Dark Matter(45)

“The police are looking for you. They think you killed Daniela.”

“You people framed me?”

“I am so sorry. Look, I can’t get you out of this lab, but I can get you into the hangar.”

“Do you know how the box works?” I ask.

I feel her stare, even though I can’t see it.

“No idea. But it’s your one way out.”

“From everything I’ve heard, stepping inside that thing is like jumping out of an airplane and not knowing if your chute is going to open.”

“If the plane’s going down anyway, does it really matter?”

“What about the camera?”

“The one in here? I turned it off.”

I hear Amanda move toward the door.

A vertical line of light appears and widens.

When the cell door is open all the way, I see that she’s shouldering a backpack. Stepping out into the corridor, she adjusts her red pencil skirt and looks back at me.

“You coming?”

I use the bed frame to drag myself onto my feet.

Must have been hours in the dark, because the light in the corridor is almost too much to bear. My eyes burn against the sudden brilliance.

For the moment, we have it all to ourselves.

Amanda is already moving away from me toward the vault doors at the far end.

She glances back, whispers, “Let’s go!”

I quietly follow, the panels of fluorescent lighting streaming past overhead.

Aside from the echoes of our footfalls, the corridor is soundless.

By the time I reach the touchscreen, Amanda is holding her keycard under the scanner.

“Won’t there be someone in mission control?” I ask. “I thought there was always someone monitoring—”

“I’m on duty tonight. I got you covered.”

“They’ll know you helped me.”

“By the time they realize, I’ll be out of here.”

The computerized female voice says, Name, please.

“Amanda Lucas.”

Passcode.

“Two-two-three-seven.”

Access denied.

“Oh shit.”

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Someone must have seen us on the corridor cams and frozen my clearance. Leighton will know in a matter of seconds.”

“Give it another shot.”

She scans her card again.

Name, please.

“Amanda Lucas.”

Passcode.

She speaks slowly this time, overenunciating her words: “Two-two-three-seven.”

Access denied.

“Goddammit.”

A door at the opposite end of the corridor opens.

When Leighton’s men step out, Amanda’s face pales with fear, and a sharp, metallic taste coats the roof of my mouth.

I ask, “Do the employees create their own passcodes or are they assigned?”

“We create them.”

“Give me your card.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe no one thought to freeze my clearance.”

As she hands it over, Leighton emerges from the same door.

He shouts my name.

I look back down the corridor as Leighton and his men start toward us.

I scan the card.

Name, please.

“Jason Dessen.”

Passcode.

Of course. This guy is me.

Month and year of my birthday backwards.

“Three-seven-two-one.”

Voice recognition confirmed. Welcome, Dr. Dessen.

The buzzer rakes my nerves.

As the doors begin to inch apart, I watch helplessly as the men rush toward us—red-faced, arms pumping.

Four or five seconds away.

The moment there’s enough space between the vault doors, Amanda squeezes through.

I follow her into the hangar, racing across the smooth concrete toward the box.

Mission control is empty, the lights beating down from high above, and it’s dawning on me that there is no possible scenario where we make it out of this.

We’re closing in on the box, Amanda yelling, “We just have to get inside!”

I glance back as the first man explodes through the wide-open vault doors, a gun or Taser in his right hand, a smear of what I assume is Ryan’s blood across his face.

He clocks me, raises his weapon, but I round the corner of the box before he can fire.

Amanda is pushing open the door, and as an alarm blares through the hangar, she disappears inside.

I’m right on her heels, launching myself over the threshold, into the box.

She shoves me out of the way and digs her shoulder back into the door.

I hear voices and approaching footsteps.

Amanda is struggling, so I throw my weight into the door alongside her.

It must weigh a ton.

At last, it begins to move, swinging back.

Fingers appear across the door frame, but we’ve got inertia working in our favor.

The door thunders home, and a massive bolt fires into its housing.

It’s quiet.

And pitch-black—the darkness so instantly pure and unbroken it creates the sensation of spinning.

I stagger toward the nearest wall and put my hands on the metal, just needing to tether myself to something solid as I try to wrap my mind around the idea that I’m actually inside this thing.