Chapter 6

Jibben looked up at the light fixtures. “That’s unusual.”

“It’s Chicago,” I said. We had brownouts and blips all the time, and periodically found our various clocks and timers flashing 12:00.

“Unusual for the lab, I mean. The power surge technology should prevent something like that from happening.”

We all went quiet and looked up at the lights as if daring them to flicker again.

They glowed steadily.

“Maybe it’s a one-time thing,” I said.

Jibben wasn’t mollified. “Even so, not good. I’ll need to make a sweep of the computers and make sure nothing’s rebooted. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. And whatever you do, stay away from any active experiments.”

Uh oh. The lab was practically made of computers. I said, “How long is this gonna take?”

“That depends on what I find.”

“Ballpark.”

“An hour? Maybe two?”

In which time Clayton would no doubt topple the cannery without us. I made an executive decision to give the rest of the lab a cursory glance on my way out and head back home. I strode out into the hall, ignoring the grumbling it prompted from Jibben, with Jacob hot on my heels.

“Don’t touch anything,” Jibben called after me.

I had no intention of it. Once I verified that all was quiet on the nonphysical front, I’d be out of there.

While anger doesn’t do much for my talent, adrenaline does seem to make it burn just a little bit brighter. I pulled hard at the white light and gave the remaining few rooms a visual power sweep. Everything was clear. It always was—unless you counted the flailing corpse incident, which was definitely the only reason I wasn’t already halfway home.

The place was as clean etherically as it was physically—and believe me when I say, you could eat off the floor. So without further ado, I headed back toward the lobby to retrieve my gun, resume my argument with Jacob, and head back to the cannery before things got any worse….

Only to find Darnell wasn’t in his usual spot to buzz us out. Across the bay, the elevator stood open and a delivery guy in coveralls—extremely wet coveralls—was struggling to force something very large out of the elevator while Darnell hovered beside him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, so it stood to reason they couldn’t hear me. But I have very hard knuckles. I rapped on the safety glass in a cop-knock that was impossible to ignore.

Darnell glanced over and held up a just-a-minute finger.

Damn it.

I planted my hands on my hips, and Jacob stood beside me and mirrored my pose. He said, “I can see you’re upset.” Ya think? “But I just didn’t feel right about leaving. Granted, I’m no precog. But I like to think I’m observant, that I made decent choices. If I was off goofing around when it turned out you needed me, how could I ever live with that?”

“So, it’s raining. I’d wager the kid and I have each experienced the phenomenon and lived to tell the tale.”

“Look—clearly, I hit a nerve. I’m sorry.” Wow, for Jacob to actually apologize, I must’ve really sounded peeved. “But the damage is done and I’m here now, so why don’t we just—”

I’m not sure what he was about to suggest, because out in the lobby, a potential altercation was brewing—a lot more serious than the one currently taking place between my husband and me. Jacob and I both dropped our conversation and zeroed in on the drama unfolding on the other side of the glass.

An apparatus piled high with crates—something between a hotel luggage cart and a pallet jack—was parked in the middle of the lobby. There were two deliverymen in navy uniforms—or delivery people, to be more accurate, since only one of them was actually male. The Caucasian guy was easily as tall as me, and damn near as wide as he was tall. He dwarfed his partner, a fairly substantial African American woman who looked downright petite next to his bulk.

The massive guy stood by sheepishly, looking like he wished he was anywhere but there. And the woman was busy giving Darnell a piece of her mind. I couldn’t hear it—not through the glass—but with all the finger-wagging on her part, it didn’t look good.

When it became clear the Darnell situation might drag on—I pulled out my phone and gave Clayton’s number a jab to tell him I was running late. He picked up right away this time. But there was all kinds of racket on the other end.

“What the hell is that?” I demanded.

Clayton answered with a concerning lack of surly teenage ennui. “Thunder. It’s, like, really loud.” As if to prove him right, the sky on the other side of the line boomed like a rifle going off in my ear. “Car alarms are going nuts all up and down the street.”

“You’re okay. You’ll be fine. Jacob’s not flying out after all, and the two of us will be home just as soon as—”

Another boom blotted out my words.

“So, uh, what would happen if the cannery got hit by lightning?” Clayton asked with the slightest quaver in his voice.

Hell if I knew. But Jacob had been leaning in, listening. I angled the phone so we could both speak, and he said, “Nothing will happen,” with all his usual maddening confidence. Except this time it was more reassuring than annoying. “It’s a sturdy building. All brick. Just don’t touch anything conductive.”

More booming. Followed by, “What does that mean?”

“Anything metal,” Jacob said. “Or water. And, while you’re at it, don’t touch any light switches, either.”

Knowing this wasn’t exactly the best time for an impromptu science lesson, I told Clayton, “Just hunker down on the couch ’till we get home and you’ll be fine. We’re leaving any minute.”

When we hung up, I turned back to the glass and showed it the business side of my fist.

Bam-bam-bam.

Ow.

It smarted. But it made the finger-wagger shut up long enough for Darnell to lean into his podium and buzz us back into the elevator bay. Between the crates, the big guy looking awkward, and the woman throwing attitude, a space that was more than ample before suddenly felt crowded and close.

I paused beside the station where my sidearm was stowed. Jacob did the same. But when Darnell turned to retrieve our service weapons, the angry deliverywoman sidestepped and planted herself right in his path. “Don’t you turn your back on me, Darnell—I’m not through.”

She knew his name. And not in a just-learned-it kind of way, either.

He said, “You really gonna do this right now, Alisha? I’m at work.”

“Oh, and you think I just go around dressed in coveralls ’cause they make my butt look good?”

“Listen,” I said, “If we could just grab our—”

“Excuse me.” Now Alisha’s finger-wagging was directed at me. “We were having a conversation.”

Bzzt. Bzzt.

We all turned to find Jibben standing at the safety glass door, pushing a buzzer (one I hadn’t noticed before) with great urgency.

Bzzzzt.

Not quite as emphatic as my cop-knock, but it got the job done. Darnell reached over and hit something on his control panel that caused a magnetic lock to disengage, allowing Jibben to crowd out into the bay with the rest of us.

“How long has this delivery just been sitting here?” he demanded. “It needs to go in containment, immediately.”

Alisha gave him a look that could wither a plastic fern. “I’d be happy to oblige, sir, but ain’t no way I’m going through no damn naked machine.”

“It’s called a millimeter wave scanner,” Darnell said.

Behind me, Jacob gritted out, “We do not have time for this.”

I said, “It sounds like you’ve all got your work cut out for you. Once Darnell gives us our sidearms, we’ll be out of your hair.”

Darnell turned back to his guard station—or, at least, he tried. But a pissed-off Alisha was in his way. “First things first. This man was just about to explain exactly why he blocked my phone number.”

Oh, I could wager a guess.

“Ma’am,” Jacob said stiffly, “we’ll need you to step aside—”

Alisha did an affronted double-take at him—noting his golf shirt, khaki shorts and gym shoes—tossed her hair over her shoulder, and proceeded to ignore him. “Not until I got my answer.”

Meanwhile, Jibben squeezed around her and went for the pallet jack, grabbing onto the handle.

“Whoa,” said Big Boy, “hold on, that’s a two-person rig.”

“Then help me,” Jibben snapped.

“Stop,” Darnell commanded. The word rang out deliberate and clear, and everyone quit their squabbling and fell silent. “No one goes into that lab without a security check, period. I don’t care if we went to grade school together, I don’t care if we been talking on Datechat—hell, I don’t care if you’re my own mother. Rules are rules. And if that’s a problem, then you need to clear the premises.”

Alisha arched an eyebrow, looked Darnell square in the eye, and said, “Then I guess we’ll unload right here…and be on. Our. Way.”

Beside her, Big Boy winced—though he didn’t dare contradict her.

“But the shipment needs to go in containment,” Jibben said helplessly—and everyone ignored him.

Other people’s drama doesn’t interest me at the best of times. By all accounts, though, Mother Nature was having a way bigger conniption fit than Alisha, and suddenly thirteen didn’t seem anywhere near old enough to be left all alone. But abandoning my sidearm was out of the question. Especially when it was literally three feet away.

Since I currently looked more official than Jacob, I’d need to be the one to insist. I pulled out my federal ID and held it up coolly for Alisha’s inspection. “Federal Agent. I’ll need you to stand down, ma’am.”

“But the delivery—” Jibben said.

“Is your problem, not ours. We’re leaving.” I cut my eyes to Darnell, then indicated the lockbox. “Agent Thompson?”

The tone worked, or maybe it was the ID. Either way, hallelujah. While Alisha smoldered, Darnell unhooked a key from his utility belt and knelt down to retrieve our service weapons. But just as his back was turned, Jibben reached across the security podium and smacked a button, buzzing open the lab door.

“Hey,” Darnell said, startled. Now Jibben had one foot wedging open the safety door while he hauled on the handle of the delivery cart. The cart moved, though not at the best angle. Just enough to roll through the naked machine and wedge itself in the doorway—the doorway that was supposed to be secure.

Big Boy heaved a sigh of resignation, as though he hadn’t quite expected the day to turn out any better, but was nonetheless disappointed to see it go to shit so spectacularly.

“Our sidearms,” I said.

But Darnell was no longer paying me any attention. “Dr. Jibben! Those cases need to go through the scanner—there could be explosives.”

Wide-eyed, both Alisha and Big Boy took a hasty step back.

Jibben, meanwhile, hauled on the handle with a grunt. “This isn’t some random paper bag I found at the bus stop. The delivery firm is vetted—we’ve been using them for years—and we were expecting this shipment. Which needs to go into containment right now.”

Whatever was inside those boxes was perfectly safe. Not only were the cases clearly sturdy, but the whole shipment was wrapped up tight in several layers of protective plastic film—which made it even more awkward for Jibben to work it through the lab door, since it wasn’t shifting so much as an inch. But he wasn’t about to take “no” for an answer. Planting his feet, he gave the cart handle a good yank….

And nothing happened.

At least, not until the whole thing teetered and toppled through the door and landed right on top of him, wheels spinning in the air. “Call 911,” Darnell barked out as he and Jacob immediately mobilized to pull the massive crate off.

I made the call. Or, at least, I keyed it in. But I found a big fat nothing on the other end, and a NO SIGNAL where my bars usually were.

“My phone’s not working,” Alisha said nervously.

Big Boy shook his head. “We’re too far underground to get a signal.”

That didn’t make any sense. I’d just been talking to Clayton not two minutes ago.

“There’s a repeater,” Darnell said as he strained against the weight of the cart.

I pulled down white light as I spun on my heel in search of some telltale flicker of movement, wondering how the hell a repeater had managed to slip past all my weekly checkups.

“A cell tower repeater,” Big Boy told Alisha. “It extends the range.”

Oh. Well, that made a lot more sense than a random guy from second grade knowing my personal terminology for ghost residue. It was likely just a power surge that made the cell phone repeater reset. Luckily, no one else had noticed me acting squirrelly. Or if they did, they just chalked it up to the chaos of the moment.

The cart was wedged in too tightly for Jacob and Darnell to pry it upright, but they were at least able to lift it off well enough for Jibben to drag himself out from under its weight. Through the safety glass, I had a front-row view. There was no blood—that was a plus—but judging by the sheen of sweat on Jibben’s brow, he was in some serious pain.

Big Boy jabbed at the elevator until the doors opened. “I’ll go up to the surface and make the call,” he said as he stepped inside. The doors closed, and the numbers on the display ticked steadily up to the parking garage, then stopped. At least something had gone right.

Alisha nodded toward Jibben, then told me, “That man’s gonna pass out.” Given his pallor, it was a good possibility. “Saw a guy in the warehouse crush his leg once. Never walked right again.” She strode over and elbowed Darnell aside, brandishing a keychain with a nail file on the end. Tiny, but very pointy. “Get out the way. We gotta cut these boxes loose.”

I half expected Jibben to groan about contamination. But instead, he just groaned in general. I hoped for his sake the ambulance would show up soon. And for our sake too. Because now I was busy imagining everything in the cannery that could fall over and squash a thirteen-year-old boy.

Jesus. I hoped he didn’t decide to start dicking around in the basement by all the heavy canning equipment. Because, let’s face it…that’s probably exactly what I would have done.

Alisha slashed the cling wrap with her little nail file so that Jacob and Darnell could extricate the cases one by one. Finally, they shifted enough crates off the cart that we could step over it and get into the lab entry. If you’re gonna hurt yourself in a stupid and unnecessary way, you might as well do it in front of a woman with some common sense and a couple of ex-cops trained in first aid. Darnell seemed to know what he was doing, too. I kept Jibben conscious by elevating his uninjured leg to help his blood circulate to his head while Jacob set off in search of an ice pack to minimize swelling.

Darnell, meanwhile, slashed the leg of Jibben’s pants open with the nail file keyring. I steeled myself for a compound fracture, but the skin was intact. Though he did have one hell of a bruise.

Jacob came back with a single-serve frozen lasagna—the sort that advertises itself as healthy. He normally won’t touch the things, and claims they’re all starch and water bathed in chemicals and sodium. Nice to see he finally found a use for one.

“What in the hell does Leonard think he’s doing?” Alisha demanded, glaring at the elevator. “How long does it take to make a single phone call?”

As if Big Boy—Leonard—could hear her complaining, the number on the elevator display changed as he came back down. It went from the parking garage to the level below. And the level below that. And then….

Went totally dark.