Day 9

3,800,000,000 Infected
620,000 Dead

Chapter 58

Desmond lay on the bed, giving his muscles a few minutes to rest. He contemplated what the most recent developments meant.

The three stooges were gone. The folding table sat abandoned. Empty cans and food cartons lay where their computers had sat.

Were they giving up on him? He hoped so.

A crack shattered the silence. A seal breaking. Rubber brushing past steel. The glass wall of his cell slid to the right, into the bathroom wall.

His cell was opening.

Desmond rushed to the gap. His arm was through, then his torso. He wiggled, gaining inches each second, and then he was free, in the corridor, standing next to the card table.

A closed hatch lay at the end of the corridor, and its wheel was turning. Someone’s coming through.

Desmond bounded toward it.

The hatch opened. A handgun emerged, then a skinny white arm.

Desmond grabbed the wrist, snatched the gun away, and twisted the person’s arm behind their back as he pushed through the hatch, the gun held out before him, sweeping the room, ready to fire.

The assailant was a woman with blond hair. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt a hint of recognition. He focused, took in the scene. A long table with four flat screens and keyboards, computer towers below. Two uniformed soldiers on the ground, not moving. No blood.

The woman’s elbow connected with his injured ribs, sending a wave of blinding pain through him. He lost his grip on her. A knee slammed into his forearm, and he dropped the gun. She spun him around and kicked him hard in the chest. The impact with the wall knocked the wind out of him. Gasping for air, he slid down the wall, fighting not to pass out.

She grabbed the gun, tucked it into a shoulder holster, and squatted down, her green, intense eyes level with his.

“Hey, genius, I’m the one rescuing you. You want to fight me, or you want to get out of here?”

Desmond glanced at the guards. They were out cold, but alive. Small darts protruded from their necks.

“What’s it going to be, Des? I’m leaving, with or without you.”

He remembered her name then—Avery. The woman who had allowed him to hear her conversation with the programmers. Can I trust her? What choice do I have?

“How?” he said, between shallow breaths.

Avery grabbed a semi-automatic rifle and a backpack from the corner of the room. From the backpack, she drew out a pile of clothes and night vision goggles.