The Taking: The Countdown Part 10

What was she saying-that it really was us versus them? That I was the enemy?

"You're wrong," I started, and then changed my tactic. p.i.s.sing her off seemed like a seriously bad idea. "You're confused. I want the same thing you do. We're on the same side."

She leaned closer, and the notion she might be crazy amplified. "This is bigger than us. Way, way bigger. You know they're up there. I know you know it. You feel them, don't you?" She did that thing my dad had, where she nodded skyward as if to say, Them, the aliens.

This conversation was getting weirder and weirder. "What do you mean?" I asked, wondering where she was going with this.

"I mean," she insisted, her nostrils flaring angrily, "tell me you don't you feel them. You don't sense them getting closer?"

Feel them . . . ?

I blinked, not sure how I was supposed to respond to that. Not sure what she was even saying. How would I know if they were getting closer?

Then I thought about my dad saying he thought they were trying to send me a message-through those hikers.

"We've seen you, each time it gets close to sunrise, the way your pulse and your blood pressure skyrocket. How long has that been happening? Days? Weeks?" She grinned, standing upright. "It's getting stronger, isn't it? Those people who want to buy you say it's only a matter of time now. They think it's not much longer 'til they get here. Is that what it meant, the number I heard you saying?"

Sweat broke out on my upper lip as I thought about the knife-twist that came with each sunrise, and the way it had gotten stronger, more intense each dawn.

With each pa.s.sing day.

Even for a girl who'd lost five years of her life, whose memories were now thriving inside an entirely different body-an alien body-this was almost too much. What if she was right? What if I could somehow, some way, sense their approach? "So why me? If you're right, why do I feel them?"

She shrugged. "Because you're one of them? Because they want something from you?"

"Want what?"

"How'm I supposed to know? My job is to make sure you're delivered in one piece."

She continued to watch me, and I wanted to tell her to look away, even as the thought struck me: my obsession with time. My preoccupation with the pa.s.sage of days, hours, minutes, and seconds . . . ever since I'd returned.

Was it possible . . . could that have been why all along? Had my body been somehow programmed to sense their arrival?

"So what . . . I'm some sort of . . . clock? Like a countdown-"

Blood sprayed across my face, almost before the sound of the gunshot split the air.

I blinked blood out of my eyes, and tasted it between my teeth. It had splattered all over my arms and on the blue-green of the gown I was wearing. No wonder it took me so long to register what had happened.

Blondie never had that luxury-that moment of clarity-before her eyes, which had been clear blue and laser-focused on me just a second earlier, had gone suddenly and absolutely blank.

Then every muscle in her body wilted as she'd collapsed to the floor. On her way down, her forehead banged solidly against the side of the metal gurney I was strapped to. It was the only sound I'd heard, other than the bullet that disappeared inside her brain.

I was still gaping. Trying to comprehend what . . . and . . . why, when I saw Eddie Ray standing in the doorway, holding a gun.

"Oh my G.o.d . . ." I gasped at him. "What . . . ? Why did you do that?" Chunks of bone and flesh clung to my skin. Blondie's bone and skin.

"She's a talker."

I shuddered at his icy explanation, the realization that the head shot wasn't the kind of wound Blondie could heal from finally sinking in.

"About . . . me? Y-you . . . you didn't have to . . . kill her." I'd never stuttered before, not the old me, but my teeth were chattering and my words tripped over my tongue. "Sh-she . . ." My throat stung. "Said it d-didn't matter if I knew. She s-said I w-was never getting away."

"Not her place to decide." Eddie Ray set the gun down next to one of the monitors. I had no idea how he could be so cavalier, so whatever about what he'd just done.

This time, drugs had nothing to do with the spinning of the room. I needed to get a grip. To be as collected as Eddie Ray was. "Was she right? About what she said? Am I some sort of countdown clock?"

Eddie Ray reached for a stool, one that didn't look as ancient as everything else in this place-this asylum. He avoided Blondie's body, parking it instead on the other side of the table. Straddling the seat, he c.o.c.ked his head to look at me.

Then he reached down and brushed at something near the corner of my eye, and I felt it . . . like he'd picked a wound that hadn't quite scabbed over all the way. I knew what it was: a piece of Blondie.

I was wearing a dead girl all over me.

He chuckled. Chuckled. Like this was somehow funny. Like there was even the remotest humor to be found in any of this. He leaned close and the urge to flee kicked in.

I'd heard of animals that had literally chewed off their own limbs just to escape the jaws of a bear trap, and that's how I felt. Like I would be willing to chew off one of my own arms or legs if it meant getting away from Eddie Ray.

"According to our buyers, those alien f.u.c.kers are already on their way . . ." G.o.d, why did everyone have to do that eye tic thing? I knew who he meant. "It's just a matter of when. Could be days."

Days.

I concentrated on that rather than the stomach acid eating my throat. Days could mean anything. Days could add up to weeks or months, or even years.

I thought of all the mornings I'd been gripped by pain . . . was that what I'd been sensing? Their approach? Their nearness?

How many days had there been already?

I thought of the way I'd been tracking time, the strange numbers I'd heard in my head and wondered why I hadn't thought of it before.

I concentrated, trying to remember what today's number was. Which number was repeating itself in my head right now, at this very moment?

Thirteen. That was the number.

Was that the countdown to their arrival?

They were coming. But why?

"So?" he asked. "Are they right? Can you feel those little mothers?" Eddie Ray angled his face so our mouths were almost touching and I wished I couldn't taste the rancidness of his breath.

I refused to answer him. No way would I ever, not in a million years, tell him anything.

He didn't seem to need my answer. "Are you afraid?" he asked, grinning down at me.

I curled my lip at him. "Aren't you?"

But Eddie Ray scoffed at the idea. "I won't be anywhere near you by then. But don't worry, don't take it personal. In the end, this is really just about business."

"Business? You mean all of this just comes down to making a couple of bucks? That girl . . . she was . . . you just shot her, for what? Money? If you really believe they're coming, then you're talking about an alien race heading to Earth, and you don't even know what they want." My voice rose. "How is this just business?"

I thought of the message-what Tyler had said, what my dad had overheard: The Returned must die. Maybe I shouldn't even care about any of that when this was the end for me-they'd already beaten me . . . beaten us.

But I did.

"It just is," he spat, his patience with me reaching its end. His cheeks and neck and forehead went red and splotchy. "And it's more than just a couple of bucks. It's enough to buy our freedom if I play my cards right. Freedom from all this. From the No-Suchers. From pretty much everything. We'll never have to worry again. All we have to do is deliver you in one piece." He jumped up, knocking the stool out from behind him. "The thing is, though, it'd be even better if we could've gotten our hands on the other one too-that Tyler kid. We could make a h.e.l.luva lot more for two of you. That was the plan, you know? She was supposed to grab both of you. Her mistake." He moved to where the blond girl was lying and stared down at her. I couldn't see her body, but I watched as Eddie Ray nudged the dead girl with his foot. His eyes were glittering when he looked up again. "Like I said, it's just business."

Tyler. They wanted Tyler too.

There was no way. That could not-would not-happen.

He came back over to me. "Just tell me where the kid is . . ." His voice dropped all conspiratorial-like. As if we were somehow partners. Pals. "In fact, if you tell me, I'll put in a good word for you. Let your buyers know how cooperative you've been. Never know, maybe you'll get lucky and they'll take it easy on you." He winked, and bile blistered the back of my tongue.

I shook my head, emotions pounding through me.

The buddy-buddy expression vanished from Eddie Ray's face. He gave me a strange look then, one I couldn't quite decipher but probably it was better that way. I didn't want to know what was going on inside that head of his.

"I don't need your help," he finally said. "I'll find him myself. I'll sell you and then I'll track him down on my own."

"Please . . . no . . ." But I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince, him or me when I said it.

Because it was too late. He'd doomed himself the moment Tyler's name had rolled off his lips.

This wasn't like before, where the sensations began mildly-the slow build of p.r.i.c.kling, itching, tingling.

This was wild. Uncontrollable. A storm unleashed.

Like I had been unleashed.

And I had been, in more ways than one. Energy tore through my body, blistering from the base of my neck and shooting all the way to my fingertips and toes.

This need to save Tyler made me strong. Stronger than I'd ever been. And before I could think the word "control"-before Eddie Ray realized anything was happening at all-my right hand had yanked free.

But that wasn't Eddie Ray's undoing; it was the part where I managed to move the gun. His gun.

It was like that night up at Devil's Hole when I'd mentally stripped Agent Truman of his weapon . . . only this time I wasn't trying to disarm anyone.

This time the gun flew directly into my other hand. And just like the time with Agent Truman, it occurred so fast, whipping through the air, it was barely a blur.

And because of Natty's training, I knew how to use the thing. Eddie Ray had her to thank for that.

Before he'd even recognized the weapon in my hand-the still-bound one-or the fact that the other one was free, I'd reached across and released the slide.

Then I switched hands and raised the gun right at him.

Quickly. In one arcing motion so he didn't have time to run, or even duck out of the way.

I didn't ask if he'd change his mind. I didn't clarify how he planned to track Tyler down, or ask him to explain how he planned to sell him or to whom.

I pulled the trigger.

The gun's kick threw me back against the steel table. My neck was still bound, so it's not like I had all that far to go, but the impact was solid, making my vision blur.

Eddie Ray had only been standing a few feet away and I hadn't missed. It had been like watching the blond girl go down, only in reverse.

The bullet struck him just above his left eye, in his forehead, which hadn't exactly been where I'd been aiming . . . but it did the trick all the same.

By the time seven minutes had pa.s.sed, it was down to just me and Natty, and I needed to find her before she found me.

After I'd shot Eddie Ray, I'd scrambled to get off that d.a.m.ned table-I couldn't do it fast enough, but the entire time all I could think was, I shot someone . . . I shot someone . . . I shot someone . . .

It made no difference that he meant to capture Tyler, or that he would've killed me if I'd hesitated. What I'd done was inconceivable, and I was still trembling. Still, none of that stopped me from snagging Blondie's boots so I wouldn't have to navigate the hallways barefoot again.

I hadn't made it far when the two guys whose names I'd never even learned found me.

When they came ricocheting around the corner, I was almost as surprised to see them as they were to see me. Almost, but not quite.

My hands were shaking but I got off two rounds, one into each of their heads, and then, as if I were as coldblooded as Eddie Ray, I stepped over them on my way out.

Next it was Natty's turn.

I wish the thought disturbed me more.

The last time I'd seen Natty I'd learned she'd never been my friend. That she was responsible for the Daylighters' siege of Blackwater. Responsible for me losing my dad and Tyler all over again. Now I had a chance to get my revenge against her for everything she'd done.

A satisfied smile curled my lips.

My borrowed boots crunched across the littered floors. Natty was here-I could feel her. Practically smell her.

If only.

I kept the gun in front of me as I moved from room to room. My only knowledge of searches came from movies and TV, so I was sure I looked like one of those jacked-up cop-actors Austin and Tyler's dad, who was a real cop, always made fun of.

But so what? All that mattered was that I found her before she found me.

My heart was beating against the over-tight muscles of my chest like a mallet. Beat-BEAT, beat-BEAT, beat-BEAT. NO way Natty didn't hear that from a mile away.

I stopped when I heard something, but the noise was all wrong.

It came from overhead, not in front or behind me, and I squinted to get a glimpse of whatever was up there, trying my best to see past the rotting rafters. I had to find it-that scuffling, sc.r.a.ping sound. And still, my heart beat-BEAT against my ribs, pulverizing them.

Something came at me then, faster than a shadow.

Flinching, I nearly dropped the gun as I used my hand to shield my face. When I crouched, a nail along the baseboard raked across my knee.

It's okay. I'm okay, I told myself, biting back a hysterical bubble of laughter when I realized it had been a bird. Trapped the way I was inside the asylum. It flew down the hall one way, and then came back the other, its wings frantically stirring the dust-filled air as it searched for a way out.

"Jesus . . . ," I muttered, getting to my feet again.

"Jesus can't help you." Natty's voice was like liquid ice.