The Countdown (The Taking #3)(26)

But it wasn’t a human I found, at least not a full human. And I couldn’t decide whether I was glad I’d come back when I realized who was trapped in the room.

The idea of leaving, taking off the way he had when Blackwater was attacked, became real again. Make him someone else’s problem.

Except he didn’t look like the Judas I’d thought he was. I’d been sure Thom had been the one to send out the message, letting the Daylighters know I existed, sending them our coordinates.

But here he was . . . tied to the same kind of ancient table I’d been strapped to, so I had to wonder . . . had we been wrong? Was Thom a victim too?

“Thom,” I whispered, keeping my distance.

“Kyra?” His voice sounded like a dried-up riverbed. No way that could be faked. This wasn’t a trap. He’d been tortured too.

“It’s me.” I went to him, but my fingers shook as I unfastened his neck and his hands. If you’d have asked me five minutes ago, I would have called Thom a backstabber. Now . . . now, I was setting him free. His skin was cold and I wondered if that was a bad sign. He didn’t have electrodes or machines hooked to him. No IV. But he seemed weak. “Are they drugging you?”

“They were,” he said as I worked to get him upright. His shaky grip clutched my shoulder. “Do you have water?” Even his whisper was feeble. “They haven’t given me water in”—his black eyes searched the room helplessly—“I . . . I don’t know how long.”

The Returned might not need as much food, but that didn’t mean they—that we—could survive without it. Same went for water. If Thom had been here since the raid of Blackwater, which, if I’d counted right, had been at least five days ago, maybe more if they’d kept me comatose through any other sunrises, then no wonder he was so weak. He wasn’t hooked up to an IV the way I had been.

“Come on. Let’s get you outta here.” I hauled him up, and he leaned heavily against me. It wasn’t ideal; I wasn’t superstrong, at least not the kind where I could carry a grown man, but he wasn’t able to carry himself.

I was sweating within seconds, my arms and legs trembling beneath his weight. Neither of us had on shoes, but my wounds healed at speeds his never would. He barely winced though, and I couldn’t help wondering if he was even aware of all the cuts and gashes, or if he was too far gone from dehydration or starvation or whatever else they’d put him through.

“Just a few more steps,” I told him. I kept repeating that like a mantra, to urge him on whenever he slowed. The truth was, I had no idea how much farther we had.

When I saw the exit, I nearly buckled from sheer-elating-thrilling joy.

An honest to goodness exit.

The door was clearly marked, with a sign and everything. But just like the rest of this place it was blocked by debris—a discarded mattress with stuffing and springs erupting from it, a lopsided heap of worn and broken strips of timber, garbage . . . so much garbage.

No big deal; they’d be easy enough to clear.

“Stay here.” I propped Thom against a wall, as if he had any say in the matter. It’s not like he could take off or anything.

I climbed over the garbage mound, and began shoving it out of my way. After several minutes, I’d already made a serious dent when I felt rather than heard the presence of someone creeping up behind me.

Even without looking, I knew it wasn’t Thom. I don’t know how I managed not to puke.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when we were so close.

“Eddie Ray . . .” It was the defeat threaded through Thom’s voice that somehow reminded me where I’d heard the name before.

I turned to face him.

Eddie Ray. How had I not recognized it sooner? The name wasn’t common.

Eddie Ray—the guy Simon had told me about when he’d been explaining his long and complicated history with Griffin—his back-in-the-day story. As in, Simon had known Eddie Ray back in the day, when the two of them, along with Thom and Griffin, had all been recruiters at Blackwater Ranch . . . years earlier.

I tried to remember the things Simon had said about Eddie Ray, in case there was anything useful. But he hadn’t said much. Just that Eddie Ray had gone missing around the same time the camp’s former leader, a guy named Franco, had vanished. Simon had made it sound suspicious, like Eddie Ray might’ve had something to do with their leader’s disappearance, mostly because he’d also said something about Eddie Ray being some kind of power monger.

In my brief experience with Eddie Ray, Simon hadn’t been wrong.

Standing over me now, Eddie Ray gave me a look that made my skin pucker. “You didn’t think we were really letting you just walk outta here, did ya?”

I glanced back toward the exit, evaluating my chances for escape. I might be able to make it, but not if I had to carry Thom. I’d have to leave him . . . send help for him later.

But if I gave up now, neither of us stood a chance.

At the back of my neck, the prickling in my skin had begun to stretch. It expanded until it spread across my shoulders and down my arms.

I was trapped, I told myself, feeding on the growing panic. Letting it fuel the weapon inside me.

It consumed me, buzzing all the way to my fingertips.

I focused on Eddie Ray. Eddie Ray . . . and the garbage around me.