The bullhorn’s rattle vibrated through the concrete walls before the headlights reached the sumac grove.
“Mara Vale!” the voice shouted through the rain, magnified by an electric horn until it sounded flat, metallic, and close as a hand on the throat. “This is Captain Vance, Haven Security. The access culvert is cordoned. We have two patrol units at the weir and three on the highway bridge. You are on municipal utility property without an entry permit.”
Gideon reached the iron door first, his shotgun unlatched and resting against his hip. He peered through the horizontal inspection slit, his breath clouding the narrow pane of wired glass.
“Three vehicles,” Gideon said quietly. “One flatbed truck with a winch and two four-wheel-drive scouts. Four men behind the radiator grilles with carbines. Two more setting up a halogen tripod on the ditch berm.”
Mara stepped up beside him. Through the slit, she saw the harsh white beams of the quartz lamps cutting through the drizzle, turning the wet sumac stalks into a cage of bone-colored needles. Beyond the perimeter fence, fifty yards away, stood six men in green oilskin coats.
The bullhorn clicked again.
“We know who you have in that valve house, Vale,” Vance called out. “You have two wards from Dormitory Four, an attendant under contract, and June Mercer. You also have an unregistered biological imitation classified under emergency code nine. Silas Venn is prepared to offer terms.”
