Avery led them away from the cell. “We need to hurry.”
Footsteps sounded from beyond the hatch at the end of the corridor. Avery and Desmond quickly reached up to flip their night vision goggles down and switch off their helmet lights, leaving Peyton in darkness.
“Stay here,” Desmond whispered, his voice close to her.
On instinct, Peyton crouched, making herself a smaller target, and moved to the wall. With each passing second, her eyes adjusted. Through the slightly open hatch, she could see beams of light crisscrossing the room beyond. Her chest ached as her heart beat faster, knowing these people were searching for her, would likely shoot her on sight.
Desmond and Avery rushed through the hatch. Five soft pops followed—silenced rifle reports. Avery’s voice, barely over a whisper, called into the dark corridor: “We’re clear. Come on.”
Petyon moved forward and paused at the entryway. Desmond and Avery had switched on their helmet lights again. Beams from three more helmets pointed at the ceiling, wall, and floor, depending on how the fallen soldiers had landed. Blood flowed from head and chest wounds, slowly covering the floor, a blob with tendrils reaching toward her.
The gunshots reminded her of Hannah, of the blood that had flowed from her wound in the back of the SUV in Kenya.
Avery was crouched over a backpack in the corner. Her face was bathed in shadows, but Peyton could make it out. She saw no remorse there, just cold concentration. She saw a woman who had taken lives before, and who wasn’t bothered by it.
Avery reached inside the backpack, drew out a cell phone, and began tapping its screen.
“What’re you doing?” Desmond asked, sounding alarmed.
“Backup plan,” she mumbled. “I told you, we should have been out of here by now. We’re out of time. We need a diversion.”
Explosions rocked the ship.
“What was that?” Desmond asked.
“That was the sound of us getting five more minutes to get off this ship.”
“How?”
“Hull breaches,” Avery said. “She’s sinking.” She moved to another hatch. “Shoot anything that moves, Des. Don’t hesitate.”
“Wait,” Peyton said. “They’re holding my colleague, Hannah Watson.”
Avery glanced at Desmond, silently saying, Shut her up.
“Is she still alive?” Peyton asked, looking from one to the other.
Desmond looked to Avery, who said nothing.
“Is she?” Peyton stepped closer to the blonde.
“I don’t know. She’s in the hospital wing.”
So McClain hadn’t followed through on his threat. They had finished the surgery. If the ship sank, they would leave her. Hannah would die for sure.
“We have to bring her with us,” Peyton said.
“No way,” Avery said quickly. “Absolutely not. I’m not even sure if we can get out.”
Peyton fixed Desmond with a look that said one word: Please.
He turned to Avery and stared.
“We’re dead if we do this, Des. I mean it.”
“Then we’ll die trying. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”
Chapter 60
Desmond’s heart pounded in his chest and in his ears, like the sound of a truck driving over train tracks. He gripped the rifle, trying to make himself ready.
The night vision goggles bathed the cramped corridor in a green glow. Avery walked a step in front of him, to his right, giving him a clear shot if they encountered resistance.
Peyton’s hand was tucked inside his waistband; he pulled her behind him through the darkness. She occasionally bumped into him and whispered, “Sorry,” when they came to a stop or changed direction.
Boots pounded the floors above and below. Muffled voices echoed through the darkness like ghosts chanting, seeming to close in on them.
“What’s happening?” Desmond asked.
“Chaos. Insubordination,” Avery said. He knew she had an earpiece in, tuned to the ship’s wireless comms. “Conner’s ordered a search for us. But most everyone is rushing to the lifeboats and tenders.”
That was a break. Maybe they had a chance.
Avery crouched by a hatch. She raised her NVGs, so Desmond did the same.
“Inside,” she said. “Stay along the perimeter. Move fast.”
The hatch crept open. Light poured out. This section had power. A battery backup? Generator?
Avery stepped through the hatch and broke right, moving quickly. But Desmond couldn’t help but stop at the sight of the vast room. It was as long as a football field and almost half as wide. The ceiling hung thirty feet above. Rows of cubicles wrapped in sheet plastic covered the floor, with soft yellow lights glowing inside, like Japanese lanterns floating on a concrete sea.
Each cubicle held a hospital bed, most with a patient lying still. Quiet beeps chirped from within, an out-of-sync symphony of death echoing in the cavernous space. A cart with body bags stood in the central corridor, abandoned.
Desmond had seen this place before. This was the place that had come to him in a memory. He had thought it was a warehouse then; now he knew the truth.
The ship was a floating hospital, a laboratory where they conducted experiments. The setup was brilliant. The subjects had utterly no chance of escape. They were probably loaded on and off in cargo containers. Had they gathered vulnerable subjects from around the world? Used them up and discarded them? The idea was horrifying.
Peyton stood beside him, staring in shock.
Two barely audible clicks from his right drew Desmond’s attention. Avery was motioning to him, her expression saying, Come on, you idiot. He seemed to be able to read her perfectly, and she him. He wondered how long he had known her. And how he had known her.
He caught up to her and grabbed her shoulder.
“Is there a cure on this ship?” he whispered.
“What?”
“To the outbreak in Africa.”
Avery seemed annoyed. “No, Des. You don’t remember?”
He stared, confused.
“They’re testing something else here. It’s… never mind. We have to hurry.”