The Collective

Chapter Thirty-Three

Annie

     Stacy Gardner forced Max into the room, gun pressed into his chest. She kicked the door closed with her foot. "Sit down."

     Max dropped into a booth. "Girls are so demanding."

     "What are you doing here?"

     "You look remarkably lively for a dead person." Stacy shoved the gun into the side of Max's head. "Let's put the gun down, before we end up with more corpses."

     The gun clattered onto the counter. I kept one hand on it. "What are you doing here?"

     Stacy put her gun away. "Nice place."

     "Stacy, please."

     She smiled, annoyed. "Fine. I want to talk about Ethan. Clearly, you're not dead, but I assume lover boy doesn't know, and that's sent him down a path of fire and brimstone. Now, he's made some questionable choices in the past, but I don't think this is his style. This reeks of Cora."

     "The very fact that Ethan turned you down means he's capable of making good decisions. Don't give me that look. We all know you tried to seduce him in Amsterdam. His reports are very thorough. I can't believe you drugged him, and had your valet punch him in the face afterwards. Real classy, Gardner, real classy." Max tipped back an empty bottle. He set it on the edge of the table. It slid off, shattering.

     Stacy leapt out the path of the wreckage, landing gracefully on her heels. "What happened in Amsterdam is nobody's business. Regardless, I think Ethan's having his strings pulled. We need to help him. This particular apocalypse is bad for business."

     Max laughed, tossing an arm over her shoulder. "Don't give her false hope, Gardner. That's just cold."

     Stacy picked up his arm and tossed it away.

     He hiccupped. "You don't know what I know. Regan said he went on a trip when he was 17 and he got taken by human-traffickers. They drugged him and beat him and people who he knew and trusted came and like, bought him and stuff. He ran away, and they murdered his mom and dad." He hiccupped. "Killing over half the world's population would force a reset. Power would no longer be in the hands of the people who hurt him. He gets what he wants."

     Stacy raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Max, honey, that's Oversight's story. Not Ethan's." She cleared her throat. She dug through her clutch, producing a business card. She passed it over to me. "Call me when you're done with this lunatic but decide quickly. We're almost out of time." She stood up, pulling on her gloves, and rearranging her hair.

     Max stumbled towards a booth, mumbling about not feeling so great. I rushed towards him. I pulled him up, leading him towards the exit. We barely made it out the door. I leapt back, just out of reach of the vomit splashing all over the pavement. A tiny, green sports car zipped out of the parking lot.

     Max collapsed against the door, halfway asleep.

     I dragged him up. "Come on. We can't stay out here."

     I asked Ethan if he wanted to go camping once. I figured he would like it since he loved being out in the woods. You would've thought I suggested we go to the moon. He started listing 30 different reasons why it was too exposed, and do you know how many things can kill you out in the woods? We never stayed out in the open after dark.

     I drove us back to the motel. I dragged Max into the room. He flopped onto the bed and passed out immediately. I slid the deadbolt into place and pushed a chair underneath the door. I pulled the curtains closed.

     I dragged Max's shoes off on my way to the bathroom. I locked that door, too. I turned the shower on. I raked my hands through my hair. Stacy tried to kill me. She held a gun on me and if it was a couple inches to the right, I wouldn't be breathing. Max, on the other hand, drugged me, tortured Ethan and almost pulled my teeth. Which arguably wasn't any better.

     Although, Stacy believed in Ethan. She didn't think he did all those things of his own volition, and neither did I.

     I switched the shower off. I dug through my pockets, pulling out the business card. I grabbed the burner Max gave me, waiting for her to answer. It went right to voicemail.

     I sighed heavily. At least it wasn't disconnected.

     I sat on the bed, opposite of Max. I flicked on the TV. It had three channels, a Spanish channel, cartoons, and a news outlet. I only had it on for a few seconds, but there were corpses strewn across the screen. It looked like an emergency room had overflowed and went downhill from there. Ethan was wanted for questioning.

     I switched it off. I pulled out the phone, dialing her again. According to the impersonal voice on the other end, the number had been disconnected.

     Great.

     The chair moved. I slid off the bed. I crawled towards Max, smacking his hand. He snored. The chair stopped moving. The deadbolt turned. The handle jiggled.

     I froze, staring at the door.

     "Annie?"

     I dragged the chair out of the way.

     "You ready?" Stacy stepped back. The sleek, sports car, black instead of green, sat behind her, engine purring.

     "One second." I scrawled a note for Max. I tugged my jacket on. I shot him one last look. He was still snoring.

     I pulled myself into the passenger seat.

     "Phone."

     I handed it over. She dropped it inside of a cup before throwing it all out the window. She rolled it up, turning the heater on. She drove out it. She sped out of the parking lot.

     I held my hands in front of the vent. "Where are we going?"

     "We're going to break a friend out of prison."

     We're doing what now? I glanced at the speedometer. Probably wasn't a good idea to hurl myself out of the car, especially considering we were on a bridge. Apparently, breaking into warehouses wasn't enough for me. Oh, no, I had to take it all the way.

     "Annie, dear, if you're going to throw up, do it out the window. This is brand new leather."

     I swallowed the laugh bubbling up in my throat. "What happened in Amsterdam?"

     She swerved. She cleared her throat. "Oversight sent him to find an alleged leak in her infrastructure. They sent a hit squad sent after him. Things went sideways."

     "When was this?"

     "Mid-July, two years ago." She pulled onto a tarmac. "You wouldn't happen to know how to fly a plane, would you?"

     I shook my head. Ethan offered to teach me once or twice, but I hated the idea of being stuck in a metal tube 30,000 feet in the air. When I was in college, my roommate and I went on a trip for spring break. Everything was fine, until it was time to fly back. One of engines caught fire, and we had to make an emergency landing on our way home. We got stuck in a random airport somewhere on the east coast for hours. I hadn't flown since.

     She nodded. "I thought not. She pushed a button on the steering wheel. "Jacques? Yeah, we'll need that pilot after all. Thanks. See you in five."

     A flight attendant took our coats. Another led us to our seats, which were huge and creamy, white leather. There were no visible overhead compartments, or a view of the engines. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

     I tightened my seat belt. The plane picked up speed. My ears popped. I clutched the armrests, humming a song my mom used to sing to me when I was sick.

     "Nothing happened in Amsterdam. I wanted it to, believe me, but Ethan..." She shook her head. "He was only worried about you."

     I yelped as the plane leveled off. I forced myself to breath. "Mmkay." I hated planes. Hated them.