Harvest, page 48
She shuddered, and edged toward the door that should lead to the testing lab in which she’d spent so much time. Now, it sent chills down her spine to think that she’d spent hours lying utterly helpless only a few yards from Philip. He could have used the passthrough to come in and watch her, or even do something to her or the pod in which she lay. For the first time, she was truly grateful for all the security measures Dr. Joe had put in place to keep his pod safe from tampering. He’d done it to protect his own secrets, but it had served to protect Zoey as well.
As she neared the entrance to Dr. Joe’s lab, she began to be able to make out words through the cracked door. A male voice, raised and impatient, said, “…wake up! The sedative…” It sounded like he was pacing, and the voice faded in and out.
A female voice replied, low and soothing, and though it sounded slightly different from the vids Zoey and her dad had often watched together, Zoey would recognize it anywhere. Bree was trying to calm Philip down.
“He just got out of immersion. I’m sure he just needs-”
“Damn what he needs! That guard has come twice, and now he’s seen you! I shouldn’t have let you open the damned door. It’s going to make the story too complicated, since they’ll know you were already awake!” Philip sounded like he was on the verge of madness, and while Zoey wasn’t sure what he’d do, she did know she didn’t want to find out.
Zoey crouched as long as she could, and edged the door open so slowly she thought her nerves would snap. Where was Max? Where were all of the adults who were supposed to be there to help kids like her?
She caught a glimpse of a man’s back as he paced in front of the door. Bree knelt on the ground in front of him, shifting slightly as he walked so that she stayed between the gun he was waving and the person – people? – lying on the ground.
Gun.
Her mind locked up. If there was a gun, she was supposed to run. That was what they taught her in school. What her dad told her a hundred thousand times. Even if she was at a friend’s house, if she saw a gun, she was to leave immediately, even if the friend said it was fine. Guns were bad.
But she couldn’t run, because she’d just seen a very familiar pair of shoes sticking out from behind a toppled cart that she recognized as the one Sara used to get the electrodes ready whenever Zoey came in for a session in the pod. Those were her dad’s shoes, no doubt. She recognized the way the soles wore unevenly because his left foot was flat, while the right one was fine.
The shoes were attached to black-socked ankles that led up to a pair of equally familiar black trousers. Admittedly, those could belong to anyone, but she was certain it was her father. Why was he on the floor? Her breath caught in her chest. Had he been shot? Was he bleeding? Was he-
One foot twitched, and she managed to take a breath. Not dead, then. Not dead and, now that she looked, no blood. Didn’t gunshot wounds bleed a lot? Surely there would be a visible pool of blood if he’d been shot.
Philip was still pacing and ranting, though he was edging closer and closer to Bree and the people she was obviously trying to protect. Bree’s gaze was darting around, trying to come up with something she could use to defend them. The emerald green gaze caught on Zoey’s wide hazel eyes, and they both froze.
Bree nodded. It was almost imperceptible, but Zoey caught it. One pale, freckled hand reached out and a finger touched Zoey’s dad’s ankle. It jerked, barely, then stilled again. So, he was awake, too.
Bree spoke up suddenly. “Whatever you’re going to do,” she said calmly, “needs to be soon. Someone else may be coming to check on us.” Her gaze was questioning, and Zoey nodded to indicate that, yes, there were other people coming. Bree’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
Philip stopped pacing. “What the hell,” he said suspiciously. “Now you want me to kill you all?”
Bree swallowed hard and looked back at the man with the gun. “No, of course not. It’s just that this is a very dangerous situation. I don’t want to see anyone hurt.” She looked straight at Zoey, as if warning her to stay still, and then returned her focus to Philip. “Bridget, Hank, and Motte are unconscious. If you leave now, we can just forget all of this. The worst you can be charged with is assault. I won’t press charges, and I’m sure I can convince Bridget, at least, to do the same. It’s not too late to-”
“Walk away? Walk away from billions of dollars, all the power I can buy, and the recognition I deserve? Hell, I can buy a new Lily with the money I’ll have! She killed me, you know! But that’s all right. Once her sister is in jail for corporate spying, and her step-dad is a murderer, I’ll be there to support her. If she resists, well,” he reached up with his free hand and swiped at his sweaty face, “there are other Lilys, and Roses and Violets, too.” Philip laughed, the cold, chilling laugh that Zoey remembered from her final confrontation with him in the game.
A sharp rap came from the door. “Ms. Anderson? Uh, it’s Dave, the security guard? We think that,” there was a commotion, and Max barked twice, loudly. Dave raised his voice. “We think there may be an intruder in the building. We’re going to need you to come out.”
Zoey shrank back as Philip looked around. His face was pale and set, and his black eyes flickered with panic. “No,” he muttered. “Damn it!” He turned toward Bree, and Zoey saw his posture shift. His shoulders settled, and his arm locked into place with the gun pointed at the kneeling woman.
The door rattled, Max barked, and several voices sounded like they were arguing outside the door. Zoey moved. Before she could second guess herself, she was through the door, using a foot on the doorframe to catapult her body through the air with as much force as she could muster. She slammed into Philip’s back just as the gun went off.
The sound magnified in the small space, but Zoey heard a small cry of pain from Bree’s direction. She couldn’t look, because she was busy trying to grapple with Philip, who was not only taller and stronger than she was, but almost as fast. Only almost.
Zoey locked her legs around the arm holding the gun and bent her knees. Philip howled as something snapped, and the gun dropped to the floor, going off a second time. By now, the voices outside the door were frantic, and beeps sounded as someone tried a keycard that didn’t seem to be working.
Her dad came up off the floor like an avenging bear. With a deep bellow, he took hold of Philip’s shoulder with one hand and punched him with the other. Philip’s head snapped back, and Marcus grabbed Zoey by her waist and spun away with her, attempting to shelter his daughter with his body the same way Bree had been doing with Bridget. Zoey’s dad had never looked better to her, even with a bleeding gash on his scalp and favoring his right leg.
Philip somehow managed to keep his footing, twisting in the air like the assassin he was so that he came down in a half-crouch, uninjured hand on the floor. His face was twisted and battered, but his black eyes still glittered furiously. He spat out a glob of blood and phlegm, then turned and spun, racing away with impossible speed. He vanished through the door leading to Veralt’s lab, and something in Zoey snapped.
In that instant, she was Rouge, and he was FantumHat. He was the villain who had hurt her friends and family, and he was getting away. Villains always came back and tried again. That was part of what made them villains. She was tired of this villain, though, and there was no way she was going to let him get away again.
Zoey raced after him, quickly leaving everyone else behind. Her father’s deep voice called after her, but she never even slowed, intent only on bringing down the man who had been tormenting and terrifying her family.
Philip ran with all the speed and agility of the assassin class. He couldn’t vanish into [Stealth], but he took corners and raced down hallways with inhuman dexterity. Too bad for him, Zoey was just a little bit faster.
I guess Dr. Joe’s design is better after all, she thought with grim pride. Several times, she almost had him, and then he would open a door, dart through, and attempt to slam it behind him, cutting her off. She nearly lost a finger the first time he did this, but soon enough she had the trick of it, and it only slowed her enough to keep her from actually catching up.
Zoey was no longer even aware of where they were, until she suddenly found herself outside. Looking around, she realized that they were on the twelfth floor, standing on the secluded little balcony Nina had discovered and now used as a sort of illicit break room. Obviously, Zoey’s friend wasn’t the only one who had been using it as a hidey hole, because looking back, Zoey could see that Philip had come straight here, without deviating except when he tried to shake Zoey off his tail.
Like a beast at bay, Philip turned to face Zoey. He was edging backward toward the high wall that surrounded the small open space, and a long silver stiletto gleamed in the moonlight and caught glimmers of the blue neon lights that backlit the V on the Veritas building at night.
The thin, pale man waved the blade at Zoey, and she instinctively took a step back. He sneered. “Did you think the gun was the only thing I had? Honestly, I would have preferred to use the knife for the whole thing, but the gun made more sense in the narrative. Of course,” his swollen lips twisted into a scowl, “now you’ve destroyed my whole plan, so I guess I’ll have to use Plan B.”
Zoey’s eyes followed the flickering knife. She knew FantumHat well enough to be certain that he wouldn’t hesitate to throw the thing, and he probably had at least one more. “What’s Plan B?” she managed. It was slowly sinking in that she, like an idiot, had just followed a murderous nutjob outside, alone, onto a rooftop. If this was a Bond film, a helicopter or hovercar would pop up behind him at any second, carrying him away.
Philip shrugged. “Do as much damage as possible and escape to try again another day.” He bared his teeth, which gleamed black with blood from when Zoey’s dad had punched him. “Kind of you to follow me, because I think killing you will almost make up for not getting to kill Bridget and ruin Harkness’ life.” He hesitated and shook his head. “No, it won’t, but it’ll have to do.”
Suddenly, he rushed toward Zoey, and she whirled, planting a foot against a weathered but solid wooden chair sitting beside her. Using all of her speed and strength, she threw her body into a high double twist and flip, landing behind Philip. Unfortunately, her foot slipped on some loose debris, and when he spun back toward her, knife slashing, she felt fire pulse up her left arm where he’d managed to make a shallow cut.
Stumbling back, she clapped her hand over the injury. It hurt. It hurt so much more than anything in Veritas Online, and she was suddenly, viscerally aware that this was not a game. She knew Max would be leading the others to her right now, but they weren’t there yet, and she could die. In fact, that was exactly what this wingnut wanted.
“False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand,” Zoey said, beginning to slowly circle back toward the door. “Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.”
Philip blinked, knife hand dropping. “What? What the hell does that even-”
Zoey slipped her right hand up into the back of her shirt, feeling the gift Dr. Joe had given her a few weeks before. He had it made so that she could tell him how different it was to use in real life versus the game, and she had become fairly proficient with it during the long testing sessions he had put her through. The Mambele sliced through her shirt as she pulled it from the sheath Sara had had made for it, and she felt a cold breeze on her back as she threw the vicious weapon through the air.
It spun, flipping end over end, just as she’d practiced, and the forward-curving blade lodged into Philip’s right shoulder with a disturbingly meaty thump. He screamed and tried to reach for it, but his left wrist was broken, or at least badly sprained, and he couldn’t close the swollen fingers around the hilt. Beside them, the door burst open, and Max leapt through like an avenging angel in fur. His teeth clamped around Philip’s thigh, and the man yelled again and staggered, nearly falling. Max shook his head, teeth sinking deeper, and Philip did fall.
“Max, hold!” Zoey yelled, running forward to kick the stiletto away from Philip’s reach. His hand went to reach for his waist, and she stomped hard on his fingers. Max growled viciously, though he didn’t move. The dog’s eyes were locked onto Zoey as he waited for another command.
“Zoey!”
All the strength went out of her knees at the sound of her dad’s voice, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t run to her and caught her up in a tight, protective embrace. “Good boy, Max. Steak for you tonight.” His bass rumble was the most soothing sound Zoey could possibly have imagined at that moment, and she felt tears suddenly begin to pour from her eyes, hot and cleansing.
“Daddy,” she sobbed, throwing her arms around him. He grunted a little as she squeezed his ribs, but he didn’t move.
More people crowded out onto the rooftop, and Motte called Max away as Sam and Dave took over. Philip must have tried something, or maybe Dave just got over-excited, because there was a sharp electric crackle as his taser went off. Sam yelped, and started in on Dave about making sure no one else was touching the perp before using his weapon. Nina’s voice joined the chaos, asking Sam if they were all right. Jackie poked his head in, said something about needing popcorn, and vanished again. In the distance, Zoey heard approaching sirens.
“Zoey, are you all right?” Her dad leaned back so he could peer down into Zoey’s face. She nodded, but winced as her arm shifted slightly. She glanced at it, and her dad instantly released her so he could look at the injury.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m okay, Dad,” she managed, but her dad was already saying a whole string of words she hadn’t ever even read anywhere before.
A woman’s head appeared around Marcus’ broad back, and Bree Stephenson smiled at Zoey in relief. “Thank God,” the familiar smooth contralto said. “I was really worried when you took off like that.” She reached out and gently touched Zoey’s arm, green eyes examining the wound critically. After a moment, she shook her head, tangled red curls bouncing.
“We’re going to match,” she said, smiling as she held up a blood-soaked arm of her own. “Just scratches, but we’ll have quite a story to go with our little scars, won’t we?” Her kind smile seemed to bolster Zoey’s flagging resilience, and she sniffled, feeling her tears slow.
“Yeah,” Zoey managed. “Yeah, we’re going to have quite a story.”
Reassured that Sam was fine, Nina was now looking around the little balcony area. “Why did he come here?” she mused out loud. “There’s no way out.”
Zoey swiped at her eyes, and, surreptitiously, her nose. “I think there is. This has to be some kind of emergency exit for upper management. They wouldn’t want to be stuck up here if there was a fire or a terrorist, right?”
Nina’s brown eyes narrowed. “Absolutely. Totally like The Man to have a secret escape route, too. So where is it?” The girl began pacing out the space, eyes sharp, until she found a small, open hatch in one corner by the outer wall. Peering inside, she said, “Ah ha!” She reached in and pulled out a heavy length of rope, which turned out to be the weighted end of a rope ladder. The Kiwi girl shook her head. “Do you think it’s really long enough to reach the ground? It would have to be a hundred feet long.”
“Longer,” Sam said. “It would take quite a while to climb all the way down.” Sam was kneeling beside Philip, holding the man still while trying to staunch the wound from Zoey’s Mambele. Philip looked like he was barely conscious, but he was still mumbling something as he lay there, though thankfully Zoey couldn’t understand it.
Zoey shook her head. “Not for him. For us. He could probably just slide down and be on the ground in less than a minute.”
Bree rubbed her neck, just like Aspen did when he was thinking. “That’s true. I haven’t been awake for long, but I’ve already noticed that I can do things I was never capable of before.”
Zoey’s dad gave Zoey a sharp look. “Zoe, is there something you need to tell me?”
Zoey winced. “Um, probably a bunch of things, actually, but-”
She was interrupted by a veritable horde of police and paramedics rushing in, led by Dave. The competent, serious men and women quickly took over, separating victims and perpetrator, though Zoey saw a few police give her suspicious glances when they heard that the strange weapon that had taken Philip down belonged to her.
Philip was quickly wheeled away, and the paramedics tried to get Zoey’s dad to lie down in a stretcher too, when they saw the blood that had soaked the collar of his shirt from the cut on his scalp, but he refused flatly, and the whole group rode down in a very crowded elevator together.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
BREE
Bree looked up from her hospital bed as Zoey, Marcus, Bridget, and Hank entered. Bridget was pushing Hank’s wheelchair, but the man looked as ready to get up and walk out as Bree herself felt. Smiles and greetings were exchanged, but they only had a moment before Dr. Perez bustled in, looking exhausted and more than a little cranky.
Dr. Perez pointed to Bree and Hank. “You two are clear. Harkness, you may return to normal activities, but please remember your strength and try not to break anything else.” Bree’s prospective son-in-law flushed, and Bridget laughed with a light-heartedness that Bree hadn’t heard in months.
Turning to Bree, Dr. Perez continued, dark brows fierce over her brown eyes. “You, I’m releasing under protest. You need to be on pain meds and have help with normal activities, so you shouldn’t be alone.”
Simultaneously, Zoey and Bridget both said, “She can stay with-”
They looked at each other and grinned, though Zoey’s soft brown cheeks darkened. Bridget looked back at Dr. Perez. “Mom can stay with me, Maria. Unless she prefers staying with the Williamses?” Her blue eyes twinkled teasingly as she looked at Bree, and Bree felt herself blush for the first time in what had to be at least a decade.
