Mark moved his weapon left to right, pulling the trigger in short bursts, not even bothering to aim. Streaks of white connected with a few women. One stray shot hit a small boy, vaporized him. Still they barreled toward him at full speed. Mark turned to face the people behind him. He fired again, then gripped the Transvice and swung it up to smash its butt end into a man’s face, sending him sprawling, shrieking in pain.
Mark stumbled backward but caught his balance. There were people all around him, hissing, baring their teeth, dancing about on their feet, all wild eyes and hysterical laughter. Mark held the Transvice tightly against his chest again and fired randomly, turning in a slow circle as he vaporized whoever was closest. Then he swept the weapon back the other way, all the while careful of where Alec stood.
The next few moments were complete madness. Mark felt a hitch of panic. He kept firing, swinging left, then right. He elbowed and shoved and broke through and fired and started all over again, pushing his way ever closer to the house. He killed at least ten more people before he was suddenly tripping over the steps of the porch.
He fell, twisted the Transvice around and fired it directly into the chest of a man who’d leaped into the air toward him. The gray mist washed over Mark’s face and disappeared. He spotted Alec a few feet away, jamming the end of his weapon into a woman’s face; Alec then broke into a run, jumping onto the steps and passing Mark, heading for the door.
Mark got off one more shot before he began to crawl backward up the stairs. At the top he got to his feet and reached the door just as Alec was stepping through. He ran past Alec into the house and his friend slammed the door. Alec had barely tripped the lock before the thump of bodies hitting it sounded from the other side. Mark doubted it would hold for long.
Then they were running. Down a hallway, a right turn, another hallway. Two people came at them—they’d been guarding a door. Alec got both of them with shots from his Transvice. Mark slipped past him, opened the door—there were steps. A man was at the bottom, pounding his way up, his eyes all fire set in a dirty, scratched face. Mark vaporized him.
Down the stairway, two at a time. A man and a woman rushed at him with knives, swinging at him before he could bring his weapon up. He smacked them both away and dove toward the floor just as Alec appeared and shot his weapon twice. And then everything grew quiet except for the distant sounds of the people outside, who’d be coming for them soon.
They were in a basement. A stream of sunlight shone through a narrow window at the top of the wall to Mark’s right. Dust motes danced in the air. And two people were huddled in the corner of the room, looking as frightened as anyone Mark had ever seen.
Trina and Deedee, clutching each other, arms wrapped around one another’s bruised bodies. Mark ran to them, knelt in front of them, placed his weapon on the ground.
Deedee was crying and spoke first. “She’s sick,” she said in her trembling, little-girl voice. She squeezed Trina tighter, crying.
Mark reached out and took Trina’s hand, squeezed it. “It’s okay. We found you. We’re getting you out of here.”
Trina had been staring at the floor the entire time, but she slowly raised her head and looked at Mark. Her eyes were empty and dark.
“Who are you?” she asked.
Chapter 57
The words hit him like a rapid series of thumps to his heart. He tried to convince himself that there were a million reasons she could’ve said what she did. Maybe the room didn’t have enough light; maybe she’d been hit in the head; maybe her vision was blurred. But the reality of it was in those eyes. She had no idea who he was. None.
“Trina …” He searched for words. “Trina, it’s me. Mark.”
There was a crash upstairs, something breaking. Then a few thuds. Footsteps sounded from above.
“We’ve gotta get out,” Alec barked. “Now.”
Trina had not stopped looking at Mark, her face wrinkled in confusion. Her head was tilted to the side, as if in her mind she was running through the possibilities of who this guy in front of her could be. But there was also fear and panic, something unsettling.
“Maybe there’s a treatment,” Mark found himself whispering, in some sort of trance. The only person in the world he wanted with him safe and sound … “Maybe—”
“Mark!” Alec yelled. “Get them up! Now!”
He looked back to see his friend at the bottom of the stairs, weapon raised to shoot whoever dared try to come down first. There was more noise above them: People running and shouting. Things breaking. Then Mark caught a blur of movement out the window, a pair of feet that were there, then gone.