Faintly, I heard the flock gathering behind me: Nudge’s intake of breath, Gazzy’s moan of pain, Iggy’s hiss, and Fang’s teeth gnashing together. But I couldn’t stop staring, horrified, at the feathers in the clamp.
You’d think it couldn’t get any worse, after that.
But it did, of course. Because right then, we heard the sweet, sociopathic voice that would give us all nightmares for the rest of our lives.
“May I help you?”
54
IT TOOK ME about zero point three seconds to recognize the man standing before us: Mark. The once manic leader of the Doomsday Group. Someone I hadn’t seen since Paris, since Angel disappeared. I was pretty sure he was responsible for that whole bloody nightmare.
“Hello, children,” Mark said languidly. His entire body was covered with horrible burns, and his clothes were scorched and torn to the point of falling apart.
“You,” Gazzy spat. His voice was shaking. “You’re the one from the tunnels! You hurt me and my sister!”
We were all glaring daggers at Mark, but despite his burns and the excruciating pain he must’ve been in, his expression was one of dreamy bliss, and that was what truly scared me, what made the hair on my arms stand up and my blood run cold. Angry people I can deal with; I can handle rage with a quick fight. Insane people are much more terrifying. They’re totally unpredictable.
“Just say the word,” Fang said to me under his breath. My hands clenched into fists as I prepared to kill the man who had taken Angel from us, to tear him limb from limb. Dylan readied himself beside me.
“I’m not a threat, children,” Mark said, still wearing that crazed, happy expression of his. He took a step forward and the six of us stepped back instinctively. “This was all for you. At last, it’s begun.” Mark paused, looking bemusedly around at the destruction, at the burned wreckage, as if not really understanding what had happened. “It’s begun,” he repeated. Another beatific smile. “My work here is done. I’ve saved the planet. Saved it, protected it for the select few. And you, my friends, will benefit.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. If there’s anything worse than a psychopath, it’s one who thinks he’s doing his evil deeds for a good reason. “How has all this”—I waved my arm to encompass our surroundings—“saved the planet? How was what you did in Paris protecting the planet?” I was shrieking in his face, rage dripping from my every word.
His eyes were peaceful. “You’ll see,” he assured me. He glanced down at his burned arms, the flesh flayed open and raw. He didn’t seem to be feeling anything. He looked up, his eyes coming to rest on one shattered window. Its wire-embedded glass had been twisted outward by some explosive force. Mark examined it: a novelty. Then he turned back to us. “You’ll see,” he repeated. “The contagion has been unleashed. Now all will come to pass. And you’ll thank me for it.”
“Not likely,” I said, advancing toward him. “The only contagion I’m aware of is you and your insane cult. Now, if you don’t tell us where you took—”
“Take care of the earth, my children,” Mark interrupted, still smiling.
And then he threw himself out the window.
We have lightning-fast reflexes, but none of us got to him in time—it had happened so fast, with no warning. Horrified, we ran to the window and looked out. We weren’t up very high, but he’d landed on a pile of broken concrete. Shafts of rusty rebar stuck up at different angles, one of them directly through Mark’s throat.
He still had that pleasant smile on his face, but his eyes stared blankly into nothing.
“Unhhh,” Nudge groaned, and then vomited on the floor at my feet.
As I rubbed her back, I felt warm hands on my shoulders, and for a second I couldn’t tell if it was Dylan or Fang. Then Fang moved into my line of sight, scowling. It was Dylan who stood behind me.
I stared down at Mark’s body and felt bile rising in my own throat. “Well, that’s… that,” I said shakily, moving away from the window.
“So, we continue searching for Angel?” Dylan asked quietly.
I nodded. “We always continue searching for Angel.”
55
WE SEARCHED THE whole place, and my heart sank lower with every empty room. Not that the roo
ms were actually empty. They were full of the stuff of nightmares: bloodstained operating tables, cabinets full of horrifying tools, jars of specimens that made my stomach turn. Only Iggy would avoid having these appalling images seared into his brain. The rest of us would carry them forever, like scars.
Nudge reached out and took my hand, held it tightly as we looked at another huge jar holding a preserved experiment. Oh, God.
“Evil. So evil,” I muttered, feeling heartsick.
This had to be where Angel had been kept captive, ever since Paris. I didn’t say anything to the others, but a black fog was starting to shroud my aching heart. How could she have survived this? And if she had survived it, how would she ever recover? Not just physically, but emotionally. We’d already been through more than anyone should have to go through. What if she’d finally been pushed over the edge? What if she could never come back?
After yet another horrifying sight made me gag, I leaned against the wall and rubbed my eyes, which stung from the lingering smoke and chemical fumes. My throat was scratchy and dry, and it ached from the effort of suppressing my cries of shock and horror.