Scott Nicholson - Liquid fear

Kill or be killed.

He eased the car forward, following the broken pavement into the trees. The building revealed itself through the treetops via its high band of narrow lighted windows, and then the brick facade came into view. The sight of it sent an icy spear of recognition up Roland’s spine.

“I don’t see any other cars,” Wendy said.

“Don’t worry,” Roland said. “They’re here.”

“You think Briggs is alone with Anita?”

The question irritated Roland because it sounded almost like jealousy. It wasn’t Wendy’s fault that Briggs had seduced her while she was vulnerable. After all, she was ping-ponging on Seethe and Halcyon. Hell, people did worse things. Like commit murder.

“He’s trying to recreate the original trials,” Alexis said.

“Except he can’t do that,” Wendy said. “He’d need David Underwood and Susan Sharpe, too.”

“Nobody knows what happened to David,” Alexis said.

“David’s in on this somehow,” Roland said, pulling the car to a gentle stop. “It’s all part of the maze, and Briggs has his rats jumping through hoops, looking for the next chunk of cheese.”

“Why go to all that trouble, though?” Wendy said.

“I think we have to go in and find out,” Alexis said, opening her door.

“She’s the brains of the bunch,” Roland said to Wendy as they watched Alexis walk toward the building entrance. “But you’re the one not dulled by the Halcyon. So I’m counting on you, okay, babe?”

“I’m afraid,” Wendy said.

He touched her shoulder, and before he gave it a thought, he was leaning toward her, brushing her hair from her ear, kissing her cheek. It should have been wrong, but it was the most familiar thing he’d felt in days. Maybe years.

“Roland,” she whispered, and then they crushed their lips together hard, the way people who might die would do.

She tasted of raspberries and mint, but there was a metallic whang on her breath that Roland assumed was due to the chemicals in their bodies.

“Let’s find Anita and get out of here,” he said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

They walked arm in arm from the car to where Alexis was waiting near the single metal door. She pointed to a dark wet spot on the pavement. “Blood,” she said.

“I wonder whether it was somebody trying to get out or somebody trying to get in,” Roland said, leading the way to the door.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe a booby trap, maybe an ambush, maybe an avalanche of confetti and circus music and fat clowns.

The door was unlocked, more proof that Briggs was ready for them. He peeked inside the opening.

And ten years fell away in a heartbeat.

Alexis glanced around the dim, cavernous interior and its clutter of broken machinery. The high fluorescent lights cast an alien glow over the chaos, accenting the shadows beneath metal armatures, shelving, and grid work.

“It’s almost exactly the same,” she said as they navigated the main corridor. “But I don’t remember the ceiling being so high.”

Wendy dug in a pile of tractor parts and brought out a jagged length of steel pipe. She swung it in an arc before her, grunting.

“Hey, hey,” Roland said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“She’s due,” Alexis said. “She needs to take her next dose now.”

Wendy growled as if threatened, and she backed away from them, her free hand upturned in a claw. The deterioration was sudden: one moment Wendy had been twitchy and distant, and the next she was feral.

“Here, Wendy,” Roland said. “Put down the pipe and you can feel better.”

Alexis was riding the Halcyon herself, now accustomed to its dulling effect. But the Seethe still stirred restlessly beneath it, as if waiting for its chance to erupt. She wondered if the two compounds were playing a Jekyll-and-Hyde tug-of-war inside their heads.

Maybe the effect was like that suffered by a cancer-ridden Alzheimer’s patient who might emerge into awareness only long enough to realize how much pain he was in.

She kept to the shadows while Roland closed in on Wendy. “Come on, hon,” he said, in a smooth imitation of lovey-dovey talk. “Who’s my good girl?”

“Careful,” Alexis said. “I think the building has triggered some memories.”

“Thanks for the tip, Einstein,” he said. “Like we come back here and suddenly it turns into a giant game of Candyland?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Roland. I liked you better when you were flattened on Halcyon.”

Alexis knew her anger was chemically induced, but as a neurochemist, she understood that all moods were the result of fluctuations in serotonin, glutamates, and dopamine. But where all the other brain researchers were still stabbing in the dark, Sebastian Briggs must have stumbled onto something so primal and obvious that she had no room to fight it.

After all, the awareness that fear existed didn’t make it any less scary when the scalpel swept toward your eyeball or the shark fin appeared beside you in the ocean.

“You were the first one to hit her,” Wendy said to Roland, the words squeezing out between clenched teeth.

“No, no, you’re remembering it wrong,” he said. He stood in place, repeating the shout he’d uttered when they’d first entered the building. “Briggs! Anita! Is anybody here?”

Under his breath, he emitted a “Goddamn it” and turned away from Wendy. Alexis wasn’t sure whether he did it as a show of trust, but Wendy saw it as an opportunity and leapt for him.

Alexis opened her mouth to warn him, but he must have sensed Wendy’s movement-Holy hell, we’re being reduced to animals-and he spun to the side just in time to miss her downward swing of the pipe.

The momentum carried her arm forward and the pipe struck the concrete floor with a muted thunk. Wendy dropped the pipe and shook the shock from her elbow. Roland grabbed her and overpowered her, wrestling her to the floor.

“Hurry, the pill!” he said.

Alexis broke from her paralysis and yanked the vial from Wendy’s pocket, removing the last pill. She pushed it into Wendy’s mouth.

Wendy nearly bit her hand, but Alexis kept her palm pressed against her friend’s lips until Wendy chewed and swallowed. Within seconds, her body relaxed.

Alexis kept her hand in place while she glanced at the bottle. “Roland?”

“Yeah?”

“This was yours. D. Underwood.”

“A pill’s a pill,” he said, keeping his weight on Wendy. “They’re all green.”

“Briggs might have engineered specific dosage levels for each of us. That’s why we each had our own labels.”

“Who gives a shit? I’m not that interested in protocol at this point.”

“Roland,” Wendy said with a whimper.

He looked down at her. “What, babe?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Sorry.” He helped her sit up. “You were freaking out.”

Wendy leaned forward and dry heaved, then spat. Chewed bits of medicine scattered across the floor.

Alexis glanced at the pipe, which lay about six feet to her left. Then she studied the pale angle of Roland’s neck above his collar. She could have the pipe before Roland noticed.

But the bitch Wendy deserved to die, too. She’d risked them all by not taking her medicine.

Before Alexis could make a decision, a loud clapping erupted. Sebastian Briggs stepped from behind a giant stamping machine, approaching them with the same arrogance he’d always displayed. He finished his applause and said with a smile, “My volunteers have returned.”

He’d changed little, physically. The only difference was the first hint of gray at his temples. He was dressed in chinos and a blue shirt with the top button undone, looking more like a day trader than a researcher.