He glared but cast a fear-filled glance toward the bin. His bitten ear still trickled blood down the side of his neck.
Nicole remained quiet for a moment. “Agreed,” she finally said with icy calm. “Bring him up, and we’ll escort you out.”
“What about my pony?” I asked brightly. Since she had zero reason to believe otherwise, Nicole surely assumed that Gentry-the-traitor was human. She thought she was dealing “only” with zombie-me and human-Gentry. Not to mention, she figured we’d be dragging butt as we wrangled a bunch of out-of-commission zombies.
“You’ll have to wait on that one,” she replied, voice still cool though a bit stiff.
“Darn it! Santa says the same thing.” I heaved a tragic sigh. “Thing is, Nikki, honey, I don’t have a lot of faith that you’re really going to let us out of here.”
Pierce straightened with what looked like a slim waist pack in his hand, then got all three zombies arranged in the bin as comfortably as possible before he closed the lid.
“I can’t afford to lose Andrew,” Nicole replied, loading her voice with resignation and a touch of anger. “I’ll play your game.”
She was a good manipulator, but I had her pegged. I covered the mouthpiece again. “Hey, Andy, she says she can’t afford to lose you. Am I correct in assuming she’s full of shit?”
He lifted his eyes to mine, and I saw behind his wall of arrogance, to the pain and despair that came with being a pawn in a brutal game. Welcome to the fucking club, I thought.
“She can’t afford to lose me,” he said. “But right now she can’t afford to lose you people even more.” He let out a shaky breath, eyes bleak. “She’d rather win with me dead than lose with me alive.”
In that moment I actually felt a glimmer of sympathy toward him. To survive, he had no choice but to accept enemies as allies.
“Sorry, dude,” I said quietly, meaning it. I uncovered the phone. “Hey, Nikki, honey, about this whole playing-my-game thing. See, I think you’re chock full of shit. And Botox too.”
“You little piece of worthless trash,” she hissed. “Bring Andrew up, and you go free. Otherwise, you’ll force me to take radical action.”
“Hey, can my pony be white with brown spots?” I asked, but she’d already hung up on me. I tsked. “Jeez, rude much?”
“Angel, I have the mods,” Pierce said.
I closed the phone and stuffed it into a pocket. “Cool. You need me to help you inject them?”
He shook his head. “I can’t use them. They’re not designed for my . . .mature physiology.” He lifted the waist pack he’d pulled from Brian. “But you can.”
I blinked stupidly at him. “I don’t have a port.”
“There weren’t any ports when we first began using mods,” he told me. “It’ll be a raw surge, and it won’t last as long, but it will work.”
“But . . .” I gulped. “I’m not a trained soldier operative martial artist ninja. I’m a scrawny lightweight. What the hell will this SuperMod do for me? Make me snarkier?”
A thud from the top of the elevator pulled our attention. Scowling, I jumped atop the bin, reached up and banged my fist on the emergency hatch. “BACK OFF, ASSHOLE,” I yelled. “I’M HUNGRY, AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE MY HAPPY MEAL!”
Silence reigned. Satisfied, I jumped back off the bin and returned to where Pierce regarded me with a bemused look on his face. “Okay, fine, so I get turbocharged. How does this work without a port? Do I eat it?”
“Stomach acid would destroy it,” Pierce said. “For maximum effectiveness, it needs to be injected directly into the abdominal cavity.” He pulled a folding knife and flicked it open. “It’s similar to what you did to yourself when you stored brain reserves in your abdomen.”
“Great,” I said with a grimace. When my dad had been taken hostage I’d traded myself for him, but my ace in the hole had been brains packed in sausage casings and stuffed into my gut. “That shit was loads of fun.”
“It will be a much smaller cut,” he promised.
“You’re giving me this mod so I can take out any guards we run into, right?” Take out. Nicer and easier way to say kill. A shiver crawled through me.
His eyes met mine. “Yes,” he said with an evenness that told me he understood my angst and didn’t find it odd or misplaced. “War isn’t pretty. Ever. Nicole Saber has declared war on our kind and will move heaven and earth to keep us from making good our escape. Her Special Security Team will be well armed and, with only two of us functional, we’ll need as much speed and strength as possible.”
“Wouldn’t using guns be better than jumping their asses?”
“Guns have their place,” he said, “but in some situations, especially close quarters, we waste our zombie edge if we stand off and shoot. We can take damage humans can’t, which gives us a psychological advantage when we’re in their face, kicking ass despite their weapons.”
“Got it,” I said, grateful that he’d bothered to talk this out with me. Then again, this probably wasn’t the first time he’d given a soldier a pep talk right before a pitched battle.
A scrape of metal made us both look toward the stairwell again. “Shit,” I said. “They’re trying to flush us. Let’s fucking oblige and get this done.”
“Lift your shirt,” he instructed, then went on one knee before me as I obeyed “I’ll make the cut and insert the syringe but won’t inject. Once you press the plunger, it’ll take a few seconds to kick in, then you’ll have two to three minutes at the most before you lose the effect.” He glanced up at me. “It’ll probably be best to hit the mod right before the elevator stops.”
I licked dry lips. “Sure thing. Sounds like a great plan.”
“Put the other mods in your pocket,” he said as opened the waist pack. Within it were three enormous stainless steel syringes, much like the kind used to marinate meat and hefty enough to deliver a load of the thick SuperMod goop. I took two and dropped them into the side pocket of my pants, heart already beginning to race in anticipation and dread. “Once I’ve made the cut I’ll give you the knife so that you can administer the other doses if needed.”
“Got it. I’m totally ready,” I lied.
Either he believed me or it didn’t matter to him. He set the point of the knife halfway between my belly button and my sternum then, without a lick of warning, drove the two-inch blade in to the hilt. I gasped and stiffened at the sharp burn of pain, then clenched my teeth as he pulled the knife to make the gash wider.
“Almost there,” he murmured. He removed the knife and slipped the first syringe into the gash until only half its length and the plunger protruded. “Hold that there.”
As soon as I had it, Pierce moved to Andrew and hauled him to his feet.
“I’m cutting the zipties,” he growled, “but if you fuck with me again or try to run, our agreement is null, and your ass is mine. Understood?”
Andrew gave a tight nod. “Understood.”
Pierce pulled a much larger knife from a sheath on his belt—the same knife he’d used to kill the two guards in the holding area. “Good deal. I suggest you take cover behind the bin when the shooting starts.”
Andrew paled, but he nodded again.
Pierce lifted his chin. “Let’s roll.”
Chapter 33
We pushed the bin fully into the elevator and readied ourselves to fight our way out. The metal syringe buried in my gut felt like ice in my fingers, and I forced myself to breathe deeply and keep my hand steady.
“We’re going up one floor and then out,” Pierce said in a low voice, holding the door until Andrew could hunker behind the bin, and I could crouch on top. “No other choice since this elevator only goes between these two basement floors.” His mouth twisted in annoyance. “She’ll have her team waiting for us, but the one possible bright spot is that there are probably only a dozen or so left.”