Page 46 of Hollow Trace

How he could be seeing his own future playing out in real time, only with Brea.

The next two doors held nothing but a torture cot and creepy chair. Scout shouldered up beside him as he reached the last cell, staring into the darkened room. Unlike the others, the lights were out, only the weak glow from the hallway illuminating a fraction of the space.

Quinn cupped his hands around his eyes as he tried to remove the glare. “I can’t tell.”

“Open it.”

He used the tool again. This time, the door released with a violent crack as the magnets disengaged, a strong antiseptic odor rushing out. Quinn shouldered the door the rest of the way open, giving them enough room to enter, before stopping cold.

Brea.

Curled on the bed, knees pulled into her chest, hair frizzing around her head. No restraints. Though, based on the way she groaned, her head barely lifting to acknowledge their presence, she didn’t need any.

Quinn stumbled forward a step before quickly eating up the short space between them, going to one knee and brushing back her hair. Brea must have recognized him because she whispered his name, burying her head in his neck a moment later. Her quiet sobs bounced off the walls.

Quinn held her for a few moments, rocking her back and forth before easing away, assessing her vitals. Huffing, he removed his med kit from one of the pouches on his vest and got busy.

Scout stayed just inside the door, constantly searching for any hint of movement. But that eerie silence stretched out, fraying the last of her nerves. Something was off. She felt it in the way the air seemed thicker, as if the scrubbers weren’t working as efficiently as before. Or how that hum had dimmed, barely vibrating the floor, now.

Brea’s voice sounded behind her, too quiet and garbled for Scout to make any sense of, but at least she was alive and somewhat conscious. Quinn spoke softly to her, finally lifting her off the bed, bridging most of her weight as they hobbled to the door.

Brea squinted at Scout, scrunching up her face before her eyes widened, and her mouth opened on a gasp. “Scout?”

Scout smiled. “Hey, Brea. Glad you’re still in one piece. Your brother’s been driving me crazy trying to find you.”

Brea glanced at Quinn, then back to her. “But… You’re dead.”

“Not quite, though, that could change if we don’t get the hell out of here.” She looked at her feet. “No shoes?”

Brea shook her head, nearly tumbling onto her ass in the process. “It encourages us not to try to escape.”

“I’ve got something that will help.” She slipped her pack off, grabbed some ballet-type flats from one pouch. “I had to run barefoot once over challenging terrain when my socks and boots got pilfered during a training exercise. I never go anywhere without a set of these, now.”

Quinn helped his sister into the flimsy shoes, but it beat having nothing between her skin and the rock once they left the complex behind. He smiled his thanks, securing his kit as he motioned her forward.

Scout tapped her earpiece. “We’ve got the package, heading⁠—”

A blast of static screeched in her ear, nearly knocking her and Quinn off their feet. Scout clawed at the earpiece, holding it in her palm for a moment before cautiously replacing it.

She tapped it again. “Neve? Zadie?”

Nothing.

No static. No hum. Just the same disturbing silence as the rest of the complex.

“Gus? Gideon?”

Still nothing.

Quinn removed the device. “Someone took out our mesh-network.”

“Shit. We need to move. Now.”

She pocketed the unit, then stepped out, walking as quickly as possible down the corridor without leaving Quinn behind. He mostly carried Brea, opting for his Sig in his other hand. They got halfway down the hallway, when an overhead light flicked on, a rotating red strobe circling the room.

Hidden speaks crackled to life, an automated voice sounding over the airways. “Quarantine breach. Lockdown initiated.”

At the far end, a set of heavy blast doors slammed shut, sealing off their wing as another set of doors hissed open, footsteps pounding the floor beyond. Shouts echoed up the corridor, radios squawking as the men converged on the cells.