Trance (38 page)

“I’ll try mine,” Gage said, then wandered a few feet down the sidewalk.

The Vox issue still worried me. It could easily be a communication systems failure, considering that a lot of the equipment hadn’t been updated in at least fifteen years. Another, more dire, scenario wanted to present itself, but I was tired of assuming the worst in everything. No more jumping to conclusions.

Alicia and Ethan finished their good-byes, and after a round of thanks on both sides, we got in. I slid into the backseat with Ethan and offered my lap as a pillow. He seemed
both sad and determined; Alicia was a special person to him, and I was a little sorry to separate them.

As Gage climbed into the driver’s seat, he shook his head at me—nothing on his Vox, either. Anxiety settled cold and heavy in my gut, and our Voxes remained silent the entire drive back to HQ.

A
throng of reporters surrounded the main gate, in the same positions they had occupied for the last two days. Cameras and recording devices were thrust at the van. Questions were shouted that we couldn’t hear and had no intention of acknowledging anyway.

Gage pulled up to the security box and entered our pass code. The gate swung open, its sensors allowing just enough space for the van to squeak through, and closed again before the reporters could attempt a break-in. Part of me expected some sign of danger, a reason for the Vox malfunctions. The grounds, however, were silent.

Utterly deserted.

We drove around to the front of the Medical Center and parked. Gage tilted his head and listened. We waited. His preexisting frown of concentration deepened into something else.

“There’s no one in there,” he said. “Medical is empty.”

“What?” Marco asked.

I slid forward on the seat. “How’s that possible? Half a
dozen people work there.” Not to mention it was where we had left Psystorm and Caleb.

“I don’t know. I can’t hear anyone. No heartbeats, no voices. A telephone’s off the hook and someone’s computer is playing music, so it’s not my ears. No one is in there.”

“What about the other buildings?”

“I’d have to get closer.”

I hated splitting up, even though it was our best course of action. We had people missing; we had to figure this out and fast. Remaining together only doubled our timetable. “Ethan, stay in the car,” I said. “Gage, go check out the other buildings. Do not go inside, just find out if anyone is in them. Marco and I are going to take a peek in here.”

They nodded, offering no arguments. The less they questioned my decisions, the scarier this whole leadership thing became. Ethan propped himself up into a sitting position so he could hit the horn in case of emergency. He shouldn’t be here. I should have assumed the worst-case scenario and left him with Alicia. Too damned late to fix it now.

I squeezed his shoulder, trying to offer some silent support, and then climbed out.

Gage paused to sniff the air. “There’s smoke somewhere. Just a hint of it, not a huge fire. I can’t tell from what direction.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Just please, be careful and do not engage. I doubt our Voxes will work any better here than they did across town, so be prepared to scream if you need help.”

His eyes narrowed, not quite a flinch—some look of extreme concentration. Its intensity did nothing to calm my
nerves. Adrenaline surged through my veins and set my fingertips shaking.

He looked over my shoulder at Marco. “Hey, Walking Wounded, take care of each other, okay?”

“We will,” Marco said.
“Promeso.”

Gage darted away, sticking close to the shrubs and saplings that lined the sidewalk. I watched him a moment, trying to dispel the sense that I’d just sent him off to be killed. It was an irrational fear, nonetheless present and overwhelming. Specter was here; I knew it in my heart. I also knew that despite my fear and hesitation, this would all end tonight.

“Trance?”

I nodded to Marco. “I know, let’s go.”

We started on the first floor and discovered nothing, and more of nothing on the second. A few computers were still on, screensavers in full swing. Whatever made everyone abandon the building happened within the last hour. We saw no outward signs of a struggle—no dropped files or scattered instrument trays. Desk chairs were pushed in neatly. They’d just vanished.

Dr. Seward’s temporary office was vacant of personnel, same as the other rooms. I nudged his computer mouse and an open file appeared. He had been reading up on Dahlia Perkins. Half a dozen articles she’d written for her paper were displayed in as many windows. Fluff pieces, mostly.

On a whim, I picked up Seward’s phone. No dial tone. I studied the lab tables, the floor, the stool, looking for any sign
of a struggle. A spot of blood, a piece of broken glass. Some clue as to what had happened here.

“This is insane,” Marco said. “Ten people do not simply vanish.”

“No, they don’t. Something forced them to leave.” Neatly.

“And go where?”

“I have no idea.” Another building, I hoped. I couldn’t stand to entertain the thought that Gage hadn’t picked up any heartbeats because they were all dead.

The private room where Psystorm should have been was empty, and there we found the first real sign of wrongdoing. The sheets were twisted, dangling to the floor. All the monitors were off, and the connecting wires lay tangled together. A spot of blood colored the sheet where his IV had been pulled out and dropped.

“He was moved in a hurry,” I said.

Fabric rustled behind me. I turned to see Marco standing in his underwear, pulling at the surgical tape binding his fingers. Dumbfounded at the sight, I didn’t react until the bandages fluttered to the floor. “What are you doing, Marco?”

“I can track whoever was here, but not like this.”

“I thought you couldn’t morph with your fingers broken.”

“I can, but it will hurt. My fingers will still be broken.” He grimaced. “My paw will be broken. We have no choice.”

“Marco—”

He turned, dropping his underwear. His body shrank. Skin darkened and black hair grew into a shining coat. He groaned, and the pained cry turned into a feral hiss. He hunched over, his back legs changing shape and adding
roped muscle. I watched the transformation, as awed by it as the first time. The grown panther turned to face me, favoring his left front paw. He blinked greenish eyes, and then got to work sniffing things.

I peered out the window, hoping for a glimpse of Gage somewhere on the grounds, and got a view of the city. Not helpful. Panther-Marco growled. I turned. He loped out of the room, intent on whatever he smelled. I followed at a distance, letting him do his thing. His three-legged limping ended in the waiting room down the hall. He stopped in the doorway and growled.

My stomach heaved. Julie Dent, the on-call nurse who always seemed to be around, lay in the middle of the room, surrounded by overturned games and coloring books and broken crayons. Her neck was twisted at a strange angle, wide-open eyes dull and lifeless.

“My God.” I didn’t have to touch Julie to know she was dead. I did anyway. Her skin was warm; she hadn’t died long ago.

Marco growled, sniffed her hair. He sneezed, growled again, and began another fast three-legged limp down the corridor. I trotted after him.

Back to the stairs and down. On each landing he paused. I opened the floor exits. He sniffed. We continued. He left the stairwell on the second floor, speeding up from a gentle lope to a full-on run. Faster than I was, even on a broken paw, he turned a corner before I was halfway there. I found him scratching and snarling at a utility closet door.

I twisted the knob with my left hand. Locked. A dimesize
orb into the keyhole shattered the lock. The door swung in. I found a switch and turned on the light.

Two rows of industrial shelving held dozens of boxes of supplies. Cleaning solution, bleach, mop heads, sponges, a couple of brooms and dust pans. Marco went inside. He nosed a box on a bottom shelf,
Scouring Pads
handwritten on the side. I pulled it off the shelf and placed it gently on the floor. The tape was cut, flaps folded in.

I looked into his feline eyes and swore I saw fear. He wanted me to see what he smelled. I pulled out the flaps. My entire body went cold, and I had the very real urge to piss myself. I saw the colorful wires, the connections and screws and chips. The thing that scorched itself into my brain was the timer, and the little red numbers ticking down from :32 … 31 … 30 …

“Move!”

Back down the hall, I ran faster than I’d ever run in my life. I smashed through the stairwell door, Marco on my heels, whining with each step on his broken paw. Once through the door, he bolted down the stairs. I took them two at a time, skipping as many as three in my haste, and somehow never fell.

I hadn’t thought to count, to try to measure the remaining time. Blind panic took over. My heart thundered. As long as Marco remained ahead of me, I simply ran. We hit the bottom of the stairwell and burst through the exit, raced across the lobby and pristine floors that had seen the steps of hundreds of Rangers, through the sliding glass doors my ancestors had passed between, the building I’d been born in.

“Keep going!” I shouted at Marco, and he did, galloping toward the Base.

I yanked open the driver’s door of the van, ignoring Ethan’s questions. I cranked the engine, reached across the wheel to shift with my left hand, and slammed my foot against the gas pedal. The van surged forward. In that instant, the Medical Center exploded. A maelstrom of sound, fire, and flying debris shot toward the van.

Before I could drive ten feet, the first shock wave struck. We spun out of control, and the counterclockwise rotation slammed my left shoulder into the door. My head cracked off the window. Colorful lights danced in my vision and the constant spinning nauseated me. I tried to gain control of the wheel and turn into the spin. Through the windshield and hail of debris, I saw a familiar blue-clad shape. Looked right into his silver-flecked eyes.

“Gage!” I screamed.

The fender of the van clipped him, knocking him sideways and out of sight.

Ethan shouted. All motion stopped abruptly as the van hit something else. Metal crunched. I lurched into the passenger seat, landing on my cast-covered hand. Pain blurred my eyesight and threatened to steal consciousness away. Something hissed. Probably the engine. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

My head and hand throbbed. My stomach lurched, and I vomited onto the floor. Bile seared my throat and tongue. I retched hard, turning myself inside out.

“Teresa?” Ethan’s voice, tentative.

I grunted—the only reply I could muster.

“Did we hit him?”

I spat, swallowed. My eyes watered. “Yeah.”

“Can you move?”

“Think so.” I tested my legs, ankles, hips, found them able. “You?”

“I’d rather not.”

With a deep breath and an acute amount of pain, I got my left arm beneath my body and pushed myself back into the driver’s seat. The cast had not cracked, but my entire right arm ached like a son of a bitch, and my exposed fingers were swollen. Blood tickled the left side of my face. One more head wound and I’d have no brain cells left.

The van had smashed into an parked car, a good fifty yards from the smoldering, burning ruins of the Medical Center. Didn’t know whose car, didn’t much care. Ethan was wedged on the floor of the backseat, his head resting against the passenger side door. His lip was split and bleeding, and he was paler than white.

“Are you stuck?”

“No,” he said, panting the words. “Think I ripped some stitches, though.” Sure enough, scarlet was seeping through his T-shirt in several places. He wasn’t that white from blood loss—shock was setting in hard and fast. It was my fault—me and my brilliant decision to take him out of the safety of a friend’s house and drag him back home.

My door opened. I shrieked, panic ripping through me.
Marco stood there, completely naked, his mouth twisted in a grimace. Nicks and burns covered his bare torso, and he cradled his swollen left hand close to his chest.

“
Dios
, are you two all right?” he asked.

“We’ll live,” I said. Relief at seeing Marco on both feet did little to curb my rising fear. “Where’s Gage? Did you see him? I think we hit him.”

Marco shook his head and darted away.

“Stay here,” I said to Ethan.

He grunted. “No problem.”

I slid out of the van, amazed I still possessed the coordination to do so. My legs wobbled, but didn’t buckle. We’d stopped at the front of the parking lot. Only four cars were there, and we’d hit the nearest. Waves of heat rolled away from the blazing fire. My lungs seized, and I coughed until my chest ached. Should have built up a freaking tolerance to smoke by now.

“Catalepsia, here!”

I ran toward the sound of Marco’s voice—behind the van, back toward a hedge that separated the lot from the street. We’d flattened part of it. I saw the top of Marco’s head on the other side of the hedge, skirted it, and dropped to my knees next to them.

Gage was curled on his side, face twisted in pain, eyes squeezed shut. His chest rose and fell steadily and that, more than anything else, settled my nerves. A little. I brushed the tips of my fingers over his forehead, through his hair.

“Gage, it’s me,” I said. “I am so sorry.”

He grunted. “Shit, that hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Ribs.”

Frustrated tears stung my eyes, their presence made worse by the billowing smoke all around us. Sirens wailed in the distance. The fire trucks didn’t have the gate code.

“Marco, get to the gate. Make sure emergency rescue can get inside to put out the fire.”

“No,” Gage said. Something in his voice sent a chill down my spine.

I gaped at him. “What? Why not?”

Gage sat up faster than I expected. I fell backward onto my ass, too surprised to react when he punched Marco square in the jaw. Marco flew sideways, cracked his head off the curb, and lay still.

I stared, momentarily forgetting to breathe. Gage twisted around, still sitting. My stomach lurched. If I’d had anything left to vomit, I would have.