Run

by James Moore

  Then again, sometimes big things came in small packages. At least, that was what Tina’s mom always said—before she wound up dead in the river.

  Josh was looking at her stash, and she could almost see the gears in his head working on whether or not he could get the contents away from her.

  “You even think too hard about what I’m carrying, and I’ll break both of your thumbs.” Theresa looked him up and down again, a scowl showing how little she thought of his chances. “Can’t do much of anything without them. Saw a kid try all summer long, but she couldn’t even hold her own sodas. So you get to feeling like trying your luck without thumbs, you go for it. Otherwise, look somewhere else. You’re too old to be giving me the eye like that.” He hadn’t been, but she liked the look of discomfort he got on his face.

  Theresa set her hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze hard enough to make him wince. “Lead the way. You set off any alarms, I’ll kill you before anything can happen to me. You believe me?”

  Before he could answer, the first sirens went off.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sam Hall

  SAM STRAINED AGAINST HIS bonds again, his anger growing like a forest fire: one little spark that was rapidly getting hungrier and hungrier.

  This wasn’t the plan. He’d told Evelyn Hope the exact time, given her every advantage, sold out the others for a chance at a real life. He knew there was a possibility of betrayal, but he’d been hoping hard that he could get away with it. Now that he had realized he wasn’t going to get free of the situation or the tiresome Other hiding inside of him, the smoldering little flame had become a conflagration.

  Calm down. The thought came into his head without warning, and before he even realized it, he was actually obeying, relaxing against his bonds.

  “What?” The sound of his own voice surprised him.

  Calm down. They’re coming. We’re going to get you out of there.

  “Who are you?” He looked around the small room. Not-Kyrie was looking around, puzzled as he was, but other than that there wasn’t much to see.

  “Is there a voice in your head?” He asked the question of Not-Kyrie, who looked back and nodded, making him feel just that little bit better about himself. Maybe he wasn’t going insane. He’d accepted that Joe could talk in his head, but that was the only voice he’d ever heard there until now.

  “And it isn’t Joe?”

  “No.”

  Shut the hell up. I’m concentrating. I have to time this just right and after that it’s up to the two of you.

  “All right. Who the hell is that?”

  Cody/Hank growled. “Who do you think it is, dumb ass? Now shut up for a minute.”

  Sam was about to tell Hank where he could shove his attitude when the other boy groaned again and grew smaller. That was the only way to put it. He deflated down to Cody’s size and shivered violently. As he was letting out a moan, he slid his hands free of their restraints. Both of his wrists were hideously bruised, almost black, but he ignored them and reached for his ankles.

  “Damn it, still too tight.” The voice was wrong, too weak to even be Cody’s, and the runt was already high and squeaky. Just the same, Sam saw the boy grab the leg restraint in thin fingers and slip his hands completely around the thick metal before he changed again, growing almost violently. The skin on his body was slippery with sweat, and there were several angry-looking red marks around his joints. Sam had never seen them firsthand, but Gene had. They looked like the stretch marks on Gene’s mother’s waist when she was pregnant with Trish. The skin had grown too much, and rather than rupture, it stretched. Hank was covered with stretch marks much the same way, but in different areas.

  Hank let out a low groan, and his arms trembled as he grabbed the metal cuff and pulled. Sam thought for sure that he would give up, but instead the metal let out a wounded shriek and split along the seam. Hank’s right leg was freed.

  He hopped off the table, his left leg still stuck in the same position as before. He reached out and grabbed again, his fingernails pulling the fabric of the jumpsuit roughly out of his way.

  Tell me when you hear they’re almost here. The mental voice was calm and almost confusing when compared to the wounded, angry sounds coming from Hank/Cody’s mouth. His body was still changing, not quite settling into any particular size.

  Sam had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

  “I can hear them talking. They’re almost at the door.” Not-Kyrie spoke, her voice tense, her face showing her anxiety. She actually thought that Hank was going to get them out of this.

  Hank grunted again and the sound of metal snapping gave away the fact that he’d freed himself. Sam had tried—and hard—to work the restraints free, but to no avail. Hank had just freed himself and Sam had failed. That didn’t sit well.

  Rather than speaking to either of them, Hank moved his bulk against the wall near the door, where he would be hardest to see when whoever was coming showed up.

  His blood stained the torn fabric on the left leg of his jumper. Whatever he’d done to free himself, he’d been injured in the process.

  Not-Kyrie suddenly threw herself against her restraints, screaming loud enough to deafen. “Let me out of here, you bastards!” She was glaring at the door even as it opened. Sam had not heard anything as they came closer, but somehow Not-Kyrie had known.

  Two men entered the room, and a third was in the hallway beyond them. Sam could see that much.

  “You need to calm down.” The man speaking had a deep voice and a southern drawl. He shaved his head and probably thought he looked intimidating, but Sam thought he looked a little too melon-like to be tough.

  The gun in his hand, however, was a different story. It wasn’t killing weapon, but a dart gun. Whatever was in the darts would probably be very strong.

  “Bite me, loser!” Not-Kyrie was keeping it up, throwing herself toward them with all of her strength. Her body strained and fell back, arched and slumped, making him think of a dog straining against a leash.

  The man took two steps forward and aimed the gun at her midriff.

  Hank’s hand closed over his hand and the gun and squeezed. Baldy’s eyes flew wide, and he let out a yelp that quickly became a scream as the bones in his hand cracked and broke, making a sound like muffled firecrackers.

  He thrashed and tried to escape from the overwhelming pain, but he failed. Hank pulled the man the rest of the way into the room and threw him aside. Then he reached into the hallway and grabbed at the remaining men.

  They were quick to retreat.

  But Hank was faster. He didn’t speak or make light of the situation for once. When they’d had to take on a bar full of bikers, Hank had been cheerfully violent, laughing and making smart-ass comments as he fought. That was gone now, replaced by the sweating, bloodied, straining giant who battered both of his victims into unconsciousness without a word.

  Sam tried to watch the violence—to see what the hell was going on—but the angle was wrong. Not-Kyrie watched, however, a smile growing on her face.

  “He got the keys.”

  A moment later, Hank staggered back into the room, his hands shaking and covered in blood. He was holding a small ring of keys. He didn’t bother looking at Sam. Instead he unlocked the restraints holding Not-Kyrie.

  “What about me?”

  Hank looked toward him, his eyes dark with menace. When he spoke, it was internal, with his mind. Sam could see that Not-Kyrie heard nothing of the words.

  What about you? You sold us out. I read it in your mind. You told them where we would be and when we’d get there. You let them know we had weapons and that we’d be showing up on the bikes. I should leave you to die, you little bitch.

  Anger and shame mingled in Sam’s innards and he felt his face blush red at the same time that his stomach froze with dread.

  “I-“

  Don’t say it out loud. No one else knows. Let’s keep it that way.

  Without saying another wor
d, Hank moved over and unlocked his wrists quickly. While he went to work on Sam’s ankles, Not-Kyrie moved. She shook her wrists and legs, working blood back into areas that hadn’t gotten enough to stay comfortable.

  Hank stepped back. You’re free. You want to help me, stay with us. You want to run off and save yourself, do it now. But if you ever betray us again, Sam, I’ll kill you.

  Sam trembled. Hank wasn’t going to leave him to die or even tell anyone else. He was giving Sam a choice, something that had never really been offered before.

  “I’ll help.” The words crept out of his mouth like secrets.

  Hank nodded and said, “Good.” Then he fell on his face and shrank in size, reverting to Cody.

  Not-Kyrie looked at Cody for a few seconds, then grabbed him, lifting his weight with ease and draping him over her shoulder. She was a good deal smaller than Sam, but she was strong.

  “You gonna stare at me all day? Or are we getting the hell out of here?” Her voice caught him off guard. He’d been lost in the strange mix of guilt and anger. He had to work on that.

  And he’d have to work fast. The alarms sounded as they entered the hallway. Someone knew they’d gotten free.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Joe Bronx

  THE BELLS STARTED RINGING before he even tried to make a break for it. Joe suppressed a smile. This was better than he’d hoped. The alarm meant that some of the guards would be distracted, and maybe, if he was very lucky, some of his friends had escaped already.

  When the guards came by to check on him, Joe behaved himself and slumped back against his table. They were scared of him. He needed to make sure they weren’t scared enough to shoot. Not yet, at least.

  There were cameras, of course. They could see it when he was struggling to break free. They could hear him when he cursed under his breath, and every time he got too busy with the struggling to break free, they came back into the room again.

  He needed to make sure that stopped because he was finally ready to get the hell out of the room.

  He’d almost shattered the bones in his wrist earlier, but in the long run he’d managed to break the restraint instead. He’d almost let that fact slip at first, but he’d covered it over by screaming for Evelyn to come tuck him into his bed. She was out there somewhere and probably close by. He knew it, could sense it, and knew her well enough to know that she would never leave her precious boy Bobby alone, not when he was so near.

  Had she figured out what Subject Seven had discovered a long time ago? Yes, she had. Bobby was coming back. He’d been gone for almost five years after the car hit Joe in the head. Whatever brain cells made up Bobby had been damaged, crushed by the blow. Now they were coming back. Bobby was coming back. Hunter was bad enough, but Bobby? That little worm would try to run home to his mommy at every opportunity. The thought was enough to make Joe grind his teeth.

  This had to end. He’d find a way.

  But first there was the matter of getting free.

  He worked his arms first and then his legs. The restraints gave easily now. Enough force and you could bend almost anything. He didn’t need to break the bonds, only to stretch them. And he had.

  The guards would come soon. Very soon. He could hear their heartbeats. They were nice and steady. Good. Earlier they had been worried, afraid the restraints wouldn’t hold, perhaps, or that the big scary monster man might shoot lasers from his eyes. He didn’t know for sure what they’d been thinking—only that they had been very cautious and more than a little scared. Now routine was making them cocky. He hadn’t misbehaved nearly enough, and that meant he was safe and secure in his room.

  He could have broken out at any point in the last hour, but that wouldn’t have worked for him.

  First he needed the guards to be complacent, because they had weapons, and he wanted those weapons for his own.

  Closer. They were coming closer. Seven made himself relax.

  Five steps away.

  Four. Three. Two. One.

  The door opened, letting in the sound of the alarm bells going loud and proud.

  And Joe leaped.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Theresa

  WARBURTON BACKED UP, HIS hands held high above his head. “I didn’t do anything! You see me! I didn’t do anything!” He was afraid she’d kill him. That made him smarter than he looked, because she was seriously considering it.

  Stay calm. You can’t lose it. If you go crazy now, everyone dies.

  Theresa listened to the voice, nodded to herself and pointed the business end of her .357 Magnum at Warburton’s round, nervous face.

  “Shut it. Start walking. Any security problems, you fix them or I fix you.” She slipped away into the shadows, leaving the man looking around desperately before he finally decided he should do as he was told.

  The man walked around to the side of the building and went to a security keypad that required both a code and a card key. She watched him carefully as he entered in his code and ran the magnetic stripe on the card. Then as the door in front of him opened, she moved fast, urging him through the door and slipping in with him.

  Her eyes were far more sensitive than his, so she saw the way he licked his lips and the way his eyes moved to the left. Nervous signs. “Tells” is what Tony Parmiatto called them. Signs that someone knew something more than he should have and was nervous about it. Tina had doted on every word Tony said. That was good, because all the little things he told her were making Theresa’s life a lot easier. Theresa slid to the right, crouching low and moving behind Warburton’s stocky body. He wasn’t tall, but he made a great shield. When she looked around his shoulder, she saw the camera’s small red light. Security. She could handle security. She’d half expected a guard with a gun.

  As they moved out of the room and down a small corridor she eyeballed the walls and ceiling, looking for more cameras. Nothing made itself known to her.

  Warburton’s face kissed the wall roughly as she pushed him against it and slid the barrel of her weapon against the side of his neck. “Skip telling me about any other cameras or security. Please,” she dared him. “I promise the first shot will just blow out your arm, or maybe your leg.” She leaned in close until she was once again violating his personal space and pushing his whole body against the wall. “You believe me? You want me to prove it?”

  He whined. “No. Please. I’m sorry. I got scared is all.”

  “Don’t get scared and you don’t get dead. Just get me to where my friends are, or I kill you. It’s that easy.”

  She resisted the urge to slap the back of his head for his trouble. The hallway led to one doorway and nothing else. She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him in front of her. If a bullet was coming for someone, it was going to have his name on it, not hers.

  The doorway opened into an empty room. On the other side of the small room was an elevator. “Okay, seriously, do you guys have a lot of these places around?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A door to a hallway to a room that leads to an elevator. Is there really a place here? Or are you screwing with me?”

  “We don’t exactly have our offices out in the open.” He shook his head. “We deal in genetically altered mercenaries and high-tech weapons. You can’t just sell what we sell at the local strip mall.”

  “Just get us where we’re going before I get bored.” The sad part was she was serious. She was getting bored, and if she got too tired of waiting around, there was a chance that Tina would want out. She couldn’t have that. Not yet.

  Warburton reached into his pocket—carefully when she slid the weapon against his neck again—and found the key ring that let him activate the elevator.

  “What’s with the alarms, anyway?”

  “For all I know someone just tried to break into one of the real clinics.” He shrugged, but his pulse rate spiked. He was lying. She didn’t call him on it, not this time.

  “Your life. Your choices to make. I’m just sayin’ is all.�
�

  Warburton licked his lips. “Maybe it’s us. Maybe one of your friends tried to get away.” She tried to focus, but she couldn’t feel Joe’s presence in her head. The other one was there, though, weak but there.

  Can you tell me what’s going on? Theresa thought. She wasn’t sure if she could communicate with the new voice unless it talked first, but she had to try.

  No. I’m not sure. There are people all around, moving, running, but I don’t know why. The voice was distorted, fading in and out.

  Who is this?

  There was no answer. Instead a loud bell rang and the elevator doors opened. Warburton started forward and Theresa grabbed him. “There a camera?”

  He nodded, not quite daring to speak.

  “Where?”

  “Front of the car, on the left side.”

  She let him move into the elevator and slipped in herself, crouching low as she moved under the position he claimed had the camera. Maybe it would see her. Maybe it wouldn’t. That was the best she could do.

  As the car started descending, the sound of alarms grew louder and louder. Warburton looked at her and then looked away, moving from foot to foot nervously.

  “Calm down. You stay calm, no one has to get hurt.”

  He swallowed hard. “It might be too late for that.”

  Before she could ask him what he meant, the car came to a soft stop.

  Theresa tapped the pistol softly against her leg, careful to leave the barrel pointed away from her. It wouldn’t do her any good to blow her leg off.

  When the door opened, she didn’t wait. She moved, pushing past the sliding metal and checking the hallway around her. There was nothing to see except another small room, almost identical to the one she’d left when she got in the elevator. The difference was that there was a security desk at this one. It was empty.

  She grabbed Warburton just as he was reaching for the elevator buttons, apparently to try to maybe close the door and get the hell out of there.