Edilio had some help, some soldiers, some pretty good, some pretty useless. He had Brianna.

Could Brianna take on Drake?

“What will Drake do?” Edilio asked.

“He’s not just Drake,” Astrid said. “Remember, he’s Brittney, too. That makes it hard for him. If he makes some plan, she can unmake it when she takes over. If he tries to sneak up on anyone, he has to worry that she’ll emerge and screw it up.”

“Yeah,” Albert said, brightening. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s not Drake, it’s Drake slash Brittney.”

“If we get a chance at Brittney, we could tie her up, lock her up,” Edilio said. “Yeah. If Brianna finds him we have her follow him, watch, and let us know when Brittney comes out.”

“That’s a plan,” Albert said, obviously relieved. “So we let Sam keep going.”

Edilio nodded. “For now. But Taylor, we may still need—”

Taylor was no longer in the room.

Chapter Twelve

48 HOURS, 54 MINUTES

SO VERY, VERY sweet to be out of that basement. To be breathing fresh air.

Drake stuck close to the shadows of burned-out houses so the fresh air smelled of ash and charcoal and melted plastic. But it was better than the mildew and dust in the basement.

Drake had a list in his head. Sam. Caine. Dekka. Brianna. They would die first. As quickly as Drake could kill them.

That had been his big mistake with Sam at the power plant. He had taken his time to enjoy whipping him. Even now the memory of it sent a shudder of sheer pleasure through Drake’s body.

But he had taken too long killing Sam and then Brianna had showed up.

Not this time. This time he would start by killing Sam. Then, if he could find him, Caine.

That was the thing with the powerful freaks, you had to kill them quick. You had to strike with speed and surprise.

Sam. Caine. Dekka. Brianna. Orc and Taylor, too.

And then, with them gone, he could take his sweet time with Astrid. And even longer with Diana.

Drake laughed out loud.

Jamal said, “What’s so funny?”

“I’m Santa Claus, Jamal. Making a list, checking it twice.”

Jamal stayed a few steps behind him. Toting his big automatic rifle in his one good arm. The other arm in a makeshift sling. Scared out of his mind, no doubt. Still feeling the burn of Drake’s whip. Oh, yes, he would feel that for quite some time.

“Where is Sam staying?” Drake asked Jamal.

“Albert sent him off to look for something out in the woods or whatever. Out there.” Jamal gestured vaguely. “I wasn’t supposed to know, but I heard.”

Drake turned on Jamal. “What? Sam’s not here?” He’d missed out on a lot, being trapped like an animal.

“He’ll be back in a couple days, I guess.”

Drake cursed. “Where’s Caine, then?”

“He’s on some island, like, where these rich dudes lived in the old days.”

Worse and worse.

No. No . . . Better and better.

Drake grinned. Neither of the big powers was around to stop him. Change of plans.

“Dekka?”

Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know, man, I don’t follow that scary dyke around town.”

“Now, now,” Drake chided mockingly. “We mustn’t diss people because of what they are.” He took Jamal’s face in his hand and squeezed. “I’m going to kill her but not because of what she is, right? I’m going to murder her because she has to be murdered. You good with that, Jamal?”

Jamal was as tense and stiff as a board. He made an affirmative grunt.

“You down with murder?” Drake pressed, sticking his face right in Jamal’s. “I want to hear it from you.”

He watched as a curtain dropped behind Jamal’s eyes. Jamal said, “Yeah. Yeah, Drake.”

“Then let’s go murder some people,” Drake said cheerfully and released Jamal’s face.

Drake walked half a block and stopped.

“Not now,” he groaned. He cursed extravagantly, but already he was changing. Metal braces formed on his teeth. His lean body grew flabbier.

“Brittney’s coming,” Drake snarled. “But I’ll be back, Jamal. Don’t for—”

Sam, Dekka, and Jack had stopped for a meal a half mile from Hunter’s camp. Some cooked fish that smelled none too fresh, boiled artichokes, and some pigeon jerky.

They’d thought about just going to sleep, but no one had wanted to. The horror was far too fresh. Sleep would only mean nightmares. And Sam did not want to see Hunter again.

In the dark they could only make slow progress, but everyone wanted some distance and to get the expedition done. The high spirits were gone. Fear and loathing tracked them in the dark.

Jack was trailing well behind when Sam and Dekka had started talking, killing time as they walked slowly, cautiously, through waist-high brush. Talking, talking about anything but Hunter’s sad cries.

It had started with Sam admitting that yes, he had made a play for Taylor but noting that he had been very, very drunk. From there it had gone to his relationship with Astrid, which he did not want to talk about. Any thought of Astrid was laced with pain and loneliness. What he had done to Hunter, what he had seen happening to Hunter, filled him with a powerful longing to be with Astrid. They had been through so much already. How many times had he held her and reassured her everything would be all right? How many times had she kissed him and put her arms around him when she knew he was spiraling down into depression?