It started low, an eerie moan that rose in pitch, escalating quickly on the creepy scale to a perfect ten. Sato stopped moving to listen, the hairs on his neck stiff as arrows. The sound was the wail of a lost child mixed with the terrified squeal of an animal in the butchering house. The effect of it bouncing off the walls made it seem like it was coming from every direction at once. Sato felt like getting back into the steel cage of the lift and going back up to safety.

The sound stopped, slicing silent as quickly as if someone had turned off a loud television. Shouts rang out, several voices yelling something incomprehensible—but Sato could clearly hear the anger and the lunacy in the voices. Sato’s wariness turned into downright terror.

He closed his eyes, breathed, worked to calm himself. His heartbeat slowed; the blood in his veins stopped acting like it was trying to find a way to escape. After a full minute, he opened his eyes and took off his backpack. He rummaged around its contents until he found the packet containing the blood sample kit. There were three syringes in case one of them broke, each with a very long and nasty-looking needle covered with a plastic sheath to prevent unwanted pokes. He’d never been fond of shots, and the sight of the needles made him thankful he’d not be the one getting stuck.

Sato set the syringes on the stone floor, then looked back at the elevator, checking to make sure he knew how it worked. Just inside the cage, the lever Klink had used jutted out of a dented box of rusty steel, slanted toward the ground.

Sato entered the elevator, gripped the lever with both hands, and lifted; he groaned and felt blood rush to his face until the lever finally gave way and snapped up. With a loud clunk the elevator started moving upward. Sato quickly slammed the switch back down. The steel cage jolted to the floor with a metallic boom.

Some escape route, he thought.

He stepped out of the elevator, slung the backpack onto his shoulders, then very carefully put two of the syringes in his left jeans pocket, making sure not to push down on them. The other he held in his right hand, gripped like a dagger, and removed the protective plastic covering. Having no idea what he was about to get into, he had to be ready for quick action. Stab, extract, run, he thought.

His only problem—other than perhaps being mauled to death by a bunch of crazy people—was knowing which of the asylum inmates were infected with Chu’s mysterious disease and which were simply crazy. They probably wouldn’t be too keen on chitchatting about it.

Blowing a breath through his lips, Sato walked forward.

Chapter

27

~

A Sample of Blood