“Are you okay? Did it hurt you?”
Leon, one arm still supporting her, looking into her eyes with a heartfelt concern. Ada realized that she could smell him, a clean, soapy smell, and pushed herself away. She handed the Magnum back to him and straightened her dress, studiously inspecting it for rips to avoid looking at him.
“Thanks, I’m fine. Don’t sweat it.”
It came out harsher than she meant it to, but she was rattled, and not just by the implant’s vicious attack. She glanced at him, and wasn’t sure how to feel when she saw that her response had caught him off guard. He blinked slowly, and a kind of coolness settled into his gaze, indicating a strength of character that she hadn’t bothered to give him credit for. “Paintball, huh?” he said mildly, and without an-other word, he turned to pick up the package she’d planted.
Ada stared after him, telling herself how absolutely ridiculous it was to care what he thought of her. They were about to embark on a journey in which she might have to desert him, or watch him sacrifice his life in order to save her own . . .
. . . or kill him myself. Let’s not forget that, friends and neighbors. So who gives a shit if he thinks I’m an ungrateful bitch?
Straight up. She should thank him, for reminding her.
Ada stooped down to retrieve the shotgun, feeling like she needed to do a better job of keeping her priorities straight—and feeling an emptiness inside that she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time.
TwEnfY
MR. IRONS HAD BEEN A VERY BAD MAN. A
sick man. Sherry supposed she’d known it all along on some level, but seeing his secret torture chamber, like some mad doctor’s workshop, made it a lot more real. The room was just gross, bones and bottles and a smell even worse than the zombies. Perhaps that was why seeing the shape on the floor, the incomplete body shape beneath the bloodstained tarp, didn’t bother her half as much as Claire seemed to think it would. Sherry stared at it, wondering what had hap-pened exactly.
“Come on, sweetie, let’s get going,” Claire said, and the forced note of brightness in her voice told Sherry that Mr. Irons had been severely messed up. All Claire had told her was that Mr. Irons had attacked her, and then something had attacked him, and that there was a chance they could get somewhere safe if they went down into the basement. Sherry had been so relieved to see Claire at all that she hadn’t bothered to ask questions.
Not big enough to be a whole person under there . . .did he get eaten? Or chopped into pieces? “Sherry? Let’s go, okay?”
Claire laid a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her away from what was left of the police chief. Sherry let herself be led toward the dark hole in the corner, deciding that it was best to keep her questions to herself. She thought about saying that she didn’t care that Mr. Irons was dead, but she didn’t want to appear rude or disrespectful. Besides which, Claire was trying to take care of her, and Sherry didn’t mind that at all.
Claire went down the ladder first, and after a second, called up to her that it was safe to come down. Sherry stepped carefully on the metal rungs, feeling really happy for the first time in days. They were doing something, they were getting out of the RPD station and headed for escape; whatever else hap-pened, it was a good way to feel.
Claire helped her down the last couple of rungs, lifting her and setting her on the metal floor. Sherry turned and looked around, her eyes widening. “Wow,” she said, and the word whispered away into the dim shadows and came whispering back, reflected off” the strange walls.
“Yeah,” Claire said. “Come on.”
Claire started walking, her boots clanking out ech-oes, and Sherry followed closely, still looking around in amazement. It was like a bad guy’s lair in a spy movie, some factory passage inside of a mountain or something. They were on a catwalk surrounded by rails, a murky green light coming up through the grate floor from somewhere far below—and although there was rough brick to their right, to the left was an actual cave wall. She could see giant, dripping pillars of stone that stretched off into the dark, natural forma-tions of rock that were stained green by the weak and ghostly light.
Sherry wrinkled her nose. As interesting as it was, it smelled pretty rotten. And she didn’t like the way that sound carried in the chill air, making everything seem hollow.
“What do you think this place is?” she asked softly. Claire shook her head. “I’m not sure. Between the smell and the location, I’d say we’re in part of a sewage treatment plant.”
Sherry nodded, glad to know—and even more glad to see the way out just ahead of them. The walkway wasn’t very long; it turned left, and there was another ladder at the end, one that went up.
When they got to it, Claire hesitated, peering up at the opening over-head and then back around at the dark and empty cave.
“I should go up first . . . how ‘bout you climb up right behind, but stay on the ladder until I say it’s clear?”
Sherry nodded, relieved. For a second, she’d been afraid that Claire was going to tell her to stay down here and wait, like before.
No way. It’s dark, stinky, and lonely. If I were a monster, this is where I’d be. . . .
Claire went up, boosting herself easily through the hole, and Sherry clambered up just behind, holding the cool metal of the rungs tightly. After a few seconds, Claire’s long, slender arms reached down to help her out.
They were back on solid ground, a short cement hallway that seemed incredibly bright after the cave. Sherry figured they were still in the sewage plant; the smell wasn’t as bad, but the hall was bordered on the left by a motionless river of sludge water, maybe a foot deep and five or six feet across; the muddy water ran off in either direction, one end through a low, rounded tunnel, the other stopped by a big metal door. It was all overlooked by a kind of balcony, but Sherry didn’t see any stairs.
Which means . . . oh, yuck.
“Do we have to?” she asked.
Claire sighed. ‘”Fraid so. But look at the bright side—no sane monster would follow us through that.”
Sherry smiled. It wasn’t particularly funny, but she appreciated what Claire was trying to do—it was the same as covering up Mr. Irons’s body, or telling her that her parents were probably safe.
She’s trying to shield me from how bad things really are. .. .
Sherry liked that, so much so that she was already dreading the moment when Claire would leave her for good. Eventually, she would; Claire had a whole life somewhere else, her own friends and family, and once they got out of Raccoon, she would go back to wherever she came from and Sherry would be alone again. Even if her parents were okay, she would be alone .. . and though she wanted very much for
them to be safe and well, she wasn’t looking forward to the end of her time with Claire.
She was only twelve, but she’d known for a couple of years that her family was different from most. The other kids at school had parents who spent time with them, had birthday parties and went on camping trips, and had brothers and sisters and pets. She’d never had any of those things. She knew that her parents meant well, and that they loved her—but sometimes, she felt like no matter how quiet and good and self-sufficient she was, she was still in their way—
“You ready for this?”
Claire’s soft, pretty voice brought her back to the situation, reminding her that she needed to be more alert. Sherry nodded, and Claire stepped down into the dark, dirty water, reaching back to help her. The water was cold and greasy, and came up to Sherry’s knees; it was gross, but not puking bad. Claire motioned toward the big metal door to their left with her new gun, looking as disgusted as Sherry felt.