Though the other two children did not look like they had Down’s, it was obvious they had some other genetic affliction. Quinn continued through the room, going bed to bed. More disabled children. They all must be, he realized.
What the hell was going on?
A mix of anger and horror and compassion welled in his chest. It was all he could do to keep his feelings from taking over. He needed to remain objective and alert. He needed to figure—
A noise to his right stopped him.
It was only a few feet away. A moan, soft but pleading.
Quinn turned toward it, his light sweeping over the nearby beds.
The moan again.
He zeroed in on it. A young boy, his half-open eyes squinting at the light, but still looking in Quinn’s direction. Like just over half of the others he’d seen, he appeared to have Down’s.
As the boy moaned again, there was a movement under his sheet. A hand, Quinn guessed, trying to reach out but held in place by the strap.
Quinn hesitated a moment, trying to keep his emotions in check. He was already halfway to the boy’s bed before he realized he’d even moved.
“Aaaa,” the boy said.
Quinn knelt down beside him.
“Hey, buddy. It’s okay,” he said, then stroked the boy’s hair. He wasn’t sure if the kid understood him or not. Iris was from Cote d’Ivoire, so God knew where he was from. His pale skin meant he could have most likely come from Russia, any part of Europe, North America.
“Mowno.”
The sheet moved again.
Quinn reached over and slipped his hand under it, taking the boy’s hand in his. “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Go back to sleep.”
The boy smiled, his eyes continuing to look into Quinn’s.
“Sleep,” Quinn said.
“Aaaa mowno.”
Quinn gently rubbed the boy’s hand. “Sleep,” he whispered.
The boy’s eyes fluttered, then shut, before popping open again, his hand squeezing Quinn’s as if he were afraid it wasn’t there anymore.
“Shhh. Sleep,” Quinn repeated.
Even though he knew the others could return at any moment and find him there, he stayed where he was for another five minutes, long after the boy had fallen asleep.
There were four children with skin dark enough to indicate they might have come from Africa. But they were all boys. There was no sign of Iris.
Quinn checked again, but the result was the same. No Iris. Not in this room anyway. There must have been another room with more children. The thought was at once comforting and disturbing. At least it would mean Iris might still be alive, but more sleeping children?
He’d have to find out. But first he knew he was long overdue checking in with Nate. He toggled a switch in his pocket that changed his microphone from off to active.
“Nate, can you read me?” he said. “Nate?”
Nothing at all. He’d feared as much when he realized just how far this level was below the other.
“Nate?” he said.
Only silence.
He pulled out his phone and was happy to see that the signal strength was as strong as it had been above. Whatever boost they had used on the first level must have also been implemented here.
He was not surprised to see that he had several text messages. His phone was on silent, so he hadn’t known they’d come in.
Four of the messages were from Nate. One, though, was from Orlando. He read them in the order received.
From Nate:
10:23
Checking in. Don’t think we have radio sig.
From Nate:
10:47
Everything all right? LMK
From Nate:
11:13
Pls respond. Do U need help?
From Orlando:
11:33
What the hell do you think UR doing going in alone?
From Nate:
11:49
Assuming no signal, but just in case. Orlando’s outside the fence, and she’s pissed.
Instead of typing a response, Quinn called.
“Are you all right?” Nate said.
“I’m fine,” Quinn told him, keeping his voice low. “But it might be a while before I’m done. Get Marion out of there. See if Orlando can create some kind of distraction so you can get out the gate.”
“She’s on the other line,” Nate said. “Let me conference her in.”
“No. Don’t do—” But Quinn’s words came too late. He was already on hold.
A second later the line clicked live again.
“Quinn?” Nate said.
“I’m here.”
“Orlando?”
“Are you crazy?” she said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in there? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Listen,” he said.
“No. I’m not going to listen. You pull out now. We’ve got more than enough for Peter to act on. Let’s leave it to him.”
“He’d never be able to get here in time. They’re moving out soon. Within the next hour or two would be my guess.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should
“Listen, goddammit,” he said. “I’ve found something.”
“I don’t care what you’ve—”
“Children,” he said.
