“Now bring it to me, okay?”
Rhiannon pushed herself to her feet. A thin splatter of blood was visible across her forehead, as if she had spent the day innocently painting and had inadvertently flicked a paintbrush across her face. She dropped the key into Emily’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Emily said, surprised at how steady her own fingers were. She released the handcuffs, rubbing her wrists to get the blood circulating again. She pulled her jeans the remaining way up and refastened all but one of the buttons, which now lay on the floor near the wall. At any moment she expected to hear the sound of the brig’s main door opening, feet pounding down the corridor. Well, if that happened she would be ready, because she sure as hell wasn’t going to end up back in cuffs again. She picked up Rhiannon’s fallen pistol from the floor, dropped the magazine to check how many rounds were left, then slammed it home again. And if Valentine showed up, Emily knew with a coldness the likes of which she had never felt before that she would not hesitate to shoot her right between the eyes.
Emily turned to look at Rhiannon. She had not moved from the gurney, her eyes fixed on the body of the guard. A trickle of blood dripped from the corner of the dead man’s mouth, collecting in a pool around his knees. Rhiannon seemed fixated by it.
Emily placed a hand against Rhiannon’s cheek and slowly, ever so slowly, turned her head to face her.
“Hey!” she whispered—not like she had much choice, her throat felt like it had been sliced open—“We have to get out of here before the others come. We have to leave now, okay?”
Rhiannon’s eyes drifted back to the corpse of the dead guard, then her head began to follow. Emily reached out again and drew her face back to hers.
“I know it’s hard, but we have to go now . . . right now.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
All light had vanished from Rhiannon’s eyes, the muscles of her face slack, blank, and expressionless, as though the girl’s personality had vacated her body at the same moment as the guard’s life had left his.
Rhiannon blinked once, twice, as her eyes focused on her friend, and Emily saw recognition flicker there, and a moment later Rhiannon was once again present.
“Oh my God, Emily, look what he did to your neck.” Rhiannon reached out and touched Emily’s throat. Her fingers came back smeared with blood.
“It’s just a scratch,” Emily said, managing a smile. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Rhiannon stood silently.
“You go first,” Emily urged, ushering the girl out of the cell.
Once Rhiannon had disappeared down the corridor Emily aimed a kick at the lifeless body of the dead guard. She had turned and followed Rhiannon before his corpse even hit the floor.
Point Loma had gone insane.
It was the only conclusion Emily could come to as she and Rhiannon crept their way along the corridor toward the brig’s front office. Or maybe it was just Valentine, who, Emily was quite sure, was certifiable. Either way, this was obviously no longer a safe place for either her or Rhiannon to be. Even if she threw herself at the mercy of the council, the chances were high that she would just end up back in a cell again. And as soon as the dead guard was discovered, it wouldn’t matter how she tried to explain it, her time would be up, and Rhiannon’s now too. And even if the rest of the council weren’t colluding with whatever plan Valentine had, there was no way that bitch was going to let either of them live to implicate her in a conspiracy.
Emily had no idea how it had happened, or even why it had happened, but somehow Valentine had silently and completely taken control of this last enclave of humanity. And even with the future of her race on life support, she was willing to murder for her goal, whatever that might be. It was the same age-old crap that had plagued humans since Cain’s jealous fit of rage started it all. Dear God, she was tired of it.
There was no way she was going to hang around here now. Her mind was made up. Valentine had changed the rules; now it was everyone for herself. She was taking what she wanted and finding her son. And anyone who got in her way had better be ready to pay the ultimate price.
“Rhiannon, hold up,” Emily whispered. The brig’s front office was lit by a single table lamp on a desk behind a security counter. Emily scanned the room; no one else was there. She ran at a crouch to the desk, keeping low so if anyone was outside the windows they would not see her.
She felt Rhiannon squeeze in next to her.
“Emily, please don’t leave me alone.”
The simple statement, delivered in such a plaintive voice, caught Emily completely off guard. She was so involved in her own experience, her own goals, that she had almost dismissed the fact that Rhiannon, this girl of barely sixteen, had risked everything to come here and rescue her. Had killed a man to save her. Whether it was planned or accidental was beside the point; Rhiannon was human to the core, and that was a commodity apparently in short supply, judging by the actions of some of the survivors over the past few days.
Emily turned to look at Rhiannon; her face was ghostly white in the paltry light of the room. She reached out and found the girl’s hands with her own. “I will never leave you,” she promised, squeezing both hands gently while trying not to notice how cold they were.
They hugged then, Rhiannon wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck, warm tears soaking into her shoulder. Rhiannon let go and sat back, wiping away the tears from her cheek.
“We’re going back to the apartment, grabbing Thor and our equipment,” said Emily, “then we’re going to head to the helicopter and get out of here.”
Rhiannon shook her head. “Thor’s not at the apartment.”
Emily felt her heart sink. “Oh God, no,” she whispered, expecting the very worst.
“No, no. It’s okay, they locked him up.”
She felt a burst of relief that her friend was alive. She didn’t think she would have ever forgiven herself if she had caused the malamute’s death at the hands of Valentine or her cronies.
“You know where they took him?” said Emily.
Rhiannon nodded that she did.
“Okay, show me. You ready?”
“Ready,” was Rhiannon’s reply.
Only blackness was visible beyond the brig window.
“Kill the light,” Emily whispered to Rhiannon, nodding at the nearby desk lamp, instantly regretting her choice of words. Rhiannon flipped the switch, and the corridor was plunged into darkness.
“Wait a little until our eyes are accustomed to the darkness.” The last thing they wanted to do was trip over some shadow-obscured obstacle as they made their escape.
“It’s okay, I’ve got this,” said Rhiannon, producing a small LED flashlight from her pocket.
“Good girl. But don’t turn it on unless I tell you. It’ll bring every guard in the area down on us.” Emily marveled at the girl’s resourcefulness as she counted off thirty seconds in her head. “Ready?”
Rhiannon nodded.
“Quiet as you can, follow me.” Emily cracked the door open and waited, listening for any sound of the two guards she knew patrolled the interior of the camp each night. When she was sure they were not anywhere close by, she whispered, “Let’s go.”
Emily snuck through the door first and out onto the raised wooden porch, the boards creaking under her weight. She held the door ajar for Rhiannon to come through, then closed it slowly, the unoiled hinges sounding much louder than she knew they really were. A sliver of moon cracked an almost cloudless sky, the light from it faint, but enough for the two escapees to be able to navigate by.
The brig was the second building of a row of three located in the northern section of the camp. The survivors’ sleeping quarters were far enough away that the chances of someone who wasn’t a guard spotting them were pretty slim. Judging by the position of the moon, it was well past midnight. Everyone should be asleep.
“Where did they take Thor?” Emily whispered, crouching at the corner of the building.
> “There’s an empty storage building down by the dock. They said if I didn’t take him they were going to shoot him. They took him inside and Fisher locked him up,” Rhiannon explained.
“You lead the way,” Emily said. “But keep low.”
Rhiannon took a second to orient herself, then headed off east. They moved quickly, keeping to the edges of the buildings where the deepest shadows were, halting periodically to listen for the patrolling guards. Apart from the guards on foot patrol, there were another four manned security towers around the perimeter of the camp they would need to avoid. The guards in the security towers were equipped with night-vision goggles, but their attention should be focused beyond the camp’s perimeter fence—should being the operative word, of course. They crossed a large parking lot, using the rusting remains of the few cars still there as cover. Emily could hear the waves lapping against the dock, just beyond the parking lot. A low corrugated-metal security fence ran around the perimeter of the lot, and they hunkered down next to it. A road separated the lot from several gray buildings that sat close to the edge of the dock. The buildings had been used for unloading and storing supplies for the navy before the red rain. They were all empty now, whatever supplies that had been in them liberated by the survivors.
“Which one?” Emily asked.
Rhiannon poked her head up over the fence and scanned the row of buildings.
“It looks different in the dark,” she said, then, “That one . . . I think.” She pointed at the second from the corner. The entrance to the building was off the street, facing the wall of the building adjacent to it, which gave some extra cover, but it resulted in a lane that was far too deeply shadowed to be able to negotiate safely.
“Let me have your flashlight,” Emily said, holding out her hand. She popped her head up over the fence and gave the road another quick scan. “Let’s go.”
The two girls hopped the fence, jogged quickly across the open road, and melted into the shadows between the buildings.
“Stand next to me,” Emily instructed Rhiannon, pulling the girl in close to her. She flicked the flashlight on for a second then off again, trusting that the buildings on either side of them would absorb the majority of the light, and that their bodies would block the rest. The brief flash was still enough for her to spot the door a few meters ahead of where they stood.
“Wait by the door. Give the building a tap with your knuckles if you hear anything. Just one, though,” she told Rhiannon.
Emily reached into the darkness until she laid the flat of her hand against the building’s warm siding, then followed it blindly until she found the cooler wood of the door. Emily tested the handle. The door was unlocked. Easing it open, she slipped inside.
It was even darker inside, but from somewhere ahead of her she heard Thor’s inquisitive huff, followed by his nails on concrete and the unmistakable swish of his thick tail in the air. She might be blind, but he certainly was not.
She turned on the flashlight.
The building was all but empty, just three large, round oil drums scattered over the bare concrete floor. Thor was across from where Emily stood, behind a wire-mesh security cage that still held a couple of propane gas canisters.
He let out a loud “woo-woo-woo” of recognition when he saw her, jumped up, and landed both front paws loudly on the cage.
“Shhhhhh, baby boy,” Emily said, hoping no one had heard his welcoming coo. She knelt down next to the cage and pushed her fingers through the gap, drawing Thor down. He nibbled and licked them, then pranced back and forth in the tiny space, eager to escape his cage.
“I know, I know. You’re ready to get out, right, boy? Just give me a second.”
She gave the cage a once-over. A rope noose was tied around Thor’s neck, the other end attached to one of the propane tanks. The bastards hadn’t even bothered to leave him any water. What the fuck was wrong with these people? A bolt secured the cage shut, a padlock attached to it. Emily gave it a halfhearted pull on the off chance it was left unlocked; it wasn’t.
Not able to track down whomever had the key and force them to give it up, and damn certainly not content to leave Thor here to die at the hands of these assholes, she was going to have to risk busting the lock. It wasn’t like she routinely carried a crowbar, and a quick sweep of the building with the flashlight brought nothing useful to light.
She tapped her fingers impatiently against her thighs. She could either shoot the lock away (and hope she didn’t hit Thor or herself with a ricochet), which would alert the entire camp, or try and smash the lock with the pistol. She would shoot the lock if she had to, but it was probably a good idea to try hitting it first. She pulled the pistol from her pocket, raised it over her right shoulder, and brought the butt down. She completely missed the lock and instead grazed the knuckles of her hand.
“Son of a bitch,” she hissed, before smiling through the pain at Thor and adding, “Present company excluded.”
She brought the gun up again and this time held her arm a little firmer as she smashed it down onto the padlock. It rang with a sharp metallic ping that Emily’s imagination was sure could be heard throughout the camp. She had better get a move on. The third time she brought the gun down she heard something shatter, and the lock’s clasp sprung open, leaving it swinging from its latch. She pulled it off and tossed it aside, instantly regretting doing so as it clanged noisily into the corner. Hopefully if anyone was close enough to hear they would think it was just the wrecks in the harbor complaining to the rising tide.
Thor almost leaped into her arms, throwing his front two paws up onto her shoulders and covering her face in wet licks.
“I missed you too, but we need to get the hell out of here.” She picked the knot of the rope noose apart and pulled it from his neck. “Come on, let’s go.”
She led Thor to the door and opened it slowly. A frightened-looking Rhiannon, her face glowing palely in the flashlight’s beam, waited on the other side. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Thor, and she threw her arms around him.
Emily killed the flashlight and joined Rhiannon in the shadows.
They would have to get back to the apartment and pick up her backpack and supplies. Once that was done, they would head over to the helipad and liberate the copter. Emily had already decided it was probably a better idea to skirt around the back of the buildings rather than follow the same route they had come from; that way they would be able to keep the ocean to their left and reduce the possibility of being spotted. It was going to take longer to get back to the apartment that way, but the cover would be better; plus, it had the added advantage that they would stay out of sight of the western security towers.
She quietly explained the plan to Rhiannon, and they cut back toward the harbor wall before hanging right and crossing the road that led down to the berthing pier.
The moon was high overhead now, casting its pale illumination across the camp. It helped them make their way more safely, but it also meant they could be more easily spotted.
“We need to pick up the pace,” Emily whispered, slipping into a jog. They rounded the corner of a three-story building and began to head north toward the apartment complex.
Emily didn’t even see the guard until he stepped out of the shadows. He’d been taking a leak against the side of the building and was in the middle of zipping his pants up when he stepped back from the building.
“Hey! You should not be out here,” he said. His highly accented English betrayed his heritage as one of the Argentinian sailors. “It’s after curfew. You need to go back to your billets.”
Emily smiled her most entrancing smile and quickly stepped toward him. His rifle was slung over his shoulder still, and he seemed more concerned with getting his fly up than realizing the two women and the dog were any kind of a threat.
“Hey,” he said while she was well out of reach, “you’re Emily Baxter, you’re supposed to be—” The guard’s eyes narrowed with recognition and he instantly began to sling h
is rifle from his shoulder.
Emily was still a meter or so from him. If he were fast enough it would be more than enough time for him to get his weapon off his shoulder and get off a shot. Even if he missed, the alarm would be raised and the chances of them getting to the Black Hawk would be dramatically reduced. Emily’s mind made its decision before bothering to notify her, and she found herself barreling toward him, head down. She hit the guard hard in the stomach with her shoulder.
He let out an “Uggff!” and careened backward, his arms windmilling through the air, sending his rifle clattering away into the darkness as he fell. The unmistakable crunch of his head hitting something hard and the sudden silence that followed almost stopped Emily’s heart.
Panting hard, Emily crouched in the shadows of the building, waiting for the man to move or at least moan. When he didn’t she moved in closer to check on him. Pulling the flashlight from her jacket, she cupped the lens with her fingers until only a slit of light was visible.
Emily felt her stomach turn over. If she had eaten any food she would have thrown up; instead, she dry heaved into her hand.
The guard lay on his back about three feet in front of her. He had tripped over the raised curb along the edge of the road, toppled backward, and hit his head on the same curb. His sightless eyes stared skyward, an almost perfect reflection of the moon lighting the left orb, as a growing pool of blood spread across the road. One arm was bent crookedly toward Emily, his wrist limp, pointing accusingly toward her.
Rhiannon’s sudden exclamation behind her brought Emily back to her senses. “Oh my God, is he dead? You killed him?” Rhiannon said.
“It was an accident,” Emily insisted. She switched off the flashlight and pocketed it.
“But . . . but you killed him,” Rhiannon insisted as darkness swallowed them.
“And there’s not a Goddamn thing I can do about it. Now keep your voice down.” Emily’s heart thumped in her chest, the words she spoke more for her own tumbling mind than Rhiannon’s reassurance. But even as they jogged the last few hundred meters back to the apartment building, Emily could not shake the image of the slack-jawed face of the guard, moonlight glinting from the pool of blood around his head. And she began to worry that she had finally stepped across an invisible boundary, a line that she would never be able to find again.
Extinction Point (Book 4): Genesis Page 8
