Then we proceeded to the room in the corner to find Rudolph Parsons, as his name read on his lab coat, huddled in the corner by a supply cabinet, his dark eyes wide, his body trembling.
“Where’s Adam?” Webb asked Rudolph.
“He took a syringe of the serum and left.” The scientist’s voice shook.
“Do you know where they’re keeping a prisoner by the name of Jack Aberdeen?” I asked.
Rudolph hugged his knees to his chest. “All I know is he’s in a freight container.”
I rubbed my lips together. “You don’t know which one?”
He shook his head furiously back and forth. “I don’t.”
It would be like finding a needle in a haystack. The aerial view I’d seen yesterday in our morning briefing showed too many containers to count. We needed to start looking. Tripp, Sam, and Dane had been assigned to do just that, but then the monsters had emerged.
“Stay put,” Webb commanded Rudolph.
I left the lab first, making my way to the back door carved into the wall in the middle of the aisle between the rows of beds lining both sides of the room. We had to find my uncle. I was so consumed with worry that by the time I heard the grunt and looked up, the bald man jumped from the rafters.
He landed on his feet effortlessly, pointing a machete at me as he closed the distance between us. “I’ve heard so much about you, Layla.” His shiny bald head glinted beneath the muted lights, as did the sharp blade of his weapon.
“You must be Draven,” I said, glaring at him.
Out of my peripheral vision, I could see Webb stalking up, holding his gun out.
Slowly, I reached around to my back where I had two daggers tucked into sheaths in case my magic failed me. The blades wouldn’t kill Draven, but they would stop him or at least slow him down.
“Draven Murphy,” Webb said in a derisive tone. “Put down the machete.”
With a steady arm, keeping the blade pointed at me, he replied, “Why would I do that?” Draven’s voice was hoarse as if he’d smoked a pack of cigarettes. “The way I see this little tryst ending is with you dead while Layla comes with me. I could use a witch on my team.”
That wasn’t happening. The only one who would die among us three was Draven. I imagined him pressing his blade to his throat.
Suddenly, his arm began to shake as he turned the machete toward his neck. “What’s happening?”
I lasered my focus on the asshole, picturing blood pouring out of Draven as he sliced through his own skin and bone.
He roared as he stumbled backward. His eyebrows were high on his forehead, his jagged fangs bloody. He gripped the blade with two hands and jammed it into himself, staggering, bleeding, and sweating.
He dropped the weapon and held his throat as I rushed over to him and confiscated the blade.
With his gun primed to fire at Draven, Webb sidled up to me.
Draven’s hazel eyes were dilating as he gurgled and choked.
I gripped the bloody leather handle, prepared to finish what I started. Draven Murphy wasn’t leaving here alive. That was for damn sure. But his wound was healing. Of course it was.
I inhaled deeply, stretched out my arms while tightening my grip on the handle, and swung hard and fast like a baseball player at home plate. The sharp-as-fuck blade sliced through Draven’s neck effortlessly before his head fell to the red-stained floor followed by the rest of his body.
A celebratory silence stretched between Webb and me. Both of us had smiles on our faces.
I threw the machete at Draven’s head. “Asshole. Now, we need to find my uncle.”
Sam’s and Dane’s voices filtered from behind Webb and me as we started for the back exit once again.
“We checked every container in the yard,” Sam said, jogging up to me.
Rudolph bravely came out of the lab. “The person you’re looking for might be in a box on the train about a mile north of here.”
