The Countdown (The Taking #3)(82)

An automated voice began repeating, “Attention! Attention! There has been the report of an emergency. All personnel are to evacuate immediately. Please remain calm.”

Each looped message was followed by a jarring siren that would penetrate the most effective earplugs, while red lights flashed continuously up and down the hallways.

Willow flashed me a think-that’s-about-us? look.

Suddenly all I could think of was Kyra. I needed to find her, before it was too late.

The sirens were annoying, but I might be able to use them to my advantage.

I started to call Molly’s name to create a distraction, but Willow, apparently, was already two moves ahead of me.

“Hey bitch!” she shouted before I had the chance, and at the same time she shouldered me out of her way.

When Molly jerked her head just the barest amount in Willow’s direction, Willow swung as hard as she could. Her fist slammed into Molly’s cheek—hard, but not quite hard enough. Molly staggered but managed, somehow, to keep her grip on the gun.

She was just getting her balance again, when the fire extinguisher struck her near the base of her skull. I heard the hard whack above the shrill sirens, and even I was revolted by the sound.

Ben stood triumphantly, holding the red canister while the rest of us watched to see what would happen.

For a moment it looked like Molly was going to stay on her feet, but then she swayed. And after another second the gun dropped sluggishly from her hand as her eyes rolled back in her head. Then her entire body just went . . . limp, and she dropped to the floor.

It wasn’t until I glanced at Jett and saw his face go ashen that I realized something was wrong.

“Damn,” Jett breathed, and then he pointed to the blood that was pooling on the tile floor . . . blood seeping from the wound at the back of Molly’s head. “She’s a Returned . . .”

I glanced to Ben, who wasn’t like us. Who should never have been exposed to Molly’s, or any of our, blood.

“Aw, hell.” I dropped to my knees and tried to wipe it away, mopping the blood with my hands and Molly’s own hair . . . anything that might stop it from going airborne.

But we all knew it was too late. Whatever toxins Molly carried—whatever Code Red he was going to be exposed to—it was already out there.

“None of that matters,” Ben said, reaching down and scooping up her gun. “All that matters is we can fix this mess. That we save the Earth from being attacked. I don’t care what happens to me.”

You will, I thought, remembering the way Tyler had looked after he’d been exposed . . . when his skin had blistered and peeled, and later, when he’d gone blind. You just don’t realize it yet.





CHAPTER TWENTY


WE USED DR. CLARKE’S KEY CARD TO GO straight to the place she’d called the Basement. The floor had been cleared—not a single soul in sight.

What we found instead was beyond imagination.

When we’d been told there was a fleet, I’d imagined ten, maybe fifteen spaceships like the EVE.

But what we faced was nothing less than an entire squadron . . . hundreds of ships. No wonder the M’alue believed we were preparing for a war.

“Why would they build so many, without even knowing how to power them?” I asked.

Tyler shrugged. “I guess they were confident they’d find the solution.” He gave me a sidelong look. “If not a Replaced, then some other way.” He lifted his head. “Someone’s coming.”

“You kids get your asses down there,” Agent Truman ordered, pointing to the hangar deck. Behind us, the elevator hummed to life, and he’d already positioned himself in front of the closed doors to cover us. “Figure out how to wake that thing and get him airborne. This whole plan falls apart if we can’t get him back to his people so he can let them know we want peace.”

We didn’t argue. It wasn’t just Adam who needed us . . . who needed this to work. The entire world was banking on it.

Like the first time, when I’d approached the EVE, these ships responded to our presence—to mine and Tyler’s and to Adam’s.

Adam stirred as well, rousing again.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, when he opened his unusual glowing eyes and looked into first Tyler’s and then my own. You’re safe, I thought when I realized words were unnecessary.

You’re going home, Tyler added.

But there was something else there between us as well. Something coming from Tyler.

An awareness of everything he’d been wanting to say to me . . . everything he’d been holding back. Everything he felt.

I looked into his eyes, because he knew I was hearing him, his thoughts.

I forgive you, he said.

I let the sensation surround me. Cocoon me. And then I nodded, because there wasn’t time for anything more. Adam was ready.

A staircase descended from the hull of one of the spaceships; as if Adam had already decided which craft he’d fly. But he was weak, and unable to stand on his own, so Tyler and I hoisted him up, carrying him inside.

It took us a moment, but we managed to strap him to the seat. Only, then his head lolled to the side.

Tyler sat back and studied Adam. Even if I hadn’t been able to read it in his head, the worry was written all over his face.

“I know,” I voiced out of habit, because I was thinking the same thing: I wasn’t sure Adam was up to this.