But he was used to risk, uncertainty. Unseen killers hunting him.
It took him a while to figure out what that particular odd nagging at the back of his head was…then it hit him:
He was worried about Sam. Carmack was dangerous — hell, this whole place was dangerous. He wasn’t there to protect her. For years, he’d blocked all thought of her well-being from his mind…
But now that he’d seen her again, it was hard to go off on a mission and just assume that his sister was going to be safe here.
Stay professional, he warned himself. She’ll be okay. Duke’s with her. He’s a good man. Better behave himself though, or I’ll…
Goat was moving along the opposite wall, both of them probing ahead with the lights on their guns. Couldn’t see what was around that dark corner up ahead. Looked like a flight of stairs going downward.
They inched up to the corner, hesitated — Goat took a step…
Bang, clatter, his foot knocked something down the stairs, the sudden noise making them both jump.
“Goddammit,” Goat swore.
The object kept bouncing down the steps, clattered onto the hard floor below, rolled into a pool of light. It was just a small cylindrical container, a can of some kind. Trash.
Reaper waited to see if the noise prompted anyone — or anything — to investigate.
Nothing, just a deeper quiet now.
He turned to Goat — and winced to see him pulling a hunting knife. Knowing what that was about. Goat cut into the skin of his arm, cut a deep cross adding to the numerous scars, like crosses in a military cemetery.
Goat noticed Reaper watching. “I took His name in vain.”
Beads of sweat stood out on Goat’s forehead as he made his penance, pushing the knife in deeper. “In the name of the Father…and of the Son…and of the Holy Spirit….”
Waiting a short distance beyond the air lock, the Kid heard a footfall behind him. Flicked his pistols off safety, spun on his heel — and nearly pulled the trigger. Second time that day he’d almost shot a friendly.
If you could call Portman a friendly. But he seemed not to have noticed that the Kid had almost shot him. “It’s messed up, right?” Portman said, swinging the medical pouch almost jauntily. “A guy like Carmack, trained to put logic before emotion, so freaked he rips off his own ear?” He shook his head. “I tell ya, shit like that…gets under your skin.”
The Kid nodded — felt his hands twitch on his gun. They were starting to shake. He needed a booster. Shouldn’t have gotten started. The first dose, this morning, had been small. But once you started, you kept going so you didn’t have to face the crash…
“Do you…” He licked his lips, lowered his voice. “Do you have any?”
Portman flashed a grin that would make a serial killer shudder. “Do I have any what?”
The Kid grimaced. He hated it when Portman made him beg like this. “You…you know. I’m just a little shook up. I need something to get my focus, y’know. My game face.”
Portman smirked as he fished in a cargo pocket. Brought out a bottle of pills, waved them teasingly. “Whattya say?”
“Please…”
“Please and what?” He waited. The Kid blinked at him in confusion. “Please and what, skirt?”
“Thank you?”
Portman handed over the pills. The Kid had the top off and a pill popped in under two seconds. He chewed it up, handed the bottle back — and lifted his head, sniffing.
The Kid was noticing something else. “What’s that smell?”
Portman sniffed. Frowned. Sniffed again. “Uh…Smells like…smells like barbecue.”
They followed their noses and the faintly visible curtain of smoke hanging in the air. It led to a lab they hadn’t checked yet. The Kid kicked the door in.
Guns ready, they burst through the entrance, tracking the room with the muzzles, looking for a target. Portman found a working light switch and flicked it on. The place was wreathed in smoke.
“Whoa,” Portman began, “someone burned the —”
But then he saw the woman’s charred body — and he had to break off, retching, just to keep his breakfast down.
“Holy fuck,” the Kid said softly. “She fried herself.”
They were staring at the body, dead but kneeling, at the back of the room: the blackened corpse of a woman, missing an arm. Still twitching — maybe she’d been twitching like that for a long time — the hand of her remaining outstretched arm was gripping a lab tool, shoved in a humming, sparking power outlet.
Her hair had burned away. Her charred clothes clung to her, a garment of ash, flaking away bit by bit with her twitching. The fluid from her eyeballs, mostly cooked away, was still bubbling in their sockets.
Portman closed his eyes. Forced himself to report. “Sarge…we found the body that goes with that arm.”
In the corridor to the control-area infirmary, Sam and Dr. Willits and Duke — still carrying Carmack — had just reached a plain gray wall of dull metal. Plain except for the control panel, into which Sam punched a code.
The wall sighed and softened, suddenly looking like it was made of gray clay.
“Oh no no no,” Duke said, shuddering. “I don’t do nanowalls.” Walking through a wall always gave him the creeps. It was like something from a dream — and most of his dreams were bad.
“Quickly,” Sam said impatiently. “He may be dying.” Sam pushed through the wall, Dr. Willits right after her.
Okay, Duke thought. I can’t be too pussy to do it, now she’s done it.
He took a deep breath, muttering “Fuck this shit,” closed his eyes — and stepped through the wall. You had to push, a little, it resisted, flowing around you with a sensation like static electricity and warm mud.
But then he was through, opening his eyes, carrying Carmack to the gurney. Apart from the gurney, the room was all stainless steel and clucking, humming monitors, instruments Duke couldn’t identify.
And that nanowall — a high-security device. What went on in here? Duke wondered.
Carmack stared at the ceiling with dilated eyes as the doctor began her examination. Sam and Dr. Willits put on some gloves.
“Did they find the others?” Dr. Willits asked, looking into Carmack’s pupils with an instrument that looked to Duke more like it was for poking eyes out than examining them.
Sam tried to keep her voice even and confident. “Not yet. I’m sure Steve’s fine.”
“I told him they needed to get some rest,” Dr. Willits murmured worriedly, as she looked at Carmack. “But he said they were close to a breakthrough. And Dr. Carmack wanted to keep going…”
Sam tied a rubber tube around Carmack’s biceps, jacking the scientist’s arm like a pump handle to get a blood pressure reading. Carmack lay there passively as she took the reading…
Until he suddenly sat bolt upright, dug his fingers into Sam’s hair, pulling her close.
“Oh God,” Carmack moaned. “I can feel it!”
“Whoa!” Duke burst out, coming at Carmack — but she’d pulled back somewhat on her own and waved Duke away. She judged this was her chance to get the story out of Carmack.
“It’s okay — I’m okay. Dr. Carmack? What happened in there? It’s me, Dr. Grimm…Samantha Grimm…”
“Shut it down!” Jerking her face up to his, spraying spittle as he shouted, nose to nose.
He let her go, sinking back into the cot. His lips were moving, but they couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sam leaned closer…making Duke nervous. The guy might go psychotic on them again any second.