Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(127)

It was so terribly quiet. She couldn’t believe the quiet.

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “So, um. Now what?”

Miles covered her hands. “We call the cops. We give the beaker with whatever that organism is to the CDC. We let it all shake down however it wants to. Where’s . . .” His body tightened. “Oh, f*ck, no.”

She twisted, alarmed, to look where he was looking. “What?”

“The beaker,” he said. “It’s gone.” He strode over to the briefcase with the molded foam, then looked wildly around the room. “Anabel,” he said. “That crazy bitch ran off with the virus. Come on!”

He grabbed her hand. She sprinted after him, knees wobbling.

They burst out the front door to see the taillights of the RV lumbering down the driveway at top speed. Slowing for the turn, but already two hundred meters away. Miles shouted obscenities, and sprinted after it, yelling.

“Idiot,” came a gravely voice from behind Lara. “That’s not me. That’s just the medics. The ones that took care of the turnip. Deserting the sinking ship.”

Lara spun around, hand to her throat. Anabel was poised in the doorway behind her, holding the beaker up, uncorked and sloshing.

Her other hand held a gun, which was pointed at Lara’s head.

Anabel’s gun hand shook, but at this range, it would almost be impossible for her to miss.

“Anabel. Don’t do this.” Lara tried to keep her voice soothing and reasonable, but her desperation grated on her own ears. “This virus, it’s not how Greaves told everyone it would be. It will cause a global—”

“Shut up.” Anabel circled her, the gun just inches from her face, driving her until her back hit the wall of the house. “I know. I was there, remember? I saw your visions. I saw the statue with birdshit on its head, I saw the people stumbling around like they were lobotomized. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I want. It’s what they all deserve.”

“Anabel, please, listen—”

“No, you listen!” Anabel whipped her head around, and fixed her reddened, sunken eyes on Miles, who was approaching, and jabbed the gun barrel beneath Lara’s chin. “Not one step closer, you filthy freak.”

Miles stopped, holding his hands up. “Don’t. I’ll be good.”

“I know your tricks,” she said. “You’re a telekinetic, like Greaves. But I can feel it before it takes hold, and if you try to freeze me I’ll pull the trigger before you can stop me. Understand, freak? I’ve been waiting for you, see. I’ve been wanting to tell you how I feel about scum like you for years. I want to give you a taste of the shit you dish out. See how much you like it.”

“Sure,” he said gently. “Just calm down. I won’t do anything.”

“You scum,” Anabel quavered. The chilly gun barrel shook violently beneath her chin, pressing deep. “They’re all scum, though, you know that? You two aren’t telepaths, so you don’t know, but everyone is filthy inside. You too, you dirty whore. But this?” She jerked the beaker up high, as if making a toast. “This puts a stop to it. This is like a tidal wave of disinfectant. This is the ultimate Lysol.”

“But they’ll all die!” Lara protested.

“Let them! Let the babies starve in their cribs before they grow up to be filthy, too! And you, and me! Him, most of all!” She gestured with the beaker, making the liquid slosh dangerously close to the edge. “Sick pervert! Months, you had her shackled in the dark. And you liked it. You pig!”

“You’ve got me mixed up with somebody,” Miles said.

“Shut up!” she shrieked. “You liar. Lying filth!”

The time between the echoing drumbeat of Lara’s heart dilated into vast silences, like pools she could dive into, full of everything she had never wanted to know about Anabel. She gave in, fell into it.

And opened her mouth to speak. “No, Jilly,” she said softly.





Jilly? What the hell?

It was true what Anabel said about his telekinesis. He wasn’t smooth or quick enough to get a grip before she pulled that trigger. And the open beaker swirled and sloshed. Anabel was not paying attention to it. She was staring at Lara, her expression naked and frightened.

“What?” she said. Her voice seemed higher, softer.

“That wasn’t Miles, Jilly.” Lara’s voice was as even and calm as if she weren’t being held at gunpoint by a crazy woman. “That was Mr. Welcher. He was the one who did that to you. Not Miles.”

Anabel shuddered. The gun wavered. Liquid sloshed. Anabel shook her head, violently. “No. No, you’re lying.”

“He’s not here, Jilly,” Lara said. “Put the gun down.”

“Don’t,” Anabel snarled. “Don’t try to trick me.”

“I’m telling the truth. Miles isn’t the bad one. Mr. Welcher was. And you’re not dirty. You’re not filth. That was him. Not you.”

Anabel hesitated, confused, and then her expression hardened. She let out a short, ugly laugh. “Maybe not before, but I’m filth now. Too late for me. Maybe I can chug-a-lug some of this. Clean myself up.” She swished the liquid in the beaker. “Or even better, I’ll just throw it on you.” Anabel swung the beaker in Lara’s direction.