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That smoke had to go somewhere.
The breezeway and the open bay door would only slow it down so much. They had used accelerants. Probably all up and down the halls. To trap.
Her shots struck home. Murdoch’s, too.
The bastard who had done all of this, who had hurt her family for longer than Zoey had been alive, fell.
She ran to his side. He wasn’t going to die and take the answers with him.
“What was my mother’s real name? How many of us did you create?” she demanded. Zoey kicked the gun away from his reaching hand. “How many of us are out there somewhere, you bastard?”
“Denita Coleson. She was my Denita. Dozens. She donated dozens. All were my Deni’s children. Many were born. Many, so many I can’t remember them all. Trying to recreate…her soul. But I never quite succeeded, did I? Perfection…I shouldn’t have tried to recreateperfection…I am just too flawed…I could not do it. I’ve failed.”
Those were the last words that man would ever say.
He died. Beneath Zoey’s hands. Taking the answers with him to hell.
He wouldn't get up again.
Murdoch was already running. Toward Pen. Toward Sydney. Toward that little girl.
Zoey fell to her knees next to them all. "Pen! Pen!"
Her little sister was screaming—for Sydney. Moving.
Underneath Sydney.
Who was just lying there.
Sydney’s arms were still wrapped protectively around Pen and that baby girl.
The little girl crawled away, sobbing. She curled up in the corner, just watching them all. Zoey grabbed her, placed her against the wall where she could see her. Kids frequently crawled and hid during fires. They often died that way. So many kids were found under beds and in closets during fires. She’d made sure Pen knew to crawl outside or to a window in case of a fire from an early age.
"Stay right there, sweetheart. I'll get you in just a minute, Oakley, ok?" Zoey couldn't deal with the girl now. Not with...
Murdoch was stretching Sydney out on the concrete floor. "She's been hit in the upper left chest, Zo. Entrance and exit."
"Not my day," Sydney said. "The baby ok?"
Zoey glanced at the little girl. There was blood all over her, but Zoey hadn’t felt any open wounds. Zoey took her own T-shirt off. Murdoch had his knife. He sliced it quickly. Zoey balled it up into two balls. She pressed one on each of the wounds on Sydney's chest, fighting terror and panic. "I don't think she was hit, Syd.”
"Check her again," Sydney said, waving one hand. "I'm good for a minute. She's...so little. Check her for me. Check the baby, Zo. Check the baby. So...innocent...Slater’s eyes. Pen’s eyes. Why do you all havethosesame damned eyes? I’ll never forget his eyes, you know."
"Shhh, Sydney. No talking. It's against the rules," Murdoch said. He went to the little girl. Ran his hands over her. "She wasn’t hit. It’s going to be ok, baby girl. You just stay right here, Oakley, while we help Sydney and Pen, ok?"
"Pen?" Sydney asked.
Pen was moving, but she was jerking. Listing. "It hit me. Zo, I think I've been shot, too.”
Sheer terror went through Zoey at her baby sister’s words.
"Stay there, Zo. Keep pressure on Syd. I’ll check our baby blue-haired girl. Got me?" Murdoch went to Pen next. "It's still in there. Upper left shoulder. But I think it missed anything vital. I got one almost just like it. We’ll have matching scars, kid." He pulled the Kevlar off. Yanked his shirt over his head. "I'm going to keep pressure on it, Pen. You just stay real still. Help is coming."
"Is Sydney going to be ok?" Pen asked, sounding like the little girl she had been so long ago. When Zoey had found her lost in a world full of monsters.
Why?
Why did the monsters always come for those who deserved it least?
