Chapter 43
Money can buy a lot of things, Caplan thought as he threw open the door and raced into the Heptagon. Good thing aim isn’t one of them.
Dropping his axes, he scooped a rifle off the floor. Twisting around, he saw the shooter’s shadowy figure, doused in flashlight beams, race into view.
Caplan squeezed the trigger and the gun recoiled in his arms. Wine bottles shattered, sending red and white liquid all over the clean table clothes. A bank of monitors cracked and sizzled.
Squealing like a pig, the shooter reversed course. A hail of gunfire crashed into his shoulders, propelling him at high speed back into the Eye where he vanished into the shadows. Caplan wasn’t sure whether he’d killed the man or not. But he didn’t have time to worry about it.
He closed the door to the Eye and dragged a few bodies in front of it for good measure. Then he gathered up his axes. Covering the blades, he returned them to his belt.
He jogged to Morgan’s side. Her glassy eyes refused to focus. Her whole body shook like one of the incubators. The first hints of foam appeared at the corners of her mouth. She needed medical assistance and fast. But how the hell was he supposed to help? He wasn’t a doctor. Hell, he didn’t even know what was wrong with her. And he couldn’t exactly keep looking for answers, not with those big shot pricks trying to kill him.
He wondered about Keifer, wondered why she’d ordered his death. Did she think he was part of Morgan’s rebellion? Had she somehow forgotten that he’d left the station five months earlier?
Placing the rifle’s strap over his shoulder, he helped Morgan to her feet. Outside, he thought. Maybe fresh air will do her good. Admittedly, it was a dumb idea. But it was the only option he hadn’t tried yet.
Morgan tried to walk on her own without success. It was like she’d experienced almost total muscle failure. “You shouldn’t have come here,” she whispered.
“Now you tell me.” Walking quickly, he dragged her toward the exit. He kept up a string of light banter, hoping to keep her from passing into unconsciousness.
He stopped a few feet from the heavy door. Took a moment to adjust Morgan’s weight on his shoulder.
Abruptly, the heavy door flew open. It crashed against the stopper then bounced back a few inches. Time slowed for a split-second and Caplan saw many things. He saw the dark clearing, the quiet fences. He saw flickering flashlight beams shooting across the grass, bathing everything in horrific light. He saw more scientists, technicians, and rangers, splayed out in the field, dead to the world. But most of all, he saw the grin. That nasty, toothy grin he’d first seen in Manhattan. He’d known the grin for less than a day. But it felt more like a lifetime.
“Good, you’re still here.” Julius Pearson’s grin widened as he lifted his rifle. “Enjoy hell, Zach.”
Chapter 44
“Your face,” Caplan said, thinking fast. “Does it hurt?”
A confused look crossed Pearson’s visage. His finger twitched, then paused on the trigger. “What?”
“Well, it does now.” Caplan’s foot lashed out, slamming into the heavy door. The hinges squeaked as the door swung toward Pearson. It bashed into the man’s face, busting his nose wide open. Blood squirted everywhere and Pearson stumbled backward, clutching his broken proboscis and shouting curses at the sky.
Caplan kicked the door again, shutting it. Then he retreated into the Heptagon, Morgan’s limp body still hanging from his shoulder.
Scratching noises caught his attention and he looked at the Eye. The door was cracked a few inches and he could see a middle-aged man shoving it. It opened a little farther, shifting the piled-up corpses with it.
Like all big shots, the guy probably fancied himself a badass. And who could blame him? Undoubtedly, he employed assistants who fawned over him, complimenting his wisdom and dynamism at every turn. Peons most likely begged him for favors and kowtowed to his whims, afraid of incurring his wrath.
Caplan fired a couple of shots at the door. One of the bullets made it through the crack. The man screamed and clutched his side. Then he twisted in a violent circle and fell to the floor. Invisible hands dragged him away from the crack and the door slammed shut. Despite everything, Caplan grinned. Everybody’s a badass, he thought, until the bullets start flying.
But Caplan’s triumph faded fast. Morgan was still dying. Pearson blocked the exit and sooner or later, the big shots would make it into the Heptagon.
He peered at the other doors, finally settling on the one leading to the Barracks. The Barracks was wide open and thus, would be simpler to defend from attack. Plus, the clinic — really just a few beds and some locked cabinets full of supplies and antibiotics — was in there.
He started forward, his shoulder aching under Morgan’s dead weight.
“No,” Morgan muttered. “Research.”
“Barracks has the clinic,” he said without breaking stride.
Her eyes focused for a single instant. “Research,” she said with near-perfect enunciation.
Caplan grunted, glanced at Research. He remembered the dead bodies strewn about the space. But most of all, he recalled the unlocked hatch, the dark shaft, and the 2-Gen monsters that were probably ravaging the Lab at that very moment.
Acting against almost every bone in his body, he shifted toward Research. He had few, if any, illusions about survival. At this point, it was all about how he wanted to die. And the last thing he wanted was to give that honor to Pearson or a bunch of big shot losers. There’s always the bear, he thought crazily. Pyrrhic victory, here I come.
Caplan opened the door and dragged Morgan to a chair. He quickly closed the door and, ignoring the creeping stench of death, began pushing cabinets, tables, and other heavy items in front of it.
He couldn’t hear anything through the thick walls or door. But he knew the big shots and Pearson would soon come face-to-face in the Heptagon. What would they do when they saw each other? Exchange gunfire? Or warm greetings? The latter seemed more likely. After all, the big shots were likely Corbotch’s friends.
“You need to go.” Morgan’s voice sounded faint and ghastly, like her mouth had been sewn-up with needle and thread.
Muscles straining, Caplan pushed a heavy filing cabinet in front of the door. Then he ran to another cabinet and began to push it across the floor as well. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Gate… in the Lab. Leads outside.”
Caplan paused. Perspiration trickled down his neck, soaking his sweat-stained shirt all over again. “There’s a gate down there?”
She tried to nod, but her neck refused to cooperate. “That’s… that’s how we got our equipment into the Lab. And how we were going to get our animals into the Vallerio.”
Caplan blinked. Although the revelation surprised him, it made perfect sense. The shaft was an entirely impractical way to move large objects or animals. For one thing, there was no elevator or lifting platform. For another, the entranceway dividing the security checkpoint from the Lab was simply too small to accommodate anything larger than people. And finally, the de-extinction program had been run in complete secrecy. Secrecy that would’ve been impossible to maintain the second a woolly mammoth tromped out of Research and into the Heptagon.
“Where’s the gate lead?” he asked.
“Short tunnel… to the cliffs… there’s a… a blind spot in Sector 12…”