He looks quickly from scowling me to cautious Whit and back, and I can tell from the change in his posture when he switches tactics.
“All right. Although I’ve been described as a snake, I am not a monster. Since my move leaves you without negotiating power to get your people out, once you are safely within the care and employ of Blackwell Pharmaceutical, I am willing to make a deal with Avery—let’s call it an act of goodwill—which should soften the blow of losing the two of you, and ensure that your people are free to leave his hospitality. Now how does that sound to you all—Messieurs Nursall and Graves, Miss Newhaven?”
The situation has been defused. Whit’s guard’s posture has relaxed, and he seems to be considering Blackwell’s offer. Whit too has lost some of his defensiveness and the guards standing behind Blackwell have deflated slightly, when, in the open door, Avery’s doctor appears, his face as white as his lab coat. “He’s awake! Avery’s awake!” he says, and everyone is once again on alert.
“That’s not possible!” exclaims Whit. “It’s barely been four hours.”
“But he is awake, and he’s ripped all of his monitors off. He insists on getting up. And the way he’s talking . . . it seems to me like he’s having a psychotic break.”
Avery’s huge form appears behind the doctor, hair wild and eyes wide. Something is tucked beneath his arm, and for a moment I can’t tell what it is. And then I taste bile as I realize it’s the dog head, defrosted and dripping a thick, glutinous fluid.
Avery slams his fist against a button inside the front door, setting off a high-pitched alarm. Lights shoot on around the property, illuminating the yard in an artificial yellow glow. Shouts can be heard coming from the barracks, and an armed guard comes barreling down from upstairs.
“They’re coming,” Avery gasps, and pushes past the doctor to stand outside. Clasping the dog head by its soggy fur, he yells, “They’re after me!” His cheeks are hollow, his look haunted. He lets go of the dog head, throwing his arms up to shield himself, as if to fend off a flock of attacking birds. The head rolls around at his feet, trailing dark liquid across the porch floor.
Everyone looks at one another in astonishment, no one knowing what to say. I take a step toward him. “Who’s after you?” I ask. Avery’s crazy eyes fix on me, and he stretches an arm forward tentatively, as if afraid to touch me.
“The animals,” he says. “They want their revenge, and they’re coming for it. I heard them. They spoke to me.”
Whit reaches up to put a hand on Avery’s shoulder. “Mr. Avery, you are hallucinating. You’re not supposed to be up yet. You need to get back to the lab, lie down, and let the drug run its course.”
The alarm sounds again—a loud wailing noise piercing the velvety silence of the dark night.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Avery roars. “They’re coming! Nature herself is rising up against me. They say I’ve exploited her—stolen lives that aren’t mine to take.” He shakes off Whit’s hand and pushes past Blackwell without even seeing him.
Blundering down the front steps, he plants himself firmly in the middle of the drive and bends over, grasping his head in his hands. “It’s over,” he moans, as his paper shirt flaps in the strengthening wind.
Responding to the alarm, guards pour in from around both sides of the house, outfitted in combat gear with guns at the ready. Others sprint across the yard and disappear through the trees. The siren wails again, and Nursall ducks into the house and shuts it off, and then jogs down the steps to confront his colleagues. A dozen guards group around Avery, watching him with worried expressions. Nursall pushes through them and speaks.
“Mr. Avery isn’t well. His doctor is here. The alarm was set off by accident. You can return to barracks.”
“It’s no accident,” yells Avery, and shuddering violently, he slumps to his knees.
Nursall takes him by the arm. “O’Donnell,” he calls, “help me take Mr. Avery back inside.” O’Donnell leaves my side and runs to help.
“Get off me, you bumbling dipshits,” Avery growls, trying to shake them off.
Just then a shout comes from the trees to the south. A pair of guards with guns drawn walk toward us, herding before them three people with their hands raised in the air.
One is a woman—and as they near I recognize her. It’s Holly, one of the clan elders. Badger’s mother. And with her are two people I recognize even before they come into full view. My heart beats wildly as they grow nearer and I see defeat written on their faces. It’s my father, and beside him walks Miles. I feel like pinching myself. The two of them together? I must be dreaming.