Daniele rose. “Please try them on.”
Hastily, Adeline attached them to her ears and forced a smile.
Daniele leaned forward, fingers interlocked. “They’re perfect.”
Adeline didn’t reply. She rose, marched directly to the hall bathroom, and took out her phone. The text message from Elliott read: Are you with Daniele?
Yes.
Where?
Home.
Keep her there.
Why?
A-2 is almost done. We’re going to use it. The power might fluctuate. She’ll know it’s us because there’s no departure scheduled.
How do I keep her here?
Figure it out. Just do it.
Adeline waited, but no other messages appeared. The thought of physically restraining Daniele made her nervous. She could already feel her palms beginning to sweat.
She deleted the text message chain and tried to form a plan. The basement was the key. If she could get Daniele down there, without her phone, and lock her in a room, it wouldn’t matter if she screamed.
But how?
She would have to lure her down there. She would tell her she had something she wanted to talk about—and was worried someone was listening. Then she would run out of the room and jam the door somehow—or tie it closed. That part of the plan needed work.
She would have to go to the garage and see what was there to work with.
Then she’d have to get past the security team outside. Maybe they wouldn’t even stop her.
Adeline opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall. She barely saw the figure to her right before the person lunged and pressed a cold device to her neck. There was a pop and a pinch against her skin, as if a rubber band had been snapped.
Adeline whirled around, ready to fight, holding her fists out. But they felt heavy, as though she was holding weights that were growing larger by the second.
In the glow of the moonlight through the glass in the front door, Adeline saw Daniele staring at her. There was an injector in her right hand.
Adeline opened her mouth to ask why, but the words wouldn’t come. She pitched forward. Her arms were too heavy to raise to break her fall. But Daniele caught her.
*
Adeline woke groggy and stiff and sore. She was lying on the floor of the machine that had ripped her life apart.
Absolom.
The inside of this version wasn’t painted and polished like the production model. It was silver and raw, with an unpainted door that lay open.
This was Absolom Two, and it was still in the lab.
The room beyond the Absolom chamber seemed empty, but someone was shouting, banging on the door to the lab.
“Daniele! I’m calling the police,” Elliott yelled.
Adeline tried to push up, but her arms failed her. She slammed into the porcelain floor like a bag of meat on a butcher counter.
Daniele appeared at the door. Her face was stricken, as if struggling with an emotion she couldn’t voice.
Adeline opened her mouth but couldn’t form words.
Daniele gripped the Absolom door. “Sorry.”
She slammed it shut.
Adeline pushed up and peered out through the small window. A large black bag lay on the floor of the lab. It looked like a body bag.
Around her, the machine began to vibrate and hum.
Adeline blinked, and her world disappeared.
FORTY-THREE
The desert was a battlefield. Dead animals lay in heaps. Blood stained the sand. Dark holes dotted the deadly landscape like gunshot wounds where the volcano bombs had punched through the sand, heating it, turning it to green glass as they sank and cooled.
It was breathtaking, but the thing taking Sam’s breath even more was his sprint across the sand, away from the dinosaurs and large reptiles barreling out of the desert, away from the giant crocs that stalked across the open plain, mouths open, stooping to rip into their prey with their long jaws.
Ahead, the forest loomed. The rain was pelting the wildfire, which hissed and belched steam and smoke as the flames died.
The rain was producing steam and smoke from the volcano too, the plumes joining those from the fire, forming a massive cloud that was rolling down the hill to the desert.
It was Sam’s salvation—cover—if he could reach it.
Behind him, he heard a screech and a beast fall to the sand, thrashing and screaming.
There was nothing like hearing another runner get mauled to give one that extra bit of motivation to push harder. Sam ran faster. His battered body ached. The cut in his upper back pulsed with pain. But he pushed through it.
He imagined the smell of his blood being a homing beacon for the carnivores on the desert plain.
He pumped his legs, knowing his life depended upon it, until he reached the tree line. The dark cloud there engulfed him like a fortress welcoming a refugee within its walls. In the smoke, he was nearly invisible. At the same time, he could barely see ten feet in front of him.