by Rysa Walker
Taylor comes in gun first, which I guess is logical, but it also reminds me that I need to be careful. Taylor does not want to shoot me. I’m quite certain that she will have a tough time living with herself if she does. But I don’t doubt for a second that she will pull that trigger if she thinks my control has slipped and she’s in here with Graham Cregg. And I don’t blame her one bit.
I shine the light around the tiny space as Taylor slides the fireplace back into position. We’re inside a plain wooden room, decorated with nothing but cobwebs. At the back, I see a door marked Caution. There’s a metal slide bolt at eye level.
And the bolt is closed.
Taylor and I both stare at it for a moment, thoroughly confused.
“The footsteps led into this room,” I say. “This is the only door. If they went through it, then how the hell is the bolt closed on this side?”
“She’s a Mover,” Taylor says. “Or Abbott is. Telekinetic. That’s the only rational explanation.”
I’m tempted to argue that it’s really not a rational explanation, because nothing about the Delphi program feels rational to me. Taylor, on the other hand, has been around this insanity her entire life.
“It’s not Abbott. If he’d had any sort of ability, I’m pretty sure he’d have used it back at the deli.”
Taylor frowns, and I remember that she may not have heard all of the gory details of my day. But she just shakes her head and slides the bolt back. “Later, okay? After you.”
I’m so focused on the mystery of the locked bolt that I almost forget the Caution sign on the door. The flashlight beam bounces off the raised rails of a metal ladder that disappears downward into the dark. Aside from the ladder’s edge, there is absolutely nothing beneath the toes of my sneakers. Just a deep black pit. If I’d moved any faster, I’d have fallen straight into it.
Even though I knew there would be no staircase, it’s disappointing. The loud sigh from Taylor lets me know the feeling is mutual.
“Well, then. We have a ladder.” She pushes me back. “Which means I have to go first. You follow when I tell you to, okay? And give me some space. I don’t want you close enough to kick if your hitcher makes a surprise appearance.”
I hand over the flashlight and move back toward the center of the tiny room, still unnerved at nearly stepping into that empty chasm. Although it’s completely irrational to question my decision to follow Taylor, given that I know I do follow her, my mind continues running along two parallel tracks, and one of those tracks is freaking out right now. Even under normal circumstances, descending a ladder into a deep, dark, possibly spider-filled hole would rank pretty high on my oh-hell-no list. On a day like today, however, when I’ve had maybe a dozen dizzy spells . . . it’s borderline crazy.
But Aaron’s down there without backup. And Taylor will be safer with me along.
Taylor zips up her hoodie to the very top. “We’re on silent mode from here on out, since we don’t know for certain where this ladder leads, and anything we say could echo. At some point, I’ll have to turn off the flashlight, too. So step softly and carefully. And if you’ve got a hood on that jacket, you might want to use it. I’m guessing there are creepy-crawlies.”
“Any idea how far down?” I ask.
“None whatsoever.” She starts down the ladder, flashing me a cheerful smile that I add to my growing list of evidence that Taylor Quinn is quite insane.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Port Deposit, Maryland
April 24, 2020, 9:54 p.m.
I sit on the edge of the pit, waiting until she taps the rail before I turn and follow her into the abyss. For the first twenty or so steps, she leaves the flashlight on and pointed upward. The beam catches on every single strand of cobweb, but I only see one spider. Thankfully, it’s a spindly, long-legged creature with a body so small I can’t even tell if it has eyes.
Strangely enough, I’m glad when she turns the light off and also glad that she didn’t pack the headgear for the goggles. In the pitch black, it’s easier to forget where I am and just focus on putting one foot below the other.
The air is heavy and stale, like the place needs airing out. Like the townhouse last night but worse. As I enter the time period from my vision, one track of my mind is thinking it’s nice knowing that the rungs are intact, since three other people—Abbott, Alex, and Taylor—have already used the ladder. Next comes that stupid fleeting thought that maybe they did fall, and maybe they’re all lying crumpled at the bottom, even though I know I’d have heard if Taylor fell.
Even though I’m expecting the cobweb or spider or whatever the hell it is when it brushes against my hand, that doesn’t stop me from nearly shrieking and frantically rubbing my hand against my jeans. I’m glad I can’t see right now. I just need to keep moving, because Aaron could already be in danger, and every second I waste on this ladder will only make the situation worse.
When the vision ends, all I can think is that I wish it had been longer. I wish it had given me some idea what to expect when we finally hit the ground.
Taylor is moving quickly. I have to be cautious, looping one arm through the rungs as I travel downward, to provide me with extra stability if one of the dizzy spells hits. Soon, Taylor’s footsteps and breathing are so faint that I can barely hear them at all. It’s all I can do to make myself continue downward, instead of bolting back toward the surface.
Then I hear something. Not from Taylor, below. It sounds like someone above me on the ladder.
I completely forget about looping my arm through the rungs and scurry down as fast as possible. Cregg is still sluggish, but he’s alert enough to sense my impending panic, and I feel him tapping away at my mental walls. It’s more of an idle exploration than a full-fledged barrage, but my nerves are already stretched to the breaking point and it really isn’t helping.
Something latches on to my ankle, and I barely manage to bite back a scream. It comes out as something between a squeal and a hiccup. My foot lashes out instinctively, but Taylor, I assume, blocks the kick, smacking my shin against the bottom rung.
I press my lips together yet again to keep from crying out. On the plus side, the pain in my leg makes me forget my terror a few moments ago.
“Shhhh.” Taylor hisses in my ear, moving back so I can take the final step down.
The noise I heard from above seems to have stopped, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder whether it was coming from the surface. Taylor was on the ladder too. Maybe I heard an echo of her footsteps. Or maybe I imagined the entire thing.
Opening my eyes slowly, I realize that even though the flashlight is off I can see, at least a tiny bit. Taylor runs her hands along the wall, moving toward the left where thin lines of light outline a closed door.
Is the power actually on down here? Or is someone simply waiting on the other side with a flashlight and a gun?
Taylor presses her ear against the gap, and I try to calm my heart down enough to listen, too. After a long moment, she nudges me and points at the doorknob.
Oh, right. We’re on the ground now, so it’s back to me going first. I pull the night-vision goggles out of my knapsack so that I’ll have them ready and then turn the knob in tiny increments, nearly jumping when it finally clicks open. There is light, but it’s off in the distance and very faint. A flashlight, or maybe a lantern. And the stale odor is now mixed with the smell of smoke.
I don’t hear anything, though. Taylor nudges me, and I push the door open slowly. Goggles raised, we creep forward into what looks like a break room. There’s a fridge, a coffeepot, a sink, and a round table with three cheap cafeteria chairs. Condiment packets, napkins, sporks, and other debris are scattered on the counters and the floor. Most of the cabinet doors and drawers gape open, as though someone rifled through them and couldn’t be bothered to put the contents back.
After lowering the goggles, I see that the light is yellow and flickering. More like a candle or maybe multiple candles. And it seems to be concentrat
ed in one vertical strip of light.
A shadow breaks the light pattern, and I hold my arm back to halt Taylor. The candlelight is coming from a room on the right, maybe twenty feet down the hallway. The door is partially open. I’m starting to pick up sounds now, mostly furniture scraping back and forth against the floor in a steady rhythm, but also some very heavy breathing.
I glance back at Taylor, who is staring at the door through the goggles. She motions for me to do the same. There’s a metal nameplate in the center. I zoom in and read: Graham Cregg.
The rhythm picks up slightly. This could be our best chance to get past without attracting attention, so I move a bit faster. Taylor must agree, because she’s right on my heels. We’re maybe ten steps from the door when there’s one last screech of wood on tile and then silence.
Taylor grabs my arm. We stop and press our backs against the wall, although I’m thinking that, if that was what it sounded like, we’d be better off running while they’re getting their clothes back into place.
A giggle from inside the room is followed by a roar inside my head. The roar is muted by my walls, much the same way that the giggle is muted by the partially closed door, but there’s no mistaking either sound.
“Oh, perfect. Light one for me, too. I’ll flick the ashes all over his chair. He always got so mad when people smoked.” The woman has an accent I can’t quite place. New Jersey? No, I think maybe it’s Philly. Her mad is almost mid, and smoked leans toward smooked. “Especially women. Pretty sure the only reason Mom took up the habit was to piss him off.”
Cregg is butting his spider-rat shoulder against my walls now, a dull, frustrated thud. The sound is vaguely reminiscent of the racket the two people in that room were just making on what must be his old desk. That thought must get through to Cregg, because the thudding instantly stops.
Taylor nudges me and mouths, “Are you okay?”
When I nod, she points forward. We don’t even manage a step, however, before I hear Abbott’s voice. “They should have called by now. The agreement was that they’d check in every fifteen minutes unless they see activity over there. It’s been nearly twenty.”
“Maybe they got called out on a real police emergency,” she says.
“They’re off duty tonight. You think I’m an idiot? I wouldn’t have hired someone who could be called away.”
“Are you even sure they’re bringing him here?” she asks.
“They saw two cars up here yesterday.”
“So? Doesn’t mean that Pfeifer is here.”
“I’m going to call them. Find that map you mentioned, okay? And be quiet, unless you want them to know you’re here, too.”
The shadows flicker wildly as one or both of them move about. If we’re going to go, we have to do it now. I half run, half tiptoe past the door toward the end of the hallway and then follow it to the right, entering a long, narrow room with several sofas. There’s a television mounted on one short side of the room. A curtained window takes up most of one of the long walls. Next to it is a door.
The layout of the room seems familiar, and after a moment, I realize why. I remember sitting on that couch with Dacia Badea as she tried to access my hitchers’ file. Her digging her nails into my arm, angry that Molly’s files weren’t available. And me discovering that it was actually Dacia who killed Molly, not Cregg. Dacia, who somehow made herself believe she was doing Molly a kindness.
I make it quick for you.
“Move,” Taylor snarls under her breath. She opens the door and half shoves me back into the hallway.
We both start to run, but navigating these corridors isn’t going to be as easy as it was last time I was here. Debris is everywhere. I suspect that much of this mess was the result of people who came in after the fire to investigate the mostly fictitious story that the Creggs concocted about a terrorist group and a human-trafficking ring in order to hide what was really going on here. A long strip of yellow tape cordons off the monitoring area where observers watched as researchers tested the adepts inside the neighboring rooms, and many of the computers seem to be missing.
“Hey!” a voice calls from behind us. Taylor looks back, but I don’t have to. It’s Abbott’s voice.
A beam of light, much brighter than the one that Taylor is carrying, crisscrosses the corridor. I move closer to Taylor, trying to keep my body between her and the gun that I’m pretty sure Abbott is drawing. He won’t shoot me, because that would be shooting Cregg.
Except how would he know that it’s me? It’s dark, and—
He fires. Misses. Fires again.
I pull Taylor to the left, and as soon as we round the corner, she turns back and fires. She doesn’t even take time to aim.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper.
“Warning shot,” Taylor says as she starts down the hallway. “Maybe he’ll back off if he knows we’re armed.”
“Abbott!” a man yells. “Drop the gun!”
“Who the hell is Abbott?” Abbott says.
Two shots. Then a third shot from a different gun.
“That was Sam’s voice,” Taylor says. “How did he get here? I could have shot him!”
I hear the faint sound of footsteps moving our way. Taylor pulls back toward the main hallway, but I grab her arm.
“We don’t know who shot who.” I shine the light back behind us. “Keep your gun pointed at—”
“Or,” she whispers, “I could just ask? Sam!” Her voice booms out the last word. “Is that you, Sam?”
There’s a brief pause and then: “Yeah, it’s me. Hold your fire.”
A few seconds later, he turns the corner, holding up his hand to block the beam from Taylor’s flashlight. He’s wearing goggles that are a bit smaller and older than the pair in my hand, but at least he remembered the headgear. He looks a little surprised, and not exactly happy, to see me. It seems Aaron and Daniel have filled him in on everything that’s happened.
“There were two of them back there,” I say, nodding at the hallway. “Abbott—or whatever his name actually was—and a girl. Alex Cregg.”
“Yeah. She was in the kitchen when I reached the bottom of the ladder. I . . . um . . . convinced her to go back into the office and then shoved a sofa and a love seat in front of the door. She’s a scrawny little thing. I think it will hold her.”
“Maybe,” Taylor says wryly. “And maybe not. She’s got muscles you can’t see.”
“Delphi?” Sam asks.
Taylor nods. “Cregg’s daughter. She’s a Mover—don’t know how strong, but she locked the bolt on that door from the other side. I guess to make it look like no one went down there.”
“Big difference between moving a tiny bolt and a couch, but yeah . . . we need to watch our backs. Speaking of, you want to explain that wild shot a minute ago?” Sam asks. “You could have taken my head off.”
Taylor huffs indignantly. “I didn’t know you were behind us. You’re supposed to be driving the RV to West Virginia.”
“Porter’s doing it. I may be old, but the day I let my grandkids walk into danger on their own is the day you can just go ahead and roll me into my grave. And that was doubly true after I got a text from that Stan kid.”
“Oh,” Taylor says. “Anything new?”
“Yeah. He said all of the paths were unraveling. I don’t know what the hell that means, but it sounds bad. The part that I did get was where he said to abort, only you were already headed down that shaft, so I followed. How confident are you that he knows what he’s talking about?”
“Way less than I was ten minutes ago,” Taylor says. “But Deo said Aaron is down here solo. So don’t even try arguing that we should head back up.”
Sam glances over at me, then back at Taylor. “I assumed you were down here with Aaron. Your brothers shouldn’t have left you alone, and . . . Anna shouldn’t be here at all. Both for her sake and everyone else’s. No offense, Anna.”
“None taken,” I say. “I’d actually prefer to be elsewhere.�
�
“I trust her, Popsy, or I would have left her aboveground. She’s medicated now and she’s in control. Right, Anna?” She waits for my nod and continues. “We need to get moving.”
“Exactly where are we going?” he asks.
“Lab 1,” I say. “I’ve been here before. I can take the lead.”
The hallways are wide, but there’s a lot of junk scattered about. We pick our way through the debris, trying to balance speed with clearing from the path as we go, just in case we need to beat a hasty retreat.
Room 81, where Caleb had been kept, is just ahead. It’s nothing but an ordinary door now, half open. I peek inside as we pass and see the charred remains of furniture and, near the middle of the room, something that looks kind of like a giant white shoe with the toe cut away and propped up like a car hood. The lid is partially melted, and the entire thing is streaked with soot. I shine the flashlight through the door to get a better look and see water on the inside of the “shoe.”
“What are you doing?” Taylor asks.
“This is the room where they kept Caleb. That thing in the middle—is that an isolation tank?”
“Maybe.” Her tone makes it clear that identifying this object is very low on her list of priorities. And she’s right, so we keep going.
A security door separates the main section of The Warren from the long tunnel leading to two labs that were kept secret from most of the guards and other workers that Cregg employed. It’s the same door that Ashley opened for me and Deo on our way out last time. I’m relieved to find it unlocked, just as the gate was when we drove in.
It’s colder in here, and the smoky odor seems less oppressive. The floor slopes downward for the first hundred yards or so, then flattens out. I’m also picking up a light off in the distance. When I feel the path begin to shift upward, I motion for Sam and Taylor to stop.
“We’re halfway through,” I whisper. “The tunnel opens into a hallway. Lab 1 is on the left, Lab 2 on the right, once we pass the cubicles. The lab walls are cement block up to about three feet and then some sort of clear glass or plastic barrier above that. The tunnel that leads up to the parking area begins just past the labs, and there’s a monitoring station on the right, before we get to them.”
