talking to.
The clang of the infirmary’s heavy metal door closing behind her was just about the most welcome thing she had ever heard.
Until it occurred to her that, like herself, Creason had only to say the word and he would be let out of the infirmary, too. As the prison doctor, he actually had access to far more of the facility than she did.
He could hunt her down …
Creason? The sheer absurdity of the thought should have stripped it of all its power to terrify. That it didn’t spoke volumes.
“The second that damned door opens, move your ass,” Michael told her fiercely. “We need to get out of here.”
“I can’t just run away,” Charlie protested under her breath while she waited on pins and needles for the second door to be opened. “I—”
“The hell you can’t,” Michael interrupted. “Unless you
want
to tangle with Frankendoctor and his buddy back there, that is.”
“But—”
“There’s no fucking buts about this. You do what I tell you, and
go
.”
“Everything okay, Dr. Stone?” The guard looked up from entering the code that unlocked the airlock-type doors to frown at her. Through the small window behind him, she caught a glimpse of Creason on the other side of the glass walking jerkily toward the infirmary door. The subtle distortion of his face was terrifying. Looking just as abnormal, the trustee was maybe a step behind.
“Yes,” Charlie replied to the guard, then changed that to, “No.”
“Dr. Stone?” The guard’s frown deepened.
“
Not
the time to stand around and chat.” The gravelly quality of Michael’s voice made her chest tighten. His expression chilled her as he watched through the window as Creason lurched closer to the door. He looked—capable of the most extreme violence. “What part of
move your ass
are you having trouble with?”
Charlie took a deep breath. She might be feeling exceptionally fragile. The otherworldly happenings that she wanted no part of but that kept finding her anyway might seem particularly overwhelming. She might want to run straight for the nearest hidey-hole where she could hunker down and ride out the psychic storm until she got her equilibrium back.
Unfortunately, one of the immutable laws of the universe was: shit happens. Whether she was ready for it or not.
Running would not help.
What she needed to do was get a grip. And do whatever she could to make herself and Michael safer.
Then
she could worry about maybe trying to help Creason. And the trustee. And, it sometimes seemed like, the whole fricking world.
Baby steps
.
“You need to lock the infirmary down,” she told the guard in her best authoritative voice. “I think there may be a dangerous situation developing in there. Dr. Creason … was behaving oddly. So were some of the inmates. No one—not anybody in the infirmary—should be let out until more guards are on hand and the cause investigated.”
“Whoa.” Michael’s disconcertingly black eyes were impossible to read as they fixed on her face. He appeared slightly more solid now, thank God, as if the more distance he put between himself and Spookville, the stronger he was growing. Then his mouth twisted slightly, and she realized that it was with approval. “Way to think on your feet, babe. That should slow the fuckers down.”
How ridiculous was it under the circumstances that she found his approval warming?
“You sure, Dr. Stone?” Looking worried, the guard glanced back over his shoulder at the infirmary door. “It seems awful quiet in there. And—”
“Yes,” Charlie replied as the second door, which was more in the nature of a big wire gate, buzzed open at last. “I’m sure. Something odd is going on. Lock the infirmary down.
Now
. I take full responsibility.”
The guard nodded doubtfully. “Yes, ma’am.”
As she stepped out into the long expanse of gray-walled corridor, the guard hit the big orange emergency button that sealed the infirmary exits and sounded the alarm that