Road Less Traveled (2 page)

Several minutes later they rounded a bend and skidded to a stop outside the door to bio lab twelve-B. It was closed, but not completely—a crack of light showed between the door's edge and the frame. And there was noise coming from within.

“Sounds like somebody didn't finish the job,” Jo whispered, drawing her pistol in one smooth, silent motion. Less like a small-town deputy and more like the Special Forces ranger she had been before coming to Eureka.

Carter was convinced she'd switched jobs because she'd wanted something with a little more excitement.

“Any other entrances to this place?” Carter asked over his shoulder, just as Fargo puffed up beside them.

“None,” the researcher replied between gasps. “And Drs. Boggs and Korinko aren't in right now—I checked.” GD kept track of all its personnel through the communications devices they all carried, which were like smartphones but far more powerful. Everyone in Eureka had them.

“I take it this is their lab?” Carter asked quietly, moving to one side of the door. Fargo nodded. “What about any assistants?”

“One,” Fargo replied, “but she's got the day off. Her communicator shows she's out near the lake, has been all day.”

“Okay, so we've got an unauthorized intruder in their lab, messing with their project,” Carter clarified. Jo had taken position on the door's other side. “Let's take this nice and easy,” he warned as he reached for the door handle. “We don't know who's in there, or how delicate this Thunderbird thing is—or what could happen if something sets it off somehow. We just need to—”

He'd only gotten the door open another few inches when Jo slammed her shoulder into it, shoving it back completely and muscling past Carter into the lab. He now realized the lab was filled with smoke and strange, shifting lights. “This is the police!” Jo shouted, her words sharp, clipped, and loud. “Come out with your hands up!”

“Or,” Carter muttered to himself, “we could just barge in instead.”

Now that Jo had committed herself, however, he didn't have much of a choice. He wasn't about to let his deputy face whatever the problem was alone. So he stepped into the lab as well, though he left his pistol in its holster. One loose cannon was probably enough.

“What's with the lights?” he wondered out loud, squinting and glancing around. The constant swirls of color made it impossible to see anything clearly, and the farther across the lab he looked, the worse it got. “Listen, whoever's in here,” he called out, “we've got the only exit blocked off. So let's talk this out and see what we can do to resolve whatever's going on.”

Nobody answered. He thought he saw someone moving near the far side of the lab, but it was just a haze of vague motion and he couldn't be sure.

“Fargo!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Can we do anything about clearing this fog?”

“Fog? There shouldn't be—” Fargo stuck his head through the doorway and stopped, staring. “Oh, that's not good.” He gulped audibly.

Carter sighed. He knew he was probably going to regret this, but he just couldn't stop himself. “What isn't good, Fargo?”

“That's not smoke,” the researcher explained quickly. “It's spillage from the containment field. Pressurized gas mixed with sedatives and a few other nasties. And now it's expanding. And spreading.”

“Great.” Carter shook his head. “Shut it off.”

“But I can't just—”

“Shut it off, Fargo!”

“It's not that—”

“Now!”

“Okay, okay! Jeez!” He disappeared back into the hall, though Carter could hear him muttering. There was no guarantee Fargo could actually fix whatever this was, but at least someone was on it. And it kept him out of Carter's hair. Fargo meant well, but he could be a bit . . . irritating.

In much the same way water was a bit wet.

“Can you make anything out?” Carter asked Jo, returning his attention to the matter at hand.

She shook her head. “Nothing certain. I think I can tell where all the tables and benches are, more or less, but I have no idea what's on any of them, or where anyone else might be in this soup.”

“Yeah, me either.” Carter waved a hand in front his face, but it didn't help. “Well, let's just take it slow. If we sweep the room and keep the exit guarded, whoever's in here with us shouldn't be able to get past.”

Jo nodded and they spread out, Jo heading to the left side of the lab and Carter to the right. Then they began walking slowly and carefully toward the far wall. As Carter advanced, more details swam into focus—a vague blob resolved into the edge of a long lab table and the shapes upon it became papers and notepads and beakers and wires. But the door was now blurry around the edges when he glanced back. The room wasn't getting clearer; they were just able to see for a short way around them, taking that bubble of clarity with them as they walked.

The problem was that if they moved much farther from the door, they wouldn't be able to see it properly anymore. And then the intruder would be able to slip right by them and take off before he or she could be identified.

Carter stopped. He was pretty sure Jo was still moving forward. If he hung back where he could still just make out the door, he'd be able to keep anyone from escaping. All he had to do was wait until Jo herded the intruder toward him. He relaxed a little.

Which was when the overhead fans kicked on full force.

Followed by the sprinklers.

“Yes!” someone shouted from somewhere nearby, though Carter didn't think the sound had come from in front of him. Regardless, he had to raise a hand to cover his eyes as the fog flattened, clouds of mist becoming long gray tendrils instead, the water somehow condensing the fog and forcing it into a more manageable form. He had to admit, Fargo was a genius.

Now the room really was clearing and Carter could see Jo on the opposite side. He could also see the rest of the room's tables and benches, its computer monitors and testing arrays, its wire-mesh cages—

—and the still-shadowy figure beside one open cage, holding two large, rounded objects close to its chest.

“All right, freeze!” Carter shouted. The figure started, and almost dropped one of its prizes, but clutched at it frantically and pulled it close again at the last second. For some reason, Carter felt relieved. You never knew what could go wrong at GD when things broke or spilled.

And then the tendrils of flattened, water-infused gas began to whip about wildly, every which way.

And the light show intensified, casting long shadows and brilliant beams of light and color in every direction.

Carter was sure he actually heard a sizzle as one of those beams brushed the figure and then illuminated the object in its right hand.

And the object suddenly exploded with light.

“Whoa!” Carter was glad his hands were empty; he'd probably have dropped whatever he had been carrying just so he could get arms and hands up in front of his face. It was like looking at a miniature sun—something Carter unfortunately had experience with now—only this varied more wildly. One second it was searingly bright and the next it had faded to a manageable glow.

Whatever it was.

“What the hell is happening here?” he demanded of the figure, or of Jo, or of the air in general. He didn't care who answered, as long as he got an answer.

“It's one of the Thunderbird eggs!” The reply came from Fargo, who must have returned to the doorway because he had just shouted through it. “It must have hatched prematurely! Most likely the shift in energy and chemical composition around it set it off!”

“Thunderbird . . . eggs?” Carter stared in the direction of the strobing object. Yeah, it did look kind of like an egg. Which would make the large, awkward bird rising up toward the bio lab's roof, wings flapping furiously and producing tiny sonic booms on each stroke, lightning flickering from its golden eyes and all along its hooked beak—

A Thunderbird.

Great.

Jo responded immediately. Her gun swiveled around, its barrel rising to target the new threat, and then she squeezed off one, two, three rounds—

—and watched as the bullets vaporized inches from the incandescent creature.

It cawed, a sound that echoed strangely, like a miniature thunderclap. Its eyes glowed gold and yellow and green. Energy arced across its talons. It seemed to be glaring at Jo.

And then tiny surges of lightning shot from those eyes, coalescing into a wide, flickering bolt that struck Jo in the chest. The blow threw her into the lab's side wall, and she slumped against it for a second, shaking off the effects. Her hair stood on end and her uniform was charred and smoking slightly across the front, though it seemed the fireproofing woven into the fabric had blocked the worst of it.

Right. No shooting the Thunderbird.

“Nice Thunderbird,” Carter cooed softly, shifting a little closer as the creature eyed him warily. “Good Thunderbird. Nice and calm. No reason to get all riled up, hm?” He took a step forward and his belt buckle caught on the edge of the table he was standing beside.

Which gave him an idea.

Slowly, to keep from spooking the thing, Carter undid his belt and slid it free. The belt had several small pouches on it, of course, all of them filled with various tools of the trade.

And it was one particular tool he pulled free and held on to as he coiled the belt loosely around his right hand.

He would have to time this carefully.

“Okay, you big ball of feathers and fluff,” Carter whispered, once he was sure he was ready—or at least as ready as he could be, given the fact that he had no idea what he was doing, really. Still, going on instinct seemed to work most of the time. Well, some of the time. “Come and get me.”

Then he took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and shouted, “What kind of lousy excuse for a bird are you, anyway?”

The response was immediate. It spun in his direction and its eyes flashed again, the air between them crackling—

—and Carter tossed his belt directly at the Thunderbird, buckle first.

As it flew from his one hand, his other hand shot up and latched on to the belt's tail end—with the handcuffs he'd pulled from their pouch. The belt was sturdy, standard police issue, with small metal rivets all down its length and wire mesh inside.

An excellent conductor.

And the handcuffs weren't those flimsy-looking hand-ties cops used these days. Nope, these were good old-fashioned handcuffs.

One hundred percent stainless steel.

Carter clamped one end onto the belt and the other onto the leg of the nearest table. Which was also metal. And bolted to the floor.

Hey, if Benjamin Franklin could do it with a kite and a key, why couldn't he use a belt and some handcuffs?

The creature squawked at him and lightning shot from its eyes—and was sucked into the belt buckle, down the belt's length, through the handcuffs, through the table leg, and into the floor.

The rubber floor.

Where it dissipated harmlessly.

“Yes!”

But then Carter realized that it hadn't stopped. The belt was still somehow caught up on the Thunderbird, maybe hooked onto one of its claws. And electricity continued to arc down it. The bird was struggling, but it couldn't seem to pull free, or to stop generating those little bursts of lightning. And each one seemed to leave it smaller and weaker.

It was killing itself.

The Thunderbird dwindled rapidly as Carter stared, unable to do anything to save it. There was one last flash, bright enough to blind him for a second, and when his sight cleared the bird was gone completely.

And so was the shadowy figure that had tried to steal it.

Along with the second globe, which Carter assumed to be a second Thunderbird egg.

He growled slightly and bent down to retrieve his belt and handcuffs, which were hot to the touch. Jo was groaning and shaking her head, still leaning against the wall, though she seemed to be recovering. But the thief was already gone.

And then the sprinklers kicked on again. This time, there wasn't any gas left to absorb the heavy spray.

Carter just stood there, getting drenched.

Perfect.

The question—and the voice—made Carter spin around. The person asking was a lot more welcome than Fargo, which wasn't really saying much. But Allison Blake was one of Carter's favorite people in the whole world, a fact that had given both of them some awkward moments—and some serious thought. Right now, though, he was just happy to see her.

The frown that crossed her pretty face, however, suggested she didn't feel the same.

“What exactly is going on here?” Allison asked as she stepped into the bio lab—or, rather, started to step in, glanced up at the sprinklers, and stopped. She tapped a console set beside the door. “Operations, this is Director Blake. Kill the sprinklers in bio lab twelve-B.” Carter could practically hear the technicians leaping to obey. Allison ran GD, and though she was by no means a despot, she did expect her orders to be carried out immediately.

“Um, actually,” Fargo interjected behind her, “that's not really something they can do right now. I had to bypass the regular interfaces to activate them manually.”

“Why did you—?” Allison stopped herself with visible effort and closed her eyes for a second. “Just shut them off, Fargo. Now.”

“Right away.” He disappeared again, and a second later the indoor deluge ended. Carter was still sopping wet, of course. And now, without the water to block the building's air-conditioning, he was shivering as well.