Silence fell as we both got lost in thought. More on a snap-judgment decision than because I actually believed this would lead anywhere, I got out the piece of paper where I’d scrawled the address down that Cole had retrieved from the SatNavs. Prattling it off, I asked, “That ring a bell?”
Greene laughed, which irritated me as much as it set off the sirens in the back of my mind. “You’re joking, right?”
“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m not,” I offered, trying for a neutral tone.
I must have failed because Greene sat up, his eyes narrowing as he squinted at his screen. “Stop screwing with me, Lewis. It was kind of funny when you did it with Decker’s name, but this one’s just stupid.”
It was only that mention that made me remember that—back when I had been fishing for intel—Greene had mentioned that his father and Decker had been tight. Just one more piece in the puzzle that fit perfectly.
“Indulge me,” I begged. “Please?”
Greene harrumphed but finally did. “You were joking about doomsday bunkers just minutes ago? Well, there you have one. Or not. It turned out to be one of the biggest scams of the last decade. Apparently, a lot of people way too wealthy for their own good had bought into it, but an investigative journalist debunked it all.”
I’d almost forgotten about Cole idly cleaning his fingernails with a knife at his computer station, but that made him perk up. “Yeah, I remember the documentary,” he threw in. “The progress updates were all filmed on green screen, or some shit. A friend of mine was pretty impressed, saying that was blockbuster movie level of CGI that they used. Apparently still cheaper than attempting to build the real thing. The documentary even featured footage from the construction site. In five years of work, they’d barely done more than required to pour the foundations of a house.”
That did jog my memory, but since it had been long before I’d found anything related to survivalism interesting, I’d mostly ignored the hype. “But what if the documentary was the real ruse?” I suggested. “I feel like we’ve been chasing ghosts for fucking forever. Adding a ghost bunker to the list really doesn’t change much.”
Greene didn’t look convinced, and now that the topic had come up, Cole seemed less enthusiastic about his own investigative powers. Since Greene and I were pretty much done weirding each other out by not being at each other’s throat, I signed off. Cole excused himself to go check on the cars once more. I didn’t hold him back, but mostly because I was sure he hadn’t been wrong in the first place. Even with the communications center here making not just audio but video possible to the handful of other places like it—which would probably include that doomsday bunker—it sounded highly unlikely that they’d be able to make do without physically sending people this way and that. A simple three-page report about experiments was hell to discuss over the radio. I doubted something as involved as Greene’s father and Stone had been running here was possible without a lot of direct interactions.
I was overdue to hit the sack but I knew that this new realization would make sleep impossible, so I decided to make myself useful. Eden and Marleen were still playing cards, likely waiting for Cole to call it a day so they could return to the cafeteria together. Since they had to walk by the labs with the airlocks, I’d join then. I’d already scoured the offices adjacent to the BSL-3 labs and I was too tired to bother with suiting up now—even if it was just disposable scrubs with some protective gear instead of a full suit—so I went further back to the lower security labs. I still hadn’t checked on three of them. Considering how many scientists we’d found dead in that room, a substantial number of them must have been working there as well.
Because the bright lights hurt my eyes, I didn’t turn those in the lab itself on, leaving the corridor illumination to do its thing through the large window panes instead. It didn’t take me long to find several volumes of black, bound journals filled to the brim with scrawled notes, print-outs, and the odd dried gel on thick paper directly glued in. From the very first basic chemistry lab on I’d always been required to keep detailed notes of what I’d been up to, making it second nature to keep doing so even for the most routine shit. The scientists here hadn’t been any different, although they hadn’t kept notes for later needing to reference anything for publication. Knowing what they’d been up to suddenly put a very different spin on the seemingly disconnected mix of disciplines showing up in the different lab suits. The one I was in now was full of neurobiology stuff—brain chemistry for the most part, with an extra emphasis on pain management around. It made sense—the serum definitely screwed with neurotransmitters, and I doubted I would have survived on Emily Raynor’s operating table if I’d felt the effect of every cut and scrape to its fullest extent. I still didn’t know how much the serum itself dulled pain, but the virus sure did a number on the receptors, and not just at the direct infection site. Being able to replicate that effect must have been a neat little trick, although like a lot of things concerning the serum I felt like it had been a lucky side effect, and then scientists had scurried to explain how and why it must have been deliberate.
I got so lost in reading—and my own acerbic commentary in my head—that I didn’t realize someone had snuck into the lab behind me until I felt a sharp pain in my lower right torso… before my world exploded in agony.
Chapter 17
The pain should have kicked my body into overdrive, but while my mind screamed, my lungs didn’t comply. My pulse slowed although it should have skyrocketed. I tried to whip around but barely managed to catch myself on the workbench, and even so my control over my muscles was slipping away quickly.
My first guess—as much as sluggish ideas managed to cut through the pain—was that we’d somehow managed to miss one of the guards. No, scratch that—of course my first guess was Hamilton, but while emotionally that made sense, what disjointed information my body managed to give me as it systematically powered down made it obvious that it couldn’t have been him. Whoever had just knifed me in the back—figuratively and literally—was shorter than me… which left only a single possibility.
Marleen.
The moment that name came up in my mind, I heard her coo into my right ear, from where she was standing behind me, straight while I was hunched over the lab journals on the workbench, my legs barely holding me up. Her grasp on the knife was the only thing that kept me from slipping to the floor, making the blade slice deeper into me. I tried to scream but my throat had completely shut down, not even letting me swallow.
“This is too easy. When I accepted the contract, I expected it to be at least some kind of challenge, not a walk in the park.”
Her free—left—hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me upward and back. I tried to tense but my muscles felt like goo, my body folding in on itself without any resistance. I recognized that sensation all too well from the nightmares that still plagued me sometimes—that fucking paralytic shit! Marleen managed to keep the knife right where she’d stuck it into me to the hilt, crouching down behind where I ended up almost kneeling on the floor, only her hold on the knife and her hand on my shoulder where she eased me against her torso holding me upright. All that jostling sent the pain levels up another few notches, but my tear ducts refused to work. I tried crying out again but that didn’t even produce a croak—or any sound, for that matter.
Fucking hell—
“I presume you are asking yourself right now, what the fuck is going on?” Marleen sing-songed, sounding way too chipper for what she was doing. Or maybe not. Obviously, my new friend Marleen wasn’t someone who actually existed. She let out a low chuckle. “I do hope you can put two and two together now, but I’m afraid it’s too late for you. I’d say I was sorry but unlike someone who just thinks he’s a bad guy and cut out for this line of work, I’m not capable of that sentiment, and really, it would be a lie. I accepted a challenge when I took that contract seven years ago, only that now my golden opportunity is a real cake walk. Too bad.”
She
paused, the hand on my shoulder squeezing ever so slightly. “You know, I love to hear myself talk, so I’ll wait another couple of minutes here. Rushing gets you caught, you know?” She sounded like she was smiling. I itched to punch that smile right off her face but couldn’t even keep the drool from dribbling down my chin.
“You’re probably asking yourself now, why is this happening?” she went on chatting. “It’s nothing personal, really. You’re technically not even my mark. Your husband is, although I have orders to keep him alive a little longer. First, he has to suffer, and only after that comes the legendary ‘to the last breath’ part. Although, this could just do the trick. A shame, really, but seven years of complications is long enough.”
She waited, as if I was capable of responding. I tried, but the paralytic had completely set in now, to the point where I couldn’t even close my eyelids or move my eyes. I hadn’t felt a needle’s pinch so she must have coated the blade of the knife in it. Warmth continued to spread across my lower back and over my ass, but I wasn’t fooled—that was my blood, leaking from the wound. The fact that I could feel my fingers and toes go cold as circulation shut down at the end of my extremities lent more evidence to the loss of blood.
“My initial plan was to kill Zilinsky as she seemed the only one close to him, but she’s not someone you just surprise,” Marleen went on, her tone still conversational. “Same goes for Romanoff. I took an immense risk, pretending to flip so they could turn me—but as I said, having a soul in this line of work is always something that holds you back. Not sure if you’re the jealous type, but trust me when I tell you that I only fucked Miller because I knew that would take my perceived threat level down a few notches. You wouldn’t believe how many guys that move works on.” I felt her shift, as if she was trying to get a look at my profile. “Or maybe you do. I didn’t really bother finding out more about your background since you were so quick to both let me close to you, and to hand me that golden opportunity on a platter. Really, telling me directly who you’d expect to kill you in exactly what way, and it fits into the overall framework of the job? That’s too good to pass up. A shame that I had to clean up a few messes along the way, but hey, lives are cheap these days.”
A shudder ran through my body, twisting the knife awfully, but none of that was voluntary. Marleen let go of my shoulder to check the pulse at my neck. I could feel how slow it had gotten where her fingers pressed into my skin.
“Not much longer now,” she whispered, her tone comforting although it couldn’t have been intended as such. She resumed her prattling. “I didn’t want to kill Scott; he was a good man. Ruthless enough to deserve to make it. Such a shame. But when I realized that Stone was trying to make a run for it, I had to act. Sadly, Scott threw off my aim and thus you could have your little chat with Stone in the lab. Was it enlightening, I wonder? He doesn’t know enough, so I’m not concerned, but that mistake’s on me, him even getting the chance to make a last stand. Eden, now, I didn’t mind killing her; she’s been almost as annoying as you. If she’d just followed Cole to the cars like she’s tried before and sucked him off while he did his thing, she’d still be alive. Not really a waste there, but it did take me five minutes to drag her carcass over to the dead scientists so nobody would find her too soon. Not that it matters. You were still here, doing shit you’re not supposed to do. I couldn’t have snuck up on you like that if you’d been doing what any warm-blooded woman would do after surviving shit like this—fuck her husband. But no, you had to go review what the scientists have been up to here. Maybe I can’t even fault you for that; not sure I’d want to have sex with a guy who’s probably thinking about which parts of me he could eat in the meantime.” Again she halted, considering. “Too bad I won’t be here to see this play out. I wish I could watch, but the fact that you’ve also gotten the serum has complicated my life immensely. I could have just killed you and staged it as a revenge job by someone else, but overwhelming you might have gotten problematic. You really saved me with your rampant paranoia, you know that? And Hamilton made it so easy for me to steal his knife when he went into the lab with you. I wonder why he kept it all these years if he hates Miller so much. It was a gift from him, you know? I’d hold it up so you can see the engraving to prove it, but if I pull it out now, you’ll die too quickly and the paralytic won’t shut down your body as you reanimate. It’s a messy way to go, and needs so much great timing.”
She checked my pulse again, which was just as well as her silence let me hear my own sluggish thoughts. I could see her plan unfold now—make it look as if Hamilton had killed me. Nate wouldn’t take that well—and it stood to reason that none of the three of us would make it out of here alive.
I had to give her that: it was a good plan. Only too bad that it hinged on my demise.
“It really is a shame that I couldn’t mortally wound you the conventional way,” Marleen simpered on. “The impact would be so much worse—and maybe I could have made it look like I’m innocent so I could have stuck around a little longer. See the entire drama unfold, you know? I might miss the end now, and maybe we won’t even have the great showdown. Too bad, really.”
She seemed poised to go on but then halted. I strained my ears, praying for footsteps, but whatever she’d heard was too far off for me to catch. My heart sank when she relaxed.
“My time to go,” she explained as I felt her shift. She left the knife in as she pushed me off her, making me flop over onto my side, my body alight with new waves of agony. The floor was cool underneath my cheek except where my blood continued to spread, soaking into my clothes. I saw one of her legs step into my field of vision as she leaned over me so she could twist the knife, both doing more damage and making sure it stayed in. Then she turned around so her face was above mine, leaning down to me like a young girl would to a puppy. “I know you won’t make it. But in the off-chance someone finds you and you don’t die of blood loss now but from your single remaining kidney shutting down because I just shredded it to hell, tell them this.” She smiled, but now I could see it for the mask it really was. “Decker sends his regards.”
Without another look back, she stepped away from me and left, her light steps almost immediately swallowed up by the roar of my pulse in my ears. The bloody latex glove that had covered her knife hand she took with her, not even leaving that clue behind. I thought I heard her voice a few moments later, coming from further into the complex, toward the hot lab. A male voice answered her but it was too low for me to catch—Richards? But I couldn’t be sure. I tried to scream, or just make any sound, but I couldn’t even blink when blood started seeping underneath my cheek and to the corner of my eye.
Simply trying to move was getting incredibly hard. My pulse was down to around one beat of my heart where there should have been five. Then, ten. I felt the gloom of the room around me deepen but had the feeling it wasn’t from the corridor lights dimming.
I was bleeding to death, on the floor, and it was anyone’s guess how long it would take for someone to find me. Hell, maybe they wouldn’t even come looking, and once the paralytic wore off, my reanimated corpse would stagger aimlessly through the corridors in search of food—
At first, I chalked up the thumping I heard to what my struggling heart was producing, but then I felt something rhythmic against my cheek—steps, coming closer. Heavy steps, from someone not trying to be stealthy. I heard muttering next, too low to make out words but I’d recognize that voice anywhere—Hamilton. The spark of hope that someone might find me in time flickered, about to die, but I forced my mind to focus. Yes, there was the possibility that he’d just stand there and watch me die, but for that, he had to find me first, and that was also the first step to my possible survival.
Dipping deep into what little remained of my energy reserves, I concentrated only on making a sound. A single sound—a croak, a grunt, anything would do. My jaws were partly slack and my lips open—it should be able to get out, if I just managed to get my throat and lungs working und
er my control. The paralytic wasn’t wearing off by any means, but I felt more aware than on that damn operating room table. Maybe it was because they’d given me the serum just before getting me in there, versus years later now. Or maybe the fact that my body was slowly but surely pushing toward the end results of the serum meant that the paralytic couldn’t as fully claim me as before. My world narrowed down further until all I could see was the patch of floor in front of my face as I strained and pushed, but that was all I needed to see—as right behind the corner of the workbench was one of the two doors to the lab, and I’d see anyone stepping in here, just as he would see me.
I couldn’t tell whether I succeeded, or whether it was luck that brought Hamilton to the door to glance inside, but it didn’t matter. His focus was higher up as he scanned the room, looking for someone standing in there, or maybe sitting on a chair. The whooshing sound in my ears was so loud that I almost didn’t understand him, only fragments coming through, “errand boy” and “better things to do” among them. Seeing nothing, he turned to step out again, which made my frustration and panic increase tenfold. Always did he have to get in my face, and this once when it would do me any good, he managed to ignore me? Rage boiled up inside of me, overwhelming and loud, turning the low vibrations in my throat that I could feel but not hear into a growl.
Hamilton jerked to a halt, probably because what had made it out of me sounded a lot like what a shambler about to charge might utter. His casual stance snapped to full alertness as he listened, slowly turning his head to catch a repeat sound. I tried—oh, did I try!—but the sudden surge of hope nixed the anger, turning me back into a lifeless husk on the floor. Hamilton’s head continued to swivel, and when he couldn’t see into the last row at the back, he took three slow, deliberate, utterly silent steps—and then he froze.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 71