My heart stalled. My hand was still locked in his iron grip. His short, steady breaths hit my face, burning my raw, torn skin.
"I—I was captured," I whispered. "What did you expect?"
He gave a cold half-smile, pried the glass shard from my bloody fist, and let it fall. The crack of it shattering rang through the lab's chill air.
He released my hand and pinned me with those black, unblinking eyes. "They'll flood this place soon," he said, voice rough, the words catching. "G… groups one through three are dead. G… group four's fully armed."
He stooped to pick up a pistol from the floor—Steven's pistol. The same one I'd used. My jaw clenched; I stared at Patrick's gore-slick face.
Ashur glanced at the man choking on his own blood. "Hm. L… looks like two of the four hundred and f… forty-three tortures are off the list." He set his boot on Patrick's throat. Patrick's limp hand rose, pleading, against Ashur's boot.
I snatched the gun from Ashur's hand, eyes on Patrick's ruined face. "Guess what, bastard," I said. "You're dying by your own weapon."
I squeezed the trigger.
The shot cracked. Patrick's body twitched and went still, awash in red. His bloody hand slid off the tile. Ashur cut me a cool look and, with his boot still on Patrick's throat, gave a sudden, brutal press. The neck broke with a wet snap.
"Always shoot the head," he murmured. "O… otherwise a z… zombie keeps coming."
He flashed a thin smile, flicked his gaze toward the place where the doctor lay unconscious, then back to Patrick's corpse. "I hope that while you were p… popping his eyes, you were also thinking about the s… security doors." He turned fully to me, a sliver of mockery in his stare. "Thanks to you, this gets harder. The locks open only to the m… main admin's and the doctor's eyes." His mouth flattened. "Which means I c… can't kill the doctor yet."
He nodded at the gun in my grip. "Also—we're n… not armed, and the units are c… coming. And guess what? You just wasted a round on a man I could've ended with a snap of my fingers."
I glared at the doctor—blood leaking from his scalp, sprawled among the dead. My voice shook; my legs barely held me, my body numb with shock and blood loss. "He still has his eyes."
Ashur reached and took the pistol from me. "Find an adrenaline shot," he said, heading for the doctor. "I don't w… want to babysit a l… little girl."
He heaved the doctor up like a carcass and slung him over his shoulder. I stared, stunned and seething.
"And s… stop screwing it up," he added.
I took a breath and swallowed my anger, fists tight, and limped for the white cabinets. "If it comes to that," I muttered, "I'd rather put a bullet in my own skull than take your help."
He ignored me, rummaging for ammo.
I yanked a cabinet open. I needed a med kit. I couldn't trust him. First chance he got, he'd leave me behind.
My head swam; sweat clung to my brow. My hands were ice, shaking. I braced on the cabinet door and tore through the shelves until I found a white box—bandages and an epinephrine ampule.
I jammed the needle into my thigh. A hard jolt kicked through me. My pupils felt like they blew wide; cold washed over my scalp as my eyes flew open. Panting, I pulled the needle free. My heart slammed the cage of my ribs. Leaning on the cabinet, I dumped the kit across the counter in a clatter that filled the quiet.
I grabbed a roll of bandage, ripped the tape with my teeth, and wrapped my thigh tight. Stop the bleeding. Just stop the bleeding.
"We're out of time."
I turned, breath ragged. Ashur had the lab door open, motioning to the corridor.
I swept my wet hair off my forehead with the back of my hand and moved.