by ReGi McClain
She returned to the Monet room and held the first key to the lock, but paused before inserting it. A red light, a mere pinprick, easy to miss, appeared on the keyhole. Harsha moved the key away and the light disappeared. She held her breath. The light’s purpose might be to illuminate the lock in the dark, but given the corridor’s brightness, she doubted it. She held up the second and third keys to test her hypothesis. As she suspected, a green light appeared with the third.
She let out her breath and ordered her brain to stop telling her about all the possible consequences of using the wrong key. Hands trembling, she pushed the green-light key into the lock. She heard a satisfying click. Following the click came masculine voices from around the corner.
Harsha’s knees tried to buckle. She used the doorknob to keep herself on her feet. She yanked the key out of the lock, swung the door open, and ducked into the dark room. A warning flashed in her mind, and she caught herself before she pulled the door all the way closed. Holding it steady and hoping it looked closed from the outside, she held up the key she’d used to enter. A red light. The quaking in her limbs increased as her peripheral vision started to fade, making it difficult to test the other keys. When one of them showed green, she shut the door and collapsed with her back to it, limbs shaking and breathing erratic.
She heard the voices draw closer and held her breath, fearful of alerting them to her presence. The thick door muffled the words but the tones sounded like… Panic? Why are they panicking?
She doubted she had caused the panic. Zeeb had found the security room and compromised all the systems, she guessed, or Seraph had set the place on fire. In which case, Harsha needed to hurry. She pressed her ear to the door, hoping to catch a hint, but the words remained indistinct. Indistinct, but close. She wanted to freeze in place, but she forced herself, inch by inch, to move to one side of the door, and stood up with her back snug against the wall. The door opened outward, so no chance of hiding behind it if the people in the hallway stepped inside, but if she pressed herself to the wall and held still, they might not notice her in the darkness. She waited, listening and holding her breath, for an eternity before the voices moved away.
Immediate crisis past, she sighed in relief and looked around the room for the occupant. Solid black met her eyes. A new fear filled her, quickening her breath and making her heart pound in her ears. For all she knew, she’d locked herself in a room with one of the people who necessitated the Filipino woman’s arsenal, some terrible cave creature waiting to pounce and devour the first foolish thing to give it a chance.
“Hello?” Keeping her voice to a whisper, she slid her hand along the door. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a…” Remembering Phyllis’ reaction, she decided against giving specifics. “I’m a hider, like you.”
She located the knob. It took her several tries, because of the shaking of her hand, to get it unlocked. When she heard the bolt click, she stood torn between the need to avoid SoPHE people and the need to see what lurked in the room with her. The terror of the imagined won out and she flung the door open. She scurried into the bright hall, away from the unknown. No one waited to shove her back into the darkness or drag her to a fate unspeakable, and no one came hurtling into the hallway with her.
With the light of the hallway casting a reassuring glow into the room, Harsha stepped back inside. Something huddled in the far corner. Gaunt arms hugged bony knees, and a yard of sable hair tumbled in gnarled, unkempt curls down to the floor.
Harsha shuffled toward it. “It’s okay. I’m here to let you out.”
The creature looked up. It looked like a girl in her early teens. Pale skin framed large black eyes. Purplish circles hung under them. Not bruises, Harsha realized, but the evidence of many days, maybe weeks, without proper nutrition or adequate sleep. Harsha held out a hand to help her up. The girl drew back, as if a raised hand terrified her.
Harsha’s heart broke. No one had ever feared her before. “No. No, it’s okay.” She knelt down to be eyelevel with the girl. “I’m not one of them. I won’t hurt you.”
The girl leaned forward to sniff Harsha’s hand. Her eyes widened and she whispered something that sounded like, “Moorokh.”
“I’m looking for my brother. Do you know where Jason Craigson is?”
The girl’s entire body trembled and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. Clamping her hands over her ears, she curled into a heap with a sing-song moan and rocked back and forth.
Dread crawled over Harsha, covering her like a second skin. She forced herself to stay calm. Ignoring the quivering of her fingertips, she jiggled the girl by her shoulder. “I’m going to let as many people out of here as I can, but I need to hurry.”
The girl snapped her head up. “Out?”
“You better get going.” Remembering Seraph’s warning, she added, “If you can’t find a boat, swim.”
The girl’s eyes filled with sadness so profound, Harsha wondered if she herself knew the meaning of sorrow. Not daring to linger another moment, she hurried to the next room.
This one housed a large creature with the front end of a bluebird and the hind end of a white horse. Long scars marred its filthy hide and its beak looked as if someone had chiseled off a chunk of it. A pile of rotting manure filled half the room in spite of the empty, dusty feedbox. The creature turned its head to one side and blinked at her twice. She opened her mouth to reassure it she was there to help, but before she said anything, it chirped or whinnied—Harsha couldn’t tell which the sound reminded her of most—and darted forward, knocking her over with its wing and just missing her with its hooves.
It clattered down the hall on shaky legs, steadying itself by flapping. The hallway was too narrow for the beast’s wings and every flap sent a painting or sculpture crashing to the floor. Harsha, wincing at every bang and shatter, hoped it knew a way out. Reminding herself she had little time, she pulled herself back to standing and turned to the next door.
She found herself face to face with the girl from the Monet room, whose emaciated legs wobbled under her.
Harsha jumped, startled. She braced for a blow, tightening all her muscles and leaning into the balls of her feet, ready to turn and run. Remembering Phyllis’s strange calming magic, she steeled her mind, too.
The girl stood there, her unblinking eyes filled with a painful mixture of despair and hope.
Harsha started to edge around her. “Why are you still here? You need to leave.”
“They burned my skin.”
Harsha scrutinized the hider. She lacked burn scars, but maybe full-blooded hiders burned differently. Or healed differently. “Please run away. The horse-bird-thing seemed to know where to go.” She pointed the direction it went. “Try following it.” She eased around the girl.
As she reached to unlock the next door, the girl’s hand latched onto her arm. “They burned my skin.”
Not wanting to waste more time convincing the girl to leave, Harsha put an arm around her waist to support and, if necessary, drag her. “Come on. We need to hurry.”
She held the keys up to the next lock, found the right one, and opened the door. There was an angry mrowling and a flash of orange fur. Harsha looked the direction it went and saw three bushy tails disappear around the corner. Whatever it was, it hadn’t gone the same way as the horse-bird. It had gone into the next hall, the one obstructed by the still-sleeping woman and her cart. Harsha heard more angry cat-like noises and a disturbing slurping-tearing sound that turned her stomach.
“Hide here,” Harsha told the dark-haired girl, maneuvering her behind the open door of an unlocked room. “I’ll be right back.”
Hoping she wasn’t about to walk into the arms of SoPHE, Harsha tiptoed down the hall toward the bend. She took a deep breath, held it, and peeked around the corner. Nothing sinister met her eyes. Just a hall and a cleaning cart. The terrible noises came from behind the cart, where she’d left the Filipino woman. Taking one of the tasers from her pocket, Harsha let out her breath a
nd eased forward until she could see around the cart.
She gasped. A creature that looked like an ordinary cat, but with three tails, stood over the Filipino woman. It tore at the woman’s face, its claws delving deep into her flesh. Aghast, Harsha dropped her taser and rushed forward to help the woman, but the cat swatted her face with one of its tails. The blow snapped her head to the side and sent her sprawling. By the time she scrambled to her feet, the cat was sprinting down the hall, and Harsha knew she’d been too late anyway. Only a shredded pile of flesh and a pool of blood remained of the woman’s neck and face.
Harsha stared at the woman whose death she had caused. Her trembling returned, beginning in her hands and traveling up her arms and down to her legs until she struggled to stay upright. For a moment, her vision darkened, and then adrenalin hit her like a sledgehammer.
She raced down the halls, flinging doors open as fast as she could unlock them, not waiting to see what each room held, not noticing where they went, not aware of how much noise they made. She hoped one of them would attack, like the cat, and take her life as payment for the woman’s. To her disappointment, none obliged. Heart racing and lungs burning as if she’d run a marathon, she rounded the corner Seraph and the two thugs had disappeared down ages ago. There was only one door in this hall, a substantial metal one with crash bars. She charged it and slammed through it. She stumbled onto a spacious mezzanine and looked around her. In keeping with the overall splendor of the mansion, sumptuous artwork decorated the large open area.
Harsha ducked below the guardrail of the mezzanine. The balusters made pitiful cover but, under the circumstances, she’d take what she could get. A wide staircase led down from the terrible beauty of the mansion to the more terrible practicality of an underground lab. A cavernous central area featuring a long metal workstation filled most of the lower level. It looked like the kind of place that bustled with activity under normal circumstances. She imagined it full of begoggled, lab-coated people swirling beakers, comparing notes, and keeping up a buzz of conversation. At the moment, it seemed abandoned.
She watched, glad for the excuse to avoid leaving her pitiful hiding place. She tried to listen, too, but her heart pounded so hard, the rush of her own blood filled her ears. In the quiet, the full weight of the Filipino woman’s death crashed onto her shoulders. With both hands clamped over her lips, she opened her mouth in silent screams and rocked back and forth until a distant alarm pulled her out of her paralysis and reminded her of the need to hurry.
Hugging the guardrail, she slunk down the stairs. The room smelled of bleach. The odor didn’t bother her, but awful visions of why anyone needed to use so much of it danced in the back of her mind. When she reached the open area, the squeak of her tennis shoes on the tiled floor echoed faintly. She darted a glance around, expecting someone to pop out. No one did, and she heard nothing but the alarm in the distance. Still, she took off her shoes and socks, tucked the socks into the shoes, and left them behind on the bottom step. The chilly floor stung her feet with a residue of strong cleaner but didn’t feel tacky enough to keep her socks from slipping on it, and she was glad she’d taken them off. The last thing she needed was to slip and pull a muscle. She placed each step with care, her footfalls silent.
On either side of the large central area were smaller rooms boasting large, thick-paned windows. Harsha assumed these rooms were designed to allow the people inside to work without interference while letting those in the communal area observe. She flattened herself against the wall, edged her way to the nearest window, and looked in. Centrifuge, freezer, a couple cabinets, and several test tubes in racks. She moved on to the next room, still easing her way along the wall. A lab table. Just like the one Ashley Rice had strapped her to. A showerhead hung over it. Red-stained tile led to a drain underneath. Harsha pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her panic. Shutting her eyes, she willed away the flashbacks.
Breathe. Breathe . Every breath sucked in bleach-tainted air, haranguing her with terrible possibilities.
The alarm seemed to get louder and she heard a commotion coming her way. She lurched along the wall, steadying herself by leaning against it. She took one step. Then another. One more step and she would see what horrors the next room held.
The double doors burst open. People stampeded into the open area, all of them shrieking, blubbering, or shouting for others to get out of their way. A woman with deep gashes down one side of her face stumbled over a blackened figure crawling on all fours. Two men hobbled forward, one supporting the other as they scrambled toward the other side of the room. People poured through the door, shoving the wounded out of their way, trampling those who fell.
A wolf, its muzzle soaked in blood, exploded into the room in pursuit. Behind it, Harsha caught a glimpse of coppery scales. As the identity of the wolf struck her, flame exploded from behind him. Harsha’s heart stopped. She screamed his name, horrified and bewildered over Seraph’s carelessness. Zeeb erupted from the blaze, unscathed. Harsha’s knees melted in relief and she caught herself against the wall. Seraph’s gaping maw shot forward and snatched one blackened victim. Zeeb seized another by the leg and started shaking. Head swimming at the sight of so much blood and unwilling to watch the rest of the violence, Harsha turned to look through the window of the third room.
The world went silent, her heart stopped, her breath vanished, and her vision narrowed. Jason’s body lay on a stainless steel table with his eyes peeled open. They stared at the ceiling as if frozen in wild terror. Skin stripped from one half of his body littered the floor, leaving muscles exposed. Jars labeled Jason Craigson displayed organs removed from the gaping cavity of his abdomen, pieces of her brother reduced to specimens bobbing in formaldehyde. The only signs of Elaine were a black garbage bag leaking blood in the corner and jars labeled Typical Human .
Harsha’s scream shattered the air. An arm wrapped around her middle and pulled her away. Seraph’s massive claw crashed through the door of the room. The dragon, her tail swishing to keep people back, looked from the room to Harsha, her brow ridges raised in distress. Harsha tried to speak, to say something coherent, but only a high-pitched keen came out of her. Seraph turned back to the room and bathed it in flame so hot, the glass of the windows wobbled like pudding.
Zeeb, with blood spattered over his face and dripping from his beard, propelled her up the stairs, down the hall, and out the front door. Harsha stumbled along in his arm, running faster than her legs could move on their own. The sea came into view. A dim shape stood between it and herself. She wondered if it intended to kill them, if this figure represented death, but Zeeb scooped up the shape and kept running. Behind them, a roar of rage sent a shiver up her spine.
“Lowell! I’ll pin your hide to my wall for this!”
Harsha looked back. The man she knew as Dr. Green leveled an enormous gun at them. His left leg seemed to be jointed at an odd angle and the lower half of his pants glistened with dark liquid.
Zeeb tossed her onto Seraph’s bare back as the dragon took off. She slipped. The skin of her hands tore against the hard scales as she struggled to keep herself from falling off while Seraph scrambled to increase their altitude. Zeeb’s hand latched onto her wrist and yanked her up. The air rippled around them. Seraph banked hard to avoid a projectile that whizzed by with a snapping sound. Another ripple, another swerve, and another, until they soared so high above the clouds, Harsha’s lungs ached for air.
She slumped onto her friend’s back and sobbed. No. She wailed.
When they landed on Wake Island, she curled up under Seraph, huddling in a ball as far from Zeeb and whomever he’d brought along as possible, using all her energy to control the lament trying to rip its way out of her throat. Every blink of her eyes tormented her with the awful scene of Jason’s desecrated body.
Chapter 21
Not sure when they arrived home or how she got into bed, Harsha hid under the covers, trying to convince herself it was all a nightmare. But, no. Her mind hel
d to reality, however unreal it should have been. Her door opened and closed. Someone was checking on her, but she didn’t look to see who. She didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. She didn’t drink. Her eyes ceased to water. Her throat grew hot and dry. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Droplets sprinkled her head and face. She blinked a bead of moisture off her lashes. The cool touch of water awakened the need for survival. She accepted the ice cube being offered and brought it to her lips. Hands looped under her arms and pulled her to sitting. Zeeb.
Harsha’s body screamed for water. She reached for the cup he held, but he pulled it back. “Not yet. You need to take it slow or you’ll get sicker.”
The memory of him on the island, muzzle bloody, with men and women running, screaming in terror, to get away from him, clashed with the sight of him sitting here in her room, so calm and rational, nursing her. Suddenly, she hated him. Hated him for helping her find a cure, for taking her to SoPHE, for mixing her up with hiders. Her chest convulsed with dry sobs. Zeeb moved onto the bed beside her and wrapped an arm around her. She wanted to scream at him and rip him to pieces. With no energy for either, she leaned into him and let him feed her ice cubes while she cried in tearless agony until she fell asleep.
An ugly worm of guilt trailed around Harsha’s stomach, caused by a dream that slipped from her memory the moment she awoke. Something to do with Kel. It left her with a sense of dread. She needed to get to him. Immediately. The battery light on her cell phone blinked a warning, but she only needed a couple minutes.
She called the Campbells. No answer. She tried texting, but the phone died. Plagued by apprehension, she pulled herself onto her feet. Her legs wobbled under her, but held when she took a few steps. As soon as she put on fresh clothes, she hurried toward her front door.
“What are you doing up?” Zeeb asked at the same moment Seraph cried, “You’re up!”
