Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(160)

Her voice was shaking with emotion. So convincing. He trotted along behind her. His head hurt. Would a hallucination be so detailed? Cold hands? Pain? She stopped in front of a door, dragged out a bundle of keys. He almost laughed. What a discordant note in the fantasy. How did his dream Lily get a hold of those keys? A kung fu duel with one of King’s operatives? One of the bad guys had a hole in his handbag?

He should have head-butted her the second she cut him loose and run like hell, dream or no dream. It was the dignified thing to do, on any plane of reality. She opened the door, and her words registered. “. . . like your video game dream. And it’s killing some of them!”

The reference to his video game dream jolted him. He looked into the room. Saw the kids on the beds. Goggles, earphones, machines—

Memory thundered over him. He knew that room. Desperation. He thudded to his knees, braced himself against the door, retching.

Lily’s hand, on his arm. “. . . so sorry! I didn’t think. About your memories, of how it would affect you. God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“Don’t think.” He wrenched free and staggered in, ignoring her anxious voice. Stared down at the first cot. A boy, black, gangly, stringy, and muscular. Hooked up just as Bruno had been for hours of torture.

He yanked the earphones off the boy, jerked the goggles off, tore off the sensors. There was an IV drip. He untapped it, plucked out the needle, left it dangling, dripping its poison out onto the floor. He jerked loose the restraints and smacked the boy’s face. “Hey! You! Wake up!”

The boy’s eyes fluttered open, dilated. He bolted upright with a scream. Bruno grabbed him while he thrashed and flailed. “It’s OK, it’s OK,” he muttered. “You’ve got to get out of here, kid. Can you run?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily doing the same to the girl in the next bed. He heaved the black kid off the table and shoved him in the direction of the door. The kid stumbled, tottered.

“Get out of the building!” he ordered. “Get out!”

The boy blinked at him, helplessly. “Move! Run!” Bruno roared. He backhanded the kid, hating himself for it. But it worked; the kid spun around, set off down the corridor.

Some of the others came to their senses more quickly. Some opened their eyes screaming and fighting. He paused at one cot where Lily stood, hands clamped over her mouth, tears running down her face. The girl lay still, spine contorted, her head at a strange angle. Lily had taken off the goggles, and the girl’s large dark eyes were empty.

Bruno touched her carotid artery. No pulse.

He pushed past Lily without comment. Went on to the next bed.

It only took a few minutes to get the kids unfastened. The last girl was a goner, too. Eight out of ten. Six out the door. He was shoving the last two forward when that deep voice made ice crystallize in his blood.

“Well, now. Look at this. You bad boy.”

Bruno shoved the kids behind him. Lily dragged in a sharp gulp of air and flattened herself against the wall.

King stepped into the room, aiming a gun at Bruno’s chest.





Too good to be true. Lily had known it since she got out of her cell. She hadn’t been proposing a rescue mission when she showed Bruno this place, but she might have known how he’d react when he saw those kids. It was just the kind of person he was.

And now they were screwed.

King gave her a smile. “Thank you, my dear, for bringing him to me. Your powers are as great as you claimed. You convinced him to trust you again, in spite of everything!” He turned to Bruno, gesturing with the gun. “We had a bet, you see. She was sure you would fall prey to her powers of seduction. Whereas I bet on your intelligence and cynicism. Since you are my son. I lost, but I’ll enjoy the penalty I must pay to her. Tonight.” He winked, mischievously. “In private.”

Lily looked from King to Bruno, back to King, bewildered. “I . . . what bet? But I . . . but he . . .” She turned to Bruno. “You’re his son?”

Bruno’s stiff, bleak face told the truth. And she started putting it together. The game’s up. No need to pretend anymore.

He thought that she . . . oh, God, no. That she’d betrayed him?

King was still chatting at Bruno. “Thursdays is our day for Combat DeepWeave 43.5. It’s much more sophisticated than the one I used on you, twenty-four yearsago. They complement the program with intense physical training. Your brother Julian is their master on the practice floor. Very talented, like you. I suspect the martial arts training from that McCloud fellow you lived with complemented your DeepWeave combat programming like a key to a lock. Happy coincidence. Not that it will do you any good now.” His mouth twisted. “Such a waste.”

“Bruno, he’s lying!” Lily blurted out. “You can’t believe him, about me! It’s not true, about me bringing you here on purpose—”

“Lily, stop.” King’s voice was testy. “You’ve proved your point. You need to learn when to quit.” He turned back to Bruno. “I do hope you haven’t permanently damaged my trainees, young man,” he chided. “Ripping them out of the middle of a DeepWeave combat session, without any decompression, that’s unprecedented! And dangerous!”

“You’re a fine one to talk about dangerous.” Bruno’s eyes darted toward the two dead girls. “They deserved a chance.”