Violently, Burke tipped over the surprisingly heavy wheelchair, groaning at the effort and sending Humphrey sprawling through the half-clotted pool of blood and into Cassie’s body. For a minute, he let him lie there, a hermit crab ripped from its shell.

“Now,” he said after regaining a modicum of composure, “you’re going to learn a little of what happens to people who fuck with me.”

Burke set the toe of his boot across the fingers of Humphrey’s left hand, stood on it with all his weight, and held it there.

“From what I’ve been told, you’re a very brilliant scientist. But you’re also very stupid. I have orders to bring you back to the lab at Red Cliff, but I wasn’t instructed to bring back all of your fingers.”

He finally stepped back and crossed to the tiny kitchen, returning with a large carving knife. Careful to avoid the blood, he got down on one knee and pressed the tip of the knife into the knuckle of one of Humphrey’s injured fingers.

“One little push, and you’ll never use this finger to pick your nose again.”

“P-please stop!”

“Now listen and listen good. I know scientists. Scientists don’t ever leave themselves without a copy of their data somewhere. You have to have a backup. You have one, don’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.

The knife point pierced the skin and entered the knuckle.

Humphrey, screaming without sound, managed a nod.

“Good,” Burke said, twisting the blade. “Okay, this is it. Tell me where you keep the backup or you are minus one finger. And I’ll still have nine to play with. Understand?” A nod. “Ready to cooperate and not do anything else stupid?”

“Y-yes.”

Burke pulled the wheelchair upright, lifted his prey off the ground, and dropped him like a rag doll into the seat. Humphrey’s teeth snapped closed on the side of his tongue. Blood frothed out the corner of his mouth. Burke pushed the bloody apparition to his computer and again shoved the joystick at him.

“Okay, where is the backup copy?” Burke asked.

Humphrey, spitting blood onto his shirtsleeve, fumbled with the joystick, but finally, the letters appeared on the screen.

There is no data backup.

Burke put the knife to Humphrey’s wounded knuckle once more.

“I told you not to mess with me! There is a backup somewhere. Now, where is it? This is your last chance before pieces of you begin to fly. And do it fast. I’m running out of time.”

Humphrey’s hands were shaking too much to type.

“Please, take knife away,” he said.

Burke did not oblige.