Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus

by Lecter, Adrienne

  So, could I do it? Yes. But the real question was, should I do it—and with lots of annoyance at myself I decided that the answer to that was no. My ego absolutely wanted to, but the analytical part of my brain—often buried and mostly ignored—told me not to. Who knew what we might need Hamilton and Richards for in the future? In the end the fact remained—like Nate, like me, they were resources that might one day be sorely missed and direly needed. If I was choking on my decision, that was an easy price to pay if it maybe meant someone would live who’d otherwise have died.

  “That’s the last one,” Hamilton stated after I slid another rack into a tank, making the liquid nitrogen slosh gently. “We’re all set. Let’s go.”

  Richards closed the lid of the tank and grabbed the sample container while Hamilton picked up the previously filled one. I quickly disconnected the air hose from my suit, and because I was a nice, caring gal, I did the same to theirs, seeing as they didn’t have both hands free. I didn’t miss that Hamilton left his gun next to the inventory ledger, although he waited for me to exit the room first, which I did with a smirk on my face. Ah, trust—not something we’d ever establish, I was afraid. I didn’t have access to my watch but the small timer I’d taken with me from the board at the entrance showed that we’d spent just over seventy minutes inside the lab, which left us a comfortable pillow of time for decon, and then to get the hell out of here.

  I patiently waited for Hamilton to close the vault before I set off down the corridor that would bring us back to the decontamination shower, a vague feeling of sentimentality mixing with my reluctance of not having at least tried to kill that asshole. It was kind of ridiculous how many last times I’d spent in labs over the past years, but this time I was sure it really would be the final one. I couldn’t properly hold, let alone use, a pipette anymore; couldn’t one-handedly unscrew a bottle; couldn’t do any of the many fine motor functions required to operate anything inside a laminar flow hood—motions that were so deeply ingrained in my brain that they rivaled autonomous things like yawning or blinking. I’d for years prided myself that working in the lab had turned me ambidextrous to a point, a skill that had certainly served me well in compensating for the parts I’d lost. But there was no going back. This was it.

  I couldn’t be out of here a moment too soon.

  I was the first to round the corner and get to the corridor with the viewing windows to the outside, expecting to find Nate there, waiting not-so patiently but showing no outward signs—but the window was empty, what little I could see of the hallway outside the cocoon of the labs deserted. Disappointment tickled along my mind but I quickly shoved it away—they were likely bored out of their minds, standing around, pretending to guard, and eating jerky all the while.

  Checking back on Hamilton and Richards, I paused, reaching for another air hose mostly so I’d have something to do until they caught up with me.

  Out of the corner of my vision, I saw something whizz by outside, so fast my distracted eyes couldn’t latch on to it. It startled me, old reflexes catching up in milliseconds—nobody did anything sudden inside a BSL-4 lab. Grumbling under my breath, I chalked it up to one of the idiots outside throwing something, or whatnot. With all the soundproofing of the installation, it was impossible to tell.

  The others finally made their way over to me, giving me a good reason to appear all calm and relaxed—

  So when a body was flung against the outside of the viewing windows and hit with a “thunk” that was loud enough to translate through the thick glass, I not only jumped, but let out a girly shriek.

  Had to jinx that one, didn’t I?

  Chapter 14

  “What the fuck?” Hamilton grunted, having had the worst view as the farthest away from the window.

  “I think that was Russell,” I offered helpfully, feeling my pulse spike with fear-driven adrenaline—and a strong sense of giddiness that, finally I’d get to do something. “Told you so.”

  Hamilton strode forward, prompting Red to take a step aside to let him pass. “You told no—”

  “Just because you like to make fun of me doesn’t mean I wasn’t right,” I prompted, ignoring him as I stepped closer to the window to get a look outside. I could see something on the floor—a boot, still attached to a foot—but the angle was bad and didn’t give me any further information about the state Russell was in. The corridor remained deserted, with no further movement.

  “We should get moving—” I said—and found the hallway deserted behind me. For a moment my mind jumped to the conclusion that they’d somehow gotten inside as well, but it made much more sense that Hamilton had kept walking while I checked. Sure enough, I could hear plastic squeaking from over there. Momentarily relaxing, I made my way to the next intersection—only to see the heavy door to the decontamination room closing right in front of me. My body was still moving forward on autopilot, my gaze snatching to the display by the shower just as it came on, the ten-minute cycle starting.

  They’d locked me in. They’d fucking locked me in the fucking lab!

  I was very tempted to scream but instead did the stupid thing and tried the door, which, of course, wouldn’t budge. There were no emergency overrides, at least none that I could see, but for good measure I still pounded against the heavy door. “You fucking assholes!”

  I hadn’t expected them to still have the suit communication on, but Richards’s voice sounded, appropriately apologetic, in my ear. “We have orders. You have to understand—”

  His voice cut off suddenly, making me guess that Hamilton had done away with our means of communication. At least Red had sounded sincere in his regret—not that this helped me one bit.

  Yup, I definitely should have shot Hamilton when I had the chance. Or at least a chance, which was gone now.

  Frustrated, I reached up to run a hand through my hair but of course only managed to bump my hand against the visor of the suit. I checked the display again—it read 9:43, counting down. Shit.

  The easiest—and without a doubt, smartest—thing would have been to simply wait, but my body was singing with the need for action, so that was out of the question. Pivoting fast enough that my boot almost slipped on the floor, I turned around and stalked to the next viewing window, one down from the one Russell had been slammed against. I saw shadows, someone moving toward where I knew the entrance to the lab was. Against better judgment, I slapped my hand against the glass, hoping that would draw attention. Much to my surprise it did, Tanner appearing around the corner. He ducked out of sight after he saw me wave at him, and a second later, Nate came barreling into the corridor, obviously worked up and somewhat disheveled. Whatever was going on out there hadn’t just started but seemed to have been going on for quite some time.

  The positive pressure suit wasn’t made for pantomime, even less so with the floppy gloves, and I felt my frustration skyrocket immediately as I tried to sign that I was okay but really, really fucking frustrated. I tried to signal “dick” and “locked in” but Nate just stared at me as if I’d gone insane, halfway through my routine looking away when someone must have called out to him. He looked back at me, his expression twisted with indecision and disdain, then made the universal downward motion for me to hunker down—or hold on tight—and disappeared again, making me shout in frustration for real this time.

  More movement from where Nate had disappeared to, and something solid thunked into the wall—another body, I realized, leaving a bloody imprint where it slid down. Aimes, I realized, his head cocked to the side at a rather unhealthy angle, his eyes, wide open, staring at nothing. I waited for him to get up again—or reanimate—but nothing. Another figure came running into the corridor, this one still propelled by her own feet—Gita. What was she doing back here? She’d been in the server room last I’d checked, with no reason to go anywhere except straight back out of the complex. She was limping, and one side of her face was covered in blood, likely from a cut close to her hairline. She cast around frantically, backing up t
oward where Russell was down, her mouth opening in repeated shouts that I couldn’t hear through the glass. As she continued to back up further into the bright light spilling through the window, I noticed the trail of blood she left on the floor. That wasn’t a simple cut, but something had torn off half of her right ear and chunks of flesh from her temple and cheek—not looking good.

  Frustration and grief just added fuel to the fire raging inside of me, but that damn display was still at eight minutes. Exhaling loudly to clear my head, I took two steps back, torn with indecision. Pounding on the glass was a bad idea because I didn’t want to distract her if I could help it. Not that it mattered much—she would be dying either way, with no chance at all against the virus, not even hoping that whatever had killed Rodriguez wouldn’t work on the rest of us. Because she hadn’t been inoculated.

  Yet.

  It was a stupid idea, I knew that, but it wasn’t like she had options—and neither did I. So I did what any crazy scientist would have done and sprinted back toward the vault, skidding on the floor with every step. Adrenaline surged, making me so jumpy for a second that I only hit half the keys to disengage the lock. The door opened on the second try. I was through as soon as I could squeeze myself inside, aiming for the back of the room. I’d forgotten the number of the tank but managed to visually pick it out in no time. Getting the lid off was a nightmare but I managed, need lending my fingers strength they hadn’t had an hour ago. I didn’t give a shit about sloshing nitrogen, trusting that the suit could easily be dunked in that shit for minutes and would survive a few splatters. I almost dropped the box as I fumbled it out of the rack but managed to hold on to it even as the rack fell back into the tank, more nitrogen boiling off as it splashed out. I barely took the time to plonk the lid back onto the tank, then headed for the door, but made a quick detour to pick up Hamilton’s discarded gun. Habit had me check the magazine, not sure whether I was relieved to find it loaded and full. I hadn’t expected him to bluff, but knowing how close I’d been to getting my brains blown out wasn’t exactly comforting. As the box was already sitting on the workbench, I took the lid off and inspected the vials still inside. There were three left of the batch I needed, but also over thirty that I wasn’t certain about. It must have been Andrada’s personal research box to hold both the cure and what might be one of the most lethal weaponized versions, so there was no guessing to the other contents. I could only use those three vials so it made no sense to take the rest. And mostly out of spite than rational action I dumped the box in the desk autoclave sitting by the door, yet didn’t bother trying to see if it was still operational. No one would look for anything in there so it was the best I could do.

  I shut the vault door and headed back toward the decontamination showers, pausing for a few seconds by the viewing window when I felt a little woozy all of a sudden. Air, right. Snatching up one of the hoses, I let fresh—and wonderfully cool—air into my suit, using the few seconds of downtime to check on what was going on outside. The corridor was deserted, and the boot—with the rest of Russell presumably still attached—was gone, the few drops of blood from Gita leading in a haphazard line in the other direction.

  Disconnecting the hose, I rounded the next corner, my gaze first skipping to the display. 1:35. Perfect timing, except that I still had ninety-five seconds to waste—and then ten whole minutes more. My entire body was vibrating with tension, and the thought crossed my mind that Nate must have felt like this when I’d locked him in the decon shower way back when. Payback never felt good, but this absolutely sucked!

  The countdown finally reached zero, and I was yanking at the handle as soon as the display went off. Of course it was still locked, only letting me wrench open the door after the exit had locked itself once more, leaving me staring balefully at it, wishing Hamilton and Richards to die a violent yet slow death. I slammed my palm down on the button to start the showers, forcing my muscles to lock in place as the torrential rain of chemicals started pelting me. I’d felt a million times better the last time I’d been in this very situation, and back then I’d been halfway convinced that I’d infected myself with that damn zombie virus. Ah, good times.

  What couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds in, I started pacing, incapable of remaining still. I rolled my shoulders, tried stretching the long muscles in my body, getting my fingers to be as nimble as they would be—without dropping the vials. I knew I shouldn’t take them out like this without a containment vessel but I honestly didn’t give a shit.

  And most of all, I needed to get out of here and do something!

  The gush of chemicals started tapering off and I knew my last ten seconds of captivity had begun. So I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth—and slammed my fist as hard as I could into the softer flesh just above my kidney. The black of my vision turned red with pain, then white as agony continued to explode through my body, but I didn’t care. I hurled myself at the door as soon as the lock disengaged with a clicking sound, stumbling out of the shower with my suit still dripping shit nobody should ever inhale or come in direct skin contact with.

  The prep room lay deserted, two discarded suits on the floor to the side. I didn’t lose a step as I grabbed the zipper of my suit, tearing the plastic around it as I opened it too fast, yanking too hard. Cooler air hit my sweaty body as I fumbled with the tape of the gloves, quickly transferring the vials to the inside of the latex glove I’d just torn off. A last kick and my feet were free of the boots, and I was flying into the changing rooms, ignoring the showers. No trace of Hamilton or Richards, but at least they’d left my pack where I’d dropped it.

  “Bree?”

  I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard Gita’s voice coming from behind me. It took me a second to force my body to relax and not karate-chop her on principle. She sounded scared out of her mind, and when I turned to look at her, I found her huddled in on herself, her face white and sweaty where it wasn’t caked with blood, trembling all over. The carbine she was clutching was more for moral support than anything else from the looks of it.

  “They came out of nowhere,” she panted out, her voice hoarse from panic, and likely pain. “We had no warning. No screams, not even a thump or anything. Fuck, we still don’t know how many of them are out there!” A pause as she gasped for breath. “Hamilton shoved me in here. I didn’t see you anywhere but when I checked the other room, I saw that the shower was on, so I figured you were still in there.”

  “Yeah, the assholes locked me in the hot zone,” I grumbled, searching my things for my com first. When I switched it on, there was the typical low-level static but nothing more than the odd squeak or whine. “Lewis here. Anyone, copy?” I asked, feeling my stomach knot with anxiety. They couldn’t all be gone yet.

  “It’s not working because of the shell around the lab,” Gita supplied, sounding just a little more like herself now that my presence served as a welcome distraction—or she knew she hadn’t been completely abandoned. I could relate, even if I tried hard not to show any of that. “It will… at least I think it will work again once we’re back at the other labs.”

  I ignored her stutters as I shoved my feet into my boots, then grabbed a pair of latex gloves as I hastened over to her so I could grab her head and inspect the damage. The fact that she didn’t flinch although I must have been touching her way too close to the wounds not to hurt told me all I needed to know—spreading numbness was one of the early signs of infection, didn’t I know.

  Tremors ran through her, and I noticed that, already, she was burning up. “They got me back in the server room,” she whispered, her voice losing strength. “I was just sitting there. And then I wasn’t. I didn’t even feel the pain at first, just a sense of vertigo as something pulled me out of the chair and to the ground.”

  Done, I let go of her head in favor of grabbing her shoulders, forcing her to focus on me.

  “Take a calm breath,” I told her with authority that I absolutely didn’t feel.

  “I’m dying,” s
he continued to whisper, her eyes darting all over me but without latching on to anything. “Bree, I’m dying.”

  “Dying’s overrated,” I snapped back, immediately regretting my tone. “Here, hold this.” I fished one of the vials out of the discarded glove I’d stashed them in. “Until the frozen core is all liquid. And then I’m going to inject you with this. Do you understand?”

  She took the vial but rather than nod, she simply stared at it. “What’s that?”

  “Maybe the cure,” I said, hating how much I hoped that I wasn’t wrong. “I’m running on theories here but that’s all we got. It’s the same batch that I found mentioned in the letters. I don’t know if it will help you, but it’s worth a shot, right? It won’t kill you faster than what’s already killing you.”

  She nodded but there was no hope in her eyes, not even a glimmer. I really wanted to hug her but we didn’t have the time. Getting into my gear wasted another handful of minutes, but I couldn’t go out there in my underwear and hope to survive. All my extra magazines suddenly didn’t sound as much like overkill as the soldiers had made fun of back when we’d landed at the beach. But Gita first.