Stacy responded with a yawn.
Gant wondered what his wife was doing at that moment. Given that it was six o'clock in the morning — at least according to his watch, which was set to Tioga time — it might be as late as twelve noon in California.
She had recently taken up a part-time volunteer position with an adoption center, so perhaps she was grabbing lunch on the go. Or maybe she was at home, tending the garden or dusting the furniture or repainting the trim in the living room; she had mentioned wanting to do that the other day.
And here he sat, locked away in a "guest room" on another hidden island at the mercy of a couple of the most warped nut cases he had come upon during his time with Archangel. They would almost be comical if not for the backing of a mercenary goon squad and access to what appeared to be an organism perfectly designed for wiping out human life.
Monroe the idealist using what Gant guessed to be a tool of opportunity to forward his extreme rescue plan for Mother Earth, and Waters, a tormented, sick individual who alternated between brilliant doctor and sociopath on a minute-by-minute basis.
The long-term question was, how did these two come upon the recipe for this killer fungus? The short-term question revolved around survival, with the added hope of sending word to the outside about what was going on here. From what Gant had seen on Tioga and in Waters's test chamber, this infection held the potential to accomplish Monroe's fantasy.
"So how did you do it?" Stacy asked again. "Fall asleep, I mean."
"I was tired. Very tired."
After watching agent Costa die, the two had been sent to this particular room, where they had found a meal of noodles, rice, and chunks of pork, all seemingly microwaved but deceptively delicious thanks to their lack of food for nearly twenty-four hours. Of course Gant appreciated the bottles of water the most, and a hot shower had not hurt, either.
So they had eaten and then cleaned up with the separate bathroom providing some measure of privacy.
One of Stacy's first questions had been, "Why are they keeping us together?" Gant had told her the obvious: "Because the room is bugged and they want us to talk."
That had ended any discussion of Archangel, the hope that the support team would find them, or their personal backgrounds. Gant did not even feel comfortable trying to talk sports, fearful that his allegiance to the Atlanta Falcons football team might somehow lead the bad guys back home.
Avoiding conversation had ended up being surprisingly easy, given their level of exhaustion. Thom had fallen asleep at some point around midnight when he realized that whatever tests Waters planned would wait until morning.
It seemed Stacy had struggled, and he felt sorry for her, although he realized with some appreciation that her struggles came because she was not accustomed to facing death on a routine basis. In his book, that qualified on some level as "innocent."
A heavy thud announced the retraction of a locking bolt. A moment later the door swung open. A guard in a black military tunic stood there, with at least three more in the hall, as had been the case when they had retrieved the empty dinner plates. These guards, or so it seemed, would not fall victim to the usual ploys. They came in groups too large to be handled by the typical Hollywood action movie ruses.
The guard tossed in water bottles to both Gant and Stacy, followed by chocolate-flavored power bars.
"Gee, thanks, but I ordered the eggs benedict," Stacy quipped, trying to sound funny, although her voice quivered far too much.
Again the bolt slid shut, locking them in.
"Breakfast of champions," she said as she held the bar and examined it.
"Better eat," he told her. "You will need all the energy you can get."
She sneered and tossed the bar onto the small cot … but after a second picked it up, read the wrapper, and peeled it open.
"It's not bad, actually," Gant admitted after his first bite.
Stacy followed his lead and ate. She had just finished when the door opened again, and this time Dr. Waters led the security team. He stood in the open doorway, leaning on his cane, and offered his prisoners a sort of wry smile.
"Major Gant, I hope you got a good night's sleep. We have a few exercises for you to take part in."
Thom had known this moment would come; the moment when he would play the role of Agent Costa while Waters and his scientists watched, making notes of his struggle as if studying a germ under a microscope.
"I don't think I want to," he said. He got up off the cot and stood straight as he spoke, with his eyes on the guards' truncheons and assault rifles.
"I'm sorry, Major, but participation is mandatory."
"Honestly, Doctor Waters, I think I would rather be shot right here where I stand than be a lab rat in a test with no chance of winning. Let's say I prefer bullets to a morning of fighting off walking dead people until I am so exhausted I am overwhelmed."
The doctor's watery eyes grew a little wide for a moment. In fact, Thom thought he saw a hint of disappointment, maybe even fear. Yes, the fear that he might have to shoot dead what would otherwise be a valuable test subject.
Thom Gant had only one thing left with which to bargain. He decided to see what he could get out of it.
"Tell you what," the major spoke before Waters could gather his thoughts. "I'll be the best lab rat you could hope for, as long as Dr. Stacy here is kept out of the experiments. She is not military, and therefore her response will be the same as that of the islanders. You will gain nothing from testing her."
"I'm sorry, Major, but that's not negotiable. Besides, if I truly believed she was of no use I would have terminated her already. However, I can promise that she will not be subjected to the same type of tests that Agent Costa faced and you yourself face. You are correct in that she would not be of any value in that regard."
Gant glanced at Stacy and he wondered if what they had planned for her might be worse than the Costa test.
"Very well, then," Gant took a deep breath. "You might as well kill me here, in this cell. I consider that a better death than what I saw yesterday."
It seemed that, once he had overcome his initial surprise at Gant's obstinacy, Waters found some enjoyment in this particular game.
"What if I promised you a significant respite between each test? I know! What if I told you this test would involve your use of a loaded and fully functional firearm? Think of that, Major. I'm going to give you a gun. I know how soldiers like guns. That is a much better offer than I've ever made."
Stacy seemed on the verge of crying, but managed to maintain enough control to tell him, "We saw that on Tioga."
"Yes, yes you did," Waters responded. "Of course, I could just have the guards beat you to the point of submission and throw you into the laboratory."
"But that would skew your results. You want me in good health. That is why you are providing a breakfast, of sorts, and why you had us stay in relatively comfortable quarters for the night."
Waters smiled and nodded.
"You are correct. But my best offer is on the table. Take it, as they say," Waters turned to two of his escort, both of whom stepped forward with their clubs at the ready, "or leave it."
Thom looked to her, then back to Waters, then to her again.
The call to Tioga Island had been her first mission with the military detachment of Archangel. It seemed likely to be her last, and he would lose yet another science officer on the job.
"I think I am going to accept his offer. My choices, it seems, are limited."
"Thank you, Thom," she said and touched his shoulder. "For trying and all."
He respected how she struggled to maintain control over her emotions. She knew death waited for her that day, and most likely a rather horrible death in a bizarre dungeon surrounded by madmen. Most people would have broken down completely. She actually maintained some control. He hoped they both made it out of this predicament; he wanted to see what the future held for Dr. Annabelle Stacy. It seemed General Friez's recruitment of her had been a wise decision.