She stared at the machines in awe, feeling a little like a visitor to some far-off alien world. Style, fashion, drinking, parties… those were her strong suits. But this… this warehouse of strange machines… well, it was way beyond her comprehension. What is this place? she wondered. Why is it here?
A machine, engulfed in flames, exploded into a million pieces. The noise deafened Mills and an accompanying shockwave sent her to the floor. She landed hard, hammering her nose against the surface.
Elliott grabbed Mills’ arm, pulled her to her feet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Mills rubbed her nose and turned to look at the fire. The flames were longer now. Hotter, too. It felt like her core temperature was about to go through the roof. “Help me find the fire extinguishers.”
She nodded at the far wall. “Over there.”
Swiveling her neck, Mills saw red extinguishers mounted on the wall. She grabbed one and fiddled with it, causing a white stream of foam to shoot onto the floor. Satisfied, she stumbled toward the fire and began to douse the nearest flames with chemical foam.
Elliott joined her and together, they attacked the fire. The flames fought back, showering them with sparks.
Extinguisher in hand, Toland raced into the fray. With his help, they turned the tide. Inch by inch, they advanced through the structure, covering the machines and walls with thick layers of chemical foam. In the process, Mills saw numerous corpses, burnt to a crisp.
Despite that, she felt a bit of hope inside her chest. Maybe they could do this after all. Maybe they could save the building and patch up the fire-damaged wall. Maybe they could even fix the fence and figure out a way to restore the power. Sure, they’d have to bury the bodies. And they’d have to figure out how to procure supplies. But at least they’d be safe. At least they could live here for a spell while they figured out their next move.
She lingered for a few seconds, directing extra spray at some particularly stubborn flames. When they’d finally blinked out, she took a closer look to see what had fueled them.
A pile of charred logbooks lay smoldering in a neat pile. She brushed the bottom edge of the extinguisher against the pile, reducing it to ash. Sweeping aside the debris, she focused her attention on a slab of smooth metal, with hinges and a handle on opposing sides.
She returned to the fire and within a few minutes, the last of the flames had been turned into smoke. Elliott added a few extra squirts of her extinguisher for good measure.
“That wasn’t the worst effort I’ve ever seen,” Toland said. “But next time, the two of you should…”
Blocking out his voice, Mills hiked back to the metal slab. It was square-shaped, measuring about three feet on each side. A tiny monitor, black as night, had been sunk into the metal.
Elliott appeared and knelt next to the slab. “What do you make of it?” she asked Mills.
“It looks like…” Mills paused, searching for the right word. “… a hatch.”
“Where’s it lead?”
“How should I know?”
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Toland asked angrily. “Here I am offering a little advice and—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mills said, dismissively, her gaze locked on the hatch. “Whatever you say, Brian.”
Grunting in displeasure, Toland hiked across the floor. But his anger melted away when he saw the hatch. “Open it,” he said, his tone full of undeserved authority.
Mills glared at him. Of course, she was going to open the stupid hatch. Not because he told her to, but because it was the obvious move. She nearly said something to that effect, but ultimately decided against it. Toland wouldn’t have believed her anyway.
She gripped the handle with both hands. Straining, she lifted the hatch a few inches. Elliott joined her and together, they pulled it all the way open. A shaft and metal ladder appeared. Mills squinted into the bowels of the shaft, but it was too dark to see anything.
“What are you waiting for?” Toland asked. “Get down there.”
“But you’re a man.” Mills gave him a sweet, innocent look. “Shouldn’t you go first?”
“And violate one of the core tenets of feminism? I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, someone needs to keep an eye out for that saber.”
Shaking her head, Mills sat down. She kicked her legs into the shaft and felt around for the rungs. They were warm against her bare feet.
She found her footing. Then she twisted around. Grabbed onto the top rung. Took a deep breath.
And descended into the darkness.
Chapter 41
“A killing ground?” Caplan shook his head. “Why would James need something like that?”
“He doesn’t need it.” Morgan sagged a little deeper into her chair. “He wants it.”
“James isn’t a killer.” But even as he spoke, Caplan questioned his words. How well, after all, did he really know Corbotch?
“He might not be doing the actual killing, but he’s responsible all the same. You see, there’s a certain clearing in 48A favored by 1-Gen saber-toothed cats. It, along with the surrounding area, is monitored by closed-circuit video cameras. The feeds are hidden and well-secured, but accessible from Hatcher’s private network. Bonnie and Zlata…” Her eyes turned misty. “… managed to hack them.”
“And?”
“Every now and then, James’ private helicopter would fly to the clearing. It hovered a few feet above ground and a couple of people — almost certainly drugged — were dumped overboard. The cats prefer to stalk their prey. So, they always kept their distance until the helicopter flew away and the people woke up. Then the hunt would begin.”
Caplan’s eyes bulged. “You’ve actually seen one of these hunts?”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. The haunted look in her eyes said everything.
“I don’t get it,” Caplan said after a moment. “Why would James want to kill anyone?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said, finding her tongue. “But I always see him in the feeds, sitting quietly in the helicopter. He and the pilot never get their hands dirty. Instead, two goons handle the actual drop-off. I can’t be certain, but I suspect James watches the feeds later, from a remote location. Somewhere close enough to access Hatcher’s network.”
“How do you know all this?” Caplan asked. “And how’d you know to look for feeds in the first place?”
“The same way you know about 48A… Tony told me, at least in a manner of speaking.”
Caplan’s chest tightened. He ached to tell her the truth. To tell her that her brother had died while investigating 48A. To tell her how he’d failed to help the man in his time of need. And to tell her how he’d panicked and covered up the truth, partly out of self-preservation but mostly because of her. Because he feared the people behind 48A might see her as a potential liability. “We should talk about him.”
She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands. “Not now.”
“But—”
“Not now,” she repeated. “After he died, I found Tony’s notes, his journals. He wrote about a place he called Sector 48A. It was a good distance from Hatcher’s primary cameras and sealed off by an electric fence. He never saw anything, but he was absolutely certain something lived there. Right away, I thought of 1-Gen animals.”
“Didn’t you say James agreed to destroy the 1-Gens?”
“Yes. And the unopened incubators, too. But a small part of me had always doubted he’d do it.” She exhaled. “After Tony’s death, the Foundation clamped down on Roadster trips. Since I couldn’t see 48A for myself, I did the next best thing. I brought Bonnie and Zlata into the fold and convinced them to reprogram Hatcher’s primary cameras. While they were trying to get a better look at the area, they accidentally stumbled on the secret feeds.”