The Fever Code (Page 70)

Teresa turned away from Thomas to lead the way.

231.05.05 | 7:47 a.m.

“D…seventeen…,” Aris said, scanning the rooms as they jogged past. He pointed. “Here it is!”

Thomas, who felt like everyone else had taken much more initiative so far that day, stepped up to the door and placed his ear against the flat surface. He pressed in, hoping to hear nothing. He wanted them asleep or dead.

“Anything?” Teresa asked.

Thomas shook his head. Then, “No, wait.” He pressed his ear to the door again. A low moaning sound was clearer. “Yeah—there’s at least one awake.”

They prepared themselves much as they had for the encounter in the hallway. According to the cameras, five Cranks were on the other side of the door, immobile. Thomas squeezed three syringes in his right hand, two in his left, and Aris and Rachel both held their Launchers, fully charged and loaded behind him. That left Teresa with the gun again, and Thomas had a feeling that this time she’d be forced to use it.

When everyone was ready to go, Teresa used her free hand to push open the door. It swung open into a dimly lit room, the scents of body odor and rotten breath wafting out like a diseased wind.

Thomas scrunched up his face at the foul smell, fighting his gag reflex as he slipped inside. Rachel, Aris, and Teresa followed. Weapons ready. A quick sweep established the scene for Thomas, and his rapidly thumping heart slowed. The room was a gathering spot, filled with chairs and couches, entertainment screens, tables for pool and Ping-Pong. The five people they’d spied earlier were congregated in the corner to his left. A man lay on a couch, arm dangling off the side, another man on the floor at his feet. Two women were sprawled side by side, also on the floor, at the foot of two chairs, their arms draped across each other as if to comfort. The last person, a man, sat in a chair, his head lolling back in sleep, great, booming snores erupting from his wide-open mouth.

Aris and Rachel quietly stepped up to the group, aiming their weapons. A long moment of silence passed; then that familiar electronic whine filled the air, immediately followed by a series of cracks as the Launchers fired in quick succession. Five distinct thumps meant that they’d hit their marks. Blue lightning lit up the air as the Cranks’ bodies convulsed with electricity.

“Now!” Aris yelled at Thomas. “Here, I’ll help you.” He came up to him, took syringes, passed one to Rachel. Teresa kept her gun trained on the five spasming figures as the three approached.

Thomas ran to the two men on the floor by the couch, their spasms lessening as the little tendrils of electricity faded to a few sparks here and there. Gripping a syringe in each hand—his thumb pressed against the dispenser button—he knelt down and stabbed the two needles into the Cranks’ necks. Released the poison. He scooted away and got back to his feet, shocked at how smoothly things had gone down. Rachel had taken care of the man in the chair, and Aris was just finishing up with the women on the ground.

That meant there were only eleven left in the entire Sector. Aware of the horrors of it all on some level—the fact they were murdering actual human beings—Thomas pushed it away, focused on the necessity. He felt an elation that filled his chest. They just might succeed.

The door from the hallway banged open.

Four Cranks burst into the room, all of them looking healthy enough for a fight. They scattered in different directions.

One jumped on Aris before he could get off a shot from his Launcher—he sprawled onto his back as the female straddled him, reaching for the boy’s throat. Rachel gave up trying to aim a shot without hitting her friend and ran in, using the Launcher as a battering ram, slamming its hard tip into the side of the woman’s head. She shrieked and toppled off Aris; then Rachel shot a grenade into her chest.

Aris himself seemed traumatized by the attack, snapping from the strain. From somewhere within his pockets he pulled out a knife and, screaming with rage, swung off his back and rammed the blade’s tip into the chest of the electrified Crank lying next to him. The electricity hadn’t dissipated enough to do this—a jolt of energy made him cry out and fly backward, knocking Rachel to the floor.

All this, happening so fast. Thomas could see only two of the remaining Cranks, running around the room with no logic to their movements. Thomas had nothing in his hands. Teresa randomly aimed her gun without taking a shot. Probably scared that she’d miss and hit Aris or Rachel.

Someone crashed into Thomas from behind.

Arms wrapped around him as he hit the floor face-first, his nose cracking in pain, the breath whooshing out of his chest, leaving him empty. He panicked, squirmed to get away from whoever had tackled him.

Teresa yelled his name. He saw her feet right next to him.

“Help,” Thomas tried to say, but it came out as nothing more than a muffled grunt. The Crank behind him had released his grip and now put a hand on the back of Thomas’s head, pressing his lips into the carpet to silence him. Thomas had no other thought now than taking his next breath—he couldn’t get the slightest wisp of air into his lungs. Knees dug into his back, pressing his ribs so hard they’d surely break.

The boom of a gunshot rocked the room.

The pressure lessened on top of Thomas. And then it was gone completely. He lifted his head just in time to see the Crank topple off him and slump to the ground. A bloody hole marked the side of his temple, and signs of life had already fled his eyes. Thomas looked up at Teresa, who was trembling, still aiming the gun at the same place where she’d shot it.

“There’s two more,” Thomas said, feeling the detachment in his voice.