He choked down a sob and collapsed into Galen’s tall leather chair. He didn’t want to know how they could be on their way. It was enough to know they were. The radio gave another slight burst of static. Another voice followed.
“Stay safe, love.”
“Maniel!”
He’d grabbed the radio and jumped to his feet, only to lose his balance and fall against the desk, dropping the transmitter. Andeal scrambled for the short-wave, for the chance to say more than her name, when he heard the door unlock. He froze, laying flat on the cold floor, one hand outstretched. The paralyzing fear crept back in him as Galen entered the room. Maniel called his name through the radio. Dead giveaway, even if his latest act of rebellion was not already plain.
“Lovesick?” Galen asked as he strode into the room and snatched the radio from the ground. He hit the speaking button with a wide smirk. “I’m sorry, my dear, he’s a bit busy at the moment. If you want to join him, however, I would be pleased to have you both back. I forgive easily.”
Andeal closed his eyes as long seconds went by without an answer.
When Maniel replied, her voice had turned cold and tight. “I don’t.”
Galen laughed and snapped the radio to his belt. He crouched next to Andeal and pulled him up by his shirt. He should fight but had no strength, as if Galen’s mocking tone had drained all his fleeting courage.
“She’s lovely.”
Andeal met his gaze. Perhaps he did have a little bit left. He spat in Galen’s face, causing the scientist to drop him and backpedal with a disgusted exclamation.
“You aren’t,” Galen added.
A soft laugh escaped Andeal’s lips. He didn’t fight as Clarin lifted his shoulders off the ground and dragged him out of the office. He would pay for this. Galen did not forgive—that was a lie and everyone knew it. He would make Andeal pay for using the short-wave radio and spitting, but also for Henry’s interruption in the stairwell, for the elbow in the car.
Most of all, however, Andeal would pay for Omar Clarin’s death.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
In Henry’s mind they would all enter the secret labs. Even Joshua and Vermen would rise from unconsciousness and stand beside him, ready to kick down the main doors and assault the facility. When he found himself alone with David Lungvist, creeping toward a side door with a loaded pistol in hand, he was a little dumbfounded. It made sense, though. Maniel was the only one who could keep a professional eye on Vermen and Joshua, while Treysh’s coughing fits had gotten so bad that despite her assurance all was well, everybody knew she was dying. Dying fast, unlike his mother, who’d endured long bedridden weeks. Henry wondered which was worse. Which would be harder for him, too.
But the question was void. Treysh wasn’t going to die. David Lungvist would get her drugs while he tried to find Andeal. His stomach still clenched at the thought of sneaking through the compound alone. When had everybody decided he could accomplish anything with a measure of success? What kind of ridiculous idea was that? But Henry didn’t have a choice, so he clung to his rare accomplishments. He’d shot that fire extinguisher, after all, and he’d played the recording three times and no one had been there to help with those things.
He was not a hero. He had told Joshua that, once, and hadn’t understood what his friend had meant, saying it didn’t matter and that none of them were heroes. But he understood now. They hadn’t needed heroes. They had needed regular folks flooding the streets of Reverence instead of staying in the fields. They needed people to act, to try what little they could.
That’s what he was doing. He was trying.
If he could succeed, too, that would be fantastic.
At least the facilities weren’t the scary glum building he’d expected. No electrified fences surrounded the white-brick building and its roof was the same flat style as all the others, most likely also covered in solar panels. It looked like a small industry’s disrepaired warehouse, not an ultra-secret laboratory containing microbes capable of wiping out the entire capital. At first even the corridors inside were cracked old cement and dull beige wall, mold running up and down like they owned the place. Perhaps Lungvist had the wrong location?
Then the floor turned to brand new tiles and a fresh gray paint covered the walls. Instead of the dusty, rank odour, the place smelled of strong alcohol, blended with several chemicals he didn’t care to identify and a faint sulfur scent. Henry would’ve thought he’d stepped into a hospital, if Lungvist hadn’t led him into a larger, warehouse-like room.
Except no crates were stored here. Four large tanks filled with a yellow, nasty liquid lined the walls on each side. Unknown pipes sprouted from the steel tops and disappeared into the ceiling. The containers had to be taller than seven feet, more than enough to enclose a man. Fans and other machinery gave a soft hum that reminded him of the Great Whale’s belly. Henry approached and squinted at the liquid. Billions of tiny particles gave it an almost opaque look. Not particles, he realized. He set his palm against the glass and his stomach twisted when it felt a little warm. Body temperature warm.
“Are these…”
He couldn’t complete the thought. Did Galen really have so much bacteria ready?
“Yes.” Lungvist’s voice was tight. Stressed. He brought his arm over his mouth and gave a single, deep cough.
Henry scowled. “You caught it, didn’t you?”
The lieutenant met his gaze and answered with a deliberate nod. “Your girlfriend has been coughing all over me.”
“She’s not—”
“Don’t care.” He cleared his throat and squeezed his eyelids, as if in pain. “My lungs never recovered from Clarin’s first plague. I’m not surprised. If he hasn’t moved them, though, the antibiotics aren’t far. I’ll be fine.”
“All right. Okay. Is this where we split?”
He didn’t want to. Sick, annoying Lungvist was better than no one at all. The lieutenant nodded, however, and gestured at a door on their left. “I go through there. You go that way.” He indicated the two larger swinging doors at the other end of the area. Henry wished he’d pointed to something less intimidating. He gritted his teeth as David continued. “This isn’t a big place. You should be able to find—”
A loud scream interrupted David. It’d come from upstairs, above their heads, and Henry’s breath caught in his throat. That was Andeal. He swallowed hard and his hand fell to the small radio transmitter at his side—the one Treysh had stolen from Omar. They’d taken it in case Andeal managed to send another message, but now Henry was dying to yell at Galen and tell him to back off. His grip tightened on the short-wave receiver.
“I don’t think I can wait for you,” Henry said.
“The stairs will be on your left. Take your chance if he’s alone.”
“I’m a terrible shot.” Henry couldn’t help but argue, even knowing there was no point. David had to get those meds as fast as possible. If they did not contain the Plague, thousands would die. With Andeal’s scream still echoing in the back of his mind, however, all those nameless citizens didn’t seem to matter as much.
“I’ll be as fast as I can,” Lungvist said, coughing again. “Good luck.”
He spun on his heels and stalked off, his lanky legs stretching into long strides. Henry watched the strange gait for a moment, reminding himself that the potential victims weren’t all nameless. A second, jerky yell from Andeal called him into order and he sprinted off. He didn’t have a second to waste, not if he wanted to put an end to the agonized screams tearing through the building. He pushed through the swinging door, his heart pumping so hard he could feel the blood pulsing at the very tips of his fingers. Henry hurried into the staircase, taking the steps two-by-two until he reached the top. Only then did he slow. He didn’t want to alert Clarin he was there.
As he edged out of the staircase and into an aseptic corridor much like those below, Andeal’s moaning plea drifted down the passage. The dull thud of a hit followed, drawing another yelp. Henry
prayed Maniel could not hear him, that no open windows allowed the heartbreaking sounds to carry out into the city. Staying behind had enraged her. He could not imagine how she’d feel, being forced to listen to her husband’s screams while she was stuck in the ambulance, unable to help.
Galen Clarin’s mind must have followed a similar path because at that moment, the short-wave receiver at his belt gave a quick burst of static. Henry scrambled to turn it off with a low swear but he had no idea what buttons to press. The scientist’s educated voice filled the corridor, both from his radio and an open door farther down.
“Since you enjoy communication so much,” he said, “let’s make sure we keep it open for your friends to hear.”
“No, no, don’t—”
Andeal didn’t finish his plea. Henry thought he’d heard the crackle of electricity but Andeal’s scream covered it immediately. He heard it like a strange echo: one clear and loud, less than a hundred feet away, while the other, full of static, seemed to come from a distant land. It didn’t last. Galen stopped his torture as fast as he’d started it.
“We have company,” he said. When he spoke again, his voice was louder, steeped in amusement. “Come out.”
Henry froze. He wanted to swear and throw the receiver at a wall, to curse himself for carrying it and curse Galen for using it at this very moment. He wished he could disappear or go back in time and try again. He was so close to them and yet he’d failed, in the most pathetic of ways.
Sometimes trying wasn’t enough.
A gun clicked through the radio. “Don’t be childish and make me count. You have three seconds to step through the doorway and surrender or your little blue friend will meet my brother’s fate. I’d love a chance to reproduce President Kurtmann’s masterpiece with his brains.”
Despite the horrible joke, Galen’s mirth had vanished with his warning. His voice became terrifying when it lost that fake but pleasant, well-meaning undertone. Henry swallowed and hurried to the door, hanging just outside its frame. If he dropped his weapon they would shoot him down on sight. He was stupid, but not that much. When he stepped into view, he had his gun leveled at Galen Clarin.
Henry’s stomach lurched as he took the scene in. Andeal hung next to an incubation tank—smaller than those below—his right hand manacled to a thick pipe coming off the top. He held the left one close to his chest and through all the blood Henry could see a dark hole in his palm. Beads of sweat ran down his friend’s forehead, into the almost purple streaks of tears. Galen pressed a gun to his chin, but it didn’t seem to bother Andeal. Instead his friend stared at Henry with a feverish, pleading gaze. Don’t surrender, it said. Henry clenched his fingers around his pistol’s handle.
“Free him.”
“Really?” Galen chuckled and shook his head. “No one gives away their favorite toy. Now drop your weapon.”
Henry shook his head. Bitter anger swirled in the pit of his stomach. He refused to surrender, not to such a monster, not now. But with Andeal’s life in the balance, he couldn’t bring himself to shoot either.
“Henry…” Their gazes met. All Henry could read in Andeal’s was resignation. “It’s okay. Really. I’m okay with it.”
Irritation flashed through Galen’s expression and he dug his barrel deeper into Andeal’s chin. To Henry, however, he gave a wide smirk. “Come, now, you’re not that kind of man. You would sacrifice a friend? I know you, Henry. I’ve watched you. You don’t have the guts for it.”
Henry’s hands shook so much he doubted he could even aim. He tried to calm himself with reminders of all Galen had done. This was the man who’d sacrificed thousands in a bid for power, killed his parents, poisoned Treysh. And now he was torturing Andeal. Everything they’d done was meant to take him down. He had a chance to finish it—but it’d cost Andeal his life. What would he tell Maniel? His throat tightened and he could barely breathe. He avoided his friend’s gaze and gave a slight shake of his head.
“You’re right. I can’t,” he told Galen.
He lowered his weapon ever so slightly. With a triumphant grin, Galen removed his gun from Andeal’s chin—or started to. Henry squeezed the trigger, shooting the scientist’s foot, and blood splattered on the ground. He heard the man’s yell and gunshot reply as he fell but dared not glance at Andeal. Instead Henry shot again at the falling body, hitting his torso this time. Not quite where he’d aimed for but Henry would take what he got. Good thing he was so close to Galen or he’d have missed. The scientist crashed to the ground and his weapon slipped from his hand.
Henry thought his heart would explode. Blood trickled down Andeal’s neck but it seemed superficial. A new bullet hole had appeared in the ceiling rather than in his head. Relieved, Henry advanced on the fallen scientist. It was over. Somehow, Henry had done it. He wasn’t a complete failure.
With an enraged grunt, Galen grabbed his gun.
Time slowed for Henry as the scientist took aim. The barrel moved through the air as though it was thick gelatin, stopping as it lined up with his heart. Not good, Henry thought. His head buzzed. He froze, wondered how much it would hurt. Andeal yelled something at him but the words were a garble. His friend swung from his hanging hand, kicked out as far as possible. His foot reached the gun and tipped it as Galen pulled the trigger.
The detonation preceded a flaring pain in his shoulder by a split second. Henry stumbled forward with a gasp, reached for the wound. His fingers came back bloodied. Galen’s gun had flown to the left, out of the man’s reach. The scientist struggled to push himself up but collapsed with a moan. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and his smug grin had turned into a grimace.
Henry ignored his agonizing shoulder and stripped off his leather belt. He tied Galen’s hands behind his back, then to another solid-looking pipe. The scientist fought, wheezing, but his strength was trickling out of his wounds and he never managed to overpower Henry.
Only once Galen was immobilized did Henry turn to Andeal.
“I’m so sorry about this,” he said.
“Sorry?” He broke into a soft, mirthless laughter. “You just saved me!”
“He could’ve shot you.”
Andeal’s unsettling chuckles stopped. “Better dead than with him.”
Henry could only stare at his friend, short on words. He had nothing comforting to say, wasn’t sure any words would make it past the lump in his throat anyway. He managed a weak nod, then glanced at the manacles. Galen must have the key. Henry searched for it, checking the scientist’s pockets while ignoring his glare. Every movement was painful, but it kept him busy, which saved him from finding an appropriate answer. As it turned out, Galen did not have the key. Henry straightened up, clacked his tongue.
He didn’t want to leave Andeal alone but he’d need to find something to snap the manacles open.
“Maniel’s waiting for you outside, you know,” he told his friend. “I’ll get these things open and you’ll be in her arms in no time.”
Galen Clarin scoffed at his reassuring words and the derisive sound broke Henry’s tentative calm. Too many friends were wounded or sick or tortured and here was Galen Clarin, genetic engineer genius, mocking him. He had lost and he was still laughing at them.
Henry squared his shoulders and glared at him. “Why don’t you shut it and bleed to death? It’ll do all of us a lot of good.”
Galen shrugged, still smirking, and closed his eyes. Henry clenched his fists and returned his attention to Andeal. His friend did not smile. Henry hated the serious and broken expression on Andeal’s visage. He wanted the smiling, joyful Andeal back, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. It would take time. Henry squeezed his friend’s shoulder.
Andeal barely reacted, just tilted his head to the side a little. “Give me his gun and go, Henry.”
Something in his tone was off. Henry’s throat tightened, but he nodded and obeyed. He couldn’t leave Andeal defenseless, after all. It already pained him to abandon his friend like this, hanging from a pipe, on
ly the tips of his toes touching the ground. Someone needed to get the keys, though.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised.
For Andeal’s sake, but also his own. He couldn’t wait to have some strong painkillers shut down the horrible throb in his shoulder.Henry threw another hateful glare at Galen Clarin and hurried out.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Andeal closed his eyes and tried to lean on the incubation tank behind him. The manacles bit into his wrist and his feet were stiff from trying to reach the ground, but the two sensations paled compared to the flaring agony Galen had inflicted on him. The electric cables he’d used to zap him lay on the table a few feet away, next to the short-wave receiver that had betrayed Henry. Andeal scanned the room in a dazed, unbelieving state. He hadn’t slept in days and every little bit of pain from the last hours—every moment of despair—was combining itself into one crushing exhaustion that numbed the hurt in his entire body. He had no strength left but he didn’t need it anymore.
Henry Schmitt had saved him. Like father, like son. Thankfully the latter didn’t have to give up his life in the process. It was amazing how far away the reluctant man tied down in his little town was now. He wondered if Henry realized it, if he’d intended to use that projection of a weak, scared man to trick Galen. Perhaps it had all been impulse. Even Andeal had trouble telling how much control Henry had over his fears now. Enough, to be sure.
“I warned you about Henry,” Andeal said.
All this time, he’d avoided looking at Galen. He knew what had to be done but was scared that the sight of the scientist would paralyze him. He forced himself to turn. He wanted to be able to look at Galen without fear, without the despairing certitude that his presence meant Andeal’s doom. The scientist leaned against the tank’s base, his classy outfit stained with blood and stuck to his skin from sweat. Without his well-groomed smugness, he no longer gave the impression of being in control.
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