Relentless (35 page)

Grant put the car in reverse and jammed the pedal, swinging out in a right-reverse turn. He threw the Corvette into drive while they were still moving backward, causing the tires’ rubber to spin against the pavement. They began moving forward just as the motorcycle turned down their aisle and raced toward them from behind.

The two vehicles remained only a few feet apart as they drove in circles, spiraling down through the parking garage until they came to the street level. Grant was immediately reminded of the snake strangling him in his dreams but there was no time to dwell on it. The electronic gate ahead allowed only residents to enter or exit the garage via a keycard.

Grant floored it, racing toward the gate at fifty miles an hour.

‘‘You
do
see that, right?’’ a nervous Julie said, leaning back in her seat.

‘‘Down!’’ Grant yelled.

She ducked and they crashed through the gate and kept going.

Julie turned around to look. ‘‘Well, you own the building, so I guess it’s okay.’’

Grant swerved into the left-hand lane, which was unusually empty, and the man on the motorcycle broke out from behind them and came around to the right lane, appearing at the car’s passenger side.

‘‘Down!’’ Grant screamed again.

Her head ducked just as the sword came slashing across the side window, shattering it. Grant swerved right to slam into the motorcycle, which veered away. Julie sat back up to see them racing ahead of the motorcycle, which was falling behind in the midday traffic.

‘‘Who
is
this guy?’’ she breathed.

Grant poured on more speed as they entered a busier downtown street, darting dangerously around other cars, trucks, and buses. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw that the motorcycle was further back now, but keeping pace.

‘‘I thought the rings only give you enhanced
mental
abilities,’’ Julie went on, bracing herself against the side of the car as Grant turned again, ignoring a red light. ‘‘Why would extra brainpower let him move super-fast?’’

‘‘I don’t know!’’ Grant replied, jerking the steering wheel to the right and narrowly missing the rear fender of a pickup truck that was slowing down to turn. ‘‘Maybe he can manipulate time or something.’’

Julie looked back. ‘‘His motorcycle isn’t going any faster than the regular variety.’’

Grant turned left, running a red light and flying through a narrow gap in the oncoming traffic. Julie screamed as the oncoming cars swerved and fishtailed into one another. Straight ahead was the ramp for the 110. The motorcycle quickly appeared and closed the gap between them.

‘‘He’s catching up,’’ Julie warned, watching behind again and clutching the door handle with white knuckles.

The Corvette rocketed up the on-ramp and hurtled onto the freeway, finding just enough of a gap between cars to race to an open lane. Grant swerved wildly in and out of the traffic, and immediately the man on the motorcycle shifted lanes to the left to come up beside Grant.

‘‘Hold on!’’ Grant shouted.

He jerked the car to the right, out onto the shoulder, and slammed the gas. The Corvette growled in appreciation and blasted forward. Soon the other cars on the highway were little more than blurry colors speeding by as the Corvette raced down the edge of the road at well over one hundred miles an hour.

Julie clung to her seat as they edged dangerously close to the cement barrier on her side. ‘‘Where did you learn to drive like this?’’ she shouted.

‘‘I
didn’t
! Is he still behind us?’’ Grant said, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead.

She turned in her seat. ‘‘Yes, but he’s further back than before.’’

‘‘How
far
back?’’

‘‘Maybe three hundred feet. And getting further away.’’

Grant let up on the gas, slightly, and they began to slow.

‘‘What are you doing!’’ Julie shouted as if he were crazy.

‘‘Make sure your belt is tight,’’ Grant replied, glancing into the rear mirror.

The black motorcycle inched closer and closer, but Grant waited.

Waited until he knew the other man would be ready to make his move to try and come up beside them again.

The motorcycle was less than thirty feet behind them now, with nothing between the two vehicles.

‘‘What are you going to do?’’ Julie cried, watching the motorcycle and shivering with the wild motions of the car.

‘‘Stop turning around!’’ Grant shouted. ‘‘And brace yourself!’’

She faced forward, clenching the armrests again.

Grant never took his eyes off of the mirror. The motorcycle drew closer, and Grant watched the handlebars, waiting to see them begin to turn.

They turned.

Grant slammed on the car’s brakes with both feet, rising up from his seat, and a violent squeal came from the tire assembly that drowned out all other noise on the busy highway.

The motorcycle had just begun to turn left, and now swung around to slam sideways into the rear of the car. The man in the mask flew forward, landing on top of the car.

When the car finally came to a halt several hundred feet away, smoke was rising from all four tires, and the smell of hot rubber permeated the air. Cars, trucks, and SUVs continued speeding by, mere inches from them.

Grant returned to his seat, out of breath, and Julie was trying to catch hers as well. They both looked up, slowly, at the same time, to see the edge of the other man’s head, visible at the very top of the windshield. He looked rattled, but he was alive. His eyes blinked open and he shook his head, trying to clear it. Then he stopped, and his eyes focused on the two of them inside the car.

‘‘Um,’’ Julie said a little louder than usual, ‘‘he looks
angry
.’’

Grant punched the gas pedal again, and in the rear-view, he watched as the man rolled off of the car and continued rolling until he came to a stop on the ground far behind them.

Grant merged back into traffic, and picked up speed. Julie, meanwhile, tore a strip off of her shirt around the bottom.

‘‘Put this around your arm before you bleed to death,’’ she said.

His phone rang in his pocket. He reached inside and tossed it to Julie, while he clumsily worked at tying off the cloth around the three gashes in his arm with one hand and his teeth.

‘‘Hello?’’ she answered the ringing phone, leaning back in her chair, worn out. She closed her eyes.

‘‘It’s Morgan,’’ she said, handing him the phone back. Grant took it, his thoughts still focused on putting as much distance as possible between them and the Thresher.

‘‘Grant, are you all right?’’ Morgan said. ‘‘Daniel just telephoned.’’

‘‘How is he?’’

‘‘Lisa’s there with him now. They’re okay. Listen, I think you should make for the asylum,’’ Morgan said.

‘‘What?! I’m not leading a dangerous sociopath to your front door!’’

‘‘He’s one of
us
,’’ she replied. ‘‘Perhaps we can find a way to reason with him.’’

‘‘Forget it,’’ Grant said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

‘‘Very well,’’ Morgan said. ‘‘But there’s one other thing you should keep in mind: This man is mentioned on the tablet, just as you are. This man is connected to your destiny, Grant. Your friend Daniel told you something was coming, and that whatever it is, you would be all that stands between it and humanity. This Thresher may very well be a precursor to whatever it is. He could even be the
thing
that’s coming, himself.’’

Grant’s head began to hurt. ‘‘Okay . . . one step at a time. Why don’t you take a picture of the tablet and email it to Daniel? It would probably be a good idea to put your heads together—’’

‘‘Something’s happening!’’ Morgan suddenly shouted. Grant could hear screaming through the phone, distant, and then a boom that thundered so loud that he pulled the phone away from his ear in pain. Even Julie reacted to the sound.

‘‘Morgan?’’ Grant yelled into the phone.

No one replied but he could hear breathing. Quick, panting breaths.

Another thundering boom echoed into the phone, followed by crashing of what sounded like glass and plywood.

‘‘Morgan, talk to me!’’ Grant cried.

‘‘They’re here!’’ Morgan whispered, ‘‘Grant, come quickly! Here they come, I have to—’’

As the line disconnected, the horror of comprehension hit Grant square in the face. In his mind’s eye, he could see all of it.

All of
them
. And what was happening to them.

No . . .

NO!!

43

Morgan huddled quietly with the others she’d grabbed on her way into the underground cave. She pressed an ear to the door.

The hidden basement room, where the tablet fragments were stored, was thankfully still hidden. They were using it as a refuge. But the asylum itself was a different story.

Outside, the world had gone insane.

Some residents were screaming as they ran. A few had refused to run and tried going toe-to-toe with the invaders. Sounds of struggle— grunting, striking, yelling—were soon replaced with silence. Heavy footfalls could be heard all around, along with the crash of windows being destroyed and furniture being overturned.

She forced herself to suppress the urge to open the door and try to gather more inside. They would only be surrendering all of their lives.

Grant . . . we need you.

Come quickly!

She had no idea if Grant could hear her or not—if his newfound ‘‘feeling’’ of them, as he called it, would alert him to their danger.

But she knew he was their only hope.

Morgan had her suspicions about who was behind this raid, but she had no doubts whatsoever about what they were after. They wanted the tablet.

Or rather,
he
did.

Almost in answer to her thoughts, a voice rang out.

‘‘Oh, Morga-a-an! Come out and pla-a-ay!’’ a squeaky, male voice shouted from some distance away.

‘‘Quiet!’’ she whispered to the few others that had entered the room with her, and were now cowering at the bottom of the stairs.

She pushed the swiveling door open a hair’s breadth, and looked out. The Common Room was clear, aside from a few unconscious residents scattered about.
He
wasn’t out there—he was somewhere further away.

The asylum couldn’t have been easy to break into, she knew. The few windows there were had bars, and she herself had seen to the installation of a fairly advanced security system. Still, if it was who she thought it was, she knew it was only a matter of time before the secret room would be found.

Her people had probably put up a good struggle, she knew. There were no fighters here, but some of the Loci had more esoteric abilities that could come in handy to keep them hidden or help them elude an attacker. They would be scattered throughout the building, panicked, alone.

The assault had come so fast. Out of nowhere.

Another scream rang out, much closer, and the people inside the hidden room had to stifle screams of their own. Morgan listened closely through the door and thought she heard crying. Whoever it was, they were close.

She risked cracking the door open a little more. Across the Common Room stretched over the double-doorway’s threshold, she could see a boy—the seventeen-year-old, Thomas, she thought it was—on his hands and knees. He sniffled, tears in his eyes, but those eyes were angry and bloodshot. Someone from behind put a foot into the small of his back, forcing him facedown onto the ground. Morgan couldn’t see who it was; they were on the other side of the door.

She didn’t need to see who it was. She already knew.

‘‘Morgan! If you’re not standing in front of me in ten seconds, this one gets to eat from a straw for the rest of his life!’’

Without hesitating, Morgan opened the door just far enough to squeeze out, closed it, and snuck across the outer wall of the Common Room, so the hidden chamber would remain hidden.

When she was far enough away to consider it safe, she stepped in and leveled a gaze at their attacker.

There he stood. Dirty trench coat in place, too-wide tie lying lopsided across his ample belly. And he was grinning. As usual.

‘‘What do you want, Drexel?’’

‘‘Do you really have to ask?’’

Drexel stepped off of the boy’s back and grabbed the back of his T-shirt, pulling him up off the ground. He turned the corner and took a few steps into the Common Room, facing Morgan and holding Thomas around the neck, gun pointed at his head.

Morgan matched his steps, backing away carefully, but not too far.

The boy beneath Drexel’s arm was squirming but trying not to, as he was leaning back painfully under Drexel’s powerful grip, off-balance and unsure how to stay upright. His cheeks were wet.

‘‘How did you find us?’’ Morgan asked calmly.

‘‘Got me a stool pigeon,’’ he gamely replied, then called behind him. ‘‘C’mon in here, Judas!’’

A young woman wearing handcuffs in front walked into the room and looked at Drexel like he was the most revolting thing she’d ever seen.

It’s that barefoot girl . . .

Alex
.

Morgan stared at her in open shock. ‘‘You sold us out?’’

‘‘Oh yeah, she was only too eager to give up her secrets.’’ Drexel grinned.

The barefoot girl looked at him angrily and opened her mouth to respond, but Drexel reached out and whacked her in the back of the head with the side of his pistol.

‘‘Now, now,’’ he said. ‘‘Remember our agreement, little girl. Every word you say equals one bullet I put in one of the freaks here.’’

Alex clamped her lips shut, refusing to look at Morgan. Instead, she took a seat near Drexel. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking at nothing, as if she was trying to reason her way through something.

‘‘Didn’t you know?’’ Drexel went on, turning back to Morgan. ‘‘She spends all of her time watching you people. If you need to find out something about any of you, there’s only one person you need to see.’’ He winked at Alex, then he gestured to Morgan in mock courtesy. ‘‘Let’s talk. Take a seat,
please
.’’

She sat on a couch facing him, and he stepped closer, still clutching the boy under his grip.

‘‘Here’s the deal,’’ Drexel began. ‘‘We both know why I’m here. I’m not going to bother threatening
you
, because we both know you’d sooner let me shoot you in the face than tell me anything about where to find the stone tablet. So I’m going to kill
them
, instead.’’ He nodded at the unconscious people lying around the room. Some were bleeding. All were bruised.