Avery grabbed a semi-automatic rifle and a backpack from the corner of the room. From the backpack, she drew out a pile of clothes and night vision goggles.
“Put the uniform on. Hang on to the NVGs. Power goes out in twenty seconds. There’s a helo seven decks above us. I figure we’ve got about three minutes to get there. If we’re not there by then, we’ll have to shoot our way out.”
Desmond felt cornered, like the day Dale Epply had come to Orville’s house. He had fought for his life that day, and he had killed for the first time.
He made his decision: he would fight his way out if he had to. He was going to stop these people, even if it killed him.
He took the clothes and began slipping them on.
Movement on one of the flat screens caught Desmond’s eye. They showed four cells just like his. Three empty. One occupied. A woman, roughly his age, with dark hair. Her skin was the color and smoothness of porcelain.
“Peyton Shaw,” he whispered.
So they had captured her too. Her phone number had been the only clue he had left himself in Berlin. She had been investigating the outbreak in Kenya—the outbreak Conner had started, that the man swore Desmond had helped start. Somehow, she was connected to what was happening. She might even be the key to stopping it.
Desmond pointed to the screen. “We’re taking her with us.”
“No. No way.”
“Listen to me, Avery. She’s coming with us.”
Avery exhaled.
“She’s coming with us.”
The blonde shook her head in frustration, but to Desmond’s relief, she moved to the long table and typed on one of the computer keyboards. On the screen, the glass wall of Peyton’s cell began sliding open. But it had slid only about seven inches when the power went out.
Chapter 59
Peyton stared in disbelief as the glass wall started opening. Were they moving her? Or coming to kill her? That was it—they had gotten her CDC password when they drugged her. Now they don’t need me anymore.
Fear rose inside her. But just as quickly, rage met it. The two emotions fought a battle as she watched the glass partition slide.
Rage won. If she was going to die here, she was going to die on her feet, kicking and screaming and punching. She wouldn’t let it be easy for them.
The lights snapped out, plunging the cell into darkness and utter quiet, like a sensory deprivation tank. Peyton froze. A second of panic sparked. Is this their plan, to kill me in the dark? I need to move.
Peyton put her hands out, found the glass wall, and shuffled over to the side where it had begun opening. It hadn’t moved far before the power went out. She slid her left arm and leg through, but her body caught at her chest. She placed her palm against the outer glass and pushed, trying to squeeze through. The exertion only made her breathe harder. Her chest heaved, expanding. Pain radiated from where the thick glass divider met her bones. It was no use. She’d never make it through.
A sound: metal creaking, then the loud boom of a hatch opening. Two white lights beamed into the corridor, moving back and forth like dueling lighthouses searching the darkness. The lights stopped moving, fixing on her.
Fear drove her then. She wiggled back into her cell. But there was nowhere to hide. Even the bathroom was too open. She would die in seconds, she was sure of it.
Two guards ran the length of the corridor. Bright LED lights shone from their helmets. She held a hand up, blotting out the beams so she could see the attackers. The first guard was a white woman with straight blond hair that spilled out of the helmet. Her face was slender, striking, her eyes intense. Night vision goggles sat atop the helmet. The second guard—
Peyton stopped cold at the man’s face. Desmond Hughes. Seeing him in person brought on a conflicting mix of emotions that paralyzed her.
He moved to the opening.
“Peyton, my name is Desmond Hughes. I called to warn you.”
He stared at her, not a hint of recognition on his face. What’s going on here? Why’s he acting like he doesn’t know me? He had acted the same during the call before she learned of the outbreak—an outbreak he seemed to be connected to, according to Lucas Turner. His name had been scrawled on the barn wall in the cell. And now he was dressed as a guard, pretending he didn’t know her. Why? Was it all part of some plan? Her instincts urged her to go along with him, to behave as though she didn’t know him. She sensed that revealing any information to her captors would be bad for her.
“I remember. What do you want?”
“We’re getting out of here. Thought you might want to come.”
Peyton nodded toward the opening. “I tried. I won’t fit.”
The blonde leaned her head back, throwing the beam from her helmet at the ceiling. “We don’t have time for this, Des.”
He turned his head, bathing her in white light. She squinted, stared back at him a moment, then glanced away, signaling defeat.
Desmond moved the beam of light out of her eyes. “Can we shoot it, Avery?” he asked.
The woman shook her head.
He held his hand out to Peyton. “Then I’ll pull you through.”
Peyton hesitated. No way this was going to work. But Desmond waved her forward, confidence in his face.
What do I have to lose?
She moved to the opening, and Desmond gripped her arm, one hand on her bicep, the other on her forearm. “We have to go fast. It’s the only way.” More quietly, he added, “It’s going to hurt.”
She stared at him, trying to look brave. “I know. Let’s get it over with.”
He planted his foot on the glass and leaned back, pulling.
Peyton closed her eyes as the pain took over. Pain in her chest as the glass raked past her ribs. Pain at her armpit as Desmond pulled until she was sure he was ripping her arm off.
And then she tumbled free and fell on top of Desmond. Her face connected with his, but he moved quickly, deflected the blow, and caught her before she hit the floor.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” Every breath through her bruised chest brought pain.