CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN TRIS“GET US IN, David,” Nita says, her voice garbled by the mask.
David’s eyes slide lazily to the side, to the man pointing the g*n at him.
“I don’t believe you’ll shoot me,” he says. “Because I’m the only one in this building who knows this information, and you want that serum.”
“Won’t shoot you in the head, maybe,” the man says, “but there are other places.”
The man and Nita exchange a look. Then the man shifts the g*n down, to David’s feet, and fires. I squeeze my eyes shut as David’s screams fill the hallway. He might be one of the people who offered Jeanine Matthews the attack simulation, but I still don’t relish his screams of pain.
I stare at the guns I carry, one in each hand, my fingers pale against the black triggers. I imagine myself trimming back all
