Triple Threat - James Patterson Page 0,37
got a hell of a lot more interesting.
Chapter 8
Chloe is in her old childhood bedroom, lying in her old childhood bed. Eli is curled up in the crook of her arm. The little boy is dozing soundly. Obliviously.
But for Chloe, try as she might, sleep just won’t come.
She’s been living in her parents’ fortified apartment complex for only a few days now, but already she’s started losing her mind.
Maybe it’s because the air inside is so oppressive and stale: to prevent wild animals from entering, each and every window, chimney, and vent has been double-locked, triple-sealed, and completely boarded up.
Maybe it’s because her elderly parents’ health has started to deteriorate so rapidly and unexpectedly. Since the last time she saw them, her mother has grown increasingly forgetful, and her father’s mobility has become severely limited.
Maybe it’s because the apartment’s food and supplies are stretched so thin. The government’s biweekly rations delivery is inexplicably two days late, so the family is down to their last can of beans, a few shriveled tomatoes from their indoor hydroponic garden, and half of a stale, moldy baguette.
Or, maybe it’s because the sounds echoing across the city each night are so utterly terrifying. Screeching cats. Growling dogs. Yowling foxes. Shrieking vultures.
Screaming humans.
As Chloe snuggles Eli a bit closer, her mind drifts to Oz. She’s still mad at him for tricking her into staying with her parents in Paris. But of course she understands. He did it out of love. Frankly, had she been in his shoes, their roles reversed, she’d probably have done the same.
Now she just prays that he’s safe. They spoke briefly earlier today; he’d called from a plane, somewhere over the Pacific. Something about going to Mali. Africa? No, that wouldn’t make sense. But the connection was lost before she could ask more.
Chloe feels her eyelids finally getting heavy. She’s just about to doze off when a pounding on the front door practically shakes the apartment’s walls.
Eli jolts awake and begins to cry with fright. As Chloe comforts him, she looks over at the clock on her nightstand: 3:18 a.m. Who could it possibly be at this hour?
No one good, Chloe thinks to herself.
She reassures her son she’ll be right back and slips out of bed to investigate.
The pounding continues as she passes through the kitchen—and grabs a glistening chef’s knife, just in case. Marielle has been woken up, too, but Chloe gestures for her stepmother to stay back and let her handle this.
“Monsieur Tousignant! It is the gendarmerie, with rations. Open the door!”
Chloe looks through the peephole. She sees two soldiers standing outside in the eerily dim hallway. One is carrying an assault rifle, the other a cardboard box. Both wear black fatigues and body armor.
Chloe exhales with relief. She sets down the knife, unlocks the deadbolt, and opens the door.
“Bonsoir,” she says. “Thank you very much for finally coming. I can take them.”
She reaches for the box of food, but the soldier pulls it away.
“I am sorry, mademoiselle. This is to be delivered to Jean-Luc Tousignant only.”
“It’s fine. I’m Chloe Tousignant, his daughter.” She glances up and down the hallway, making sure the coast is clear. “Now please give me the rations and shut the door, before an animal manages to—”
“You could be Marie Antoinette, for all I care,” the other soldier snarls. “It does not matter.” He holds up his smartphone, which is connected to a tiny digital fingerprint scanner. “The thumbprint of each recipient is required for delivery verification.”
Chloe can’t believe this. “He’s in bed. He’s sick. The man can barely walk! And I have a four-year-old son who’s very hungry. Please.”
The first soldier gives her a sympathetic look, but he won’t back down.
“The rules are the rules. I am sorry. If you want the rations, your father must accept them personally. If not, we have many more deliveries to make tonight.”
Chloe groans in annoyance. French citizens are dying in the streets, they’re starving in their homes, and the army is worried about sticking to protocol?
“Merde! Fine! Wait here while I—”
Chloe suddenly sees two beady little eyes appear on the hallway ceiling.
In an instant, a furry four-legged animal squeals and leaps down at her.
She bats it away—a giant raccoon just inches from her face. “Non!” she yells as it lands on its back on the floor, then quickly rights itself and comes at her again.
Chloe screams and struggles to fight it off as it scrambles up her legs and torso toward her head, its claws digging into her