Issova shivered, looked up. “Yes?”
“Did you need something?”
She nodded. “About thirty minutes ago, our scanners picked up a bunch of faint activity. Noises, flashing lights, sudden temperature changes, that sort of thing.” She paused. “Here’s the kicker. I have reason to believe the activity originated in Sector 48A.”
Morgan bristled at the mention of 48A. Knowledge of its dark secret flowed through her mind like a raging river. “Are you sure?”
Issova nodded. “Obviously, we don’t have feeds of that area. But the activity showed up in all adjoining sectors, as if seeping out from 48A. Plus, I worked the cameras and spotted some gray smoke coming from that general direction. It could be a forest fire.”
“In this weather? Not a chance.” Morgan tapped a finger against her jaw. “It has to be the Foundation. Do me a favor. Get a team together.”
“To visit 48A? That’s insane.”
“Just do it.”
With an audible sigh, Issova spun around and exited the Lab, taking care to avoid the corpses along the way.
“Amanda?”
Stifling an urge to raise her voice, Morgan swung back to the platform. “What now?”
Codd looked up from a computer, pierced by numerous bullets. Little wisps of smoke curled out of its sides. An odd whining noise emanated from within it. “The communications equipment took damage.”
Morgan ground her teeth together. “How much?”
“It’s difficult to say.”
Can’t one stupid thing go right today? Morgan wondered. “What do you need?” she said aloud.
As Codd ticked through a list of necessary tools and materials, Morgan swept her gaze across the platform yet again. She saw the corpse of the grizzled, bearded computer expert. But she failed to take notice of the small computer positioned on the table next to him.
If she had seen it, she would’ve done a double take at its screen. She would’ve leaned in close and realized that the computer expert had triggered two programs and numerous sub-programs while in his death throes approximately thirty minutes earlier. The first program—Apex Predator: Stage I Master Controls—was unknown to her. But the second program — a full expulsion sequence of the 1-Gen and 2-Gen ectogenetic incubators — would’ve caused alarm bells to clang in her head.
She would’ve ordered an immediate evacuation of non-essential personnel from the Lab and security checkpoint. Then she would’ve raced after Issova, praying to every conceivable god that she arrived before the woman had a chance to deploy a team to Sector 48A.
But unfortunately, Morgan, distracted by death and destruction, didn’t see the computer. So, she didn’t know what was coming.
And therefore, she couldn’t stop it.
Chapter 20
“Keep your eyes peeled.” Adopting a northern course, Caplan walked across the clearing. Despite the obvious danger posed by his surroundings, he felt strangely bold, almost brash. “This place isn’t safe.”
“Wait,” Pearson called out.
Caplan gritted his teeth. Kept his flashlight aimed to the north, but stopped a few inches short of the tree line. “What—?”
Rough hands grabbed him. Whirled him around in a circle. Then a fist slammed into his jaw, rattling his teeth and sending him veering toward the forest.
Caplan grabbed a tree trunk with both hands, arresting his movement. Inhaled a stiff breath. Spun around and saw another fist heading in his direction. Straightening and stiffening his fingers, he swung his left arm upward and outward. The blocking maneuver stopped Pearson’s attack. But just barely and the impact sent a furious jolt through Caplan’s body.
Perkins ran across the clearing and jumped between the two men. “Calm down, Julius. You know we have to—”
With a bear-like roar, Pearson swung a right cross, striking Perkins in the right shoulder. Perkins spun in a half-circle and collapsed face first into the mud. Feebly, he tried to get up without success.
Caplan’s senses rose to new heights. He saw Pearson, saw the man’s height and strength. Saw his fighting stance and how he bounced on the soles of his feet.
Stepping forward, Caplan swung a right cross in a blinding horizontal sweep. Pearson hardened his jaw. Flesh and bone smashed against each other with a sickening crunch.
Explosions went off in Caplan’s hand. Stumbling away, he shook his fingers, trying to rid them of the stinging soreness. Then he glanced at Pearson. To Caplan’s shock, the man hadn’t moved an inch. In fact, only one thing had changed about him.
He was now smiling.
Caplan charged forward. He maneuvered his torso, his arms a whirlwind of activity. But his every cross, every uppercut, every chop was easily dodged or parried.
Caplan stepped back for a breather. With a sudden burst of speed, Pearson dashed ahead. His fists slashed at the air.
Too late, Caplan went into blocking mode. A fist slammed into his right shoulder with inhuman force, nearly knocking it right out of its socket. A piercing blow struck his left side and he gasped. A third fist struck his jaw and sent him hurtling to the earth.
His right side struck the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Mud splashed over his clothes, his face. He tried to wipe it away, to stand up. But his body felt drained of energy.
He stared upward. Through hazy vision, he saw Pearson towering above him. “How about we call this a draw?” he muttered, spitting mud and blood out onto the soil.
Pearson didn’t smile. Instead, he knelt down. Grabbed Caplan’s shirt and formed his fingers into a massive fist. Rearing back, he prepared to strike the knockout blow.
“That’s enough,” Corbotch said quietly.
Pearson’s fist froze in mid-swing. His face twisted with anger. Then he released Caplan and stood up.
Caplan struggled to his feet. His face felt like hot hamburger meat. His brain ached inside his skull. His ultra-keen senses were dull, diminished. “What the hell was that?” he asked as he massaged his jaw.
“Payback,” Pearson replied without emotion. “For sucker-punching me back in New York.”
“I thought you were a mugger.”
“Don’t care. You hit me, you get destroyed.”
Perkins rose to all fours. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Pearson shot him a blazing look.
Perkins held the gaze for less than a second before shifting his face to the ground.
Caplan rubbed his eyes with both hands until his vision cleared. He was halfway tempted to continue the fight, to get a little payback of his own. But time was short, so he glanced at the forest instead.
“No more fighting,” Corbotch said. “Both of you need to focus on why we’re here.”
Putting his anger aside, Caplan gave Pearson a glance. The man was a mountain of flesh and muscle. But that wasn’t everything. Stamina, in particular, would be key for trekking across the Vallerio’s uneven, hilly terrain. “I’ll take him to Hatcher with me. But I’m not holding his hand.”
Pearson’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You little—”
“That’ll do,” Corbotch said, cutting him off. “Remember, we’re on the same team.”
Caplan turned back to the forest. He wasn’t thrilled about traveling with Pearson. But he didn’t have time to argue.
“Zach.” Perkins hiked to Caplan’s side. “You look dizzy.”
“I’m fine,” Caplan replied.
“Sure you are.” He lowered his voice, extended a palm. “But if you start, I don’t know, foaming at the mouth later, take one of these.”
Caplan eyed the amber-colored pill container, complete with child resistant cap. It was unmarked and filled with small white tablets. “You trying to drug me, Derek?”