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A shifting of the shadows, the scuff of a shoe.
And then a figure staggered out. Lumbering, uncertain, sagging sideways against the frame, clothes torn and streaked with blood, eyes dark and dead.
Trout looked up into the face.
“Dez…?” he whispered.
Those dead eyes shifted toward him.
Tears broke and fell down her dirty cheeks. The slack expression of shock disintegrated into horror and shame and grief.
“Oh … Billy…”
She sank down to her knees, the gun still held in one hand, but that hand was slack at her side, as if forgotten or disowned.
Trout scrambled to his knees and gathered her in his arms as the first terrible sobs detonated within her. In the bad light Trout could see the leg of a man—Mr. Maines—and the sprawled form of a child, lying tangled together in a pool of black blood. The smell of gun smoke burned in the air.
He wanted to push her away, he wanted to turn away from what she’d just done, what she’d had to do. But he loved this woman.
And this—all of this—was their world now.
So he held her close as she wept.
As they both wept.
“It’s okay,” he lied. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Except they both knew that it wasn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
WHAT THE FINKE THINKS
WTLK LIVE TALK RADIO
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
“You’re listening to Gavin Finke and this is What the Finke Thinks, coming to you live from Pittsburgh. It’s the middle of the night but I don’t think anyone within the sound of my voice is sleeping. The eyes of the world are on the town of Stebbins down in Stebbins County, right on the Pennsylvania-Maryland line. And why? Well, my friends, that depends on whom you ask. We all know that Stebbins was ground zero for Superstorm Zelda—a real b-i-t-c-h of a storm that picked up a lot of water from the Three Rivers and dropped it on the Mason Dixon Line.
“Sure, that’s how it started, but then the cow patties hit the windmill, let me tell you. First there were unconfirmed reports of a double homicide in Stebbins. But within minutes there were all sorts of wild rumors about a riot at a funeral home. But buckle up, kids, ’cause it was a fast slide down the crapper from there. The governor released a statement saying that there was an outbreak of a new kind of virus in Stebbins. Then the Internet went—”
Gavin Finke took a long drag of his cigarette and winked at his engineer.
“I tell you, folks, I don’t know what to believe. Tell the Finke what you think is happening on this dark and stormy night.”
He gave the call-in number and before he’d even finished the board lit up like a Christmas tree.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISOR
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
After Scott Blair left the president he hurried to his office. He blew past three of his aides, growled at his secretary to hold his calls until further notice, and closed his door. As soon as he was alone he took his cell phone from his pocket, punched in a five-digit code to activate a scrambler, and ground his teeth while he waited through five rings before the call was answered.
“How’d it go?” asked the man at the other end.
Blair snorted. “How do you think it went?”
