Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

“Exactly how many Batcaves do you have?” Alex demanded.

“Just a few, here and there, where I might need them,” Kevin said. “This one’s mobile, so that helps.”

The inside of Kevin’s cargo container was tightly packed but compulsively organized. Like the barn in Texas, there was a place for everything.

Racks of clothing – costumes, really – were wedged against the wall by the double doors. She was sure that was on purpose – if someone got a glimpse inside while the doors were open, all he would see was clothes. A casual observer wouldn’t think anything of it. A more careful observer might think it was odd that uniforms for every branch of the military were hanging together, along with mechanic’s coveralls and several utility companies’ official garb, not to mention the raggedy components of a homeless man’s outfit hanging a few feet down from a row of dark suits that ranged from off-the-rack to high-end designer. A person could blend into a lot of situations with these clothes.

The props were in bins over the clothes racks – briefcases and clipboards, toolboxes and suitcases. The shoes were in clear plastic boxes underneath.

Beyond the costumes, deep floor-to-ceiling metal cabinets were installed. Kevin guided her through each; she took note of the things she might need. As in the barn, there was a space for guns, for ammo, for armor, for explosives, for knives. There were other things that hadn’t been in Texas, or if they were, they’d been better hidden than the rest. He had a cabinet full of various tech items – tiny cameras and bugs, tracking devices, night-vision goggles, binoculars and scopes, electromagnetic-pulse generators of various sizes, a few laptop computers, and dozens of gadgets she didn’t recognize. He identified the code breakers, the frequency readers, the frequency jammers, the system hackers, the mini-drones… She lost track after a while. It was unlikely that she would want to use anything she wasn’t familiar with.

The next cabinet was chemical compounds.

“Yes,” she hissed, digging past the front row to see what was behind. “This I can use.”

“Thought you’d appreciate that.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, holding up a sealed cylinder of a catalytic she knew she was almost out of.

“Take whatever you want. I don’t think I’ve ever used any of that stuff.”

She crouched down to the lower shelf and loaded several more jars and packages into her backpack. Ah, this one she needed. “Then why do you have it?”

Kevin shrugged. “I had access. Never look a gift horse -”

“Ha!” She stared up at him triumphantly.

“What?”

“You told me that was a stupid saying.”

Kevin raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes it’s really hard not to kick you.”

“I know precisely how you feel.”

Daniel moved to stand between her and Kevin. She shook her head at him. It was just banter. With the brief lecture on appropriate behavior out of the way, Kevin had shifted back to his normal self – something in between a serial killer and the world’s most obnoxious big brother. Alex was getting used to it; she didn’t mind him as much anymore.

Grumbling about silent communication, Kevin stalked back to the ammo cabinet and started filling a large black bag with reserves.

“First aid?” she asked.

“In the knife locker, top shelf.”

There were several zippered black bags over the knives, some of them about the size of a backpack, others smaller, like shaving kits. She couldn’t reach any of them, so Daniel pulled them down and she combed through them on the floor.

The first smaller bag she opened had no medical supplies – instead, there were little packets of documents neatly rubber-banded together for easy sorting. She quickly pulled out a Canadian passport and glanced at the ID page. As she’d expected, there was a photo of Kevin with a different name – Terry Williams. She glanced up. Kevin had his back to her. She grabbed two of the packets and stuffed them into the bottom of her backpack, then zipped the bag closed.

These particular items wouldn’t be of any help to her, but she had to be prepared for other outcomes. She peeked at Daniel; he wasn’t paying attention to her, either. He was looking at the array of knives with a disbelieving expression. It made her wonder how long he could survive on his own with what he’d learned so far.

Alex pulled open one of the bigger bags but wasn’t thrilled with what she found inside. It was a fairly basic kit, with nothing that she didn’t already have. She checked the next bag, then the last. Nothing that wasn’t in the first.

“What’s missing?” Kevin asked.

She jumped slightly; she hadn’t heard him approach. He must have read her disappointed expression.

“I’d like access to some decent trauma supplies, just in case…”

“Okay. Grab up whatever else you want here, and then we’ll go get some.”

“Just that easy?” she asked skeptically.

“Sure.”

She raised one eyebrow. “We’re going to walk into a medical facility and ask to purchase some surplus?”

“No!” He made a face implying the stupidity of her suggestion. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase It fell off a truck ? You got some of that knockout stuff on you now?”

“Yes.”

“Then hurry, so we can get out there before all the trucks have finished their deliveries.”

Alex’s backpack was now stocked with ammo for her various appropriated guns – the SIG Sauer, the Glock she hadn’t abandoned, the shotgun, Daniel’s rifle – and her own PPK. She’d taken two extra handguns from the stash, because you never knew, and ammo for those as well. From the tech case she’d grabbed two sets of goggles, some trackers, and two EMP generators of different sizes. She wasn’t sure what she would use any of them for, but she might not have time to get back here if there was an emergency. While she shopped through his gear, Kevin reset the lock so that the usual birth-date code would let her back in.

Or Daniel, if things really went south.

“So, what are my options for chemically incapacitating another human being?” Kevin asked when they were back on the road. Alex drove this time.

“Let’s see… do you want airborne or contact?”

Kevin gave her a sidelong look. “Which do you recommend?”

“Depends on your approach. Will the target be in an enclosed space?”

“How would I know? I’ll be improvising.”

She huffed out a breath. “Fine. Take both. Daniel, can you grab the perfume bottle in the outside pocket of my backpack? It’s in a Ziploc bag.”

“Found it,” Daniel said after a minute. “Here.” He passed it up to Kevin. Kevin turned it over in his hands.

“Looks empty.”

“Mm-hm,” Alex agreed. “Pressurized gas. Now,” she said, stretching her left arm across her body and holding her hand toward him. “Take the silver one.”

He pulled the ring off her third finger, and then his eyebrows mashed down in surprise when the tiny clear tube and attached rubber squeeze pouch came out one after the other, like a couple of handkerchiefs from the sleeve of a mediocre magician. His expression turned skeptical.

“What’s this supposed to do?”

“See the little hatch on the inside? Swing it open. Be careful.”

Kevin examined the tiny hollow barb, then looked at the little round rubber bag. It was quiet enough to hear the faint sound of liquid sloshing inside.

“Hold the pouch in your palm,” she directed, pantomiming as she explained. “Put your hand down hard on your target.” She gestured to Daniel, who obligingly held out his arm. She grabbed his wrist – not violently, just forcefully. “The subject will feel the prick and try to pull away automatically. Hold on. If you’re doing it right, the liquid in the pouch will be expelled through the barb.” She released Daniel when she finished.