by Rachel Caine
So he had; she looked back to find the bulldog snoozing away, comfortably curled in his fluffy new bed. And truthfully, she was tired. Aching, actually. She caught herself yawning. “What about the shot?” she asked.
“When we get there,” he said. “Rest.”
It didn’t take much for her to drop into a dark, uneasy sleep filled with flashes of nightmares. Fast Freddy leering at her. The decomposing, impossibly moving corpse in the mortuary. Her own image, dead on a TV screen, until it screamed.
Last, she dreamed of her sister Sharon the final time she’d seen her—carefree, laughing, heading out on a normal afternoon and walking right out of the family’s life, forever.
Only this time, Sharon wasn’t laughing.
She was screaming as someone carried her away. Reaching out for help, while Bryn stood frozen and silent.
Life-challenged.
Chapter 7
The sound of voices outside the car woke her, finally. Bryn yawned, made a face at the horrible taste in her mouth, and blinked to clear her eyes. She couldn’t see much. Is it already dark? No, it couldn’t be. A jolt of shock and fear went through her. My shot. Is it late?
Then she calmed down and realized that she could see daylight in the distance. McCallister had parked the car inside a windowless building, something like an open, deserted factory. She could dimly make out an empty expanse of concrete, some dilapidated wooden crates, and a few bolts where large machinery had once been installed.
It didn’t look like anyplace she’d have voluntarily visited.
Bryn listened more carefully. She heard McCallister’s voice, and saw him standing outside the car talking to … no one. Wait. He was addressing a speaker grille set into the wall next to a solid metal door.
“… message, Manny. I know you don’t like it when I bring strangers, but I didn’t have a choice. Open up. It’s dangerous to let her sit out here.”
“No, it’s not,” the speaker said, with a faint crackle of static. “We intercepted the tracking signal half a mile out and jammed it. Your satanic bosses will be looking in all the wrong places by this time, especially since I ghosted the signal out to some repeaters. They’ll get random blips through half the state for as long as I want.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, Pat. As far as I’m concerned, you can take her and go.”
“Manny, we talked about this. You said you had something for me.”
“I do. And I’ll give it to you. But she’s not coming inside— Wait. Pansy, Jesus, don’t go and—” Manny fell silent, then sighed. “Well, crap.”
A light switched on above the door, and it opened with a heavy scrape. On the other side was a small-framed woman with dark hair cut in a pageboy style; she had a lovely, heart-shaped face, and a wicked smile for McCallister. “Well, bring her in, Pat. I can’t stand to hear the two of you yammering at each other anymore, and I know how stubborn you both can be.”
McCallister leaned forward and kissed the woman on the cheek. “Thanks, Pansy.”
“Don’t thank me yet. He’s going to pout for days about this, and he may not help you at all now. You know that, right?”
“He’ll help,” McCallister said, “once he meets her.”
Pansy lifted a shapely eyebrow and shot an amused glance at the car. Bryn suddenly felt far too unprepared for whatever was going on. Damn it, why couldn’t McCallister part with details once in a while? What was so hard about that?
He turned and motioned to her, and Bryn got out of the car. Mr. French woke up and started barking in confusion, but she shut him inside and told him to be quiet, for all the good it did. When she turned around the woman—Pansy, God, what a name—was offering her a hand to shake.
“Pansy Taylor,” she said. “You must be Bryn.”
“You know who I am.”
Pansy smiled. “You’ve been a hot topic around here, believe me. Come with, and bring the dog. Oh, and ditch the guns, Pat; you know the rules better than I do.”
McCallister sighed and took out his own guns—two of them—and placed them in the glove compartment of the car. He silently demanded Bryn’s, and she handed it over. Reluctantly. Once the weapons were locked up, Bryn grabbed Mr. French, who wiggled excitedly, and Pansy led them up a narrow, featureless concrete staircase as the door boomed shut behind them, and at the top of the steps entered a complex code into the keypad, then put her hand on a scanner.
“In case you’re wondering if you can cut my hand off and use it to get inside, you can’t,” Pansy said. “It checks pulse.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” McCallister said. Bryn was, but she didn’t say so.
“Who exactly are we going to meet?” she asked. There was something vaguely mad-scientist about all this, crossed with evil-villain. It was surprisingly disturbing.
“Manny Glickman,” Pansy said, and frowned at McCallister. “What, you didn’t tell her?”
“I didn’t want to broadcast it to anyone who might be listening.”
“Jesus, you’re as paranoid as he is. Get help, man.”
The door hissed open with a puff of cool air, and Pansy held it open as they passed before locking it behind them.
Bryn had expected a decrepit warehouse environment, like the floor below, but this was … high-tech. The floors were concrete, but clean and glossy; to the left she glimpsed a kitchen gleaming with tile and aluminum. Ahead was a series of tables, equipment, humming machines, and computers, all in clear-walled rooms.
At the far end hung floor-to-ceiling burgundy velvet curtains, which seemed very out of place for such a laboratory environment.
Pansy saw her looking, and winked. “The bedroom,” she said. “Trust me—it’s nice. Manny would crash on an air mattress in the corner if someone didn’t keep him civilized, but I do my best.”
Bryn had been so caught up in all of the busy detail of the place that she’d failed to see the man bending over a complicated-looking lab setup in the corner until he said, “Oh, come on. Really? A dog?”
Mr. French growled, right on cue, an aggressive reply that made Bryn wince and quiet him with a hand on his head. “Sorry,” she said. “He’ll be good.”
The man sighed. “Dog owners are so gullible. ‘Oh, he won’t bite. He’s perfectly friendly.’ They say that right up until their pit bulls rip your throat out. Has she been searched?” He was, at first glance, not very remarkable. Frizzy dark hair, body swathed in a white lab coat. That was all she could tell about him, because he didn’t turn around or even glance their way.
“I’m vouching for her,” McCallister said. “She’s all right.”
“Just like her for the dog?”
“Manny, turn around and at least say hello,” Pansy said. “They came a long way.”
“Then they should turn around and go back.” Still, the man straightened up and turned to face them. He was bigger than she’d expected, broad shouldered, with surprisingly green eyes. He didn’t meet Bryn’s gaze for more than an instant, though, before he transferred his attention to McCallister. “Pat, you can’t just drop in. It’s not safe. What if you were followed?”
“You jammed the trackers. You just told me that.”
“Physically followed.”
McCallister shook his head slowly. “In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever been that careless?”
Manny stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to his chemistry set, or whatever it was. “There’s a woman involved,” he said. “You’re not the only man to forget to watch his back under those circumstances.”
“It’s not about that.”
“It’s always about that, and if you don’t think it is, you’re lying to yourself.” Manny sent her another fast, scorching glance. “She’s pretty.”
“She’s an asset. And you’re making me wish I’d never come here, because you’re embarrassing me.”
“Then we’re even, because I wish you hadn’t come here either.”
“Manny, come on
. What’s got the bug up your ass?”
“Nothing.” Manny peered through a microscope and made some notes on a pad off to the side. “I’ve got business to do. Clients who need help.”
“I’m paying.”
“Damn right, you’re paying. If Pharmadene knows I’m playing in their sandbox, they’re not just going to send me a cease-and-desist letter, you know. They kill people. I’ve got Pansy to think about.”
Pansy, who was gathering up used coffee cups that were scattered around the area, rolled her eyes, which made Bryn smile, even as she felt a twinge of uneasiness. Safety was obviously a very big concern for Manny Glickman. Bryn had met paranoid people before, but never anybody quite that far gone who wasn’t under serious medication, in a locked-down facility. She had no idea what McCallister saw in this weirdo, or why he was expecting Manny, of all people, to be their ace in the hole.
“I need this from you,” McCallister said. He took a step forward, grabbed Manny by the shoulder, and spun him around. Manny was taller, but in that moment, McCallister simply dominated the room, just by the intensity. “And you owe me.”
“So you’re finally going there.”
“I will if I have to.”
Manny stared down at him, eyes half-shut, and then nodded once, sharply. “I don’t care how much I owe you; I took one hell of a risk even messing with this stuff for you. If you want the results, you’ve got to pay me for that.”
“Ballpark me.”
“It took weeks, you know. Your Pharmadene bioengineers are really good.”
“Get to the point.”
“All right. A hundred thousand for the single-shot prototype. To set up any kind of an actual production line for quantity, I’m going to need expensive equipment and raw materials. A hundred thousand more, minimum. Not including my fees, which will be twenty-five to start.”
“Jesus, Manny. I thought you owed me.”
“I do,” Manny said. “Which is why I agreed to fuck around with your Pharmadene zombie drug in the first place. I’m giving you the friend rate, but I don’t give freebies. Ever. You want me, you pay me. You know that.”
McCallister hesitated a bare second before he said, “I’m going to need to see the prototype in action before I jump into that kind of money. I’m not—”
“I know how much you’ve got in the bank, Pat. Don‘t kid a kidder. You may not have access to the trust, but you don’t do so badly for yourself. Couple of hundred thou won’t break you.”
McCallister stared at him for a long, long moment, then nodded sharply, once. “It had better work.”
Manny shrugged. “It’s science, man. We fail before we succeed. I don’t guarantee anything.”
Well, that was comforting.
Pansy touched Bryn’s arm, making her jump, and said, “Come with me. You’re going to want to sit down for this.”
It’s just an IV, Bryn told herself, as she watched the clear fluid drip slowly from the bag into the flexible tubing. Just saline.
It wasn’t just saline, and it was going into her veins, and that scared her so much her mouth felt dry. The shots, at least, were fast, over before she could really think about the implications. But sitting here like this as Manny’s prototype whispered into her veins, that was something else entirely.
“So,” she said, to take her mind off of things, “how long have you been working on this?”
Manny didn’t seem to hear her, but he finally answered as he scratched down notes in a chart, referring to the machines she was hooked up to. “McCallister brought me a sample of Pharmadene’s drug when it was first started in trials,” he said. “He wanted to know the potential for abuse. I told him there was nothing but potential for abuse. So technically, I suppose almost a year since I started taking the thing apart.”
“And this is … an antidote?”
“For what, death?”
“Manny!” Pansy called from the next room. “Behave.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. He didn’t sound sorry. “As far as I can tell, your condition isn’t fixable by any medical means. The drug maintains you. It doesn’t bring you back to life, just supports your vital functions. If I wanted to get poetic, I’d say it replaces your soul.”
That was … uncomfortable. Bryn looked at the needle going into her arm. “So what exactly does this thing do?”
“No pain at the entry site?” Manny asked. It wasn’t that he sounded concerned, really, just inquisitive. All this was an intellectual problem for him.
Life and death, for her. Or whatever passed for life these days.
“It’s fine,” she said, and dry-swallowed. “I’m really thirsty.”
“Yeah, that’s a side effect,” he said, and poured some water from a carafe nearby. He handed it over, and she gulped it down in three convulsive swallows. “Not too much. You’ll vomit.”
Comforting. She leaned her head back against the leather headrest and studied the ceiling girders high above. “I can’t believe that I’m taking experimental IV drugs from some guy who bunkers himself in a warehouse.”
“You left out paranoid. A paranoid guy who bunkers himself in a warehouse.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
“Don’t waste it on me; I mostly don’t notice. Or care.”
“Do you have any qualifications?”
“Why, would it matter now? The IV’s already in. If you wanted to see my Johns Hopkins certificate, you should have asked before.”
“Do you have one?”
He shrugged. “Somewhere.”
She eyed him curiously and wondered what his story was, but mostly what she was concerned with was what the hell was going into her body. Slowly. To no apparent effect. “I repeat—what the hell is this stuff?”
“If I tell you it could prejudice the trial,” he said. “Just tell me if you feel anything.”
“Anything like what? Because I’m feeling pretty damn unnerved right now!”
Manny, unruffled, checked his watch and the level on the bag above his head, then stood up and went to the door. “You can test it now; the solution should be filtered throughout her system.”
“Try what?” she asked, feeling ridiculously exposed, as if they’d left her naked and defenseless. “Uh, could someone please explain anything to me?”
McCallister stepped into the room, shut the door behind him, and exchanged a look with Manny before he said, “How are you feeling, Bryn?”
“Pissed off,” she said. Her voice was shaking, and she was breathing faster than she should have been. The urge to rip the needle out of her vein was almost irresistible. “Terrified. How’s your day?”
“Interesting.” McCallister pulled up a stool across from her and said, “Your pupils are a little wide.”
“Probably because whatever’s in this stuff is making me high, but not in a fun way.” She swallowed hard and lowered her voice. “I’m scared.“
“I know.” He leaned forward and studied her for another few seconds before he said, “What color underwear do you have on?”
“What?” She blinked at him, and felt a surge of heat in her face. God, she hated blushing. “None of your business!”
“Tell me.”
“No!”
“Condition Sapphire. Tell me!” He’d raised his voice, shouting it in her face, and she felt all the tension, all the anger, all the hate she’d pushed down for days now suddenly boil up to the surface.
Bryn surged up out of the chair and screamed back, “Go to hell, you son of a—” The truth hit her in a cold rush, and she paused, staring into his eyes. “Oh,” she said, in a much calmer voice. “Oh.”
McCallister smiled—a real, relieved smile. “Manny,” he said, “you are a genius.”
“Is that news? I thought you knew that when you promised to pay me—let’s see—two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. To start.” Even Manny was smiling—or at least, he looked like he was tempted.
“Try it again!” Bryn said, and grabbed McCallis
ter’s hands. She squeezed hard. “We have to make sure! Come on; order me.”
“Kiss me,” he said, still smiling.”
Maybe it was the smile that did it, but she felt a wild and uncontrollable impulse to follow that order. Bryn froze, stared at him a stricken second, and then said, “Something else.”
The glow in his eyes faded, and so did the smile. For a second he’d seemed … so different. Almost human. But now … now it was just business again. “Walk to the corner,” he said. “That’s an order.”
She didn’t move. And didn’t feel any impulse to, either. What she did feel was a corresponding need to slap him.
“Manny, if this stuff is supposed to counter that protocol thing, I think it works,” she said, and sat back down in her leather chair. “So maybe it’s a good time to explain to me what you just did to me.”
“I didn’t so much reprogram the nanites as chemically inhibit some of their functions,” Manny said. “I’ve been working on turning off specific design features of the proprietary drug ever since Pat made it available to me for study, more than year ago; I’ve also been working to develop a protocol-free version. That one’s a little tricky, but I thought the counteragent would work in the meantime. It’s got a toxic side effect that would kill most people, but for someone like you, taking Returné, that doesn’t matter. The nanites will clean up the mess. Does make you a little loopy, though.”
“It’s toxic?”
“Not so you’d really notice.”
McCallister stepped in, fortunately. “We had to address your vulnerability to the protocols, especially Condition Sapphire. I thought you wanted that as much as we did,” McCallister said. He seemed to have recovered his composure nicely; she couldn’t see even a trace of emotion left in him now. “If you can be ordered to talk about anything and everything, you’re useless to me as any kind of asset. Before I could tell you anything of note, I had to be sure the protocols wouldn’t trigger if Harte ordered it.”
Well, that just warmed her with the blanket of his concern. Or not. “So now I can lie about things.”
“Just like you normally would.”
Bryn stared at him with calm, level intensity until he looked away.
