The Taking: The Countdown Part 9

Standing over me now, Eddie Ray gave me a look that made my skin pucker. "You didn't think we were really letting you just walk outta here, did ya?"

I glanced back toward the exit, evaluating my chances for escape. I might be able to make it, but not if I had to carry Thom. I'd have to leave him . . . send help for him later.

But if I gave up now, neither of us stood a chance.

At the back of my neck, the p.r.i.c.kling in my skin had begun to stretch. It expanded until it spread across my shoulders and down my arms.

I was trapped, I told myself, feeding on the growing panic. Letting it fuel the weapon inside me.

It consumed me, buzzing all the way to my fingertips.

I focused on Eddie Ray. Eddie Ray . . . and the garbage around me.

I didn't stop myself with worry over whether I might actually hurt him. He'd hurt me. I concentrated, instead, on getting out of here, reminding myself he was standing between me and freedom. Between getting help for Thom.

It happened then, like a whirlwind . . . the first pieces of debris shooting up and hitting Eddie Ray from behind. Pelting him in the back of his skull.

He tried to s.h.i.+eld himself, the way anyone would. He raised his arms to defend himself. But even I saw the pieces he couldn't guard against, tearing his cheek and chin. A jagged-edged brick cut into his forehead, slicing wickedly down and across his face. If he hadn't been Returned, he'd have been left with a gruesome scar.

Blinking through the screen of blood, he tried to wipe his eyes. But the debris kept coming at him.

It was more than I'd meant to summon, but I had no idea how to curb it. Maybe I didn't want to.

Thom took some hits too, smaller stuff mostly, and I felt bad for that, but it couldn't be helped. I didn't have enough experience. I couldn't control where it struck.

I didn't stay to watch. Instead I bolted, leaving Eddie Ray curled in a fetal position, crippled by the rubble that viciously pelted him. I'd come back for Thom, but one of us had to get out.

Climbing the rubble I hadn't yet cleared, I hit the release lever to the exit. Relief coursed through me as the crisp nighttime air rushed in and I lifted my face to meet it.

This was it. I was going to make it. Just a few more steps and I would be free from these lunatics forever.

My feet sank in the unmowed lawn. It was soggy and damp, and its moss-laden patches were soothing to my bare feet as I ran.

When the alarm shrieked, it wasn't a result of the door I'd opened . . . not even a delayed response would have been that delayed. But the sound was more intense than anything I'd ever heard, causing me to stumble.

Reaching up to cover my ears, I scanned for its source, concentrating on each step I took . . . one and then another. The noise filled my head, bouncing off the walls of my skull and making my teeth rattle. My steps felt sluggish.

When I staggered again, I glanced up. Planted around the perimeter, high on tall steel posts, were loudspeakers. Ones I hadn't noticed before.

I noticed now, though.

The pain in my head was a thousand times worse than the cuts and tears that had shredded my feet, and I wondered if this was the kind of damage that could ever be repaired.

Like Eddie Ray behind me, I finally gave in to the a.s.sault and dropped all the way down, even while I told myself . . . screamed at myself to run, run . . . run!

Except . . . I couldn't manage it. And in a single instant I knew: there'd be no escaping. Not today.

There was only this . . . folding in on myself, tucking my knees to my chest as I covered my ears against this horrible, incessant blaring that rattled and echoed and made my brain vibrate.

When the hands closed in on me I knew . . .

It was over. They'd beaten me.

And then somewhere, in the jumble of noise and ache in my head, I felt it again, the stab . . . the sting . . .

TYLER.

"HOW MUCH FARTHER?" IT WAS THE ONLY QUESTION that mattered, and Jett answered without skipping a beat: "Less than two hours."

He'd already done the math; that was two hours taking into account our breakneck speed.

One hundred twenty minutes.

A lifetime.

I liked Jett, maybe more than I liked anyone else in the vehicle we were in-one of the two we'd taken. Ours was the SUV. Ben took his truck, along with two of Griffin's guys, and Nancy.

I liked that Jett thought in terms of numbers. Statistics. Percentages.

I'd never been a numbers whiz, I was always more into books and music and art. But Jett didn't make me want to shove my fist down his throat the way Simon did. Jett was ordered, logical. Simon was rude. The kind of guy my dad always called an SOB.

Even more though, I liked that Jett was almost as anxious to find Kyra as the rest of us, but without all the ulterior motives Simon and I had. Jett didn't have something to prove. He wasn't thinking about her lips or how he could convince her to choose him.

Or at least if he was, he was hiding it like a champ.

"What have you found out about the place?" I asked.

"It's an asylum," Jett announced. "Look." He turned the beat-up laptop he carried everywhere and showed us some sort of official site with t.i.tles or deeds or something.

I leaned forward to get a better look even though I had no idea what I was looking at. "I didn't even know those things existed anymore."

"They don't. Or this one doesn't. It was shut down in the early seventies. According to the public records, it's been bought and sold a couple times, but never actually converted into anything useful. Empty mostly. The bank foreclosed on the last owner over five years ago." He tapped the screen again.

Simon, who just had to know something about everything, added, "Makes it the perfect hideout."

Jett nodded, as usual agreeing with everything his fearless leader had to say. The hero wors.h.i.+p was nauseating and a strike against Jett as far as I was concerned. Beside me, Griffin stayed silent, which from her was as good as agreement. An asylum it was, I supposed, and prayed Jett was half as smart as these people thought he was.

I leaned back and looked out the window, thinking of what I would say when we finally found Kyra.

I wasn't sure I'd know until I saw her face. I wished I could be like her and remember everything she did-the things she'd told me about. I know she said some of them were bad, but some of them . . .

My breath had fogged the gla.s.s and I absently traced a pattern with my finger.

Some of them must've been good too. Kyra had said so.

She'd told me she loved me.

Two more hours. Two more hours until hopefully, with an a.r.s.enal to outfit a small army and some luck, we'd get Kyra back and maybe we could talk again. Maybe she'd help me sort it out . . .

I could tell her all the things I've been thinking . . . feeling. About her.

I looked up at the words I'd written in the steam: I'll remember you always . . .

CHAPTER SIX.

"HEY, SLEEPYHEAD." THE SINGSONG VOICE sounded like it was echoing down a tunnel. "Someone slept the whole day away. Glad you decided to join the land of the living."

Living. Is that what this was? If my head hadn't been pounding and my ears ringing, I might have laughed. As it was, all I could manage was to open my eyes. Not bad, all things considered.

When I turned, Blondie was at the monitor, observing my heart rate.

Ever since being returned, I'd been envious of normal humans-people who needed a solid eight hours sleep. Now, if I never lost consciousness again it would be too soon.

Although I wasn't sure you could really compare the comatose state these freaks had been keeping me in with actual sleep.

"Go to h.e.l.l," I rasped.

She chuckled. "Aw, don't be like that. Did you think we accidentally left you all by your lonesome?" She made a tsk-ing sound while she came around to check me out. "Come on, Kyra. You're not stupid. Natty told us what you could do . . . that little trick-moving things with your mind. Eddie Ray just wanted to see it in action. Have a little fun with you." Her mouth twitched slightly. "Guess he didn't realize how much damage you'd do."

But I was too focused on the other thing she'd told me, about my escape not being an accident. My chest felt heavy. "So . . . you . . . were just messing with me?" Why hadn't I considered that sooner?

Shrugging indifferently, she tapped an IV line that I a.s.sumed was how they kept me in various states of consciousness. "Just separating truth from fiction, so to speak. Eddie Ray likes to test the merchandise-calls it quality control. Plus, we needed to find out whether that little trick of yours was something we could defend against." Smugly, she kept talking as she moved around, checking machines and connections. "Those sirens . . . those were my idea. You dropped like a rock. They should give us a good second line of defense against you since the meds haven't been as . . . effective as we'd hoped. Not bad, huh?"

I blinked, my eyelids still heavy from the sedation. "They seem pretty effective to me," I told her, thinking about the way I'd missed entire days . . . entire sunrises.

"That's because you're on a dose high enough to kill an elephant, and even that has to be on a continuous drip or your body just"-she chewed her lip-"metabolizes it."

"What's to defend against? What did I ever do to you?" My voice wobbled. I tried to turn away, but the collar around my neck prevented me.

Blondie grinned. "Might as well get comfortable. We can't transport you until we can guarantee it's secure." My face screwed up as I tried to figure out which part to focus on first. She must have thought she could pinpoint my confusion. "Oh, the transfer. Yeah, we're not keeping you here forever. We're just the . . . how do I say this? We're what you could call brokers."

"Brokers?" I managed to squeak out.

"That's right, middlemen." She c.o.c.ked her head to look down at me. She was definitely enjoying this. "We're not the ones you should be afraid of. The folks who bought you paid a lot to get their hands on someone like you."

"Who is it, the Daylighters?" But of course it was Agent Truman or one of his lackeys. He was probably already here somewhere, waiting for his chance to take me into custody. To strap me to some other table in some other lab and start experimenting-slicing and dicing. "Are they taking Thom too?"

She made a face. "No. I mean, yes, we're selling Thom to the Daylighters, but not you. You should be so lucky. Once your buyers get their hands on you, they're never gonna let you go." She said it as if Agent Truman would have, and I think we both knew that wasn't true.

I wasn't sure who I was more sorry for: me, heading off to the unknown, or Thom, who'd be pa.s.sed off to the dreaded Daylight Division. But all I could focus on was the one word she'd used: never.

She and Eddie Ray and Natty were planning to hand me over to someone who had no intention of letting me leave. Ever.

I practically choked myself trying to turn away again. I didn't want her to see the tears building behind my eyes. I hated crying, but I was far too groggy to stop it. Even though I'd healed and my body was 100 percent, I was finally realizing that she and Natty and Eddie Ray had beaten me. I was thoroughly-completely-utterly defeated.

Even though I didn't respond, my elevated heart rate probably said it all.

I'd never see my mom or my dad again. Never get the chance to see my little brother, Logan, or Cat or Austin.

I'd never get the chance to tell Simon how grateful I was that he'd saved my life. How much I appreciated everything he'd done for me, to keep me safe, to reunite me with my dad and Tyler.

But even I knew I was a liar, because my feelings for Simon weren't all about grat.i.tude. If whoever they were planned to kill me, or let me die, then why shouldn't I at least be honest with myself?

Simon mattered. More than I meant for him to.

And if I was really playing the truth game, so had that kiss . . . the one he'd given me when he'd said good-bye.

That sweet, demanding, puzzling kiss that reminded me so much . . . too much of Simon himself. Demanding and complicated. And sometimes, when he really wanted to be, sweet even.

I squeezed my eyes shut and my vision blurred. Hot streams poured down my cheeks.

Then there was Tyler. I'd never see Tyler again.

"Don't you want to ask again? I heard you asked Natty why you. Don't you want to know the truth?" Blondie tugged the tube that disappeared beneath the sleeve of the hospital gown I was wearing. She didn't try to be gentle since she must know by now that my skin had definitely healed around it, locking it firmly in place.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon. It was more fun when you were playing along," she coaxed.

Any other time I would've added a little something to my inflection, but I had nothing left to give. "Screw you," I said flatly.

She laughed, because that's what I was, a big, fat joke.

Kneeling down so she was right in front of my face, she whispered, "But here's the thing-I wanna tell you. No harm in it, I suppose. It's not like you can tell anyone, right?"

She reached out, her cold, spiderlike fingers stroking my cheek, and even though I felt dead inside, I couldn't stop from inwardly cringing. "You're not like us," she said, like this was some major revelation.

It didn't matter what she said. If she was right, if they were planning to pa.s.s me off to someone else-someone who'd apparently paid a lot of money for me-then I didn't give a c.r.a.p what their reasons were. My fate had already been decided.

It didn't stop her from pretending we were having a conversation. "What?" she chided. "You think I mean that you can do things we can't?" She spoke quietly, a whispery sort of venom to her tone. "Did someone forget to tell you the part where those things up there might not be as peace-loving as we've been led to believe? And . . . whatever you are . . . whatever they made you into . . ." Her fingernails sank sharply into the flesh of my cheek. "Don't even kid yourself we're the same because I know what I am. I'm still part human."

She may as well have jammed Lucy right into my heart. I could no longer ignore her, even though part of me was convinced she was insane-the way she touched and prodded me, her low, boastful voice.