Undead for a Day (20 page)

“
Capture
?” Bridget echoed, alarmed.

“That was the exact word in her head,” Colin said. “I swear to God, she is one creepy spider woman up there in her brain. Devious and mean.” He grunted. “I know how to pick them.”

“You always have,” she said wanly. She thought about Leo and all his talk about protecting them. What a load. She flared with humiliation that he had manipulated her body and her mind. She still had no memory of having had sex with him, while he, of course, would have remembered every moment. And they had killed Xavier, and would have killed her, too, if they hadn’t been able to change their curse in time. Or was all that a lie? Had Marica deliberately misled Colin into thinking they were going to Shadow Island?

It was too complicated for her to figure out, and there was no way she could answer her own questions. Bottom line: The Caracols were just as diabolical as the Amayas. Untrustworthy and dangerous. They really were the House of the Devil.

“You’re right, Colin. We have to get the hell out of here.” Her thoughts turned, inexplicably, to Jack Stone. In her mind’s eye, she saw his face as clearly as if he were standing directly in front of her.

“
I’m the one
,”
his voice echoed in her head. She jerked, hard, and Colin’s brows shot up.

“Did you just say something?” she asked him. He looked even more confused.

“Besides ‘I know how to pick them’?”

“Colin, I just saw Jack Stone in my head. As if he were standing right here with us. He said, ‘I’m the one.’”

“You did? The one what?” Colin asked.

She shook her head. “No clue.”

“Maybe you were reading his mind. Maybe he’s a magic person.” His eyes widened. “Maybe he knows about all this. If we could get a call out to him, maybe he could come here, get us out.”

“My phone isn’t working,” she said. “What about yours?”

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He tried putting a call through to his landline, then showed her the faceplate: NO SERVICE.

“Wait,” she said, and took his hand. “Try again.”

He did. Nothing.

“Maybe it’s just as well. If he showed up, they’d nab him,” Colin said. “Plus if we tell him about this, his life is in danger.”

“So why did I have a vision of him?” She blew air out of her cheeks. “As soon as we escape, let’s go straight to him.”

“Unless that’s what they
want
us to do.”

“We can’t second-guess ourselves at every turn or we’re going to go crazy. We have to act.” She tapped her fingers on her knee. “So
how
can we escape?”

“There was that hall with the Air Force portraits,” he said. “Then the room with the vehicles. And the big armored door. I think that’s the best way to get out. Grab a vehicle and drive out.”

“You forgot to mention all the soldiers. They’re on, like, DEFCON 5 around here, no?” she said. “Leo told me the Amayas have stopped the bombardment and he’s going to talk to them tomorrow. It’s all about the sphere.”

“And us,” Colin said. “Maybe you could go with him, if he’d take you.” He thought a moment. “Maybe we should get him to take us both. He wants to use us as pawns. He could let the Amayas verify that he’s got the matched pair.”

“Not sure he’d risk it if we’re all that,” she countered, “and I think there’s a price on my head. Plus he would think it was strange if we asked to go. We’re, like, hostile noncombatants.” She watched him chew the inside of his cheek, wheels turning. They were both fighters, and fighters had to strategize all the time. The problem was, they didn’t have enough information. About
anything
. And apparently the easiest way to find out things was to sleep with the enemy.

“This is messed up,” she said, getting up and pacing. “I sure as hell couldn’t read his mind while we were in bed. I didn’t even know I was sleeping with him while I was sleeping with him.”

“Ssh,” he murmured. “Keep your voice down. You’re getting heated.”

In the next moment, the room shook hard. Smoke poured in from the hallway and Colin grabbed Bridget as she dove for the floor. He landed on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs. Her eyes teared; she was blinded by searing pain. Then he was getting off her or someone was pushing her off and she felt something being pushed over the lower half of her face. Then rough material went over her head—a hood!—and her arms and ankles were bound. She was hoisted over someone’s shoulder and that someone began to run.

Guns. Explosions. Shouting. She sucked in a breath. The thing over her face was an  oxygen mask. This was planned. Whoever was carrying her didn’t want her dead.

Not yet, anyway.

As Bridget writhed in a haze of pain, shouting and explosions buffeted her eardrums. The person carrying her cried out and crumpled. The back of Bridget’s head slammed against the floor, followed by the rest of her. She was dazed.

I wish to see what’s going on
, she thought muzzily. But only one of her other wishes had come true—when she had asked for light.
Then let there be light
, she commanded.

Darkness.

Someone else picked her up and began running again. Jesus, was that machine gun fire? She tried to stay focused as she considered the possibilities about what was happening: the Amayas had broken into the silo. This was a takeover attempt within the Caracols. Or they were trying to make it look like one so they could justify killing Colin and her.

They don’t have to justify it. And not like this
, she thought.
They can just kill us.

Adrenaline was gushing through her body. Everything in her wanted to fight back. She tried to pull her wrist and ankle restraints apart, squirming and twisting.

“Stop!” bellowed the person who was carrying her. Male. Sounded young. “I’m rescuing you!”

She stopped only because she wasn’t getting anywhere and she really didn’t want to be dropped on her head again. She could get knocked out or trampled or captured by whomever he was rescuing her from. The best she could do was stay alert and be prepared to act when and if she could.

God, she hoped Colin was all right.

Then over the gunfire she heard another voice yelling “Go, go, go!” and the guy who was carrying her whirled around. There was some ducking and weaving. The world seemed to be shattering. Something pounded on her back. A fist? Falling debris?

She kept inhaling oxygen. Her eyes burned so badly she wondered if she’d been blinded with acid. Panic crashed over her; she struggled to fight it back down but it was overtaking all conscious thought.

Stay frosty, stay alive
.
That had been the motto of Colin’s platoon. He had seen his own leg blown off and he’d never lost his cool. That was how he’d crawled to safety.

A blast of frigid air washed over her. Then she was half-dropped, half-placed on her back against a hard surface. She felt hands on her shoulders. She fishtailed and fought, and the hands pressed her shoulders down. The surface began to move.

“We’re the underground,” a voice said into her ear. “Resistance. Good guys. We have your brother. You’re safe. I’ll take the hood off in a minute.”

She nodded, even though, as usual, there was no reason to believe him. She was spinning; she felt as if someone had just thrown her headfirst off a cliff and she was twisting and falling, falling. She grunted and shook her head, trying to get the oxygen mask off her mouth so she could scream and then the entire world went black.

Bridget opened her eyes and stared into two familiar, almond-shaped ones. They belonged to the Asian guy who had pointed a gun at her after she had thrown Leo against the wall of the Caracol compound. He put out a hand, and she felt the same pressure that Xavier had used to immobilize her back on Shadow Island. He flashed her a reassuring smile.

“I’m Ron,” he said, “Remember me?”

She nodded.

“We broke you and Colin out. You’re safe.”

“Yeah, right,” she rasped. The mask was gone, and her throat was scratchy. “I completely believe you.”

He blinked…and her scratchy throat felt fine. It was obvious by his quick smile that he was taking credit for it. She supposed everyone in the Caracol compound had magical powers.

But the pressure holding her down remained. He said, “I know you’ve been through a lot. And there’s lots more where that came from. I know you have no reason to trust me. But you have to trust somebody.”

“I’ll trust you if you release me,” she said.

He hesitated. “I know you don’t know how to use your powers.”

“You saw me use them.”

“How to
control
them,” he amended. “You might hurt me without meaning to.”

“Oh, I’ll mean to.” She scowled at him. “
Let me up now.
”

“Ron!” a woman bellowed. “They’re on their way! We have to go.”

Alarm flashed over Ron’s features. He held out a hand to Bridget. Sensing a shift in the situation, she took it, and he helped her off what she now saw was a sleeping bag on top of an old couch with the stuffing flowing out of it. Through the door of the rundown room whose walls were covered in graffiti, she saw into a hall. People in khaki jackets, parachute pants, and boots were thundering past. Some of them were carrying submachine guns and others were unarmed.

“My brother,” she insisted, and Ron grimaced in a way that chilled her to the bone. “
My brother
.”

“He sustained an injury, but we’re taking care of him. He’ll be okay. C’mon. We have to get out of here. They’ve found us.”

“Injury?” she cried as he dragged her behind himself into the throng. “Take me to him!”

“He’s with us. No time now.”

“Colin!” she shouted. “Colin!”

“We have to go,” Ron insisted. “I swear to you that we’ve got him with us. Please, don’t slow us down. You can’t be captured. We’re all risking our lives for you.”

She balled her fists. “Then just let us go. We’re not part of this.”

“They’ll find you,” he said.

She gave her head a shake and didn’t protest when Ron took her hand. They joined the herd stampeding down the hall. A black woman opened up what appeared to be a trapdoor and began calling out the names of streets in downtown Miami. As the soldiers raced along, some of them began divesting themselves of their battle gear. Soon they were down to shorts and sundresses, though still in their boots.

They poured through the trapdoor like a traumatized ant colony. She didn’t see Colin. There was a ladder leading into a tight, dark space reeking of the sewer. Dim lights flickered in the stench, revealing curved walls and pipes. They
were
in the sewer. She was grateful she had worn sneakers instead of sandals on her recon mission to Shadow Island.

The people who had stripped down to civilian attire began to splinter off from the main group, disappearing into various offshoots of the main sewer line. She thought she saw daylight. Halloween night was over. But the freakshow just kept going.

“Okay, look, I’ve been good.
Where’s
my brother?” Bridget said, jogging alongside Ron. “What’s going on?”

He put his finger to his lips. “Please,” he said. “
Please
.”

She shut her mouth and kept pace with him. Then he pointed to the left and they turned in unison. The farther away from the group they got, the more distinctly she could hear her heart thundering, her heavy panting. She was frightened and tired. She could piece together what was going on—either she had been rescued or kidnapped, and the Caracols were in pursuit.

She saw a ladder and he gestured for her to let him climb up first. Since she had no idea what was waiting for them on the other side, she was happy to oblige. She and Colin probably had the least to lose; the Caracols wanted them. She doubted they would kill them.

At least not on purpose.

Ron’s shoes rang on the metal rungs of a ladder. When he came to the ceiling, he reached up with the flat of his hand and pushed hard. She heard the scrape of something heavy against concrete, and she saw rosy sunlight. Dawn, then.

She waited at the bottom of the ladder to take her turn and watched as someone above them slid a manhole cover out of their way. Ron stretched down to help her climb but she waved him off. Then she charged up the ladder behind him as he clambered out.

They were in an alley bounded on both sides by familiar Art Deco buildings painted in salmon and jade. They were in South Beach. Palm trees cast shadows over the blacktop as she joined Ron and the same dark-skinned woman dragged the manhole cover back into place.

She looked at Bridget, then at Ron, and said, “Ron, you need to do better. I can still see the shimmer.”

“Of our auras,” Ron elaborated, waving his hands in the air around her. “Look at mine.” His lips moved, and she saw the same mother-of-pearl-colors surrounding him that she’d seen around Xavier. But around no one else since, she realized. “It’s what singles us out as Favored,” he said. “They can use it to track us.”

Reflexively she crossed her arms over her chest as if to gather up the light. She moved to the side of the jade-colored building and flattened herself against it. A quick visual sweep of the alley showed no one approaching.

Then she heard the whum-whum-whum of an approaching helicopter. One look at Ron told her it wasn’t welcome. He made hand gestures at the woman and she spread her arms wide. Immediately a hole formed in the wall of the building behind Bridget and she fell backwards into it. Ron and the woman tumbled in after. By dim filtered light she saw that two-by-fours and pipes surrounded them; they were inside the wall.

The helicopter flew closer. Ron and the woman tensed. Holding her breath, Bridget listened hard and worried about Colin. And wondered why Jack kept intruding into her thoughts. She was thinking about him even then.

The chopper blades sounded as if they were right outside. Beside her, Ron stood as stiff as a frozen zombie—
never thought I’d be able to use that in a sentence—
and a dark cloud passed over his features. He started to look at her, then looked away. And she read that expression almost as clearly as if he had spoken aloud: