Lifeless (Lawless Saga Book 2)

by Tarah Benner

  “Stop right where you are,” he said calmly. “I don’t want to have to shoot your friend here. It would be such an awful waste.”

  sixteen

  Lark

  Lark’s stomach lurched as though she’d just missed a very bad fall. She stood frozen in the doorway as Dr. Griffin held Axel’s revolver on Simjay.

  Heavy, persistent pounding was coming from the pantry, and she realized that the trapdoor must have locked behind Soren and Axel. They were trapped down there, and she and Simjay were at the mad doctor’s mercy.

  “Open the goddamned door, Griffin!” Axel yelled. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

  “Well, that’s not much of an incentive for me to open the door, now is it?” said the doctor.

  Lark’s throat had gone very dry. “Did you call the police?” she croaked.

  “I d-didn’t have a choice,” Griffin stammered. “You show up at my house u-unannounced . . . Fugitives . . . on the r-run.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Lark.

  “Oh, I understand,” said Griffin. “Believe me. I used to work for those bastards.”

  “Who?”

  “GreenSeed International,” he said, as though they should have guessed. “They were the ones who purchased my patent for drought-resistant soybeans. I used to work for them full time . . . before the university.”

  Lark felt as though she might throw up. She couldn’t believe their bad luck. What were the odds that they’d wandered into the yard of a man who used to work for GreenSeed?

  “And you don’t stop working for them,” he said in a shaky voice. “Even after they discard you.”

  “GreenSeed fired you?” asked Lark.

  “It was my mistake,” said the doctor. “I sh-should have known better. But I’d had a few too many drinks, and I met a very attractive woman. She asked me about my work . . . just being polite, or so I thought.

  “I told her I worked for GreenSeed, and she became very interested in how they managed to test their products under such secrecy. Well, of course, I knew I shouldn’t say, but after another drink, she pressed me for details and I . . . I told her that they were using the prisoners as test subjects.”

  He looked suddenly sheepish. “As it turned out, that woman wasn’t interested in me. Oh, no — not interested in me at all, the whore. She was a reporter.”

  “You stupid moron!” cackled Axel from the pantry.

  The doctor ignored him. “The story never went to press, but GreenSeed had to put up a lot of money in lawyers’ fees to persuade the outlet that it wasn’t worth the risk to publish. As you can imagine, they weren’t very happy when they’d learned what I’d done. Loose lips sink ships. They fired me straight away — made me sign all sorts of nondisclosure agreements that guaranteed my financial ruin should I ever breathe a word of what they were up to.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?” asked Simjay.

  Dr. Griffin swallowed. “They didn’t stop there.”

  “What do you mean?” Lark had a horrible feeling that she knew where this was going.

  “A few months after I took the job at the university, they —” Griffin broke off, looking very upset. “They sent . . . photographs to Penelope — photographs I never thought I’d see again. They were from a long time ago. We were going through a bit of a rough patch.” He shook his head, looking very ashamed. “She said she needed some time.”

  “She left you?” said Lark.

  “Not exactly.” Dr. Griffin let out a bitter, deranged sort of laugh. “GreenSeed heard I’d been absorbed in a promising new research project, and when I wouldn’t give up my findings, they sent lawyers to threaten me with all kinds of lawsuits — intellectual property theft, blah, blah, blah. But I knew their game, so I ignored them.”

  He shook his head. “That was a mistake.”

  Lark waited with bated breath, sure the doctor’s story was about to come to a tragic end.

  “A few weeks later, I got a call from the university saying that I violated their professional code of conduct. Penelope started getting threatening phone calls at the place she was staying. They’d hired a private investigator to follow her . . . follow me.”

  The tea kettle started to whistle, but Griffin didn’t seem to notice.

  “Finally, she left me . . . which was exactly what those bastards wanted.” A muscle was working furiously in his jaw, and Lark had the feeling that he might pick up the tea kettle and hurl it against the wall at any moment. “They wouldn’t stop. They wouldn’t — stop — until they had ruined my life. They told me that if I didn’t cooperate — if I didn’t do whatever they asked me to — they’d kill her.”

  “So now you’re working for them again.”

  He nodded. “They permitted me to stay here rather than working on site. I conduct my research in the greenhouse out back. Every so often they send a supervisor to check up on me — track my progress. They began monitoring my emails, my phone calls . . . I’m fairly certain the house is bugged.”

  Lark’s chest constricted. Part of her felt sorry for Dr. Griffin, but the other part longed to lunge across the room and strangle him to death.

  Who knew how long they’d been trapped in that house? All that time they’d been marveling at the doctor’s stupid plants and pretending to be impressed by his recycled-glass countertops, he’d been stalling. San Judas had probably dispatched the police from the closest precinct. They were probably on their way.

  “Now,” said Dr. Griffin, paying no mind to the tea kettle, which was spewing hot water all over the stove, “I’m going to have to ask you to move to the bathroom.”

  “What?”

  “I’m no fool,” he said. “I know you wormed your way out of prison, but I can’t allow you to escape, you see. The agents assigned to your case will be here any moment, and they won’t be happy with me if they find out I let you leave.”

  “You can’t do this,” said Lark.

  “Oh, but I can.” Dr. Griffin cracked a sad, dark smile that made him look more deranged than ever. “I’ve recently begun to cultivate a sense of wonder at what a human being can do . . . what a person can live with.”

  “Why are you helping them?” asked Lark. “They’re never going to leave you alone.”

  “I know that,” said Griffin.

  “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “They can do whatever they want to me . . . I just can’t allow them to hurt my Penelope.”

  “Why would they hurt your wife?” cried Lark. “Then they’d have no way to control you anymore.”

  “GreenSeed doesn’t control me,” said Griffin, sounding mildly offended. “They keep a close watch on me, yes, but it’s not the same thing. I can still live my life. Penelope can live her life, so long as she stays far away from me.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Lark spluttered.

  “Pussy!” yelled Axel.

  “They can’t be mad if you accidentally let us escape,” said Simjay in a tremulous voice. “We can make it look like you got knocked out, and —”

  “I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “But I can’t risk it. Penelope means everything to me, and frankly . . . you mean nothing.”

  Lark glanced at Simjay. Their situation was becoming increasingly desperate, and she was furious at herself for ignoring her instincts. If she’d spoken up — if she’d gotten them out of there right away — they never would have gotten themselves in this mess to begin with.

  She could still hear Soren and Axel banging around in the cellar, but she wasn’t hopeful that they would be able to bust their way out. Dr. Griffin might have been a coward, but he wasn’t incompetent. He’d lured them into the cellar on purpose, and Lark guessed that the entire house was built like a fortress.

  “Don’t make this difficult,” said Griffin, cocking the hammer of the revolver. “I would prefer to hand you over alive, but I suppose they’d be satisfied either way.”

  “Why not shoot us, then?” said Lark, her voice wavering des
pite her resolve.

  Simjay whipped his head around and gave her a look that said very clearly, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Lark knew it was risky calling the doctor’s bluff, but it was the only way she could think to stall Griffin and keep him from trapping them in another room. She’d seen the bathroom during their brief tour. The walls were as solid as stone, and there weren’t any windows.

  Once he got them trapped in there, they were screwed. Griffin had a gun, but at the moment they still had a clear shot at an exit, so Lark kept at it.

  “If it doesn’t matter to them, why don’t you kill us right now?”

  “I’d rather not,” he said diplomatically.

  “Why not?” Lark pressed.

  Simjay was no longer content with shooting daggers out of his eyes. He was babbling incoherently — almost like muted pig latin — but Lark just ignored him.

  “The grout on this floor is very difficult to clean,” said Griffin. “I’d rather not spend the next two days scrubbing away your blood with a toothbrush.”

  Lark’s stomach lurched. The psycho had actually considered it. But despite his creepy pronouncement, Lark suspected that the doctor was too much of a coward to pull the trigger. Tiny beads of sweat had sprung up all over his forehead, and his hands were shaking so badly that she thought he might drop the revolver.

  “I think I need to sit down,” said Simjay in a faint voice.

  “You can sit once you’ve moved to the bathroom,” snapped Griffin.

  Lark’s brain was working very fast. She knew she’d about exhausted her stalling tactics, but perhaps if she went along with what he was asking . . .

  She knew Griffin couldn’t hold the gun on both of them at once, and it was possible she might be able to overpower him as they walked through the living room. But deep down she knew it was too risky. Even if the gun went off by accident, a bullet could hit her or Simjay. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Simjay died because of her stupidity, but then again, if they didn’t do something soon, they were all going back to prison.

  “Could you let one of us go?” asked Lark. She knew what the doctor was going to say, but stalling him for a few more seconds could only help them. Maybe Griffin’s arms would get tired and he’d have to lower the gun.

  “No,” he said with an edge of impatience.

  “But I’ll be in prison for life if you send me back.”

  At those words, she saw Griffin’s determination flicker. She knew he didn’t feel any sympathy toward her; he was wondering what she’d done to land herself in prison.

  “I’m sure you must deserve it, then — whatever you did.”

  “I was framed,” said Lark theatrically, throwing out anything she could think of to prolong their conversation. She’d taken half a step backward, and if she kept moving toward the living room, she might be able to make a break for it. If she could get Griffin chasing her, Simjay would have a chance to free Axel and Soren.

  “You’re lying,” said Griffin.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re a liar.”

  Lark shook her head, taking another half step back.

  “It takes one to know one,” said Griffin. “Trust me . . . I spent half my marriage lying to Penelope.”

  Lark swallowed. The doctor was really starting to creep her out, and she was beginning to wonder if she’d misjudged how deranged he really was.

  “I’m going to give you to the count of three,” said Griffin, talking over her silent stream of worries. “If you’re not in the bathroom by then, I’ll start shooting off Simjay’s fingers.”

  Simjay gulped.

  “One . . .”

  “All right,” said Lark, holding her hands a little higher and moving toward the living room.

  “Two . . .”

  Simjay staggered backward so quickly that he tripped over his own feet.

  “Th —”

  But Griffin never got to three. At that moment, a great burst of flame erupted from the pantry, sending a wave of heat and debris surging into the kitchen. The floor shook, and the windows over the sink shattered. Lark was blinded by hot bits of dust and soot, and the gun went off in Griffin’s hands.

  Lark didn’t hesitate. Coughing and spluttering, she lunged toward Griffin. She fumbled for the arm that was still holding the gun and tackled him to the ground.

  Simjay let out a panicked scream, but Lark didn’t look up. She didn’t think she could stand to see the blood blossoming from his chest or his newly disfigured hand. All her thoughts were directed at disarming Griffin, and he was putting up one hell of a fight.

  He bucked and flailed like a fish out of water and decked Lark with a closed fist. Lark couldn’t see anything through the thick blanket of smoke, but she clung on for dear life. The doctor’s hands were sweaty and tired from holding the gun, and she finally managed to pry it free.

  She turned away from him to get on her feet, but Griffin kneed her viciously in the back. She fell forward, and Griffin threw himself on top of her. He reached around to grab the gun, but Lark elbowed him in the ribs.

  Then a boot swung out of nowhere, and Griffin tumbled onto his back. Lark gasped and pulled herself into a crouch, squinting through the smoke to see who had kicked him.

  Axel was standing over an unconscious Griffin, looking at him with a mixture of satisfaction and disgust. “You stupid motherfucker. You’ve got enough weed killer down there to bring down the Superdome.”

  “You made a bomb?” Lark stammered.

  “Sodium chlorate, sugar, and an emergency road flare.”

  “You made a — what?” said Simjay in a breathless voice.

  Lark wheeled around to look at him, dread spilling into her gut, but Simjay appeared completely unharmed.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Where you hit?” asked Soren anxiously, climbing up from the cellar with a whiff of singed hair.

  “Nowhere,” said Simjay. “I just can’t believe he tried to Xenophilius us.”

  Soren glanced at Lark, clearly confused. “Xeno-what?”

  “In Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood’s father Xenophilius stalls them while he waits for the Death Eat —”

  “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” said Axel.

  “Did you really make a bomb out of weed killer and sugar?” asked Simjay.

  Axel shrugged. “Used to make bombs for fun all the time when I was a kid. It ain’t rocket science.”

  Simjay shook his head. “Your childhood sounds terrifying.”

  “You think he was lying about having fuel?” asked Soren, picking his way through the wreckage to reach the door.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, we can’t ask him,” said Simjay, nudging the doctor in the shoulder so that his head flopped to the side. “He’s knocked out.”

  “I saw some keys hanging inside the door,” said Lark. “Maybe his SUV —”

  But Axel was already striding through the atrium toward the entrance.

  “I’m going back down to the cellar to see what supplies we can salvage,” said Soren. “You two see if there’s anything we need up here. This guy was gonna turn us in. I don’t feel bad for lifting a few things.”

  Lark couldn’t argue with that. They fanned out across the doctor’s house, stuffing fresh vegetables and bags of legumes into cloth grocery sacks. Lark threw open all the cabinets to unearth anything they could use, and an engine roared to life.

  Lark followed Simjay outside and had to suppress an eye roll. The doctor’s brand-new Yukon was idling in front of the house, and Axel was climbing up from the road with an armful of their belongings.

  Denali was barking frantically and nipping at Axel’s pant legs. When he saw Lark, he bounded up to her and stood on his back legs, trying to lick her face.

  “I thought we were just siphoning gas,” she said, giving Axel an exasperated look.

  “Are you crazy?” he snapped, tossing Lark’s rucksack into the back cargo are
a. “Why would we ride in that old rust bucket when we can have this?”

  “They’ll know we stole it,” she said nervously. “They’ll know the make and model and license plate number —”

  “It won’t matter if we get a move-on,” he said as she followed him back down to Walt’s truck to grab the rest of their supplies. “Besides, I’m sure he gave them a description of the Ram, so we’re screwed either way. We’ll steal somethin’ else as soon as we can, but —”

  “I don’t think we should take the Yukon,” Lark broke in.

  “We’re takin’ it,” said Axel. “Ya’ll di’nt listen to me before, and we almost got killed back ’der. From now on, I’m callin’ the shots.”

  Lark could tell there was no point in arguing, so she tossed a case of bottled water into the cargo area and climbed into the spacious back seat. Simjay was already seated on the other side of the vehicle. Denali leapt in after her, scrambling to see over the center console, and Soren got into the front.

  “Whooowee!” said Axel, hopping behind the wheel and throwing the vehicle into gear. “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

  seventeen

  Bernie

  Bernie watched the sun rise over Salt Creek Wilderness Area with the feeling that she’d awoken in a completely new life. The weak early-morning sunshine felt warm on her face, but the chilly breeze whipping over the flat stretch of dirt gave her an energizing shiver.

  A narrow streak of fluffy white clouds clung to the horizon like frothed milk, but above the haze, Bernie didn’t think she’d ever seen a sky so blue. It was pure life-affirming perfection — more brilliant than china blue but not as bold as sapphire. She imagined it was the same sort of blue that astronauts saw from outer space, and she wondered how it seemed so much more vibrant than manmade blues.

  She and Portia had driven almost five hours to get there — or, rather, Portia had slept while Bernie drove. She’d cut a haphazard path south on 518 and 84 to avoid Santa Fe, speeding west on I-40 for thirty-some miles before taking 285 south.