Duncan managed to throw the little monster into the back seat, and then he fumbled for the door handle and tumbled out of the vehicle, landing on his back.
The monkey pounced on him, landing on Duncan’s chest, bringing the scalpel up to the boy’s bare throat.
There was a screech, loud and shrill and—
—coming from the front of the van.
Mathison!
The little capuchin stood there, wearing his silly little plastic GI Joe helmet, his teeth bared.
The monkey on Josh screeched a reply.
Mathison gave him the finger.
Josh’s attacker hopped off and howled, stretching out its long arms, the scalpel glinting in the van’s interior light.
Mathison calmly removed his helmet, and took out the C1ST miniature revolver holstered inside of it. The smallest handgun in the world.
The psychotic primate charged at Mathison.
Mathison stood his ground and fired five rounds of 2.34mm ammo, each shot hitting home.
His opponent spun, facing Duncan, who saw that Mathison had put rounds through both of its oversized eyes. The monkey flopped over, dead.
“Mathison!” Duncan yelled, overjoyed. In sign language, the boy told his friend, “Thanks. I love you.”
Mathison put the revolver back under his helmet and signed back, “Stupid simian. Brings a knife to a gun fight.”
Then he hurried over and gave Duncan a hug. Duncan hugged him back.
“Duncan!”
Josh ran up, gun at the ready. He stared at Josh and Mathison, and at the dead monkey.
“We’re okay, Dad.”
Josh spoke into his radio. “He’s fine, Fran.”
Mom didn’t respond.
“Stay in the van, lock the doors,” Josh told him. “Mathison, stay with him.”
The monkey saluted, and Duncan’s dad ran off, back toward Butler House. But before he reached the doors, two men in gray suits walked out and began shooting.
Tom
He had no idea where he was going, but Tom somehow had taken the lead, wandering through the endless underground tunnels without the slightest idea where he was going.
“That’s new.”
Sara pointed, with her good hand, to some steel doors.
Tom went through first, clenching the branding iron. It was a lab, lots of equipment on various counters, a table in the corner of the room, and standing next to the table—
Dr. Forenzi.
Tom set his jaw and raised the branding iron, beelining for the son of a bitch, when something he saw stopped him in mid-stride.
Strapped to the table. Shirtless. Bleeding. Hooked up to one of those dialysis machines.
Roy!
His friend had so many wounds he looked like he’d been pecked to death by dozens of birds. But he wasn’t dead. He was breathing.
Forenzi quickly took a revolver from his coat pocket and pointed it at Roy’s head.
“That’s close enough, Detective. Drop the weapon.”
Tom released his grip, letting it clatter on the tile floor.
“You and your friends have proven extremely resourceful,” Forenzi said. “I’m impressed. But your little coup d’état has failed, I’m afraid. If you take one step closer I’m going to shoot your partner and—”
Moni ran straight at Forenzi, smacking him upside the head with her metal bar. Forenzi fell to the floor, and she continued to hit him until Tom pulled her off.
“Let him stand trial,” Tom said. When he was sure she’d calmed down, he pocketed Forenzi’s gun and went to Frank and Sara, who were doing their best to release Roy each using only one hand.
“Hey, buddy, can you hear me?”
Roy mumbled something, but he was completely out of it. He needed immediate medical attention. Tom helped them undo the straps binding his partner, and then they helped him off the table.
He couldn’t even stand.
Tom looked around for a wheelchair or a gurney, and saw Moni in the corner of the lab, spilling chemicals onto the floor.
“What are you doing?”
Moni smiled, lighting a match. “I’m burning this fucking place to the ground.”
“Moni! Don’t—”
She dropped it, and there was a WHOOSH! of flame, spreading out across the floor.
“Everyone! Move!” Tom ordered. With Sara and Frank’s help, they dragged Roy out of the lab and into the tunnels—
—where Torble was waiting with a gun.
Before Tom could draw, Torble fired, shooting Frank Belgium in the chest.
Tom fired back as Torble ran off into the darkness.
Frank was down on his back. Tom set down Roy and knelt next to Frank, ripping open his shirt.
The bullet hole was near his heart, gushing bubbles of blood.
Sara was crouching next to Frank, her good hand holding his. “Frank, oh Frank, oh god.”
Frank stared at her. “It’s okay. I don’t don’t don’t feel anything.”
Sara looked at Tom, her eyes imploring. “Don’t let him die. Please.”
“Hold your hand here,” Tom said, placing it on Frank’s wound. “Keep pressure on it. Moni?”
“Yeah?”
“My room. The first aid kit in my suitcase.”
“I’m on it.” Moni ran off.
There was another gunshot, from the opposite direction. The bullet pinged into the metal door, inches from Tom’s head.
Torble.
“I’ve got to go after him,” Tom said.
Sara shook her head. “Don’t leave!”
“If I don’t, he’ll stay in the shadows and kill us all. I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on my partner.”
Then Tom ran after Torble, plunging headlong into the darkness.
Forenzi
Dr. Forenzi smelled smoke and opened his eyes.
Smoke had indeed filled the lab, and he was surrounded on all sides by fire.
His head hurt. So did his chest. But those pains paled next to the abject terror he felt by being trapped in a burning room. Everywhere he looked the flames stretched to the ceiling. There would be no escape.
Please. Don’t let me burn. Not like this. Anything but this.
Forenzi had never been badly burned, but he saw the pain and fear it caused in his patients. Torture with fire was one of the most effective ways to harvest metusamine.
Now that he was surrounded by fire, about to be roasted alive, the irony wasn’t lost on him.
But maybe I don’t need to be afraid of it.
Next to him on the floor, like an answer to a prayer, was a syringe of Serum 3. Forenzi had never used it on himself, but now seemed like the perfect time.
He bared his forearm and expertly gave himself an injection of his life’s work.
The effect was immediate and stunning.
His fear vanished instantly, to the point where Forenzi couldn’t even remember what fear felt like. It was replaced by an overwhelming sense of well-being.
He stood up, chin raised, chest out. The flames closed in around him, but Forenzi didn’t care one bit. Even as his coat caught fire, it didn’t matter to him. Forenzi felt invincible.
But in short order, it did begin to hurt.
Quite a lot.
As he burned, Forenzi wasn’t frightened at all, even when the pain became intolerable. And it occurred to him that being scared might actually be a good thing. Soldiers without fear would rush blindly into a firefight without taking the proper precautions. Nations without fear would hit that nuclear launch without considering the consequences.
“Maybe this wasn’t my best idea.” Forenzi thought as the flames ignited his hair.
Then his brain boiled and he didn’t think about anything anymore.
Fran
She hit the dirt, falling onto her chest, bringing up her rifle and not bothering to check if the shots had penetrated her vest or not. Fran quickly sighted the targets, all armed with handguns. An Asian man with black eyes, a woman dressed as a gypsy, also with black eyes, and a guy in a gray suit.