Which wasn’t a lie.
A half-hysterical laugh zipped through her veins and burst from her mouth.
Here she was, plowing across Antarctica, body a mess, food supply nonexistent, in a losing fight against death. But she was better than she’d been back then. She wasfine.
Ford’s hand appeared in her field of vision and she grasped it, let him pull her up into his arms.
She wasfine. Because she’d changed through her months spent in this place—the loneliest place on earth. And unlike the woman she’d been back then, here she knew without a shadow of a doubt who she was…and that she wasn’t alone.
Chapter 31
Day 7—Harper Research and Testing Facility, East Antarctic Ice Sheet
The quick, heavy thud of boots had Clive throwing his cards down and dashing into the hall, where he nearly collided with Sampson and three of his men, monstrous and ice-crusted, emitting angry clouds of cold air like toxic exhaust.
“Get her on the phone,” Sampson said roughly.
“The director?” Clive half laughed. “The satellite’s not—”
The man faced Clive and, without showing his face or lifting a hand, somehow showed him just how much violence simmered under his surface. Holy shit was he scary.
“I need a line out.” Sampson pulled up his goggles, baring bloodshot eyes, the pupils such narrow pinpricks that neither light nor life could possibly flow through them.
“No luck?” Clive forced a stiff smile to his lips. After a week of pointless searching, patience as a whole was wearing thin, and tempers were frayed. Fights had broken out, drunken brawls ending in missing teeth and broken bones. Most worrisome of all was Sampson’s physical transformation, from bright Hollywood son to something as feral and wrong as a junkyard dog.
“Fuel’s freezing up. We’re grounded.” Sampson huffed out a breath, snorting. “Eyes, dammit. Told her we need eyes in the sky.”
It took Clive a few seconds to understand what he meant. Satellite images. Right, well, that was patently absurd. He shook his head. “Even without the cloud cover, the communications satellites are only available sporadically, so I can’t imagine you’ll get…” He trailed off, watching Sampson warily. There was something entirely too wired and unhinged about him now, no doubt underscored by fatigue and excessive alcohol consumption—or consumption of something else. Not that Clive could blame him for that, but it was quite an about-face from the man who’d arrived here talking about his body being a temple.
Apparently uninterested in a reminder of the Facility’s communications capabilities, Sampson stepped around Clive and continued down the hall toward the labs. Beyond them lay nothing but housing for the trial participants.
“Hey.” Clive’s voice clearly didn’t reach Sampson’s ears. Anxious now, he followed in Sampson’s slippery path. “Where are you going? There’s nothing for you down there. You can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Sampson was breathing hard. “Can’t see more than five inches in front of my nose? Can’t get any kind of backup from the people who sent us here? Can’t hunt down two fucking amateurs? The woman’s a cook, for fuck’s sake. Can’t I catch abreakon this godforsaken mission?” With a low wordless sound that raised the small hairs on Clive’s neck, Sampson turned and put his fist through the wall. At this rate, the place would be pockmarked.
For a few stretched-out seconds, Clive’s eyes weren’t sure where to land—on the man melting down in front of him or the mercenaries hanging back, casting glances at each other.
Finally, Sampson stepped into Clive’s personal space on a waft of cinnamon and sunscreen and something else—bitter and crude as the fuel they used to heat this place. “Now, I’m gonna need to ask the prisoners some questions.”
Trial subjects, Clive wanted to say, but he knew better than to interject. This wasn’t a normal conversation. Besides, there was nothing to ask. They knew exactly who had the virus and, if they weren’t mistaken, they knew exactly where it was going. “As I’ve said before, Mr. Sampson, my subjects are not yours to play with. What could you possibly—”
Sampson’s eyes were Clive’s only warning before he moved, flat blue irises alive in a way they’d never been before. Clive stumbled back, shock and fear warring with his knowledge that he wasbetterthan this man. Too good to succumb to bullying.
Pride did him absolutely no good when Sampson put his forearm to Clive’s throat and leaned in, as calm and nonchalant as if he were on a Sunday stroll. Pride didn’t help him breathe or keep his eyes open, didn’t prevent his larynx from bruising like a ripe peach.
In the few seconds spent chasing the stars that popped at the edge of his vision, head pressed into the newly formed wall dent as if it were made for him, Clive understood: They would die here. Not just the trial subjects, but all of them. Him possibly right this moment, his body just one more tossed onto the growing heap outside on the ice.
When Sampson released him, it was sheer willpower that kept Clive’s knees from buckling. A compulsion to survive that compelled him to speak through his already swelling throat, eyes not leaving the other man’s as something hard and wild of his own reared its head. “Think you’re…strong…” He coughed, the sensation rough as nails. “With your fists and guns… There’s a virus on its way.” He swallowed and stood up higher, keeping himself still as he forced a smile, as false and pointless as those wax lips he used to chew through on Halloween. “Yourpayload,remember? The reason we’re all here? It would serve you well not to forget that I’m the guy with the vaccine.”
With his hand pressed to his throat, Clive stepped unsteadily around Sampson and his mini-army, heading deliberately away from the lab and the vaccine in question. Though his vision closed in with every step, he kept himself erect until he turned the corner and collapsed against the wall.
The bastard had gone too far.
Slowly, he made his way toward the lounge, where he gathered water and an ice pack for his throat, along with a fresh bottle of that vodka. Make that two. From there, he went to the kitchen and filled a basket with supplies. Enough for a siege.
Things were not going according to plan. Did they ever? He coughed out a dry, bitter laugh, which he instantly regretted. Shit, his throat hurt.
After a good half hour had passed, he crept down the hall leading to the lab. There, he typed in the pass code, pressed his hand to the print pad, and went in, dragging his supplies behind him. The door locked with a satisfyingsnick, leaving him blessedly alone.
