The Replaced
Page 20

Any qualms I might’ve had evaporated the minute Agent Truman had fired at us. “Let’s hope so.” I glanced over my shoulder, to where Jett had the driver’s side window down. Thom was already out of the vehicle, standing decisively close to Natty. “What about those key-card things? Got any more of those? That thing was sorta awesome.”
Jett grinned, but shook his head. “Sorry, that was a prototype. But I’ll pass your comments on to R and D.”
“R and D?” I repeated uncertainly. Who was Jett even talking about?
Simon just rolled his eyes. “It’s Jett. Jett is Research and Development. Now come on, we don’t have time for this. The longer we wait, the more likely they are to have their security up and running.”
“I got that part covered. I’m still in their system.” Jett pulled out his laptop. “I’ll log in remotely and buy you about three minutes. After that, they’ll override me and have their cameras up and running again. It’s the best I can do, so better get a move on.”
We moved, all right. And three minutes were more than enough to get us back inside. But that wasn’t the hard part. The entrance was easy—the glass door was busted out and most of the personnel were still off searching for us.
The hard part would be facing Agent Truman and his hazmat army.
The harder part would be finding Willow and saving her ass.
The hardest part would be getting us all out again in one piece.
The light on the camera above the main entrance was off. As far as I could tell, it was only a matter of seconds before Jett’s hold on their system was up and we’d be surrounded. We stayed in formation, the way Simon told us—me in front, Natty right behind me, and Thom and Simon flanking her. We moved like we meant business and showed no fear, even though my blood was pumping hard and fast and white-hot.
When we reached the central lab door, it was still ajar from Simon’s Silly Putty blast.
“Ready?” I whispered. And then, because it didn’t matter whether we were ready or not, I swallowed hard and shoved the door open, hoping against hope we’d find Willow alone and the lab otherwise deserted.
No such luck. Agent Truman was there, with no fewer than a dozen of his Daylight Division soldiers—only three were suited up in protective gear, and the rest were as exposed as he was.
I felt sick with horror when I saw Willow, fastened to one of those gurneys. She wasn’t making it particularly easy on them, though, thrashing beneath the leather straps they’d bound her with. Her head banged against the slick metal, creating a crashing sound that echoed off the glass tiles and walls.
“Her!” Agent Truman crowed triumphantly, pointing at me. “She’s the one we want.”
When eight of those soldier-y guys descended on us, I held up my hands in surrender.
But Natty made sure every last one of them was paying attention as she jabbed her gun right between my shoulder blades.
It made sense I would be the one who got shot. Not just because it had been my idea to come back for Willow, but because I would heal so, so much faster than the rest of them. If Natty actually had to pull the trigger, an idea that turned my stomach because it meant exposing those soldiers who weren’t suited up to my deadly blood, I could potentially be up and running again by the time we had Willow out of her restraints.
I managed to grin when I said, “Stand back or the girl gets it,” by which I meant me, of course. I could practically feel Simon rolling his eyes behind me.
Despite my lame attempt to be funny, and my seriously poor timing, the mood in the room shifted as my meaning sank in. Those not in gear collectively rocked backward, as if just easing away might keep them safe.
All except Agent Truman. He shoved his way to the front, casting me a vicious glare. “What do you think this is? A negotiation?” He glanced toward Willow before raising his voice. “We’re not offering a trade. None of you is getting out of here.”
“We’re not here to trade,” I told him, keeping my arms in the air. I stayed focused, breathing evenly to calm my heart as I evaluated the opposing team. Sure, they looked fierce, but I reminded myself they were just people—regular-ordinary-average men who just so happened to be soldiers.
Big, yes. Trained, no doubt. But still, just normal guys.
We had something they didn’t: the ability to heal . . . and that whole toxic-blood thing.
“Don’t be stupid,” Agent Truman intoned. There was something cagey in the way he moved, and my heart picked up a beat, and then another as I kept my eyes trained on him. It wasn’t just that he didn’t back away like the others; he was up to something. He put his hands up placatingly, and even his voice became somehow less threatening. “These guys haven’t done anything wrong. Leave them out of it.”
These guys—it was a strange way for him to phrase it, since I was including him in my threat. But the guys in question looked relieved, like they were glad he was offering them an out.
They didn’t want the dreaded Code Red, which was what they called it when someone was infected by our blood, any more than I wanted to take a bullet through my shoulder. I might heal, but it would still hurt like a mother.
A few men backed up another step, but Simon must’ve sensed the same thing I did, that Agent Truman was up to something, and he called out a warning. “Don’t move! Everyone, just stay where you are.” When they all did as he ordered, freezing in place, I finally started to believe we might actually pull this thing off. Then he said, “Get her off that thing,” and Thom slipped past me, and past the guards, to Willow.