Kelly Mendig: Three Days to Dead

“How?”

“A little trick I picked up along the way, but I don’t think I can carry more than two. Hell, I might not even get us across the barrier, so I’d pick two volunteers who don’t mind the distinct possibility of being smashed into putty when we try and spectacularly fail.”

“I’m in,” Tybalt said. He fell in next to Kismet, his mouth set in a grim line. “How about you, boss?”

She gave him a sideways look. Nodded. She pulled her walkie-talkie. “Baylor, come in.”

It crackled briefly. A male voice said, “Go ahead, Kis.”

“You’re point on ops outside. We may have a way in. I’m going in with Tybalt and Stone.”

“Acknowledged.”

She slipped the walkie-talkie back into her belt without a reply, checked the clip on her gun, then turned to me. “Ready when you are.”

“Do either of you know the layout of the Center?” I asked.

Tybalt nodded. “I came here a few times as a kid. The first floor is an open lobby, with a lounge and information booth. I think the second floor is offices and a couple of activity rooms. I never went up on the third, but the basement should be all storage.”

“And Tovin’s likely location. Underground gets him as close to the Break as possible. So I’ll aim for the lobby. It’s an open area. We’re less likely to land inside a desk or a wall.”

Kismet blanched.

I held out one hand to each of them and clasped theirs tightly. They reached to each other, completing the circle without being asked. I fed the thrum of energy through me and into them. Tybalt’s hand jerked; I held tight. “This might feel weird,” I said.

The world melted. The pain was immediate, because of the added weight and distance traveled. It furrowed between my eyes like a red-hot spike. We floated until the world turned blue. Power crackled around us. Agony exploded in my head. I screamed, pushed through it, and came out the other side, intent on the lobby.

As soon as I felt hardwood form beneath my feet, I let them go and fell to my hands and knees. Something warm and wet stained my upper lip. Drops of red hit the floor between my hands. The horrific pain faded, but the migraine-esque symptoms remained. My stomach tried to turn itself inside out. A hand touched the small of my back. I focused on the contact, used it to push the pain away and focus on standing.

“How did you do that?” Kismet asked.

“I’m Gifted now,” I said. “The girl whose body this was, she was an unfound tap. This is her—it’s my power. It’s never been this strong before, but Chalice and I … we’re truly one person now. Everything that was individually ours is mine.”

“So your emptying hourglass?”

“Busted.”

“Great. Now that you’ve solved that quandary for us, I—”

A low growl cut her off. I paid attention to our surroundings for the first time, cursing myself for not doing it sooner. The lobby was the length and width of the building itself. Freestanding walls had long since fallen over. The wood floor was warped in places, and scored in others. The main desk that dominated the very center of the lobby was covered with writing that, upon first glance, appeared to be graffiti. A better look revealed an actual language—albeit, one I couldn’t read.

And I didn’t have time to try, because the desk wasn’t the source of the growl. From the shadows of the rear corner of the lobby came a hulking shape—one that had become very familiar over the last three days. The snarling hound hybrid shambled into the light, saliva dripping from its bared fangs. It stopped, balanced on two legs, then drew up to its impressive height.

My fingers clenched around the hilt of the knife. I’d killed two of them. I could use one more notch on my belt.

“What rounds do you have in?” Kismet asked, her voice a hushed whisper.

“Anticoags,” Tybalt replied. “You?”

“Same.”

“Mine are frags,” I said. “Mix them up. It’ll kill that thing faster.”

Kismet reached behind me with precise movements, doing nothing to startle the hound into attacking faster. It was still fifteen feet away, approaching like it was on a Sunday stroll. She pulled my gun and tucked her own into its place.

“Get downstairs. We’ve got him,” she said.

“Destroy the desk, too. It could be the barrier spell,” I replied.

“Got it. Now go.” She stepped to the left. “Hey, ugly!”

I turned and ran as gunfire erupted behind me. Fast, toward the door marked EXIT. I crashed through the fire door and descended the dank, cement steps two at a time. The weapons play faded into the distance. I hit the basement level and was presented with two doors, made of the same heavy metal as the door upstairs, but these felt different—ominous and dark, the keepers of terrible secrets. The thrum of energy was strong. It crackled all around me. Whatever Tovin was doing, he’d already tapped into something.

My hand closed around the bar handle of the door on the left. A thunderous explosion from above shook the walls and trembled the ground beneath my feet. Dust drifted down. I sneezed and looked up, as if I could see up through the floor at what had happened.

“I hope that was the desk blowing up,” I said, wishing they could hear me. The barrier was beyond my powers or ability to detect, even through the Break. It didn’t matter, though, because Tovin had to know we were inside.

I pushed down on the bar. The door opened without resistance or noise. I slipped through into what, at first, looked like a high school science lab, or something out of a hokey television horror movie. Long metal tables covered with laboratory equipment straight from Young Frankenstein filled the center of the room—microscopes, petri dishes, flasks and vials, and intricate setups of tubes and burners and bubbling liquids.

The smell nearly felled me—a fetid mixture of waste and blood and rot, made sour by chemicals and lemon-scented cleaner. Fluorescent bar lights gave the entire room a sickly yellow cast. While my brain caught up to the stink, I scanned the perimeter of the room. The right wall was all open shelves and locked cabinets, fully stocked with supplies I couldn’t identify. The left and rear walls looked like dog kennels, each section four feet wide and the height of a man, partitioned by cement blocks. Iron bars more suited to a prison cell-block made up the fronts.

Something growled inside one of those kennels. A chill wormed its way up my spine. The hounds. They were artificially created hybrids, the source of which was right here and had been for quite a while, given the intricacy of the lab and its contents.

I made my way to the nearest cage, curiosity edging out common sense. The kennels weren’t lit, leaving the interiors cast in shadow. I remained at arm’s length and squinted through the iron bars. Matted, moldy straw covered the floor, which extended less than six feet to the rear.

Huddled in the corner was a creature the size of a five-year-old child. If it had ever been human, it had long ago ceased being so. Oily black skin glinted in the dim light. Short, connected spikes, like the dorsal fin of a pickerel, ran down its spine. I saw no face, no hands, only the backside of it.

The kennel had no label or designation, only the letter A painted above it. Each kennel was similarly lettered, all the way to N. Fourteen kennels, fourteen potential experiments. I forced myself to the next one. In the center, nestled in soiled straw, was a teenaged boy. Half of a teenaged boy. The entire left side of his body was stone, fixed in place and anchoring him to the ground. He blinked at me with one brilliant blue eye, an image of perfect despair.

“Holy shit.”

I backed away, unable to bring myself to look into the rest of them. I didn’t want to see the abominations created by mad scientists—or more precisely, a mad elf—for reasons I could never hope to understand.