FORWARD

 

The first jolt of interest was the cover...

Ominous gas mask, and the silhouette of a man running across a desert.

Then the title...SICK...one word, powerful, provocative, intriguing...

But it was those first pages that hooked me.

A man roused from sleep in the middle of the night by the cry of one of his children. What parent hasn’t experienced that? And, while stumbling toward their child’s room in that confused bleariness between consciousness and dreams, who hasn’t had that secret fear in the back of their mind, that maybe something is wrong? That maybe their son or daughter isn’t merely coming down with a cold, or in the wake of a nightmare. But something much, much worse...

SICK didn’t just hook me. It hit me with a devastating uppercut on every primal level as a parent, a father, and a human being.

Brett Battles has fashioned a blistering page turner that is destined to become a classic. This is a novel of paranoia, of fear, of a family blown apart by circumstances none of us could imagine, and ultimately, hope.

This is exactly the kind of novel I love to read, and it reminded me in the very best way of David Morrell’s iconic TESTAMENT.

Trust me, you will love it, too.

SICK is absolutely unmissable

 

-Blake Crouch, April 2011

 

 

• • • • •

 

 

1

 

A cry woke him from his sleep.

A young cry.

A girl’s cry.

Daniel Ash pushed himself up on his elbow. “Josie?”

It was more a question for himself than anything. His daughter’s room was down the hall, making it hard for her to hear his sleep-filled voice in the best of circumstances. And if she was crying, not a chance.

He glanced at the other side of the bed, thinking his wife might already be up checking on their daughter. But Ellen was still asleep, her back to him. He’d all but forgotten about the headache she’d had, and the two sleeping pills she’d taken before turning in. Chances were, she wouldn’t even open her eyes until after the kids left for school.

Ash rubbed a hand across his face then slipped out of bed.

The old hardwood floor was cool on his feet but not unbearable. He grabbed his T-shirt off the chair in the corner and pulled it on as he walked into the hallway.

A cry again. Definitely coming from his daughter’s room.

“Josie, it’s okay. I’m coming.” This time he raised his voice to make sure she would hear him.

As he passed his son’s room, he pulled the door closed so Brandon wouldn’t wake, too.

Josie’s room was at the other end of the hall, closest to the living room. She was the oldest, so she got to pick which room she wanted when they’d moved in. It wasn’t any bigger than her brother’s but Ash knew she liked the fact that she was as far away from Mom and Dad as possible. Made her feel independent.

Her door was covered with pictures of boy bands and cartoons. She was in that transitional stage between kid and teenager that was both cute and annoying. As he pushed the door open, he expected to find her sitting on her bed, upset about some nightmare she’d had. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Josie, what’s—”

His words caught in his mouth.

She wasn’t lying in the bed. She was on the floor, the bedspread hanging down just enough to touch her back. Ash rushed over, thinking that she’d fallen and hurt herself. But the moment his hand touched her he knew he was wrong.

She was so hot. Burning up.

He had no idea a person could get that hot.

The most scared he’d ever been before had been when he’d taken Brandon to a boat show in Texas and the boy had wandered off. It took Ash less than a minute to find him again, but he thought nothing would ever top the panic and fear he’d felt then.

Seeing his daughter like that, feeling her skin burning, he realized he’d been wrong.

He scooped Josie off the floor and ran into the hallway.

“Ellen!” he yelled. “Ellen, I need you!”

He knew his voice was probably going to wake Brandon but, at this point, he didn’t care. Josie was sick. Very sick. He needed Ellen to call an ambulance while he tried to bring their daughter’s temperature down.

“Ellen!” he yelled again as he ducked into the bathroom.

Using an elbow, he flipped on the light then laid Josie in the tub. He wasted several seconds searching for the rubber plug, then jammed it into the drain and turned on the water, full cold. To help speed up the process, he pulled the shower knob and aimed the showerhead so that it would stream down on her and cool her faster.

Where the hell was Ellen?

He put the back of his hand on Josie’s forehead. She was still on fire.

“Ellen!”

He was torn. He wanted to stay with Josie, but the pills Ellen had taken must have really knocked her out, so that meant it was up to him to get help.

“Hang on, baby,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He raced into the hall and back to the master bedroom. The nearest phone was on Ellen’s nightstand, next to their bed.

“Ellen. Wake up.”

He shook her once, then picked up the phone and dialed 911. As he waited for it to ring, he glanced back at the bed.

Ellen hadn’t moved.

“Nine one one. What is your emergency?” a female voice said.

He reached down and rolled Ellen onto her back, thinking that might jar her awake. But her eyes were already open, staring blankly at nothing.

He flipped on the light. The skin around her mouth and eyes was turning black, and there were dark drying streaks running across her face from her eye sockets where blood had flowed.

“Nine one one. What is your emergency?”

“Oh, God. Help,” he managed to say.

“Are you hurt, sir?”

He touched Ellen’s face. It was as cold as Josie’s had been hot, and instantly he knew no breath would ever pass her lips again.

“Send help! Send help, please!”

He dropped the phone, not bothering to hang it up. It didn’t even dawn on him that he hadn’t given the operator an address. He was barely holding on to his sanity.

Back in the hallway, he tried to shove the image of Ellen’s cold and lifeless body into the back of his mind. He looked into the bathroom. Josie was still propped up in the tub, the water now several inches deep. He knew he should go see if she was cooling off, but he had to check Brandon first.

He threw open his son’s door and flipped on the light. Brandon had one of those beds that were raised in the air like a bunk, but instead of a second mattress underneath there was a desk.

Ash rushed over to the bed. His son was a long lump covered by a Spider-Man comforter. As was the boy’s habit, even his head was buried beneath the blanket.

Ash could feel the muscles around his heart tightening. With the yelling and the running and now the light on in the room, he was sure his son should have woken, but Brandon hadn’t moved at all.

He grabbed the comforter and pulled it back.

His son was lying on his side, his back to him.

Just like Ellen. Oh, God. Please, no.

Holding his breath, he put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder and pulled him onto his back.

His son’s eyes fluttered. “Dad?”

For the first time since Josie’s cries had awakened him, Ash was unable to move.

“Dad, are you okay?”

Maybe this was the dream part. Maybe this was the final blow. Maybe in a few seconds he’d realize that Brandon’s voice was only in his head, and his son was as cold and dead as his wife.

He touched Brandon’s forehead.

Warm.

Normal warm.

“Brandon?”

“You’re scaring me, Dad,” his son said, inching back a little. “What’s going on?”

Ash quickly pulled Brandon off the bed and held him tight against his chest as he ran out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Brandon asked again.

“No questions right now, okay, buddy?” Ash told him, trying to keep his voice calm. “You’re going to be fine.”

It was a lie, of course. How would either of them ever be fine again?

He carried his son into the bathroom and sat him on the closed toilet lid.

“What’s Josie doing in the tub?” Brandon asked.

“Not now.”

The water was nearing the halfway point and was covering Josie’s waist and legs. Ash touched the side of her face, hoping her temperature had come down a few degrees.

Not only had it come down, it had plummeted.

No! No, no, no!

He yanked her out of the tub without turning off the water, and began stripping off her drenched nightgown.

“Brandon, get some towels!” he yelled.

“Dad, what’s going on? What’s wrong with her?”

“Just get the towels!”

By the time Ash had her clothes off, Brandon had retrieved three towels from the cupboard under the sink. Ash used the first to quickly wipe off what water he could, then wrapped the other two around her. Though she was dangerously cold, unlike her mother she was still breathing.

“Get behind her,” he told his son as he laid her on the floor. “Hug your body to hers. We need to help her get warm.”

Brandon surprised him by not arguing. He stretched out behind his sister and hugged her tight. Ash did the same in front, creating a cocoon of warmth with Josie in the middle. It was the only thing he could think of doing.

“She’s so cold,” Brandon said.

“I know.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Where’s Mom? Does she know?”

“I let her sleep.” Brandon would find out the truth soon enough, but at the moment Ash needed him to focus on helping his sister.

Though Josie’s breathing was shallow, he could still feel her chest move up and down.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered over and over. “It’s okay.”

“She’s not getting any warmer,” Brandon said after a few minutes.

“Just keep hugging her.”

They were still holding her like that when the front door of their house smashed open. Ash could hear people running into their living room.

“Who is it?” Brandon asked, fear in his voice.

“I called the paramedics before I woke you,” his father said. “Let’s just hold on to your sister until they tell us to move. Okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Ash expected the EMT crew to come into the bathroom at any moment. But when no one appeared, he yelled out, “We’re back here! In the bathroom! We need help!”

Footsteps pounded in the hallway, but still no one came.

“We need help! We have a sick girl here!”

Finally, he could hear them approaching the bathroom door. He tilted his head back so he could see into the hallway.

First one person appeared, then two.

But the relief he should have felt was overshadowed by confusion. The people moving into the bathroom weren’t dressed in EMT uniforms. They were wearing biohazard suits.

What happened after that was a blur of images.

His daughter rolling out of the house on a gurney under a plastic tent.

Ellen leaving, too, only the plastic that covered her was a black bag.

And people, dozens of them, all dressed in the same biohazard outfits.

He didn’t know how long he and Brandon had sat on the couch while all this was going on, but it seemed like hours.

Three things he did clearly remember from after that point.

He recalled being led with Brandon out to a truck that had some sort of isolation container on the back. As they crossed the front yard, he heard another cry, this one not of pain or fear, but anguish. Loud and uninhibited. Looking up, he realized theirs wasn’t the only house with an isolation truck out front. There was one parked in front of every home on their block.

The second thing he remembered came several hours later, after he and Brandon had been separated and he’d been put in some kind of cell.

“Captain Ash.” The voice came out of a speaker in the ceiling.

“Where are my children?” Ash asked. “They need me!”

“I’m sorry to inform you, Captain,” the voice said, still calm, “but your daughter died three minutes ago.”

“Josie?” he whispered. “Take me to her! Please, let me see her.”

There was no response.

“I have to see my daughter!”

When the voice next spoke several hours later, it was to inform him that Brandon had also died.

That was the third thing he remembered.

 

 

2

 

Dr. Nathaniel Karp stood with his arms crossed, watching the center monitor. There were three other people in the room with him: two technicians and a guard, all of whom had the highest-level clearances within the project.

The feed in the monitor came from cell number 57. Inside the cell, Captain Daniel Ash continued to pace back and forth, his temper seeming to swing from angry to desperate to devastated and back again with each crossing.

Overlaid across the bottom third of the monitor were Captain Ash’s vital signs. Dr. Karp noted that the captain’s heart rate was elevated, and that his temperature had risen half a degree, but that was understandable given the circumstances. What interested the doctor more was that the captain seemed to be showing no signs of the illness.

The doctor glanced at the other video screens. Seventeen additional cells were currently occupied by neighbors of the Ash family. When they’d first been brought in, they were all like the captain—agitated, but healthy. Now, though, every single one of them was displaying symptoms of infection.

Dr. Karp looked back at Ash’s monitor.

So what makes your family different, Captain?

Ash had been as exposed as anyone else when the spray was released on the three streets that made up the Barker Flats Research Center housing area. But it had not affected him at all. Just like it had not affected his son.

Brandon, was it?

The immunity had obviously been passed down through Ash’s ancestors, and not his wife’s. Preliminary results indicated she was one of the first to succumb. Unfortunately, whatever gene was in play within the Ash family, there was an apparent gender component to it. The fact that Captain Ash and his son had remained immune, while the captain’s daughter had not, was definitely something that needed to be investigated.

In many ways, the girl, Josie Ash, was the most interesting. By all accounts, she had gone through the same stages of the infection as the other victims, but not long after she’d been brought in, she had started to show improvement. And now, seven hours later, her temperature was almost normal.

Still, it bothered Dr. Karp. If the immunity affected the sexes differently, any vaccine they might be able to develop from the Ash family could potentially have the same drawbacks. He was sure the female population of the project would be far from excited if they had to go through the same hell the Ash girl had. There was also the very real possibility that, though the girl was now getting better, she might have suffered some internal damage to her organs while the disease had a hold of her. That would be unacceptable.

No, the gender component would have to be identified and eliminated. If that turned out to be impossible, then KV-27a would not be the answer and further testing would have to take place.

“Dr. Karp,” one of the technicians said.

The doctor acknowledged the man with a look.

“We’ve lost the patients in cells 18 and 31. Five other cells are trending toward termination in the next thirty minutes, and the remaining ten sometime over the following two hours.”

Dr. Karp nodded once, then looked back at Captain Ash. He was sitting on his bunk now, his head in his hands. His heart rate had come down a bit, and despite the fact they had been pumping the virus directly into his cell since he arrived, there was still no sign he was getting sick.

“Call me if anything changes,” the doctor said.

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Karp walked out the door and down the hallway toward the rooms where the children were being held.

As soon as the girl was stable enough, they would move the two Ash kids to a facility outside San Francisco, where observations could continue and the doctor’s team could do more extensive testing to determine the source of the immunity. A day, maybe two at most.

Their father, on the other hand, would not be making the trip. A team would continue to keep him under observation there at Barker Flats, waiting to see if the virus broke through and compromised his system. Dr. Karp was convinced it wouldn’t, but they had to do their due diligence. If in a week, maybe ten days tops, Ash was still healthy, he would be terminated and his body thoroughly examined

Dr. Karp reached the boy’s room first. The guard at the door opened it without being asked, then stood aside.

Brandon Ash was sitting at a small table, an untouched bowl of cereal in front of him.

“You should eat,” the doctor said.

“I’m not hungry,” Brandon mumbled.

The doctor approached the table. “I have good news.”

Instantly, the boy brightened. “My father?”

“Your sister, Josie.”

“Oh,” the boy said, unable to keep his disappointment completely out of his voice.

“She’s getting better. You’ll be able to see her soon.”

“Good. I’m…I’m glad. But…” He hesitated. “What about my dad?”

Though the doctor was often short and gruff with those who worked for him, he knew how to turn on the bedside manner when needed. He knelt down next to Brandon and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m not going to lie to you, Brandon, he’s not doing well at the moment. But we’re hopeful that he’ll be better soon, just like Josie.”

“Can I see him?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea right now. There are a lot of doctors and nurses working on him, and I’m sure you don’t want to get in their way.”

Brandon looked down at the table and shook his head. “No. I don’t want to do that.”

“As soon as you can see him, I’ll let you know. Okay?”

Brandon tried to smile. “Thank you.”

Dr. Karp patted him on the shoulder again then stood up. “Now, eat your breakfast. We don’t want you getting sick, too.”

 

 

3

 

That night would be burned forever in Ash’s mind. He knew there would be no escaping it. His wife, his daughter, his son—all dead. But as utterly painful as that realization was, it was actually the good memories that made him want to curl into a ball in the corner.

Wrestling with Brandon in the backyard.

Reading to Josie as she leaned against him, hanging on his every word.

Kissing Ellen. Holding Ellen. Loving Ellen.

There was a trip they had all taken once that started out badly, but it turned out to be the best vacation they’d ever had. He’d been stationed at Fort Irwin then, outside Barstow, California—ironically only about a hundred miles south of Barker Flats. They’d meant to go to the Grand Canyon but only made it as far as Needles, California, when the van they’d borrowed from a neighbor broke down. Repairs would take several days, which pretty much ruled out sticking to their plan.

The owner of the auto shop was a former Marine. When he found out Ash was in the service, he made a few calls and was soon driving the Ash family the forty or so miles to a vacation house on Lake Havasu his brother-in-law owned.

They spent the days swimming in the lake, the evenings barbecuing, and the nights playing games. Ash became the king of Chinese checkers that trip, while Josie was crowned Miss Monopoly.

One day they even rented a Jet Ski, and Ash took turns taking the kids out on the water. Ellen was a nervous wreck every time she watched them head away from shore, but by the end, even she was smiling and laughing. Ash never did get her on that Jet Ski, though. She’d claimed someone had to stay on shore in case something went wrong, but he knew that wasn’t the real reason. She had a fear of water, something she’d had since she was a kid.

He missed that about her.

He missed everything.

Over a week he had been in his cell, a week of talking with no one but the voice from the speaker, and not actually seeing anyone at all. When he woke each morning, he found a day’s worth of food sitting against the wall. He tried pretending to sleep a few times so he could catch whoever was bringing it in, but he could never keep his eyes open long enough. He suspected they were giving him some sort of sleeping drug, either through his food or, more likely, through the air.

The cell that was his world consisted of a cot, a toilet, a sink, and four thick cement walls. The only door was opposite the toilet, but there was no handle on the inside, just a smooth metal surface.

He figured he’d been put in the cell on the chance he’d been infected. It was probably the nearest isolation room available. After all, he’d held his daughter in his arms. Brandon had, too. He’d been healthy when Ash last saw him, but he’d apparently contracted whatever it was before they were taken from the house. So, logically, Ash should be next.

Only, despite the fact that everyone he loved was dead, here he was still breathing.

He felt despair and guilt and loss, but none was as strong as the hatred he felt toward whoever had done this to his family, his friends, his country. There was no way he would ever believe this was not a planned attack. Someone had targeted American soldiers and their families. Families, for God’s sake! Whoever it was needed to pay.

Perhaps they already had. But if that were the case, no one had told him. In fact, no one had told him much of anything.

Each day, the man on the speaker would ask him questions like: “How are you feeling?” “Do you have any pain?” “Headaches?” Or the voice would give him instructions such as: “Stand with your arms out, then raise them above your head,” or “Walk heel to toe across the room in a straight line.” He felt like a drunk.

But when Ash asked questions back, they were ignored, and the anger he felt toward the terrorist who’d perpetrated this disaster started to leak a little toward the voice in the ceiling. He just wanted to get out and bury his family. He wanted to sit by their graves and grieve. It was his right.

“Good morning, Captain,” the voice on the speaker said.

Ash opened his eyes. It was the beginning of his eighth day in the cell.

“Are you feeling anything unusual? Aches? Pains?” the voice asked.

Ash looked up at the speaker. To him it had become the face of the voice. He could almost see eyes now, and a nose. And, of course, the big round mouth.

The speaker had become his own version of Wilson the volleyball from that Tom Hanks movie, Cast Away. Only Wilson had been Hanks’s friend. Ash wasn’t so sure the speaker was his.

He gritted his teeth. “How much longer?”

“Please answer the question.”

“Answer mine first. How much longer until I can get out and deal with my family?”

For more than a minute the cell was silent.

“Are you feeling anything unusual? Aches? Pains?” the voice asked again.

“Go to hell.”

“Captain, you are not at liberty to choose whether you will answer the questions or not. It’s your duty.”

Ash rolled onto his side, as if turning away from the speaker would make it disappear.

As he lay there, he could smell eggs and bacon, and knew a tray with his breakfast was waiting for him by the door. It was the only hot meal he got each day. Lunch and dinner would be in boxes next to it. Sandwiches, most days.

“Are you feeling anything unusual? Aches? Pains?”

The captain let out a snorting you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me laugh. “Unusual? Yeah, I’m feeling something unusual.”

“Please explain.” There was a note of concern in the voice.

Ash just shook his head. If the voice couldn’t figure out there was something unusual about his situation, he wasn’t going to enlighten him.

“What are you feeling?” the voice asked.

No response.

“Captain, please answer the question.”

Ash sat up, suddenly having the urge to eat. He retrieved the tray then returned to his bunk. In addition to the bacon and eggs, there was also a container of orange juice and a cup of coffee. He opened the OJ and downed the contents.

“Captain, if there’s a change in your condition, you need to tell us.”

Ash lifted the plastic top that covered his plate and picked up his fork. He was just about to scoop up some egg when he noticed a small, folded piece of paper tucked under the bacon. He hesitated for a moment, then placed the lid back down as if he’d decided he wasn’t ready to eat yet, and turned his attention to the coffee.

“Captain, are you going to cooperate?”

Ash took a sip of the coffee and made no indication he had even heard the question.

“Captain?”

It was another five minutes before the voice finally fell silent. Still, Ash waited, knowing that after a while their interest in him would wane, and those watching him through the surveillance cameras would no longer be paying as close attention as they had been.

Finally, he lifted the lid off the plate again. This time he grabbed both the piece of paper and a strip of cold bacon. He tucked the paper against his palm, then raised the bacon to his mouth and took a bite. While he chewed, he casually slipped the paper under the blanket.

He ate everything on the plate, even though the eggs had gone rubbery and the bacon had lost much of its flavor. When he was done, he set the tray by the door as he always did, and commenced his daily exercise program.

This consisted of push-ups, sit-ups and running in place, the perfect exercises for the confined man. Outwardly, he maintained an aura of blank detachment, but on the inside he could think of little else but the scrap of paper waiting for him in his bed.

After sixty minutes, he’d worked up quite a sweat. He removed his clothes, then used the cup the coffee had come in to give himself a sink bath. Still sticking to his routine, he toweled off with his shirt and pulled the flimsy cloth pants they’d given him back on.

For the next twenty minutes, he paced the room. This was his cool down, also part of his new daily habit.

As he walked back and forth he began to wonder if he was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe the paper was just trash, something accidentally dropped there when his food had been prepared. If so, he was getting himself worked up over nothing.

Once his palm touched the concrete wall at the end of his last lap, he returned to his cot and lay down. After a few minutes he closed his eyes, then twisted around so his back was to the vent where he assumed the camera was. As he turned, he slipped his hand under the blanket and grabbed the paper.

Though he kept telling himself that it was nothing, he could feel his heart race as he silently unfolded it. Keeping it close to his chest, he held it out at an angle, lowered his head and opened his eyes.

In the center of the paper, written in pencil, was a single word:

TONIGHT

 

 

4

 

The man running the show in Dr. Karp’s absence was Major Frank Littlefield.

The major had left his previous posting three years earlier for a special assignment. After a year in which a whole new world had been opened up to him, the assignment became permanent. It was on that day that the Army—and the U.S. Government, for that matter—ceased to be his true employer. He was a member of the project now, and as such, that’s where his loyalties lay.

Major Littlefield was sitting in his office sipping a cup of coffee. Via the monitor on his wall, he had access to all the same feeds as the observation room two doors down, but was limited to watching only one at a time. That wasn’t such a big deal anymore since there was just one cell still occupied.

Cell number 57. Captain Daniel Ash.

The captain was taking what had become his usual post-workout morning nap. But this morning there was definitely a change in him, a defiance that had only been a spark in the previous couple of days.

As the major stared at the screen, his phone rang. He pressed the speakerphone button and said, “Major Littlefield.”

“I just read your report.” It was Dr. Karp. The major had been expecting the call, waiting for it, actually. “Has there been any change in attitude?”

“No, sir.”

“What about physically? Still no reaction?”

“None whatsoever, sir.”

The doctor was silent for a moment. “I had hoped to give it a few more days, but I think it’s safe to assume the results won’t change. Where are we with the current dosing cycle?”

“It’s scheduled to complete at two a.m.”

“All right, we might as well let it run. Once it’s complete, pull the plug, Major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want the autopsy performed immediately. Once you have obtained all the required samples, and the body has been eliminated, you and your team are to report to Bluebird.”

“Understood.”

“Good,” the doctor said, then hung up.

As Major Littlefield replaced the receiver in the cradle, his gaze returned to the napping form of Captain Ash.

“Enjoy it,” the major said to the TV. “It’ll be your last one.”

 

 

5

 

Tonight.

It could mean so many different things.

Was it a warning? Was tonight the night they changed the sleeping gas to something stronger? Or was the sender going to try to contact him? Or was it just a joke and didn’t really mean anything at all?

Ash wasn’t sure if he should be looking forward to finding out or dreading it. But there was one thing he couldn’t do—stop it from coming.

He kept to his schedule. Eating lunch when he usually ate, exercising again in the afternoon, then pacing until his stomach began to growl, signaling it was time for dinner. Twice the voice had asked how he was feeling, and twice he had ignored it.

When the lights flicked off then back on, he knew the wait was almost over. In ten minutes they would go off and stay that way until morning. Again, he did what he always did, brushing his teeth using only his finger and water from the sink, then relieving himself in the toilet. The only change was the ripped-up note he slipped into the bowl just before he flushed.

As he lay on the cot, he felt tense, suddenly sure the message had been a warning. He tried to stay awake, fearful that if he closed his eyes, he might never open them again. It wasn’t that he was scared of death, or that the thought of being with his family again didn’t appeal to him. But it was because of his family that he needed to live. He had to find who had done this to them. He had to make sure whoever it was had been properly dealt with, and if they hadn’t, he had to do it himself. After that, he didn’t care.

But then the gas must have come, because his eyelids grew heavy, and then the next thing he knew someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Wake up, Captain.”

The male voice seemed distant, as if it were coming from another room.

“Give him a second,” a second voice said, also male and muffled. “The shot takes a moment to kick in.”

Shot?

Ash peeled open his eyes, but could see nothing in the darkness. His hand slipped as he tried to push himself up and he fell back onto the bed.

“Easy there, Captain,” the first voice said.

Ash turned toward it. “What’s going on?”

“Later. Right now we have to get you out of here.”

“Out of here? I’m…what?” He knew he wasn’t making sense, but they weren’t making sense to him, either.

“We can talk later. Right now you need to do exactly what we say and keep quiet.”

“I don’t under…?”

What was this guy talking about? All Ash wanted to do was put his head back on his pillow and shut his eyes. But gloved hands were under his arms now, lifting him to his feet. As he staggered, someone grabbed him and kept him from falling.

“We’d love to give you a few seconds to wake up, but we don’t have time,” the second voice said.

Ash looked to his right and could barely make out a dark shadow of an oddly shaped person. Suddenly, he felt an arm wrap around his back.

“Just hold on,” the man said, his voice still sounding farther away than it should have been.

They exited the cell into a dark hallway. That seemed odd to Ash. Surely, there should have been some lights on.

“Clear,” the first voice called out from the distance.

“We’re going to move fast, Captain,” the man at his side said. “So keep a hold of me.”

As Ash grabbed the man’s back, the material of the guy’s shirt confused him. It was thick and kind of rubbery. But Ash barely had time to register this before the man began half-pulling, half-dragging him down the corridor. It was all Ash could do to keep from slipping to the floor.

After what he guessed was probably thirty seconds, they mercifully stopped. He heard a knob twist, then a door open, but he still couldn’t see anything.

“Straight ahead a couple feet, then we go to the left,” his human crutch said.

As they eased forward, Ash asked, “Why are all the lights off?”

“Quiet.”

Once they’d made the turn, they picked up speed again, moving quickly down the new corridor and through another door.

“Can you stand on your own?” the man whispered to Ash.

“What? Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Okay. Stay here.” The man let go of Ash and stepped away.

“Wait. Where are you going?” the captain asked.

“Don’t move, and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you—”

A torrent of thick liquid engulfed him from every side, the flow so strong he could hardly breathe. There was also an overwhelming disinfectant smell, which didn’t help. He coughed several times and tried to step away.

“Don’t,” the first voice ordered. “You’re covered with the bug. It’s either this way or we will be forced to terminate you.”

Terminate? Ash stayed where he was.

Soon the spray stopped.

“Remove your clothes and throw them behind you.”

Ash hesitated for only a second, then stripped.

Once more the flow commenced, followed by a strong stream of odorless water.

As soon as it shut off, the first voice said, “There’s a wall three feet to your left. Follow that toward my voice about ten feet. There you’ll find a towel and some clean clothes. Please hurry.”

Ash did as instructed. As he was toweling off, he heard the sprays come on again. Judging by the sound, though, it wasn’t flowing over flesh.

Decontamination suits, he realized. Like the ones the people who’d come into his house—so long ago, it seemed—wore. That’s why the guy’s shirt had felt so strange.

The clothes waiting for him were not the flimsy garments he’d been given while in his cell. There was a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a pullover sweater, socks, and a pair of sturdy but flexible ankle-high boots.

“Ready?” the first voice asked a minute later, no longer muffled by what must have been the hood and mask of the suit.

“Yes,” Ash said. He finished tying his last shoelace and stood up. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“Not until we get out of here,” the other voice said.

A door opened, but the lack of light remained unchanged.

The two men led Ash away from the room, one always keeping a hand on the captain’s arm.

They’d been fast-walking for nearly three minutes when the guy in the lead let out a very low “shhhh.”

They stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Over here,” the lead guy whispered.

Ash was ushered through a doorway, into a space that was barely big enough for the three of them. The door then clicked shut.

A moment later, the sound of a single pair of running footsteps rushed by outside without stopping.

“They’re going to find out he’s gone,” one of the men whispered.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of it,” the other one replied. “You get him out of here. You remember the way, right?”

“Are you kidding? This place is a maze.”

There was silence for a moment, then, “Okay. I’ll show you, but then it’ll be up to you.”

They headed back into the hallway, picking up their pace to a near run. They passed through two more corridors and made a hard turn to the left.

After another few moments, the one in the lead said, “It’s just up—”

Without warning, the emergency lights kicked on.

The guy who’d been holding Ash’s arm let go, then ripped something off his head. Night vision goggles. Both of the men had been wearing them. With the lights on, they had become useless.

“Come on,” the lead guy said. “We’re almost there.”

He had a short military haircut and was wearing an officer’s uniform with no insignia. The man next to Ash was dressed in clothes more like the blue jeans and sweater he was now wearing, and while this guy’s hair was also short, it had a distinct civilian look to it.

They ran down the hallway, took a quick bend to the right, then the lead man skidded to a stop in front of a heavy-looking metal door. As Ash and the other man ran up, he pulled it open.

Chilled air seeped into the hallway.

“Quick, quick!” he said, then pointed at an angle out the door. “Head in that direction. It’ll get you to where we were earlier.”

“Maybe you should come with us,” his partner said.

The first guy shook his head. “I can do more here.”

“They’re going to know someone on the inside helped.”

The lead man’s face grew hard. “Go. Now. You don’t have time.”

He shoved Ash and the other man outside then shut the door.

Ash’s escort seemed disoriented for a moment, then he took a deep breath and said, “Keep low, and follow right behind me.”

He took off across a wide space of leveled dirt, not waiting for Ash to respond. Though he was tired of not knowing what was going on, Ash was smart enough to realize now wasn’t the time to push, so he headed after his rescuer.

The man led him into a narrow ravine that had been carved into the desert. It was deep enough so that they could stand up without being seen by anyone at ground level.

They followed it for thirty minutes, finally stopping when they reached a rocky overhang. There, the man fell to his knees, reached underneath, and pulled out a cloth bag. He unzipped it and removed something.

“Here,” he said, tossing it to Ash.

It was a worn-looking leather jacket with a padded lining inside, and a stocking cap and gloves in the pocket. While it was definitely a cool desert night, it wasn’t that cold.

“Put it on,” the man said. “You’ll need it later.”

“For what?”

“To stay warm. What do you think?”

Next he pulled out a messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. He then shoved the empty cloth bag back under the overhang. “All right. Let’s go.”

Ash didn’t move.

The man took a few steps down the riverbed before he realized this. “Look, we don’t have much time. If you miss the connection, you’re out of luck. So let’s move it.”

“No,” Ash said.

The man stared at him. “All right, fine. Then you can stay here and let them find you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

The man looked away, obviously not happy. When he turned back, he took a couple steps toward Ash. “If we’d left you in your cell, you wouldn’t have woken up tomorrow morning. You were no longer any use to them alive.”

“You saved me because they were going to kill me?”

“We saved you because…” He paused, then took a deep breath. “Yeah. That’s as good a reason as any. You can either trust me or not, but I can guarantee you one thing. Those people back there…” He pointed in the direction they’d come. “They don’t care a thing about you. It’s what’s inside you that’s most important to them. And they can’t get to that while you’re still breathing. Get it?”

He turned around and started walking, this time without looking back.

Ash stood where he was a moment longer, then followed.

 

 

6

 

Major Littlefield was in the cafeteria when the power went out.

“What the hell?”

He’d made himself a late-night sandwich as he waited for Ash’s final cycle to complete. It was already obvious that, once more, the bug would fail to take hold. The captain was as immune to KV-27a as a person could be.

From Littlefield’s understanding, the testing of the Ash children was proceeding slowly. But now Dr. Karp would have samples from an actual body he could take a closer look at and hopefully speed up the process.

The plan for that evening was simple. Once the cycle finished at two a.m. and the captain’s vital signs remained unchanged, the air to his cell would be slowly cut off and within an hour, he would take his last breath. This method would eliminate any chance of contaminating the body with whatever poison they would have had to use otherwise.

But now the lights had gone off, and the stupid backup power had yet to kick in.

He pulled his radio off his belt. “Control, this is Littlefield.”

“Control,” a voice replied. It sounded like Brewer.

“What’s your power situation there?”

There was a slight pause. “Sir, we’re in the dark. Literally.”

“Backup?”

“No, sir. Nothing.”

Littlefield stood up. “All right, I’m coming to you.”

“Sir, where are you?”

“The cafeteria.”

“I think you’re going to have a problem getting here.”

Littlefield pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, using it as a flashlight as he weaved his way out of the room. “Why do you say that?”

“When the power cuts off, the facility entrance automatically locks down until the electricity comes back.”

“Well, what about one of the emergency doors?”

“Those can only be opened from the inside.”

“Then get off your ass and go open one!”

There was no response for a moment. “The observation room door also locks down. Jones and I are, uh, stuck in here.”

“Jesus.”

Littlefield stepped out of the cafeteria and jogged quickly toward the entrance to the containment facility. There was absolutely no one else around. Not surprising since Littlefield had been left with only a bare-bones crew of five men including himself, more than enough to deal with the single person under their supervision. The rest of the team that had been at Barker Flats had either left with Dr. Karp and the children, or had relocated to Bluebird already. So with the exception of his team and Captain Ash, there was no one else anywhere on the decommissioned base.

“Are you telling me there’s no manual override?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Well, where are Causey and Ellison? If they’re not in there with you, they must be somewhere in the facility. They can let me in.”

“Not sure, sir. I’ll try to locate them.”

Littlefield reached the main door. Sure enough it was locked tight. He made his way around, trying each of the three emergency doors, but they were sealed shut, too.

“Control, have you found Causey or Ellison yet?”

“No, sir. Neither is answering his radio.”

A sudden chill ran down the major’s back.

“What was the status of Cell 57 when you were last able to check?”

“The captain was sound asleep. Vital signs unchanged.”

“Are you sure he was asleep?”

“Absolutely.”

That was good, but it still wasn’t enough to ease Littlefield’ mind. “There’s got to be a way for me to get in. Something—”

“Sir?” a new voice came over the radio.

“Who is this?” the major asked.

“It’s Jones, sir. I believe if you go to emergency door B, you might be able to get in there.”

“I’ve already tried each of the emergency doors. No go. All closed tight.”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“What is it, Jones?”

“Sir, I believe…if I remember correctly, there is a manual override outside door B.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“It’s…hidden, sir.”

Littlefield began running back toward emergency door B. “How do you know it’s hidden?”

There was a pause. “One of the other men, sir. He left with Dr. Karp last week. He found it and showed it to me. We’d used it when we needed a smoke.”

That was a potentially serious breach of security. Jones should have known better. It would have to be dealt with later but at the moment, the major could take advantage of the rule-breaking.

“Okay, I’m here,” he said half a minute later. “Where is it?”

“If you face the door, you’ll see a little panel low and to the right, about three feet from the entrance.”

“I see it.”

“Open the panel, sir.”

Littlefield did. There was a lever inside in the down position, and above it, a series of six tumblers with numbers on each barrel.

“Okay,” he said. “I see the lock. What’s the combination?”

“Are all ones still showing, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Then you just need to pull the handle, sir.”

“The combination is all ones?”

“I…think it’s just waiting to be reset when the next permanent operation moves in.”

Good God. How easily they could have been compromised if someone had snuck onto the base.

He pulled the lever and the door sprang open.

Inside the facility, he couldn’t see his fingers even if he tried to poke himself in the eye, so once again he resorted to using his cell phone as a flashlight.

“I’m in,” he said as he took off running down the hallway. “I’m going for the emergency power first, then I’ll check the cell.”

When he got to the emergency panel, his worst fear was confirmed. This wasn’t just a simple fault. Someone had tampered with it. Thankfully, it wasn’t enough to put it out of action permanently.

He spent several annoying minutes getting enough of it back online so he could engage the backup system. The moment the emergency lights flared on, he began sprinting toward Cell 57.

His radio crackled. “Major Littlefield?” It was Brewer again.

Littlefield raised his radio without slowing his pace. “What?”

“He’s not there.”

The major didn’t have to ask who “he” was. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir. The emergency power gave us some limited camera access. Cell 57 is empty.”

Littlefield nearly tossed the radio down the hall ahead of him. “Dammit!”

“Sir, where are you?”

“Approaching the cellblock-50 corridor.”

“Stop, sir! Stop and get out now!”

The major skidded to a halt. “What is it?”

“The door to Cell 57 is open and the cycle is running again. The cellblock corridor will be contaminated.”

The major stared ahead. Not just the cellblock corridor, he realized.

Fifty feet in front of him, he could see the open door to cellblock 50. Soon the whole facility would be contaminated. There was no question his own life was already over.

“Contact Dr. Karp. Inform him that the subject is missing, and that we are conducting a full facility search. Tell him upon completion we’ll be initiating Protocol Thirteen.”

“What? There’s no reason for—”

“Can you access the camera outside cellblock 50?”

“Uh, I think so.”

“You should look.”

The pause that followed lasted about ten seconds.

“Dear God,” Brewer said.

“The main corridor’s your only way out, and it’s been compromised.” What the major didn’t have to add was that the door to the observation room was not biosafe-rated. “We’re dead one way or the other.”

It was nearly half a minute before Brewer finally responded. “I’ll call Dr. Karp.”

Suddenly, Littlefield heard someone running farther back in the facility. Thinking that it might be Ash, he took off in pursuit, but whoever it was got out at one of the emergency exits before Littlefield could reach them. As much as he wanted to continue tracking the person into the night, in his contaminated condition it was no longer a possibility.

He spent forty minutes searching the building for Ash, but the only person he found was Sergeant Causey. He was lying unconscious in a supply closet near cellblock 30. The major decided not to wake him just to tell him he was about to die.

Ellison, though, was nowhere to be found, making it a pretty damn good bet he’d been involved in freeing Captain Ash. No matter. They’d both be tracked down soon enough. Dr. Karp would make sure of it. Littlefield was just disappointed he wouldn’t be there to pull the trigger when it happened.

He walked all the way down to Cell 57 and sat on Ash’s cot. He then had Brewer patch him through to Dr. Karp.

“I can’t say that I’m pleased,” the doctor said when Littlefield finished his report.

“I can’t say that I am, either.”

“Is that it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then finish things.”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir. Good luck.”

Dr. Karp grunted a reply, then was gone.

“Brewer?” Littlefield said.

“I’m here.”

“Initiate Protocol Thirteen.”

 

 

7

 

Five minutes beyond the rock overhang, Captain Ash and his escort came to a tall chain-link fence. There were several rows of razor wire mounted to brackets across the top, meant to discourage anyone from climbing over.

His guide pulled a small, rectangular device out of his pocket and stared at it for a few seconds before nodding to his right.

“That way,” he said. “Seventy-five feet.”

As they walked along the fence, Ash caught sight of the building he’d been freed from. It was really no more than a distant, half-lit blob. That surprised him. He hadn’t realized they’d traveled so far.

What was even more surprising, though, was that there were no helicopters flying around looking for them, no vehicles racing across the desert hot on their trail, no apparent interest in them at all. Was it possible the Army didn’t even realize he was gone?

“Found it,” his guide said as he dropped to his knees beside the fence.

The man undid a couple of temporary ties from the chain-link, fence then pulled open a slit that had been previously cut into it.

He shoved the messenger bag through first, followed it, then pulled one of the edges back as far as it would go. “Your turn.”

As soon as Ash passed through, the guy hemmed up the fence, then said, “Not long now.”

“And then what?”

Ash got no response.

The desert on this side of the fence was no different from that on the other, save for the fact that it wasn’t under direct military control.

They found another ravine, this one only deep enough to cover them from the waist down. They followed it for several minutes before they climbed out and veered off to their right. In the sky, there was definitely something brewing in the East that would challenge the night for control before too long.

They walked for five more minutes, then the guide said, “Wait here.”

A minute passed. Then two.

Ash was just starting to wonder if the guy was going to come back when—

Light flashed, and a tremendous roar raced across the desert as the ground shook for what seemed like several seconds, knocking Ash to the ground.

He pushed himself up and stared, dumbstruck, toward the middle of the valley. The building that he’d been held in was gone, replaced by flames so bright, his eyes hurt looking at them even at this distance. Above the inferno, a giant cloud of smoke rose into the air, lit from below by the flames.

“You’ve got to go now!”

Ash whipped around. He hadn’t heard the other man return.

“Did…did you guys do that? Did you blow up the building?”

The man glared at Ash for a moment. “We were there to rescue you, not blow up anything. Whatever happened, they did it themselves. Now come on.”

“But why would the Army blow up their own building?”

“You think the Army did this to you?” He pointed toward the distant blaze. “The Army didn’t do that, and they weren’t the people who were holding you. You’ve gotten in a mess here you didn’t even realize you’d been pulled into.”

“What are you talking about? If they weren’t Army, then I need to report in, let them know what’s going on.”

“You don’t get it. Anything you report will get right back to the people who did this to you. You can strike out on your own and find out if I’m right, or you can take the help I’m offering and find out the truth.” When Ash didn’t immediately respond, the man added, “Don’t forget, that guy who helped me get you out was still inside when we left. There’s a pretty good chance he just gave his life to save you. So what’s it going to be?”

It was all too much for Ash to take in. Not the Army? If not, who were they? And why would reporting in get him in trouble? Almost none of it was making sense. About the only thing he knew for sure was that the man and his partner had gotten him out of the building before it exploded.

Finally he nodded. He didn’t have to trust them forever, but for now it seemed like the best option he had.

“Let’s go, then,” the man said. A few minutes later, they were standing at the edge of a blacktop road. The man pulled the messenger bag off his shoulder and handed it to Ash. “You’ll find another change of clothes inside. There’s also a driver’s license and a credit card under the name Craig Thompson. Don’t try using the card. It’s just for appearances and won’t work. But you’ll be Thompson only for the next leg. When you transfer again, you’ll be given a new ID. At that point, destroy these.”

“Transfer again?” Ash asked.

“There’s also two thousand dollars in cash,” the guide said, ignoring his question.

“Two thousand?”

“It should be more than enough in case of an emergency along the way.”

“Along the way to where?”

The man looked at him for a moment, then opened the flap of the messenger bag and pulled out a seven-by-seven-inches square, half-inch-thick package that had been wrapped completely in brown packing tape. “This is for your contact at your end station. He’ll know what to do with it.”

“Contact? End station? You’re not making any sense.”

The man stuffed the package back in the bag then pointed down the road. “A hundred yards that way you’ll find an abandoned gas station.” He looked at his watch. “In ten minutes, a car is going to stop there. The driver will ask you if you know where the nearest town is. You say it would be easier if you showed them. They’ll agree and you’ll get in.”

“Who is it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where are they supposed to take me?”

“I have no idea.”

“So I’m supposed to just trust them?”

“You trusted us.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Seems to me you don’t have much of a choice now, either.”

“Please. You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on!”

The man looked at his watch again. “You’re down to nine minutes. If you’re not there when your ride arrives, they won’t wait. Then you’ll be on your own.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Good luck.”

Not knowing what else to do, Ash shook it, then watched the man disappear back into the night.

Finally he turned and started jogging down the highway.

 

 

8

 

James Ellison was a dead man, and he knew it.

After guiding Captain Ash and the other man—a man whose name he never knew—to the exit and making sure they got out, his plan had been to return to the supply closet where he’d left Sergeant Causey after he’d drugged the man’s coffee. He had a second, weaker dose that he was going to take himself so that they’d both be found unconscious together.

He had been on his way there when he heard Major Littlefield’s voice in the distance. He pulled out his radio and turned it up just loud enough so he could listen in on the conversation.

What he heard made his blood turn to ice. The door to cellblock 50 had been left open. He’d been sure he closed it, but apparently the lock hadn’t engaged. It was his biohazard suit—it made it hard to hear the click of the latch.

Though Ash and the other man had still been in the facility when the emergency power came back on and the dosing cycle started again, they were so far away at that point, there was no chance the bug could have reached them before they got outside.

He, on the other hand, was toast.

He told himself the reason he needed to get out of there was because someone had to report in the fact that Major Littlefield was no longer in the picture.

His cell phone was in his bag in the observation room, and therefore permanently unavailable, so he would have to find an out-of-the-way pay phone. After he made the call, he could stumble into the desert and die, hopefully from exposure before the bug took him down. That was the best plan he could come up with.

But while the information about Major Littlefield was important, it would also be something the others would learn soon enough without him.

The coming Protocol Thirteen firestorm—that was the real reason he turned and ran.

 

 

9

 

The gas station was right where the guide had told Ash it would be. It was an old, adobe-style building with a low concrete pad out front where the pumps used to sit. By the look of it, it had been left for dead a long time ago.

Ash raced across the highway, thinking that whoever was going to be picking him up must already be there, perhaps parked out of sight. But when he got there, no one was around.

Had his ride already come and gone? Had he missed his opportunity to get away from the base? Or, he wondered, had the driver been scared off by the explosion? It certainly wouldn’t be out of the question.

Just then he heard a whine, low and from the South. Tires on asphalt. It had to be.

He peered down the highway. Everything was dark. No headlights, no sign that anyone was coming, except the whine.

He didn’t see the car until just before it turned off the road, its headlights off. He watched as it pulled in like it was going to fill up with gas.

For a few seconds, he considered making a run for the desert and disappearing. He had no idea who these people were, and had no clue as to why they were helping him. What he did know, though, was getting a ride in a car was considerably better than wandering through the desert.

He stepped out from the building and walked toward the sedan. As he neared, the driver’s-side window slid down.

“Morning,” a female voice said from inside. She sounded nervous.

Ash leaned down so he could see her. In the darkness, she wasn’t much more than a shadow, with shoulder-length hair he thought was probably blonde.

“Could have sworn there was a town around here,” she said. “Know of some place I could get a little breakfast?”

“I…I can show you.”

His response was a lot less polished than her question, but it served the purpose of identification as her door locks clicked up.

“Hop in,” she said.

He moved around to the passenger side. But as he opened the door, the woman shook her head.

“No. In the back.”

He hesitated a moment, then shut the door and opened the one behind it.

“Lift the seat,” she told him before he could climb in.

“What?”

She pointed at the seat cushion. “There's a latch in the back near the center. Pull and lift.”

He did as the woman instructed. The only thing under the bench was the metal body of the car. He looked at her, confused.

She reached under the car’s dash. A second later there was a dull thud, and the metal under the backseat popped upward several inches. Not needing to be told, he pulled it open as far as it would go, revealing what could best be described as a storage area. It was identical in length to the back seat, maybe a foot wider, and about two and a half deep.

“Get in,” the woman said.

“You've got to be kidding me. I'm not getting in there.”

“You get in there or you don’t get the ride.” She glanced toward the fire that was still burning in the valley. “You’re lucky I stopped at all. Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

He started to speak, but she shook her head and held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She looked back at the secret compartment. “It's vented, so you’ll get plenty of fresh air, and the lining’s padded.” She grabbed a water bottle off the front passenger seat and held it out to him. “You’re not going to want to drink this all at once. You won’t be getting out for several hours, so taking a leak can get a little messy.”

“I'll just sit in the back seat if it's all right with you.” He started to close the metal lid.

“It's not all right with me!” she shot back. “I don't know who you are, or why you need to get away from here, but I do know if we get stopped and they find you, I'm going to be in as much trouble as you are. Now you can either get in the hole or start walking. It's up to you.”

She stared at him defiantly, the bottle of water still in her outstretched hand.

He looked at the compartment, then at the water, then at the woman. “I don’t know who you are, either.”

“And you won’t,” she said.

He stood there a moment longer, then took the water and awkwardly lowered himself into the hiding space. Once he was in position, the woman leaned back and started to lower the lid.

“I didn’t start that fire,” he said.

“I told you. I don’t want to know.”

She shut him in.

• • •

For the first hour, he was sure they would be stopped at a roadblock and the car inspected. But as the road kept passing a few feet beneath him, he began to think they might have made it away undetected. Eventually, he dozed off.

When he woke again, he could hear other vehicles surrounding them—semi-trucks mostly, cruising at high speeds. He figured they must be on an interstate. Which one, he had no idea. Having just recently been transferred to the Barker Flats Research Center, he didn’t know this part of the country that well and had no clue which highways were within a few hours’ drive away.

Both he and Ellen had grown up in the Midwest—Ash in Ohio and his wife in Indiana. They’d met at college where he was going through ROTC training and working on an engineering degree, and she was studying to be an accountant.

For him, at least, it was one of those instant attraction kind of things. Ellen had always said it was the same for her, too, but he was never sure if she was joking with him or not. Their bond grew infinitely deeper after her father passed away from a heart attack while they were sophomores. Her mother was already gone—cancer. Several years earlier, Ash’s parents had also passed away. No diseases in his family, just bad timing with a tire blowout at seventy miles per hour. His brother was with them, too. Jeff didn't die but, well, the condition he was left in often made Ash wonder if it would have been better if he had.

The fact was, Ash and Ellen really only had each other after that. They were married their senior year, and Josie was born exactly ten months later.

And now here he was alone again, his whole family gone.

He had no idea how long they’d been on the road when he felt the car ease to the right and slow down. Outside, the sounds of the other vehicles grew distant as the sedan came to a near stop, then accelerated again through a sharp right turn.

A couple minutes later, the car slowed once more and veered to the right. The now-familiar hum of tires on asphalt was replaced by the crunch of dirt under treads. Then the car stopped and the engine shut off.

Ash waited, anticipating that the woman would soon release him. A few moments later he heard the seat cushion being lifted above him, but as he waited for the hidden metal flap to open, nothing happened.

“Come on, come on,” he said under his breath.

He’d had enough of the secret compartment. It was small and cramped, and though he wasn’t claustrophobic, he was starting to sympathize with those who were. It didn't help that since they’d stopped moving, the air seemed to be growing stale, too. He wanted out, and he wanted out now.

He thought about pounding on the lid and screaming, “Open up!” But he had no idea where they were or who might overhear him.

He twisted, trying to get more comfortable. As he did, his shoulder brushed against the lid. There was a click as the metal roof of his box rose slightly in response to the pressure.

What the hell?

He placed his hand on it and pushed upward. A thin seam of light grew along the length of the lid. Though it couldn't have been more than a quarter-of-an-inch wide, it was blinding after hours of pitch darkness. He blinked several times, then squeezed his eyelids together so that only a fraction of the light could penetrate them. Again, he pushed on the lid. The crack of light grew an inch wider, then two, then three.

He paused, listening for anyone who might be in the car, and letting his eyes adjust to the daylight. Finally, having heard nothing, he pushed the top all the way open and sat up.

For some reason, he thought he was going to find that they were parked behind one of those giant truck stops, and that the woman had just gone to use the facilities or maybe even grab something to eat. But there was no truck stop. In fact, there were no buildings of any kind, just wilderness, broken only by the distant ribbon of the interstate about two miles away.

The car appeared to be parked in a small valley. While there were a few trees here and there, most of the vegetation was lower to the ground. It was what his dad used to call high chaparral country.

A deserted, two-lane road ran out from the highway in his direction, passing the large dirt lot his ride was parked in and heading off into the hills. Apparently the woman had turned off on one of those exits only a handful of locals would use.

The most surprising thing, though, was that she was nowhere to be seen. Where she’d gone, he had no idea. But unless she was crouching right next to the car, he was entirely alone.

He pushed himself out of the box, threw open one of the doors and climbed outside. The air was cool, almost brisk. He reached back in and retrieved the jacket his guide had given him. He was tempted to pull on the stocking cap and gloves, but instead he just stomped around a little to warm up. Then, after a moment of unnecessary self-consciousness, he relieved himself behind the car.

Not knowing what he was supposed to do now, he decided to see if the woman had left the keys. Maybe the idea all along had been for him to take the sedan and get lost. Maybe that’s what this had been all about. They got him away from trouble, and now he was on his own.

He opened the driver's door and leaned in. The keys weren’t in the ignition, tucked above the sun visor, or lying in the seat. What was in the seat, though, was a white legal-size envelope with MR. THOMPSON typed on the front. It took him a couple seconds before he remembered that Thompson was the name on the false ID he’d been given earlier.

The flap of the envelope was only tucked in, so he flipped it out and removed a single sheet of paper from inside. Like his faux name on the envelope, the note inside was typed. It was short and to the point.

Wait here. Once it's dark, someone will come for you. Before then, burn this and your IDs. There is a lighter in the trunk, along with some food if you get hungry.

Good luck.

He read it twice. It was just another mysterious piece in his ultra-bizarre day. But the mention of food did remind him that it had been almost twenty-four hours since his last meal.

He pulled the trunk release, then moved around back and looked inside. In a brown paper bag, he found a couple of apples, a bag of trail mix, a few energy bars, and three bottles of water. Not exactly the juicy hamburger his stomach was hoping for, but it would do.

There was also one of those long-nosed lighters people used to light campfires and barbecues. But he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to burn his IDs. He’d begun to entertain the idea of taking off on his own. If he did that, the IDs could come in handy. He decided to eat first, then figure it out after.

Within ten minutes, he’d devoured both apples, two of the energy bars, and a good portion of the trail mix. The remainder he wrapped inside the brown sack and slipped into his messenger bag.

He moved to the end of the car and stared at the highway for several minutes. At a fast walk, he could get there in no time then hitch a ride to the next town.

What then, though?

Go to the police? Back to the Army?

The man who’d gotten him out of the building had said if he went back to the Army, the people who’d held him would find him again. Ash wasn’t convinced there were “people” yet. It still could have just been the Army doing what they thought was best for the greater good. But he couldn’t deny something very strange was going on. And if he wanted to find out why Ellen and the kids had been killed, his best bet at the moment was to stay free until he had more answers.

His mind made up, he retrieved his fake IDs and placed them on the ground with the note and envelope from the car. They burned easily, and soon were no more than ash and melted plastic. He mixed what was left into the dirt, then climbed back into the car and waited for the sun to go down.

 

 

10

 

“He’s out,” Pax said over the phone.

There was no need for anyone to reply. So far, this was only a one-way conversation.

“Grabbed his coat…taking a piss.”

Silence again.

“A lot of looking around…checking the car now.”

This should be it, Matt thought.

“He found the letter.”

Yes. Good. Now what are you going to do, Captain?

“He’s read it, and now is checking the trunk. Looks like he’s going to eat something.”

The silence stretched for nearly ten minutes.

“Looking at the highway again.”

Are you walking or are you staying?

“Still looking…still…wait. He’s going back to the trunk…got the lighter…he’s burning everything. That’s a confirm. He’s moving back inside and….sitting in the car.”

“Janice, Michael,” Michael said into the phone. “Pickup is a go. Jordan, get ready to disable the satellite.”

Welcome to the team, Captain Ash.

 

 

11

 

The watch Ash’s wife had given him on their fifth anniversary had been taken away the night he was put in the cell, so he wasn’t exactly sure what time it was when he saw a pair of headlights exit the freeway and head in his direction.

As they neared, he realized they didn’t belong to a car, but an old Winnebago motor home. It slowed to a crawl as it turned off the road, then stopped in front of his sedan.

After a few seconds the side door opened, and a man and a woman emerged. They looked maybe ten years older than Ash, and smiled as they walked in his direction. When they neared his car, the woman stopped several feet away, but the man came right up to Ash’s window and leaned down.

As soon as Ash lowered it halfway, the man said, “Sorry we're late.”

Ash made no reply.

The man rubbed his arms with his hands. “It's a little chilly out. So if you’re ready to go, I’d love to get back in the 'Bago.”

Ash hesitated a moment. The thought of going it alone once more passed through his mind. But the conclusions he’d come up with before hadn’t changed, so he grabbed the messenger bag off the other seat and got out. Immediately, he pulled his jacket tight around his neck. Though it had been cold in the car, it was near freezing outside.

“We've got coffee in the motor home, if you'd like,” the man said, then nodded toward the woman. “Janice just heated up a pot before we turned off. If you're hungry we can cook you up something, too. There’s plenty of leftover chili from lunch. I'm Mike, by the way.”

He held out his hand. Ash shook it.

“Coffee sounds good. My name’s—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I already know who you are. You're Sam Wolverton. I’d recognize you anywhere.”

Apparently Craig Thompson was out, and Sam Wolverton was in. It was as good a name as any, Ash thought.

Mike and Janice led him over to the Winnebago, then inside where the temperature was a wonderfully bone-thawing forty degrees warmer. Ash slowly stretched his stiff cold fingers then rolled his shoulders, trying to bring his muscles back to life.

Janice pointed at a table in the rear. “If you want to have a seat, I'll get that coffee while Mike gets us back on the road.”

“Thanks,” Ash said.

He pulled off his jacket and sat down. Between the heat and the feel of movement and the calm exuded by Janice and Mike, some of the tension he’d been holding on to began to ease away.

It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.

The next thing he knew Janice was touching him on the shoulder.

“You all right?”

He jerked in surprise, then looked up. “I’m fine. Thanks. Just...trying to warm up.”

She set a cup of coffee in front of him. “This’ll help.”

“Thanks again.”

The coffee mug had a lid on top that allowed a person to drink without the liquid inside sloshing out while traveling. Ash took a sip. It was hot and delicious. In fact, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had in a long time.

The Winnebago took a turn to the right and began increasing speed. Ash could see they were transitioning back onto the interstate, but he missed the sign so he still had no idea which one they were on.

He took another, longer sip.

“Mind if I join you?” Janice asked from over at the stove.

“Not at all,” he told her.

She poured herself a cup of coffee then took a seat across the table from him.

“Do you…do this often?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “Do what?”

“Pick up strangers on deserted roads.”

A half-smile graced her lips. “You're not a stranger, Sam. We've known you for years.” She lifted her cup and took a drink.

“But we just—”

“We just what? Pulled off the highway so we could stretch our legs?”

He studied her face for a moment. “Who are you people?”

“Mike and Janice Humphrey. Your old friends from college.”

“I don’t care about any cover story. There’s no one else around. I’d just like to know who you are, and why you're helping me.”

“You sure want a lot for someone whose life is being saved.”

“How do you know that? I thought you didn’t know anything about me. How do you know you’re saving my life?”

“How do I know? I don’t. It was just an educated guess, and by your reaction, a fairly accurate one. And you’re right. We don’t know anything about you. But even if we’re not saving your life, we’re saving you from something. I would think you’d be grateful for that.”

“I am,” he said quickly. “Very grateful. I’m just…confused. I don’t know what’s going…what’s going…”

His vision suddenly blurred.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He opened his eyes as wide as he could, but was unable to focus on anything. As he raised a hand to rub them, vertigo raced through his head like a wave. He no longer knew which way was up and which was down. He reached out for the table to try to steady himself, but he missed and fell sideways, dropping onto the floor. Janice was immediately at his side, her hand moving under his head. But her touch seemed distant and disconnected.

“Relax.” Her voice was a million miles away. “You're going to be fine. You just need a little sleep.”

He tried to speak, to tell her he wasn't fine. That nothing was fine. But his lips refused to move.

A moment later, the unfocused world he’d been seeing turned black.

 

 

12

 

If Ellison had been in a humorous mood, he would have thought it ironic that the car he escaped in belonged to Major Littlefield, but he knew humor would never enter his life again.

The whole time he was hotwiring it, he was sure the major would come charging out and find him, then drag him back into the facility before initiating Protocol Thirteen. But the engine finally roared to life, and he sped away without seeing the major or anyone else.

Just before he reached the far end of the valley, the building exploded, lighting up the sky. Even though he’d been expecting it, it still caught him by surprise. He jerked the wheel to the right and nearly ran off the road.

At least the explosion meant that he was safe for the moment. With the major and the small team at Barker Flats no longer in the picture, anyone the project would send after him was at least a few hundred miles away.

All he had to do was find a pay phone before that.

And torch the car.

And die.

It was an easy enough plan in theory, but after an hour of driving through the empty desert, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He needed to get some rest. He couldn’t afford to crash. Not only would he be unable to deliver the message, but anyone who came to his aid would be in danger of being infected.

Just a couple of hours—a nap, really—that was all he needed.

About five minutes later he spotted an old dirt road. He turned onto it and drove far enough that his car wouldn’t be spotted from the highway, then crawled into the back seat.

When he woke, the sun was high in the sky. Panicked, he pushed himself up but immediately dropped back down. It felt like his brain was trying to push out of his skull. Even his eyes ached.

More slowly this time, he rose into a sitting position. As he tried to take a deep breath, it caught in his throat and he began to cough.

Ellison was not the kind of man who would delude himself. Sure, he could have pretended he’d only caught a bad cold or maybe the flu. But the truth was he was infected with the KV-27a virus, and unless he had an immunity that worked like Josie Ash’s had, he was going to die.

He forced himself to get back behind the wheel. His time was severely limited now. He figured he had no more than two hours to find an isolated pay phone. If he failed to locate one in that time, he would have to forget about the call and concentrate on eliminating his chance of infecting anyone else.

“Should have stayed in the building,” the disease in his head said. “Should have let the fire take you.”

He ignored it and used every ounce of concentration to keep the car on the road. Even then, he often found himself veering dangerously close to the opposite lane and then overcompensating by weaving back the other way and onto the shoulder. God forbid he came across a highway patrol car. They’d pull him over for sure.

He passed a few possibilities, wide spots in the road with two or three restaurants and a gas station, but there were always too many people around. After ninety minutes, he started to think he would have to give up the idea of reporting in. But then he saw a little gas station along an otherwise deserted stretch of the highway.

Though it looked like it was open, there were no customers out front.

He slowed, then turned into the large dirt lot next to the building, his eyes scanning left and right, looking for…

There.

The pay phone was mounted to a wooden pole a good twenty feet away from the station.

He pulled to a stop and stumbled out of the car, then cursed himself for not having gotten closer to the phone. When he finally got to the pole, he leaned against it and caught his breath. Closing his eyes, he focused on the number, trying to make sure he remembered it correctly. His headache wasn’t helping, but once he repeated the number several times, he knew he had it.

He fished some coins out of his pocket, then picked up the receiver and dropped several quarters into the slot on top. His strength waning, he punched in the number, making sure he made no mistakes.

One ring. Two.

Then a click and a beep.

“This is Ellison,” he said. “Barker Flats blown. I repeat Barker Flats blown. Littlefield initiated self-destruct. When the power came back on, the virus they were pumping into the target’s cell leaked into the rest of the building. Littlefield and three others eliminated with the facility. Target already freed at that point, but Littlefield discovered the escape and planned to report it to Karp. No confirmation if he was able to do that, but it seems likely.” He paused. “I’m…I’m infected, so this will be my last message.”

He hung up.

The phone was going to have to be destroyed, too, but that would be easy enough. He would just need to move the car right up against the pole before he lit everything on fire.

He went around to the trunk of Major Littlefield’s sedan. Inside he found more than he had hoped for. Not only were there flares that he could use to help get the fire going, but there was also a hard plastic case containing a Colt .45 automatic pistol.

It was a lot more power than Ellison needed, but then again, it wouldn’t matter when he pulled the trigger. At least he wouldn’t have to crawl out into the desert now.

He stripped off his shirt, then fed as much of it as he could into the gas tank. Once he had the car in position, his plan was to use a flare to light the shirt on fire. He would then get into the car and throw the flare into the back seat to ignite the interior. As soon as he saw the fire catch, he would put the gun to his head and pull the trigger.

What he hadn’t counted on were the three sedans that raced off the road and skidded to a stop twenty feet away, before he could get back behind the wheel and move the car into place.

Men jumped out of nearly every door, most with guns pointed directly at him.

“Stay right there, Mr. Ellison.”

“They know who you are,” the disease whispered in his mind. “They found you. See? You should have just stayed.”

“Get back!” Ellison yelled at the men. “I’m infected. Doesn’t matter if you shoot me or not. You come near me, your life is over.”

None of the men flinched.

“I’m not going to be a problem,” Ellison told them, then coughed. “Just let me take care of this, and it’ll all be over.”

He stepped around the back of the sedan and headed for the driver’s door.

“Stop. Now!” someone shouted.

But Ellison couldn’t stop. He had to finish.

“Stop!”

Ellison put his hand on the door handle and started to pull it open.

The first bullet caught him in the shoulder, knocking him into the car. The second went through his kidney and exited just below his ribs. He slipped to the ground, rolling onto his back as he did, and ended up looking at the group of armed men.

They parted in the middle, and two new men dressed in protective gear stepped through. Not biohazard suits, though—something different. Then Ellison saw the thin rifles in the men’s hands, rifles with hoses attached to one end running around to tanks on the men’s backs.

Not rifles. Flamethrowers.

Oh, thank God.

There was a whoosh, then short flames flickered at the end of each nozzle.

The two men took a few steps closer to the car and raised their weapons.

“The phone,” Ellison whispered as loudly as he could. “Don’t forget the phone.”

But his words were lost as long streams of flames roared out from each weapon.

• • •

“Stop there, stop there,” Chuck said, pointing down the road at the lonely gas station.

“Why?” his friend Len asked. They were supposed to be meeting some other friends for a couple nights of camping, but somewhere they’d made a wrong turn. Neither of them could get a signal on their cell phones so using their GPS wasn’t an option.

“I gotta go.”

“Again?”

“What do you mean, ‘again’? That was like two hours ago. I’ve drank two sodas since then.”

Len pulled into the station, figuring while Chuck did his business he could at least find out where they were. As he got out of the car he caught a faint whiff of barbeque. Maybe they were selling sandwiches inside. He could use something to eat.

Chuck raced ahead like his bladder was about to burst.

“Next time, don’t drink so much!” Len yelled after him.

Without looking back, Chuck flipped him off as he entered the store. Len reached the door a moment later, and was starting to pull it open when his friend came running back outside. He looked at Len, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then quickly bent over and threw up on the asphalt.

Len jumped back. “What the hell? I didn’t know you were sick.” As soon as his friend seemed to finish, he said, “Are you all right?”

Chuck breathed deeply, but said nothing.

Len could see his friend’s face was a mess, so he said, “I’ll get some napkins.” As he reached for the door, Chuck grabbed his arm.

“Don’t go in there!”

“Why not?” Len asked.

“The guy’s dead. Somebody shot him.”

“What guy?”

“The attendant! He’s slumped over the counter, blood all over the place.”

“Is the person who shot him still there?”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “I…I don’t know. I didn’t hear anybody. Jesus, do you think maybe he is?”

Len glanced around. The only other car he could see was an old truck parked against the side of the store, right where someone who worked there would probably park.

“I doubt it,” Len said. “I’m going to go take a look, okay?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Did you check his pulse to make sure he was dead?”

“No,” Chuck admitted. “But he looked dead.”

“We should check to make sure, don’t you think?”

Reluctantly, Chuck nodded.

“Why don’t you call the police while I go inside,” Len suggested.

“Okay. Good idea.”

Len pushed the door open with his shoulder in case there were fingerprints on the handle the police could use, and stepped inside.

Immediately, he covered his nose to block out the overwhelming smell of blood. The counter was just inside on the left. Lying face down across the top was a man with gray hair. There was no reason to check his pulse, though. He was dead for sure. Len could see two bullet wounds: one between his shoulder blades, and one in the back of his head. The cash register was open, and whatever money had been there was gone.

A robbery, out in the middle of nowhere.

“Len,” Chuck called from outside.

Grateful for a reason to leave, Len rejoined his friend.

Chuck held up his phone and shrugged. “I still don’t have a signal.”

Len pulled his cell out. No bars for him, either.

He looked back at the store. There was probably a phone inside, but chances were it was on the counter next to the body, which would mean stepping on the bloody floor to find it. Beyond the fact that doing so wouldn’t make the police happy, the creep-out factor was way off the scale, so as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t an option.

“We’ll have to go to the next town,” he said.

“And just leave him here like this?”

Len thought for a moment. “No. You’re right. We can’t do that. One of us should probably stay.”

“I ain’t staying.”

“Fine. You take the car. I’ll stay.”

Chuck didn’t look happy with that solution, either, but then he started rocking on his feet and said, “I gotta pee.”

He headed toward the side of the building.

“Where you going?” Len asked.

“I’m not going back inside!” Chuck disappeared around the corner. But it was only a couple seconds before he yelled, “Hey, Len!”

“What?”

“There’s a pay phone over here. If you have change you can call the police.”

“You don’t need change to call 911.”

“What?” Chuck’s voice had grown distant.

“You don’t…never mind.”

Len headed around the side of the building and saw that his friend had moved out into the desert. The phone was off to the right just a bit, hanging on a wooden post.

Good, he thought as he walked over. At least now he and Chuck wouldn’t have to split up.

 

 

13

 

Ash woke with a pounding headache.

He must have gasped or something, because a hand was suddenly on his shoulder, rubbing it softly. Then a voice said, “It's all right. You're okay.”

It was a woman's voice, but it didn't sound like Janice's.

“My head,” he grunted.

He tried to raise his hand to his temple, but his arm would only move a few inches before it stopped. He opened his eyes just enough to see what the problem was. There was a tube or something coming out of his arm, and what looked like a leather strap around his wrist.

He tried his other hand. It moved without opposition.

“Sleep some more,” the voice said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Are we stopped?” he asked, realizing he felt no motion.

“Stopped?” A pause, then, “Just sleep.”

And as if it were a command, darkness overtook him once more.

• • •

The next time he woke, his headache was gone.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was not, as he’d previously thought, still in the RV. Instead he was lying on a bed in a wood-paneled room, soft sunlight seeping in through the window on the far wall.

There was a dresser to his left and an armoire in the corner beyond the foot of the bed. Below the window was a writing desk. All the surfaces were empty.

He tried to prop himself up so he could look out the window and get a sense of where he was, but his right arm caught on something. No, he quickly realized, not caught. Restrained. Hadn’t he been immobilized the last time he’d woken?

Around his right wrist was a padded leather cuff attached to the frame of the bed. The apparent reason for this was the IV line attached to his arm. His left, though, was completely free.

He had no idea what he was being fed from the bag hanging on the stand, but the idea of being both restricted and drugged did not appeal to him. He quickly worked the cuff open, turned the IV flow off, and pulled the tube out of the port on his arm.

His first stop was the dresser to see if there were any clothes to go with the T-shirt and underwear he’d been sleeping in. He found several pairs of jeans, more underwear, socks, and a whole drawer full of colored T-shirts. The bottom drawer even had two dark wool sweaters and a hooded pullover sweatshirt. The biggest surprise was that not only was everything new, it was all in his size, too. He got dressed.

Inside the armoire he found the boots he’d worn during his escape, and beside them, the messenger bag. A quick check of the bag showed that the only thing left was the money. What did he care, though? None of the contents had been his in the first place.

He pulled on the boots, laced them up, and walked over to the window. What greeted him was a surprise. It wasn’t the chaparral country where the mysterious Mike and Janice had picked him up, or even the desert. Instead, there was a mix of grassy fields and groves of evergreens. In the distance was a row of mountains.

The only structure in sight was way off to the left and only partially visible. It was big, though. Maybe a barn or large equipment shed. No way to tell for sure.

As for people, he saw none.

Where the hell am I?

He walked over to the door, put his ear against the wood, and listened. In the distance, he thought he could hear a low muffled conversation but that was about it.

He glanced back at the room. He could wait until somebody showed up, but he was done waiting so he opened the door.

“Thought I heard you moving around in there.”

Directly outside was a hallway about as wide as the room he’d been in. Sitting on a wooden chair against the far wall was a tan-faced man with the gentle creases of someone who’d spent more than his fair share of time outdoors. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a short mostly-salt goatee. Ash guessed he was in his fifties, early sixties at most. He was outfitted in jeans and a green flannel shirt.

The man pushed himself off the chair. “So how are you feeling?”

Ash glanced down the hallway. “Where am I?”

“You're safe, that's where you are.”

“Yeah, that's not really an answer.”

The man snickered. “No. No, I guess it's not.” He paused. “You're on the Hamilton Ranch. I’m Rich Paxton, but I go by Pax, mostly.” He held out his hand. “I help keep things running around here.”

Ash kept his hand at his side. “You're the one in charge?”

Pax shook his head. “No, that would be Matt. Matt Hamilton. It's his place. Well, his and Rachel's.”

“I want to talk to him right now.”

“That's convenient, because he wants to talk to you, too. Supposed to bring you to him when you finally got up. Which I guess is now.”

“Let’s go,” Ash said, ready to follow him.

Pax glanced down at the IV port still attached to Ash’s arm. “Should probably have Billy take a look at that first. Get that thing off you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Sure you are. But Billy's on the way, and it’ll only take a minute.”

Pax led him through several hallways, a large sitting room, up one flight of stairs, and past a dozen closed doors. Whatever kind of building this was, it certainly wasn’t small.

Finally, Pax stopped in front of an open door and stuck his head inside. “Billy?”

“Back here,” a voice replied.

Pax signaled Ash to follow him in.

The room was set up like a doctor's office, complete with examining table, cotton swabs, blood pressure cuff, tongue depressors, and all the other medical items you'd expect to find. There was also a computer monitor and wireless keyboard on the counter.

A door on the left led into another room. Since there was no one in the room they’d just entered, Ash assumed this Billy must be in the other.

“The new guy needs his tube removed,” Pax said.

“I need a few minutes,” Billy called out. “Just have him sit tight, and I'll be down as soon as I can.”

“He's not in his room. I brought him with me.”

There was the dull thud of a stack of paper being set down, then the sound of footsteps. A second later, a guy a few years younger than Pax entered from the other room. He walked over to Ash, grabbed his arm, and looked at the port. “You shouldn’t have done this by yourself.”

“No one else was there.”

“That’s not the point. What about the fluid? Did you close the tube, or is it running all over the floor?”

Ash narrowed his eyes, not liking the tone of the man’s voice. “I cut the drip before I disconnected it. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Billy frowned. “You should have just waited. You have no idea what was in the fluid. It could have been very dangerous.”

“Was it?”

“No, but it could have been.”

Billy got to work removing the dock from Ash’s arm. When it was out, he used some gauze and a bandage to cover the wound. He then looked at Pax. “Can I get back to what I was doing now, or do you have any more emergencies?”

“Have at it. I think we’re good.”

Billy forced a smile then said to Ash, “Welcome to the ranch.” With that, he headed back to the other room.

Ash half expected Pax to give him an excuse for Billy's behavior once they were in the hallway again, but, to his credit, Pax said nothing. He led Ash to a closed door at the far end and knocked.

“Come,” a muffled voice said from inside.

Pax opened the door and let Ash pass through first.

It was a big room divided into two areas. The far end was dominated by a large oak desk with a matching credenza behind it, while the area nearest the door was set up with a couch, chairs and a low-lying table. There were several windows, but wooden blinds prevented any clear view of the outside.

The only person in the room was a man sitting in one of the stuffed guest chairs in front of the desk. He was probably about the same age as Pax, only with a little less hair on top and no goatee. Though the man was sitting, Ash could tell he was big. Long legs and a broad chest. Somewhere in his past he’d probably been a high school linebacker. The man had angled his chair so he could watch a TV hanging on the wall.

Ash glanced at the screen just in time to see the Prime Cable News logo in the corner before the picture went dark.

“Glad to see you're up,” the man said, rising to his feet. He was tall. Six-foot-three on the low end, maybe as much as six-five. His grin was friendly and welcoming as he extended his hand to Ash. “I'm Matt Hamilton. Welcome to the ranch.”

Ash hesitated only a second before shaking. “I’m…” He stopped himself, unsure what he should actually say.

“You’re Captain Daniel Ash.”

“Yes,” Ash said with a sense of relief.

“Welcome, Captain. Why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured toward the couch.

Ash held his ground. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but I’d like to know what the hell's going on.”

“Of course you would. I would, too, if I were you. What would you like to know first?”

“Let’s start with why I am here.”

Hamilton shrugged. “Easy enough. You needed someplace safe to hide.”

“And what am I hiding from?”

“That one is not so easy.”

Ash’s nostrils flared as he drew in a long breath.

“Hold on, Captain,” Hamilton said. “I’m not avoiding your question. It’s just that there are several different answers, and I’m trying to figure out which is the one you’re interested in at the moment.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Hamilton said nothing for a moment, then looked at Pax. “Can you give us a few minutes? Maybe make sure the captain’s quarters are ready?”

“You got it.” Pax nodded to Ash and left.

Once they were alone, Hamilton said, “You can stand, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to sit.”

Hamilton favored his left leg as he headed for the couch. He caught Ash looking at it as he sat down.

“I’m told a knee replacement will take care of the problem,” Hamilton explained. “Someday, I guess. When I have the time.”

Ash walked over. He thought about remaining on his feet, but it seemed a pointless protest so he took the seat across from the couch.

Neither man said anything for several seconds. Finally, Hamilton leaned forward. “By all rights, you should be dead.”

A faint sneer grew on Ash’s face. “I’m having a hard time believing anyone was planning on killing me. I only went with your people for one reason—to find out who murdered my family and why.” He hesitated, then added, “They did get me away from the explosion, so I owe you thanks for that.”

“You misunderstood me,” Matt said. “I wasn’t talking about the fact the order had been given to eliminate you before you woke, which it had been, or about the explosion, which wouldn’t have happened if you’d stayed.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“The disease. It should have killed you, too. But it’s my understanding that you never showed any effects of the illness. There were seventeen families living at Barker Flats. Seventeen families, all recent transfers to a base that, until two months ago, had been in mothballs. Of the sixteen families besides yours, none had any survivors. So what made you different?”

Ash stared at Hamilton in shock. “None? They’re all dead?”

A pause. “They are.”

Ash began breathing rapidly, his anger boiling just under his skin. He pushed himself up. “How many people?”

“There were fifty-seven total in the other families.”

“Fifty-seven?” With Ellen, Josie, and Brandon, that made an even…“Sixty total. My God.” He turned to the television. “It must be all over the news.”

Matt hesitated for a split second before saying, “It hasn’t been all over the news. There’s been no report whatsoever.”

“What?” Ash couldn’t believe it. He began pacing in the space in front of the door. Maybe the government didn’t want to cause a panic. The country took a pretty big hit after 9/11. Sure, everyone had rallied together, but there’d been so much confusion, too. “Do they know who did it? Have they found them?”

Matt took a longer pause this time before answering. “Captain, I will always tell you the truth. That’s the promise we make here. Sometimes, though, there are things that need to be held back. Perhaps someone isn’t ready to hear it yet, or perhaps the information is just too sensitive. When these situations arise, we won’t lie about it and try to cover it up, but the information will not be shared, either.” He paused. “There are things you don’t know and don’t understand. As soon as we’re completely sure we can trust you, you will be told. Just not now.”

“Trust me?”

“Just like you’re unsure whether you can trust us.”

As true as the statement was, Ash didn’t like hearing it. “What couldn’t you trust me with?”

“Is that a trick question?” Matt said. “Okay. How about this? The truth about what happened at Barker Flats.”

Ash stared at Hamilton. “Whatever happened killed my family! I have every right to know the truth!”

“I would feel the same as you,” Hamilton said calmly.

“Then tell me!”

“When the time is right.”

Ash stood motionless for several seconds then said, “Mr. Hamilton, I appreciate your hospitality, and whatever you did to help me get away from Barker Flats. There’s money still in my bag. Yours, I assume. I’ll leave it in the room. I don’t have any of my own to cover whatever expenses you might have incurred. I apologize for that.” He took a step toward the door. “If someone could show me the way to a main road, I’d be grateful.”

Hamilton considered him for a moment, then stood up. “It’s late. Spend the night and you can get an early start in the morning.”

“You’ll lock my door and keep me from leaving.”

Hamilton shook his head. “No. If you want to leave, we won’t stop you. But we also won’t be able to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.”

Hamilton nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do the best that you can. I only ask when they do track you down, you don’t mention the ranch or any of us here.”

“They won’t track me down.”

Matt remained silent for a moment, his expression blank. Finally, he said, “I’ll have Pax show you to your quarters. If you decide to stay the night, you’re welcome to join us for dinner at seven.”

Ash answered with a single nod.

“One more thing,” Hamilton said.

He limped back over to his desk and pulled a package out of the credenza. It was the same package Ash had been given in the desert. One end was open now. Hamilton reached in, pulled something out, then walked back over to Ash.

“I believe this is yours.”

He held out his palm. In it was a watch.

Ash tried not to shake as he lifted it up. It wasn’t an expensive brand, but it was priceless to him. He turned it over. Engraved on the back, just as he knew it would be, was:

Happy Birthday,

All My Love,

Ellen

He had assumed the watch was destroyed in the explosion. He had thought he’d never hold it again. “This was in the package?”

Hamilton nodded.

“What else is in there?”

“That was the only personal item of yours.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I told you, we have no room for lies here.”

Ash stared at the watch a moment longer, then put it on.

For the first time since the night that life as he knew it ended, he cried.

 

 

14

 

By the time Len and Chuck found their friends Jimmy and Walt at the campground, it was well after dark but they had the excuse of a lifetime.

They joined the other two at the campfire and recounted the afternoon’s events. Chuck played it up to its morbid best, while Len exaggerated his friend’s freak-out at finding the body.

“He threw up everywhere! If I hadn’t jumped out of the way, I’d have been covered in it,” he said. “Then he refused to go back inside, like he thought the guy was going to jump up and come running after him.”

“Yeah,” Chuck said, smiling. Jokes at his expense never bothered him. “Like a zombie, man. Hey, you never know.”

Someone threw an empty beer can at him as the rest laughed.

By the time their fire died down to a few coals, they’d retold portions of the story half a dozen times.

“I’m beat,” Len finally said, getting up. He swayed a little bit, and had to steady himself by putting a hand on Walt’s shoulder.

“Whoa,” Jimmy said, laughing. “Drink a little too much?”

Len scowled at him. “Ha ha.”

He’d actually had only two, but it had been a long day—the driving, the dead body, the police—so it was a wonder he could even keep his eyes open.

“If you guys are going to stay up, keep the noise down,” he said. “I want to get some sleep.”

“No guarantees,” Walt told him as he popped open another beer.

“You guys suck,” Len said.

He headed over to the tent he and Chuck were sharing. As he unzipped the door, he coughed and then cleared his throat. Stupid dry desert air, he thought. He grabbed a bottle of water out of the cooler and crawled inside.

• • •

There was a knock at Dr. Karp’s door. Without looking up, he said, “Come in.”

The door opened and Mr. Shell entered. He was a lean and muscular six-foot-two with sandy blond hair, and a nose that had been broken at least once.

Karp had been expecting him, so he waved to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.” Once Shell was situated, he said, “Pleasant trip?”

Shell’s mouth moved up and down in a quick smile. “Pleasant enough.”

“Any further update on this afternoon’s…action?”

Karp had to be careful in his phrasing and tone. Shell was not his subordinate, nor was he Shell’s. They worked in completely different branches of the project, their jobs only overlapping when circumstances such as those that happened in the last eighteen hours occurred. Shell was part of the security arm, his specialty emergency situations.

“How much have you been informed of already?” Shell asked.

“That Ellison was neutralized by your team. And the scene was being staged.”

“Then you know enough.” Shell leaned forward. “What I’d like to do is talk about Captain Daniel Ash.”

“Have you found him?”

“Not yet.” Shell paused, then set his briefcase on his lap and opened it up. From inside, he extracted a thin stack of photographs and set them on the desk.

“This is an enhanced thermal satellite image,” he said, tapping the top photo. “It shows a section of the road north of Barker Flats. It was taken fifty-seven minutes after the loss of power at the facility.”

Karp studied the image. There were only two things that showed heat, both very near to each other, and the rest of the image was basically black.

Shell pointed at a thick line just a half shade lighter than the surrounding area. “This is the highway.” He moved his finger to the larger of the two bright spots. “And this is a car. As you can see, it’s not on the road. We’ve been able to determine that it is in the process of pulling up at an abandoned gas station. This other bright spot is a person waiting by the building.”

He moved the picture to the bottom of the stack. The revealed image was similar to the first. The only change was that the car was now on the road.

“You’ll notice the person who had been waiting at the gas station is no longer there.”

“Ash?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Instead of answering, Shell laid all the photographs out on the desk. There were eight total, including the two he’d already shown the doctor.

Shell touched the photo to the far left. “Here. That’s the Barker Flats facility, seven minutes after the power outage.”

There were two small, bright dots in the desert not far from the building.

Shell moved his attention to the next photo. The building was no longer in the picture, but the two dots were still there. “Fifteen minutes after. They’ve gone just over a mile.” The next photo was similar to the last. “Twenty-five minutes. Two and a half miles.” Next photo. “Thirty minutes. They paused here before moving on.” Next photo. “Forty minutes. They’re standing next to the road.” And the last photo. “They’ve separated here. One has stayed where they were, while the other is heading to the gas station.”

Karp stared at all the photos. He touched the solitary dot standing by the road in the last shot. “Couldn’t that be Ash?”

Shell shook his head. “As soon as Ash reaches the gas station, this person heads three miles south where he is picked up by a separate car forty minutes later. It’s clear whoever it was knew exactly where he was going. You had Captain Ash under your control for over a week prior to the breakout. Before that, records indicate that in the few weeks he and his family had been living at the base, they had yet to leave. Ash would have no knowledge of this area. The man picked up at the abandoned gas station had to be Ash.”

The logic was sound, but Karp didn’t like the accusatory tone Shell was taking. “Were you able to follow the car the captain was in?”

“Only as far as the Nevada border. It pulled into the parking garage of a casino there. Once it was out of sight, there was no way to know if it left again.”

“I thought these satellites are supposed to be good enough to make out the license numbers on cars.”

Shell said nothing for a moment. “In daylight, if the angle’s right. But it was still dark when the car entered the parking garage. Plus it was a Toyota Camry, the most popular car in the country. So no, Dr. Karp. We lost it.” There was a pause. “What I need to know is how troublesome this Ash is. Could he be a problem? Or do we just let him go?”

“What does Bluebird think?”

Shell stared at him. “Naturally, Bluebird is concerned, but they’ve left it up to me to determine what happens next. So I need to know from you whether you think he is a problem, or just someone we can ignore.”

Karp thought for a moment, knowing he had to tread carefully. “I would prefer if he were eliminated, primarily because it would aid our research if we had his body. But is he a threat?” He shook his head. “Ash knows nothing that can hurt us.”

“Unless your man Ellison told him something.”

Though Dr. Karp knew it was true, Shell’s accusation annoyed him. “There’s absolutely no proof that Ellison had anything to do with Ash’s escape. He found out Littlefield was going to engage Protocol Thirteen and ran due to fear. He was found alone in the major’s car, for God’s sake, not some Toyota Camry. All that proves is that he was weak, not a traitor.”

Shell paused a moment before responding. “Doctor, your position within the project is safe. Your skills are needed and you are in no danger. So don’t embarrass yourself by ignoring the obvious. The only way Ash could have been freed was if he’d had help on the inside. There is no other way. You know it, and I know it. So drop the bullshit. Is Ash dangerous to us or not?”

Backed into a corner, there was really only one answer Karp could give. “Maybe.”

• • •

When Len woke up the next morning, he was the only one in the tent. He staggered outside, his head pounding, and found the others sitting at the campfire.

“About time,” Chuck said. He stared at his friend for a moment. “How much did you have to drink last night?”

Len dropped into the only empty chair. “What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty,” Walt said.

“We’ve been up for two hours,” Chuck told him.

Len coughed a couple of times.

“Dude, are you all right?” Walt asked.

“I think I might be getting something.”

“Great,” Jimmy said. “I swear to God if I get it, too, I’m going to kill you.”

“Is there any coffee left?” Len asked.

Chuck poured him a cup and handed it over. “We were just waiting for you so we could hike the dunes.”

“I…I don’t think I’m up for it.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“You guys go. I’m just going to lie down.”

Chuck eyed him for a moment. “Maybe we should just head home.”

Shaking his head, Len said, “I don’t want to ruin your fun.” He tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep it off.”

The others protested a bit more, but in the end they headed off for the dunes, and Len crawled back into the tent to rest.

When they got back four hours later, all three of them were more exhausted than they should have been, and two were already sniffling.

Chuck didn’t even check Len as he climbed into the tent to take a nap. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Len had been dead for nearly an hour. Chuck would follow seven hours later, and Walt thirty minutes after that.

Jimmy was the only one still alive, if barely, when the Ranger service found them.

“I’m going to kill him,” he kept whispering. “I’m going to kill him.”

But, really, it was the other way around.

 

 

15

 

Ash’s new quarters weren’t quite as nice as the room he’d woken up in the day before, but they were more than adequate. All the clothes that had been in the other dresser had been moved to his new room, as had the messenger bag that surprisingly still had the money inside.

He had slept with the watch on, not a habit he used to have, but one he was determined to start. It had still been on California time when Hamilton gave it to him, but Pax had told him when he showed Ash to the room that it was an hour later here. Where “here” was, Ash still didn’t know.

It was because of the watch that he skipped dinner. He was in too much of an emotional state, and didn’t want to end up saying something he’d regret later. Pax had brought him a tray of food around eight p.m. and Ash surprised himself by devouring it all.

When morning came, the decision to leave didn’t seem as clear as it had twelve hours before. Yes, the conversation with Hamilton had annoyed him, but there was too much he didn’t know or understand, and it was clear that many of the answers could probably be found right there on the ranch.

Still unsure of what he was going to do, he packed a few extra shirts, some underwear, and socks into the messenger bag. He then left the bag in the room and went in search of breakfast.

The building he was in was a kind of dormitory just down a wide stone pathway from the main building. It was two stories and held maybe twenty rooms, but if anyone else had been staying there, Ash hadn’t heard them. The outside of the building was stone halfway up the first floor, with wooden timbers the rest of the way to the top. It was definitely built to last, but while it had the appearance of having been built decades before, Ash got the sense it was actually recently constructed.

Heading down the path, he could hear birds chirping in the distance, and felt a breeze blowing softly through the tops of the trees. The tranquility of it all was almost overwhelming. It was so at odds with the turmoil going on inside him.

As the trail turned and went up a gentle rise, the main building came into view. It was an impressive structure—old and wooden and huge, with wide, sloped roofs and half a dozen chimneys. It looked like a ski lodge that should have been at the bottom of a hill rather than in a quiet clearing.

There was a workout area off to the left with pull-up bars, sit-up stations, and resistance-training machines. A woman was at one of the machines, using it to work her shoulders. She glanced over at Ash, then quickly looked away as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

As Ash neared the main building, he spotted Pax on his hands and knees examining a set of stairs that led up to the wide porch surrounding the structure. When Pax saw him, he got to his feet and brushed off his hands.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Ash replied. “I was wondering if there was someplace I could get some breakfast.”

“Sure, sure.” Pax turned to the building. “That third door there, that gets you into a short hallway that’ll take you into the kitchen. You’ll find Bobbi in there. She can whip you up something.”

“Thanks.” Ash glanced at the stairs. “Is it safe?”

“What? Oh, sure. Just be careful on that second step. The backboard’s starting to give a little. I’ll have one of the boys replace it this afternoon.”

Again, Ash hesitated before moving on. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of business is this ranch in? Can’t believe you make a lot of money off of people like me.”

Pax laughed. “No, that would drive us broke, I think. We have cattle, beef mostly, and a small herd of buffalo.”

“Buffalo?”

“You’d be surprised at the size of the buffalo meat market. But Rachel wants us to keep them for historical sake, let them live out their lives here.”

“So you only make money off the cattle then.”

“When we need to.”

It wasn’t really an answer, but Ash decided not to push and headed into the house.

Bobbi was a tall woman with short red hair who turned out to be an excellent cook. In no time, Ash was sitting at one of the tables in the restaurant-sized kitchen, working his way through a large plate of eggs and sausage.

“Morning, Rachel,” Bobbi said several minutes later.

Ash glanced up. Another woman had entered the kitchen—Rachel, presumably. She was shorter and leaner than Bobbi, and had long silver-streaked blonde hair that was pulled back into a ponytail.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Rachel asked.

“You got it.”

While Bobbi filled a mug, Rachel walked over to Ash’s table.

“Mind if I sit with you?” she asked him.

“Not at all.”

She smiled, took the chair opposite his, then held out her hand. “I’m Rachel Hamilton.”

They shook.

“You’re Matt’s wife?”

She laughed. “Hardly. I’m his sister.”

“Sorry. When Pax told me this place was yours and Matt’s, I just assumed…”

“Don’t be sorry. A lot of people make that same mistake.”

Bobbi came over, set the mug in front of Rachel, then glanced at Ash. “And how’s your breakfast?”

“It’s good. Thank you.”

“If either of you need anything, just holler.” With that, she headed back to the prep table where she’d been cutting up vegetables.

Rachel took a sip of her coffee then said, “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” he said. “I appreciate you letting me spend another night here.”

“We’ve got the beds. Someone might as well use them.”

“You do have a lot of space, but I’ve only seen a handful of people.”

“It’s an ebb-and-flow kind of thing around here. Sometimes the ranch is packed, and sometimes it feels like just Matt and me.”

“Pax tells me that this is a cattle ranch.”

She took another sip, then shrugged. “Yeah, we have cattle.”

Like Pax, she seemed hesitant to get into the business of the ranch.

“I hear you told Matt you’re intending to leave us this morning,” she said as he put a piece of sausage in his mouth.

He shrugged.

“I’m sure you have a lot of things to do,” she went on. “Starting with trying to find out what happened to your family. If I were you, it would be the first thing I’d want to do.” She paused. “But before you go, there are a few things you need to know.”

“What?” he said.

“You finish your breakfast first, then we can talk.”

He swallowed the sausage, then pushed his plate away. “I’m finished now.”

• • •

The room she led him to was on the second floor near Matt’s office. It was a conference room decorated to keep with the mountain-lodge feel of the place—big pine table, wooden handcrafted chairs, and a fireplace at the far end. There was also a large television hanging on the wall that was currently off.

Ash hadn’t even sat down yet when the door opened again, and Matt and Pax walked in.

“Morning, Captain,” Matt said. “Trust you slept well.”

“I did. Thank you.”

Pax gave Ash a nod.

“Where’s Billy?” Matt asked.

Pax seemed to take this as his cue. He picked up the phone on a cabinet under the TV and punched in a number.

“Why don’t we sit?” Rachel suggested.

While Matt went around to the other side of the table, Rachel took the chair next to the one Ash sat in.

“So what’s this all about?” Ash asked.

Before anyone could answer, the door opened and Billy rushed in.

“Sorry,” he said. He made his way around to sit with Matt, and placed the notebook he was carrying on the table.

Pax hung up the phone the moment Billy entered, and took the chair next to Rachel.

Matt looked around at everyone, then focused his attention on Ash. “I’ll come right to it. We think it would be a mistake for you to leave right now.”

“If I want to leave, I’ll leave,” Ash said, suddenly wary. “You already said you wouldn’t try to stop me.”

“And we won’t,” Matt told him. “But I’m hoping what we have to say will convince you to stay.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Ash asked, “So what is it you have to say?”

Matt considered him for a moment before saying, “What happened to the families at Barker Flats didn’t occur simply by chance.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Ash said. “It was an attack. Some terrorist organization trying to stir up fear.”

Matt hesitated, then stood up. He began walking toward the far end of the room. “How well did you know your neighbors?”

“My neighbors? Not well. We’d just transferred in.”

Matt stopped near the center of the table. “Hadn’t everyone just transferred in?”

“Well, yes. The base had been closed for a while, and we were there to get it up and running again.”

Matt touched a finger to the table. Instantly, a wooden flap rose and disappeared into the surface edgewise, revealing a control panel underneath.

“You’re going to want to turn around,” Matt said. He hit a button and the TV came to life.

Ash shifted his chair so he could see the screen. Rachel and Pax did the same. The image remained black for a moment, then a picture of a family cut in.

“Do you recognize them?” Matt asked.

“That’s Manny…Captain Diaz and his wife. Carol, I think. I don’t remember their kids’ names.”

“They lived next to you, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

As Ash stared at the picture, he remembered the scream he’d heard that night while he and Brandon were being led away. It was Carol, wasn’t it? And now, if what Matt told him was true, Carol and Manny and their kids were all dead.

The picture changed to one of a man and woman.

“Lieutenant Cross and his wife,” Ash said without prompting. The Crosses lived on the other side of them.

Another picture, a couple and a teenage boy.

“The Parsons, I believe.” He looked at Matt. “What’s the point of all this?”

Matt nodded at the screen. More pictures came up. This time there was no pause for Ash to identify them, but he recognized the faces of many of those he’d seen around the base.

The last image was a collage of all the photos.

“These are the sixteen families that you lived with, the ones that were exposed to the same disease as you and your family. They all have something very important in common.”

“You’ve already told me they’re dead.”

“There’s something else.”

The picture of the Diaz family replaced the collage.

“Manny Diaz,” Matt said. “His father died when he was seventeen, and his mother a month after he received his commission. He was an only child. Carol Diaz, maiden name Yeager. Mother died when she was eleven, father two years later. She was an only child.”

The picture of the Diaz family was replaced by one showing the Crosses.

“Martin Cross. Parents killed in a car accident when he was a freshman in college. He was an only child. Emily Cross, maiden name Vernon. Adopted by an older couple, both of whom died of natural causes within one year of each other while Emily was in high school. She was their only child.”

Matt continued to go through the pictures, telling the basically same story every time. The final picture was one that hadn’t been shown before.

“Daniel Ash. Parents died in an auto accident when he was twenty. Not an only child, but his brother Jeff sustained brain damage in the accident and lives in a nursing home. Ellen Ash, maiden name Walker. Mother died of cancer when she was—”

“Stop,” Ash whispered. “Please.”

The screen went black, and the room fell quiet.

After a few moments, Rachel put a hand on Ash’s arm. “We know this isn’t easy. But we needed to show you the truth.”

“The truth of what?” he asked, shaking her off. “That everyone I used to live around lost their parents? It happens. It’s probably not as unusual as it sounds.”

“It’s not just the parents,” Matt said, still at the center of the table. He gestured at the screen. “None of your former neighbors had any close relatives at all. They were isolated.”

Ash gritted his teeth. “I have someone.”

“You do,” Rachel said. “But I think you understand the point Matt is getting at.”

He shot her a look, then let out a breath as his gaze fell to the table. “Okay. Fine. So we were all isolated. So what?”

“So that makes all of you the perfect test subjects,” Matt said.

“Test subjects?”

“If any of you died, it would be fairly easy to cover that up, don’t you think?”

“Wait. Are you trying to tell me what happened at Barker Flats was done to us on purpose as a test?”