“The witch?” Briddey said, lost. “In Zombiegeddon?”
“No. In Tangled. She sees the horse and figures out it must have had a rider and then she thinks, ‘Maybe he found the tower,’ and she goes back and finds out Rapunzel’s gone—”
“Exactly. Each clue will lead them to the next one, and we won’t be able to stop it. It’ll be like a—” She started to say “a snowball” and then changed her mind. They didn’t have time to listen to the entire plot of Frozen, too. “Like a feedback loop,” she said instead. “You know what that is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know what a feedback loop is,” Maeve said.
“A feedback loop,” C.B. murmured.
“What?” Briddey said.
“Nothing,” he said, and waved her to continue.
“So, Maeve, you know that once a feedback loop is in motion, it keeps getting stronger and stronger, till there’s no way to stop it. Right, C.B.?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.
“Like dominoes,” Maeve said. “Where you knock one over, and it knocks the next one over, and the next.”
“Till they all fall down. Yes,” Briddey said. “If they find out you’re telepathic, they’ll realize it’s inherited, and they’ll find the R1b gene cluster, and it’ll tell them how the telepathy works—”
“And that will show them how to replicate it electronically,” C.B. said, coming out of his reverie. “And once they know that, there won’t be any way we can stop them.”
“So it’s really important they don’t find out about you,” Briddey said.
Maeve nodded. “Like in Silence of the Zombies. They’re hiding from the zombies, and they have to be totally quiet—”
“Exactly,” C.B. said. “Your Aunt Briddey and I will take care of this part. I need you to go inside your castle and pull up the drawbridge and then go into the safest part of the castle—”
“My tower,” Maeve said. “It’s really safe. Nobody can get in.”
“Good,” C.B. said. “I want you to lock yourself in and stay there till I tell you it’s safe to come out. And not talk to anybody or listen to anybody, not even Briddey and me.”
“How can I hear you telling me it’s safe to come out if I’m not supposed to listen to you?” Maeve asked practically.
“I’ll text you,” C.B. said.
“How can you? You don’t have a smartphone.”
“I’ll borrow your Aunt Briddey’s. And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. I have a plan.”
“What is it?” Maeve asked eagerly. “Tell me.”
“I can’t. They might be listening. But I can tell you this much. It won’t work unless you do your part.”
“Okay,” Maeve said grudgingly. “But it better be a good plan.” And she disappeared.
“Is it?” Briddey asked after she was gone. “A good plan?”
He ignored her question. “When Dr. Verrick talked to you about connecting, he told you the neural pathway operated as a feedback loop, right? And that each signal between you intensified it exponentially?”
“Yes, and you told me it didn’t work like that.”
“It doesn’t.”
“So how does that help your plan?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer: “You don’t have a plan, do you?”
“No, not yet. But don’t worry. I’ll come up with something. And if all else fails, we’ll throw miscellaneous arms and legs and hands at them while we escape, like they do in Zombienado.” He grinned at her. “Seriously, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. And hope it isn’t the Tallahatchie. In the meantime, we need to go help your boyfriend and Lyzandra get their defenses up.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Briddey said.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, too.”
C.B. held out his hand again and led her out of the courtyard into the testing room. “Right now we need to get in there before they come looking for us. If they aren’t already.” And when she hesitated he said, “I got you out of the theater, didn’t I? And out of the library? I’ll get us out of this.”
I hope so, she thought fervently.
“Come on,” he said, and smiled at her. “Let’s go save France.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Completely.”
“Good. Follow me. I’m getting us out of here.”
—SYFY’S Alice
C.B. had been worried that they might be looking for them, but they were all in the other testing room, along with a nurse, who knelt next to Lyzandra as she sat huddled on a chair with a blanket around her shoulders, breathing raggedly into an oxygen mask. The nurse was taking her blood pressure, and at every touch Lyzandra flinched. Trent sat across from them, brushing compulsively at his arms and pant legs.
Dr. Verrick looked up, saw C.B. and Briddey, and said brusquely, “Why aren’t you in the testing room?”
At the same time, Trent said, “What are you doing here, Schwartz? Did Commspan send you down?” And Lyzandra backed against the wall, pointed an accusing finger at Briddey, and shrieked, “Don’t let her near me! She’ll do it again!”
Nobody’s going to do anything to you, Briddey heard C.B. say to her. I’m here to help, and it was obvious Lyzandra had heard him because she turned, her finger still pointed at Briddey, to look at him in surprise. It was equally obvious that Trent hadn’t heard, because he said anxiously, “I’d rather you didn’t say anything about this at Commspan, Schwartz.”
Dr. Verrick strode toward C.B. “You can’t be in here. Ms. Flannigan, who is this?” he demanded. “And what’s he doing here?”
“He’s C. B. Schwartz,” Trent answered for her. “He works at Commspan. I’m assuming he’s here on business.” He turned to C.B. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” C.B. said.
“He’s—” Lyzandra began.
C.B. cut her off. Tell Dr. Verrick the nurse has to leave, he ordered her. You want to avoid publicity about this, right?
Lyzandra nodded and ordered the nurse out.
“She needs to be admitted,” the nurse protested, looking at Dr. Verrick. “She’s obviously distraught, and her heart rate—”
“I want her to leave now,” Lyzandra said, but Briddey was scarcely listening. She was wondering why she could hear C.B.’s thoughts but not Lyzandra’s or Dr. Verrick’s.
The radio, Briddey thought. It got turned off in the flood. And while the nurse was objecting to being sent out, she went back into the courtyard to find it. It was lying on its side in a puddle of water, and the tuning dial was half melted, but she managed to get it switched on. She couldn’t find Dr. Verrick’s station or Lyzandra’s. She had to settle for Trent’s.
Mistake. His thoughts were a nearly incoherent tangle of fear, loathing, and insects crawling all over him, mixed with concern about what C.B. was doing there and what he was going to tell Commspan. She tapped on the knob, and Lyzandra’s thoughts poured out, more hysterically incoherent than Trent’s.
The nurse was still arguing with Dr. Verrick. “Either she leaves or I leave,” Lyzandra said, and, still wrapped in the blanket, tried to get up out of the chair.
“No, don’t,” Dr. Verrick said hastily. “Nurse, that will be all.” He motioned her out.
“But—”
“Your presence is upsetting my patient. I’ll call you if I need you.”
The nurse went out, and the moment the door shut behind her, Dr. Verrick said to Briddey, “Now suppose you tell me exactly what’s going on and what this man is doing here?”
“He’s the mind reader she was talking to,” Lyzandra said, “the person she was trying to keep secret.”
C.B.? Briddey heard Trent think disbelievingly.
“Is that true, Ms. Flannigan?” Dr. Verrick asked Briddey.
It’s okay, Briddey, C.B. said. Tell him.
“Yes,” she said reluctantly.
“Why wouldn’t you tell us you were talking to him?” Dr. Verrick asked.
Because I knew what would h
appen, Briddey thought bitterly. Exactly what’s happening right now. An interrogation. “You said two people had to be emotionally bonded to connect,” she said. “And I was afraid Trent would—”
“Think that you were emotionally bonded to C.B. Schwartz?” Trent said. “You’re joking, right?” and Briddey winced.
Dr. Verrick turned to C.B. “How long have you two been able to communicate?”
“Since right after Ms. Flannigan’s surgery.”
“Right after—?” Trent said.
Dr. Verrick silenced him with a look. “That was why you left your hospital room that night,” he said to Briddey as if it confirmed what he’d suspected all along. “Because you heard his voice, and it frightened you.”
“Yes,” C.B. answered for her.
“Are you the one who did this to my patients?”
“No,” Briddey said. “I did.”
“You did?” Trent burst out.
“It doesn’t matter who did it,” C.B. said. “What matters is making sure it can’t happen again.” He started toward Lyzandra. “I need to talk to them. I need to—”
Dr. Verrick moved to stop him. “You’re not going anywhere near my patients, not until you’ve told me how you came to be connected to Ms. Flannigan. Who did your EED?”
“We don’t have time for this,” C.B. said. “You heard the nurse. Lyzandra’s heart rate is dangerously high. Let me—”
“Not till you answer my questions. Who did your EED?”
“Nobody.”
Oh, don’t tell him that, Briddey thought.
“I tripped over some cables in my lab a few days ago and cracked my head,” C.B. said, pointing at a place on the back of his neck in the same location as Briddey’s stitches. “Knocked myself out, and when I came to, I could hear voices. Including Ms. Flannigan’s. And that mob of strangers these two just heard.” He gestured at Trent and Lyzandra. “And that they’ll hear again if I don’t show them how to defend themselves.”
“Defend themselves?” Dr. Verrick said. “What does that mean? And how do I know you won’t do them further harm? Or that you’re even telepathic? You haven’t given me any proof.”
“I was the one who called the hospital that night,” C.B. said, “to report that Ms. Flannigan had left her room and was in the stairwell. You can check the hospital call log and Commspan’s. I made the call from there.”
“That’s hardly proof.”
“Look, I’ll give you any proof you want after I’ve—”
“I’m not letting you do anything until—”
“Fine,” C.B. said, and snatched up the Zener cards from the table. “Briddey, go to Dr. Verrick’s office and write down what I send you.” He handed the cards to Dr. Verrick. “Shuffle them.”
Are you sure you want to do this? Briddey asked.
Yes, he said. Go.
She nodded and went down the inner hall to the office where they’d been before, hoping she wouldn’t have to contend with the banished nurse, but the office was empty. She grabbed a pen off the desk and began opening drawers, looking for something to write on. The bottom one held the plastic bag of her belongings that the nurse had taken from her.
Ready? C.B. asked.
Almost, she said, taking her phone out of the bag and pocketing it. Okay. Am I supposed to—?
Just write what I tell you, he said, and rattled off a series of symbols—star, star, cross, wavy lines, circle—which she transcribed.
Okay, come back in, he said, and the moment she did, he grabbed the list from her and thrust it into Dr. Verrick’s hands. “There’s your proof. Now let us help them.”
Dr. Verrick wasn’t listening. He was looking from the list to the upturned cards. “This is a perfect score,” he said, sounding astonished.
You gave me all right answers? Briddey said, horrified. To let Dr. Verrick know the full extent of his telepathy was suicide. He’d—
I didn’t have time for anything else, C.B. said. It was the only way to convince him.
Only it hadn’t. “This is impossible,” Dr. Verrick was saying. “Is this some kind of trick?”
“No,” Lyzandra said shakily. “It’s real. I heard them sending. Please, let them help us.”
Dr. Verrick glared at her. “This is completely against medical—”
“Look,” C.B. said, “I’ll agree to whatever tests or scans you want—”
No! Briddey thought.
“—but you’ve got to let us help them now.”
“Please!” Lyzandra begged, shivering convulsively. “Let him. Before the voices come back!”
“All right,” Dr. Verrick said. “But then I want answers.”
“It’s a deal,” C.B. said, and went immediately to Lyzandra. “You help Trent,” he told Briddey. And keep Verrick out of my way. He squatted down in front of Lyzandra and said, You’re okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.
“What are you going to do?” Dr. Verrick asked, looking at them.
“Repair the damage you did when you gave her a relaxant,” Briddey said. “If he can. Did you give her anything else?”
“Information regarding a patient’s treatment is protected by physician-patient confidentiality,” Dr. Verrick said stiffly. “It can’t be shared—”
“It already has been, whether you like it or not. Now, did you give her anything else? Or hypnotize her?”
Dr. Verrick looked over at Lyzandra, who was still shaking, though not quite as violently now that C.B. was talking to her.
“No, just the relaxant,” Dr. Verrick said, “and she assured me she’d taken it before without any adverse effects.” He told Briddey the name and dosage, his eyes fixed on Lyzandra, who was watching C.B. intently as he said over and over, You’re okay. They can’t get you.
They were everywhere! Lyzandra sobbed. Everywhere!
I know, C.B. said comfortingly, but it’s okay now. They—
“Where did you go?” Lyzandra cried, grabbing wildly for him. “I can’t hear you.”
Briddey looked inquiringly over at C.B., who was still saying, They can’t get you.
“I can’t hear you,” Lyzandra wailed, and then, as C.B. repeated, I’m right here, she suddenly relaxed.
Oh, thank goodness, she said. For a moment there—
“What just happened?” Dr. Verrick asked Briddey.
What did happen? Briddey asked C.B. Why couldn’t she hear you?
I don’t know, C.B. said, frowning. The other voices must have drowned mine out for a few seconds.
No, they didn’t, Lyzandra said. I couldn’t hear anything!
“Why did Lyzandra say she couldn’t hear you?” Dr. Verrick was asking.
“Because you distracted her,” Briddey said. “You need to sit down and keep very quiet so you don’t break their concentration. If you do, she could go into shock. Or worse.”
“Worse?”
“The relaxant you gave her increased her sensitivity to the telepathic signals, causing a sensory overload that could produce a psychotic break. Which would hardly look good on your record.”
Dr. Verrick nodded, looking suddenly pale, and sat down.
Good job, C.B. said. You’ve got him worried about malpractice suits, which should keep him busy awhile. Now go help your boyfriend before he gets the heebie-jeebies again.
Briddey looked at Trent. He had started swiping nervously at his pant legs. What do I do first? she asked C.B.
What I did with you in the library, C.B. said. No, scratch that. Just tell him how to build a perimeter.
Roger, Dawn Patrol, just the perimeter, she said, and sat down facing Trent.
“What are you smiling about?” Trent said. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. There must have been at least a dozen voices, and they were swarming all over me!”
A dozen, she thought, thinking of the thousands that had swamped her and of C.B.’s poor burned hands.
Trent shuddered. “They were crawling up my clothes and into my ears. It was horrible!”
>
“I know,” she said sympathetically, noticing that Dr. Verrick had reached for a notebook. So much for having scared him. “I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” But we have to talk mentally, not aloud, she added, trying to keep what Dr. Verrick found out to a minimum.
All right, Trent said, digging at his neck. You should have warned me. Just think if we’d gone ahead with the phone and then something like this had happened!
At least he recognizes how dangerous telepathy is, she thought, and started to explain how to put up a perimeter. You need to imagine a wall or a—
Imagine? Trent said scornfully. You’re going to teach me to imagine these things away?
No, your brain will be creating electrochemical defenses, but the way you make it do that is by visualizing a wall or—
Did Schwartz tell you that? Trent said, looking over at C.B. Lyzandra had a death grip on his knee just like Briddey’d had that night in his car.
It was more fun when you did it, C.B. told her, and she started to smile again and then decided she’d better not let Trent see that.
But he wasn’t looking at her. He was still watching C.B. I can’t believe you thought I’d be jealous of him! I mean, I know Dr. Verrick told us an emotional bond was necessary for people to connect, but come on! The Hunchback of Notre Dame?
You have no idea how close you are to me opening that door and letting you be devoured by bugs, Briddey thought, but C.B. had said to help him, so she took Trent through the steps of putting up his perimeter and then said, If you hear the voices, you focus on it and think, “They can’t get through it.”
Trent nodded. I focus on— His voice cut off.
Briddey frowned. Trent, can you hear me?
Nothing. She couldn’t hear him at all. And his wasn’t the only voice to have cut out. C.B.’s voice and Lyzandra’s, which she’d heard continuously in the background as she coached Trent, had gone silent, too, and so had the always-present murmur of the voices beyond her perimeter.
She glanced over at C.B., but he and Lyzandra were obviously still able to hear each other. He was still focused intently on her, and she still had that death grip on his knee. So what was happening?
C.B.’s decided to try to block the voices after all, in spite of the difficulty, Briddey thought. He concluded it was the only way to keep the telepathy out of their hands, so he blocked Lyzandra, and now he’s blocking me.
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