“Fuck you,” Maddy hissed.
“You’ll find that uncouth language is frowned upon here. I think that maybe you need some time alone. Ron-2!” Maddy jumped back as the burly guard opened the door. “Escort Maddy to her room. You may restrain her if she gets out of hand, physically. Let her yell and curse if she wishes.”
Bryce stood up. “No.” The word came out sharply, but high-pitched. “She’ll remain with me. And yes, I have plenty to threaten you with, Magnus. I work for the FBI.”
He hoped that this would make more of an impact than a frown from Magnus. “Yes, the FBI,” Bryce added with a little more authority.
Magnus stepped closer and stared down at Bryce, who quailed and shrank back. A sudden need to apologize swept over him. This was followed by an urgent desire to run away. Magnus locked his eyes on Bryce’s; the smaller man froze in place. Magnus did not just have a “presence,” there was something physical in his stare. Bryce felt like his mind was being opened and his thoughts explored.
He had played poker against some heavy hitters who could read a man’s cards by the way he sat or how close his elbows were held into his body. This was far worse. At the poker table, Bryce knew that the only way to combat such perception was to disregard his own cards completely. In this case he had to forget his thoughts, his fears, and even his own memories of Agents Stanley Plinkett and Griffin Meyers.
Bryce drove them from his mind by studying his opponent with his own perception.
What was Magnus hiding? He had twice used the word safe in their brief conversation. It was a word that Bryce might use once a month. Something was coming, just like the FBI said. Was it an asteroid? A plague? A…
“Well,” Magnus said, leaning back. “That’s interesting and a little upsetting.” Bryce knew better than to answer. He held his tongue, knowing that anything he said would only give Magnus more information. “I did not see that in you, Bryce. Impressive. Very impressive.”
Maddy had regained a bit of her composure. “What? What’s impressive?” To her, he was the same old over-bearing, half-grown Bryce Carter he had always been.
“He is working with the FBI. Not for the FBI like he said. As an informant? A snitch?”
Bryce tried to keep the words: As a spy, from forming, but they did anyway. He pulled his eyes from Magnus. There was sweat in Maddy’s hair and a tiny bit of hope in her eyes. It was a feeling Bryce didn’t share, though he tried to rally.
“They think you’re kidnapping people. And you are, clearly. They asked me for help on the case and I…”
“So, you were sent to spy on me,” Magnus said. “You’re a cool customer, Bryce. I like that. I also like how you stood up for Miss Whitmore. That was very gallant. What do you think, Ron? Should I reward this sort of behavior?”
“Your instincts are generally correct, Magnus,” Ron-2 said, without taking his eyes from Bryce. “But I wonder if he’ll back up his words with his fists. Should I test him?”
The guard took a step towards Bryce, who went pale. Bryce brought up small, shaking hands and balled them into equally small fists. He held them close to his face so that he looked as if he were peeking from behind them.
A laugh burst from Magnus. “Again impressive. You may not be a warrior-king, Bryce but you have something. I like it, and I like you, Bryce. Normally, I would toss you on your ear and let you deal with the coming storm in your own pathetic way, but I think we should give you a chance. Both of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maddy asked.
“I’d much rather have you join us,” Magnus said, “but since you won’t, I’ll settle for the encryption key for your work. If you give it to us, I will let you walk right out the front door.”
Maddy hesitated, but Bryce was more willing to fight for his work than he was for his life. “The answer is no. You can’t do anything to us.”
“We’ll see about that,” Magnus replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maddy asked a second time.
His smile turned enigmatic. “I have Bryce’s response. What about yours? Will you show more of that backbone? Will you tell me to fuck-off again or scurry away with your tail between your legs?”
“Fuck-off.” This came out in a whisper.
In unexpected excitement, he slammed the table with his fist. “That’s what I wanted to see. You have a fighter inside you as well.” His smile was genuine but brief. He marched from the room, bellowing for Katherine-6. Maddy and Bryce stood in uncomfortable silence with Ron-2 standing placidly by the door. Bryce was sure the goon wore the same calm expression when he was choking his victims to death.
Bryce’s head went light at the thought.
Minutes ticked by.
“What’s he going to do?” Maddy finally asked Ron-2.
“He’s giving you a chance, like he said.”
“A chance at what?” Bryce whispered.
Ron-2 shrugged his broad shoulders. “A chance to join us, perhaps. If it is just a chance, it’ll be a long painful journey. But maybe that’s what you need. Some people are slow to see the world for what it is.”
“And what is it?”
“Hell.”
The moment Ron-2 said this, Magnus returned with Katherine-6, five very large men, a pair of nurses and two syringes.
“The FBI will be here any moment,” Bryce said, pushing Maddy behind him. “You’re in enough trouble without…without any of that.” He had no idea what was about to happen and whatever gallantry remained in his frail bones was seeping out of him fast. He didn’t even try to fight when two of the men latched onto his arms and smashed him to the floor.
“Magnus! Stop this. I demand…” One of the men put a knee on his back and crushed downward, driving the air out of Bryce’s lungs. He was pinned like a butterfly in a book.
Magnus dropped down next to him, a syringe in hand. “Katherine, if you’ll note that this is Serum-21, syringe number six-one.” Katherine-6 had a small blue notebook. Her hand stopped almost before it started and her eyes shot to Magnus. He nodded. “Yes, Serum-21. Test subject is named Bryce Carter. Age twenty-eight. Five-feet, five inches. Weight: a hundred and forty-five pounds. Time 10:32 a.m. Good luck, Bryce.”
He jabbed the needle into Bryce’s arm and pushed a syringe filled with fire into his muscle.
Chapter 4
The dead came over the wall just as the sun set. There was only a soft golden glow in the west, which was nothing compared to the inferno raging to the north. The Bronx was on fire—all of it.
For some reason, the dead swarmed at sunrise and sunset. They grew manic and would charge at a flapping screen door or attack a swirl of leaves. It took rock-steady nerves to remain motionless when a dozen bloody creatures came roaring in a man’s direction. Or a woman’s, Maddy thought. There was a high scream and suddenly the dead were everywhere. Hiding was no longer an option. Maddy let the first few pass before she stepped out from behind a van and swung her bat. It felt light in her hand and yet it had enough weight behind it to crush a skull.
She reversed her grip and whipped the bat left-handed at the next of the frothing-mad creatures. Just as she did, its foot came off the sidewalk and it dipped. The bat clipped the top of its greasy head, tearing a chunk of diseased flesh away. It wobbled in place, its eyes losing focus for just a second.
This gave Maddy enough time to swing the bat again. Tank! Its skull cracked like an egg and shards of bone went deep.
Maddy spun, moving with a grace that only a dream could give. Down went another of the black-eyed beasts. And another. But when one fell, two took its place. She was being swarmed from all directions and no amount of grace or quickness would save her. She reached for the gun at her hip.
To shoot would be a death sentence for most of her group. Instead of a hundred beasts, they would be neck-deep in a thousand. Her hand hesitated as the morality of her action struck her. But there was no time for hesitation. A clawed hand slashed at her neck, drawing blood. Another
beast slammed into her.
It tripped on the curb and as it stumbled, it pulled her down as well. Something fell across her legs and now the gun was out. She aimed, but as she did, a shadow swept over her. Bryce stood over her, looking tall and golden in the last light as he swung his axe in a…
“Bryce?” the word slithered from her aching throat as she woke. Her grey eyes flicked open and a groan escaped her. At least it started out as a groan, but it then turned into a whimper. Every part of her was in misery. Her joints most of all…no, now that they were open, her eyes were the worst. They felt huge and thick. They pulsed in their sockets.
Above her, the lights were unpleasantly bright. Slowly, her neck creaking, she turned her head to the side and saw the IV stand; it held three different bags of fluids. What sort they were, she didn’t have a clue. The writing was fuzzy.
Mounted on the wall behind it was a monitor that showed her vital signs. She could read the tiny words “heart rate” perfectly. The rhythmic up and down of a normal pulse was not in evidence. The beats on her monitor were racing each other faster and faster, without pause.
Unbelievably, her pulse was 162 beats a minute. As bad as that was, her blood pressure was worse at 224 over 140.
As a woman who had been “pleasantly plump” for her entire life, she knew the dangers of such high blood pressure. A blood vessel in her brain could explode and she’d be a vegetable in a blink. The very idea of being helpless and trapped in her own body like it was a flesh coffin, shook her to her core.
With the bones of her neck grinding together, she turned her head back the other way and felt clammy coldness on her cheek. Her pillow was wet with sweat, as was her entire bed. She was drenched.
“What happened?” The two words clawed their way from her throat in a whisper.
Something stirred down past the foot of her bed. With another moan, she lifted her head and saw that she had a visitor. A rumpled, balding man in his forties, slept in an awkward position draped across two plastic chairs.
“FBI,” Maddy said. Somehow, she knew this as a fact even though her memory was disjointed and twisted. Nothing was in focus and nothing made sense. She had been on a helicopter, and there had been a purple hallway—no, the carpet had been purple. And Magnus was there. “And Bryce.” She remembered Bryce as being tall, strong, fierce. “No, that was a dream.”
The paunchy man sat up. “Miss Whitmore?”
“It’s Ms. Whitmore.” She felt stupid the moment she said this. As far as she could tell, she was on the verge of dying. At this point, what did it matter if she was called Miss or Ms?
“What happened?” she asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Plinkett said. “You and Bryce met with Daniel Magnus at his plaza and were in the building for maybe a half an hour before an ambulance was called.”
“An ambulance?” Fear rippled through her at the thought. The last thing she could remember about being in Magnus’ tower was being afraid, but didn’t know why. She looked down at herself. Her gown was plastered to her body with sweat. A quick check beneath it showed the same pale flesh that kept her out of the sun at all costs. There wasn’t a single bruise on her.
Plinkett rubbed his scruffy jaw before answering, “Yes. You were on LSD. You and Bryce. They said you two showed up acting a little strange. It then exploded into some sort of panic attack and that’s when they called 911.”
“I didn’t take any acid. And Bryce…Bryce on drugs? No way. He can’t handle a jalapeno. Back in school, his drink of choice was a strawberry wine cooler. No. No, they did something to us. I remember Bryce getting mad.” The word gallant floated through her mind, though she couldn’t connect it to anything.
“I have the test results. It’s true. And there were other drugs in your system. Still are, I should say. LSD, meth and pot. It’s a weird combination. You and Bryce are lucky to be alive.”
Maddy grimaced as she pushed herself up. “Where is he? I need to talk to him. Something happened in there.” She stopped, her face slack. “Hold on. Bryce was working for you. For the FBI. He tried to stop them from…no, Bryce tried to stop him. Bryce tried to stop Magnus from taking our work.”
She remembered Magnus clearly. He had been huge and strong, and gloriously handsome. Even there in the bed, sweaty, aching and sick, she felt a strange tingle for the man.
“Was there anything else?” Plinkett asked. “Did he mention terrorist attacks? A viral outbreak? No? Shit. Okay, what about kidnapping?”
The word set off an echo in her head that went nowhere. She was trying to chase it down when Agent Griffin Meyers burst in. He paused at the sight of Maddy. He stared at her for half a second before blurting out, “There’s been another one. London. Turn on the TV.”
“Another one what?” Maddy asked.
Plinkett, fiddling with the remote, replied, “A terrorist attack. It started in L.A. two hours ago. Then Chicago. Then Mexico City.”
The images on the television were of burning buildings and people running. It made no sense to Maddy, and it hurt her eyes. The agents’ phones began to ring. The sound drilled into her ears. While the agents spoke in hushed, nervous tones, she rang the nurses call button.
“I need something,” she told the nurse who came hurrying in. At first glance, Maddy saw she had velvety dark skin that made her seem like she was twenty instead of her real age of thirty-five. When Maddy looked closer, she saw the woman’s individual pores and the tiny cracks around her eyes and mouth. The woman was clearly harried, busier than she was used to, and yet she was also hesitant, with a wary look on her face.
“Sorry, hun. You’re on everything we can give you. We can’t have you going into liver failure on us.”
“Liver’s fine,” Maddy gasped. “It’s everything else.” Now that she was concentrating on the pain, it was like her body was filled with shards of broken glass.
The nurse gave her a sympathetic shrug. “Let me check with the doctor. He’ll want to see you either way. Just hang in there.”
Once the nurse left, Maddy turned her attention back to the TV. There were fires now in Moscow as well as London. It was a “Breaking Report,” but it felt like more of the same. Without knowing why, she crawled out of bed and stood on shaking legs. Pulling off her leads set off alarms. She cringed from the sound and wheeled her IV stand out of the room and into a crowded hallway.
It was only then that she realized she was in an ICU. Across from her was an open bay where six beds and an uncountable amount of medical machinery were set at regular, but close, intervals. Each bed was occupied, as were two gurneys that were set against the wall.
Two nurses were in sight. One, heavy-set with a fake blonde mane, was opening drawer after tiny drawer in a med closet, and the other was the lady who had denied her more meds. She had a phone cocked to her ear as she typed furiously on a computer. Above her was the white board where patient information was open for everyone to see.
Maddy saw her own name first. Her diagnosis was cardiac dysrhythmia. The letters O.D. were circled in red. Below her name was Bryce’s. He was in room 317, the next room over.
“You have to get back in bed,” the fake-blonde nurse snapped. “We’ll get to you when we can.”
“Sure, got it.” Maddy turned slowly, but instead of going into her room, she slipped into Bryce’s.
A single sheet covered his spare frame; his face was obscured by an oxygen mask. Unlike her, he wasn’t drenched in sweat, and his heart rate and blood pressure weren’t through the roof. He looked to be sleeping.
“Bryce,” she hissed. Easing forward, she shook his foot. “Bryce!”
“He’s in a coma.” It was the black nurse again. Her dark eyes were hard, harder than they needed to be. “Leave him alone and get back into your room.” She was thin and stringy but exuded strength. She was ready to fight…somehow Maddy knew this…no, not somehow. It was all there: the tense muscles, the increased respiration, the gritting of her teeth, the dilated pupils.
Maddy was in no position to do much of anything, least of all fight. “I just wanted to see how he was doing. I was worr…” His foot jerked beneath her hand and she snatched it back. “Bryce?”
He woke like she did, moaning, though in her ears he sounded pitiful. “Bryce. Hey, look at me. Try not to think about the pain.” She hobbled around to the side of the bed.
“What happened?” He sounded like a frog croaking. “Where are we?”
“The hospital. They did something to us. Magnus drugged us, I think. He told the cops that we were on LSD, but that never happened. Did it?”
Before he could answer, the nurse pushed between them. “That’s enough Miss Whitmore. I need to let the doctor know that Mr. Carter is awake.”
“Then get calling. No one’s stopping you.” Maddy was in a sour mood from the pain and wasn’t going to be bossed around by anyone. She glared the nurse out the door and then turned back to Bryce. He was whimpering as he tried to open his hand.
“This can’t be what LSD feels like,” he said. “Who would ever do it? Oh God, it hurts. My joints…like there’s glass in them.”
Maddy grabbed his arm and he stifled a cry. “You have to move. The more you move, the better you’ll feel.” She bent his thin arm without warning.
“Fuck!”
“Don’t be a baby.” He was clearly overreacting. There was no way his pain could be as bad as hers. His vital signs were basically normal.
He was red-faced, and there were tears in his eyes when the two FBI agents marched in, followed by the black nurse and a stern, grey-haired man. Maddy assumed he was a doctor by the white coat he wore over green scrubs.
“Thank goodness you’re awake,” Griff said. “The shit’s hitting the fan out there, and we need to know what you found out. What is Magnus doing?”
Before Bryce could catch a shaky breath, the doctor intervened. “Enough! This patient just emerged from an altered cognitive state. He will not be interviewed until I clear him of any…”
Heroes of the Undead | Book 1 | The Culling Page 4
