“No,” Grayson said. “Get in the van. We’ll go meet the rest of the team.”
Patrick opened the door and started to step out.
“Grayson, no offense, but you are terrible at driving a stick,” Edan said. “Please let Patrick drive.”
Grayson waved for Patrick to get back in. “I’ll navigate. I’m tracking Saira’s phone.”
I slid into the back row of the van with Edan and Noah. Grayson and Madison took the seats in front of us. Patrick hit the gas.
“Just straight for a couple miles,” Grayson said, and then twisted around to look at me and Madison. “Did you guys hear anything else in there?”
“Did you get any video?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know,” Madison said. “It was on, but you’ll have to see what it picked up. We heard something about a Dust Storm facility.”
“And a shipment,” I added. “They were sending out some scrabs with the first shipment, and it sounded like they were going to this Dust Storm facility.”
“Dust Storm facility . . .” Edan looked at Grayson. “Arizona? New Mexico?”
“It would be incredibly difficult to get scrabs into the US,” Grayson said. “My guess would be the Middle East.”
“Most countries in the Middle East don’t have a scrab problem,” Dorsey said.
“Not yet,” Madison said. “But if MDG ships some in and loses control of them . . .”
“Well, that’s typical,” Patrick grumbled.
“We just killed three that they were going to send,” I said. “That woman said they were some of the best.”
“And they were pretty terrifying,” Madison said. “They were, like . . . toying with us. They cornered us and grabbed Clara’s weapons pack. I’ve never seen scrabs like that.” Her gaze shifted to meet mine.
“Is your leg OK?” I asked.
“It’s fine. Thanks,” she added. That expression on her face looked almost like a smile.
“Turn right at the next light,” Grayson said to Patrick. “You should see the van a few blocks down.” He glanced at his phone. “And Saira said the scrab siren just went off. We should be able to hear it soon.”
We drove for several minutes, until the faint wail of the siren filled the car. The streets here were a little more crowded, and everyone was running in the opposite direction we were driving.
Patrick pulled over to the side of the road, and Grayson opened the door to reveal Julian’s anxious face. He reached a hand into the van, and I took it as I climbed out.
“Are you OK? Are you hurt? They told me you guys got caught in an MDG garage!” He had to shout to be heard over the siren.
“I’m fine. Madison too,” I added, even though he hadn’t asked.
“Why were you in that garage, anyway?” He frowned at Madison. I couldn’t tell if he was mad, or just yelling to be heard.
“It was my fault,” I said. “I wanted to see what was in the van.”
He sighed. “I should have made you stay with me.”
He should have made me stay with him? Did Julian think I couldn’t take care of myself?
“It was a smart idea.” Madison’s tone was sharp, almost angry. “We heard some stuff that might be useful, and I may have even gotten some footage that we can share.”
“Julian, can we do this later?” Grayson stood nearby with the rest of the team. Saira and team thirteen were a few paces away, weapons drawn. “Where is the MDG van?”
Saira pointed. The black van was parked at the end of the block. “They haven’t moved for a few minutes!” she called.
“They must see us,” Grayson said.
The ground began to rumble. I grabbed my machete.
Julian grabbed my wrist, dragging me to him. “Stay close, OK?” he said softly.
“Uh . . .” I didn’t think I could keep track of him and fight scrabs. Why was he suddenly acting like he had to protect me?
Screeching tires saved me from having to answer. Several black SUVs hurtled down the street, passing the first van and heading straight toward us.
Julian’s hand tightened painfully around my wrist. I yelped, surprised.
“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he said, letting go of my wrist and grabbing my hand instead. He cast a worried look at me. “I think this was a bad idea.”
The earth split. A scrab roared onto the street about half a block from where we stood. Several more poured out after it, shaking dirt from their thick hides. Their black eyes found us. A flash of teeth.
Grayson made a move toward them, but the SUVs weaved around the scrabs and skidded to a stop on the street, blocking our path. I caught a glimpse of two men as they raced out of the van. They had the same dart guns I’d seen the woman use earlier.
The passenger-side window of the closest SUV rolled down. The man was wearing sunglasses, but I recognized the smile he shot at us right away. Webb.
Edan and I traded a glance. Grayson muttered something so rude I was surprised it hadn’t come out of Madison’s mouth instead.
The door of another SUV opened, just barely. A hand dropped three silver canisters in quick succession. They rolled toward us.
“Oh sh—” Grayson’s words were cut off by a loud pop pop pop noise. White smoke filled the air. My eyes began to burn.
Through the smoke, I could just barely see Webb stick a gun out the window. He fired.
Grayson’s body jerked and he crumpled to the ground.
34
Grayson moaned as he rolled over on the couch. “Did I fall asleep again?”
“Yeah, you keep going in and out,” Madison said, setting a cup of coffee on the table next to him. “Which is impressive, given the volume in here.”
We were huddled around the couch in the corner of the hostel lounge with UK team thirteen. We were surrounded by at least a hundred other recruits, all of them speculating about MDG at full volume. Word had gotten around about our run-in with MDG after recruits saw us carry an unconscious Grayson through the hostel lobby, our eyes red and our faces
