His plan becomes clear very quickly.
Detective Webb walks for the door. “Stay here. We have protocols for a threat like this.”
“Threat?” Luke asks in alarm. “There’s no threat—she’s just an old woman—”
Webb closes the door behind her and we both hear the locks deploy, sealing us inside. Luke immediately grins and launches himself over to the screen.
“We’re trapped in here!” I hiss.
Luke raises a hand sharply. I go still in fear. He points one of his fingers to his ear and then to his lips, and I realize he’s warning me that someone is listening to us. He starts pressing the screen, his fingers moving with startling speed. Colors, pictures and files appear, moving around the screen at Luke’s bidding. I can’t follow what he’s doing—it’s too quick for me to make out any of the words. I do see a flashing red icon popping up in the middle a few times, but after only a moment it turns green and Luke smiles once more.
“Okay, you can rant at me all you want now—I’ve disabled all the bugs.”
“She locked the door!”
“All part of the plan,” he says mildly.
“What the hell is going on? Why did you say that stuff about Collingsworth?”
“There are certain alarm words that police use to identify levels of threat. It’s a whole business around terror. Collingsworth’s name is one of those. Some years ago he was the most hunted man alive—the protesters and rebels had a movement against him, and there were countless attempts on his life.”
“In ’55 he was put in hospital with stab wounds,” I agree faintly, remembering the pictures I saw plastered all over the city. For months—years, actually—every surface of every building was covered in moving media centered on the Collingsworth riots. Pictures of him in hospital were even splashed across buses. For a while there, everywhere you looked was the man who started all of this mess, alongside slogans like “Even our savior isn’t safe from the infection”.
“Right. So lovely officer Webb has gone to inform the necessary channels that they have a threat that could turn into a new terrorist movement.”
“It’s an elderly woman!”
“Doesn’t matter—they have to treat every person on the planet as a potential threat.”
“There have been terrorist movements?” I ask, amazed.
“Sure have. Never got very far, but they tried—gotta give them that.”
“Do you think they’re still out there?”
“I don’t know, babe.”
“But, wait—why would we want her to alert the channels that there’s a threat?”
“So she leaves us alone in this room.” He focuses more closely on what he’s doing and starts typing in a whole lot of coding script that I don’t have a hope of understanding.
“And how are we supposed to get out?”
“I have it covered.”
“Right.” I swallow a wave of irritation. If he’s being intentionally mysterious in order to show off I’m going to be pissed. “What are you doing now?” I inquire.
“I’m pulling up the locked records and sending them to our computer at home. Then I’ll have to break their firewalls and ensure I can’t be traced.”
“How the hell do you know how to do that?”
“Did I not mention?” he grins. “I’m rather good with computers.”
Holy shit. My boyfriend is some sort of hacker. “What about when they ask for your prints and stuff?”
He shrugs. “There are ways around that.”
Not in this world. There was a technology created ten years ago called PRD that is famous for being completely and utterly unbreakable—it’s used on all the locks on every door, in every piece of security in the world, and it can’t be faked, either. It stands for prints, retina scans and DNA samples, and to everyone’s knowledge it has never been tricked or overridden. And Luke is standing there calmly finding ‘ways around it’.
“Who are you?” I ask incredulously.
He doesn’t reply. After a few minutes he punches his fist in the air. “Done! Let’s get the hell out of here.” Luke jogs to the door, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him.
“How will we get out?”
“Quickly,” he winks. I’d really rather he didn’t have such a condescending streak to his personality. He is busy doing something with the security system so he doesn’t see my look. I prepare myself for the alarm that is undoubtedly about to go off, but miraculously the door clicks green and then opens!
We are halfway through the huge front room when Webb’s cold voice rings out over the chaos. “Stop those two!”
Luke’s face falls—I guess he expected to reach the door before Webb cottoned on to anything. He doesn’t let go of my hand, pulling me forward into a headlong sprint for the front doors. There are about a thousand cops in this place, but it takes them all a few moments to figure out who the detective is talking about. Pretty soon they’re diving at us from every angle.
We’re definitely going to jail. Worse: I’m going to wind up cured.
Except that somehow, even though I’m his biggest fan, I still keep underestimating Luke Townsend. He dives beneath cops and jumps over flying chairs, and he drags me along with him, never letting go of my hand even though I’m slowing him way down.
He palms off a policeman with a casual jab of his left hand that breaks the man’s nose. He does this a few more times until someone finally manages to sever the hold Luke has on me. An officer dives into me, flinging me to the floor. I skid across the carpet and it burns the skin on my thighs. As I try to free myself from the hands that have grabbed me by the shoulder and neck, Luke launches himself back toward me. He has to jump over a large wooden desk to reach me, and as I watch, feeling a bit like this whole thing is happening in slow motion, a huge, burly cop flies toward him and connects with Luke midair. The two of them crash like a ton of bricks onto the table, which buckles and splinters impressively.
A scream erupts from amid the wreckage and my stomach twists before I realize gratefully that it was the policeman who made the awful sound. He has a piece of wood through his calf and he’s whimpering in pain. Luke is already up, armed with one of the desk legs. He holds it in one relaxed hand, and his eyes flash dangerously, taking in every person in the room. He gets this same look when he’s solving a problem.
Everyone is watching him warily now that he has a weapon of sorts. Most policemen are approaching slowly; a few are shouting at him to drop the wood, their own guns raised. Jesus, I’m surprised he hasn’t been shot down already.
Luke turns back for me, but a policewoman’s strong hands are around my wrists, holding them tightly behind my back so I can’t get free.
“Go,” I tell Luke.
He rolls his eyes. And here’s me thinking it was a heroic declaration of love and selflessness. The stupid idiot doesn’t even appreciate it.
Luke launches himself over the broken table and wounded cop, moving too fast for anyone to stop him. He lands behind my captor, and even though I can’t see him anymore, I can hear the swish of the table leg and I feel the impact it has on the woman’s body as she gasps and slumps on top of me. Jesus Christ. I’m instantly queasy, but the adrenalin’s still pumping through my body, making it possible for me to function. Luke grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. We almost make it to the door before we’re stopped—properly this time.
The police have made a wall before the door, and they have their guns aimed straight at us. There are at least a dozen of them.
“Stop there,” Detective Webb orders coldly. Her gun is pointed at Luke’s head.
“We haven’t committed any crimes,” Luke says calmly.
“You got out of my office somehow. Explain.”
“Must not have locked it properly.” He shrugs.
“You reported a threat and then you escaped confinement,” Webb murmurs. “You then proceeded to attack and injure several of my officers. That’s assault. Put the weapon down.”
“Put it down.”
“Of course,” Luke says softly, holding Webb’s eyes. “Whatever you wish, Detective.”
My heart picks up just as the atmosphere in the room changes. I can feel the energy freeze and then shift, quick as lightning, but not as fast as Luke is. He places the wood on the floor slowly, but instead of straightening, he twists down and in, moving with more speed than I’ve ever seen in a human. The policeman closest to him doesn’t stand a chance. Shots go off, but I don’t think they hit anything.
My eyes are locked on Luke. I thought I had at least a bit of a hold on who he is, but watching him now, I’m not so sure. His right fist moves up and into the cop’s chin, causing the man’s head and neck to snap back. His hold on the gun drops, and Luke is there to relieve him of his weapon, dropping to the ground and rolling back up behind me.
Before anyone has a clue what’s happened, my boyfriend is holding a gun to my head. “Nobody move,” he orders, and there’s death in his voice.
Every police officer in the room is a statue. Webb’s face is finally starting to show some concern. She’s watching Luke with that hawk gaze, and I think that maybe there’s even a bit of admiration in there somewhere. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she says.
Luke smiles; I can hear it in his voice. “I won’t if you won’t, sweetheart.”
“Put the gun down, Mr Bates.”
“My name’s not Mr Bates,” he informs her mildly. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Detective. You’re going to order your officers to stand down and let us leave, or I blow the pretty girl’s brains out.”
I feel cold all the way through. There’s something so terribly cruel in his voice. A hard edge of violence, a hint of the insanity brought on by his cure. I can’t tell if it’s real or not.
“You wouldn’t hurt your sister,” Webb says, but she doesn’t sound very sure.
“This isn’t my sister,” Luke says with a sneer. “I haven’t got a damn clue who this girl is. I’m quite happy for her to become collateral. Are you, Detective?”
I don’t have to fake the whimper of fear that escapes me. My knees wobble but Luke steadies me. “Careful,” he orders me, and it doesn’t sound like Luke at all. I feel a bit like I’m trapped in my worst nightmare—I have always been terrified that one day he would lose his rational thought and act like all the other drones do in situations of stress. I know Luke well, but I don’t know drone Luke—unpredictable Luke. The reality is that he could turn on a blink—he could be anyone and do anything.
Detective Webb is thinking quickly. Her eyes are darting between Luke and me. I force myself to meet her eyes and beg for her help. “Please,” I blubber.
She makes a soft noise of helplessness and then nods. “Stand down.” Her officers lower their weapons and Luke pulls me straight out the door.
“Run, and don’t slow down until I tell you to,” he orders crisply. So I run. I run as fast as I can, pushing and stretching my muscles until they scream, and then I run some more.
Luke leads me toward his car, but he takes a long and difficult route, hiding for long stretches and doubling back to avoid pursuit. He’s extremely thorough and patient, timing how long we have to wait in certain places, somehow knowing when feet are about to approach the mouth of an alley or turn a corner past where we’re hiding. Eventually we reach the car and hop in. He sets it to manual and drives us a few miles, then stops in a car park. He hops out of his car and promptly slides into another vehicle that’s just been sitting there waiting for his fingerprints to activate it. I compartmentalize all of this shock and confusion and follow him into the second car. He drives this one for a while in silence until we arrive at another seemingly normal car park, where we switch cars again.
We don’t go home. Luke drives us to the other side of the city and rents a room in a small motel. This seems stupid to me, since we’ll have to pay for the room with our prints, and these can be traced back to Luke’s override of the police station locks. I don’t say anything though, because Luke has shut down entirely, and I’m freaking out that he’s going to turn into the crazy guy with the gun at the warehouse party. If I had somewhere else to go, I might. But I might not. I might follow him anyway, even knowing how dangerous he could be, because he’s been doing the same for me all along.
It occurs to me that if he does suddenly snap and lose his mind, I’ll have no way of defending myself. I’ve just seen him take on an entire room full of armed police officers and come out on top. I don’t know the extent of what he’s capable of, but I know it’s frightening. And here’s me, five foot seven and bony, not a single ounce of muscle on me and no idea how to fight.
Luke locks the door behind us with his thumb, then flicks on the lights. I look at him, searching for the man I know. I just need a sign or a hint, anything to let me know that he’s still here with me.
He’s facing away, so I can only see his tall profile. He’s beautiful, his strong features even sharper from the side. Standing like this, still and strong, he makes me think of something ancient and powerful. I can’t find him. All I can see is how big he is, how overwhelming. At six foot four, he towers over me, and the thick cords of muscle in his arms and back have taken on new meaning for me after today. I’ve never been sure how he acquired the body that he has, or the scars on his knuckles. Now it seems obvious—he got it all from fighting. Who or why I don’t know.
I want to say something to bring him back, but I’m too scared that it won’t work. With the cure, even if Luke knows me, he could still hurt me. He might not even see it as wrong.
Moments stretch out, and then he turns to look at me. His eyes find mine, and they’re so green, as always. At last he speaks, and there’s something young and sweet in the rough tones of his voice. “You okay, baby?”
I feel all the sharp edges inside me melt away. My shoulders sag in sheer, gut-wrenching relief. He’s here again, my Luke, just as he’s always been. I cross the room and hug him as tightly as I can, pressing my lips against his cheek in an almost savage way.
“It’s okay,” he says softly against my hair, hands stroking calm circles against my back. “I’m sorry, Josi. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I had to get us out.”
I nod, and Christ—it’s so obvious now. Of course he was just pretending, doing whatever he had to, to keep us safe. I feel like an irrational fool for having jumped to such awful conclusions, and worse than that—I feel ashamed of how easily my mind betrayed him. “I know,” I tell him, kissing him a hundred times, a thousand, trying to make sure there’s no doubt.
Luke pulls back a few inches and cups my face in his hands. He looks into my eyes. “You were so afraid,” he says, almost like an accusation.
“Of the police.”
“No, of me.”
I move out of his reach, staring at him. “I thought—I was worried that maybe you’d … changed.”
“Like the other drones?”
I don’t reply. Does he really want to do this? Surely the answer should be obvious.
“Don’t you trust me?” Luke presses.
“Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust what’s been done to you.”
His hands drop to his sides as though he’s being confronted by something huge. “Josi … that was all me. It wasn’t the cure. You get that, right?”
I lick my lips. “You hit a woman with a piece of wood.”
He grimaces and I can see his teeth. “To get you free.”
“Is she … was she badly hurt?”
Luke cracks the knuckles in his fingers. “I hit her between the third and fourth ribs. She was winded, but she’ll be fine. I didn’t even break anything.”
“How did you know how to do that? How do you know so much about fighting?”
“What does it matter? She’s fine, and we’re fine.”
I swallow, moving back another step. “What if she’d been hurt?”
He spreads his hands. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
“What if you’d killed her? What if you’d had to?”
Luke knows exactly what I’m saying—I can see it in his face. He watches me through hooded eyes, and then he says very clearly, “I would have killed her. I would have killed every person in there if it meant saving you. Even now, I could go back in there and destroy them all. You don’t understand what I could be, if it came down to it.”
My breath catches in my lungs.
“You’re scaring me,” I tell him. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not.”
“Yes you do.”
Didn’t I prepare myself to do what I had to? But what is the difference between fighting for freedom and committing wanton violence? When do we stop ‘doing what it takes’? When does it become too much? I guess in the scheme of things we haven’t really done much—not when I think about the men on the train.
“There’s a war raging inside you,” Luke tells me quietly. “She’s stronger than we are, which means we’ll have to fight a lot harder than she does. I’ll do whatever I must.”
My heart is like a drum being pounded again and again.
I tell him, “So will I.”
Luke crosses the room and kisses me fiercely, and he’s here, every part of him is here with me, like I know it will be until the day we’re robbed of everything—even our ability to love.
Luke
I don’t sleep anymore. I lie awake, waiting for her screams to start. This is my penance. The agony of listening to her fear is the price I pay for all the lies I’ve told her. I feel like a ghost, but I love her. I love her.
I won’t sleep for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. I’ll wait through all the hours of night until she starts to thrash and cry and shriek with all the things hidden in her mind, and I’ll hold her as tightly as I can until there’s no strength left in my muscles.
Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition) Page 16