My eyes lift to find everyone casting furtive gazes my way between bites, telling me they're listening. Even Brian.
I open my mouth to begin reading again but register a change in the room. I perk up and look from shadow to shadow, realizing there are no guards keeping watch.
They're gone.
We're alone.
Heart in my throat, I race to the drain and pull out the folded papers. They're still there, untouched and unharmed. Without changing my pitch, tone, or volume from before, I begin reading.
“Tallahassee, Florida. Boise, Idaho. Jefferson City, Missouri. Montgomery, Alabama. Indianapolis, Indiana. Topeka, Kansas. Nashville, Tennessee.”
I lift my eyes and find my teammates watching me. Cain whispers something, and some of them scoot forward to see me better. I press on.
“Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Sacramento, California. Juneau, Alaska. Austin, Texas. Atlanta-”
“What is that?”
Martina stands at the wall, both hands pressed against the glass. Wes joins her, eyebrows drawn together as he stares at the papers.
“It's a list,” he says quietly. “A list of all the places that were hit by the outbreak.”
Bingo. Two points for Wes.
I turn to the next page.
“S.A.M. Package delivered safely without incident. Gestational stage of Phase One; approximately seven days. Gestational period in host; seven minutes. Awaiting your wire transfer and looking forward to working closely with you should you ever need to reverse this dire, unconscionable decision you've made. Godspeed, Lerner Laboratories.”
“Sam?” Tara asks, crouched low to the ground beside Martina's legs. “Who's Sam?”
I turn the page and press it to the glass so they can see. If my heart could still beat, it would be ramming against my rib cage in an effort to escape.
“Not Sam. S. A. M.”
They all stare. They haven't connected the dots.
“S-A-M. Secretary. Arthur. March.”
It takes them a moment, but when the color begins to drain from their faces, I know it's clicking.
We may be young, but we're not stupid.
One by one, their heads draw back in shock, and I can almost see the word playing out in front of their eyes.
Traitor.
“Where the hell did you find that?” Celeste asks as she muscles her way to the front.
“March's flash drive,” Cain answers for me. “Someone got nosy.”
That someone is me, obviously, but I don't even try to defend myself. Partly because it delivered the answers everyone on earth has been searching for. But also because the door is starting to crack open and someone in a very expensive suit and fancy leather suit is strolling inside.
The lanyard holding his flash drive swings with every step, and I realize he's been wearing it as a badge of honor – a taunt – since day one. He's got balls, I'll give him that.
As quickly and quietly as I can, I slip the loose pages into the back of my scrub pants.
“Evening, sir,” Celeste says with a smile.
If she has doubts about him now, she's hiding them well. March doesn't even pretend to acknowledge her greeting as he takes a seat in the metal folding chair sitting next to my door.
He crosses his legs and stares.
Just... stares.
Not at the others. Not at the floor. Not at the flickering lights above our heads.
His blue eyes watch one thing. The one thing that can expose him if the opportunity ever arises.
Me.
“Everything okay, sir?”
I tamp down the anxiety crawling up my throat.
“You tell me.”
I don't have to tell him anything, because I can see it in his eyes, in his smug grin, in the confident way he carries himself.
He knows.
“I see my good little soldier couldn't follow a simple order.”
He tilts his head to the side, eyeing Cain.
Without ever taking his eyes off him, he slips a cell phone out of his suit pocket and presses a button. When he turns the screen to face me, I see myself. I'm standing in the cell, incriminating papers in hand. When my voice blasts through the speaker, I look to the others in fear.
“Tallahassee, Florida. Boise, Idaho. Jefferson City, Missouri. Montgomery, Alabama. Indianapolis, Indiana. Topeka, Kansas. Nashville, Tennessee.”
The video ends with a swipe of his thumb.
“Practicing your state capitals, Winters? Got a big test coming up?”
I say nothing.
What's the point?
I'm done.
He leans in close and I subconsciously take a step back. You'd think with a layer of bulletproof glass separating us that I would feel safe, but I don't. There's no escaping March. If he wants my head on a spike, he'll get it.
“Like I told you before, Winters. Big Brother is always watching.”
My tongue takes off without me.
“Actually, I believe you said he was watching out for me.”
“And believe it or not, he is.” March sits back in his chair, confident and calm. Of course he is. He has the upper hand.
Might as well go for broke. Whatever happens, I'm getting out of this alive.
“You started all this.”
March stands from the chair and approaches my door. I saunter over to meet him because even though the man repulses me, I refuse to look weak.
He peers down his hawkish nose at me, and for the first time since we first me, I see him for what he really is.
“You think you know what's happening, but I assure you, your tiny brain isn't capable of comprehending what's been set into motion.”
Rage bolts through me at the insult and I pull the papers from their hiding spot. A loud smack reverberates through the room as I slam the papers against the glass.
“You created a bioweapon.” I speak loud and clear so everyone knows exactly what I'm saying. “Variola Lyssavirus.”
Judging by the smug grin on March's face, he thinks I don't know what that means. Well, I plan to educate him.
“Variola. AKA: Smallpox. Lyssavirus. AKA: Rabies. YOU, Secretary March, hired a laboratory to breed the two viruses, to splice them together. Then you had them planted in the water treatment facilities of every state capitol in the country. You, sir, kicked off the apocalypse.”
Slowly, his hands come together and he begins to clap.
“Well done, Miss Winters. I'm impressed.” He glances down at the paper pressed against the glass. “Variola Lyssavirus.” His lips caress the words, as if he's speaking the name of a lover. “Kills you so fast you don't have time to drop dead.”
“Why would you do something like that?” I snap. “What the hell could possibly motivate you to drive the human race to extinction?”
March stands tall, shoulders pulled back with pride.
“Do you know how expensive wars are, Winters? Do you know how hard it is for any man, even an influential one, to rise to power? Do you know how many years and dollars and repetitive ass-kissing has to go down in order to gain even a shred of respect?”
I don't grace him with a reply. I only stare at the man so wrapped up in power that his pores are sweating out greed.
He points to the paper. “This may not be clean, but it's quick.”
And painful. And terrifying. And the end of all good things.
“I've watched Decker's struggle,” he continues. “I've seen him rise through the ranks, tackle the office, and bring a level of peace to this country that men and women have thirsted for since the before the Civil War. And yet, the world still hates this country. Our name is synonymous with arrogant, wasteful, and crude. So what's the point?” He flings his arms out wide. “What's the point in bringing peace to your country when everyone outside its walls wants to nuke you? Huh?”
“We're not that hated.” I feel the need to defend the country of my birth, the country that's given my family so much.
“You left the U.S. fo
r all of five minutes,” he roars, his face curled up in disdain. “You know nothing of the political aspects of foreign relations. Nothing!”
“And how does this help?” I fire back. “How will this bring the president, or even the country for that matter, respect?”
March chuckles. “You know, there's a common misconception about respect. Do you want to know what it is?”
My body remains stone-still. It doesn't matter how I answer, he's going to enlighten me one way or another.
“They say it's earned,” he says, lacing his fingers together. “But it's not earned, Winters. It's taken by force and given in fear.”
I scoff. “Well, you've successfully bred fear, Mr. March. Congratulations.”
He smiles, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's mistaking my sarcasm for sincerity.
“That I have. From here, I have a front-row seat to the collapse of everything. Congress, the senate, the stock market, public education, the department of natural resources.” He pauses, a wicked smile twisting his lips. “Block by block, the foundation crumbles, and what are we left with?”
My lips pull back, revealing teeth that want so badly to rip into him.
“Scared teenagers protecting men who should have been shot years ago.”
This time, his eyes do narrow at my deadpanned answer.
“And that's the greatest part of this, you know. That even now, with you standing there hearing the naked truth for the very first time, you still blame him. Whether consciously or subconsciously, his image in your mind withers. He goes from the savior of the nation to just a man. A man with flaws. Which, when this all comes to a head, is how the entire world will see him. Their eyes will open and he'll be nothing but a smear on the pages of history.”
Okay. Now I'm lost. His brand of crazy is a little too disheveled for my liking.
“Who will?”
He leans in close, real close, and I know the others won't be able to hear him, so I hang onto his every word.
“The only reason he's still president is because he's alive. He's the only person of authority people have to look up to. He's the beacon of hope. But-” he soothes a hand down the front of his suit and puffs up his chest, “-we won't need hope when he's gone.”
Gone?
Decker?
“When it comes to light that President Decker and Vice-President Wilder unleashed this hell that has swept the nation, crossed the seas, and hacked away at civilization until almost nothing is left, the world will hate them even more than they do now.”
Again, I'm lost.
“And how is that a good thing?”
“Oh, it's not,” he admits, adjusting his tie. “Not for them. But for the man who steps in amid the chaos and rights the wrongs, rebuilds society, and offers the world a cure? Well... he'll be a god among men. People will sing his praises. He will be the messiah they've all been waiting for.”
This man has lost his marbles.
The messiah? He thinks he's a savior?
Unbelievable.
This... this is what evil looks like.
It pretends to serve. It wears expensive suits and shiny shoes. It sways the masses from the bottom of the most prestigious totem pole in the land.
It lies.
It cheats.
It ruins.
It spins innocent men as guilty and guilty men as saviors.
“Decker didn't plan this.”
“No,” he spits. “Decker doesn't have the balls for something of this magnitude. He thinks what's best for the nation comes about through rallies and signatures. He's shortsighted, that one. Which is why he's unfit to lead.”
Unfit? He just said Decker brought about a reign of peace the world hasn't seen in decades.
“Let me just see if I'm following you here,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a smile. “You commissioned a scientist to modify a virus to your specifications.”
He nods.
“You had it delivered and introduced to heavily populated cities.”
Another nod.
“You turned a nation of innocent civilians into rotting, growling, aggressive garbage disposals on legs.”
He laughs, but continues to nod.
“...And now you think you're this world's savior?”
My voice seethes with disgust, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
March's hackles rise, but mine are just as tall.
“And Decker doesn't know about any of this because you're going to blame him, tarnish his name, and make him an even more hated man than he already is.”
“That's the plan, sweetheart.” He stares at me with those cold, calculating eyes. “But you left out the best part.”
He turns his back on me and makes his way to the door.
“Oh yeah?” I call after him. “And what's that?”
“First, I'm going to kill him.”
I force myself not to react. Of course he's going to off Decker. That would be the logical thing to do for someone in his shoes. Although, how any of this has been logical is beyond me.
“You're a monster.”
March narrows his eyes and I can see the hatred there. The evil. The Malice. He's not even trying to shield his true self.
The savage has come out to play.
“Says the little girl whose heart no longer beats.”
He slams the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The second he's gone, I snap back around to my teammates. They're all on their cots, staring at the door, confusion or betrayal clear on their tired mugs. Only Cain stands. His breathing is heavy, his limbs shake with anger.
“What do we do?”
“Nothing.” I lift my hands helplessly. “We can't do anything from in here.”
If we weren't hidden behind closed doors, perhaps we could, but none of us are strong enough to break through this glass. Glancing around the room, I look for something, anything, to help aid in an escape. There's not much; it is a holding cell after all, so I'll have to get creative.
My eyes land on the toilet, but the tank won't budge and the seat has been removed so it's useless to me. Everything on my tray, including the plastic tray itself, can't do a thing. I need something with a little weight to it.
Other than those things, there's just the concrete slab, the walls, and... the drain!
I fall to the cold concrete and jerk the drain cover out of the floor. My eyes ping around the room, looking for a weakness, a chink – anything.
It's solid. Even the hole holding the food hatch is reinforced. Then I look past it. Past the glass.
On the far wall, I see a glimmer of red.
“Watch the door.”
Cain nods and I slip my entire arm through the hatch. I'm not a good shot by any means, so I send up a silent prayer to any deity who's still listening and ask for my aim to be steady and precise.
My eyes focus on the red button beside the door that triggers the alarm. I've watched them use it before, when they brought in the special visitor who'd gotten himself tangled in the razor wire outside. If I can set it off, someone (hopefully not March) will come to our aid.
My muscles tense as I swing it back and forth, testing the weight. I can get it that far.
My wrist flicks, the drain cover flies across the room and... lands with a clank a foot away from the door.
“NO!”
I missed.
I can't believe I missed.
That was my only plan. My only –
“I've got it.”
Shocked, I look over to find Celeste holding an identical drain cover in her hand. It dangles from her fingers as she swings it slowly, her eyes on the button.
“Throw it here,” I say, holding my own arm out. “I'm closer.”
Celeste smiles. “My softball team went to state four years in a row. I've got this.”
Trusting this girl isn't something I ever thought I'd do, but the determination in her eyes can't be argued with. So I pull my hand in and give
her a nod, telling her to go for it.
“What's your plan, Winters?” she asks.
“Throw it and we'll find out.”
Every soul in the room watches as the drain cover flies through the air... and hits its mark.
Immediately, sirens wail and red lights flash above our heads. Any minute now, guards will start spilling in. I act fast.
Lying on the floor, I close my eyes and let all my muscles fall slack. Then I wait.
And wait...
And wait...
Guards aren't rushing in and that worries me. But in the distance, I hear footfalls.
Boots. Heavy boots.
The door swings open and two guards rush inside, both out of breath, looking more than a little stricken. Before they can take in what's happening, I close my eyes and pray for this asinine plan to work.
“Who set off the alarm?”
No one answers, and when one of them barks out a curse, I know they see me.
Good.
The four beeps are drowned out by the siren, but I know the moment they enter. I can smell their fear, can hear their heartbeats. A finger presses against my neck and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“No pulse.”
Duh.
“What the hell are you doing?” the other guard asks. “Get up, moron.”
The guard fumbles, but it's too late. I'm already coiling my muscles.
Before he has the chance to stand, I spring up. My fingers close around his gun and jerk. He fumbles back, landing on his butt with a deafening shriek.
I curl my finger around the trigger and aim for his face.
Rookies.
They both pale, but the smarter of the two guards raises his gun. I look between him and the door. No other guards stand outside. There are no more footfalls.
“You don't have backup coming, do you?”
The unarmed guard shakes his head from the floor.
“They all went with the president?”
He nods.
“Where are they?”
He purses his lips, so I lower my aim, pointing the Glock between his sprawled legs.
“Th-they just left f-for the airfield!”
The airfield is too far away. We're not going to make it.
“How long?”
“Maybe ten minutes? Fifteen tops?”
The Blood Pawn Page 18
