Quinn. That’s how Sam had gotten away. It had to be.
Drake would have to have a nice talk with Quinn.
On the dock he could make out Orc waving a bat, yelling, unable to do anything. The boat gathered speed and arced north, leaving a long white wake drawn like an arrow on the water.
There was no question Sam would try to find Astrid. And he was heading north.
The power plant. Had to be.
Drake cursed and, again, for just a moment, felt the almost desperate fear of failing Caine. He wasn’t worried what Caine would do to him—after all, Caine needed him—but he knew if he failed to carry out Caine’s orders, Diana would laugh.
Drake put down the rifle. How could he reach the power plant ahead of Sam?
There was no way. Even if he took a boat he would be playing catch-up. A car? Maybe. But he didn’t know the way, and the trip by boat would be more direct. It would take him a while to get down to the marina and…but, wait. Wait a minute.
The motorboat was pulling a U-turn.
“Aren’t you clever, Sam?” Drake whispered. “But not clever enough.”
Through the scope he could just make out Sam’s face as he stood at the wheel, wind in his face, having escaped from Caine, having outwitted Orc, and now all cocky and sure of himself as he sped south.
There was no way to take a shot from this distance. Drake knew that.
He traversed the gun sight south and stopped at the barrier. Sam wouldn’t have far to go in that direction.
The beach at the bottom of the cliffs? If she was down there, Drake could never reach her before Sam got there in the motorboat. If she was down there, the game was over.
But if not…if she was, say, in the hotel, Clifftop? Then, he had a chance if he moved fast.
How great would it be to shoot her right where Sam Temple could watch?
TWENTY-FOUR
127 HOURS, 45 MINUTES
ASTRID ALMOST MISSED spotting the boat. She had gone to the window only to draw the shades. But out of the corner of her eye she saw the motorboat out there, the only thing on the water.
For a brief moment she’d wondered if it was adults, someone coming to rescue them from the FAYZ. But no, if rescue was coming from outside the FAYZ, it wouldn’t be a single open boat.
And, anyway, Astrid was convinced, no one was coming. Not now. Probably not ever.
She squinted but could not tell who was on the boat. If only she had binoculars. It seemed like it might be three people. Maybe four. She couldn’t tell. But the boat was speeding closer.
She knelt to see what was still available in the minibar refrigerator. During their last stay, she and Sam and Quinn had almost cleaned it out. All that was left to eat were some cashews.
She would need to feed Little Pete sooner rather than later. Before whoever was on the boat got here.
“Come on, Petey,” she said, and guided him up from the end of the bed. “Come on, we’re going to get some food. Munchy munchy?” she said, using a trigger phrase that sometimes worked. “Munchy munchy?”
They could head for the Clifftop restaurant and probably find something there, maybe cook a chicken sandwich or something, or at least find some yogurt or whatever. Or they could play it safe and just empty out the minibars in other rooms.
She opened the door. Looked out into the hallway. It was empty.
“Candy bars it is,” she said, realizing she just didn’t have the nerve to go down to the restaurant.
The room next door had a minibar but no key in the lock. She tried three more rooms before realizing that she had just been lucky that first night. The refrigerators were all locked. But, wait, maybe all the keys were interchangeable.
“Come on, back to our room,” she said.
“Munchy munchy,” Little Pete protested.
“Munchy munchy,” Astrid confirmed. “Come on, Petey.”
Out in the hallway again and then she heard the ding of an elevator. The smooth electric motors opening the door.
Was it Sam? She froze, poised between fear and hope.
Fear won.
The elevator was at the end of the hall and around a bend. She had seconds.
“Come on,” she hissed, and pushed Little Pete forward. With fumbling fingers she slid the passcard into and out of the slot. Too fast. She had to do it slower. Again. Still no green light. One more time and now she could hear the elevator door closing.
It was him. Suddenly she knew it was Drake.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” It was the only prayer she could think of.
She tried the key again. The light blinked to green.
She turned the handle.
He was there. At the end of the hall. Standing there with a rifle over his shoulder and a gun in his hand.
Astrid almost collapsed.
Drake grinned.
He raised the handgun and took aim.
Astrid pushed Little Pete into the room and tumbled in after him.
Astrid slammed the door closed and threw the bolt. Then she added the security lock.
An impossibly loud noise.
The door had a hole in it the size of a dime, with the metal puckered out.
Another explosion and the door handle was hanging half off.
Little Pete could save them. He could. He had the power. But he was still calm, still oblivious.
Useless.
The balcony. It was the only way.
“Petey, come on!” she rasped.
“Munchy, munchy,” he argued.
Drake slammed against the door, but it held. The dead bolt was still in place.
He fired again and again, frustrated, blasting away at the dead bolt.
Drake would have to have a nice talk with Quinn.
On the dock he could make out Orc waving a bat, yelling, unable to do anything. The boat gathered speed and arced north, leaving a long white wake drawn like an arrow on the water.
There was no question Sam would try to find Astrid. And he was heading north.
The power plant. Had to be.
Drake cursed and, again, for just a moment, felt the almost desperate fear of failing Caine. He wasn’t worried what Caine would do to him—after all, Caine needed him—but he knew if he failed to carry out Caine’s orders, Diana would laugh.
Drake put down the rifle. How could he reach the power plant ahead of Sam?
There was no way. Even if he took a boat he would be playing catch-up. A car? Maybe. But he didn’t know the way, and the trip by boat would be more direct. It would take him a while to get down to the marina and…but, wait. Wait a minute.
The motorboat was pulling a U-turn.
“Aren’t you clever, Sam?” Drake whispered. “But not clever enough.”
Through the scope he could just make out Sam’s face as he stood at the wheel, wind in his face, having escaped from Caine, having outwitted Orc, and now all cocky and sure of himself as he sped south.
There was no way to take a shot from this distance. Drake knew that.
He traversed the gun sight south and stopped at the barrier. Sam wouldn’t have far to go in that direction.
The beach at the bottom of the cliffs? If she was down there, Drake could never reach her before Sam got there in the motorboat. If she was down there, the game was over.
But if not…if she was, say, in the hotel, Clifftop? Then, he had a chance if he moved fast.
How great would it be to shoot her right where Sam Temple could watch?
TWENTY-FOUR
127 HOURS, 45 MINUTES
ASTRID ALMOST MISSED spotting the boat. She had gone to the window only to draw the shades. But out of the corner of her eye she saw the motorboat out there, the only thing on the water.
For a brief moment she’d wondered if it was adults, someone coming to rescue them from the FAYZ. But no, if rescue was coming from outside the FAYZ, it wouldn’t be a single open boat.
And, anyway, Astrid was convinced, no one was coming. Not now. Probably not ever.
She squinted but could not tell who was on the boat. If only she had binoculars. It seemed like it might be three people. Maybe four. She couldn’t tell. But the boat was speeding closer.
She knelt to see what was still available in the minibar refrigerator. During their last stay, she and Sam and Quinn had almost cleaned it out. All that was left to eat were some cashews.
She would need to feed Little Pete sooner rather than later. Before whoever was on the boat got here.
“Come on, Petey,” she said, and guided him up from the end of the bed. “Come on, we’re going to get some food. Munchy munchy?” she said, using a trigger phrase that sometimes worked. “Munchy munchy?”
They could head for the Clifftop restaurant and probably find something there, maybe cook a chicken sandwich or something, or at least find some yogurt or whatever. Or they could play it safe and just empty out the minibars in other rooms.
She opened the door. Looked out into the hallway. It was empty.
“Candy bars it is,” she said, realizing she just didn’t have the nerve to go down to the restaurant.
The room next door had a minibar but no key in the lock. She tried three more rooms before realizing that she had just been lucky that first night. The refrigerators were all locked. But, wait, maybe all the keys were interchangeable.
“Come on, back to our room,” she said.
“Munchy munchy,” Little Pete protested.
“Munchy munchy,” Astrid confirmed. “Come on, Petey.”
Out in the hallway again and then she heard the ding of an elevator. The smooth electric motors opening the door.
Was it Sam? She froze, poised between fear and hope.
Fear won.
The elevator was at the end of the hall and around a bend. She had seconds.
“Come on,” she hissed, and pushed Little Pete forward. With fumbling fingers she slid the passcard into and out of the slot. Too fast. She had to do it slower. Again. Still no green light. One more time and now she could hear the elevator door closing.
It was him. Suddenly she knew it was Drake.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” It was the only prayer she could think of.
She tried the key again. The light blinked to green.
She turned the handle.
He was there. At the end of the hall. Standing there with a rifle over his shoulder and a gun in his hand.
Astrid almost collapsed.
Drake grinned.
He raised the handgun and took aim.
Astrid pushed Little Pete into the room and tumbled in after him.
Astrid slammed the door closed and threw the bolt. Then she added the security lock.
An impossibly loud noise.
The door had a hole in it the size of a dime, with the metal puckered out.
Another explosion and the door handle was hanging half off.
Little Pete could save them. He could. He had the power. But he was still calm, still oblivious.
Useless.
The balcony. It was the only way.
“Petey, come on!” she rasped.
“Munchy, munchy,” he argued.
Drake slammed against the door, but it held. The dead bolt was still in place.
He fired again and again, frustrated, blasting away at the dead bolt.
