The space narrowed into two corridors. Sammy hurried down one and almost immediately doubled back. “Locked door,” he said. They all ran down the other way. The passage was lined with stacks of cardboard boxes. The dogs had quieted again, except for a few excited yips. Lucy heard the dull thud of running feet against the concrete.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE BASEMENT
She turned to see Simmons, Dr. Lessing, Mrs. Reynolds, and one other Sweeper who wore his faceguard down and held his Taser in front of him like a sword. Dr. Lessing was sweating and pale. Mrs. Reynolds grabbed her arm. The doctor roughly shook it loose. Lucy stopped, feeling more exhausted than she ever had before. Her hand could barely hold her knife. The generator hummed and then roared into life. Lucy remembered how she’d thought the light on the roof resembled the gigantic eye of a beast. Now she felt as if she’d been swallowed alive.
Del raised her slingshot. Aidan wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders. They backed up as the doctor and Sweepers advanced.
Lucy snuck a look behind her. A shadowy hallway stretched back. More boxes were piled five feet high—rows and rows of them. They were marked with the names of ready-to-eat food, vegetables, precooked meat, and dog chow. There was no outlet that she could see.
“Don’t let them force us into a dead end,” she said. They spread out in a thin line across the corridor. She noticed that the air was fresher. The scent of dog mingled with something she realized was the smell of rain. Del ordered the two kids to get back as far as they could.
“There’s got to be some kind of outside access around here,” she said. “How else did they get all these crates in here?” She reached into an open box and pulled out a can of dog food. She tossed it to Aidan, who caught it with his free hand. “Weighty,” he said, hefting it.
Sammy helped himself to a couple.
“Just grab the girl, Ross,” Dr. Lessing shouted suddenly. “I don’t care if the others get hurt.”
The Sweeper came toward them at a run. He aimed himself at Lucy. Aidan pelted the can at him, but Ross ducked.
Sammy threw both of his at the same time. One hit the man with a sharp crack, fracturing the plastic visor. Mrs. Reynolds shouted out a warning. Attempting to avoid the man’s weapon, Lucy threw herself backward so hard she hit the stack of boxes, knocking the topmost one to the ground. The column teetered and came crashing down, splitting the cardboard and spilling tin cans everywhere. Aidan tripped and fell. The Sweeper came on, his Taser dangerously close. He flung his arm out, and the black box skimmed the sleeve of Lucy’s leather jacket. She felt a jolt, which seemed to stop her heart for a second, and then her legs turned to water. Her head smashed against the ground, and she felt a trickle of blood edge into her collar. Aidan swept his leg around, felling the Sweeper. He stomped on the man’s wrist with his thick-soled boot. There was a crunch as the bone broke, and the black box flew from his fingers. Aidan pounced on it quickly.
“Sammy,” he said, keeping his eyes on the Sweeper who was curled up, cradling his injured arm. “Help Lucy up, will you?” He stepped toward Simmons. The black box sent out its flickering prongs. Simmons held his hands open in front of him and shook his head. He took a few paces backward.
“Just let me check on Ross, okay?” he said. Aidan nodded. Simmons prodded Ross’s wrist. “Broken in about three places,” he muttered. He helped the Sweeper to his feet and propped him against the wall.
Lucy’s legs still felt like limp noodles. Her heart was pounding, and her head buzzed. It was difficult to fill her lungs with air. She freed herself from Sammy’s tight grip. “Where’s Dr. Lessing?” she yelled, looking for the white lab coat. The woman was nowhere to be seen. The dogs had started up a crescendo of whining. Then she heard the sound of electronic bolts shooting open. The barking broke out and quickly became a cacophony. A single howl rose. The sound made the hairs on Lucy’s arm rise, and she felt cold despite her leather jacket. Mrs. Reynolds’s face blanched.
“She’s letting the dogs out,” she said. “They’ll go mad when they scent you. The trainer left a few days ago. If they find you before Dr. Lessing does, they’ll tear you apart.”
Simmons stepped forward. He spoke hurriedly. “Down that hallway. Green-painted steel door about ten feet on. You can bust the lock. It leads to a dog run with an eight-foot chain-link fence.”
“We’ll hold them off as long as we can,” Mrs. Reynolds said. She looked at Lucy. “Be careful out there. The plague is mutating. It may return. That much is true.”
Simmons set his shoulder against a column of boxes and shoved. The heavy boxes came cascading down, partially blocking the narrow corridor. He moved to the next row and heaved. Some split open. Cans rolled underfoot. Slowly the pile grew and wedged against the opposite wall. Mrs. Reynolds joined him, tugging down crates, and heaping them higher until the lower half of the passage was impenetrable.
Lucy hesitated. The others were already at the door. Sammy was hammering against the lock with a dented tin can.
Mrs. Reynolds met her eyes. “Just run. Run, Lucy!” she said, staggering under the weight of another box. The scars were livid against her flushed skin. Behind the nurse and the growing pile of boxes, she caught sight of Dr. Lessing. She was completely surrounded by furry bodies. The dogs swarmed over one another as they hunted for a scent. Lucy hesitated.
“I took my folder, the notebooks,” she said. “They belong to me and no one else. But I left the blood.” She turned away, but not before she saw surprise in the nurse’s eyes.
Lucy ran to join Aidan. His arm was pressed tight against his ribs again. She saw the pain in the lines of his forehead. Although her skull was still buzzing, she felt surprisingly clearheaded. Sammy threw the can away in disgust. The thin metal was crumpled. Some kind of red sauce leaked out, staining his robes. He pushed his hood back. His blackened forehead was dripping sweat. Aidan set his shoulder against the door and heaved. The lock was battered, but still it held. From behind them, they heard the baying of the dogs.
“They blocked most of the way, but there’s still space for the dogs to get through,” Lucy said.
She remembered how the animals had propelled themselves halfway up the tree trunk, maddened by her scent. She pushed Sammy out of the way and slid her knife blade between the lock and the door and slammed it down hard, the impact jarring the old wound on her palm. The lock tore open with an awful squeal, and her knife snapped again. Straight across. An inch from the hilt.
Lucy subdued a stab of grief, shoved it back into her pocket, and thrust the door open. Cool air flooded over her. The dog run was long and concrete, with shallow channels running down each side. It had rained recently, and the cement glistened. Through the links of the fence she could see the shore, and beyond, the stormy surface of Lake Harlem.
“Almost there,” she yelled, turning back to grab Aidan’s hand.
Two dogs crashed through the barricade of boxes and cans into the hallway. Lucy caught a glimpse of their yellow eyes, the gums pulled back in hideous grimaces. A rottweiler and a pit bull. They leapt, arrowing in at her from two sides. She threw up a defensive arm, and then Aidan pushed her away, yelling. She hit the ground and rolled against the wall, smacking it hard with her head. She shook her head to clear it, scarcely aware of the pain, and dug frantically for her knife before remembering it was useless. Screaming in anger, she threw it at the rottweiler attacking Aidan. The hilt struck it across the skull, but the dog didn’t pause. Del stood in front of the door to the outside, shielding the terrified children with her body. Her slingshot was loaded. She raised it, looking for a clear shot, but everything was happening too fast. Aidan was thrown backward by the weight of the dog. He grappled with it, pushing against its muscular chest and throwing his head around wildly in an attempt to avoid its razor-sharp teeth. He hooked his fingers in the dog’s collar and twisted the leather strap, trying to strangle it. The dog’s tongue protruded and strands of saliva glistened as the jaws snapped inches from his face.