FIFTY

PAIN SHOT UP Knight’s leg with every rushed step. He was in no condition to face a pissed-off Neanderthal. At full strength he didn’t stand much of a chance, but in his current state it would be like a wingless fly standing up to a black widow spider. It would simply walk up to him, sink in its fangs, and be done with it. His only real chance at survival was to get lost in the maze before it found him, but that meant getting back to the middle, where all the different paths converged.

A scream reverberated through the room. As Knight reached a straightaway parallel with the entrance, he risked a quick glance back. What he saw increased his fear tenfold.

The shape was massive, more than twice his size.

The eyes blazed with raw hatred.

Bloody froth sprayed.

Muscles rippled.

The massive figure leaped from the entrance, clearing two walls and landing ten feet behind Knight.

Bishop.

But he was no longer Bishop. He was a regen.

And for Knight, unarmed and injured, that was a death sentence.

Knight didn’t try to reason with Bishop. He didn’t beg for mercy. He did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

But his run was closer to an awkward hop. He put more weight down on his injured leg. But as he rounded a corner, the splint struck the floor at an odd angle. The old bones wrapped around his ankle shattered. He went down hard.

He forced himself back onto his good foot. Just as he was up, Bishop came around the corner and lunged, arms outstretched for Knight’s throat.

Knight dove to the side, landing with a roll, despite the shooting pains in his leg.

The speed of Bishop’s charge carried him forward. In his madness he turned his face and arms toward Knight, never giving the approaching wall a second glance. He struck the foot-thick wall head-on. His neck bent at a crooked angle and cracked. He clenched his eyes and howled in pain for a moment. But his wounds healed quickly.

Wasting no time, Knight bolted around the next corner on his hands and knees, hoping to reach the center of the maze and duck into another channel before Bishop saw him again. If he could wait, silently, Bishop might continue his pursuit of the rat. Then again, he might stay and work the maze, as mindless as a rat. But there was no cheese treat at the end of this maze—only Knight.

The center of the maze loomed ahead, but before Knight’s hopes could rise, pebbles began to fall all around him. Bishop had once again broken the rules of the maze. Knowing an attack was coming, Knight flipped onto his back.

Bishop leaped down and landed at Knight’s feet, but the smaller and more skilled fighter was ready. He kicked hard against Bishop’s tree trunk of a leg, and the practiced force of Knight’s kick did the job. Bishop’s knee bent backward with a sickening crack, toppling him forward. As he fell, Knight launched a second kick, this one connecting with Bishop’s windpipe, which collapsed from the impact.

Bishop might be able to heal, but he still needed to breathe. And the wounds would take time to repair themselves.

As his regen teammate slumped to the floor, gurgling madly, Knight crawled for the center of the room. But before he got three feet, his bad ankle was snagged. Then squeezed.

Knight screamed as the pain took hold of his body. Bishop’s hand had him in a vice grip.

Fighting the pain from his tormented leg, he raised his good leg and crashed his heel down on Bishop’s forearm. The impact caused Bishop’s hand to open for a moment. It was all the time Knight needed. He yanked his leg free and frantically scrambled for the center of the maze.

As he crawled over Weston’s charcoal rubbings, the pages slipped out from under him, slowing his progress. He wasn’t going to make it.

Realizing this, Knight turned around and saw Bishop hopping out of the maze, while his twisted knee straightened and then popped into place. Knight held on to the large crystal, then pulled himself to his feet. He would make his last stand here. But there was no question as to the outcome. Knight had seen what regens did to their victims. They ate them. But it was worse than that. They didn’t just kill and then eat. They killed by eating. There would be no suffocation. No killing strike. He would simply start gnawing on whatever piece of Knight’s body reached his mouth first.

Knight braced himself as Bishop stepped forward on his newly healed knee. He growled and sneered, hunching as he prepared to pounce. He began his approach slowly, building speed as he stayed focused on Knight’s throat.

Knight braced himself and prepared to throw a thumb into Bishop’s eye, then attack his pressure points.

But the attack never finished.

Bishop’s leg wobbled under him.

He fell to one knee, convulsing.

Then he retched. What looked like the spine, ribs, and flesh of a rat fell onto one of Weston’s rubbings. A second heave coated everything in bile.

Bishop coughed, then sobbed, as though in agony. Then he calmed and looked at his hands. They shook. He looked up into Knight’s frightened eyes. “Knight?”

“Bish?”

Bishop looked at the floor. The bile-covered rat flesh filled his gaze. “Did I do this?”

“Bishop, how—how are you okay? You were about to have me for dinner.”

Bishop stood. “Sorry, I—” He stumbled backward, away from Knight. His face twisted with sudden fury, and he eyed Knight like a fat kid before a Happy Meal and stepped forward. He stopped, gagged, and held his head. “Knight . . .”

“Come closer!” Knight reached out and took Bishop’s hand, pulling him to the center of the room. “Feel better?”

“Yeah . . . A lot better.” Bishop shook his head and blinked his eyes. “What’s happening?”

Knight placed his hand against the large crystal rising from the floor. “It’s the crystal. Has to be. Weston—”

Bishop’s eyes went wide. “You met Weston?”

“No . . . Did you? He’s alive?” Knight looked at Bishop’s haunted eyes. “Did he make you . . .”

Bishop nodded. “His granddaughter nearly took my head clean off. Wasn’t quite clean enough, I guess. But she’s not human. She’s—”

“Neanderthal.” Knight pointed out the notebook on the floor. “His journal. He wrote about the old mothers, his children, these crystals.”

Bishop eyed the large chunk of partial quartz.

“The Neanderthals believed the crystals could heal the mind.”

Bishop drew his knife and looked at Knight, who now looked a little concerned. Bishop smiled. “It’s for the rock.” He stabbed the knife hard into the crystal. It dented, but nothing more. He swung again, aiming for a crack. A chunk the size of his thumb fell to the stone floor. He reached down and picked it up. “Just stay there.”

With the crystal clenched in his hand, Bishop walked backward, away from the crystal. He walked past the rat remains, where he’d first felt the crystal’s effect. Seeing the rat again, Bishop wiped his hand across his mouth. It came away with goopy clumps of congealing blood. He scowled, then disappeared into the maze. Knight waited for the giant man to come barreling out, savage and hungry, but when he reappeared, he wore a broad smile, the kind of smile only those who had once been captive can wear.

He was free.

Bishop chuckled for a moment, rested his hands against the massive crystal, and shook his head.

His elation was contagious. Knight grinned, happy to see his friend not just alive, but well. He doubted any other member of the team would have had the inner strength to fight not only Bishop’s deep-rooted personal demons, but the genetically altered ones as well.

Knight’s smile vanished as he saw the orange glow on Bishop’s outbreak meter jump to a dark pink and continue on to a deep red.

Bishop looked at the device and frowned, the joy he felt replaced by dread. “We need to find the others.”

“Do you know where Rook is?” Knight asked.

Bishop shook his head slowly. “He saw what they did to me. I don’t know if he’d go off mission to get Weston, but he’s not going to try real hard to avoid him.”

“Then we’ll do the same.”

“Know where he is?”

Knight held up Weston’s map. “I have an idea.”