Predatory - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,137

a nerve-steadying breath and stepped into the walk-in freezer, jamming a Gross Anatomy book in the doorway. I had seen one too many television shows where the main characters get locked in a walk-in and end up freezing to death or eating their weight in ice cream.

All my bases covered, I went to work examining the paperwork stacked on each body. I was so engrossed—or so desperate to get Emerson and get out of there—that I didn’t hear someone slyly removing the Gross Anatomy book. What I did hear was the heavy metal thunk of the door closing.

My heart locked in my throat, but I refused to let myself panic. I casually walked up to the door, certain that the giant refrigerator people had seen all the locked-in-the-freezer episodes as well, and had created some sort of snazzy trapdoor or inside lock pop.

Apparently, refrigerator people are not TV watchers.

I dug into my cleavage and yanked out my cell phone. I wasn’t entirely sure whom I’d call to rescue me from a walk-in freezer filled with people-sicles, but Vlad was usually good for the occasional rescue. I wrapped my arms around myself and hit the speed-dial button.

And nothing happened.

“No bars!” I groaned. I started to pace, staring down at my screen. Closer to the back of the fridge a few cheery bars popped up. If I held the phone above my head, I got another half. Still not enough to support a phone call.

I pressed myself as far back as I could, then eyed the stackable body shelves. If I could just get a little higher . . . I tentatively poked a foot on the edge of the lowermost platform, careful not to get anybody on my shoe. I took a step up. And then another. And then I grinned down at my phone when it decided it could make a call.

And then I heard the weird, scraping sound of the undead coming back to life. My hackles went up, hot adrenaline sparking through me.

I jumped from the cart and launched it backward. I would like to say I barrel-rolled or did something equally as theatrical but what I did was sail through the air, arms outstretched, fingers clawed and desperate for something to hold on to. When I landed on the cement floor, I had the slick, cold plastic of body bags in each hand, the contents of each bag—and several others—pummeling me from above.

I howled.

I don’t think my feet hit the ground as I jumped, and tossed my body into the door, screaming bloody murder.

“Pike! PIKE! Get me out of here! Get me the fuck out of here! I’m stuck!”

It seemed to take eons for Pike to hear me and loosen the door. When he did I ran out, circling the autopsy tables, relishing the way the room-temperature air burned at my frozen skin.

I felt Pike’s eyes on me, curious, as I rubbed my arms and let the adrenaline drain from my body. “Where were you?” I finally hissed, eyes narrowed.

“I was outside. Standing guard. Just like you told me to be.”

I couldn’t fault him for doing as I’d told him, but I wanted to. “Why did you come in here?”

“You were taking forever, I had to pee, and then I heard you huffing and thumping. I thought maybe you were getting a little frisky with ol’ Reg there.”

He grinned and I recoiled, disgusted. “You’re a big ass.”

“And you’re a big ol’ side of beef locking yourself in the deep freeze. Did you find anything?”

“First of all, I didn’t lock myself in the freezer. I shoved a book in the doorway so I wouldn’t get stuck.”

Pike made a show of looking all around for a book.

“Someone filched the book and shut the door on me.”

Pike raised his eyebrows, though he didn’t look the least bit convinced. “Is that so? Because I’ve been waiting out there,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the hall. “And I happen to know for a fact that no one came in here.”

I gaped. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“Of course not. I might be calling you a little bit embarrassed because you locked yourself in the fridge, but definitely not a liar.”

The chill from the fridge had distinctly worn off and rage burned through me. Before I could open my eyes—or my fang-filled mouth—Pike was checking the bodies piled in the fridge. “Here’s our friend Emerson.”

He laid her out on the slab and unzipped her. I was surprised when a stab of emotion

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