*
The windowless hallway on the east end, running north and south past the three bedrooms, was the darkest place in the apartment. Dryden’s eyes were still adjusted to the bright skyline; he waited for details of the hallway to resolve. Rachel’s door emerged twenty feet ahead. Somewhere in the gloom farther along was Audrey’s door, and then Sandra’s.
He could feel the cool pulse at his temples, growing as he moved toward Rachel’s room. He supposed he was feeling a bit of it from the other two as well, even if all three were asleep.
If.
Dryden had led sneak incursions into a handful of intimidating places: container ships in which the crew knew every inch of the layout while he and his men did not; cave complexes that called to mind giant anthills. This place was worse. Beyond their built-in abilities, Audrey and Sandra were sure to have more conventional power at their disposal. Given the apartment’s defensive setup—the door leading in from the elevator was inch-thick steel—it would be naive to think there weren’t offensive measures, too.
He could rush both of their rooms and kill them right now. The first of the two would have only the briefest warning, and the second would have only the time between the gunshots and his arrival at her door, five seconds at most. He could do that.
Except he couldn’t. Killing anyone because of the flashed message would require certainty he didn’t have. Getting Rachel the hell out of here wouldn’t.
He went to her door, opened it as quickly as silence permitted, and found her sitting wide-awake, waiting for him. She looked like she’d been up for a while already. He stepped through the door, closed it quietly behind him, and crossed to her. No doubt she’d picked up on his fear even in the hallway, but now, as she got the details behind it from his thoughts, understanding twisted her expression into dread.
“No,” she whispered. “No, that can’t be right.” She was shaking her head, too rattled to cry yet. “Don’t even think things like that.”
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“We’ll sort it out later,” he whispered. “Right now we’re just going to get out of here. Come on.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. She was still processing all the things he wasn’t saying out loud. Her voice finally cracked as the heaviest of the ideas came through.
“You’re not sure I’m real?” she asked. “You think I’m someone bad?”
He knelt before her and looked into her eyes.
“You’re the girl who saved my life,” he said. “You knew that, didn’t you? I was the walking dead before you came along. You changed that. How could a girl do that if she wasn’t real? Do you trust me?”
She nodded quickly.
“Then trust me on this,” he said. “This is you, who you are right now, and we’ll find a way to keep it like that. But we have to get out of this place first. Okay?”
She nodded again, took his hand, and swung her feet to the floor.
The two of them had gone only a few steps when Dryden felt the chill at his temples intensify.
One or both of the others had just moved closer to this room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dryden stopped fast. Rachel collided with him and nearly lost her balance. He steadied her with one hand; with the other he leveled the SIG SAUER on her closed bedroom door.
Within seconds the cool sensation stepped up again. He pictured both Audrey and Sandra in the hall, not far away. Rachel put her hand on his gun arm, not pushing it down but begging him to reconsider.
“What if it’s not true?” she asked. “Let’s just talk to them. Maybe we can figure it out.”
Then came Audrey’s voice, right outside the door. “It’s not true, Sam. Think about it. Is there anything Gaul wouldn’t do to get to us?”
“We know you’re confused,” Sandra said. “Anyone would be, in your position. That’s why Gaul’s doing this; the trick is designed to force you into doubt.”
“Think of it this way,” Audrey said. “We have all the guns in the world here; I’m sure you know that. If we were bad, wouldn’t we have killed you long before this?”
Dryden thought about it. Their reasoning didn’t quite hold. Of course they could have killed him, but until now there’d been no reason to. He’d been no threat to them, and as mind readers, they would’ve had plenty of warning if he ever did become a threat. They would’ve always had the option of killing him before he could make a move against them.
He started to voice the objection, then stopped—they’d heard it loud and clear already.
“Sam…” Sandra said. Her voice was soft, sympathetic. That tone, more than any words she might say with it, eroded the edges of his caution. He kept the pistol steady on the door; God knew what they might be pointing at it from the other side.