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“Lucifer 113.”
“If you know about it already, then—”
Ledger shook his head. “I know parts of it. Bits and pieces. I know Dr. Volker used the pathogen on a death-row prisoner. Homer Gibbon. Volker was psycho when it came to punishment for serial killers and wanted to make Gibbon suffer. His new version of Lucifer 113 was supposed to make Gibbon aware of his own body rotting in the coffin. Didn’t work out that way and Gibbon, he woke up hungry in some small-town mortuary. I got that much from the news. Some bozo reporter named Billy Trout was doing these field reports. ‘Live from the apocalypse.’ Stuff like that.”
“Billy was a good guy,” said Sam. “A bit of a bleeding heart, but decent. He and his girlfriend—”
“Dez Fox. Stebbins County Police Department.”
Sam punched the ground. “You do know the whole story.”
“No, I don’t,” said Ledger. “I met Dez Fox and Billy Trout about six months after the outbreak. They’re the ones who told me you were dead. I helped them out of a jam. They had a convoy of school buses filled with little kids. Couple of your team were with them, heading down to Asheville.” He grinned and shook his head. “Guess the reports of your demise were a bit exaggerated.”
“I was wearing body armor,” said Sam. “Kevlar limb pads, chest protector, ballistic helmet. I got buried under a bunch of the dead. By the time I crawled my way out, the buses were gone. I looked but never found them. Tell me they made it.”
“Hope so,” said Ledger, “but I lost track of them. Heard some rumors, even followed some leads, but if they’re alive, I don’t know where.”
“This is insane,” said Sam, shaking his head. He was still unsure whether this was even real. He hadn’t seen Joe Ledger in nearly twenty years. A long time ago, nearly three decades before, when Sam was in his early twenties, he’d been the sniper for Echo Team, one of the world’s most elite counterterrorism squads. They had taken down one terrorist group after another, trying to keep the world from falling apart. But then, five years after the last time Sam had seen his old team leader, the world had, indeed, fallen off its hinges.
He and Ledger went back and forth, sharing histories, filling in a few blanks, leaving other parts unsaid or unknown. While they talked, Ledger retied the bandages on his leg. The wound was bad. Deep and ugly. It would need cleaning and stitches.
“Hey,” said Ledger, “I don’t suppose you saw a big dog around here.”
“Lots of stray dogs around, Joe.”
“Not like this one. He’s an American mastiff. Two hundred and fifty pounds, wearing spiked armor and a helmet. Name’s Grimm, and me and him have some history. He was with me on the chopper and I pushed him out over a stream before we hit. Thought I saw him splash down. If it was a shallow stream, Grimm might be alive but hurt. If it was deep, he could have drowned with all that armor. Either way, I’d like to know.”
“I can look for him,” said Sam. He got to his feet, offered a hand to Ledger, and pulled the older soldier carefully to his feet. “I need to get you to my cabin and take a better look at that leg.”
Sam wrapped an arm around Ledger’s waist and they began making their way back along the game trail.
“How are you here?” Sam asked. “I mean right here, in my woods?”
“I was on my way from California to Asheville, North Carolina,” said Ledger. “That’s where the new government is based. We have about a hundred thousand people, give or take. An army. A new government. The whole works.”
“In Asheville? That can’t be right.”
“Why not?”
“Because Asheville was completely destroyed,” said Sam. “It was nuked.”
“Says who?”
“Says some soldiers I talked to.”
“When was it supposed to be nuked?”
“Oh . . . years ago.”
Ledger shook his head. “Then they lied to you or they repeated bad information. I’ve been to Asheville as recently as six months ago. It was never nuked. It’s intact and fortified.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who are these soldiers who told you this junk?”
“There’s a small facility down near the Mexican border, about two hundred miles south. A hardened facility, so they still have lights, generators, and a fuel store. The Laredo Chemical and Biological Weapon Defense Research Facility.”
“I heard about that way back before it all fell apart. A black budget site?”
“Yes,” agreed Sam. “Reduced staff before the dead rose, and then one of several sites trying to find a cure. Maybe the last one.”
“There was one at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley,” said Joe. He told Sam about rescuing Dr. McReady and her research. Sam was impressed and felt a flush of excitement at the thought of a cure.
