They really were. “Where did you get them?” Logan asked. They sure didn’t taste like the usual fast food burger.
“There’s a new food truck park around the block from the strip mall. They’ve been pulling in all week and finally opened today, thank goodness.”
Quincy and Dave shared a slightly bemused, relieved glance, and Logan made an effort to not feel offended. He worked hard to make meals on his hot plate. Sure, maybe they didn’t always turn out but still, he tried. Where was their sense of adventure?
“What books did you get this time?” Dave asked, breaking up Logan’s betrayed train of thought.
“A little of this, little of that,” she said. “Nothing too exciting - a couple of psych books, a how-to on marathon running, and something to do with woodworking.” She took another bite of her burger. “Oh, and I did find a copy of Jane Austen’s unfinished novel Sanditon, which you never find, so that’s something.”
“Well that sounds like a good time,” Logan said. “I’ll be sorry to miss an evening of psychology and carpentry skills.”
“You know,” Dave broke in, “you don’t need to stand watch every night. We’re very well-protected here.”
It was a familiar refrain and one they’d talked about many times over their years together. Dave worried too little, Logan too much. But the soldier in him wouldn’t allow there to be no overnight guard. He felt safer during the day - an enemy was less likely to cause a scene in the middle of a public area in broad daylight.
Events in Sheraton had shaken his confidence in that position somewhat. But still, Dave was mostly right. They had shaken every tail they’d picked up in Brandon and the Colonel. It would probably be awhile before the company sent a new bird dog after Quincy. Still, he felt better keeping watch while they slept. Or while Dave slept and Quincy spent her nights in agony, unable to shut off her brain enough to sleep. If he stayed here, he would stay up with her. He knew himself well enough to know that much.
Quincy wadded up the wrapper from her burger and dumped it back into the bag. She pushed back from the table and stood. “Want to get in a couple hours of practice before you head out for the night?”
Logan balled up the napkin in his fist and stood as well. “Sure,” he said. “Might as well.”
He was pleased with the progress Quincy had made. She’d picked up his fighting techniques quickly, which didn’t really surprise him. All he had to do was demonstrate a move once and she had it. She was fast and strong from running, which helped. But as small as she was, she needed every advantage she could get. And it was good for him, too. Kept him in practice.
She smiled up at him as they walked towards the bunker entrance. “I’ll try not to break your nose this time.”
“Promises, promises.”
Chapter 39
Claire
Claire’s eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright in bed.
It was dark in her cell and she guessed it was after midnight. She’d been able to sleep lightly for a few hours, which was rare, but something had woken her. What was it?
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see her room was empty except for her. Amy hadn’t wandered in, as she was sometimes prone to do.
It was quiet, as usual. No noise sounded from the hallway outside her door. No squeak of shoes as guards made their rounds, no buzz of the heating units or drip of water.
But there was something. An uneasiness inside Claire herself. She swung her legs off the bed and closed her eyes for a moment. What was she feeling? She hadn’t realized before that she could feel the others when they were apart, but she reached for them now.
Amy was further away than she normally was. She felt exhilarated, almost euphoric. She had made it all the way to the common room by sensing the locations of the guards and hiding at just the right times. She was getting better at it.
Miguel felt much nearer. He was calm but moody. He could feel a headache coming on and he knew it was because he had been practicing his own gift too much. Apparently there really were consequences to these enhancements, whether they used them or not.
And Andre felt…Claire opened her eyes. Where was Andre? She couldn’t feel him at all. She closed her eyes again and reached out, searching for the spark in her mind that felt like Andre.
There.
He was in his room. But he felt…off. That spark that she felt was dim, and the emotions coming from him were confusing.
He was probably sleeping, or trying to, Claire told herself. She still stood, though, and slipped her feet into the ridiculous padded slippers that were part of their uniforms. She crept to the door and peered out. It seemed like an odd mistake for the company to not keep the doors of their cells locked when they were supposed to be inside but she supposed they thought the guard rotations and cameras would be enough to keep the prisoners where they were supposed to be.
She closed the door and leaned her head against it. Claire had never broken protocol by leaving her room after curfew. She knew where Andre’s room was, but she didn’t know where the guards were. What she really needed was Amy and her hypervigilance. She would feel much safer if she had someone who knew where the guards were at all times.
The pressure in her chest increased. She needed to get to Andre. She didn’t know why. She just knew she needed to. She needed to find out why his spark was so hard to grasp and why his emotions were so jumbled. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t calm. He was…the only word she could come up with was tormented. He was a strange mix of sadness and exhaustion and pain.
Andre could push through pain, she reminded herself. Just this evening he had shared his session with Dr. Cans. Pain was nothing new for Andre.
Maybe that’s the problem.
The voice wasn’t right very often but in this case, Claire had a feeling it was telling her something important. Where was Amy? Why hadn’t she made her way back yet?
A soft knock on the door beside her head startled her, making Claire jump back from where she was leaning. The door eased open and Amy popped her head inside.
“Claire, what are you doing?” she whispered.
Claire grabbed Amy by the wrist and hauled her inside her cell, closing the door silently behind her. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “And what took you so long?”
“I made it all the way into the common room tonight,” she whispered proudly. “But I had to make a couple of detours coming back because of the timing of the guard rotations. Sorry I’m late.”
“What do you mean, late?” Claire asked.
“You wanted me,” Amy said. “I felt you calling and I came.”
“You felt me calling?” Claire asked, baffled.
“Yeah. You needed me and here I am. Totally cool, by the way.”
Okay, then. Claire didn’t have time to work out what it all meant because the urgency inside her was growing.
“We need to get to Andre’s room,” she told Amy, “and I need you to clear the way.”
“Got it,” Amy said, not bothering to ask questions. “The guards are all on the southern end of the building right now. I passed them on my way back up.”
Amy poked her head out of the door and concentrated for a minute, just to make sure. “Yep. All clear.”
Claire followed Amy down the hall, marveling at how quickly the trust had built between them all. Claire could feel each of them in her head, and Amy responded without question when needed. She supposed a year of captivity together would do that for a group of strangers.
“Here it is,” Amy said, stopping in front of Andre’s door. “The guards will be coming back this way in about five minutes though, so we don’t have much time.”
“Understood.” Claire nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Amy turned and put her back against the wall beside Andre’s door, and Claire knocked quietly.
“Andre,” Claire called as loudly as she dared. “Are you awake?”
That tiny spark in her mind jumped, just slightly. He had heard her, but he wasn’
t answering.
“I’m coming in, okay?” she called. “Don’t worry. It’s just me and Amy.”
There was a sound from inside the room, like something scraping across the floor, and Claire pushed the door open slightly, just enough to slip inside. And froze.
Red. Red everywhere.
Even in the dark of the room, she could see it splashed across the walls and soaking into the mattress. And puddled under the man splayed across the floor.
“Amy!” Claire screeched, the panic evident in her voice. “Guards, now!”
Amy took off and Claire was grateful once more that she didn’t feel the need to ask questions.
Claire collapsed to the floor beside Andre, searching for the wound. It was hard to see. The room was still dark and the blood was everywhere. She reached for him, but hesitated, her hands hovering above his chest.
“Where are you hurt?” she asked frantically. “What happened?”
Andre was awake, but barely. She could see his eyes searching for her, knew the moment he locked on.
His mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out.
“Claire,” he was mouthing, over and over. Just her name
“It’s okay,” she said, reaching for his hand. “Help is on the way.”
She felt something hard as she gripped his hand and she slid a sharp piece of plastic from between them. The knife she had misplaced at dinner. The blood slipping over her hand from his wrist told the rest of the story.
“Oh, Andre,” Claire murmured. In that moment, she wished more than anything that she could feel her own emotions. That she wasn’t numb. Because she knew at that moment she should be feeling horror, guilt, and grief. But all she could feel was Andre’s torment, not her own.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper, the words broken and harsh as they rasped from his lips. “The pain.”
Claire squeezed his hand tighter and laid her other hand on his forehead. There was so much blood. Too much blood.
“The pain … no more -”
Andre’s words were broken as his eyes closed and his hand, now limp, slipped from her own.
She reached over and placed his arms across his chest and sat back. The dimly lit spark she had felt from him was gone. As though it were never there.
“No!” a voice gasped from behind her.
Claire felt someone fall beside her, reaching out to check for a pulse that wasn’t there. She looked over and met Dr. Cans’ horrified eyes.
“I didn’t know he was this close,” she said, as though begging Claire for understanding. As though she needed it. “I didn’t know.”
Chapter 40
Quincy
She came awake gasping, the pain hot and sharp as it sliced through her skull. She clutched at her head, digging her fingers into her temples to try to alleviate some of the pain, but it was no use. The pain had burned deep, sinking into the cracks of her brain like hot lava. Quincy curled onto her side, the heels of her hands pressed deep into her eyes. It was all she could do.
This was the third attack in the last two weeks. The frequency would alarm her if she had any room to spare for coherent thought at the moment. As it was, it was just a mundane fact swirling around the white hot blaze inside her head, like how many mushroom caps were native to South America and the number of Nobel prizes in literature that had been awarded since 1901. It didn’t mean anything, not just yet.
It would later, once the pain had subsided and she’d had a chance to sleep it off. Later, it would give cause for worry. It would confirm in her own mind that the migraines were linked to RNB in a substantial way.
She had been using it a lot lately, in more than an incidental way. She’d purposely used her symptoms to learn the fine art of computer hacking. And she’d called up her previous knowledge of statistics to narrow hundreds of miles down to a 20 acre slot of land. Not to mention learning Italian, playing the sax, speaking fluent Spanish on the fly, and whatever other tricks Dave had tried on her without her noticing.
She hadn’t known if she could at first. Use it on demand. It had always just happened in the past, but focusing on the information she wanted and using it came easier than expected.
The boys hadn’t been thrilled when she’d told them, but she hadn’t expected them to be. They were just worried, she knew. Worried that she would get worse. Worried that she’d go off the deep end. Worries, so it would seem, that had panned out, which was why she hadn’t told them about her new skill set until it had paid off.
And why she didn’t tell them about the voice.
She was hearing it more often now. Like the headaches, the voice and its dark suggestions were becoming more frequent. At the moment, she had a purpose, a reason to keep pushing past the pain and exhaustion, so she was able to ignore it more easily. But she was afraid of what would happen if it caught her in a weak moment.
The pain spiked again, catching her off-guard and pulling at her gag reflex. Nothing came up but the sudden spasm caused her muscles to clench, adding even more pressure to the pain in her head. She felt the mattress dip and heard a deep voice beside her, but it was coming from too far away. She couldn’t make out what it was saying. At first, she thought it was Logan. He’d been with her through this before, after all. But Logan was on patrol. Dave was the only one with her in the basement. She must have woken him up with her thrashing and gagging.
He continued to talk, his voice low and soft. His doctor voice. There was something wet on her arm and then a sting, barely noticeable through her haze of pain. And then a weight, like a thick, heavy blanket draped across her body. The pain eased suddenly. It was still there. Quincy could still feel it lurking, but it was like a thick window had slid down between her and the pain. She could feel it pounding on the glass, raging to get back in, but it was muted and distant. As her body relaxed, Dave’s voice became clearer.
“It’s alright, Quincy,” he was saying. “You can rest now. It’s alright.”
His voice was soothing, safe. And she slid into sleep with a sigh of relief.
Chapter 41
Dr. Cans
The door to her office closed behind her with a sickening thud, sealing her away from the prying eyes and curious whispers.
It had been almost four hours since Amy had come tearing through her door, yelling that Claire needed help. Dr. Cans hadn’t hesitated but had immediately followed after Amy, already running towards the common room, shouting at the top of her voice. Instead of following her away from the patient rooms, Dr. Cans had turned left instead, the deep feeling of dread washing over her enough to hurry her to where the patients bunked down at night.
Dr. Cans had felt a melancholy sense of disquiet ever since her session with Andre earlier that evening. His questions hadn’t been surprising. Experience had taught her that what each person with RNB really wanted to know was whether it could be fixed. The resignation that had rolled over Andre with her confirmation had also been expected. No one wanted to hear that the thing ruining their life was permanent.
The trip to the weight room had helped, or so she had thought. He had seemed to enjoy hitting the weights, even jogging for a short time on the treadmill. He’d looked more at peace as he’d returned to the common room afterwards.
Amy had said that Claire needed help, not Andre. Still, there was a stifling sense of despair as she hurried towards Claire’s room. Deep inside, she knew it wasn’t Claire.
Where were the guards, she wondered, as she pushed open the door to Claire’s room. Amy was making enough noise to rouse everyone in the building. What was taking so much time.
“Claire?” she called. No response. The room was still dark, but enough light was shining through from the hallway to confirm that it was empty, and the dread thickened. It wrapped itself around her like a living thing, squeezing the air from her lungs. Ignoring the fear wasn’t going to make it go away, though. Knowing deep inside where she would find Claire, Dr. Cans turned and made her way to Andre’s room.
; Claire had been on her knees, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Andre was sprawled across the floor in front of her. He could have been asleep, if not for the blood splashed around his room like a child’s finger paint. She had dropped to her knees beside them both, hands tearing at her hair in horror.
“I didn’t know,” she had gasped, as though that made a difference. “I didn’t know.”
She had spent the next four hours speaking with the guards, the patients, and coordinating retrieval of…the body.
Her superiors had not been pleased, to say the least. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Nathan Anderson might as well have kicked up his heels as he waltzed into her office as she was hanging up the phone with the onsite medical staff. The loss of one of the subjects was an inconvenience, to be sure, but the taint that it laid on her was worth his misfortune.
Mr. Smith, though, had been another story. His disappointment and regret was tangible. Not because he had lost a valuable asset. Because, in his eyes, she had lost a valuable asset. It cast aspersions on her ability to do the job they hired her to do. She had been able to withstand Nathan Anderson’s derision because she had the eye of Mr. Smith. Now that she had lost that, she was finished.
Alone in her office, she could regroup. The blood had been washed off her hands as well as possible and she stood now in front of her window, looking out. The snow had melted last week and the sun had been strong, despite the cold. She was glad now that she had moved up the timetable. It had been a spur of the moment decision and slipping that note in a roomful of people had been a risk.
She’d gotten impatient. She’d formed a plan and saw no reason to delay. She hadn’t foreseen what Andre would do, nor the impact it would have on the company and on their reaction to the situation.
She had known walking into this situation that the Rhinehardt Collaborative didn’t part easily with employees who failed. She also knew they wouldn’t dispose of her until they could replace her. It bought her time, but precious little. Just enough, maybe, to see the plan through. The key would be Claire. Dr. Cans had put the plan into motion but without Claire, the other patients wouldn’t follow.
Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2) Page 24