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Finally, her heart stopped pounding and with that, all energy left her body. A search of the chest of drawers produced several lightweight pajamas that looked really comfortable. She chose the top one. It was soft, pure cotton. Light green. She couldn’t have chosen better herself. As she’d seen before, the bathroom was full of hotel-size toiletries for men and women and about ten brand-new toothbrushes.
The bed was super comfortable. She pulled out her tablet from the backpack she’d picked up from her apartment. There were something like three thousand books in there, mostly thrillers. Some contemporary history books, and a few romances for when she was feeling particularly lonely.
She opened up the thriller she was reading, but it was less far-fetched than her real life at the moment. A page or two failed to capture her attention. She switched the tablet and the light off and lay back.
She’d slept badly last night, knowing something very bad was brewing. And now that it had boiled over, she was afraid she wouldn’t sleep tonight, either, which would make her a wreck tomorrow.
But … given the dangers in the air, how could she sleep? So much to worry about. Henry’s death. The fact that she was somehow being blamed for it. The Sommers Group gunning for her. Thepolicegunning for her. Her job was most probably gone.
A war, brewing. On the basis of a lie. War was so frightening. Riley knew wars had been waged in her lifetime but they had always been far away. War with enemies who didn’t have the ability to project power beyond their borders. Wars other people fought. Soldiers who had been trained. The closest she ever came to war was the headlines in the newspapers. In fact, Pierce was the first veteran she’d ever met.
So war was something basically abstract. Something that happened elsewhere, to other people.
But war with China … there was a whole subreddit on war with China, with thousands of contributions. Speculation. What China could do even before hurling missiles or invading.
It was an open secret among those interested in computer science and computer security that the US was vulnerable to cyberwarfare. There were reams of studies—and even more, thousands of books—dedicated to this.
China could make the US go dark. No more anything. No more electricity, no more internet. No more cars, no more gas. And after a week or two, no more medicine, no more hospitals, no more schools.
How many novels had she read where civilization just stopped. Thousands of years of progress simply wiped out.
And that was just cyberwarfare. There were other fun types of war. Missiles, invasions. And the Big One.
Nuclear.
What to worry about first? Problems buzzed in her head and were going to buzz there all night and she’d get up with that bombed-out feeling, eyes full of sand, reflexes shot to hell, brain all gummed up. Totally incapable of functioning. Acting like a zombie.
She twisted and turned restlessly, throwing the covers back then pulling them up again.
Oh God, this was going to be a sleepless night.
She turned her head on the pillow, riddled with anxiety, and went out like a light.
“Riley.”The voice is deep, deep, like it comes from the bowels of hell. Containing eons of pain and horror.
She looks around but there is no one. Vast emptiness, all around. No one in sight. Only shifting gray shadows.
“Riley.” That voice again. Deep, echoing. Fading.
She looks down and the bottom drops out of her world. Henry. Lying in a pool of blood. Sprawled on his back, face etched with pain.
She drops to her knees, frantically touching him all over. She can’t see a wound but the pool of blood keeps spreading. Her hands are red, her knees soaked in his blood.
“Riley …” he says on a rattling breath.
“Oh God, I’ll get help, Henry! You need help! You’re bleeding!”
Her hands can’t find where the blood is coming from. With difficulty, Henry lifts one of his hands, covered in blood, and stills her hands.
“Too late … Riley. Too … late for me. Stop them. Stop … them.” The words come between pained breaths. His voice holds all the sadness in the world. The voice of a man who has nothing left.
She is frantic. “Stop who, Henry? Who?” She brushes his straight black hair back so she can see his eyes. Even his hair is soaked in blood.
But it is too late. Henry’s dark eyes cloud over, his head falls back, comes to rest on the ground, in the blood, and he doesn’t move.
He is gone.
“Henry!” she screams, but he isn’t answering. Will never answer again.
