Rachel Caine - Working Stiff

... Discolored.

“Annie?”

Her eyes weren’t just blind; they were ever so slightly cloudy. The whites were discolored.

There were livid red bruises on her skin where it had rested on the chair’s arms.

“Annie. Oh, God …” Bryn felt suddenly, violently sick, and had to fight the impulse to throw up. She turned, screamed out her fury, and pointed her gun at Freddy’s head. “You killed her,” she said. “You son of a bitch! You killed my sister! You killed her and you brought her back too many times !” Burning tears blinded her, and she came close, so close to pulling the trigger. That was why there were bruises. Why Annie’s eyes were cloudy, even though she hadn’t been long out of revival.

Because he’d been using up the nanites too quickly by torturing her.

Mercer said, “I needed leverage, Bryn. Something you cared about other than your own survival; I couldn’t count on you not being ridiculously self-sacrificing, what with your military service background. Now you’ve got good reason to work with me. Oh, and please don’t shoot Freddy; it’ll be hours before he’s any good to me again.”

McCallister shoved him face-first into a wall and held him there, gun at the back of his head. He was tight with fury, and the look he gave Bryn was black with it. “You want me to do it?” he asked. “Tell me and it’s done.”

Mercer held up a single finger. “As Harte expected, I’ve taken precautions,” he said. “You see, I don’t want to be one of the zombies. I have a counteragent in my system that will destroy any nanites injected in my bloodstream. If you put a bullet in my brain, it’s the end. No revival. No more drugs for your girlfriend or her sister.”

She wanted Mercer dead; God , she wanted it with every aching cell in her body, but it wouldn’t solve anything. Not now. “You can‘t,” she said. “We need him. God help me, we need him. I need him.”

Down on the floor, Fast Freddy rolled over on his back, looked up at Bryn, and laughed.

“But I don’t need you,” she said, and shot him in the face.

Twice.

Annie screamed and covered her face with her hands. Then she staggered away and threw up in the sink. Her shorts revealed telltale lividity bruising all along the backs of her thighs.

Bryn stepped away from the spreading pool of Freddy’s blood, avoided his still-moving fingers as they reached for her, and lowered her weapon. Without looking up from Freddy’s ruined face, she said, “Mr. Mercer. My sister needs a shot. Give it to her.”

“You know that won’t actually kill him.”

“I thought a brain injury renders you unrevivable.”

“Only in your first death. Once the nanites have the template of an uninjured brain, they can always put it back together. It just takes time. Do we have a deal?” Mercer asked. “Irene Harte and Pharmadene come crashing down. You act as my distributor. Deal?”

McCallister looked at Bryn for a silent tick of a second, and then stepped back and holstered his own gun. “Deal,” he said. “But you get to clean up Freddy.” He went into the living room, came back with a soft throw that had been lying on the arm of the sofa, and put it around Annie’s shoulders. “Give her the shot, Mercer.”

Mercer opened his jacket and took out a slim silver tube. He shook out the syringe and injected Annalie, who watched with dull, traumatized eyes. “I’ll need to give Freddy another as well. That’s a serious injury; the nanites will wear out much faster than normal.”

“Or I could cut him apart and dispose of him in landfills,” McCallister said coldly. “I’m leaning toward option two.”

“He’s a good worker.”

“He’s a sadistic, murdering son of a bitch.”

“Well, everyone has flaws. I need someone I can trust to run the lab, and Freddy’s perfect for that purpose. I can control him. Leave him to me. Your problem is Irene Harte. She’s got considerable ambition.”

“Soon.”

“ Now ,” Mercer said. For the first time, there was the glow of sincerity in his eyes, and real urgency in his voice. “ Soon is too late. If you don’t stop Pharmadene now, there’s no stopping them, ever. Do you understand? It’s already gone too far.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the summit meeting Irene Harte is hosting tomorrow,” Mercer said. “At the Civic Theatre. Secret invitations went out last month via the State Department. Pharmadene is paying for the facilities and running the show, but the guest list includes state legislators, governors, judges, the heads of the FBI and CIA. The secretary of state is on that list as a guest speaker. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s the beginning of the end, if they pull it off.”

McCallister had gone silent, watching Mercer. Bryn put her arms around her sister, trying to still her shaking. On the wall, a kitchen clock ticked seconds.

“She’s going to do it there,” Mercer said. “Kill as many as she can. Revive them. Addict the power players. They’ll have no choice but to buy in.”

“She can’t control this once it starts.”

“She can ride the whirlwind, and that’s all she wants. This is how it all starts, McCallister; this is how the end of the world happens for us. Tomorrow. I’m just guessing, but I’d think the most effective way would be gas pumped into the auditorium, mass deaths, mass revivals. The first generation of the new order. She’s got plenty of people to do it now; everyone at Pharmadene, from the CEO to the secretaries, is protocol-enabled, ready to die for her cause. That’s why it has to be now, before it’s too late.” Mercer checked the clock. “In two hours, they’ll be arriving at the Civic Theatre to prep it. You have until people start arriving to take out Harte and stop this.”

“God,” McCallister breathed. He didn’t seem surprised, only resigned; he’d expected this, Bryn realized. He just hadn’t expected Harte to move this fast, or this decisively. “He’s right. She deliberately left me out of this. She suspected me, or she’d have tasked me with security for the meetings.”

Mercer shrugged. “I would have killed her for you, but I believe in employing experts to do these kinds of things. And you’re an expert at this, aren’t you, Patrick? Isn’t that what you did in the bad old marine days?”

McCallister didn’t answer. He glanced at Bryn, a fast and apologetic brush of gazes, and then checked the clock. “He’s right about the meeting,” he said. “I have to go. I have to do this. Take care of Annie.”

Every instinct in her rebelled against that, against sending him out on his own … and against being left here, with the not quite dead Freddy and the not very sane Jonathan Mercer. But Annie couldn’t be on her own. She needed help, shots, and above all, she needed safety. “Take Joe,” she told McCallister. “Don’t go alone.”

He nodded, eyes locked on hers. Then he turned to Mercer and said, “If anything happens to either one of these women, I’ll find a way to keep you alive while I cut you apart. Understood?”

“Sure,” Mercer said. “Why would I kill my own employees?”

“Ask Irene Harte,” McCallister said. One last glance at Bryn, and he was gone.

Bryn pulled the blanket closer around Annalie’s shoulders. “I’m taking her out of here,” she said.

“Well, it’s time we were about our own business, too,” Mercer said. “I suppose I’ll have to clean up Freddy’s brains; I hate to leave a mess for the home owners. Hand me that plastic bag; I need to put it over his head to keep him from leaking Oh, relax, Freddy; I’ll tear an airhole for you.”