Terminated

Chapter 5

“We need a safe house,” Riley croaked out. “Right now. We can’t take a chance keeping him out in the open like this. What the hell were you doing, out in public? Don’t you know how hard they’ll kill you?”

“Of course I know!” Thorpe shot back, and clenched his fists on his thighs. “But I can’t hide in a hole. While I’m alive, I’ll help the living. That’s all I can do to make up for—for what I’ve done, helping release this terrible plague.”

“It’s not a plague,” Bryn said. “It’s not contagious.”

He laughed hollowly, and when he met her eyes in the mirror, his were haunted and more than a touch insane. “No?” he asked softly. “You don’t think so? Because it’s just a matter of time. A few mods. And then we’re all just . . . lost. I helped make that happen. I deserve to die. But not yet. Not until I take Jane with me, and as many of them”—his glance included Bryn and Riley in that—“as I can.”

“Yeah, that’s real noble,” Joe said, “but you’re not going to do it from the inside of a plastic bag in a landfill, so let’s get you under cover.”

“I’m open to suggestions!” Bryn said. “Driving aimlessly probably isn’t the best solution.”

Joe took out his phone—Bryn realized he still had it on—and hung up the call, then dialed again. “Yo, lady,” he said. “How’s tricks? Yeah, still alive. We have Ziegler. Well, Dr. Calvin Thorpe, turns out, so look into that for me. But more to the point, we’d like to please not get hate-murdered out here by Jane, if she’s sniffing around after us, so . . . any suggestions?”

He listened, covered the phone’s speaker, and said, “She says glad you’re still alive, and also, they have another place here in KC. Hasn’t used it for years, but it should still be operational.” He gave her the address. “She says she can unlock it remotely for us. It isn’t as impressive as her digs, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

For all his cheerful, casual tone, Joe was deliberately not dropping any names—in case, Bryn assumed, that Calvin Thorpe turned out to be a liability, or sold information on. He was right. The last thing any of them wanted was to compromise Manny any further.

Though Manny would almost certainly burn this place to the ground and salt the earth after they sheltered there. As far as levels of trust went, Bryn figured they were well into negative numbers.

Traffic had thickened, hardening the city’s main arteries, but she used the GPS to find side streets; the last thing they needed was to be stuck in traffic, sitting ducks. And Manny’s bolt-hole was in—surprise—a decaying industrial area, which made things easier . . . at least until they came face-to-face with the massive iron gate.

Which was closed.

“And . . . ?” Bryn asked, but just as she did, a buzzer sounded, and the gate rumbled back on tracks. She drove in, and before her back wheels were through the gap, the gap began closing. “Is she watching us on satellite?”

“I think it’s safe to say she could nuke us from orbit,” Joe said. “Go straight into the underground parking. From there, she’ll open the elevator for us.”

The setup here was much the same as what Bryn had seen before, but smaller—the elevator was more claustrophobic, and when it opened up top, the lab was bare, dusty and pocked with—bullet holes? Something epic had gone on here, once. There were stains on the concrete that might have been blood.

But the important thing was that it was secure.

Bryn fired up the lights, and with them came a bank of security monitors, which was handy. “Dr. Thorpe, come with me,” she said. “Let’s find you a private room.” One with a locking door. She did find one, toward the back; it had the dimensions of a storeroom, but nothing in it but a cot, toilet, and sink. Perfect.

Dr. Thorpe sank down on the bed and stared at her with grim fury. “I’m your prisoner, then?”

“Let’s just say we don’t trust you with scalpels. Or anything sharp,” she said. “Get some rest. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.”

“I’d rather talk to the other one.”

“Riley? Not sure she’s up to talking, since you cut her—”

“The man,” he interrupted. “The human. I don’t want anything to do with you, or her.”

Bryn raised her eyebrows, returned his bitter stare calmly, and said, “I’m really not sure you’re likely to get a choice, but I’ll do what I can to accommodate your . . . preferences.” She shut the door, and found that it locked automatically. Glancing up, she found the small glittering lens of a camera pointed down at her, and waved to Pansy.

Good to have friends in high places.

With him secured, Bryn wandered the place. It was a short tour—empty lab tables, a giant walk-in pantry with canned food and bottled water, basic medical supplies, nothing in the fridge. There was a surprisingly lush bed, sofa, and entertainment center, though. Joe had already claimed the recliner, and Bryn heard water running somewhere from the right—Riley, in the bathroom, showering off the blood.

“Doc all squared away?” Joe asked, and Bryn nodded. “I’m not wild about the guy, Bryn. Of course, I’m not crazy about anybody who opens his negotiations by throat-slashing.”

“Maybe he knew she’d heal.”

“He didn’t know I would when he came at me with the scalpel,” he pointed out. “And I don’t like anybody who judges by group, not by individual. Which, you’ll notice, he does. Watch your back, Bryn. He gets half a shot, he’ll put you down.”

“If he can.”

“Isn’t that why we’re keeping him? Because he says he can?”

Joe had a hell of a good point. Bryn shook her head and wandered a little more, looking for a computer station—and when she checked the elevator again, saw another button that did nothing when she pressed it.

The speaker came on below the keypad. “Bryn?”

“Pansy?” Bryn looked up. Sure enough, surveillance stared back. “Just looking around. Is there a secure computer I can use here?”

“No,” she said. “Sorry, we stripped things out that could be traced back, or had personal intel on them. It’s pretty much just what you see. At least I left sheets on the beds and guest towels.”

“You’re nothing if not a great host,” Bryn agreed. “What’s the extra floor?”

Silence. A long one. And then, Pansy said, “It’s private. And besides, there’s nothing left up there of interest to you. It’s mostly cold case files from Manny’s lab days. Things he was playing around with, trying to unearth evidence. And he’d kill me if I gave you access to any of that.”

“Okay. So . . . what now? We have Thorpe. He says he’s got a way to kill Jane—so that means kill me and Riley, too. That’s a good thing, and a scary thing. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Pansy said. “Sit tight where you are.”

“Pansy, I can’t.” Bryn lowered her voice, hoping it didn’t carry through the echo chamber of the lab. “Riley and I need meat. I’ve got enough to get us through for now, but after that, we’re going to get hungry. When we get hungry, things are going to get ugly if we’re still locked in here. Understand? We can’t just—wait for some indefinite period. Not without some supplies.”

“Yeah, I get it. There’s a motorcycle stored in a locked closet downstairs in the parking area; it ought to be ready to ride. You can use it to go on a grocery run, but be careful, and stay away from facial recognition if you can. Oh—and there’s cash in the safe in the bedroom, behind the abstract on the wall. I’ll open it for you.”

Bryn took a deep breath and nodded. “Keep an eye on everyone while I’m gone?”

“Always,” Pansy said, and gave a warm, disembodied chuckle. “Just call me HAL.”

“Ha,” Bryn said sourly. She pressed the button to open the elevator doors.

They didn’t open.

“I can’t do that, Bryn,” Pansy said.

She sighed. “So not funny.”

“C’mon, it’s a little funny.”