“Listen.” She reached up and pressed the spare bud into his right ear so the thin electrical wire connected the two of them.
Bass filled his ear. He knew the song. I put a spell on you. “This is an oldie.”
She peeped up at him through dark lashes. “I like the old stuff.”
A woman sang, her voice full and throaty. Mabe dipped his head, so the wire remained loose. He was close enough he could pull her into his arms if he wanted. Her chest was rising and falling. Was it faster than normal? Did he affect her the same way she did him? He thought so, but he was so rusty at reading the signs it was difficult to tell.
She reached for him, settling her hands on his hips.
Mabe stopped breathing, his blood feverish.
“Do you dance?”
“God, no,” he muttered.
She took his hands and placed them on the swell of her hips. “Anyone can dance.” She swayed in his embrace, her hips swinging in a slow match to the rhythm of the music.
Mabe stared at his feet. He was a left footed klutz. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with hope.
Fuck it.
He pressed his fingers into her waist, tugging her closer, her pelvis fitting snug against his, and swept one hand against the small of her back, the other up to the hollow between her shoulder blades, supporting her as he matched her rhythm and began to move.
Sarah fitted perfectly against him.
The music filled his ears, rising higher until the beep of lab equipment faded into nothing and there was only him, Sarah and the orchestra. Mabe closed his eyes and pulled her closer as she snuck her arms around his neck. Her forehead dipped and rested against his breastbone. Sparks ignited through his body and his feet found a smooth rhythmic beat he never knew he had. Slowly he spun her around the room in a smooth melodic shuffle, their hearts pressed close together, their heads barely touching as the music rose in a protective cascade around them.
For a few moments, he wasn’t here, in a destroyed building, most of the world dead, the coming days uncertain and steeped in danger. Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of dreaming they were in a bar, the lights low, music surrounding them. Drinks and then home, together. Cool sheets and sunshine in the morning. If only this could last forever. Too soon the music crashed to a finale, and they were standing alone again in the room. One by one, the harsh noises of the real world reconnected with his brain.
Sarah pulled her head off his chest. A flush graced her cheekbones, and her lips were glossy where she’d licked them. “That was—”
Mabe crashed his mouth against hers, knowing if he waited any longer he might change his mind, which would be a mistake. He drew her closer yet, one hand snaking up to cradle the back of her head, driving into the silky softness of her hair while his other wrapped around her waist, binding her to him, because close to him, he could protect her. This way he could ensure nothing bad happened to her ever again. Because it hit him then, he was connected to this woman. Fuck, if it hadn’t just snuck up on him.
Her lips were so soft, but she met his kiss with a passion, her mouth opening to his, tasting him, her tongue tentative and then more confident. Mabe poured everything he had into the kiss, every crazy new emotion that she brought out of him.
“Mabe?” A voice loud masculine voice sliced through the heated haze that had disconnected his brain from his body.
Sarah broke the kiss, dropping back down from her tiptoes, her lips swollen, still tempting him.
He reached for her again, desperate for more.
She dodged him, a smile on her face. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Get what?”
She pointed at the comms button clipped to his collar, from which Sawyer was scorching the air in an epic tirade.
Mabe touched the button. Her hands were still on his hips, her fingers looped into the thick leather of his belt. Nothing had ever felt so right in such a long time.
He worked his jaw, forcing his brain to form words when all he wanted to do was soak her in. “Sawyer? Mabe.”
“About fucking time. We have a situation. Get your ass in gear and back to the vault absolutely fucking pronto.”
“Copy that.” His heart had forced its way up into his throat, making it impossible for him to swallow or even breathe. “We have to go.”
“I heard.” She released his belt and took a step of retreat, and immediately he missed her. She stared at her hands as if unsure what to do with them.
Fuck it.
He dipped low and kissed her again, full on the mouth, cupping her jaw with his fingers. Her pulse thrummed under his fingertips with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. When he stroked one knuckle along the line of her jaw, down her throat and broke the kiss, his voice was tortured. “This isn’t over yet.”
24
Sarah ran up the narrow corridor behind Mabe, screams carrying on the stale air toward them. She should have known it was too good to be true. The Chittrix had ended her first happy—truly happy—moment in years. Just like they always would. It was foolish to hope for anything more.
She shunted all thoughts of Mabe and the way he turned her insides molten to the back of her mind, following as he slammed through the connecting double doors, the handles shattering the aging wall plaster.
Ahead, the door to the viral vault was dented. Sarah slowed, her throat thick, her heart accelerating. It wasn’t possible.
Artem was waiting. For her. His face contorted with rage. “What the hell is this?” His voice was a knife-edge. “This thing is supposed to be sedated and pumped full of killer virus. Instead, it’s tearing your impregnable vault to pieces, and once it escapes it’s going to kill us all.” As if to reinforce his point, another thud hammered through the vault door. “See.” Artem jabbed a finger and advanced closer, his nostrils flaring.
“Hey.” Mabe side-stepped, blocking Artem’s view of her with his broad shoulders. God, there wasn’t time for testosterone. She sidled past Mabe and checked through the reinforced window. Her stomach tightened. The inner door had been ripped free, and the Chittrix was hurling itself at the outer door like a biological battering ram—one that didn’t care about self injury going by the violence of its attack.
The rope that had secured it laid in useless loops on the floor. “How the hell did it get free?” A tremor rocked her voice, “It was trussed up to within an inch of its life.”
Diana appeared at her side, her tone low, ice cold. “That hardly matters—”
Riley burst through the corridor doors on the opposite side, clutching a worn teddy. Her face was pale, her hair wild as she hugged the bear to her chest. “What’s going on?”
Diana grabbed her arm. “Riley, you should be in bed.”
Riley ignored her mother. “What? While you’re all being eating by a crazed Chittrix I’m meant to stay in bed?”
Another slam from within the vault. Sarah winced, her mind racing. They needed a solution, and now.
Diana pushed Riley behind her. “Stay there and don’t move.”
The main airlock door groaned. The sound was indistinct and mournful, a submission of something human and aging succumbing to the new dominating power of the Chittrix. Another thump and a bolt fired from the hinges, pinging across the floor like a bullet.
“Fucking hell. That’s not going to hold much longer.” Sawyer raised his pulse rifle. “Do we have some kind of backup plan because this crazy fucker is going to batter its way out of there, and soon, even if it kills itself in the process.”
Sarah tented her forehead with her fingers. Think. If the Chittrix escaped, they wouldn’t know if the virus was effective. “We can’t kill it, if we do that we won’t know if the virus works.”
Foster stabbed a finger at the now cracked security glass. “In case you haven’t noticed that thing is coming through your fucking inescapable vault, and when it does, it won’t matter if it caught the flu or not.”
A roar of inhuman pain escaped the vault and scraped
up her spine. She faced the men, her mind racing, her stomach a churning mess. “We can create an escape route and track it.”
Jacob scowled. “And how the hell are we going to track it? In case you haven’t noticed, these fuckers can fly.”
She lifted her wrist, showing him the dark band Mabe had given her earlier. She slipped it off, the dense material gently malleable under her fingertips. “You said this was a tracker. Mabe, could it work?”
Mabe dragged his gaze from the dying door, his eyebrows knotting. “It might. Foster?”
Foster leaned in, his lips pinched. “I can take the chip out.” He rubbed his chin. “Modify the viral delivery gun you used earlier to tag it.” He took the wristband, running his chewed thumbnail along a seam.
Sarah caught Jacob by the arm as a green shoot of hope budded within her. “Take Foster down to my lab, the gene delivery gun is there.” Jacob grunted in agreement but he was moving too slow so she gave him a small push. “Hurry.”
She turned from their retreating backs. “Okay. An escape route...” She pressed her hands together. “We have to give it the most direct route out of here.” She spun on her heel. The viral vault was at the end of a long corridor with access to the elevator at the end. “We can secure all the doors between here and the main lab, open the elevator shaft again and steer it that way.”
Sawyer narrowed his gaze. “You make it sound like corralling cattle.”
She shot Mabe a confident look she didn’t feel as fear rolled lazily in her stomach. “More like sheep.”
“This will never work.” Artem’s tone was hostile.
Mabe turned to face him, his expression cool. “Got any better ideas?”
“We shouldn’t have brought it down here in the first place. I said it was suicide.”
Sarah stepped between them as Mabe’s fists clenched. “There are metal cabinets we can drag out of the main lab to stop it getting any further into the building.” She eyed Artem, waiting for him to challenge her command, but his only retort was a sullen glance.
“Sawyer and I will reopen the elevator shaft,” Mabe turned to Diana. “Find Zoe and get Riley somewhere safe.”
Two minutes later, Sarah jogged up the corridor to the main lab, forcing herself to concentrate, to ignore the continuing slamming jailbreak. She flinched as an unearthly shriek reverberated up the corridor. Sweet God. In her fear addled brain she calculated they had minutes at the most.
She hurried into her lab. Foster was bent over a bench, an array of tiny metal pieces scattered on the work surface in front of him. He’d taken off his long-sleeved jacket, and his arms were bare, his torso packed with an array of sleek black containers giving the impression of a lethal alien beetle. He didn’t look up as she entered, but Jacob did.
“Jacob.” She pointed at the heavy metal storage cabinets. “These are wheeled and lockable. We can block off access to the far end of the corridor.”
“On it.” Jacob pushed between them; his mouth set in a thin line of determination. He popped the locks and shunted them out into the corridor.
Artem hollered from beyond. “This won’t hold much longer.”
The pounding was coming faster and harder. Vibration pinged up through the thin soles of her boots. What had she done? She’d brought a Chittrix into their sanctuary. She had insisted on this. And now?
Now, she just didn’t know.
Foster swore, and she looked around to see him holding a tiny black button with a pair of tweezers.
“Not bad.” He winked. “There’s no telling how long it will last, but it’ll work for a while.” He slotted it inside the gene gun, securing the locking mechanism before handing it to her.
“We only need twenty-four hours.” She hurried toward the door, holding it open for him. “Thank you.”
He shot her a wry smile. “You should see what I can do with a can opener and a zip.”
Outside, in the corridor, Mabe and Jacob pushed the last cabinet into place, sealing off the rest of the labs, making the elevator shaft the only escape route.
“Coming through!” Sawyer screamed from up ahead. Mabe sprinted to join him, throwing himself to the ground as the vault door exploded free and the Chittrix staggered into the corridor, its sides heaving with the effort.
Sarah skidded to a halt, her knees softening. The Chittrix dominated the narrow space, its presence thickening the air in her lungs to treacle. One fore leg was damaged, dragging uselessly at its side, but the remaining five drummed on the floor leaking gloopy liquid. Its head convulsed, its muscular tongue lolling.
Mabe scrambled to his feet and bolted to the elevator shaft, beating his pulse rifle against the metal pipe work that lined the walls in a clanging lure. “This way, fucker!”
It wavered on unsteady legs. Jellied gunk leaked from cracks in its carapace, and its wings were folded awkwardly across the top of its back. It raised its snout as if scenting prey, then screeched, a call for members of its own kind that was met with deafening silence.
Was she imagining it? “The movement’s different.”
“Different?” Foster was at her side, his hip bumping hers.
“The virus,” she whispered, the gene gun heavy in her hands. “Co-ordinated movement would be one of the first to go.”
The Chittrix lurched as its undamaged front leg crumpled, its hind legs skittering behind it, fighting for purchase. Ferocious teeth glinted in the artificial light. Awkwardly, it pivoted till it faced Mabe at the end of the corridor.
“Fuck me.” Foster breathed.
With painstaking slowness, it shuffled toward the elevator space. Light filled the floor of the shaft, drawing it forward. It was dying, she was sure of it. The wet crunch of its injured joints was strident in her ears, and soon it would be gone. The thought fired a bolt of energy into her flagging legs.
“We can’t let it leave without the tag.” She darted forward before Foster could stop her, fighting the tremble in her thighs, the clamminess of her skin. She halted several paces away, the gun loose at her side. “Come to Mama.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
It turned to examine her, its head drooping. Mabe’s broad silhouette was visible out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her attention on the Chittrix, fitting her palm against the gun’s trigger mechanism.
So close.
A crow cawed outside, the call bouncing off the metal walls. Distracted, the Chittrix screamed a discordant reply as it flapped violently in the confined space. Its clawed wings ripped cables and dislodged choking dust and loose plaster in a gritty storm.
Sarah dove forward, hitting the Chittrix’s flank with a muted thud. She whipped the gun up and rammed it against the hard shell.
Thunk. The tracker button was on.
Claws rushed her, slicing her pant leg open from thigh to knee, cold chitin brushing her skin.
Sweet God. This is it.
A flash of movement charged at her. “Stay down!” Mabe tackled her, rolling them both clear of the Chittrix’s deadly reach.
Air finally caught under the storm of its thrashing wings and it lifted in an ungainly racket. Mabe flattened her under his body as metal tore free and cascaded down the shaft as the Chittrix escaped.
Seconds ticked by as the din subsided in the wake of its exit.
Mabe pushed off her and pulled her to her feet, his hands rigid around her arms. He stared at her for a long second, his eyes wide, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm before kneeling to check her leg. “That was stupid. You could have been killed.”
She gasped, tears blurring her vision. “I know, but I got the tracker on.” She swiped her nose with her cuff, still not quite believing she was still alive. Her mind raced ahead, planning what she needed to grab. “We have to track it.” She had only minutes at most.
He pursed his lips together. “No more crazy shit.” He paused, lowering his head so only she could hear. “My heart can’t take it.”
He released her then, walking away, his stride clipped
and businesslike as he gathered his men, but her ear lobe still tingled where his lips had brushed.
She released a shaky breath. She’d consider the implications later. Right now? She had to track the Chittrix.
She headed for her lab and the bug-out bag she kept under her desk for situations just like this. Her backpack on her shoulder and pulse rifle in her hand, she detoured through the main lab where she grabbed a radio.
Jacob snagged her arm. “If you go out there, you’re going to die.”
She shook him off with a steely glare. “I’m dying down here, anyway.”
Riley was nowhere to be seen as she waved her radio at Diana. “I’ll stay in radio contact.”
Storage cabinets still blocked the tunnel exit, so she grabbed the first metal rung in the elevator shaft and boosted herself up. Daylight beckoned as she climbed higher, ignoring the cut of metal into her hands.
Time was running out. For her and the future.
25
Mabe followed Sarah up the elevator shaft in several quick moves, his weapons strapped to his back. The thud of pain in his arm faded as adrenaline surged through his body. “This way.” He steered her toward the Coyote as she ran.
Foster arrived at the TSV with Sawyer and Artem in tow shortly after. His expression was grim. “Let’s see where our package is heading.” He retrieved a small wrist-sized tablet from the rear of the vehicle, bringing the screen to life with a sweep of his fingers. A red outline of the local terrain sprang up in 3D. A small blip was holding steady, heading south. “There it is.”
Foster handed the device to Sarah. “This is your baby, doc.”
Sarah strapped it to her wrist as Mabe climbed up to the driver’s seat.
“Let’s do this.” He took the wheel, Sawyer at his side as Foster secured the open weapons locker. A stony-faced Artem climbed into the rear of the vehicle. Sarah took a bench next to him, calling out guidance from the tracking device. She must have been exhausted, but her voice remained strong and level.
Mabe (Earth Resistance Book 5) Page 13