_2016_05_13_16_27_46_462

“Huh?” Shannon looked over at him; evidently, he’d spoken aloud.

“Nothing.” Cooper realized he’d been staring blankly out the windshield. He turned the key and the SUV started with a rumble. A quick three-point turn, and the scene was behind them, a team of Wardens zipping John Smith’s corpse into a body bag.

He glanced sideways, saw Shannon glancing in her side mirror. She was a slight woman, but looked especially so now, her shoulders tucked in, something in her diminished. Before he could decide if it was a good idea, Cooper reached across the space between them and touched her hand. For a moment, she hesitated, then laced her fingers in his.

The roads were packed, the sounds muted by bulletproof glass. He steered one-handed for a few silent blocks. Finally, he said, “Are you okay?”

She seemed to consider the question. “Yeah.”

“I know he was your friend.”

“Yes,” she said. “He was.” She looked like she was going to add more, but decided against it. “I heard about Quinn. I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later.”

The street outside the warehouse had been transformed into a confusion of vehicles, the trucks they’d arrived in, plus Holdfast security vehicles with lights spinning, ambulances, prisoner transfer vans, all surrounded by a ring of gawkers. Cooper steered through the crowd and parked by the door. When he turned off the ignition, he could hear the ticking of the engine and the soft sounds of her breath.

He looked over, found her looking back. Her expression was complicated. He imagined his was too. They held the gaze. There was a moment when they could both lunge in, hands and lips and skin finding each other. Then it passed, and they were still sitting there.

“I should go check on Ethan,” Cooper said.

She nodded.

He started to get out, paused, looked back. “Do you want to come?”

After-action, and the warehouse had that surreal filter that battle overlaid on the normal. Normal drywall, apart from the bullet holes; normal rooms, apart from the blood spray. The Wardens had cleared the building, found the last stragglers hiding in closets and cupboards. Most had surrendered and were awaiting transport, their arms and legs flex-tied, their eyes filled with hate and shock. Those who had fought back waited considerably more peacefully.

Cooper and Shannon walked to the lab in silence, found it busy with people in white coats. He asked one of them where to find Ethan, and she jerked a thumb over her shoulder without looking up from her terminal.

The door she pointed to led to what once might have been a supply closet. Ethan was standing in it, his back to them, facing a cage. It was made of metal lattice, seamless and strong. There was a man inside.

Strike that.

There was a body inside. It was so badly mangled that it took Cooper a moment to catalog details—he was white, older, thin. His flesh had been torn in a hundred places, some shallow red scratches, others deep gashes with pale flesh bulging through. His eye sockets were ragged and ruined. Cooper had seen him before, a few days ago, on the streets of Manhattan. Dr. Abraham Couzen.

Ethan didn’t turn, but Cooper could tell by the tightening of his shoulder muscles and a quiver in his throat that the scientist knew they were there. Cooper auditioned a dozen statements, then another dozen, but couldn’t find anything that sounded even remotely helpful.

“I’d say rest in peace”—Ethan’s voice sounded flat—“only Abe believed the afterlife was a lie idiots told to make it past breakfast without killing themselves.”

“John did this?” Shannon asked.

“No. Look closer.”

Cooper squatted down. He could see what Ethan meant. The way the cuts were angled didn’t seem right. And fingernails hadn’t been ripped out, they were broken backward, the pads of the fingers worn to the bone. It was almost as if the man had been scrabbling at stone, trying to dig his way—oh. “He did this to himself? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“The serum? The side effects Vincent told us about?”

“I don’t know.”

Cooper rose, positioned himself so that he was between Ethan and his old boss. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan didn’t respond. His eyes were wide and wouldn’t meet Cooper’s.

“Let’s get out of here. You don’t need to see this right now.”

“What?”

Cooper put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, shook gently. “I really am sorry. And I know what I’m going to say next makes me sound like an insensitive bastard, and I’m sorry for that too. But you can’t go into shock right now.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because your wife and daughter are nearby.” Cooper tried for a tone that was firm but not harsh. “For Amy and Violet.”

The names seemed to do what his other words hadn’t. Ethan blinked, swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, all right.”

“Come on. We need to secure that virus, Doc.”