Touch of Madness (36 page)

There was the sound of a scuffle, and a fierce growl that changed to a yelp of pain. I focused on the sound, pulled my knife. Waiting for the flash was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. But I waited, and when the light came I saw Samantha Greeley locked in combat with Tom, a bloody knife in her hand. Before she had time to see me, or do anything, I threw.

She shrieked with pain and rage. I heard the heavy thud of Tom’s body hitting the wall where she’d flung him. He slid limply to the floor, stunned or dead.

I felt more than saw her charging toward me. At the last second I stepped sideways. Grabbing the back of her shirt and the waist of her pants I used her own momentum to slam her face first into the shattered wall. I’d hoped to break off her fangs, send the Thrall within her into shock. But she’d sensed it, or was lucky, and turned her head at the last instant, taking the blow on the side of her face. There’d been enough force behind it to dislocate her jaw and break her cheekbone. Her eye didn’t spill from its socket, though it looked as if it might. It had been a good blow, but not enough. Her teeth, and her mind, were intact.

She spun, knife drawn, forcing me to leap backward. I reached to draw my second knife, but it wasn’t there. I’d lost it at some point. I was unarmed.

She kept advancing, forcing me back across the cluttered floor. I was finally getting used to the uncertain light; using it when it was there to plan, moving when it was not. I tried to search for something to use as a weapon. A flash of the light reflected off the red paint of the fire extinguisher a few feet away. The door to its cabinet hung forlornly open, its glass cracked, but the extinguisher itself was still inside and intact. It was tantalizingly close, but terrifyingly far away. I opened my senses, hoping to use my psychic ability to dodge the knife strikes as I had dodged the blows from Amanda’s bat.

I felt the hive watching, and knew that if I tried I’d be able to pick out individual members. The connection was stronger now than it had ever been. Whether it was because of my panic, or the strengthening of the bond when I’d helped them in the mountains I didn’t know. But it gave me an idea; something I could do to distract Greeley, maybe even long enough to get to the fire extinguisher.

I opened my psychic senses to their fullest, grabbing on to that connection with everything I had before the queens could slam it closed, bar their mental doors against me. It was an amazing amount of power. The pain was excruciating. My mind felt as though it were on fire, as if it might explode from the pressure of all the power I fought to contain.

But even then, I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I reached out further, to do something nobody had ever done. I found Tom. He was alive, but hurt badly. I reached into that cool blankness of power, drew on it—and, in turn, the pack as another lifeline. He let me, held me in his mind with fierce determination. The Thrall recoiled from the touch, as did the wolves. But I didn’t care. I needed the love of my life now as I’d never needed anyone ever before. I dropped my guard just a little, enough to draw her forward. I had to touch her for it to work. She lashed out with the knife, a vicious slash that tore through the fabric of my tee-shirt and cut a long line of skin beneath it. It stung immediately and burned. I didn’t know if the cut was deep enough to be dangerous, to bleed me to death. But in that instant it didn’t matter. I had her.

I grabbed her knife arm with both of my hands, squeezing hard on her wrist. She shrieked in rage and frustration, using all her strength to fight against my grip. In that moment she had no shields. Her anger had left her completely vulnerable. I forced a connection between my mind and hers and poured every ounce of psychic energy I had, everything the collective had, and the pack had, into her unprotected mind. It drove her to her knees, her eyes wide and vacant. Her mouth opened in a silent scream of agony. The knife fell from her nerveless fingers into the piles of debris and blowing papers on the floor. I didn’t reach for it. If I bent down now I would fall over and might not even be able to get back up. I let go of the collective and the pack. There was nothing more they could do to help. The last was up to me. Tom was stirring against the far wall. He let out a small whine of pain as he pulled himself onto his feet. I knew I was glad, but I was too drained to actually be excited about it. Besides, this wasn’t finished. She was still alive. She was swaying on her knees. But she was alive.

I stumbled over to the fire extinguisher cabinet. I pulled the canister free with a vicious yank that set my torn skin on fire. I ignored the pain, and the light wash of blood that followed it. In three steps I was in front of her. Holding the canister in both hands, I swung it backward, then slammed it with all my might into her open mouth. She swayed on her knees for a moment before she collapsed. She didn’t move. She wasn’t breathing. Even so, I had to be sure. I let go the canister and dropped to my knees so that I could put my finger to her throat and search for a pulse.

There wasn’t one. She was dead.

Tom limped over to me. He whined, nudging his nose against my chest. I didn’t want to move; wasn’t even sure I could. Tired. I was so very tired. At that moment, I didn’t mind if I died, if only I could just rest. But the smoke was burning my eyes and throat, making it hard to breathe. It was getting thicker, so that it was hard to see, even in the flashes of light. It was hot, too. There was sweat mingled with the blood on my belly. Tom whined again, butting me with his head. He was trying to get me to move. I forced myself to crawl forward, ignoring the pain each movement cost me. He circled me. One moment he was behind me, nudging me forward. The next he was ahead, barking encouragement, leading me forward through the smoke to the stairs. I used the railing to haul myself upright, my body raging in protest at the abuse. But I wasn’t taking the stairs on my knees. Too slow. Too hard. So I forced myself to do what needed to be done and, one step at a time, made it down the first flight and part of the next with Tom barking his encouragement.

It was after one of his barks that I heard…something. I stopped, and so did Tom. He bolted up the few steps to the doorway. Backing up a pace, he shifted all his weight onto his back legs, using his front paws to depress the bar of the fire door. He dived through the opening, moving quickly despite his injuries.

He returned a moment later, pulling an injured woman by the shirt collar while a small boy crawled behind. A few minutes later the four of us shambled out of the building and into the arms of the waiting EMTs.

27

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They took me to Denver General. It has one of the best-rated trauma units in the country, maybe the world. It’s sort of sad that it’s gotten that way from repetitive use. I was in and out of consciousness for most of the ambulance ride. They put me under completely for the surgery. The knife wound wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, but all the fighting and crawling around hadn’t done it any good.

I woke up in the morning in a semi-private room. There were two hospital beds, with a cotton curtain on a track that could be pulled closed to separate them. I was in the bed by the window. I couldn’t see out because the blinds were closed. The lights were off, too. The dim light made it difficult to be sure whether the walls were a pale blue or gray. Tom was in the chair beside my bed, his head leaning against the wall, eyes closed. He was wearing a plain white teeshirt and jeans. My head didn’t hurt. After what I’d done to Samantha, I had expected to get another one of those truly spectacular migraines. In fact, the only thing that hurt was my abdomen. I lifted my hospital gown and saw a long row of stitches that ran in a diagonal across most of my torso. They’d covered it with a kind of rubbery goo that I recognized from hearing Joe talk about it. It was supposed to help keep the wound sealed shut. It looked and felt very weird, but I wasn’t going to argue.

“Tom?”

He was instantly awake and alert, his dark eyes focused on me.

“Joe?” It hurt to talk. My voice was a harsh rasp from all the smoke and fumes I’d inhaled. Tom grimaced. “He’s in surgery. Mary and the others found him in time and got him out. Some of his injuries are fairly hideous, but the doctors know what they’re doing. Bryan and the others are with him now.”

I closed my eyes, my body going limp with relief. He was alive. They’d found him. They got him out.

“They got everybody out of intensive care. The bomb she planted there didn’t go off.”

I shuddered. It had been bad, but it could have been worse. The people in ICU were utterly helpless. Samantha Greeley had been willing to kill them all to get at Brooks. Insanity. Total insanity.

“The cops didn’t press charges against Rob and me for assaulting a police officer, but I’m suspended, and may lose my job for dereliction of duty.” His voice was matter-of-fact when he said it, but I knew how much his job meant to him.

“Tom—” I tried to come up with the right words.

He shook his head with force. “No. Katie, it’s okay. It’s not even important. Your brother’s alive. Brooks is alive. I knew what the consequences would be when I left my post. I made my choice. Besides, there’s going to be a hearing. My counsel is going to try to prove extenuating circumstances, since I saved lives in the hospital. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

I blinked back tears. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. When I had myself back under control I asked one of the questions that was bothering me. “How many bombs were there?”

“Seven. She put them in strategic points throughout the building. Apparently she used to date a guy in demolitions. She knew a hell of a lot about explosives and bringing down a building. We were damned lucky the casualty count was as low as it was.” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose with the thumb and index finger of his right hand. It was an unconscious gesture that he only used when he was completely exhausted.

“Have you gotten any sleep at all yet?”

“No.” He admitted. “I needed to be sure you were all right, and let you know the people you cared about were going to be okay.”

I looked at him. He was practically swaying in the chair, his skin gray from exhaustion and stress. It was a semiprivate room, but nobody was in the other bed. He needed rest.

“Lay down next to me.”

“Kate—”

“Seriously, what is the worst that will happen? A nurse will come in and tell you to move? Whoooo. You’re exhausted. You need rest. Come lay next to me.” Now that he wasn’t slouched over I could see the bulge of bandages beneath his tee-shirt.

“Oh God! You’re still hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. They didn’t even need to keep me overnight.” He bent over the bed and gave me a gentle kiss. “Unlike some people, who seem to spend half of their nights in a hospital bed.” He grinned at me and moved the blankets aside. I scooted across the bed, trying to make room for him. The bed was narrow, but I knew we could both fit if we snuggled, and I wanted to snuggle. “Your insurance company must hate you.”

Tom kicked off his shoes and slid into the bed beside me. He spooned against my back, his arm wrapped around my waist. I pulled the blanket back up over us both. It wasn’t long before I felt his breathing change. He was asleep. The doctor checked in on his rounds at ten and woke us up. He didn’t make any comment about Tom being in the bed, but he did give us an eloquent look before telling me that I was welcome to check out of the hospital. My clothes from the other night were completely ruined. They were filthy, blood-stained, and smelled of smoke. I couldn’t leave in a hospital gown. So Tom went down to the gift shop to see if he could find anything for me to wear. A few minutes later he brought up a truly tacky souvenir tee-shirt and a pair of men’s extra-large white pajamas with red vertical stripes. I had no doubt I looked silly. Even with the drawstring pulled tight the pants were huge. But I was decently covered and didn’t stink of smoke, so I didn’t complain.

Hospital regulations required that a nurse wheel me to the hospital door in a wheelchair. I tried to argue. It didn’t matter. So I rode down with the nurse pushing and Tom beside me. And when we wheeled to a stop at the curb I immediately stood up, walked back into the hospital and to the elevators. Surprisingly, there were no camera crews. Maybe I hadn’t made the news after all.

Joe was in surgery for hours. I sat in the waiting room with Tom, Mary, and Bryan. We didn’t talk much. In the background a television was playing the news. The sound was off, so I didn’t have to listen to what was being said, but the bombing of St. Elizabeth’s was being featured on all the networks. There were images of flames shooting upward and the evacuation of the patients. But no pictures of me graced the screen. Thank God for small favors. A sound made me turn my head away from the television. A doctor was walking in. His shoes were still covered with little surgical slippers, and he still wore a cotton elasticized cap over his head. He looked from one to the other of us, but he stopped in front of Mary. She sat on the uncomfortable waiting room chair, pale as a ghost, her back rigid. I watched her throat bob as she fought to swallow her fear.

“Ms. Connolly,” the doctor spoke quietly. “I wanted to let you know, the surgery went very well. He’s stable. Barring unexpected complications, he should be fine.”

28

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The phone was ringing as Tom and I headed out the front door. I heard P. Douglas leaving an “urgent” message on the machine, but I didn’t go back to take the call. Whatever the Thrall queen had to say could wait until later. I didn’t want any bad news tonight. Tom and I were celebrating.

My interview with Barbara Walters was over. It hadn’t been quite as horrible as I’d feared. She was actually a very nice woman and the ultimate professional. At my request she asked one specific question. “I understand you haven’t used your talent to heal any more zombies since that first time. Why?”

I wanted to make sure the world knew I hadn’t just chosen to quit on a whim, or was holding out for the best offer, but because the Thrall collective warned me, and Dr. Watkins agreed, that I would be risking my life if I tried to repeat what I’d done for Brian and Melinda.