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CONNOR CLEARED THE last step to the landing at the top of the stairs. He braced one hand, palm flattened, against the door while he entered the codes. The keypad blinked once in response, and the door to the medical facility opened.
He stepped aside to allow Don to enter. Aubrey followed, but halted just inside the door, barred by Don’s out-flung arm. She stared past him, her heart pounding in her ears. She heard Connor’s sharp intake of breath behind her.
She felt dizzy, and clutched at Don’s arm for support. What’s he doing here? I’m not ready to face him.
Darcy stood beside an operating table, frozen in place. His eyes widened in shock at their unexpected appearance. Time slowed to a crawl.
Darcy’s face contorted in fury, and he lifted the device in his hand, fingers stabbing at it with manic precision.
“The controller.” Connor’s hoarse voice jarred Aubrey out of her paralysis. “He’s programming the names . . .”
Crack!
A dark object struck Darcy full in the face, and blood erupted in a bright fountain of red. He staggered backward, clutching blindly at his face. His other hand tightened on the controller, clasping it against his chest.
The dark object clattered to the floor, landing at Darcy’s feet. Jane’s handgun. Aubrey gasped, belatedly realizing what she’d done. Don rushed forward, diving for the weapon.
Darcy pounced, snatching the gun away from Don’s grasping fingers. He took two quick steps back, pointing the pistol at his would-be assailant. A wide smile creased his face. Don rose to his hands and knees, meeting Darcy’s malignant gaze eye-to-eye, defiant to the end.
The Hoarder’s eyes were wild, feral. Blood streamed from his shattered cheekbone, flowing freely over his gloating sneer. He stood above Don, gun in one hand and the controller in the other.
Megan vaulted over the operating table, catching Darcy unaware. He whipped the pistol toward her, but she caught his wrist in both hands. His eyes widened when he saw her face. She wrenched the pistol up and back, twisting savagely.
Darcy yelped in pain, dropping the controller in his frantic attempt to free himself from Megan’s fierce grip.
Don launched himself from the floor, driving a massive shoulder into Darcy’s midsection. Darcy’s eyes bulged as the breath was driven from his body. Don’s momentum knocked him off-balance, and they crashed heavily to the floor.
Megan managed to twist away, tearing the weapon out of Darcy’s grasp. Connor lunged forward to join the fray, scooping up the controller.
Megan tossed the pistol out of reach, scrambling back to the operating table. “Don—bring him here!”
Don dragged Darcy’s limp body up from the floor and slammed him over the table. Darcy struggled, but Don held the Hoarder down, one hand at his throat.
Aubrey skidded to her knees on the floor, retrieving the pistol. Megan circled the operating table, intent on a small control panel. She gave Don a quick nod, her fingers poised. Don whipped his hands away as Megan jabbed at the controls.
A thin bead of light around the table’s edge glowed to life. Darcy was immobilized, pinned to the metallic surface.
An uncanny stillness settled over the room. The Runners surrounded the table, staring at the inventor of the Implants. Aubrey hovered near the foot of the table, spellbound.
Megan leaned on the edge of the table, supporting her weight with both hands as she studied Darcy’s bloody face. His pale eyes lost their icy confidence as she hovered over him, expressionless. It was plain to everyone—he recognized her.
Megan slid her eye patch aside, revealing the ruined eye socket beneath. “Do you remember the last words you said to me, Councilor? The last human voice I heard before the Givers turned me into a Tracker?”
Darcy said nothing. His gasps for air were ragged, and his terror-filled eyes spoke volumes. Aubrey felt neither pity nor satisfaction. She was numb.
Megan leaned closer, until their face were only a hands-breadth apart. “You said ‘will somebody please shut her up.’ Remember?” Her question became an accusation.
She straightened, easing her eyepatch into place. When she spoke, her voice was low and filled with revulsion. “The Givers may be aliens, but that doesn’t make you human.”
She backed away, revealing Connor standing behind her. He stared down at his foster father as if seeing the face of a stranger. He held the controller aloft, where Darcy could get a good look at it.
Without a word, he slammed the digital device on the table, next to Darcy’s head. The controller splintered against the table’s unyielding surface. Stray bits of plastic shrapnel peppered Darcy’s face.
Connor dropped what remained of the device to the floor and stamped it repeatedly under the heel of his boot.
Don appeared at Aubrey’s elbow. He gestured at Jane’s gun, his voice muted. “Throwing your weapon at the enemy? They didn’t teach me that in basic training. Lucky for me, you have good aim.”
He glanced at her when she didn’t respond. “Darcy was about to shoot me, you know.”
Aubrey pocketed the gun, not looking at him. “It wasn’t loaded. I couldn’t . . . Forget it, I’ll explain later.”
A concussive roar reverberated through the room, and the floor trembled underfoot. Aubrey caught at Don’s arm to steady herself. Was that an earthquake?
Megan whirled to face the computer array, scanning the shifting icons. She nodded as if she’d been expecting this.
“It’s begun,” she said cryptically. “We’re out of time.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode briskly to the door leading into the conference room. Don took one look at the changes on the computer display—the icons accelerating in a dizzying swirl of color—and seized Aubrey by the arm.
“What’s happening?” Aubrey made no attempt to hide her ignorance.
“How would I know?” Don hustled her to the door. “I’m just following Megan.”
Megan entered her code into the keypad, but nothing changed. Aubrey’s pulse raced at look of alarm on her face. She doesn’t have the right codes.
Don pressed one ear to the door. He clenched his fist and pounded on the stubborn portal in impotent rage. “I hear weapons-fire. Garr . . .”
Megan spun to face the operating table, every muscle taut. “Connor—the codes do not work.”
Connor kicked the shattered remains of the controller aside, and hurried to join them. Megan shot him a sharp look as his fingers flew over the keypad.
He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I didn’t think anyone would need Darcy’s personal override.” His fingers danced over the keys a second time. “This should do it.”
The lockpad blinked three times in quick succession, and the locking mechanism disengaged.
Don seized the handle, taking a deep breath as he gave his companions a quick glance. “Ready or not . . .”
“Connor.” Darcy’s desperate howl interrupted them. He thrashed about on the operating table, trying—and failing—to free himself from the invisible restraints.
He shrieked at Connor, his pale eyes wild and pleading. “You can’t just leave me here!”
“Oh yes, I can.” Connor’s voice sent shivers down Aubrey’s spine. “For the good of the Enclave.”