Harlequin Nocturne March 2014 Bundle: Shadowmaster\Running with Wolves (25 page)

Chapter 25

T
he underground room was as white and sterile as nearly every other part of the building, outfitted with dozens of what seemed to be cold storage units, glass-doored shelves, shining steel tables and other equipment Phoenix didn't recognize. Nearly three dozen people—scientists, technicians, administrators and support staff—were crowded inside, filling the entire rear half of the room and almost hiding the rear exit, presumably blocked by Brita like all the others. Five technicians in full protective suits stood near the largest storage unit, where a half-dozen armed soldiers and their captain had formed a protective cordon around them.

Phoenix entered the room first. “Everyone remain calm,” she said, easing the mayor to the ground at her feet. “Don't get in our way and we won't hurt you.”

The captain of the guard raised his rifle. “You won't hurt anyone,” he said.

She nudged at Shepherd with the muzzle of her gun. “Do you know who this man is?” she asked.

The captain looked down and signaled for his men to lower their weapons.

“Who are you?” stammered a man in a white coat, whose name tag read Dr. William Svengaard, Director.

“Someone you don't want to mess with,” Phoenix said. Drakon moved up behind her, gripping Matthew by the shoulder while Sato nudged Brita into the room.

“This man is the son of Senator Patterson,” Drakon said, pushing Matthew forward. “If anyone here opens fire, both he and the mayor will suffer.”

“But you are... Surely you are with the Enclave?” Svengaard asked. He pointed at Brita. “This woman forced us to—”

“I know.” Phoenix glanced back at Drakon, who looked increasingly ill. “She's not in control anymore.”

The director shuddered. “What do you want? What is your purpose here?”

“Not everyone in the Enclave agrees with what you're doing here,” Phoenix said. “There are a lot of people who would like to shut this place down. We're here to get the antidote and destroy the pathogen.”

“By whose authority?” the captain of the guards demanded.

Phoenix ignored him. Svengaard's face wrinkled up as if he had smelled something noxious. “It isn't so easy,” he said. “The antidote is experimental. We haven't—”

“Why the suits?” Phoenix asked sharply.

“The virus is inert in the human body,” Svengaard said, almost as if he were proud of his work. “The suits are merely standard protocol for anyone who handles the—”

“Murder weapon?” Phoenix said.

“No,” Svengaard protested. “No, you don't understand.”

“We understand,” Drakon said. He forced Matthew to his knees. “Give us the antidote, or everyone dies.”

He sounded, Phoenix thought, extremely convincing, though the men and women in the bunker wouldn't recognize him as an Opir or know that he was slowly dying. The director scurried away to consult with the suited technicians.

Brita moved to follow him, and Phoenix nodded permission to the Enforcer who guarded her. Brita wouldn't do anything stupid now. She needed that antidote, experimental or otherwise.

And Drakon needed it far more urgently. He could barely stay on his feet, his breathing had become labored and his grip on Matthew's shoulder was so weak that it would soon be obvious to everyone that the young Enforcer would have no real difficulty in escaping.

And yet Drakon smiled at Phoenix, even knowing whatever they gave him could fail. All the hours they had spent together—good and bad, as friends and enemies, as haters and lovers—flashed through her mind.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

They held each other's eyes until Brita hissed and pulled their attention back to the technician's work. They had pulled a small, heavy box, wreathed in condensation, from within the unit and set it down on one of the polished steel tables.

“There are...seven strains,” Svengaard said, “three for the pathogen and four for the antidote. I insisted we create such an antidote because—”

“I'm not interested in your reasons,” Phoenix said. “Get on with it.”

“Only two of the antidotes have been tested,” Svengaard said, wringing his hands, “and both failed. We have not tested the last two. Their efficacy is unknown.”

“But you've been testing them on those Opiri in the sickrooms,” Phoenix said.

Svengaard didn't answer. The technicians had put another case on the table beside the first.

“The pathogen,” Svengaard said, his voice very faint. “Both these cases have been designed to keep the contents intact for up to twelve hours. They will degrade after that.”

“Prepare syringes for the two untested antidotes,” Brita said.

The technicians exchanged glances. “Why?” Svengaard asked. Then he looked at Brita more closely.

“You're infected,” he said. “You have to be Opir.” He glanced at Drakon. “And so are you.”

“Get them ready,” Brita snapped.

“Why are you aiding Opiri?” the captain said, beginning to raise his weapon again.

Yeshevsky pointed her rifle at the captain, and Phoenix aimed her own gun at Shepherd's head. “Lay down your weapons.”

At a curt nod from the captain, the other guards did as Phoenix commanded. Svengaard jerked his head at the technicians, instructing them to proceed. Phoenix turned back to Drakon. There was nothing to say, but she couldn't bear the silence.

“Whatever happens,” she said, “I'll be at your side. You won't go alone.”

Alarm and anger erased the exhaustion on his face. “If you mean to...take your own life—”

“I mean I won't leave you until this is over,” she said, “one way or another.”

Abruptly, Drakon fell to his knees, losing his grip on Matthew. Matthew remained where he was, pretending to be dazed and unable to move.

“The antidote!” Phoenix shouted, striding toward Brita and Svengaard.

“Which one do you want?” Svengaard asked, touching the tray bearing the two syringes.

“Both,” Brita said.

“If you take both, the interaction will almost certainly kill you!” Svengaard said.

“Brita—” Phoenix began.

But the Opir was already stabbing the first needle into her arm. Before Phoenix could intervene, she'd used and discarded the second.

“Fill two more,” Phoenix said, snatching up the other weapon and pointing it at Svengaard. “Fast.”

The director and technicians worked quickly to prepare two more syringes. Aware that the compound's soldiers were still waiting for their chance and that Matthew would appear to be unguarded, Phoenix shouted to the young Enforcer and tossed her rifle to him. He caught it deftly and stood over Shepherd, ready to shoot. When the technicians were finished, they gingerly handed a second tray of syringes to Phoenix.

She knelt beside Drakon, whose heart had slowed to the point that she could count ten seconds between beats.

“Which one?” Matthew asked.

Phoenix looked up at him, her hands trembling so badly that she was afraid she might drop the syringes. “I don't know,” she said. She glanced back at Brita, who seemed to be listing to one side. Svengaard had warned her not to take both antidotes. He'd be more apt to want Brita dead than save her, so he'd have no reason to lie.

If she were to give Drakon both untested cures...

“It doesn't matter,” Drakon whispered. He smiled at Phoenix and felt for her hand. “I can't see. You choose.”

Praying as she never had in her life, Phoenix chose one of the syringes. She pressed the needle against Drakon's skin. The flesh felt stiff and hard, and she had to use some force to get the needle to penetrate it. When she was done, she bowed her head and rested her hand on Drakon's forehead. He closed his eyes.

And stopped breathing.

No,
Phoenix thought.
No, no, no...

But she had no time to grieve. Brita was writhing on the floor, gasping for air, reaching inside her jacket for something Phoenix couldn't see. As her last convulsion ended, she wheezed out a laugh.

“There are no Opiri waiting for you out there,” she said, turning her head toward Svengaard. “It was all...me, and
them
.” With a spasming hand, Brita rolled something across the room toward Phoenix. Instinct alone made Phoenix pick it up.

She glanced down at the thing in her hand. After a long moment she recognized it for what it was.

A bomb. Set to go off in ten minutes.

“Enjoy your revenge,” Brita rasped. And died.

There was a span of shocked silence, and then the soldiers dove for their weapons. Yeshevsky fired a warning shot, blasting a hole in the floor beside the captain. Matthew pressed the muzzle of his gun to Shepherd's head.

“I don't know why you're doing this, Lieutenant Patterson,” the captain said, “but you're no traitor. Whatever they have on you won't help them now. These Opiri are dying, and this one—” he jerked his head toward Phoenix “—is obviously working for
them
.”

Phoenix got to her feet. “Matthew,” she said, “get these people out.” She opened her hand to reveal the tiny bomb. “I'm going to destroy this place,” she said, “and I'd hate to see any of you die here, in spite of the evil you've done. You've got exactly nine minutes to leave and clear the area.”

“Lieutenant Patterson,” the captain said. “We can still work this out, disable the device. None of this has to happen.”

“I'm afraid it does,” Phoenix said, deadly calm in the face of her grief. “I've never had to kill in the course of my work. But I'll gladly die now. Whatever any of us may feel about our enemies, they don't deserve to be wiped out by a deadly virus. That's genocide, and only the evil commit it.”

“She's right,” Matthew said. “I read the reports my father and Shepherd didn't want anyone else to see. They developed the pathogen a year and a half ago and put it into fast-track production.” He looked down at Drakon, anger and sorrow in his eyes. “Did you know what they've been doing here, Captain? Stockpiling the pathogen so they can infect convicts being sent to Erebus without their knowledge.”

“Do you hear him, Captain?” Phoenix asked. “Did you know what was going on?”

The man stared at her, sweat gathering along his hairline. “I follow orders,” he said.

“But you knew, didn't you? You, and all the others who worked here. And you all went along with it.”

No one answered, though a handful of the staff had the grace to look ashamed.

“Maybe everyone in this room should die for crimes against humanity,” Phoenix said, wanting so badly to return to Drakon, to lie down beside him and hold him one last time.

“Humanity!” one of the techs shouted. “It's our enemies we—”

“Crimes against what we value in our species,” Phoenix said. “The things we think make us better than the Nightsiders, even though we lump all of them together as if every one of them is a monster. As if
we
aren't as fully capable of those same heinous acts.” Her gaze swept the room. “When we destroy this, we'll be saving ourselves.”

“Listen to her!” Matthew shouted. “My own father did this! My father and Aaron Shepherd, pretending to be enemies.” He nudged the still-dazed mayor with the toe of his boot. “My father's already paid for his sins. And once word of this gets out, the mayor will lose everything.”

Phoenix met the captain's gaze. “You can try to shoot us, and let this continue. Or maybe you can redeem yourselves by working toward peace instead of murder.”

For a moment it seemed as if the captain understood. But then, moving with almost inhuman speed, he snatched up his rifle and prepared to shoot Phoenix, clearly indifferent to his own fate. Neither Matthew nor Yeshevsky had time to react. Something moved at Phoenix's feet, sprang up and shot past her like a stone from a slingshot, slamming into the captain. Bones snapped, and three other soldiers, who had managed to grab their own weapons, went down before any of them got off a shot.

Phoenix's brain caught up with her senses. Drakon was
alive,
and moving like a demon out of legend. Phoenix pocketed the bomb and dove for a dropped rifle, while Matthew took careful aim and shot two more soldiers in rapid succession, bringing them down without killing them.

When he, Phoenix and Drakon were finished, every soldier in the room was disabled, and those civilians who'd considered joining in were cowering on the ground. Drakon stood over the captain, teeth bared, breathing fast from sudden exertion but very far from death. He looked at Phoenix and grinned.

That was all she needed, that smile. The fact that they were both alive in this moment, no matter how long it lasted.

“Matthew,” she said, “get everyone out.”

“Give me the bomb,” Drakon said.

“Forget it,” Phoenix said. “You've just recovered.”

But he was too fast, and in seconds he had the bomb out of her pocket and in his hand. He sprinted for the elevator.

“Drakon!” Phoenix cried. “We have to destroy this place! If you take the bomb—”

He spun around, panting. His eyes lost their wildness.

“Everyone out!” he commanded. He shoved the bomb in his own pocket, ran to the mayor and lifted him over his shoulder. “Anyone who has the strength, take the wounded. You have less than five minutes.”

Without hesitation, Phoenix grabbed one of the wounded soldiers, who wasn't stupid enough to struggle. Matthew and Yeshevsky carried two more while other staff members crowded into the elevator.

It took nearly the entire five minutes for everyone to get out of the building. As Phoenix passed the last of the wounded on to one of the stronger staff members, she turned to find Drakon speaking urgently to Matthew. The young man nodded, signaled to Yeshevsky and jogged after the fleeing employees.