Part 14 (2/2)

I tumbled out of bed and started toward the door, but the wires from the various machines yanked me back. I ripped the IV out of my arm. Blood trickled out of the small wound. I tore off the heart monitor and other patches attached to my body, silencing the annoying machines. I staggered over to the double doors.

”h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo!” I beat my hand on the door. ”Can anyone hear me?”

No one answered.

I looked for a b.u.t.ton or switch or trigger for the door, but the only things that greeted me were the smooth, blank walls. I cupped my hands together and peered out the long, narrow windows. A hallway branched off in both directions, and I spotted a ten-digit keypad outside. A red light blinked on the device, indicating the door was armed or locked or whatever. Somebody didn't want me to leave this room.

I was a prisoner.

Well, not for long.

I scoured the room, opened the metal cabinets, and looked for anything useful, anything that could help me escape, anything I could use as a weapon. I didn't know who exactly was waiting outside the doors or what they might have in store for me, but I wanted to be prepared no matter what.

KarmaGirl.

The cabinets contained medical supplies-gloves, syringes, bandages. I also discovered a box full of packets of brown pills with the initials RID on them. I squinted at the tiny print. Radioactive Isotope Diminisher. Interesting, but not helpful. I threw the pills back in the box and kept searching, but the cabinets held no other secrets.

I turned my attention to the odd machines in the room. Most of them were squat, square, metal contraptions with all sorts of k.n.o.bs and controls and wires. I had no idea what they did, and after I determined that they were of no use to me, I didn't care.

I searched the rest of the room but found nothing that would help me escape. I plopped back on the bed.

Frustrated, I kicked the IV stand with my foot.

Not smart.

My toes. .h.i.t the unyielding metal with a loud crack. A strangled cry of pain escaped my lips. I leapt up off the bed and hopped around on one foot.

Once the throbbing subsided, I hobbled over to the IV stand, a tall metal pole with four legs. I took the bag of fluid off the hook at the top and unplugged the various wires that anch.o.r.ed the stand to the bed. I hefted it in my arms. It would make an excellent battering ram. I took a long hard look at the locked double doors, held the stand out like a lance, and ran toward the doors as fast as my socked feet would let me.

The stand skidded off the door.

I bounced back. My feet slipped sideways. I barely caught myself before I busted my a.s.s on the hard, slick floor. Once I regained my balance, I picked up the stand and tried again.

And again . . .

And again . . .

And again . . .

After ten minutes, all I had succeeded in doing was putting a few scratches on the metal doors. I wasn't going to get out that way.

I turned my attention to the window and chewed my lip. I'd avoided the window until now for a number of reasons. First of all, I didn't want to get a face full of gla.s.s trying to get out, not to mention the noise it would make when I shattered it. Still, it was my only way out. I didn't want to be in the room when my captors came back for me, whoever they might be.

I yanked the sheets off the bed, ripped them into long thin strips, and wrapped them around my hands. I wound more strips around my head and face until I looked like a mummy come to life. I took hold of the stand and went over to the window. I closed my eyes a moment, gathering my thoughts. Then, I picked up the IV stand, raised it high, and turned my head away from the window. I shoved the metal stand through the gla.s.s with all my might.

It didn't shatter.

I frowned and rammed the stand through the window again.

It still didn't shatter.

I tapped on the window. It was made of some sort of thick substance more like plastic than gla.s.s. I peered at the surface. Tiny cracks ran out from the spot where I'd hit it.

Well, it was a start.

I stabbed the window with the stand over and over and over again. Ten minutes later, small cracks and fissures dotted the surface like the delicate threads of a spider's web. I wiped the sweat off my face.

Escaping was hard work. I studied the lines and cracks. A couple more good, strategically placed KarmaGirl.

whacks should do it.

I picked up the metal pole again. On the fifth whack, the stand punched through the window, which exploded outward. It sounded louder than a sonic boom in the enclosed s.p.a.ce. The flying gla.s.s shredded my makes.h.i.+ft gloves. A few pieces stung my arms like small, angry bees.

An alarm blared to life.

Uh-oh.

I threw down the stand, stepped over the broken gla.s.s, climbed out the window, and started running.

Ten minutes later, I slumped against the wall, gasping and panting for breath. I felt like I'd been running for hours and hours. My lungs ached and burned with the effort, and a throbbing st.i.tch pulsed in my side. I pushed away from the wall. I didn't have time for such weakness. I had to escape.

Somehow.

It was proving to be more difficult than I'd imagined. The first hallway I'd run down had branched off into another hallway. That hallway had branched out into another hallway. The place was huge. It reminded me of some medieval castle, complete with a labyrinth in the dungeon that poor prisoners like me never escaped from. And the blaring alarm was giving me a killer headache.

I walked as fast as I could. No more running blind. I had to think, get some direction. I came to another branch in the hallway. I went left and kept going left at every new intersection.

Finally, I reached a large set of doors, yanked one open, and slipped into a ma.s.sive kitchen. I squinted in the semidarkness. Pots and pans and big spatulas hung from metal racks. Gleaming knives and other cutlery sat in thick wooden blocks. Rows of refrigerators and freezers flanked the walls. Another dead end.

A door snicked open at the other end of the room. I grabbed a frying pan from an overhead rack and ducked behind one of the refrigerators, which was roughly the size of a humpback whale. Soft footsteps whispered. A black shadow pooled on the floor, growing larger and larger. I tensed, ready to strike. My heart hammered against my ribs. Blood roared in my buzzing ears. My breaths came in shallow gasps.

A figure strolled into view. I leapt out and swung the frying pan at its head. Too slow. The figure turned and grabbed my wrist, bending it downward. I dropped the pan, and it skittered off into the darkness. I lashed out with my free fist. The figure caught that hand too. A body pinned me against the refrigerator and pressed into mine. Visions of the almost-rape flooded my mind. I shrieked and struggled, trying to get away from my a.s.sailant.

”Carmen! Carmen! Calm down! It's me.”

Striker's deep voice cut through my panic. I quit fighting. My senses flared to life, and I realized what a cozy position we were in. His leg rested between mine, spreading them apart. I could feel the sleek leather fabric of his suit through my thin pajama bottoms. He s.h.i.+fted his stance, and a heavy wetness gathered between my thighs at the intimate contact. Striker's gloved hands held my wrists against the refrigerator. His arms brushed the sides of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which swelled in response. My nipples hardened, and I panted for breath once more.

Electric blue flecks sparked to life deep in Striker's silver eyes. For a moment, I thought he might lean forward and kiss me, capture my lips with his. I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to. I burned for him to do that and much, much more.

Striker hissed. He let out a long breath, pulled back, and dropped his arms. I bit my lip.

”I've been looking everywhere for you,” he said. ”Why did you break out of the infirmary?”

”I didn't know where I was or who had me. I figured I didn't want to stick around to find out.”

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