Fear (6 page)

Josh pressed his lips together and looked at the small, still form. Over the last two days a number of the laboratory animals that had been treated with the serum had begun to demonstrate symptoms. Some of them mild. Some of them severe. In the last hours
animals had started to die.
“Have you lost all the mice?”

“Not all,” said Dr. Glenn. “There are still a handful, though most of those are in decline. We've lost thirty percent of the treated primates and a good seventy percent of the smaller mammals.”

Josh shivered.
Heather.
He had promised Heather that the injection would be safe. Of course, he had known that was a lie. The phobosan that Heather had taken had only been tested for a brief time and never on a human being. But Josh had never thought it could be this dangerous. Never thought it could be deadly.

He turned to Dr. Glenn. “I've got to go and see Heather.”

The doctor frowned. “There's bad news on that front as well,” he said.

“What?”

Glenn held out a folded sheet of paper. Josh snatched it from his hands and read it anxiously.

Josh felt his heartbeat increase as he read. Heather was in trouble. Big trouble. Her symptoms didn't match those of the treated animals, but it was clear that the phobosan was having
unexpected effects.
“We've got to do something now. We've got to—”

A door hissed open at the far side of the lab, and a tall figure stepped in. “I understand we've had a few setbacks,” said Loki.

“Setbacks?” Josh walked across the room to meet the tall man. “It's more than a setback; it's a disaster.”

“Really?” There was an amused expression on Loki's face. “I think we can buy more animals when we need them. I don't see any disaster.”

“Forget the animals,” said Josh. “To hell with the animals! What about Heather?”

“I'm not aware of any health problems with subject B.”

Josh waved the observation notes in front of Loki. “Then you haven't seen this.”

Loki took the paper and glanced at it for a moment. “Oh, this.” He passed the paper back to Josh. “Yes, I've seen these comments.”

“You've seen them?” Josh stared at him. “Then how can you say there's nothing wrong with Heather?”

“I see nothing in that report to indicate any medical problem,” said Loki. He pushed past Josh and walked over to Dr. Glenn. “Have you performed autopsies on the specimens that have died so far?”

The scientist nodded. “Yes, we've—”

Josh stepped in between Glenn and Loki. “Erratic. Disorientation. Declining. Don't those sound like problems to you?”

“The girl is suddenly fearless. Are you surprised that she's excited? She's testing the limits, enjoying her new power.”

“This doesn't sound like excitement to me. This sounds like a serious problem.” Josh looked his leader straight in the eyes. “I think it's time that we administer the counteragent. Just in case.”

Loki's expression turned hard. “I'm afraid that you're becoming too involved in your relationship with this subject. Maybe I should find another agent to interact with her.”

“No, you can't—”

“Don't tell me what I can do,” said Loki. He stared back at Josh for several long, silent seconds. “There will be no more discussion of the counteragent. This experiment will be allowed to run its course.”

“But—”

“No matter what the outcome. Is that clear?”

Josh bit his lips, swallowed, and nodded. “It's clear, sir.”

“Good,” said Loki. He turned his attention back to Dr. Glenn. “Now, let's see what you've discovered in your autopsies.”

“It's quite interesting,” began the doctor.

Josh waited until Loki and Glenn were involved in studying the reports. Then he slipped to a table on the other side of the room. There was a rack of small vials there, each containing a yellow fluid. He made a quick check to make sure he wasn't being observed, grabbed one of the vials, and shoved it into his pocket.

Heather is not going to die.

Observation Day 4

Subject continues to demonstrate erratic behavior. No period of sleep observed in last 24 hours. Followed subject A for a three-hour period and may have engaged in confrontation (direct observation unavailable). Did not follow normal schedule. Demonstrates increasing disorientation and declining interpersonal skills. Subject momentarily lost after leaving school at unexpected time. Agents working to locate subject.

You
ever get what you always wished for except once you get it you find out it's not really what you wanted and the wishing was way better than the getting? I am
so
there.

Only I'm not sure I wished for this. Not really. All I wanted was to be like Gaia. Okay, maybe not exactly like Gaia. I just wanted to be as tough as Gaia, as strong and carefree as she always seemed. I wanted to know why guys always seemed drawn to her. So, yeah, I wanted to be like her. I wanted to beat her. Maybe
be
her.

If you asked me before, I wouldn't have admitted any of those things. I'd have been embarrassed. Afraid.

See, I don't do the fear thing these days. I'm there. I'm fearless.

Except it's not quite working out the way I expected.

At first it was cool. As soon as they gave me the injection, I could feel the difference. There was this sound. A rushing sound. Like something big was coming toward me from a long way off. Coming really fast.

And then it hit me. Bam. The world changed. It was like this big sheet of soggy gray stuff got lifted right off my mind. Like I had been wearing sunglasses all my life and didn't even know how bright the world could be until they were taken away.

This guy put a gun right to my head and threatened to shoot me. I wasn't scared. I didn't even care.

I remember running out of that place and dancing down the street. I walked through Central Park in the middle of the night. I crossed every street without even looking at the traffic. I. . . I did other things. I'm just not too sure what they were.

That was the first problem. I started forgetting things. Something would happen, and it might even seem pretty important at the time. Then it was gone. I can hold on to bits and pieces of it. Here's a guy at some club. Here's some of my friends at school. Here's somebody screaming. Here's somebody else screaming. I remember a lot of screaming.

But putting it all together is hard. It's like all my memories are beads on some necklace and I've broken the string. Memories keep rolling under the couch and getting lost.

That gets me to the next problem. I think I'm two people.

One of those is sitting here saying, “Hey, I just got kicked out of school. I can't remember anything. My arms and legs are hurting. Sometimes I start shaking all over. Sometimes my eyes go blurry. Sometimes everything kind of falls apart and I go ballistic. I think I should be worried about this.” That's person number one.

Only I'm not worried. I don't worry. I can't. That's person number two. The new, improved Heather.

Is this what it's like to be Gaia?

Everything was moving in little jerks and starts. As if the whole world was being lit by some monster strobe that blinked on and off, on and off.

THE SWELLING ABOVE HIS EYE
felt as big as a baseball. Tom knew that the bump wasn't literally large enough to feature in a Yankees game, but it felt enormous. He groaned as he got to his feet. He couldn't remember much about how he had gotten to his cell. But from all the aches and bruises on his body, it was clear his jailers had been none too gentle.

He tipped back his head and looked up. Chicken wire. They had put chicken wire over the opening in the ceiling. It wasn't much of a barrier, but combined with the fact that they had also removed the bunk, there didn't seem to be much chance of making another escape through the roof. It was dark up there. How much time had passed since that first attempt? Was it the same night? Was Natasha safe? He had to get out and get some answers.

A clatter at the door drew Tom's attention. He stepped to the left of the door and held his arms ready at his sides. If the jailer moved cautiously, Tom would drag him into the cell and attack. If he came in quickly, Tom would attack as soon as he cleared the door.

But it wasn't one man that came into the room. It was three. The first two men through the door came in side by side. They were both tall—as tall as Tom—and both heavy with muscle through the shoulders and arms. Both had brown hair cut so short that it was little more than a shadow on their heads. They might have been brothers. Or clones. Only their weapons were distinct. One man carried a square-sided semiautomatic pistol. The second carried a weapon that was less lethal, but just as threatening—a long, black shock stick.

The third man limped in behind the other two. He was also big and well muscled, though not nearly as heavy as the first two. Thin. An athlete. He had dark wavy hair, tanned skin, and a strong jaw. Ordinarily he would have been regarded as quite handsome. Except for the stripe of white bandage across his nose and the circle of deep purple bruise around his left eye. “Well, hello there,” said Tom. “How nice to see you again. How's the foot?”

“The name's Carlo,” broken-nosed man said as he scowled at Tom. “There is an infection.”

“How terrible. Damn shame if the whole thing was to rot off. Maybe leave you with a little case of gangrene. Maybe you'll lose the whole leg.”

“I don't think this is a good time to have fun at my expense.”

“I don't know why not,” said Tom. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the weathered stone wall. “I assume you're going to kill me no matter what I say.”

“We don't have orders to kill you,” said Carlo. “But you're going to wish we did.” He waved his hand, and one of the muscle guys stepped forward. The man waved the shock stick toward Tom and pressed the trigger. Lightning snapped and crackled on the end of the stick. The damp odor of the cell was replaced by the sharp smell of ozone.

Tom raised his hands. “Not very sporting. Why don't you have these fellows step outside so we can talk?”

“I don't think so.”

“Oh, come on,” said Tom. “A little private chat and I can promise you'll never have to worry about that bad foot again.”

Carlo sneered at him. “Yes, I think we're going to talk. Or at least, you will.” He gave a wave of his hand, and the man with the shock stick lunged forward.

Tom jumped back, but not fast enough. A brilliant blue spark jumped from the end of the black stick and caught him on the upper arm. It didn't hurt. It was past hurt. It was more like being hit by a bus. Tom spun around and staggered across the cell. He smashed into the stone wall and fell to his knees.

“So,” said Carlo. “Let's go have that talk.”

A comeback was on Tom's lips. The only problem was, he couldn't manage to get his lips to work. All he could do was lean against the wall and tremble.

Carlo walked across the room and delivered a hard kick to Tom's back. “Get on your feet. We're going to go have that talk.”

The muscle guys dragged Tom to his feet and shoved him through the door. By the time he had gone a few steps, the only thing left from the shock was a dull ache in his arm, but Tom made sure to stumble and shake as he followed Carlo out of the cell. It was always a good idea to make your enemy believe that you were more injured than you actually were.

As they walked, Tom took a few quick looks at Carlo. He was actually fairly happy to see the man. It wasn't exactly as if they were old friends. The first time Tom met Carlo, he broke the man's nose and put a spear through his foot. The second time, he broke Carlo's nose again. Tom had no doubt that Carlo hated him with all his heart. Which was good. Carlo would try to make Tom pay for what he had done, but he might be so intent on making him pay that he forgot about other priorities. The previous encounters suggested that Carlo was both emotional and not particularly bright.

Those were qualities that Tom could use in his fight to escape. If he didn't end up dead first.

The walk down the hallway was Tom's first chance to see more of the building where he and Natasha were being held. It seemed that his first estimate of the building's age was correct. The place was ancient. There were torches placed in rusty metal brackets along the hallway with no sign of electricity. The ceilings were stained black with soot. The whole place seemed as old as some Mayan ruin. Tom studied each door they passed, trying to see which of them might be hiding Natasha, but all the doors were plain wood without a mark or window. Natasha might be beyond any of them.

Finally they reached a room that wasn't much larger than a closet. The two strongmen shoved Tom inside, and one of them moved in behind him. There was a chair in the center of the room. It looked like it had begun life as a plain old kitchen chair. Straight backed. Wooden. Something that wouldn't have looked out of place in a comfortable home. Only this chair had been through some pretty heavy modifications. There were straps bolted onto the chair in half a dozen places. At the back a tray was attached that held a series of car batteries and coils of wire.

“Sit down,” demanded Carlo. He turned to one of the shaven-head men and whispered something. The man nodded and hurried back along the hallway. Carlo scowled at Tom. “I said sit.”

The other muscle man pressed the trigger on the shock stick. This time the lightning hit Tom in the back. His head snapped back and the muscles in his neck convulsed so hard that he thought it might snap. He collapsed into the chair.

The big man worked quickly. Straps went around Tom's ankles, wrists, thighs, and chest. By the time the man tightened the last strap, Tom could barely move.