alive, he’ll get the help he needs any minute now.
Recon and I—and Steel, who announces his entrance above us in the stairwell—have a job to do, and that’s to find the target who came through this door, and the woman he likely has with him.
“We’ve got a team at the old hospital now,” I tell the kid. “What about the guy who went through this door a few minutes ago? Did he have a woman with him?”
