by Katie French
“You know how this works, Clay,” she says. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
“It’s not worth arguing over,” the nanny says. “If she’s opening the door, you better hurry and go before she changes her mind.”
“How do we get up there?” I ask.
“Head out of here and take a left. At the end of the hall, there’s a doorway to the stairwell. You need to go up to the sixth floor. If she’s telling the truth, you’ll be able to open the door to that level. If not . . .” She turns her eyes away. She thinks my mother is layin’ a trap. And she’s probably right. We should be ready for anything.
Doc comes runnin’ up, just as we’re about to leave. “Let me come with you.” He looks between the two of us. “Please.”
“No chance in hell,” Riley says.
Doc looks at me. “You could use another gun up there. Please. Trust me.”
His face is pleadin’, and clearly his heart is broke, but trust him is exactly what I can’t do. “Sorry, pard.”
He looks at both of us, crestfallen. Then he slinks off to where the three girls are now sittin’ with their backs to the wall and their eyes on the doors. They still look like they’re in shock. Lord knows what happened to them here. And what the hell am I gonna do with ’em if we leave?
Dealin’ with one problem at a time, I find Riley and arm up, makin’ sure Riley is armed, too. Then we enter the echoey stairwell and start to climb.
Our boots are too loud on the concrete stairs. And I’m hyper-aware of every sound. But I’m sure Nessa’s got cameras. There’s no sneakin’ up on her now.
“You nervous?” Riley asks beside me.
“Sure. She’s wily. And a head case. She’s gonna try to mess with us. Don’t let her get under your skin, Ri. Let me do the talkin’.”
“Do you think you can persuade her? You said something about a trade. We don’t got anything of value.” She glances up at my face.
Suddenly, I want to take her in my arms. Somethin’s makin’ me feel like this could be the last time I hold her. “I’ll think of somethin’. Don’t worry. We’ll get Mo back.”
Riley drops her eyes to the worn tread of the steps. “What you’re doing for me . . . What you’ve already done for me . . . Clay.” She stops and turns to me. “It’s more than I ever could’ve asked for.”
When I look down at her, tears are in her eyes. This time I do pull her into me.
With her body tucked up against mine, I can almost forget. The hurt. The pain. The months torn apart seem tiny, like seconds in a grand eternity. I could hold her like this until we both turn to dust.
“I’d do anythin’ for you,” I say into her hair. Her smell is home.
She tilts her head up, and I know we should be keepin’ watch, but I take a moment to press my lips to hers. Lives are short, and a kiss like this one shouldn’t be passed up. Especially now.
I want it to last, us tangled up in each other, her breath in my mouth, my hands in her hair. But the moment is over in a blink and we’re back to facin’ one of the most dangerous tasks of our lives.
She gives me a squeeze and hefts her gun again. “Whatever happens, promise me that you and I walk out together.”
“Together,” I repeat, lifting my rifle.
Only a few more landings and we’re at the sixth floor. A large black “6” taunts us on the sealed metal door. Near the handle is a control panel. I stare at it wondering if it’ll unlock like she said. And what the hell is on the other side?
I take up a position on one side of the door, Riley behind me. Guns at the ready, I reach forward and slowly tug on the handle.
It pulls open.
I slide in.
The first thing I notice is wind whippin’ through the floor. I remember blown-out windows and the guard sayin’ something about the Butchers getting a grenade up here. As I look around, the damage is clear. The whole left side of the floor is open air, mangled metal and broken glass. The grenade must’ve blown out this floor, leaving a charred mess in its wake. And no one has been around to clean it up or scavenge through what’s left. There’s even a pair of legs underneath a toppled wall. Bodies unclaimed.
Nessa must have other priorities.
“This way,” a voice on a loudspeaker says.
Both of us jump at the sound. A set of hospital doors, away from the blast radius, swings open.
“Do we go?” Riley asks.
“Looks like we gotta,” I say. “Stick behind me.”
We walk in single-file, weapons up, eyes scanning for movement. The hallway is long and dark. With all the power knocked out except for necessities, it’s hard to see more than a few feet ahead of us. Dark rooms go by, doors shut and curtains pulled across windows. As far as I know, this floor used to house the doctors and upper-management staff of the hospital, but it looks like it houses no one now. What happened to the doctors? Were they killed by the Butchers, too?
“A light up ahead,” Riley says quietly behind me.
She’s right. Ten feet down the hall, a light is on, throwin’ beams out like grasping fingers. The sound of churnin’ machinery can be heard now as well. This must be what we’re lookin’ for.
Creepin’ up, we stop beside the open door, usin’ the wall to hide our presence. I signal for Riley to stay here and cover me. She shakes her head. I make the signal again. Finally, she looks away, as if to consent. I breathe a sigh of relief, kiss her on the head, and walk around the corner.
With my gun up, I sweep the room.
It’s a large space, probably what used to be the doctors’ common room. Where the hospital below is plain, this is fancy, with marble floors, carved furniture, and soft cushions. Two rich, red velvet couches face each other along one wall. Off to the far side is a dusty pool table, the balls still racked for a game. There’s a lounge, a small kitchenette, a TV area, and a recreation area, all decorated in coordinating colors. Chandeliers hang from the ceilings, dusty and saggin’.
But where the hell is Nessa?
Someone steps into the archway at the far end.
I aim.
“Wish I could’ve tidied up the place, but who has the time?”
“Nessa?”
“You’re the only one on this planet I’d let call me anything other than Dr. Vandewater,” she rasps, suckin’ in air, “and you pick Nessa? What happened to Mom? Mommy? Mama?” She steps into the light.
She’s a mangled mess. Her face—what’s left of it—is covered in healing scars that cut across her features like red slashes. There are giant bandages on her head, and most of her hair is gone, now just wisps on the right-hand side between swaths of cotton. A tube snakes into her nostrils and trails to a tank on a cart that clanks along the tile. There are more wires coming out of the loose, shapeless top she wears, trailing to a computer monitor on the same wheeled pole as her oxygen.
She’s hard to look at, just like the mangled bodies of animals on the side of the road are hard to look at. How is she even still alive?
When she sees me staring, half her face lifts in a terrible smile. “It’s awful, right? To see your own mother reduced to this. But then, you probably don’t care much since you want me dead.”
“What happened to you?” I say.
“Those bastard Butchers. Men with small dicks who thought they could take from me. But they didn’t get what they were looking for. That I can assure you.” She gives a raspy cough, like air through a straw full of holes.
“They took most of the women, killed your men, and left you like this. I can say they got what they were after.”
Half of her face lifts in what is probably supposed to be a smirk. “Such little minds, you men. Always thinking with what’s in your pants. Women aren’t the only commodity that matters, my son.”
“What else then?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, wheeling her cart back toward the archway and the darkness. “It’s too bright in here. Come in. And tell that girlfriend of yours to stop lurking in th
e doorway.”
She knows Riley is here. Can she see everything?
I walk back for Riley, keeping my eyes on where Nessa went. Riley looks at me with wide eyes. “She knows you’re here. Might as well come in. She’s not well.”
“I could tell from her voice. What’s wrong with her?”
I think about the mess that is her face. “You’ll see. Stay back behind me, though. And keep to the back in case you need to run.”
She gives me another of her looks, and then, together, we walk through the common area and into the dark.
The archway leads to another dim hallway and more closed doors. One door is open at the end of the hall, a dim light glowin’ from inside. When we get there, I have Riley wait outside and I go in.
This must be the executive suite. It’s an apartment with gilded furniture and lush curtains. But while the common area seems mostly intact, this one looks like someone ransacked it. A piano is turned over, some of its keys spilled out onto the floor. Several curtains are shredded. A broken vase lies in pieces beside a scratched coffee table. In the center of the room is a couch covered in blankets and pillows. There’s a few bedpans scattered on the floor that I don’t look at long. There are cups and bowls on the coffee table and a computer which is probably hooked up to any systems still operatin’ in the hospital. That’s where she’s able to access any surveillance cameras still workin’. Where she can remotely open and close doors. It might be a good idea to grab that computer. Or destroy it.
All in due time.
Past the livin’ area is a kitchen, and my eyes stop there. Someone is strapped to a chair. Slumped over and bloody. I can’t see his face.
“Who is that?” I ask Nessa, who is settlin’ herself and her computer equipment into a chair by the window.
Her eyes trail over to where the person sits, lifeless.
“Oh that? Isn’t that your friend, Corra? She stole from me. She’s back and very sorry.” At this, Nessa thumbs a remote control. There’s a zap of electricity, and the already dim lights brown out as Corra jolts awake, screamin’. She vibrates, teeth clenchin’, body stiffenin’.
“Stop!” I say.
Nessa takes her finger off the button and the electricity stops. Corra slumps over, cryin’. There’s the smell of urine. Her pants are dark with it.
“What are you doin’?” I start to walk over, reachin’ to untie Corra.
“Don’t touch her. You want your precious creature back, right? Then keep your hands off the thief. She’s mine.”
My eyes switch between Corra’s tortured form and my mother’s destroyed face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. Everyone tries to kill me. I’ve spent my life trying to save the world, and what do I get for it. Shot.” She points at me. “Blown up. Stolen from.” Her finger strays to the button and the electricity starts again. Corra jolts with it, twitchin’, shakin’.
“Stop it!” I pull up my gun.
She takes her finger away and laughs. “Oh, such a savior, aren’t you? The defender of the people. What good has it done, Clay? What good has it ever done you?”
“Where’s Mo?”
She continues as if she doesn’t hear me. “You know, you’re just like me. Except you use guns while I use science. And in the end, it will come to nothing. This world is shit. It was never worth saving. I should’ve seen it sooner. Might’ve kept my face.” Her hand floats up to the scars.
“Where’s Mo?” I ask, angry now. My hand flexes on the gun. It would be so easy to end her.
“That monkey? You call it Mo? Adorable. Don’t worry. She’s safe. She’s in the other room. And I fixed her. You don’t have to thank me.”
I hear footsteps before I see Riley tear around me toward the room Nessa pointed at.
“Riley, wait!”
But she’s already deep into the room’s dark interior. I start to go after her, but she runs out seconds later with Mo in her arms.
“See. One big happy family.” Nessa eyes us, making me uneasy. “I have to say, I thought my grandchildren would be less . . . ugly.”
“Shut up!” Riley says, cradling Mo. Riley is shakin’, but from anger, fear, or relief I don’t know.
I move between Riley and Nessa again.
Nessa stares at Riley, her face hard. “He only loves you because there’s no one else. If there were lots of women, he’d see how plain and irksome you are. Better be careful not to let him stumble in with the Butchers. They’ve got lots of women to choose from, I hear.”
She’s just baitin’ us. And now that we have Mo back, I want to get the hell out of here. But what about Corra?
“Give us Corra,” I say to Nessa. “You’ve had your fun.”
“Fun?” she asks, flickin’ a glance over her shoulder at Corra’s broken form. “This isn’t about fun. It’s about revenge. You know about revenge, right, Clay? That’s why you killed your father. Why you shot me?”
“I was just makin’ the world a better place. It improved since he stopped breathin’. I expect the same thing will happen with you.”
She smiles humorlessly. “Maybe. But maybe you’ll miss me when I’m gone. No one to obsess about.”
Behind me, Riley is callin’ my name.
But I can’t stop. “Give us Corra. Stop playin’ games. Maybe you can redeem yourself.”
She shakes her head. “There’s no redemption. I’ve learned that now.” She gets up slowly. Walkin’ past Corra, she goes to the kitchen counter and picks up a dusty amber bottle. It takes her a few tries to get the cork out with tremblin’ hands, but she does it. She spills a big pour into a dirty glass. Then she turns, offerin’ it out to me.
“No thanks,” I say bitterly. “We want to get out of here.”
She takes a big gulp of the liquid, wincin’. Then she turns and pours herself another, swigs it down.
“You might want to stick around to see this,” she says, strainin’ to get the words out. “You’ve been waiting for a long time.”
“No, I think we’ll go,” I say, reachin’ for Corra.
“Clay,” Riley says. There’s apprehension in her voice. I turn to look at her. She’s starin’ at Nessa’s computer screen. “What is this?” she asks Nessa.
Nessa smirks and pours herself another drink.
I look at the computer screen. There’s a countdown clock takin’ up most of the display.
“Ten minutes until what?” I ask my mother.
She sets the dirty glass down. “I wanted to enjoy a few last minutes with my boy.” She reaches out and tries to touch my cheek, but I back away.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my blood runnin’ cold.
She takes a deep, airy breath. “What I should’ve done years ago. Finishing it. Ending it all.”
Chapter 18
Riley
I stare at the countdown timer, then at Nessa’s face. Then at Clay. He seems stuck, unable to comprehend what she just said.
“This is a . . .”
“A bomb, yes.” She falls back onto the couch, her empty glass still in her hand. “It was rigged up years ago, to destroy all of my research in case someone came for it. That’s what the Butchers wanted. That’s what’s worth more than all the women in the world. With the information I possess, you can make great weapons. You can control destinies. It has to go when I go.”
“Clay,” I say, shaking him. “We have to go. This whole place is going down!”
“She’s lying,” he says, stuck and not moving.
I grip his biceps and squeeze while holding Mo with my other hand. “Clay, this is Nessa. She’s not lying. She lured us up here to kill us!”
He looks back at his mother, then at me. She answers him with a smile.
“Why not kill us outright the minute we got here?” he asks.
She shrugs. “What can I say? I like the drama.”
He comes unstuck fast. “Shit. Take Mo. Run!”
He bolts toward Corra
and starts trying to untie her.
Clutching Mo, I watch him struggle futilely with ropes that won’t unknot. Even if he does get her untangled, she’s unconscious. Dead weight. We’ll all die if we don’t go now.
“Ten minutes,” Nessa says, a sick sort of glee in her voice. She punches a button and an old song blasts from the ceiling’s speakers, echoing creepily around the walls.
The female voice warbles. “Tell me it’s not true, that I was meant to be with you. Tell me it’s not the end, that this was never just pretend.” Violins play.
“Clay!” I call desperately. “There’s no time. Please!”
He looks up from where he’s digging at the ropes. When his eyes lock on mine, it’s like he understands. With a tortured look, he leaves Corra and runs toward me. “Give me Mo.”
I hand her over as he drops his guns.
We run.
Through the halls and into the stairwell. Down six flights of stairs to the bottom floor. Clay races with Mo held to him, and I do my best to keep up. My heart is pounding. I keep waiting to hear the explosion and see all this concrete come down on us. Crushed.
We get to the main floor door, and I run around him to pull the stairwell door open. I yank on the handle. Locked.
“It won’t open!” I say, pulling like a maniac.
“Eight more minutes,” Nessa’s voice echoes in the stairwell, full of glee.
He hands me Mo and yanks on the door handle, veins straining on his neck. It won’t budge.
“Open the door, Mother!” he screams up into the stairwell.
“Tell me it’s not the end,” a woman sings.
Panicked, I hug Mo tight. If we can’t get out, we’re dead. “What do we do?”
Clay thinks for a minute, pulls out a gun I didn’t know he had from his waistband, and aims. “Stand back.”
I move to the corner of the stairwell and shield Mo with my body.
The gun goes off, impossibly loud in this small space. Glass breaks. When I turn around, he’s smashing through the remaining glass on the small window and reaching through to feel around on the other side of the door.
“Is it working?” I ask.
