a place this size, I was sure there had to be an immense
furnace tucked away somewhere down here. W i t h i n
minutes, I'd found it. The rusty metal furnace was mas¬
sive, as I'd pictured it in my head, but there was one
problem. A big problem. It was an oil furnace.
Shit! An old place like this, 1 should have known.
I could try tipping the oil reservoir over, or discon¬
necting the lines to spill the sticky black fuel over the
basement floor, but all that would do was allow me to
start a fire. I had the Bic lighter in my pocket, and a fire
would do a lot of damage, sure, but not enough. Know
ing Dr. Marshall, this place surely had a state-of-the-art
fire control system with water sprinklers everywhere.
All I'd end up doing was making a mess of the basement
and tipping off Drake that I was back inside the castle.
N o t good enough. I was after grand-scale destruction
here.
Think, Mike.
It was while wandering around trying to come up
with a plan B that I found the second furnace. This one
was smaller, newer, and in much better shape, but it was
still an oil furnace, which left me in the same boat as
before. It got me t h i n k i n g , though. A place this size
probably needed several furnaces, right? If there were
t w o , chances were there might be t h r e e — o r five—right?
Were they all oil furnaces, or would they have newer,
more modern types to complement the old? Maybe.
Maybe not. W o r t h checking out, anyway.
I found the third furnace hiding in plain sight right
in the middle of the basement under a set of cobwebstrewn wooden stairs leading up to the main floor.
This one was quite tall, but considerably smaller than
the last two. A bird named hope started beating its tiny
wings in my chest and I held my breath as I moved in
for a closer look. This furnace was relatively shiny, looked
fairly new, and there was no bulky oil reservoir any¬
where to be found. Ill be damned—this one operated
on natural gas.
Yes!
Make a big bang. That was my master plan. Crude,
lacking imagination, and had only taken seconds to
dream up, but like it or lump it, that was it. It would ei¬
ther work, or it wouldn't.
Walking around the three sides I had access t o , at
first I couldn't see where the incoming gas line was.
This sucker was getting its fuel from somewhere, but
where? Then I looked up. The gas line, black and as new
as the furnace itself, snaked down from the ground
floor attached to the bottom side of the staircase and
entered into the top of the furnace way above my reach.
N o t good. Discouraged but far from defeated, I started
looking for the pilot light. It had to have one of them,
and usually they were near the floor.
It was, but hidden behind a removable metal panel
that took me a few seconds to find, and many more to
figure out how to open. Once I ripped the panel free, I
knelt down and peered in at a tiny flame and a series of
open tubes that ran into the heart of the furnace. I'm
no expert on gas furnaces, but I understood the general
principal. Gas fills these chambers, is ignited by the pi
lot light; then a fan kicks in to blow the heat up through
the vents into the building.
Obviously, I had to get rid of the pilot light. I didn't
want any gas getting ignited around here until I was
good and ready. No need to complicate things, so I just
leaned my head in and blew the flame out. It was harder
to extinguish than a birthday candle but required the
same basic task—two big puffs and it was out.
Okay, now what?
A tiny amount of gas would leak out now, but no¬
where near enough to cause the big bang I had in mind.
N o , for that, I'd have to cause a free flow of gas straight
out of the main pipe. Remove the regulator to open the
gas line wide and let it flood the basement for as long as
possible before someone figured out what I was doing.
Then I'd pull the Bic lighter from my pocket and kiss
all our asses good-bye in a shower of fire and exploding
bricks.
But I didn't. I had a gun, a flashlight, a switchblade, a
lighter, and a wooden cross, but no tools that would
help me play amateur gas fitter. So I used my boots in¬
stead, standing up and kicking the pipe where the reg¬
ulator controlled the amount of gas flowing into the
ignition chambers. Five kicks later my foot and leg
were killing m e , and hardly any damage had been done.
I'd bent the pipe a bit and smashed off the top half of
the regulator, but the gas flow was still contained. Or
was it? You can't smell natural gas, but they add some
thing in with it that you can smell to help detect leaks.
Whatever it was, I could smell it now, easily, and when
I bent back down and placed my hand on the fitting, I
was pleased to find a decent gush of gas pressure push¬
ing my hand away.
All right! Now we're getting somewhere.
I gave the regulator one more hard kick, and planned
more, but it hurt too much. Way too much! Maybe I'd
busted something—a toe or two—in my first series of
kicks? Maybe I was j u s t falling apart and this body
couldn't stand up to the physical pounding I'd been
forcing it to endure? Either way, I was done beating on
the regulator.
I rechecked the flow of gas exiting, the furnace pipe
and was pleased with my efforts. The gas wasn't
free-flowing out of the supply line like I'd envisioned,
but it was pumping out a hell of a lot more than I'd
thought possible without the use of proper tools. I
wanted to get away from the pungent, chemically tainted
smell of the spreading gas vapor, so I hobbled away
down the center aisle and eventually sat down on the
floor against something white and made of metal, bask¬
ing for a moment in my small but potentially major ac¬
complishment.
All I have to do now is wait for—
Then I shone my flashlight behind me to see what I
was leaning up against, and my simple plan instantly
went up in smoke, m o r p h i n g into something consider¬
ably grander in a matter of a few heartbeats.
Oh my!
I stood up to get a better look, shining my light
around and marveling at how large this thing was up
close. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of this in the
first place, but it goes to show how brilliant of a planner
I was in the fine art of sabotage.
The oxygen tank.
Two of them, actually. Side by side. The huge,
floor-to-ceiling cylindrical white metal oxygen tanks
I'd been backed up against by Drake and his goons on
the day they let me out of the goreAfilled incinerator.
The same tanks that Drake had prevented his
over-zealous cohort from shooting me against be¬
cause—
BOOM! I t h o u g h t with a smile.
Big BOOM!
N o w this had potential. The spreading natural gas
could mix and be superenhanced by the oxygen and I
should be able to make a monumental mess down here.
Would it be enough? It would make a huge bang and
destroy the basement, probably collapse some of the
building too, but was that enough? I was starting to
think clearer than before-—not j u s t looking at this
through revenge-colored glasses—and if I was going to
do this right, I wanted to leave n o t h i n g but a big flam¬
ing hole in the ground. It wasn't enough to j u s t put
N a t h a n Marshall out of business for a while. It wasn't
even enough to get lucky and kill him. I needed to
destroy everything here— everything—not leaving be¬
hind anything or anyone that might be able to put to¬
gether the pieces of this horrific puzzle and start up
shop again. That was going to be a bit trickier.
But not impossible.
I ran the flashlight beam up and across the ceiling,
tracing the dozens of pipes that spider-webbed out from
the top of the twin oxygen tanks. They spread out all
over the basement—much farther than my light could
shine—but I knew they all turned u p , eventually, into the
ceiling, snaking their way through the floors and walls to
every operating room, every recovery room, every pa¬
tient room, and every test laboratory in the castle.
Oh my! I thought for the second time in less than a
minute, a brief vision of a huge mushroom cloud of fire
and smoke playing before my mind's eye.
The vision might be a tad exaggerated, but it gave me
a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach and pro¬
pelled me into action. I had a lot of work to do before
Drake and his boys came home from their hike in the
woods. I wanted to be ready for them.
First things first, I needed to get these tanks pump¬
ing pure oxygen into the basement to mix with the
natural gas that was already spreading. Luckily, I
wouldn't have to resort to busting my toes again to ac¬
complish this. Both tanks had hookups where a hose
could be connected to fill them from tanker trucks out¬
side. The hose was interchangeable and right now it
was connected to the tank on my right. It ran along the
floor toward the back wall, but I couldn't see where it
exited the building. Didn't matter; I had no intention of
messing with it. Maybe if I was lucky, it would be con¬
nected to a supply truck and I could blow that up too.
Regardless, if my plan worked as hoped, the gas inside
this tank would soon be spreading around the upper
floors.
For now, I was concerned with the other tank. I
headed for the supply hookup on the left-side tank, and
it was only a matter of t u r n i n g a shut-off directional
valve the right way and WHOOSH, the oxygen was
blowing steadily out the hole where the hose wasn't
connected. Couldn't have been easier, but I corralled
my joy, knowing I still had things to do that wouldn't
be accomplished quite so quickly and definitely not as
easily.
As fast as I could go, I headed for the stairs.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - S I X
W h e n I opened the basement door, the light of the
first-floor hallway nearly blinded me. The overhead
fluorescents seemed brighter than normal, but I'm sure
that wasn't true. It was j u s t the realization that my plan,
which required a certain amount of stealth, had a few
more holes in it than I'd wishfully thought. Stealth
wasn't going to have much to do with it. W h a t I needed
more than anything was a big handful of pure dumb-ass
luck.
W i t h another deep breath, I stepped out into the
carpeted hallway and shut the basement door. I don't
think I've ever felt so exposed in my life, but there was
n o t h i n g to be done about it so I pushed the bad thoughts
from my mind and went to work.
There was n o t h i n g on the first floor that interested
m e , and I was sure I'd run into Dr. Marshall or one of
his secretaries if I h u n g around down here too long, so
I made for the staircase at the end of the hallway, paused
briefly to listen for voices inside, then quietly slipped
inside. I felt much better in here, out of the area most
trafficked, and took a second to calm myself before
heading up to the second floor.
The hallway was deserted when I peaked my nose
though the barely opened door but I had no idea if
there were going to be people in the operating rooms
and labs. I'm sure there would be, in fact, but I couldn't
do anything about them. If they saw me, so what? Most
of the doctors, scientists, and orderlies around here were
used to seeing my face and probably wouldn't bat an
eye. That was what I was hoping for, anyway.
Moving down the hall, I soon came to the first oper¬
ating r o o m — t h e one where Dr. Marshall had taken my
arms—and was pleased to see it was empty. The lights
were off but the window blinds were half open, giving
me more than enough light to see what I was doing. As
quickly as I could I went around and turned on every
gas valve I could find. I was ext?a pleased to see that not
only were there several oxygen valves, but there was a
row of stand-up portable tanks on the far wall labeled
E T H E R C Y C L O P R O P A N E and E T H Y L E N E . I didn't l o i O W
what they were—maybe the gases used as anesthetics?—
but there was a flammable symbol on the side of each
one, which was good enough for me. I pulled off the
plastic tubes connected to them and cranked their
valves wide open. Instead of standing around admiring
my handiwork, I moved on.
The next half hour went by in a blur. There were two
more operating rooms on the second floor and seven
fully equipped laboratories. I moved as fast as I could,
progressively limping worse as my foot and leg started
h u r t i n g badly. I sucked up the pain, though, and kept
moving. Room to room, lab to lab, each new door I
walked through threatened to be my last. No one
stopped me. No one screamed. No one put a bullet
through my head.
Things were looking up.
As luck would have it, I managed to hit all three op¬
erating theaters and six of the labs. There were scien¬
tists working in the other lab, and although I wasn't
worried about them getting a look at me, I didn't think
they'd approve of me walking in and cranking all the
gas valves on in front of them. Best to count my bless¬
ings I'd hit nearly all of the rooms, and j u s t move along.
The third floor beckoned.
In the stairwell heading upstairs I met a tall redheaded
orderly named Jack O'Hare who'd sometimes helped
Junie during my rehab. He'd been decent to me the few
times I'd spoken to him and he j u s t nodded to me, un¬
concerned, and kept on descending the stairs. I held my
breath until I made it into the third-floor hall, then
exhaled loudly, surprised I'd actually made it this far
without being caught. I got over it, fast, thoughts of
Junie bringing the anger out in me again, and I was
more determined than ever to do this j o b right. These
fuckers were gonna pay!
The third floor was the quietest of all. M o v i n g down
the hall, room to room, it was like tiptoeing through a
funeral home. The carpet was so plush I couldn't even
hear my footsteps as I walked along. It was starting to
creep me out. At every door, I expected to run into
Drake, or one of his guards, and no matter how many
empty rooms I entered, the feeling wouldn't go away.
My nerves were pretty much shot, I think. Getting
close, anyway.
Get a hold of yourself, man. Get this done, and then you
canfallapart. Not now, Mike. Not now.
Sounded good to m e , but it didn't stop my rented
heart from h a m m e r i n g inside my rented chest or my
rented fingers from shaking each time I reached for
another doorknob.
Still, I managed, equal parts fear and rage keeping
me moving, driving me past the steadily growing pain
in my leg and the ever present doubt in my mind. I hit
every patient room I could get into. Some were locked—
maybe they were the ones with people in them—but
most were easy pickings. Twenty-five minutes later, gas
was flowing all over the third floor and my plan was
nearly complete.
N o t quite, though.
N o , there was something else I needed to do. Some¬
thing I was dreading but important enough that I knew
I couldn't chicken out and shy away from. Fd made a
promise to someone here once—someone who'd suf¬
fered just as much as I had, maybe more—and if it was
the last t h i n g I ever did, I vowed I'd see that promise
through. W i t h a heavy heart, and a pit the size of a
bowling ball trying to rise into my throat, I headed back
for the stairwell. I needed to go up to the fourth floor
for a few minutes.
I needed to visit the Bleeders' room.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - S E V E N
I was in the hall outside the Bleeders' room, with no¬
where to hide, when a sour-faced nurse I didn't recog¬
nize exited the room. She was carrying a tray heaped