by David Meyer
"You won't do that. You're like me. You could never kill someone in cold blood."
I looked around the room. My eyes happened to fall on one of the cryocontainers. It looked a little different than the rest, thanks to a couple of pillows situated around its base. But otherwise, it was identical to the other containers.
It was constructed from shiny metal and outfitted with a small control panel. Four sturdy wheels separated the container from the ground, allowing for easy mobility. Numerous cables extended from it to the ceiling.
Looks like I was right. This place is leeching all of Kirby's electricity.
I hiked over to it. "Who is this?"
Holly didn't answer.
"Someone important to you?"
She hesitated. "Yes."
"He died?"
"He's in suspended animation."
"What happened to him?"
"Stage IV pancreatic cancer."
"All that talk about saving lives was bullshit. The truth is you only care about reviving one life." I stared at the cryocontainer. "His life."
"That's not true," Holly protested. "I don't want anyone to die. Why do you think I go to all this trouble?"
"And you're sure it'll work?"
"Of course."
"Then here's the deal. Let Dutch go." I grabbed some of the cables. "Or I'll shut this thing down."
A look of pure horror came over her face. "You'll kill him."
"He's already dead."
Holly's face twisted into something horrible.
"Last chance."
"If you do that, I won't cryopreserve your friend here. I'll just let him die." Her face relaxed. "The way I see it, we're at an impasse."
I glanced at Graham. His cheeks looked sallow. His eye was now closed. His head sagged toward the vat's icy waters. "Maybe not." I raised my pistol. Took careful aim.
Holly dropped to the ground and rolled under a table.
A couple of blasts reverberated in the room.
"You missed. An easy shot and you missed it." She stood up, clutching a pistol. "We've got guns too you know, courtesy of our corporate partner. I'm going to send you straight to hell."
On the right side of the vat, water started to trickle out of the fresh bullet holes. The acrylic material cracked. Spider webs appeared across the surface. The vat bulged.
I smiled. "You first."
Chapter 72
The vat exploded.
Rupert tried to scramble out of the way. But the rushing water caught him first. It swept his feet out from underneath him. His head slammed into the middle cryocontainer and he sagged to the floor.
A wall of water crested through the room. I hopped onto the nearest table and knelt down, steadying myself.
The water surged toward me. Right before it hit the table, I leapt forward. The water seized the table from under my feet, dashing it against the wall. Sparks soared into the air. The humming noise vanished. The light buzz of electricity disappeared. Then the lights died.
My boots splashed into the thin layer of icy water. The bulk of the water surged back on me. It swept past my thighs. I felt a sudden freezing sensation. Several seconds passed before I could move again.
I looked around for Holly or Rupert. But I couldn't see anything in the inky darkness. I considered turning on my flashlight but thought better of it.
I crept in Graham's general direction, pistol at the ready. A small part of me was worried about Beverly. But at last glance, Jenner was in the process of rescuing her. Hopefully, he'd already gotten her out of the basement.
The acrylic material crunched under my feet. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to step more lightly.
I continued forward until I reached the back end of the vat. I felt around for a few seconds until my fingers touched flesh. It was Graham's flesh.
Graham's ice-cold flesh.
I stuck my pistol in my belt and grabbed my machete. As quietly as possible, I cut away at his leather bindings. He slumped into the water. It surged over him, completely covering his face. Bits of acrylic material and other debris floated over him.
I fished him out. His body felt frightfully cold. "Dutch," I whispered. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't respond.
I gathered his naked body into my arms and waded away from the vat. I walked to a short set of stairs. Quickly, I climbed onto the observation area and set Graham's body onto the concrete.
My eyes started to adjust to the darkness. I looked around for Holly or Rupert. But I didn't see them. "Dutch." I slapped him gently in the face. "I need you to get up."
His eye opened a fraction of an inch. He worked his jaws but nothing came out. He started to tremble. Before long, every inch of his body was shivering.
I stripped off my shirt and balled it up. I wiped off his chest. Then I wrung out the fabric and went back to work soaking up the cold water.
Graham's body started to dry. His skin, while still a sickly bluish color, started to warm up a bit.
My eyes adjusted further to the darkness. I noticed a duffel bag on one of the tables. I retrieved it and felt around in its interior. It was stuffed with Graham's clothes. I pulled them out and quickly dressed him.
He stirred. "What …?"
I cringed as his voice carried across the room. I kept waiting for the crack of Holly's gun. But the room remained silent.
"Can you stand up?" I asked. "We need to get out of here."
Groaning, he lifted his back off the ground. I pulled him to his feet.
"I think I see Rupert." Graham shivered. "Over there."
I rotated my neck. Rupert lay sprawled on his side, facing the row of cryocontainers. Water covered his face.
Anger and numbness welled up inside me. I strode down the stairs and splashed over to him. It wouldn't take much to finish him off, just a quick slice to the throat. I hesitated for a moment. Then I lowered the blade. Maybe he was a monster.
But I sure as hell wasn't.
Kneeling down, I felt his pulse.
Dead. He must've drowned.
I peered around the room. I didn't see Trotter, Jenner, or Beverly. I figured they'd retreated back to the Whitlow's laboratory. Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones who'd escaped the basement.
Where'd you go, Holly?
Chapter 73
Holly never saw him coming. While running at top speed, she smashed straight into a moving figure. She stumbled. Her arms flailed at the darkness and she crashed into a wall.
Her nose crunched. Blood squirted out of her nostrils. She tried to keep running, but her wobbly legs only took her a couple of feet. Then she fell to her knees. Bile flooded her throat and she vomited.
She lifted her gaze. Baxter lay on the floor nearby. He looked unconscious. "Come on," she whispered to herself. "You've got to keep moving."
She vomited again. Her shoulders felt weak. Fatigue set in. She didn't want to move. She just wanted to sleep, to make it all go away.
She winced as memories surged through her brain. The cracking vat. The rushing water. A small wave cresting through the basement. Rupert smacking his head against her father's cryocontainer. The loss of power.
Then darkness.
She vomited a third time. This time it was a dry heave. Her throat burned. Her reflexes felt dull. Her brain screamed at her to get up, to run. But she couldn't see any point in drawing it out. She had nowhere to go. Sooner or later, Reed would catch up to her.
More memories coursed through her mind. Her pounding footsteps. Splashing water. Rupert's cold body. His dead eyes. His nonexistent pulse.
Her first instinct had been to drag him into a cryocontainer. She'd even gone so far as to lift him to a sitting position. Then a horrifying realization had occurred to her.
There was no electricity.
She'd turned toward the diesel generator. Unfortunately, she had no clue how to fix it. Then she'd heard a noise. She'd twisted her neck just in time to see Reed rise to his knees. Panic had struck her chest. Surv
ival instincts had kicked in and she'd fled across the room. Before she'd had time to think things through, she'd retreated up the ladder.
Holly lowered the top of her head to the ground. Her hair dipped into the vomit. Beads of sweat welled up on her cheeks.
She despised herself. At the first sign of trouble, she'd abandoned the two most important people in her life. She'd allowed fear to take over, to control her.
A familiar face flashed before her eyes. Her self-loathing slowly morphed and she found herself hating Reed with every ounce of her being. He'd shot the holes into the vat. He'd caused the destructive wave. It was his fault, not hers.
A strange spark appeared deep inside her. It roared like a fire, sending energy to all parts of her body.
She lifted her head. A thought occurred to her. In her haste to exit the basement, she'd forgotten to secure the panel. That meant Reed wouldn't be far behind. For a moment, she considered returning to her laboratory. She could push one of the filing cabinets on top of the panel. Then she could wait for him and the others to die.
But she quickly put the plan out of her mind. She didn't have time for them to starve to death. Rupert and her father needed immediate help. The longer she waited, the greater the likelihood of eternal oblivion.
A second plan formed in her frenzied brain. She'd get a knife from the kitchen. Then she'd hide. She'd wait for Reed and the others to come looking for her. She'd stab them one by one. She'd cut their throats. She'd kill them. Not permanently, of course.
After all, she wasn't a killer.
Her palms touched the floor. It felt cool and gritty. Pushing off it, she rose to her knees. The small fire inside her grew hotter and harsher. Its flames tickled her senses and she felt reinvigorated.
She stood up. Her legs felt strong and confident. Her head was no longer woozy. Stepping over Baxter, she maneuvered through the dark hallway.
Flickering candles greeted her as she jogged into the common room. She'd always enjoyed the space, but now it felt foreign and unsettling to her. The windows were too large. The sofas and chairs were far too white. The lack of color magnified every scratch, every stain, and every mark.
The blue pillows were deceptively fluffy. They looked comfortable from a distance, something she could sink into for a nap. But in actuality, they were hard, unforgiving. And forget those white coffee tables. They couldn't be trusted. They were far too flimsy.
She strode into the kitchen. She went straight for the butcher block and selected the longest knife she could find. She turned it slowly in her hand, examining the metallic surface. Yes, it would do nicely.
"Put it down, Holly."
The words, a string of bundled rage, shocked her. Slowly, she placed the knife on the counter and turned around. Her gaze caught sight of a pistol. It wavered slightly, thanks to the trembling fingers that held it.
"That's my gun," Holly said. "How'd you—?"
"Shut up," Trotter replied.
"Let's talk—”
"I said shut up. I've heard enough of your crap."
"What do you want from me?"
He glared at her. "I want to know how it went down."
She glanced at the knife. It was still close to her. If she moved fast enough, she might be able to have it in her hands before he got off a shot. But it was a big risk.
Fortunately, she saw another option. "He understood," she lied. "At first, he protested. But we talked it over. And ultimately, he understood. In a way, I think he felt grateful for the opportunity."
"You're lying."
"Pete Cook was a troubled man. I got the impression he'd hurt a lot of people in his life. I think he saw this as a chance to help with important research, to do something good for a change. And the idea of being reborn, of getting a second chance at everything, fascinated him."
"Did he mention me?"
Holly picked her words carefully. "He mentioned a lot of people. I'd be lying if I said I remembered them all. The truth is he felt abandoned."
"Abandoned?"
"You weren't always there for him, were you?"
Trotter swallowed hard.
"It's not your fault. There isn't always time to do everything we want to do. That's the beauty of cryonics. It'll give you a chance to make things right with him."
Trotter lowered the gun a fraction of an inch.
Holly smiled to herself. She'd mentally disarmed him. Now, she needed to turn him. "I need your help."
The trembling in his fingers turned violent. "What do you mean?"
"I can't revive Pete if they take me away."
"What do you want from me?"
She let a helpless look creep across her face.
"If I help you, and I'm not saying I will, how do I know you'll keep your word?" he asked.
"Because this is why I was born." She adopted her most trustworthy face. "I'm so close. I just need time to perfect the technology. Soon, I'll be able to reverse the animation process."
"A process you caused."
"You don't have to like me. You don't even have to respect me. But I'm the best chance Pete has of ever waking up again."
Trotter raised his gun. "I'll just find someone else to take over your research."
"You don't understand. Pete needs help now." She hurried to explain. "His body is well-preserved. I've filled it with cryoprotectants and kept it at subzero temperatures. But his cryocontainer still requires electricity. Without it, he's doomed."
Trotter steadied his gun hand.
Holly cringed, unsure of what he'd do.
The air exploded.
She shrieked and clutched her ears.
Trotter froze in place. A tiny trickle of blood appeared on his forehead. Then he crumpled to the ground.
Aaron Jenner stepped forward. He held a pistol in one hand. Smoke curled out of its barrel. "Hello, Holly."
"You … you killed him."
"Yes."
"But why?"
He offered his hand. "I need you to come with me."
"I can't go. My dad … Rupert …"
"You can't stay here."
"But I can't leave. I have to fix the power. I have to begin Rupert's cryopreservation before it's too late."
"How much time does he have?"
"No time. Ideally, cryopreservation begins within fifteen minutes of a stopped heart."
Jenner rubbed his jaw. "What's the longest you can wait?"
"Hours at the most." She shrugged. "No one knows for sure when death becomes permanent."
"I'll make you a deal. You help me. In exchange, I'll get a few of my engineers into your laboratory. They can fix the power and get Rupert on ice."
"Your engineers?" Holly shook her head. "Who are you? Why do you want to help me?"
"Because I've been helping you for years." Jenner smiled. "Aaron Jenner is just one of my aliases. I prefer to go by Raven. Or to you, Rabe."
"You mean …?"
"Yes. I'm your anonymous benefactor."
Chapter 74
"He's dead." I rotated Trotter's neck. Rigor mortis limited the range of movement but I could still see his mangled forehead. "Single bullet to the back of the skull. She didn't just kill him. She executed him."
"Damn," Baxter looked around nervously. "I should've stopped her."
"It's not your fault." I exhaled. "Any sign of Aaron?"
"Not yet," Graham said.
"We know he came upstairs and returned Beverly to the table. So, he's around here somewhere."
"Doing what?"
I shrugged. "Searching for Holly."
"Unless she already killed him." Graham frowned. "I never would've guessed Holly was a mass murderer."
I tipped my head back, deep in thought. "She was here when the Desolation exploded."
"Yeah, but Rupert was at Fitzgerald. He must've set the charges."
"Why would he do that?"
"Remember what Jim told us? He and Holly were always receiving shipments. They must've been importing stuff for their
secret laboratory. Someone probably found out, threatened to expose them."
The scenario fit the facts, but just barely. I couldn't help but feel we were missing something. "Keep an eye on things. I'll be back in a minute."
Graham and Baxter nodded.
I donned my parka and ran outside. I hiked to the vehicle shed and took a quick look into the interior. Then I returned to Kirby.
Graham snapped to attention as I strode through the door. "Well?"
"Holly's gone."
"You're sure?"
I nodded. "Three Sno-Cats are missing. We know Roy took one of them. Warren and Zoey were in another one. So, we have to assume Holly commandeered the third one."
"Where do you think she went?" Baxter asked.
I shrugged. "I can't imagine she'd go far. Her whole life is wrapped up in that basement."
"Do you want to go after her?"
I shook my head. "Better to wait here. She'll come back eventually."
Graham sidled up to me. "What about the Amber Room?"
"Don't worry. I haven't forgotten it." I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Aaron? Can you hear me?"
No one answered.
I raised my voice. "Aaron?"
For the second time, there was no answer.
For the next ten minutes, I searched Kirby. I entered every room in both hallways. But I couldn't find a single sign of him. Mystified, I headed back into the common room. "He's gone," I said.
Baxter gritted his teeth. "Maybe Holly has him."
"Maybe." I crouched down next to Trotter's body. Carefully, I studied the wound. "Pat, where did Aaron get his gun?"
"He doesn't have a gun."
"Yes, he does. He shot Ben with it."
Baxter frowned.
"You know, there's another way this could've played out," I said slowly.
"How's that?"
"Maybe Holly didn't kill Dan," I replied. "Maybe Aaron did."
Chapter 75
The tip of a blade pressed into the back of my skull as I strode into the Whitlow laboratory. I stopped cold in my tracks. Slowly, I turned around.
My heart practically exploded in my chest. "Beverly?"
Her blade hovered an inch beneath my chin. And the longer I stared at it, the more I realized something was wrong.
