Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(95)
“The computers are the boxes containing the hardware, not the screens.”
He gave me another gruff nod, then I took off out the back door.
Gallagher
The door at the end of the hall slammed shut as Gallagher turned the corner. But not before he saw Willem Vandekamp disappear into his office, his hand clutching the grip of a pistol. His eyes wide with fear—an emotion thus far unseen from the Spectacle’s owner.
Gallagher smiled, an expression no man in his right mind would have mistaken for joy. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of fear on the air as he let his hunger build.
He hadn’t been hunting in ages.
The redcap strode down the hall silently and kicked the door in with his bare foot. Ripped from its hinges, it flew into the room and smashed into the chairs lined up along the opposite wall. The splinter of wood was merely a taste of violence he planned to consume, but it was enough to whet his appetite.
The blood he spilled in the arena every week kept Gallagher alive, but that exploitative carnage didn’t fulfill his purpose.
It didn’t feed his soul.
“What the fuck?” The woman behind the desk stood, eyes wide, right hand clutching her phone. “Please. Don’t hurt me.”
“Run,” Gallagher growled, veins swollen with rage and adrenaline. Muscles aching to rend flesh from bone.
She raced past him into the hall, tripping over her high heels.
The inner office door slammed, and metal scraped wood as Vandekamp locked himself in. “The police are on the way,” he shouted from inside.
“Tell them to send the coroner instead.” Gallagher sucked in a deep, invigorating breath, then kicked the next door in. The force of the blow shattered not just the door, but the chair wedged in front of it.
He shoved the tangle of wood and upholstery aside and pushed his way into the office. Vandekamp stood behind his desk, aiming the pistol at the redcap’s chest. “I should have realized the first time I saw you. There was something about you. I thought it was your size, but it was more than that.”
“Humans should put more faith in their instinct. And less in weapons.” Gallagher took a step forward, and Vandekamp fired. The redcap dived to the ground and smacked the light switch on his way down. More wood splintered beneath him. The room descended into shadows.
The gun thundered again, and Vandekamp stood exposed in the muzzle flash.
Gallagher slid into the shadows as if he were made of them. He stepped over obstacles no human could have seen in the dark, and his feet made no sound.
Vandekamp fired again, scanning the room during the flash, wide-eyed. The redcap stood two feet away. Towering over him.
Gallagher ripped an arm from the darkness. The gun clattered to the floor. His victim screamed as blood arched into the air, splattering shadowy files and furniture. Painting the ceiling in artful splashes of dark red.
He fell upon the owner of the Savage Spectacle with a brutal enthusiasm that would have brought thunderous applause from the crowd, had it taken place in the arena. Hands flew across the room. Legs thunked onto the floor. Vandekamp’s spinal column was severed with a single vicious snap, breaking his head from his body like a cork from a bottle of champagne.
When the violence was over—when his bloodlust was sated—Gallagher knelt and dropped his cap into the fragrant red puddle.
As blood rolled across the ceiling and down the walls one drop at a time, soaking into the fear dearg’s traditional cap with a speed that spoke of true hunger, Gallagher glanced around the room, taking note of the computer on a shelf under the desk. When the blood had been consumed, he stood, hat in hand, ready to demolish the technology that had brought pain to so many. Then something else caught his eye.
On Vandekamp’s desk lay a single white envelope with Greenlake Diagnostic and Laboratory Services printed on the top left corner. Handwritten on the envelope were two words that somehow seemed to carry the weight of his entire world.
Marlow, Delilah.
Delilah
I stuck close to the building for as long as I could, then raced across the well-lit garden into the deepest patch of shade I could find—the shadow cast by the minotaur topiary.
I’d made it halfway across the courtyard using that method when a door slammed somewhere across the grounds. Seconds later, I heard a stampede of boots headed my way.
I pressed myself against a bush shaped like a griffin, careful not to drop any of the batons, and let a dozen armed guards jog past me, fifty feet away. Headed for the main building.
Gallagher’s smart. He can handle himself. But I couldn’t help worrying. He wasn’t bulletproof.
When they’d passed out of sight and earshot, I raced as fast as I could across the last half of the courtyard, then ducked through the gate into the employees-only section of the Spectacle.
The dormitory was the nearest building. The entrance was locked, but the collar sensor mounted over it was dark. The stolen employee ID opened the door, and I slipped into the dimly lit rear hall as it fell shut behind me.
I went to the women’s dorm first, but before I could use my key card on the locked door, I heard footsteps approaching from the left.
“Hey!” a familiar voice shouted. I turned to find Bowman aiming his pistol at me. “I should have known you were involved in this.”
I dropped my armload of unactivated batons, which clattered to the floor and rolled in all directions. “If you value your life, you’ll turn around and go home. Right now.”