“There’s not far to go,” Cabigail said. “Are you armed?”
Peter said no, but Cabigail ordered one of the rDogs to scan him for weapons. Satisfied, she asked Con to help him inside. Con went down the stairs and knelt beside Peter. Up close, she realized his injuries were much more severe than his stoicism permitted him to let on.
“You doing alright?” he asked.
She took his hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“Here I had thoughts I’d be saving you.” Peter coughed blood onto his chin. “Should’ve known better.”
“Con,” Cabigail called down. “We don’t have much time, and probably best not to linger outside.”
Con helped Peter to his feet. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she supported his weight as best she could. Together, they hobbled up the stairs.
On her LFD, Abigail ordered two of the remaining rDogs to scatter back into the forest, but the third fell in behind Peter and Con, stalking up the stairs like a herding dog bringing in a lost sheep.
“What the hell have you gotten into here?” Peter asked Con under his breath.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I am a decorated US soldier, you know.”
He was trying to keep his spirits up, and Con forced a smile at his joke. They limped into the cottage and down the passageway into the complex.
“Okay, you were right,” Peter admitted, looking around. “I don’t believe this.”
They made it to the lab before Peter lost consciousness. His legs gave way, and the best Con could do was ease him to the floor. She sat and cradled his head in her lap. His breathing was a jagged wheeze, wet and labored. The rDog went into a crouch at his feet, watching him with its smooth, eyeless face. Con looked to her aunt, imploring her to help him.
Cabigail stood there deep in thought as if trying to solve a complex mathematical formula. “I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can do. This is a lab, not a hospital.”
“Then we have to take him to one,” Con insisted.
Cabigail entered her biometrics to unlock a cabinet. “Out of the question. He’s seen too much. But he has a clone at Palingenesis. He’ll be fine.”
Con knew that was a lie. Peter had explicitly told her that he never wanted another clone. She watched her aunt take out a syringe and a small, clear vial.
“What the hell’s that?” Con asked.
“It’s for the pain,” Cabigail assured her. “We can at least make him comfortable.”
Con didn’t believe her. “He was a first-gen clone.”
“I know who he is,” Cabigail snapped, drawing up a dose from the vial and tapping the syringe with a practiced finger. “Now hold him still.”
Cabigail put the syringe between her teeth and knelt to roll up the remnants of Peter’s tattered sleeve. Con continued pleading for him, but her aunt wasn’t listening anymore, her expression distant and resolved. Con recognized it. Cabigail had had the same look on her face standing over Brooke Fenton’s body. Had it been any different when she killed Pockmark and his team? Maybe Cynthia Gaddis had been an accident, but her actions since had stripped away any morality Abigail Stickling might once have had. What lay beneath was cold and cruel and despicable. Peter was destined for the incinerator if she did nothing. Con was certain of that much.
“If he dies, you can forget our deal,” Con said.
Cabigail glared at her niece. “Listen to me, girl. Vernon knows about this place now. That doesn’t give us much time. He’ll be on his way. We have too much to do before he arrives. There isn’t the luxury of saving this trespasser.”
Cabigail took Peter’s arm, but before she could find a vein, Con grabbed her by the wrist. Rather than angry, Cabigail looked simply disappointed. The two women struggled, as evenly matched as two people could ever be. But Cabigail had the high ground, and Con could feel herself losing the battle for leverage.
“Let. Go,” Cabigail commanded from between clenched teeth.
“Stop.”
Cabigail grunted from the exertion, teeth drawn back in a snarl. “This is the only way.”
Peter’s head slipped off Con’s thigh and cracked on the floor. It jolted him back to consciousness and his eyes flew open. Grabbing Cabigail by the wrist and elbow, he twisted her arm back and used her own strength against her, driving the syringe up into her own chest.
Cabigail toppled back, grasping for the syringe.
In one motion, the forgotten rDog leapt, landing on Peter and pinning him to the ground. There was a horrendous tearing sound. A shearing collapse. Peter let out a terrible scream. His legs kicked out once, and then didn’t move again. Con scrambled away, but the rDog paid no attention to her. It assessed its target coldly and trotted away to its master, where it once again crouched patiently.