Alien Proliferation

course.”
    “Of course. Okay, thanks, Mom, I’ll call back. If, you know, I’m still alive.” Hung up. “Mister White! Need the muscles. We need to get this box up out of the hatch.”
    It was heavy, but A-Cs were strong and now so was I. I could tell I wasn’t as strong as White yet, because I had a harder time with my end of the box. But there was no way I’d have been able to do anything if I hadn’t been enhanced.
    Managed to get the box out, but we had to flip it. “Not a problem. We need to place the top in the open door anyway.” Explained the deadly gas thing.
    White looked from box to doorway and back. “I don’t believe we can do it, and still not take a full shot of the gas.” He took a deep breath. “Please tell Christopher that I love him and, of course, forgive him for the addiction. Please tell Paul, should he survive, that I expect he’ll make an excellent Pontifex.”
    I didn’t like where this was heading. I looked at the box, on its side, the bottom facing me. For whatever reason, it reminded me of the Escalade that Reid had tried to kill me with. The one Jeff had flipped on its side. The one he’d ripped the undercarriage out of. “They said the gas would come out when we unlocked the box . . . not when we opened the box.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Take a deep-ass breath and hold it, Mister White.” I did, and then I slammed my fist into the bottom of the box.

 
    CHAPTER 52
     
    J EFF HAD NEVER MENTIONED that hitting things still hurt when you were an enhanced individual. Wished he had. However, my hand wasn’t broken, and the box bottom was bending. I hit it again, and the seam along one side started to separate. Grabbed it and pulled.
    The back of the metal box came off. No gas, at least, nothing I could see. Had to take another breath. White did, too. There was what looked like the bottom of a coffin in here. Hilarious sense of humor Gaultier and his goons had.
    Slammed my hand into it, hit through the wood and landed on metal. Figured. A few more slams and I could rip the wood part off. A bit more and the metal gave. I pulled the bottom panel off and flung it away as Gower’s big, heavy body rolled onto me.
    I was slammed onto the floor of the hidden compartment. Gower wasn’t moving. The fun just never stopped. I listened for heartbeats—faint, very faint, but there.
    “He’s alive, I think. Get him off me!”
    “Working at it, Missus Martini.” Gower was lifted off me. I helped White get him out of the compartment.
    I got out, too, and looked around. “Where’s the coffin?”
    “I tossed it, just in case.”
    “Wow, seriously, consider going active. You rock, Mister White.”
    “I take that as a great compliment. Let’s bring Paul back from the edge of death first, shall we?”
    We didn’t have a med kit with us, which was my oversight. What a surprise. White did the slam the hearts thing while I did the mouth-breathing thing. Managed not to wonder if Gower and Reader had ever seriously considered the whole going bi and adding me in thing, though, even scared, it took effort.
    A few minutes of this and Gower started coughing. Coughing was good. No air for so long could mean brain damage, though, and that would be unbelievably bad.
    Gower’s eyes fluttered open. “Kitty? Richard?” He sounded shocked and confused. “Where are we?”
    “God, am I glad you’re not brain-dead.”
    “Nice to see you, too.” Gower looked at White. “What’s going on?” He blinked. “Everyone’s in danger.”
    “We know, Paul,” White said reassuringly. “You were in worse danger, however.”
    “How’s ACE?”
    Gower closed his eyes. “Relieved.” He chuckled. “ACE says he knew Kitty would save us.” His eyes opened. “You saved us over Jeff and James.”
    I shrugged. “Jeff trained me really well on that good of the many idea.”
    “Yeah. We were in a warehouse.”
    “That was Trap Point Two. Everyone’s in Notre Dame, or they were last time I checked.” We helped Gower to his feet.
    “Why are they at one of the biggest tourism spots in France?”
    “No idea.” I blinked. “Oh, my God. I have a great idea. Well, it’s a horrible idea, but still, great if you’re a freaking megalomaniac looking to make a bazillion dollars.”
    “Mind sharing?” White put Gower’s arm around his shoulders. “I feel okay, Richard.”
    “You don’t look okay. Missus Martini? The horrible plan is, what?”
    “I think they’re going to test the drug in its