The rigors of the last few days had chiseled Cole’s expression into solid rock as he said, “Maybe she’s an ambitious lawyer.”
“It’s too late for that, Mr. Warnecki. After the commotion that was stirred up by the deaths of all those police officers, we were certain to throw them a sacrificial lamb right away.”
“So you have control of the media too? Good luck with that.”
“Not control,” Waylon said. “Someone had to stand trial, to answer for your crimes, someone who was connected to all those murders. We gave them another Skinner who was apprehended at a similar fracas in Texas, so now you and I have all the time in the world together.”
“Oh shit,” Cole grunted. “Is this some sort of weird conjugal visit? Even if I swung that way, I’d rather go without than see what’s under that suit.”
After a quick nod from Waylon, one of the two guards in the elevator slammed the butt of his shotgun into Cole’s ribs. As soon as his knees hit the floor, the second guard cracked his knee against his face.
“I’d suggest you cooperate,” Waylon warned. “The tests that lie ahead may be rigorous, but we could always get some answers from you in the form of an autopsy.” Only then did Waylon press a button on the wall panel.
Cole looked up at the guard who stood closest to the short column of buttons. He was another familiar face that had been shoving him around since he woke up strapped to a bed. The key he clutched between callused fingers was fitted into the slot next to the DOOR OPEN switch.
“Mr. Warnecki,” Waylon said while leading the way out of the elevator, “you should know that we’re not keeping you here for trivial reasons. Things have begun that need to be dealt with, and in order to do that, certain answers must be found. First among them is how the new strain of Nymar infections interact with humans. Since we’re already intimately familiar with Skinners, seeing how the newest Nymar spore interacts with you provides a unique opportunity.”
Cole was dragged to his feet and pulled along behind the man in the suit. “I’ll bet it does,” he said, while struggling to carry his own weight. “And what did you learn from telling that thick-necked asshole to beat me to a pulp in my cell?”
Without levity or malice, Waylon said, “We needed to test the limits of your recuperative abilities and how they were affected by those tendrils. It turns out they help you more than you may know.”
“Did you even try to remove them when you cut me open?”
“Of course we did. What better way to study them? If we could have gotten them as well as the organs to which they were attached without ruining the specimens, you wouldn’t have even woken up from the anesthesia. Once we get into the next room, do yourself a favor and don’t give me a reason to rethink that decision.” Retrieving the pen from his pocket and tapping its button, he asked, “Who might be looking for you?”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
Flipping the pen around his first two fingers, Waylon said, “You know how your partners operate. You know their contacts. Tell me the details.”
“If you’re so intimately familiar with Skinners, you should already know that.”
Waylon flipped the pen around again. “Your partner’s name is Paige Strobel. Does she have any official contacts in Colorado or know of any
“Yes.”
He smiled approvingly, flipped the pen and asked, “Who?”
“Me.”
Waylon nodded, flipped the pen around to grip it at the end with the button and then jabbed its tip into Cole’s chest. The strike came too quickly for Cole to do anything about it, and although it was a shallow wound, the pen scraped against bone with a pain that felt as if a cattle prod had connected with the inside of his body.
When he reflexively tried to defend himself, Cole was grabbed by a guard on either side. The pen was not only still in him, but was being twisted and driven in deeper by Waylon’s hand.
“Does she have any
Cole struggled against the guards, but knew he wouldn’t be able to break loose from their grip. The lightweight cuffs were used to pull his arms up behind his back until they felt about to snap in two places, and the sharpened interior of the cuffs chewed viciously into his wrists.
“Answer this question and the rest of today’s exercises will be easier,” Waylon said. Without changing a single aspect of his emotionless face, he pulled out the pen and formed a fist around it before driving his knuckles into Cole’s jaw. The pen added a nice bit of sting to the punch that Cole felt all the way back in the space where his wisdom teeth had been. Instead of asking another question, Waylon waited for Cole to meet his eyes again and then snapped another punch into the same spot. “You had your chance,” he said. “Remember that.”
Once the doors were open, the guards shoved Cole through them and into what felt like a whole other world. Compared to Canon City, the freshly painted hall and sparkling tile floors seemed like luxury hotel accommodations. Some normal people shuffled through a normal door at the end of the hall. No scars on their hands. No runes etched into the frame. The guards tightened their grip as if they too had to brace for their reentry into the mundane.
The door at the end of the hall opened into something that reminded Cole of a large, drab break room. There were a few metal tables and small stools welded to the floor, and several spots where more tables and stools had obviously been removed. There were a few vending machines along one wall, but only one was plugged in. As long as he wanted a bottle of overpriced water, he was in luck. A television was bracketed to the ceiling in one corner, and no less than half a dozen surveillance cameras were hanging from different spots along the room’s upper perimeter. The moment he stepped inside, all of those cameras shifted to point at him. He counted six guards already in the room. Four men and two women dressed in full riot gear had fanned out to surround him, and the two who brought him from his cell were absorbed into the pack. Two of the guards had shotguns, but the other four carried AK-47s and were positioned so if they all decided to fire on him at once, the collateral damage would be kept to a minimum.
“We’ve already tested your pain tolerance and ability to heal,” Waylon said as Cole was shoved down onto a stool. “Now I’d like to see how your modification affects other functions.”
“Modification?” Cole grunted. “You make it sound like a cool bionic arm or something.”
Waylon let out a stifled snort, which was probably meant to be a laugh. “Bring in the weapons.”
That didn’t seem like a good thing. His entire body tensed as a guard entered the room to set a small metal case on the table. Then the guard moved around to grab his cuffs.
“What is that?” Cole asked.
The cuffs were removed, causing all of the guards to raise their weapons to their shoulders. Small devices were taped to his neck and chest, and when they were all in place, a tech dressed in scrubs walked over to a set of machines behind the guards. The machines were flipped on, giving off the same electronic noises Cole had heard when he woke on a hospital bed.
“I want you to open the case, Cole,” Waylon said. “And I also want to remind you that nobody knows you’re here. Even if they realize you’re missing, no police agency in this country would give a damn if we delivered your body to them in pieces. More importantly, I want you to know that my guards are under strict orders to shoot to maim. There’s no easy out for you. In fact, if you misuse what’s inside that case in any way, I’ll see to it that the first dozen bullets hit below your waist. After that, the testing will still commence. Got it?”
Cole nodded while rubbing his tender wrists. He reached out, flipped the latches on the case and opened it. Inside, there were two rounded wooden stakes. The points had been whittled down until smooth, and the handles were studded with small, sharp thorns stained with blood. Grabbing one of the stakes, he jumped to his feet and demanded, “Tell me where you got these!”
“Sit down, Mr. Warnecki.”
“Let’s see your hands.”
One of the guards took half a step forward. “He told you to sit down!”
Waylon stepped up but didn’t enter the circle formed by his firing squad. Holding up a palm, he showed Cole a palm that was marked by the neatest row of scars he’d ever seen. Unlike the random patterns of most Skinner weapons, the thorns in whatever weapon he’d crafted were just as orderly as the notes he scribbled on his clipboard. “Satisfied? Now sit down.”
Cole looked at the stakes from every angle, which was all he needed to deduce one simple fact. “These don’t belong to you.” Glancing around at the guards, he added, “And I’d bet they don’t belong to any of you. Nobody working in a place like this would be far away from their weapon. So whose body did you steal these from?”
