Z 2135
Author: Sean Platt
Date: 2013-08-27 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Horror; Science Fiction; Dystopia; Fiction; Apocalyptic
Description: The Darwin Games are over. The battle for survival has just begun… The Lovecraft family is in ruins. Convict father Jonah roams The Barrens, near starvation, in search of his daughter Ana. Only the hope of seeing her again keeps him alive. Meanwhile Ana, Liam, and Duncan have found temporary relief at a camp outside The Walls. Inside City 6, Jonah’s young son, Adam, has been co-opted by Jonah’s enemy, Chief Keller, and is being groomed as a City Watch spy. Between the terrifying zombies roaming The Barrens—monsters created by the plague that destroyed the Old Nation—and the ruthless, manipulat
Publisher: 47north

Z 2136

Z 2136

Sean Platt and David Wright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2014 Sean Platt and David Wright

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

E-ISBN: 9781477874790

To our readers. Thank you for joining us on the journey.

Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY . . .

Episode 1

CHAPTER 1—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 2—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 3—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 4—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 5—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 6—PROVISIONAL LEADER OF THE STATE KELLER

Episode 2

CHAPTER 7—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 8—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 9—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 10—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 11—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 12—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 13—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Episode 3

CHAPTER 14—KELLER

CHAPTER 15—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 16—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 17—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 18—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 19—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 20—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 21—SUTHERLAND

Episode 4

CHAPTER 22—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 23—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 24—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 25—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 26—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 27—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 28—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 29—SUTHERLAND

Episode 5

CHAPTER 30—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 31—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 32—KELLER

CHAPTER 33—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 34—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 35—KELLER

CHAPTER 36—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 37—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 38—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 39—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Episode 6

CHAPTER 40—CHARLES EGAN

CHAPTER 41—ADAM LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 42—KELLER

CHAPTER 43—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 44—KELLER

CHAPTER 45—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 46—LIAM HARROW

CHAPTER 47—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 48—CALLA EGAN

CHAPTER 49—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 50—KELLER

CHAPTER 51—ANA LOVECRAF

CHAPTER 52—KELLER

CHAPTER 53—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 54—SUTHERLAND

CHAPTER 55—ANA LOVECRAFT

CHAPTER 56—CALLA EGAN

CHAPTER 57—ANA LOVECRAFT

About the Author

Kindle Serial

PREVIOUSLY . . .

Z 2134

Former City Watcher Jonah Lovecraft, a secret member of the rebel Underground, was framed for murdering his wife. Although he didn’t remember committing the crime, his 17-year-old daughter, Anastasia (Ana), witnessed it, and her testimony sealed his fate. He was thrown into The Darwin Games, The State’s televised reality game show in which prisoners are pitted against one another and zombies. The prize: freedom in the paradisiacal City 7.

When Jonah, against all odds, won The Games, he soon found out that City 7 was a lie. Instead of being delivered to a new life of freedom, he was dumped in a shack in the zombie-infested Barrens, the no-man’s-land outside the walled cities. He was left to die.

Jonah was soon rescued by some children but quickly found himself imprisoned yet again, this time by a man named Egan, who had lost his own family and held Jonah responsible. Jonah managed to win his freedom from Egan, but before he was allowed to leave, Jonah was told that The State had implanted two chips in him years before: an identity chip, which he had known about, and a mind-control chip, which he hadn’t.

In the process of flushing out the chips, Jonah learned that he had, in fact, murdered his wife.

Ana, with the help of Liam Harrow, an old friend who was also in The Underground, discovered that her father Jonah had been set up by forces within City 6. When Ana was found consorting with members of The Underground to uncover her father’s betrayer, she was also thrown into The Games.

Ana’s younger brother, Adam, was forced into a State-run orphanage. Jonah’s old boss, Keller, who’d lost his son years earlier when an Underground rebel bombed a parade, helped Adam navigate between friends and bullies, told him to fight back against the bullies, and even gave him a weapon with which to fight. However, when Adam inadvertently killed one of his tormentors, Adam was arrested and hauled out of the orphanage by City Watchers.

Liam wound up in The Games with Ana. He had, in fact, gotten himself arrested intentionally, with the purpose of entering The Games to protect her. Ana made her way through several challenges and was forced to kill or be killed. In the midst of The Games, the announcer informed Ana via a video that Liam had been a double agent, working for both City Watch and The Underground. She realized that Liam was the one who had outed her father and exposed his rebel activities.

Ana and Liam were eventually saved by Duncan, her father’s old friend and a member of The Underground. He helped them escape into tunnels beneath The Barrens.

Ana confronted Liam and he admitted that he had in fact betrayed her father, but it was only to save his girlfriend, Chelle, who was living in a hidden village—the same village where Duncan was leading them with the promise of freedom.

When they arrived at the village, they found it burned down, its citizens slaughtered, and heads, including Chelle’s, mounted on spikes outside what had been the village’s main gate.

***

Z 2135

A tired and starving Jonah Lovecraft wandered The Barrens in search of his daughter, Ana, months after events of Z 2134. He met a soldier named Katrina who told him that Ana was living in freedom from The State’s tyranny in Hydrangea, one of many secret underground camps in The Barrens. Suspicious, but without any other options, he went with her to Hydrangea.

There Jonah met a man known as Sutherland, who in fact was a former cult leader named Dennis Weaver. Weaver had supposedly died in The Darwin Games.

Sutherland told Jonah that Ana had not yet arrived in Hydrangea, but that he had already sent a courier to get her; if Jonah would wait, he would be reunited with his daughter. However, Sutherland needed a favor first—Jonah must go into City 6 and bring an old friend of Jonah’s, Dr. Liza Goelle, back to Hydrangea with him. Goelle, it appeared, was part of Sutherland’s plan to help the camps strike back at The State and bring freedom to The Cities.

Jonah reluctantly agreed, though Sutherland gave him no details of his plan.

***

Meanwhile Ana, Liam, and Jonah’s old friend Duncan had found refuge in a village called Paradise, where they’d lived in the months following the events of Z 2134. They received word that Sutherland wanted Ana to come to Hydrangea, where her father was waiting for her. They would leave the next day.

Duncan, however, was hiding a secret—he had been bitten some time before and was taking drugs to fight off the zombie infection. Dr. Liza Goelle had been providing him with a serum to stave off the virus as she searched for a cure.

Without access to Goelle and her drugs, Duncan planned to leave on his own. He felt it was only a matter of time before he turned. The night before Ana and Liam intended to go to Hydrangea, Duncan lost his battle. At dinner, he turned into a zombie and attacked Ana, biting her arm.

Duncan was killed, and Ana was saved, but she was excommunicated by Oli, the leader of Paradise, due to a strict rule barring the infected from entering the camps.

She and Liam headed off to Hydrangea.

After nearly being killed by bandits in The Outback, Ana’s condition worsened. She begged Liam to kill her. Liam refused and nearly lost her during a long, horrible night. When she woke, however, she was better, somehow having survived the infection.

They eventually found their way to Hydrangea.

***

After Jonah brought Dr. Goelle to Hydrangea, Sutherland told her that she would work on a cure alongside the zombie-cyborg Doctor Oswald, who had managed to survive a zombie infection by cutting off parts of his own body and replacing them with robotics.

With Ana not yet arrived, Sutherland asked one more favor of Jonah—to go into City 1, the ruling City of The State, and deliver a package.

Jonah didn’t want anything to do with the plan, but Sutherland persisted, saying that it would help their cause to bring freedom to the people. He then told Jonah how he wanted to bring down The State. Katrina told Jonah how she also wanted revenge against Jack Geralt, the One True Leader, who had once kept her as a child sex slave, horribly abused her, and left her for dead. Katrina and Sutherland convinced Jonah that Ana would be far safer, and allowed to stay in Hydrangea if she wanted, if he helped their cause.

Jonah agreed to deliver the package.

It wasn’t until Jonah arrived in City 1 that he realized that he was not just delivering a package. He was met by a 200-year-old man named Denton Sinclair, who told Jonah how he was one of the survivors of The Old Nation. Along with Geralt and others, Sinclair had released the zombie virus in the 1980s to destroy humanity. They saved only a few thousand of the country’s best and brightest and put them into underground cities that would later rise up and become The State.

Sinclair said he wanted to right past wrongs and bring down the corrupt powers of City 1. He demanded that Jonah release the zombie virus—which was in Jonah’s package—aboard a City 1 train. When Jonah refused, Sinclair called Sutherland, who informed Jonah that he had no choice if he ever wanted to see Ana again.

Jonah reluctantly agreed to carry out the terrorist plot.

He unleashed the virus on the train and then fought past the zombies as well as The City Watchers and their orbs, which tried to catch him. He managed to escape, only to be discovered by more City Watch orbs and taken into custody.

Meanwhile, Jonah’s son, Adam Lovecraft, had become a City Watch cadet, taken under the wing of none other than City Watch Chief Keller, his father’s former boss.

When Ana’s old friend, Michael, told Adam that Keller was an evil man, Adam realized that Michael had joined The Underground.

Keller asked Adam to help him root out Underground rebels, and Adam considered snitching on Michael. However, when Michael presented evidence that The State had lied about Ana and Liam and that they were still alive, Adam reconsidered his loyalties.

Michael convinced Adam to help The Underground get Keller alone so they could get some answers from him. Michael promised that Keller wouldn’t get hurt and that they would film the interrogation and use it to discredit The State once and for all.

Adam reluctantly agreed.

When he arrived at Keller’s, the Chief showed him a video of his father unleashing the virus on City 1. Keller revealed that Adam’s father was now an enemy of The State.

When Adam and The Underground attempted to interrogate Keller, things went horribly wrong, and Keller managed to kill everyone but Adam. He then took the boy into custody.

Back in Hydrangea, Ana was given a place to stay because Oswald and Goelle intended to use Ana’s blood to create a cure for the zombie virus.

However, Sutherland had other plans, which included killing Goelle.

Oswald then went to Liam and Ana’s room to warn them that Sutherland had killed Dr. Goelle and that they had to plan their escape, but they would have to wait because if they tried to leave right away, Sutherland would kill them all.

Later, during dinner, Katrina stormed into the dining hall to tell them to follow her to another room where something was happening on television.

Keller was being named Provisional Leader. He then revealed that he had two traitors with him on stage: Jonah Lovecraft and his son, Adam.

Keller then shot Jonah dead. Ana watched and dropped to her knees horrified.

***

And now, the conclusion of the Z series.

Episode 1

CHAPTER 1—ANA LOVECRAFT

January 2136

A half mile from the Halo . . .

Ana peered through the scope, focusing her rifle on the veering road below, watching and waiting for the transport vans to pass, trigger ready to free her brother.

There were three roads leading to the Halo, where The Darwin Games would detonate in a bloodbath known as The Opening Rush—always with host Kirk Kirkman’s untethered glee. Only City 6 came in from the West, and in the months that Ana had been spying on their routes, The State always sent two vans. She assumed one transported prisoners while the other carried City Watchers as backup in case the trip turned sour.

She adjusted her position, still chilly on the fresh-fallen snow despite her insulated jacket and pants, the outfit all black, scavenged from a group of bandits two months earlier. The jacket kept her relatively warm, and more importantly, allowed Ana to blend into the line of trees where she’d been ordered by Liam and Katrina to hide. She held her stare down the hill on a perfect view of the stretch where the vans were scheduled to pass at any moment.

Ana tried to ignore the rolls and roars in her stomach. There had been no time to eat—not that she would have been able to soak more than a morsel of bread in the stewing acid that sat in her stomach.

“How ya doing, baby?” Liam chirped in her earpiece, as if he could sense her unease from his spot on the road’s north side, where the line of trees crept closer to the old, cracked concrete. He and Katrina were waiting downhill from Ana.

“Scared as hell.”

“We’ve gone over this a dozen times,” Liam reminded her. “You’ve nothing to worry about. Two vans, like always.”

“I know,” Ana said, though she couldn’t quite shake the gnawing sensation that plans meant little and things wouldn’t be simple at all.

She flashed back nearly seven months to the caravan robbery gone wrong and the ambush that had claimed most of their party. “What if this is a trap?”

Katrina, with the most years of experience fighting The State, answered for Liam. “If it’s a trap, we deal with it. We’ve not come this far to abandon Adam on the off chance that it might be a trap.” A beat, then, “Have we?”

Ana paused, waiting for—wanting—Liam to back her up. Instead he said nothing, and Ana took it for the invisible nod to Katrina that it was. Lately it seemed that he and Katrina were on the same page more often than not. Nothing official, but if the trio chopping their way through The Barrens ever stopped to cast ballots, the vote would’ve gone 2–1 with Ana on the losing end, almost always.

She tried not to let her past annoyance poison her present thinking around Adam’s reality. Emotions weren’t part of the mission. Katrina was right. They had to get Adam now. It would be nearly impossible to find him in the chaos following The Opening Rush.

Ana sighed. “You’re right. Just getting butterflies is all.”

“It would be odd if you weren’t, Ana.” She imagined Katrina’s smile, not quite maternal but supportive in its own uncomfortable way. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine, and we will get your brother.”

“Damned right,” Liam chirped with a gusto that reminded Ana why she loved him so much.

“OK, I’m good.”

Black dots in the distance shut her up. She raised her rifle and narrowed her eye through the scope.

“They’re coming.”

“Copy,” Katrina and Liam said together. They too were likely watching—Liam through his scope and Katrina through a pair of fancy binoculars she’d stolen from Hydrangea before their flight from Sutherland’s madness a half year before.

Ana turned her scope to see Liam and Katrina rushing toward the road to place the spike strips about 10 feet apart. They were painted the same dull gray as the cracked road, but Ana didn’t think the difference in color was enough to keep a sharp eye from seeing the strips . . . which was why she was tasked to shoot at the drivers. She’d become an excellent shot since shedding her old life in City 6, though she still couldn’t match Liam’s or Katrina’s sniper eyes.

No—the real reason they’d put her up on the hill was to keep her from danger—in case things went south. Ana was the only known person who had contracted the zombie virus and come out the other side. Hydrangea’s doctor, Oswald, had placed an incredible burden on her when he claimed that she might be humanity’s last and only hope. He believed her blood was the final piece in finding a cure. Of course that was assuming the zombie-cyborg doctor ever got away from Sutherland, where he’d stayed behind to work in a lab filled with samples of Ana’s blood. Even if Oswald could develop the cure, it would do the world no good in the hands of a psycho like Sutherland—the very madman who had forced her father to unleash a strain of the zombie virus inside City 1.

At some point Ana, Liam, and Katrina might have to liberate Oswald and actually work towards that cure. Until then, Liam and Katrina treated Ana like a fragile Old Nation porcelain doll.

Ana stared at Liam through the scope. The past seven months had been cruel. He was thin, though his gauntness was cloaked by oversized clothes and a thick, dark beard that made him look more like a bandit than she liked.

She turned her scope back toward the approaching vans, now 300 yards away: large dusty transports with tinted windows driving side by side like those that had taken her to The Games.

“Three hundred yards away.”

“Copy,” they said, assuming position in clustered shadows along the tree-lined road.

Ana inched her finger toward the trigger, barely breathing as she waited for her moment. She had to wait until the vans were close enough to the strips that a sharp turn would be deadly and a full stop impossible. Hitting a pair of moving targets in rapid succession had seemed improbable while she’d been waiting in her perch, but now it seemed nearly impossible.

She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and tried to shove her fear as low as it would go.

Focus.

For Adam.

As the vehicles drew nearer, Ana could see two men through the front window of the left van—wearing City Watch dark-visored helmets, though they worked for The State–run Network and weren’t really Watchers at all.

Focus.

She lined up her first shot, anticipating where the van would be by estimating its speed and accounting for the slight breeze and the angle of her shot—skills Katrina had taught Ana during the long months leading up to their mission.

Ana squeezed the trigger and, without waiting to see if she hit her target, quickly turned the rifle toward the second van . . . but it raced by in a blur through her line of sight before she had a chance to shoot.

Ana took her eyes from the rifle and looked down as the tires of the second van ripped into the strips. The first van, the one she’d shot at, screeched to a stop, meaning she probably hadn’t killed the driver—or the man in the passenger seat was quick-thinking and reached over to slam on the brakes. The second van kept going before sliding to a stop on the right, putting about 40 yards of road between the two vans, which made Ana’s job harder as it was now impossible to see both vans at once through her scope.

Her heartbeat somehow found a way to speed up even more. Ana wished she could get closer to the road, where she might be able to do something useful.

Instead, she raised the rifle and trained it back and forth between the two vans, watching and waiting for doors to open, men to emerge. Ana hoped Liam and Katrina, racing from the trees, would reach the drivers before either had the notion to harm Adam or any of the other passengers.

“Get out!” Katrina yelled, firing her blaster at the first van. The window and driver disintegrated into a bright shock of dust. Ana scowled from the top of the hill, hating that someone else was doing her job.

The helmeted passenger got out of the van with raised hands, likely begging for life.

Liam approached the second van with his rifle aimed, yelling, “Get out!”

Ana noticed how much darker the windows were on the second van—dark enough that both driver and passenger were barely suggestions.

The gnawing in her gut tightened.

She flashed back on the zombies pouring from the transport truck during last year’s failed mission . . .

“Something’s wrong,” Ana said into the radio.

“What?” Katrina asked.

“The windows of the other van. I’m having trouble seeing through them.”

Liam seemed not to hear and stepped closer to the van, rifle raised. “Get the fuck out!”

Ana turned her scope back to the passenger of the first van, frozen behind Katrina’s aim. His gloved right hand was shaking ever so slightly above his head. At first, Ana thought maybe her nervous hands were shaking the view. Then she zoomed in and saw that his hand held something—a small black square with a blinking red light.

She remembered the driver they’d pulled over, how he’d opened the truck doors to unleash a horde of zombies.

“There’s something in his hand!”

Ana yelled so loudly that the passenger turned to her spot on the hill. Time started crawling, as if to amplify Ana’s distance and inability to intervene. She watched as the man’s fingers curled around the device—one pressing down on the flashing red light.

For a moment Ana could only hear the rapid pulse throbbing in her ear.

Then the suspicious van exploded.

CHAPTER 2—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Adam was dead.

At least he wanted to be. His father, Jonah, had been murdered in front of any citizen who cared to watch the cruel display on the ample widescreen monitors plastered across all six cities, murdered by a man whom Adam had looked up to almost as much as his father—Chief Keller.

Since that moment every breath had felt harder to draw. Yet strangely, Adam had not cried.

Prison had withered his tears. Time felt borrowed but was a debt he didn’t care to repay. His strongest recurring thought was the aching certainty that Ana was still alive somewhere, pursued closely by a bruised and ever-swelling need for revenge.

The Darwins were coming. Adam didn’t know why he hadn’t been cast outside The Walls with an army of cameras already, but the trip was inevitable. What happened to his father was all the more powerful because of its rarity. While death seemed so pervasive to Adam now, with his eyes finally opened to what was going on in the cities, public executions weren’t a regular thing behind The Walls. Outside, among the charred and rotten hands of the undead, it happened all the time. Adam would one day blink into the bright light outside The City, but the thin sliver of hope that he might one day see his sister kept him hanging on, like a cupped palm to a wind-flickered flame.

Adam’s back was pressed to the cold metal of a pitch-black van, on its way to the Halo. He hoped they would return to asphalt soon. The dirt, snow, or whatever they were driving through was doing terrible things to his already tangled gut.

Soon, the door would open and he’d be yanked from the van into blinding light. A cannon blast would herald the chaos of a mad dash by contestants, all willing to kill for supplies, murdering to live through The Opening Rush.

The chaos Adam was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive.

In this, the beginning of Adam’s end, darkness was his blanket. The van’s only light bled from lights on a black metal cuff glowing blue around his wrist. A small gray screen sat atop the cuff, with blue lights running around the top and bottom of the cuff, with tiny holes running beneath the screen. Though Adam had theories, he didn’t know what the bracelet was. The man who had fastened it to his wrist grunted as he did so, but his coward’s face was buried behind a black visor, stripping Adam’s chance to search for truth in his eyes. The bracelet felt cold, as if it couldn’t absorb any warmth from his body. After a while on his wrist, it made Adam feel colder than he was, and despite more than a half year spent mostly in isolation, the new frost in his body made him feel twice as alone.

In every game Adam had ever seen, vans almost always carried more than one passenger. He didn’t want to wonder why he was the only one in this van, because the truth was likely as ugly as every other truth he’d come to know since his father was first accused of murdering a mother whom Adam still missed every day. But he couldn’t help dwelling on his solitary transport, remembering how much he used to enjoy this part of The Darwins: The Pre-Game. Those citizens who did watch The Pre-Games loved getting to know the players and picking their favorites before the cannon was shot. That was always Adam’s favorite part, because there was never any killing, and often there were jokes.

Now he was in the dark alone, save for small cameras in all four corners, giving citizens a bird’s eye view of his death ride. He wondered how many people were watching him, as he’d watched so many in the past. And what kind of contestant did he appear to be? Was anyone voting on him as a potential winner? Some contestants were quiet, most tried to seem braver than they were, keeping quivers from speech and flinches from eyes. A few always cried. Some picked fights. Adam’s favorites pretended that being in a van on its way to the Halo, and the promise of spending their final few days on the run—gasping and hoping for bullets instead of a death by feasting undead—wasn’t so awful at all.

Adam wanted to be strong enough to pretend and bury his fear behind jokes like those men and women. But there was no one else to joke with, and that absence made everything worse.

Something was wrong, because things were so different. Every Game he’d ever seen had at least two players from each City, yet Adam hadn’t heard a second van rolling ahead or behind them.

I can’t be the only one from City 6, can I?

Adam had spent seven months in prison.

He had been on a fairly fixed schedule, in which he was moved from his cell to the yard for an hour each weekday, two on the weekends. The consistent routine made it easy to tick off the time—which was important when trying to preserve a sense of normalcy. The other thing that had helped him hold onto sanity was knowing there were others around him—others like him. When he’d first arrived, Adam had done his best to track prisoners as they came and went, but it grew increasingly difficult as the block’s population stayed in constant flux, with guards ushering ever-larger groups around the prison. Adam saw what little he did only by staring through a large window in his cell that looked out over the yard, the view somehow designed for his torment, trapping him in the dark even as he was bathed in the day’s brightest light. Like his glowing blue bracelet, the sun never quite warmed his body as he sat for long hours in his cold cell alone.

On his ninth weekend, the other prisoners disappeared and never returned—and he realized they weren’t like him at all. Adam was led to another part of the prison that he had never known about, even as a Junior Watcher. The second cell was smaller, colder, and—impossibly—even more alone. He found himself surprised to miss his horrible view.

It was then that he started hearing the whispers, from the few guards in this new area. They all wanted him to hear, and to be afraid, because fear in isolation rotted the body. There were whispers among the Watchers of a special edition of The Darwins brewing, with additional (or fewer) players, perhaps an extended play length. Different rules. New weapons. Harsher environments would make sense, but Adam was only guessing from the few snippets he was allowed to hear. It turned out that, for him, guessing without knowing made him sicker, as he waited to see what Keller—a vengeful man, moving his diseased breed of justice from father to son—was planning.

After his move, Adam saw no one except his daily interrogators. Each day he stayed strong, giving them nothing and hoping to make his murdered father proud—a sentiment he would have sneered at just a few months ago. Regardless, they came in at different times, most often in the morning when Adam was still blurry-eyed, and ordered him to rat out members of The Underground. Other than for the interrogations, they only came in to bring Adam rancid food or drag him out of his cell for the occasional shower. He always trembled as the door cracked opened, certain that this time he’d see Keller instead of the guard and finally suffer the ugly man’s wrath.

Now, in the back of the van and Halo bound, Adam wondered if he’d ever see Keller again . . . and realized that Keller could be watching him right now. Bile rose in his throat as the van came to a grinding halt and jostled the thought from his head.

Adam’s heart started to race. Even though he’d been numb for months, the Halo’s “promise” poured fresh life into his body. After what felt like an eternity, the rear door swung open. The bracelet finally felt warm as it hummed, then shone a brighter blue. A speaker blared from the guard’s helmet.

“Exit the van, Lovecraft! Stand in line and wait for the cannon.”

Pointing a gun in Adam’s face, the guard yelled, “Now.”

Adam stepped into the snow, boots sinking as he shivered and rubbed warmth into his arms. He looked around, wondering where in the hell he was. Somewhere he’d never seen: the center of a giant stadium, surrounded by ancient and mostly rotten seats.

Games were usually confined to wilderness areas. It made for better shows to see contestants fleeing through forest to escape the swarming hordes of undead. Adam couldn’t remember ever having seen anything in an arena like this one.

The guard spun him around and shoved him toward what looked like a hundred or so contestants—the most Adam had ever seen waiting for The Games. Four oversized hunter orbs buzzed overhead, hovering a few feet above the line. A pair of men—behemoths in black suits and mirrored helmets—stood at the line’s rear, rifles ready. Many more guards—they seemed more militant than those usually assigned to The Games—were scattered through the snow, black on white like a sickness on flesh.

Everything seemed larger in the flesh: the stadium, contestants, guards, and weapons—The Games.

Adam swallowed hard, looking up and down the line at all the soon-to-be-dead. Contestants were outfitted in the same blue jumpsuits that he’d been wearing for months. Each City usually had an assigned color—that made it easier for viewers to identify and root for their favorites. The hundred or so contestants in the same blue didn’t make any sense.

The line started on the far side of the field from where Adam was standing, and wrapped the perimeter spooling back toward him. In the center of the field there were mountains of crates stacked four high and many more deep. All except the smallest were wide and tall enough to hold many humans . . . or creatures that used to be.

Adam saw four exits and, rising above the stadium walls, a crumbled city with old buildings like diseased fingers raking into the sky. After months of solitary confinement, Adam had hardened himself for this reality, preparing himself to be the killer he would have to become. But as the moment raced toward him, he wondered if he’d be able to be as ruthless as he needed to be.

He looked down the row, dividing contestants into two halves: those Adam thought he could kill, and those he knew to run from. He searched for familiar faces, not really expecting to find one. About twenty people down, he actually did.

A stout, dark-skinned man in his 40s, with thick hair, a scruffy beard, and a pair of piercing green eyes that Adam would recognize anywhere: Derek Colton, a friend of his father’s from City Watch.

He hadn't seen Derek in forever, let alone thought of him. He had no clue why the man was waiting to be zombie food now. His dad had always spoken fondly of his friend. Adam wondered if he was an ally, as he watched the man trying not to shiver, 50 feet away. Was he Underground? A traitor like Michael—and now Adam? Or something else? Something worse? Maybe a murderer from The Dark Quarters?

A dark thought crept in: Better to be killed by a friend than an enemy.

Derek Colton must have thought something similar. He barely turned but gave Adam a mostly imperceptible smile. Like a ray of sunlight on his face, it flickered and faded before he looked ahead and left Adam to wonder if he had seen what he thought—and whether he could trust what he thought he saw.

All four orbs crackled to life with a loud shriek. Their screens lit with Kirk Kirkman’s weaselly face. Adam’s blue bracelet glowed brighter and buzzed, clearly in response to the orbs. A familiar crescendo of The State’s National Song swelled the air with the usual fanfare as the screens showed fireworks erupting over City 6. Adam saw the usual rowdy—yet still somehow orderly—crowds of people watching from a large studio in City 6, waving plenty of flags, swaying in time with the orchestra. And adding to his confusion, the cameras never cut to another city. Usually The Games showed all the cities. Now cameras panned through the many varied pockets of City 6, catching swarms of rapt citizens staring up into the lenses so Adam could see them on-screen. Cameras seemed to crawl into every corner of City 6, but there was no footage from 5 or 4, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Finally, the broadcast cut back to Kirkman. Cheery as ever, he chirped, “Welcome to a Special Edition of The Darwin Games!”

He waited as the audience erupted with pent-up excitement, then boomed:

“We welcome you to this very special edition of The Darwin Games, our first ever All-Traitor Edition. The men and women standing before you are Underground scum, each and every one! These are the people who threaten our safety. These are the people who endanger our lives. These are the people who have turned on their neighbors and conspired to weaken our State. Who conspired against you. And since the heart of this dark cancer was thriving most in City 6, we’ve decided to host the show here this time for City 6. Now, who’s ready to watch these traitors pay?”

Kirkman paused for applause—no shortage from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Cameras continued to flicker from pocket to pocket showing just how invested the entire City was to witness its enemies punished.

“The All-Traitor Edition has a record number of contestants. There are exactly 104 traitors who had direct ties to the terrorist attack on City 1. Killing these people isn’t just our duty, but our obligation for a healthy, prosperous State. And to be clear: there will be no glory for anyone. This time, for the first time in Darwin Games history, there will be no winner. In The All-Traitor Edition, no one will get to see City 7.”

Another pause for applause, then the camera cut to Adam, standing surprised in the snow. “After all, we wouldn’t want to chance The Game being won by Adam Lovecraft, now would we? Of course not! Just look at what his father did with his second chance. I hope you’re ready for the best Games we’ve ever had, knowing that when they end—however they end—we will have justice for what happened to our fine citizens in City 1.”

Another pause for applause, the longest so far. Adam imagined the many months of advertisement, preceding this Special Edition of The Games. The State would have had every citizen drooling by the time the contestants were being marched out onto the snowy field. He thought of all the commemorative wrappers with The Special Edition’s colorful logo that would cover the arcade food. An ugly thing to admit, but as Adam stared up at the screen, steeling his gaze at the view, he couldn’t help admiring it: the logo was pretty amazing—The City Watch eye surrounded by flames like a blazing star. Adam thought back through most of his life and knew that in a different present where his father was still a decorated Watcher, he would have loved seeing traitors like himself getting shredded to pieces.

“We brought our contestants to The Outback, a four-square-mile city from The Old Nation, teeming with thousands of zombies, bandits, and . . .” Kirkman dropped his voice to a whisper, “. . . God only knows what else.”

The orb screens showed an overview of the crumbling buildings, streets filled with zombies, and bandits driving through the city with their victims’ heads on pikes.

His voice back to a fever pitch, Kirkman continued. “For your enjoyment, we’ve outfitted our contestants with some very special Darwin Games Special Edition bracelets. Aren’t they pretty, folks?”

The screen cut to a half-dozen bracelets like Adam’s, glowing bright blue on a swath of ivory velvet, then to a tall man wearing one, who seemingly was panicking as he raced through the woods. He clomped through the snow, dodging thin and barren branches. Adam wasn't sure if the screen was showing Games footage or something else, but the background music, like the image, held a steady beat of terror. The fleeing man was armed, running with his pistol in front of him, ready to fire at the slightest movement.

A scream, shrill and sudden, pierced the air on-screen, yelping from the man’s bracelet. Zombies exploded all around him, pouring through the trees, arms outstretched. The man fumbled through the snow, occasionally firing at pursuers until his blaster had fully lost its charge. No chance to reload, or anything else. Zombies swallowed the view in a wave that rolled so fast that the man never stood a chance. The camera hovered above the fury until the swarm receded to a few piles of bloody flesh, scattered around a still-glowing ring of bright blue.

“These bracelets cannot be taken off, and to make things even more fun for you at home, they are programmed to go off at random. A contestant’s bracelet might go off never, just once, or once a day.” As if confiding in a friend, Kirkman smirked, “Watch out, Adam!”

The host continued. “These fancy bracelets emit a loud alarm, along with a strong chemical scent specially designed to attract zombies. Zombie Alerts, as we call them, will last anywhere from a minute to an hour. Why the bracelets, you ask? Because they’ll keep the underground scum from sticking together like rats . . . and because we think you’ll love them!”

The cheers were deafening. There wouldn’t be a person of age in City 6, or anywhere else, who wasn’t watching The Games and rooting for the traitors’ downfall.

“Though this is a new location, rules for The Opening Rush are the same. In the field’s center we’ve stacked an abundance of weapons and much-needed supplies. Of course—as promised—we also have boxes of zombies.”

Kirkman turned his address to the contestants.

“Test your luck and load up on supplies and weapons now, or flee to one of the four exits and take your chances in The Outback.”

His face took on a devilish look. “Just one thing you should know . . . we’ve bombarded The Outback with flyers announcing rewards for anyone who captures and kills Darwin players. Be careful who you trust.”

Kirkman continued, “And, oh, one more thing. Before any of you start getting ideas of trying to leave The Outback, know that if you do so, your bracelets will go off. And if you think you can avoid both zombies and our hundreds of hunter orbs circling The Outback, think again.”

The screen showed swarms of orbs hovering over The Outback. With no winner or chance of escaping, Adam wondered how he would ever survive. He wondered how many people would even attempt to just outlast The Games.

If there’s no Mesa to battle in, why not just hide and wait things out?

Then he realized the genius of The Network’s plan. No player in The Games could ever expect to live in The Outback for any amount of time. Someone or something—whether it be other players, bandits, zombies, or hunter orbs—would find and kill them.

There was no escape.

The only hope was to prolong survival. Perhaps it was The State’s plan to rob the players of hope, to further weaken them, but so long as Adam stayed alive, he would continue to search for a way out—of The Games and The Outback, bracelet be damned.

Kirkman’s voice went into its familiar singsong pattern as he wound up the audience. “And noooooow . . . let The Darwin Games BEGIN!”

Fireworks exploded through the sky over them. Even with the noise, Adam could hear zombies jostling boxes.

And then it began.

The line of contestants broke like a wave crashing onto the field in every direction, most toward the weapons and zombies.

Adam spun in the other direction, toward the tunnel ahead and to his left, out into the broken city and the only hope he barely had.

CHAPTER 3—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana stared down at the exploded van in open-mouthed horror. Chunks of truck littered the road. Fire crackled out from the billowing clouds marring her view of Liam and Katrina as well as the trigger man from City 6.

“Liam!” she cried out, digging into the snow to shove herself up.

She grabbed the rifle and started down the incline, eyes searching for signs of life, friend or foe.

Please, please, please be okay.

Nearing the road she heard coughing, then saw Katrina trying to stand.

The man from City 6 was moving toward Katrina, blaster drawn.

Ana raised her rifle, looked down the sight, and fired twice. The first shot missed, but the second pierced the side of the man’s black helmet and sent him to the ground.

Katrina stood, looking around, dazed but seemingly in one piece.

“Liam!” Ana cried out again.

No response as she rounded the first van and found him face down on the edge of the road. She couldn’t tell if he’d turned and run at her warning, or if the blast’s impact had thrown him.

Heart in her throat, she raced over and dropped to her knees beside him in the snow.

At first glance she saw no blood, though his back was filthy from the explosion. “Liam,” she said, reaching to feel his pulse. When she pulled his long hair aside, though, she saw the blood pouring out of his left eye socket.

His body jerked at her touch. He spun onto his back, hands clenched, good eye wild, as if being attacked. He finally focused on Ana and tried to relax, but it was then that he seemed to notice that something was very wrong. He reached up, felt the ridge just below his damaged eye, and with a confused expression pulled away blood-tipped fingers.

“There was a bomb in the truck,” she explained.

“What?”

Ana repeated herself, pained to see realization color his face.

“I can’t hear,” he said. “I can’t hear.”

She reached out for his hands, “You’ll be okay.” Ana mouthed her words carefully so that Liam could use the skill learned while spying for The Underground and read her lips. She could only hope his damaged eye didn’t hamper this ability too much.

Katrina stepped toward them. “Is he okay?”

Her face had a few bloody scratches, but her eyes (and ears) seemed fine.

Ana gestured toward Liam. “The explosion got his eye. I don’t know if it’s really bad or just really bloody. He can’t hear me, though. Don’t react too badly, until we know more. How are your ears?”

Katrina made a conscious effort not to meet Liam’s eyes—or, specifically, his eye. “Aside from the ringing, they’re good. I just checked the other van. Your brother’s not there.”

“Do you think he was in—?” Ana looked back at the bombed truck’s burning remains.

“No,” Katrina said. “I don’t think so. You were right. It was a fucking trap.”

Ana heard a mechanical sound behind her and turned. A hunter orb was hovering above them, cannon muzzle surrounded by crackling bright blue light. From the speakers, a man’s voice said, “Enemies of The State, lay down your arms and surrender at once.”

This was it. No way they could take out an armed hunter orb without one of them—or all three—dying.

Ana was first to lower her weapon. Katrina immediately followed. Liam’s rifle lay on the road, lost when he was knocked back by the blast.

The orb descended, crackles and hums escalating in volume and menace the closer it came. The monitor showed a City Watcher’s visored helmet in a command station somewhere. The orb went to Ana’s right, then left.

The man on-screen spoke. “Ana Lovecraft,” the man identified her. Then, “Liam Harrow.” He studied Katrina. After a moment, “Citizen, state your name.”

“My name is . . . Fuck You!” Katrina spit at the orb.

The orb pulled back, darted up about five feet above them, then took aim at Katrina, cannon belching with a whistling cry as it prepared to fire.

Ana expected Katrina to make a move, to grab her blaster, or something. But she stood defiant, seemingly ready to die—or perhaps give up.

Ana was braced for death from above, when the orb’s screen went suddenly dark.

A moment later, it went silent and plunged to the snow with a crash but nary a dent.

“What the hell was that?” Ana reached down for her rifle.

Katrina retrieved her blaster, taking advantage of the moment, not seeming to care about how or why the machine had stopped working. She was about to finish off the orb when a girl’s voice cried out from behind them.

“Don’t!”

Katrina turned along with Ana, then Liam, and saw the figures emerging from the woods: five, all wrapped in thick layers of winter clothing, faces concealed by wraps and masks. They were dirty and armed with blasters and swords. One held something that looked like a small box with a glowing red ball at the end.

Ana thought bandits, but as the group moved closer and out of the shadows, she realized they were children, all but one. The closest child removed the wrap from her face, revealing a girl with bright blue eyes and short brown hair. She couldn’t have been older than twelve.

“Ana Lovecraft?”

Ana, not quite sure if the girl was friend or foe, didn’t know how to answer. But if these kids were responsible for bringing down the hunter orb, Ana wanted them on her side.

She nodded.

The girl removed her glove and extended her hand to Ana.

“My name is Calla Egan.” She made a small curtsy. “And it is a pleasure to meet the daughter of Jonah.”

CHAPTER 4—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Adam stepped over no less than a thousand dirty and wet red flyers that had been dropped across the city like confetti, each one announcing prizes for killing a Games contestant, but he didn’t dare stop long enough to read one.

It might’ve been an hour, maybe twice that since his flight from the field. He’d split at the sound of the cannon, away from the boxes of zombies, away from the weapons, food, and supplies.

Away from the few things that might keep him alive for more than a night. But the risks had been too great, and he had to figure he could find a way to survive without supplies.

The city was old but not empty. Adam saw no people or zombies—yet—but could hear plenty of rustling from people (or things) seeking refuge in frigid shadows and icy hollows. He saw (or imagined) proof in flickers he spied through cracked alleyways and crooked corridors. He wondered if those flickers were friend or foe, people or zombies—or all of the above.

Extra players, a broken city, and the added element of wild bandits made these Games different from the zombie-centric ones that Adam was used to watching. He wasn’t sure if he was better or worse off. Part of him dared to hope and believe that maybe the sprawling city might make it easier to wait out his opponents. Wait for what, though? Who knew? All he did know was that the fewer contestants there were to deal with, the longer he would live.

That’s what Adam kept telling himself, over and over as he made his way from one crumbled exterior to another, darting from shadow to shadow as he slowly crept down overgrown streets toward the city’s long-forgotten heart.

Adam peeked into the hollowed shells of several old buildings before leaving them behind. None seemed quite right, though he couldn’t say why—just trusting his instincts and training with The City Watch—so he kept trudging forward until he finally found what looked like an old office building, charred on the sides from flames and covered in graffiti. The paint said something he’d only seen in The Dark Quarters a few times before, something he assumed was in relation to The Underground:

“Blind the eyes of the oppressor with the fire of truth.”

Adam entered through a rear door and drifted from room to room, then floor to floor, unsure of what he was searching for, other than something to maybe keep him alive. The place smelled damp and, for lack of a better description, old. After visiting several floors he’d found nothing of use. There were plenty of broken things—desks, tables, office equipment from another era—plus plenty of boxes filled with things he couldn't define, all wearing a thick sweater of dust. Hallways were patches of murky fog, dark shadows pierced by beams of bright light. Walls of dust poured through shattered windows to fleck scattered light through every room.

Adam surrendered his search on the building’s seventh floor. He was standing on the landing, one hand on the door and about to head back downstairs, when he heard something move from somewhere above him.

Adam swallowed, trying not to let fear short circuit his deliberate pace.

He wrapped his hand around the thin metal railing and looked up into the light-peppered darkness. Adam felt like he’d run from so much in his life. He’d avoided bullies, he had not trusted Michael when he should have, and he had always taken the easier route rather than face what had to be done. He was in The Games. He would have to fight to survive, and he couldn’t let the first sounds of the unknown scare him away. He needed to learn to adapt to his surroundings and play the cards dealt him. He told himself he’d go a few more steps—just see what waited. If it was too dangerous, he could still turn around. But he couldn’t allow his fear to scare him off, not before he saw what he was dealing with. He moved up the stairs to the top, turned the corner, and stepped into the first definite signs of life he’d seen since fleeing the arena.

Adam saw no survivors but did see signs of their recent presence: discarded ration packs, broken bottles, and a portable, solar-powered space heater with coils rigged in what looked like hands in a prayer. There was a soiled bedroll that looked awful to sleep on, though still better than the littered floor. Adam stepped deeper into the room, wondering who had been there before and how long ago they had left it.

Lost in his observations, it took him a moment to remember, with a sudden chill, the sound from just moments before.

Adam crossed the first room, then went into another. The second room looked more lived in than the first. Almost immediately he found a pile of old clothes shoved into a corner. As he did each day—despite his daily desire to stop it—Adam thought of his many hours in City Watch cadet training, watching videos that taught him the basics of reading a crime scene. He remembered every lesson: interrogation, autopsy, trace, ballistics, forensics, and DNA.

Unfortunately, none of those lessons would help Adam now.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t focus. Adam wasn’t sure if it was something in the building or his rattled nerves, but his instincts were screaming, ordering him to run.

But he couldn’t.

Not without gathering any useful supplies that could be in the room, abandoned by whatever might be hiding in the shadows. He ignored the humming buzz in his mind and sifted through the room, searching for food, a weapon, anything.

After a lot of nothing, Adam found an empty backpack and an old rusty hammer.

He slung the empty pack over his shoulder, tightened the hammer in his grip, and made his way toward the door. There was one more flight in the nine-story building.

Just one more flight. I can do this.

Adam climbed.

Beads of sweat on his brow continued to thicken. The hammer felt loose in his hand, the wooden stock slick from his sweaty palm. He just had to see what was ahead. He just hoped that he wasn’t trading fear for stupidity.

Adam stopped cold, his foot an inch above the stair. He fell back a step and tightened his grip, both on the railing and on his hammer. There was laughter above, but it wasn’t friendly. It held the edges of menace, the sort of laughter that Adam had heard throughout his lifetime, mostly from guys like Tommy, Morgan, Daniel, and all the other bullies he’d known in his life.

The part of Adam that had spent months in City Watch under Keller’s care, training hard to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a City Watcher, wanted to charge the stairs with only his hammer and confront the waiting danger. The rest of him, the part that cried when City Watchers took his books as a child, wanted to flee—down the stairs, out of the building, and into the street as fast as he could.

Adam finally listened to the coward inside him. He slowly turned, then took a step. He followed with a second, slower step; then his heel landed on the back of a bottle and sent him tumbling down the stairs.

Adam could feel himself flying through his life’s longest second, then his back crashed onto the concrete and his head smacked the wall hard enough to burst a melon. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, but even the sudden metallic taste of blood in his mouth couldn’t stop his yelp.

The upstairs fell silent.

A few seconds later, shadows fell on his body from above as he lay trembling and hurt on the landing. Adam forced himself to stand and face the strangers.

A group of men stood on the flight above. A half dozen it seemed, but with so many shadows he couldn’t be sure. The one in front, the shortest, must be the leader. He cocked an eyebrow, looked back to his group, grinned, then turned to Adam as he took a step down.

“Ay, are you one of dem Darwin players?”

Before the stranger had finished the question, he’d drawn a pistol from his coat and had it aimed between Adam’s unblinking eyes. It was an old-fashioned gun, the kind that shot lead. It took everything inside Adam not to turn or flinch. He knew they’d see it as weakness.

Gun on Adam, the leader said, “Ooh, we got ourselves a reward, folks!”

Adam cleared his throat as he stood, one fist balled, the other tight on the hammer. He’d rather die like a man than run like a dog. That didn’t mean he needed to charge heedlessly into his own death, though. He could use his words and maybe convince the men above to spare him.

Maybe they weren’t looking for blood.

Maybe he had a chance.

Adam opened his mouth to speak, then saw how much the stranger’s smile reminded him of Tommy, and all hope was lost. So instead he spun around and leapt to the landing below. He ignored the shock as it tore through his body, turned the corner, ran down another six stairs, then jumped the remainder. At the next landing, he ducked into the corridor and ran down the long hallway without looking back.

He kept running, racing down the hall as footsteps echoed behind him. He had no idea if the door at the end was locked, or what he would do if it were. He didn’t really have a choice, though. He could hear his pursuers rounding the corner behind him when he reached the door, and he grabbed the handle and gave it a twist.

No luck.

But as he frantically searched for something to smash the lock with, he noticed a hallway to his left that he hadn’t seen before.

He ran harder. He had only seconds. When they rounded the corner this time they’d send a bullet into his back.

The doors on either side of the hall were all closed, and he couldn’t take a chance to try any of them. He only had the window ahead.

Just 40 feet from the window, Adam had already made up his mind to jump. Death would be quick, his pain would be over as soon as it started. A leap from above would certainly be better than whatever was running behind him. He wouldn’t see Ana again or taste his revenge against Keller, but at least his rotten life would finally be over. Maybe he’d be reunited with his mother and father if something really followed death.

If . . .

Heavy breath harmonized with laughs of victory behind him as his pursuers realized they had Adam cornered. He pictured the leader raising his gun and tried not to imagine lead ripping into his flesh.

Now just 10 feet from the window, he steeled himself to do what he must. Maybe his bold decision would be rewarded by a soft fall. God knew there was enough trash littering every corner of The Outback. Maybe he’d get lucky this time.

Maybe.

A few feet from the window, though, Adam’s feet found something wet and sticky.

With his second fall in only minutes, he slipped in what smelled like blood and fell flat on his face. On the ground, Adam was shocked to realize he still had his hammer. He tightened his grip, got to his knees, and held it up in the air, turning to face his attackers.

“What are you gonna do with that?” one of the men chortled. “Build a wall?”

The leader laughed loudly, waited for the chorus of echoes behind him, then took a step forward, raising his gun. “Think it can stop a—”

The man’s head burst into crimson gore. The first shot was followed by many, until his attackers were painting the wooden floor with their bodies and Adam heard a series of clicks.

He flinched. Adam had been prepared for death and now feared facing something worse. The two men standing before him were garbed in City 6 blue. One was a giant of a man with a thick brown beard and long curly hair.

And the other was . . . the dark-skinned, green-eyed man from his youth.

Colton reached down and held out his hand. Adam hesitated, so his father’s old friend reached down farther, grabbed Adam gently by the arm, and lifted the boy to his feet.

“Come with us, son. We’re getting you out of these Games.”

CHAPTER 5—ANA LOVECRAFT

“Did you know my father?” Ana asked the young girl.

“Yes, he stayed with us when he was left for dead after The Games.” The girl spoke with an unrecognizable accent, slight but noticeable. Her speech was slow too, as if trying to get her words right. Ana couldn’t tell if she was nervous or normally spoke another language. She had never met someone who spoke anything other than English. Ana had heard of people speaking Spanish, French, and even Chinese, but no other languages were allowed in school.

With a bull’s diplomacy, Katrina said, “Jonah stayed with you? Where?”

Calla looked back at the eldest boy, a tall, skinny kid still in his mask.

The boy nodded. Calla said, “We’re 15 minutes away in an old train station.”

“How many of you are there?” Katrina asked.

The boy interjected, “Enough.”

Ana met Katrina’s eyes, trying to communicate that the woman should drop her gruffness, lest they scare off the group.

Katrina seemed to get the message. She shut up, reached into her backpack, and pulled out some gauze, tending to Liam’s still bleeding socket. Ana cringed as he winced in pain.

She turned to Calla and her crew. “You did this? To the orb?”

“Yes,” the boy said. “But please don’t destroy it. We can take it back home and tinker with it. Use The State’s tech against them. We picked up on a City 6 transmission, instructions to draw you out. They suspected that you might try to save your brother.”

“So you came to save us?” Ana asked. “Why?”

Calla met her eyes, “Because I owe your father.”

Ana was about to ask for details, but she had more pressing questions, chief among them about Adam. “Have you heard anything else . . . about my brother?”

The boy shook his head. “They didn’t say anything, but we can check back home to see if Egan’s heard more.”

Calla looked at Liam, who hadn’t spoken. He seemed like he was having trouble standing.

“How badly is he hurt?” Calla asked.

“Besides his eye, I think his eardrums might have burst. Can you help him?”

“I think so, if you come with us.”

Ana turned to Katrina, and whispered. “What should we do? Do you think we should continue to the Halo? Or get Liam some help first?”

“We need to regroup. The State was expecting us to make a move for Adam. We need to figure out what’s happening and make sure we don’t walk into any more traps. Plus, Liam needs to rest and heal.”

“Come,” Calla said, impatient. “We’ve got a skidder waiting.”

“A skidder?” Katrina asked. “How the hell did you manage to get one of those?”

The boy laughed as he went over to the orb and leaned down to pick it up with both hands. He stood there, the orb concealing most of his chest and torso. “You think you’re the only ones causing trouble for The State? We stole it from ’em.”

This made Katrina laugh too, and supporting Liam between them, she and Ana entered the woods and climbed into the back of the large floating war truck.

***

They arrived at the underground train station without incident and stepped from the truck into a cavernous bay, oddly stacked with parts from seemingly every sort of vehicle, orb, and robot from the present to what looked like the ancient past.

Bright lights hummed above as they made their way toward a set of red double doors where a young man in gray coveralls stood guard with a blaster rifle.

The man, who couldn’t have been older than 24, looked Ana and Katrina up and down like a dog eying a roast. Ana looked back at Liam to see that, yes, he had noticed despite holding rags over his left eye, and no, he wasn’t pleased.

Calla ignored the guard, though, and led them through the doors. She took them on a tour of The Station, which is what they called their home, explaining that it had been an underground train station built before The Plague. She said the tunnels stretched for miles, though Station residents had sealed most of them to prevent bandits from raiding their home.

The tunnels were mostly industrial gray, some blue, and plastered with old posters announcing THE MAGLIVE TRAIN with travel photos showing wide open vistas—brilliant swaths of green beckoning you to lands lost long before. Most of the halls were dimly lit by wide squares of light, which only flickered on as they entered.

The place felt claustrophobic and lifeless, save for their own echoing footsteps and voices as they walked.

After turning another corner in an endless series of The Station’s maze, Ana smelled something that both pulled her back to her childhood and made her stomach growl.

“Is someone baking . . . bread?” It seemed like forever since she’d smelled fresh bread.

“Yes,” Calla said with a smile. “And through these doors ahead, we are home.”

Two more guards stood at a set of blue double doors, one a young woman of about 20, the other an older, heavyset man. Both wore City Watch uniforms, though they’d patched over The City Watch insignia with skulls, and neither wore the visors, likely useless without the associated City Watch tech. A shock stick dangled from each guard’s belt.

“Hello, Calla,” the woman said with a smile. “And hello, newcomers.”

The older man, while not smiling, wasn’t unpleasant. “Welcome,” he said as they opened the doors to what Calla called home.

Ana stared, wanting to believe her eyes, hard as it was. There was a large central space with people talking to one another and children playing, which was surrounded by what looked to be former offices turned into homes.

The walls were alive with earth tones: warm terra cotta that swirled into an almost chocolate brown. Up top, maybe to mimic the sky, there was a line of icy blue that smeared into a smudgy sunset of yellow and orange at the room’s edges. Two walls were covered with curtains, one deep green and the other a rich burgundy. Neither really matched the rest of the room but both were somehow warm. Ana felt suddenly safe, seemingly inhaling their color.

In addition to the vibrant colors of the walls, children’s paintings lined them and decorated the windows of the homes. Many of the windows were also covered with curtains, and there were wooden doors with numbers like addresses, like many homes in City 6. Strings of colored lights ran along the ceiling and lined the place in a beauty that could only come from somewhere called home.

People congregated in the halls, conversing. Children played, many smiling at Ana, Katrina, and Liam.

Ana asked how many people called The Station home. Calla ignored the firm look from the boy who’d helped rescue them and said, “Sixty-four.” Then, after a moment, as if realizing she’d slipped with such a dangerous confession, added, “But we’re all very well trained. So don’t think of trying anything.”

Ana tried not to laugh at the girl’s attempt to carry a swagger she couldn’t quite manage. As Calla led them down the wide hallway, they were greeted by numerous people. Many seemed to recognize her. She assumed they’d somehow watched The Games down here, though she had yet to see a screen besides the Orb’s.

Katrina and Liam looked uncomfortable as they smiled and waved. Ana reached for Liam’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled and mouthed, “I love you.”

He mouthed the words back and seemed to relax—though not entirely. Old habits die hard.

They turned with the hallway and reached a single black door at the end.

“This is my father’s office. He’s The Station’s leader.”

Ana noticed that the girl had said “office,” not “home,” but didn’t question her.

“He would like to talk to you first, Ana. If you two don’t mind waiting.”

Katrina turned to Ana, her lips pursed, looking like she minded quite a lot.

Ana spoke up before the other woman could voice her concerns, though. “OK.”

“And I’ll take you both to see Father Truth so he may help you look better, mister,” Calla said.

Ana couldn’t tell if Liam understood the girl’s mouthed words or not. But he didn’t resist when Katrina took his hand and nodded as Calla led them back the way they’d come.

Liam waved goodbye.

Ana turned and stepped into the office.

A man stood to greet her. “Happy to meet you, Miss Lovecraft. My name is Charles Egan, but everyone just calls me Egan.” He extended his hand.

“Pleased,” she said, shaking his warm palm.

He was a short man in his 40s with dark, wild hair and tired eyes. He was wearing a dark-brown coat, black shirt, beige pants—and a relaxed look, as opposed to the more formal clothing she’d seen other leaders wearing.

“Please, have a seat.” He waved to the chair opposite his own, which stood behind a large wooden desk piled with a small mountain of papers. She sat, noticing that there wasn’t much in the office to indicate what sort of man Egan might be. No photos, paintings, or even old books like Ana had seen in the few offices she’d ever been in. She wondered how much time the man actually spent in the room. Maybe he was more of a people’s leader, spending community time in the living area rather than tucked away in his own space all day like those who ruled The Cities.

“I hope your journey here wasn’t too eventful,” Egan said.

“Not after your daughter and the others took out the hunter orb. How did you all know we’d be there?”

“Because I intercepted a State transmission. They were planning on you trying to get your brother. They want you and Liam dead . . . for real this time.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Thanks for saving us.”

“You’re most welcome. But I must admit that my motives weren’t entirely altruistic.”

“Oh?” Ana said, a nervousness stirring her stomach.

“Yes, you see, I understand that you may hold a cure to this zombie plague.”

She shifted in her seat, suddenly wishing that either Liam or Katrina were in the room. She felt like the situation was about to get quickly out of control.

“What do you mean?” she asked, playing dumb.

“It’s OK, Miss Lovecraft, your secret is safe with me. I know you were infected, and that you were also cured. That makes you the only known person to come back from infection.”

“What makes you say that?” she said, not willing to concede the information just yet. Ana wondered if that was also overheard in The State transmission. And if so, how did The State find out?

Egan just smiled at her hedging and said, “Relax, Ana. We have a mutual friend. Dr. Oswald has been staying here since he fled Hydrangea.”

“Oswald is here?” Ana said, feeling a bit more at ease, and eager to see him.

“Yes, and I’ll bring him in a bit. But first, I wanted to ask you a favor. I need you to help the doctor work on his cure.”

“I’m not a doctor or a scientist.”

“I mean that I need you to stay here until he finds the cure. We believe we’re close, but he’s run out of your blood and needs more to continue his experiments.”

Ana shook her head, “I’m sorry, Mr. Egan, but I need to leave here as soon as possible. My brother, Adam, is in The Games. I need to save him. He’ll never make it out on his own.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to ask you, but at the same time, I can’t just let you leave.”

“What do you mean you can’t let me leave? I am not staying here.”

Egan swallowed, ran his hands through his hair, and blinked back tears. “Believe me, Miss Lovecraft, I would not ask if it weren’t so important for us to find the cure.”

“Why?” she asked, something about the tone of his voice giving her pause. “Are you infected?”

“No,” Egan said, “my daughter, Calla, is. And you’re her only hope.”

CHAPTER 6—PROVISIONAL LEADER OF THE STATE KELLER

City 1

Keller knew he was dreaming: life hadn’t been so kind in a while.

The sky was too blue for reality, the clouds too white, and the air too sweet. The music was loud and bright but in no way grating to his ears.

He wanted more. Here, the music made him happy and filled his son with joy. Keller planted his hand on Joshua’s shoulder and let it rest, lightly squeezing, telling himself it was okay to inhale the dream. He would wake to it missing—the sky, the clouds, the too-sweet air—but he wouldn’t leave before savoring as much of it as possible.

“Are you enjoying the parade?”

The boy nodded without looking up at his father. “It’s my favorite.”

“Which part?”
he asked, though he already knew because Joshua’s answer was always the same.

“All of it.”

“Pick one,” Keller insisted, not because he wanted to know so much as that he hoped knowing might prolong the illusion.

“I like the drums best, but I also like the horns.”

“Why do you like the drums?”

“Because songs don’t sound right without them. Drums make everything better. Sometimes I like to close my eyes and see if I can hear the different kinds. You can’t do that with a regular song, but the parade always has so many.”

“Are you doing that now?”

“Yes.” Joshua turned and met his father’s eye, not wanting to keep his wide grin to himself.

“How many do you hear?”

“I think I hear seven.”

There are six.

Keller said nothing, just squeezed his son’s shoulders and stared at the parade, watching the band marching by.

“There are six drummers! I was wrong.”

His son smiled wider. As he did, the sun grew hotter and brighter. The sky turned the blue of an iris and the clouds nearly disappeared into white. Keller had been inside the dream so many times in the years since he’d lost Joshua. Now it was as if he could control the hues in his dream’s waning seconds.

Keller smiled back at his boy . . . then everything was gone.

The explosion was deafening wrapped in sleep’s infinity.

The sky withered to black and clouds turned into coal.

The sun went bright white, then started to scream.

Keller woke in his office, tears streaking both sides of his face.

He wasn’t surprised to wake up in his ugly world—he’d been doing so since long before he woke in City 1. He was half startled to find himself behind his desk, though, a puddle of drool soaking his cheek. He should be hugging his pillow or pressed to his wife, like he usually was upon waking—twice each night: once to piss and the other to weep.

Keller picked up his tumbler, swallowed the scotch, and winced at the burn in his throat. He glanced at the half-empty bottle, thought about a refill of liquid sorrow, then wiped his mouth and pushed the glass toward the edge of the desk, slightly out of reach.

It was only noon, and he was already plastered and falling asleep at his desk. He needed to get something to eat and freshen up.

He had planted his palms to the wood, ready to push himself to standing, when there was a slight knock on the door—three raps without waiting for an answer. The door opened a crack. His wife poked her head through the wedge.

“Hi, sweetie. Would you like to watch the replay of The Opening Rush? I’ve seen it but would love to watch it together.”

“No, thank you.”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, knowing his were guilty, and likely bloodshot.

She opened the door and stepped into his office. Her eyes flitted to the open bottle, then to the empty tumbler, and finally back into his soaking wet—and likely red—eyes.

Her pity filled him with hate.

“How long are you going to be like this?”

“Please. I’m busy. I don’t have time for this conversation. I have Cities to run. Evil to root out.”

“I know that—”

“You don’t know anything, Jacquelyn. And be grateful you don’t. Now I have work to finish before I can leave my office, and I’d appreciate it if—”

She didn’t wait. Nodding, she said, “I’m sorry,” then slipped a step back and shut the door on his tirade.

Keller stared at his wall, the monitor set to “Off” and showing nothing but black. He kept flinching with the thought of flicking it on. After five minutes he was certain he wouldn’t.

He should apologize to his wife. Get something to eat. Maybe step outside and get some fresh air.

Again Keller planted his palms to the wood, ready to stand. And again he was interrupted, this time by a call.

He looked at his phone: Kern.

Accepting the call, he barked, “What is it?”

Kern’s breathing sounded nervous. “We failed to get Ana and Liam, Sir.” Before Keller could explode, Kern added, “We’re confident this is controlled.”

Through gritted teeth, Keller said, “Do you have any leads?”

“We’re working on it.” Kern, an unflinching man, was clearly trying to keep the quiver from his voice. He cleared his throat. “Freedy wants to know if you’d like to activate Adam’s bracelet.”

“No,” Keller said. “We continue as planned.”

Episode 2

CHAPTER 7—ADAM LOVECRAFT

“We’re not gonna hurt ya,” Derek Colton assured him, reaching out to help Adam up.

The man hefted him to his feet, eyeing Adam toe to nose along the way. “You remember me, son?”

Colton drilled his deep green eyes into Adam’s, hard enough that he forced the boy to blink.

“You were a friend of my dad’s, right?”

“Yeah.” Colton grinned, just like Adam remembered from ages ago. “Man, last time I saw you, you were what? Six? Seven?”

“I dunno,” Adam shrugged. “It’s been a long time. Where have you been?”

“I moved to City 5 about 10 years ago to head up The City Watch unit when they had some corruption issues. They needed an outsider to come in and help clean things up.”

“So,” Adam asked, “if you were doing that, why are you here in The Games now?”

“Let’s just say I learned that the real corruption was coming from the people I worked for.”

“Come on,” said the giant bearded man who had been standing behind Colton as he and Adam caught up. “We need to move.”

“This is Hooper.” Colton jabbed his thumb at the man. “He’s good people.”

Hooper reached out a massive paw. Adam expected the man’s grip to swallow his—like Commander “Trunk” Avery at City Watch—but it was surprisingly soft, a lot like his smile. Adam noticed a leather strap across his chest and a sword’s hilt sticking up over his left shoulder. He wondered how they’d landed such excellent weapons so quickly in The Games. It didn’t take a ton of imagination to guess: both men’s coveralls were splattered in crimson, evidence of what they’d had to endure in The Opening Rush.

“Hi,” Adam said to Hooper, before turning back to Colton. “What do you mean you’re going to get me out of here?”

Hooper answered for Colton as he turned and started toward the stairwell. His voice was soft and raspy. “We’re with The Underground. We got ourselves put into The Games on purpose.”

“But . . . why?” Adam said, hesitantly following the two men back down the corridor, watching them creep into the dim stairwell leading with their drawn blasters.

Colton nodded back, letting Adam know that the path was safe. He followed the men down the first flight feeling safer by the step. He had been vulnerable without a weapon other than his puny hammer; now he saw himself as having two weapons—both walking in front of him and each one capable of pulling its own trigger. That gave him enough confidence to at least keep putting one foot in front of the other. Once the silence became too much, though, he broke it.

“Why would you get yourselves put into The Games on purpose?”

Colton paused, one landing up from the lobby. He turned back toward Adam, looking at the boy a half flight up. “After your father’s execution, The State mandated that The Cities crack down on The Underground. Watchers weren’t just grabbing ‘traitors’—they were taking spouses and children, torturing and executing entire families. Had never seen anything like it. They were looking for something and willing to do anything to find it. The Underground had always been good about keeping its own secrets, but once the Watchers started going after families, people began talking, betraying their comrades. Who knew The State could go that low?”

Adam thought of his own betrayals and his own place in The State. Feeling awful enough that he barely knew what to say, Adam managed, “So, is The Underground gone?”

Colton licked his lips, looking like he was in a hurry to get going. But he answered anyway.

“No, The Underground’s not gone. But it might as well be. It’s broken for sure. A few members left, and the rest of ’em are too terrified to come out of hiding. The State will do anything to ‘get the rest of the roaches’ as they say.”

Colton turned from Adam and headed down the final flight.

“The Underground’ll fight.” Adam stopped his father’s old friend after only a step. “They’ll come back.”

Adam’s confidence was growing as he spoke—until Colton brought him back down to Earth. “Not this time, kid. Not with Keller in control. No one’s seen Jack Geralt since what happened with your dad. We’re assuming the Leader of The State is dead. And like I said, The State’s never been so aggressive. They aren’t just rooting out the threat in order to till the soil, they’re salting the earth so nothing can grow.”

Colton looked as angry as he did beaten, like Hooper beside him. He kept on talking, nostrils now flaring.

“They started in City 6, since that’s where the resistance was strongest. They got to my sister’s son . . .”

Colton’s face flashed with a pain so wrenching Adam was sorry to witness it. But Colton carried on, “They also took another girl from City 6, a girl named Zelle.”

“Zelle?” Adam asked, the name uncommon enough he figured it had to be the same girl he’d known. “Zelle Howes? She lived two doors down from us.”

“Yes, they grabbed her and her parents. They were trying to get her father to spill his guts about The Gardens. When he refused, they killed his wife. Then they threatened to kill the girl. Way I heard it, he died during questioning, and they put the girl into The Games.”

“What are The Gardens?”

Hooper cut in. “A home far away from The State’s reach: a place where they can’t touch us.”

“Sounds like a good place to be right about now.”

Colton responded, “Which is why you’re going to help us find the girl.”

“She’s in these Games? Now?”

“Oh yeah,” Colton said. “And she knows where The Gardens are.”

“How do you know that?” Adam asked. “She’s like ten, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but she’s got one of those photographic memories. There’s no way her father didn’t tell her how to get to The Gardens.”

“That’s a pretty big assumption,” Adam said. “My father never told me any of his secrets . . .” And he never will.

“It’s a hunch, but the word is that Zelle and her dad were very close. It’s risky, looking for her, but it’s a risk we’re willing to take.”

“OK.” Adam swallowed. “So we’re just going to head into The Outback, find her, and hope she trusts us?”

“Exactly. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Adam didn’t.

Nor did he have a reason not to join them. For one thing, Adam liked the girl. He had played with her a few times when Ana had been asked to babysit. And though she was six years younger than he was, Zelle was smarter than any kid he’d ever met—probably smarter than most adults. But she was still a child, and no child deserved to be in The Games.

If there were a way to save her, he’d do his best.

“I’m in.”

“Good,” Colton said. “Let’s get going.”

They had just started on down to the lobby, when Hooper hissed and reached out an arm to stop them. He put a finger to his lips, then pointed down to the lobby where a trio of zombies were milling about in the open doorway.

They made their way down, slowly. A few steps up from the lobby, Hooper turned back to Adam and handed him a blaster.

“You ever fired one of these before?”

“A bunch of times,” Adam nodded, loving the cool touch of the smooth black steel and nylon polymer. Hooper handed him two energy cartridges with 12 shots each, which Adam slipped into his coverall pocket.

“Good.” Hooper nodded as he drew the sword from its sheath on his back. Without another word, he left Adam and Colton and glided silently into the lobby, then ran up to the closest zombie and swung his sword in a heaving arc that sliced through its neck like scissors through string.

The zombie’s head flew from his body and landed with a sickening thud. Adam managed not to gasp. Colton smiled and lifted his rifle, balanced it with his left hand, then lined up his shot and pulled the trigger twice.

THWAP! . . . THWAP!

The two remaining zombies dropped to the floor.

Hooper was standing back, sword at the ready, as though giving Colton the first shot while staying on standby in case things spiraled out of control.

“Your gun has a silencer.” Adam said in awe, pointing at the muzzle he’d not noticed until the pair of muffled pops.

“Yeah,” Colton nodded, eyes full of pride. “This was worth The Rush.” He petted the rifle’s stock and turned back to Adam. “You OK back there?”

“Great,” Adam nodded. “You’re a really good shot.”

“Thanks,” Colton said, still holding his grin. “I was the best City 5 had to offer, but that was only because I’d left City 6 and your old man behind. No one shot like Jonah.”

Hooper dragged his sword across his pants, cleaning the blood from the blade before sheathing it. “We’ll roast marshmallows and jaw later. We need to go.”

Colton clapped Adam on the shoulder and led him down the few remaining stairs. Hooper was already waiting by the outside door as they hit the center of the lobby. “Ready, kid?” Hooper asked, looking out through shattered glass at the broken city.

Adam followed the man’s stare past the windows to the long steel fingers of the destroyed city. It was still early, but the sun was high and blinding on the snow. During the last several months of nights alone, Adam had believed that anything would be better than his cell. Now, with the living waiting to kill him and the already dead starving to feast on him, he almost missed the loneliness of prison. Outside this lobby, the shadows whispered a promise of death. The only thing that kept him moving forward at all was the fact that Hooper and Colton were already going through the doors. He shrugged off his shudder and stepped out into the city behind the two men.

He stayed silent as the three of them cautiously walked the snow-covered streets. Only after Colton and Hooper began to trade mumbles did Adam finally think it safe to speak up.

“How are we going to find Zelle? And how do you know she’s not already dead?”

Hooper said, “Because you can’t trust The Network to tell the truth, but you can always trust ’em to do what’s best for themselves.”

“I don’t understand. What’s best for them in keeping Zelle alive?”

Colton answered. “Because The Network likes a good story they can sell the people to keep ’em watching. You, son, are the star of these Games. But Zelle: she’s young, scared, and everyone likes to root for—and bet on—an underdog. I guarantee that The Network is trying to keep her alive as long as possible. They’ll find ways to manipulate The Games—have her ‘find’ some supplies, or maybe an orb will take out some zombies if they get too close to her.”

“Not that the folks back home will ever see that,” Hooper chimed in.

Colton nodded, but the doubt must have shown on Adam’s face.

Hooper said, “When’s the last time you remember a kid dying this early?”

“Never,” Adam admitted, then without a breath between thoughts added, “But like Colton said, things have never been like this. I still don’t get why they put her in The Games in the first place. Just to get even because her dad wouldn’t tell them where The Gardens are? Seems extreme.”

Colton said, “You’re right. Zelle’s never done nothin’ to no one. But her daddy, Daniel Howes, was one of the most notorious Underground leaders. The kind even Hooper and I here thought went too far . . . the kind responsible for at least four bombings.”

Hooper cut in. “That ain’t her fault.”

“Didn’t say it was,” Colton finished. “But fact is fact. Her daddy did what they said, and when he refused to give up The Gardens, ya knew they’d make an example of the family.”

“That’s so cruel,” Adam said. “To go after his daughter. She’s just a little girl, not a threat to anyone.”

“You spent months with Keller,” Colton sighed. “You should know all about the sins of the father by now.”

***

A few hours later

“But why here?” Adam repeated, though his first three times asking had yielded no answers. “What makes you think she’s in this apartment?”

Colton finally looked up. “We’re not looking for her in here.”

“Then what are we looking for?”

From back in the room’s far corner, behind Adam, Hooper said, “This.”

Adam turned and saw the giant fiddling with a long black monitor. It looked like maybe it could have carried a signal a century before. He didn’t bother to ask. He knew he only had to stand back and watch and he would see for himself what the black screen was for.

Sure enough, Colton was by Hooper’s side a moment later, kneeling down and pulling a small, cobalt-blue metal cylinder from a pouch on his belt. It looked like a blunted flashlight. He handed it to Hooper and the man did something to the rod’s side. Once he did, several prongs jutted from the rod’s base. Hooper eyed the rod, then something on the back of the monitor. Whatever it was made him smile—Colton too. Then he seemingly inserted Tab A into Slot B—Adam had to guess because he couldn’t see—and the screen lit up with The Games.

Hooper then handed Colton a small blue circle that looked like it had come from the tip of the blue device.

“Wow,” Adam said. “Cool.”

“Yeah,” the grown men agreed. “Cool.”

Hooper leaned the large screen against the far wall. The two men sat on the floor, palms to the wood, with Adam in front and between them.

Colton pressed a button on the blue thing, flipping through several different feeds.

“What is this?” Adam asked.

“It’s a Network receiver. It allows us to bypass what The Games shows the citizens. We can see the raw feeds—the same ones the producers see back at The Network.

“Where did you get this?” Adam asked. “Was it in The Opening Rush?”

“No,” Colton said. “The Network wouldn’t put something like this in The Rush. No, I smuggled it into The Games.”

“How did you manage that?” Adam asked, knowing he’d been thoroughly searched many times himself.

“Let’s just say I had some help on the inside. Being a former City Watcher has its perks. As for getting it in here, well, I had to hide it in a place I’m not too proud to talk about.”

“Oh, man,” Hooper said. “I wish you’d told me that before you handed it to me.”

“Please,” Colton said, “That’s probably the cleanest thing you’ve had in your grimy hands this week.”

Hooper laughed as he playfully wiped his hands on Colton’s coveralls.

“That her?” Colton asked a second later, when Zelle appeared on-screen on a rooftop.

The girl was wearing a long black coat, with straggly blonde hair hanging over her face. Adam could see enough to recognize the mousy girl as she walked out from between two tall air towers, dragging a large chair.

“Yeah,” Adam said. “What’s she doing?”

As the orb filming her pulled away, Adam saw her location: the large spired building he’d spotted piercing the skyline while he was searching for a place to hide.

“That’s the tallest building in the city,” Adam said.

“Fortunately half its height is that spire,” Hooper added. “Let’s get going. I figure it’s gonna take at least a day to get there from here.”

“Wait,” Colton said, pointing at the screen as the orb circled the girl, revealing a small fort made of furniture she must’ve dragged up the stairs. In front of it, a small fire. “Looks like she’s settling down.”

Zelle had somehow managed to start a fire, likely for warmth since it wasn’t yet dark. Just seeing the fire reminded Adam of how damned cold it was. His coveralls were mercilessly thin against the cold wind that was just starting to pick up. Adam was both surprised and impressed at how quickly the girl had managed to get a coat, climb to the rooftop, and build a fort of furniture not to mention a fire.

She’d already proved more resourceful than he had—he would’ve jumped out a window to his death if not for Colton and Hooper happening along.

Zelle dragged the chair and set it in front of her homemade hideout. They couldn’t see what was inside the fort because the orb’s angle was wrong, and it seemed the entrance was just large enough for the girl.

She sat, retrieved her gun from inside her coat, laid it in her lap, then looked up at the orb and glared.

It zoomed in on her face and her defiant hazel eyes. Adam felt the distance between them melt.

Her eyes were hard, exposing the ghost of the happy girl he’d lived next to for so many years. Haunted but hard. As if she were daring whoever was watching to come try and get her. She would use that gun, he had no doubt. But even with a weapon, she was only a child, ill prepared to fight zombies, bandits, and—perhaps worst of all—other players.

We’ll save you, Zelle.

The orb pulled back and descended who-knew-how-many stories to the street, where a horde of more than a dozen zombies were milling about as if waiting for something.

“Jesus,” Hooper said. “How long you think she can last up there?”

Colton said, “Well, they don’t seem to know she’s up there yet. But come nightfall, that fire may give her location away. If not to the zombies, then definitely to other players.”

“We need to hustle,” Hooper said, looking up and trying to find the sun in the hazy gray sky. “Looks to be around two, and that building’s at least a mile and a half away.”

“A mile and a half through hell,” Colton corrected.

“Like I said: probably take a whole day to get there.” He grabbed the blue receiver from the back of the monitor, handed it to Colton, then stared down at the city.

“Let’s go get Zelle,” Colton said.

For the first time in a long while, Adam felt like he had a purpose other than drawing breath. And it felt good to have a purpose.

CHAPTER 8—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana sat in the chair staring down at her hands, unable to meet Egan’s eyes.

How could she look into the stare of a distraught father desperate to save his baby girl from becoming a zombie and tell him “no” because she had to leave and save her own kin—especially after his daughter had saved Liam, and Katrina and her?

She looked up and met his gaze. “How do you even know I’m the cure? That’s only a theory.”

Egan asked Ana to hold that thought, then left the room, leaving her to stare at the piles of papers on his desk. Part of her wanted to peek and see what was written on them, but then the door opened behind her and it was too late to snoop.

Ana turned to see a welcome sight—Dr. Oswald, the zombie cyborg she’d last seen in Hydrangea, the man who’d helped secure passage for Liam, Katrina, and her. He’d risked everything to save them. She’d wondered and worried ever since, imagining that Oswald’s betrayal had surely been discovered by the madman, Sutherland.

Ana stood and hugged him, thankful that he was fully dressed in a long, dark shirt and pants, because as fond as she was of the man, she didn’t want to touch his decayed skin or metal chest and arms.

“How are you?” Oswald asked.

“Good.”

The doctor looked Ana over. “No further signs of the virus?”

“No. I haven’t felt anything since Hydrangea.”

“Amazing!” he said, his human skin stretching awkwardly up his face to greet alloy in a wide smile. “Please, have a seat.”

Ana sat, as did Egan opposite her. Oswald stayed on his feet, standing to her left at the end of the desk so the three of them formed a loose triangle.

“I was just telling Ana about your work,” Egan said. “Can you fill her in?”

“Sure. I’ve been continuing Dr. Goelle’s research as promised. Using your blood samples, I’ve managed to degrade the virus and temporarily arrest the effects within the host. However, I’ve not yet been able to kill the virus outright without harming the host’s blood cells, nor have I managed to replicate your reversal. But I feel close to a breakthrough. We have a few subjects in another part of The Station responding positively to my latest course of treatment, though it’s still too early to tell.”

“And is Calla one of those subjects?”

“Not exactly. I’m using a variant of the treatment Dr. Goelle prescribed for your old friend, Duncan. In other words, we’re holding the virus at bay, but there’s no telling how long these treatments will stay successful. The antidotes I’m working on are unstable, so we can’t use them to dose the child. I’m hoping with your help to further Dr. Goelle’s plans for a true cure.”

Ana turned to Egan, unable to hold her question. “Why isn’t Calla with the other subjects, away from the population?”

Egan nodded, as if expecting Ana’s question. He’d probably heard it plenty from his own people. “Because I’ll not have my daughter locked up like a dangerous animal.”

“You do realize you’re putting people at risk, don’t you?” Ana felt herself getting angry. “I watched my friend turn and it only took seconds. One moment Duncan was feeling a little off, then the next, we were dinner.”

Oswald intervened. “While I do understand your concern, Ana—especially since you yourself were quarantined—I believe this is best for the child.”

“How’s that?” she asked, incredulous.

“We believe that patients who are locked away from others degrade at a faster rate than those allowed managed interactions. Calla is supervised at all times by one of her elders, who has been instructed what to do should she turn.”

Kill her? Ana wondered.

Egan added, “She’s had a hard life. If these are her last days, I want her with loved ones. Of course, it is our hope that these aren’t her last days, and that you will help find a cure for my daughter.”

“Can’t you just take my blood and let me go? I have to save my brother. There’s no way in hell that Keller would ever allow him to walk away even if he were to somehow win The Games.

“I understand, and I agree with your assessment.” Egan met Ana’s eyes. “But you must see beyond your brother. What you have, in your blood, is a gift for the world. For you to risk that for one life, even your brother’s, is incredibly selfish.”

Ana’s cheeks flushed. “And tell me, Mr. Egan, would you not do the same in my place? If it were Calla in The Games, and you held the cure in your blood, would you be so generous?”

Ana knew Egan’s answer, though the man said nothing.

“As far as I’m concerned, Adam is my world. If that makes me selfish, I’m fine with that. I never pretended to be anything other than what I am.”

“Ah, the Lovecraft streak.” The man’s words were as sour as his smile. “Always so charming.”

“I’m done here.” Ana stood. “Thank you for your hospitality and for saving us from the hunter orb. But I need to go find my brother.”

She turned, ignoring Oswald’s gaze, and headed toward the door.

“Wait!” Egan said sharply.

His tone felt like daggers in her back. Goosebumps raced up her spine as she turned.

“Yes?”

Egan propped his elbows on the table, folded his fingers, and leaned his chin into his hands. “Leave, and you will never find your brother.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Not at all. Learn to distinguish, Miss Lovecraft. I’m simply stating a fact. The Games have changed, both their rules and location. Head to the Halo, and you’ll find it empty.”

“Where is he?”

“It seems we both want something, Miss Lovecraft. You wish to save your brother and I wish to save my daughter. Whatever shall we do?”

CHAPTER 9—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Adam couldn’t believe it was taking so long to reach the tallest building. They’d been walking forever, changing routes several times to avoid other players, zombies, and bandits. What would have taken an hour to walk in any other city had become an epic trek in The Outback.

“I’m starving,” Hooper said.

“Don’t look at me, I’m too skinny,” Adam said to the big man, daring to joke.

Hooper surprised him with laughter.

“We’ll eat in an hour if we’ve not yet reached the building,” Colton said. He then smiled and joined in the joke, “But please, try not to eat us.”

“I’ll try to contain myself,” Hooper said.

As the sky darkened to a bruised violet, the light snow stopped, along with the howling wind. The world would have been silent, if not for the horrifying sounds that came in echoes off the concrete and glass jungle around them.

Adam heard the scraping of metal, the crunching of glass, the ragged breath and grunting of zombies mingled with the rushing hushes of men, like when he had first entered the streets from the arena, except now it was dark and somehow worse, despite the two large men by his side.

After a few more blocks, Colton stopped cold, Hooper a tick after that. Adam was last to halt, and when he did, he found himself a few full steps ahead. He turned back toward them as the two men traded a look.

“Exactly,” Hooper said.

“What?” Adam asked, sick of feeling like he was more in the dark than ever. Half of him wanted to know what they were talking about, the other half wanted to hide.

“When’s the last time you heard a zombie?” Colton asked.

“A few blocks back.”

Hooper said, “I’m wondering if they’re swarming somewhere or maybe something’s got their attention. Could be a trap set by one of the players, or more likely a group of them. Maybe bandits. Could be The Network. No way to know.”

There was an awful crash from somewhere far off, chased by a horrible grunting—first from the undead then immediately followed by a human—female—scream.

“In there!” Colton nodded toward an old storefront without a face. Hooper grabbed Adam, flung him over his shoulder, and followed Colton into the hollow before Adam could think to move on his own.

He didn’t dare to ask what it was as the trio huddled behind a shallow dusty counter. He peeked around the side, through the shadows of what was left of the store, and into the wide street outside that was draped in snow and littered with debris—cars, lumber, and fallen metal poles—as first one, then two, and finally a moaning mass of zombies swarmed by in a wave through the street.

A group of men trailed the last of them, all wearing blue. They had to be contestants. Outside the hollowed storefront, close enough that Adam could see it as he peered around the counter, a half dozen contestants attacked the lagging zombies, hacking them to bits with hatchets and swords. Blood sprayed from the falling bodies in red rain, looking black against the shadow-covered snow. The men dispatched the horde with their blades, keeping things quiet, not one of them so much as brushing their blasters.

Though Adam couldn’t see the zombies ahead, he assumed that whatever was calling them to the swarm was more enticing than the possible dinner behind them. Colton slipped from his spot behind the counter to a position behind a shelf and out of Adam’s sight.

Adam started to follow.

“Don’t move,” Hooper growled a whisper into his ear as he held him in place. “They’ll kill us for sure. We couldn’t stand before we’d be dead.”

Hooper surely wanted to say more and was probably biting his lip as he fell into silence.

The silence was almost too much to bear. Adam had so many questions and couldn’t ask one. Hooper and Colton wouldn’t know the answers, but one of the things he wanted to know most, they’d both know for sure. Adam had already asked them each a bunch of times to please tell him what happened during The Opening Rush. With so many contestants, everything about The Games seemed different than he’d ever seen before. Colton’s weapon was impressive, with a silenced muzzle to keep sound from the zombies and a scope to allow him to eliminate enemies at a distance. But as Adam looked over the counter, outside into the street—the half dozen players were taking their time, surveying kills, and laughing loudly—Colton’s weapon didn’t seem quite as capable.

The men outside carried giant guns. One had a weapon so huge it made Adam think of a cannon. He could see why even a brave man like Hooper would be frightened. He couldn’t see Colton from where they were huddled, but Adam figured it had to be true for him as well. And if his two protectors were scared, he didn’t stand a chance.

Why didn’t the men outside leave? It was taking forever, and every second felt like the last he’d have before he died. His heart was beating so hard, Adam was certain the men outside could hear it. The only thing that gave him comfort was Hooper’s matching beat.

He held his blaster, tight in his grip, ready to leap up and empty it into the bad guys outside, knowing that even his best attempt would be futile.

“It’s OK,” Hooper whispered, now softer in his ear, as if reading his mind. “They’ll be gone soon. They’re just assholes, celebrating kills.”

“How much longer?” The whisper felt dangerous as it slipped through his lips.

“Not long.”

Not long was too long.

Black seemed blacker, every sound was a boom. He couldn’t help but picture Zelle on the rooftop and wonder how she was doing—and try not to think she was probably dead.

As crunching glass grew faint enough to promise the men’s departure, Adam suddenly realized why The Special Edition offered so many guns.

“They need to get rid of more people,” he said, louder than he meant. “So they gave more guns to the players!”

From outside: “What was that?”

Adam heard Hooper swallow.

A long three minutes of silence followed, then the counter exploded in chunks as bullets ripped it to pieces. “Come on!” Colton cried out, crawling across the floor toward the rear exit.

The door had no handle but gave way as Colton slammed his body against it. He stood on the other side, away from the line of fire, holding the door open for Hooper and Adam. Once through, all three ran as bullets flew into the building.

Colton kicked the kitchen’s back door hard. It splintered at the knob and swung out into the alley. They ran as fast as they could, rounding the corner before the other players made it through the store, buying seconds from their pursuer’s confusion and the chance to gain distance or hide.

As they reached the alley, Hooper’s Games bracelet began to scream, a high-pitched whistle.

“Fuck!” Hooper yelled, slapping furiously at his wrist. Colton looked up and down the street as the bracelet screeched even louder. Hooper’s bracelet was bright blue, pulsing with beats of crimson and glowing in time with the screams.

All at once they heard a chorus of undead. It sounded as if the zombies were approaching from every direction, just out of sight.

“Come on!” Colton yelled. He turned to Hooper. “You need to ignore it, it’s not gonna stop. We have to run.”

Hooper nodded, and for the first time Adam thought the giant looked not just scared, but terrified. They ran down one short alley then turned down a longer one, as the armed players and zombies gave chase.

The long alley ended, branching right and left.

They stopped behind a van with no wheels at the alley’s end, not knowing which way to go. It was as if The Outback had suddenly become a maze. They could hear the groans of zombies echoing from seemingly every direction, along with the whoops of players eager to kill them.

Adam hoped death would be quick and not too painful. He thought back to his flight in the building before meeting Hooper and Colton and wished for a window.

“It’s OK,” Colton lied.

“Go,” Hooper said. “Take the kid and leave. I’ll run that way.” He nodded toward the right.

There was a holler from behind, then the van windows exploded above them, followed by a hail of bullets.

Colton pushed Adam lower to the ground before he popped back up, along with Hooper, trading gunshots with their attackers as zombies flooded the streets. Even if they managed to kill the half dozen players—it wouldn’t be easy, the group had found cover behind a pair of dumpsters—the zombies would surely end them all.

Adam could barely afford to consider himself, but still he thought of Zelle scared and alone on the roof. He wondered how much colder it was that high up, and if she could hear all the gunshots below. He hoped she was OK, even though he knew she wasn’t. He wondered if he imagined the connection he felt between them—the sins of the father as Colton had said.

Adam wanted to see what was happening in the alley but felt pressed to the cold ground by the sonic assault. Hooper’s bracelet kept screaming, and too many zombies were howling right back. The gunshots were deafening, as Hooper’s blaster belched one eruption after another, answered by volleys from across the street and the steady THWAP! THWAP! THWAP! of Colton’s muffled shots.

Adam tried to stand, but a bullet pierced the van’s metal to his left and sent him back to the ground, heart in his throat.

He felt helpless, like a kid. He knew he ought to help out, but Adam also realized that he only had a small blaster pistol, not designed for long shots like both men’s weapons. He’d only be getting in the way or die doing so.

Adam had to focus on staying alive, on not letting down his new friends—and Zelle—and on escaping the Outback.

After a few minutes the volleys finally started to fade, then stopped altogether.

“Did you get them?” Adam asked, rising from his spot and seeing the bullet holes above, where he would’ve been shot had he stood to fight.

Amazingly, neither man appeared to be injured.

Colton looked at Adam, nodded, then gestured out into the street. He dared to look out. There was nothing left of the dumpsters but twisted metal and pluming smoke. What little Adam could see of the bodies on the ground would just be lunch for wandering zombies. There were at least two dozen fallen undead scattered through the street, turning most of the white snow dark.

Unfortunately, Hooper’s bracelet continued to scream.

Colton looked at Hooper. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Hooper shook his head. “You guys go. You’re dead if I’m with you.”

There were no players or zombies to keep Colton from argument, but he dropped the spar anyway and reached out to shake his friend’s hand. Hooper looked down at his wrist as if in resentment, then pulled Colton into an embrace.

“Take care, and don’t worry about me. We both knew what we were getting into. And if I can keep my fat ass from being someone’s dinner, I’ll find you at the girl’s building.”

Colton nodded, then without any words led Adam from Hooper toward the city’s tallest building.

CHAPTER 10—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana, Liam, and Katrina were given the use of a double room: four large beds, as well as a bathroom—with a working tub—that was surprisingly spacious. They were told to rest before dinner and prepare to take their places as guests of honor.

The last thing in the world Ana felt like was being a “guest of honor.” She could hardly tolerate the idea of mingling with strangers while her brother was out in The Games fighting for his life—if he were still alive. The longer they stayed in the underground train station, the less hope she had that she’d ever see him again.

Still—running water. It had been a while, and she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Ana and Liam bathed first, then Katrina gave them an uncharacteristic wink on her way into the bathroom to take her turn as the two of them lay together, freshly scrubbed, atop a bed.

Ana reached up and touched the black leather patch over Liam’s left eye.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, I always wanted to be an old-time pirate.” Liam smiled and laughed.

“You’re so amazing.” Ana kissed him. “No matter what you’re forced to go through, you always find a way to keep from falling apart. You lost your eye, Liam, and you’re acting like it’s not a big deal.”

“So I lost an eye. I’ve still got you, and look around—we have a warm room, hot water, food, and kind people around us. We’re OK, Ana.”

“But for how long? We can’t stay here. We haven’t found Adam.”

“I know,” Liam ran his hands through Ana’s damp hair. “But we’ll worry about that later. Right now, we’ve got . . . well, right now.”

Ana could hardly believe this was the same Liam who routinely lost his temper at slights so small they were barely there. The man was hardly a pacifist, but ever since Hydrangea, he had calmed down significantly.

Liam was still a tough-as-nails soldier outside in the world, but when they were alone, in these quiet moments when the two were fortunate enough to find a soft spot to sleep, he was so calm. Almost tender.

“What happened to you, Liam Harrow?” Ana asked playfully.

“What do you mean?” He sat halfway up and leaned on his elbows.

“You used to be so . . . wild. And now, you’re almost, I dunno, domesticated.”

“Love does that to a man.” he smiled, more romantic than usual. Liam had been sweet in recent months, but he hadn’t exactly been declaring his love with poems or bundles of freshly picked daisies. He met her eyes and cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Ana. I’ve never been one to live in the moment. It’s hard to enjoy things when you’re always worried about what’s gonna happen next. That’s been my life so far: plotting, planning, trying to stay a step ahead of the enemy. But after that night when I thought I’d lost you for good, then you woke up cured in the morning . . . I don’t know. Now I just feel like I’m supposed to enjoy whatever moments we have. Life is cruel enough without me dwelling on the horrors that might happen. I’ll fight when I have to, and”—he smiled—“love when I can.”

Ana crawled on top of his body and kissed Liam again. She felt him harden against her, but with Katrina in the bathroom behind a paper-thin door, there was barely any privacy, let alone time for a quickie without getting caught. That wasn’t unusual. There was rarely time for sex since their flight from Hydrangea, which made these moments being so close, in such an intimate setting, all the more excruciating. She wanted him inside her—now.

As if on cue, Katrina pulled the drain plug in the bathroom. She’d be coming out soon. Ana closed her eyes and sighed.

“Why do you have to be such a sexy pirate?”

“Sorry, I just can’t help my sexiness.”

She pictured Liam’s smile, then opened her eyes, saw it was real, and kissed him again, allowing her hand to travel down to his pants with caresses.

“Stop it,” he whispered.

The bathroom door opened, and Ana pulled herself off of Liam, laughing.

“Sorry,” Katrina said, emerging fully dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt over black pants. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Ana said, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain herself. Perhaps there was some part of her that felt guilty to have found love with Liam while Katrina had no one.

Not that Katrina ever acted like she wanted a man—or anyone really. She seemed tough—not needing either love or friendship. Ana had tried to get close, but Katrina always held a distance between them. Her arm’s length wasn’t exactly cold, but you couldn’t deny it was there, either. The warrior clearly enjoyed their company, and she had risked her life to spring them from Hydrangea, turning on Sutherland—a maniac unable to handle betrayal—to help them, two people she’d barely known.

Obviously Katrina was a good person but she was also clearly damaged.

Ana had seen proof of that a few months back. One morning she’d woken up early. The three were staying in a cabin they’d been lucky to find and secure well enough that it had provided safe harbor for three weeks. Liam was asleep, but Katrina wasn’t in the house. Concerned, Ana grabbed a blaster and went outside to look for her. She spotted Katrina bathing in the lake . . . and noticed her striated chest, vicious with long, intersecting scars. Who could have done this to her?

Ana had wanted to ask Katrina about the scars ever since but couldn’t find a way to broach the topic without feeling like she was invading her privacy.

Clearly Katrina was thinking along similar lines. She sat on the bed, pulled open her backpack, and began sorting her supplies. Without looking up, she said, “I’ll see if they’ll give me another room tonight. You two deserve some time alone.”

Ana was going to tell Katrina that she didn’t have to do that, it wasn’t necessary. Liam spoke before she could, though.

“Thank you,” he said.

Ana met his eyes and smiled.

Katrina nodded, then turned to Ana. “So, what do you want to do? Are you going to stay like Egan asked?”

“No,” she said firmly. “We’re leaving in the morning. I can’t stay here while Adam is out there helpless.”

Katrina drew a blade from her backpack and strapped its sheath to a spot on her back along her waistline.

That’s just like Katrina, packing her own knife for dinner.

Ana said, “But I don’t think Egan will tell us where Adam is if I don’t stay.”

Katrina smiled, “Give me two minutes with him. I’ll get him to talk.”

Liam sat up, saying, “No, we don’t need to hurt anyone.”

“You’re no fun.” Katrina grinned.

Ana tried to ignore their flirty banter. It was Katrina’s way and Liam’s. And she had no reason for jealousy. Katrina had never shown the least interest in Liam, nor had Liam’s eyes been all over her. But Ana couldn’t (and wouldn’t) have blamed him if he had noticed her, and that’s what made her feel like her stomach was filled with lead. Katrina was gorgeous, exotic, with more than enough years on Ana to make her much better under the blankets.

She knew, rationally, that Liam had done nothing to cause this jealousy. But love isn’t rational.

Katrina didn’t seem to notice her reaction, though, and simply shrugged. “Maybe you should stay here.”

“What?” Ana asked, not sure she had heard right.

“Oswald’s here. That means he can get to work. We need to find a cure, right? You should stay where you’re safe. You’re too important to keep putting yourself at risk. I bet Egan will let Liam and me go if you agree to stay. We can bring Adam back here and we’ll all be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” Ana said. “We’re a team, the three of us. I can’t ask you guys to go save Adam while I hide here. He’s my brother, my responsibility. It’s enough that you’re helping at all. I can’t ask that you go in my place.”

Liam met Ana’s eyes. “Katrina has a point. We’ve no idea what we’ll run into. I’d rather you stay here safe too.”

“No!” Ana said. “Besides, now you’re half blind. You need me.”

“Even half blind, I’m still a better shot.” Liam laughed.

Katrina laughed too, and Ana tried not to glare at her. She told herself that Katrina was playing along or laughing at Ana’s lack of shooting prowess. She hated comparing herself to the battle-hardened woman. It felt so irrational, and she had prided herself on being in control of her emotions—just like her father.

Fuck that.

“I’m going,” Ana said.

A knock at the door cut into their argument.

“Come in,” Katrina said.

Calla opened the door, joined by the older, olive-skinned boy with bright golden eyes, whom they now knew as Elijah. Though he was tall, he didn’t look much older than Calla. His belt hung low from his blaster’s weight. Ana was certain that the gun was their contingency plan in case the girl turned.

“Dinner’s ready,” Calla said.

***

The table was long and perfectly centered in a room that was even more beautiful than the one Ana had seen when first introduced to The Station.

Somehow, the old and no-longer-abandoned train depot—with its musty-scented mineshaft corridors, chunks of wall either rotten or missing, and chipped tiles scattered along the wall leading into the common area—still looked more like a home than any Ana had seen since the one she’d grown up in. She still pictured her childhood home each day, often with her mother wearing the old ice-blue apron with the silver script that read Molly Knows Best.

The ceiling was ivory and hung low with a coil of colored lights strung from one corner to the other, on both diagonals and crisscrossed through the middle. The walls were yellow, in various shades of gold, daffodil, and canary. The many yellows made Ana think of the fancy fabric stores on the bottom floor of the stores on Park, back in City 6.

Calla sat across from Ana, with Egan by the girl’s side. A brown-haired dwarf introduced to her as Father Truth was sitting beside Egan and mumbled only a word or two after she sat, seemingly unable to move his eyes away from any one of the three newcomers. It felt as if he were analyzing them for some reason, and that sent a chill up Ana’s spine.

It didn’t help that the rest of the room was pretty empty. While there were two dozen chairs, most were unoccupied, as Egan said he’d wanted the dinner to be just for those closest to him and his special guests, so they could speak freely.

Liam sat to Ana’s right, squeezing her hand under the table in support. She loved that he sensed how hard it was for her to sit near a girl she was likely consigning to death by her departure.

Oswald sat beside Katrina to Ana’s left, and the two of them were chatting about everything that had happened since his flight from Hydrangea. The scientist said that Sutherland went into a rage after they left, accusing everyone—including Oswald—of conspiring to help the three of them flee. He’d even held trials and wound up finding someone guilty and hanging him.

“Oh God,” Ana said.

“Yes, I felt awful but wasn’t about to step forward and admit my guilt. At that point, I started making plans to escape myself.”

“Thank God.” Father Truth raised his wine glass to toast their success.

Ana raised hers—though she wasn’t feeling very celebratory at all—as did most of the others around the table,

“So, have you made a decision yet, Ana?”

Ana glared across the table at Egan.

How dare he put me on the spot in front of Calla like this?

“I already gave you my decision.” Ana wondered how much Calla knew. “I have to find my brother.”

Egan lifted a hunk of bread to his mouth and took a bite. “It would be much easier to find him if you knew where he was. I can tell your friends exactly where to find him and can even lend you another body—along with some useful gear, food, water, blades, guns and ammo—if you like.”

Calla punched the table, causing her cup to jump and splash.

“Don’t force her, Father! If she wants to go, let her. I’ll be fine.”

Liam’s hand squeezed Ana’s harder.

Egan turned to his daughter, “How do you know what we’re talking about?”

“I’m not stupid. I hear things. I know you’re trying to get her to stay so Dr. Oswald can find a cure. But you have to stop trying to force people to do stuff! Haven’t you learned anything?”

She rose from the table and started to walk away.

“Calla!” Egan called after her.

She turned back, looked at Ana, and said, “Your brother’s in The Outback. That’s where The Games are being played,” then left the room without looking back again.

Egan turned to an open-jawed Elijah. Egan waved his hands, as if to remind him of his duty to shadow the child.

The boy swallowed and bolted from the table wide eyed, calling after Calla.

Egan turned to Ana, a sour look wrinkling his face. He let out a long sigh.

“I’m not going to lie: I’ve thought about making you stay. I’ve considered having my people take the three of you at gunpoint and forcing you to remain until my daughter is cured. I’m thinking about it now, truth be told.”

Ana turned to see Katrina’s clenched jaw. She wondered how close the woman was to reaching for her blade. She’d seen Katrina throw a knife more than 20 feet and lodge it in a bandit’s neck. Egan might have men—and kids—with guns, but Katrina was a force of nature who could probably kill every man, woman, and child in The Station. Then leave without a scratch on her.

“But I won’t stop you,” Egan kept speaking. “My daughter would hate me if I did, and I don’t want to do anything to cause more stress. As I said, keeping her spirits up and her life as normal as possible is important to maintaining the serum’s effectiveness. You can go in the morning. I’ll give you supplies and even let you take a skidder. Just, please, promise you’ll return.”

Ana blinked back her tears and said, “I promise we’ll return. Thank you.”

Egan grunted and went back to his dinner.

The remainder of the meal unfolded mostly in silence. Ana could barely eat, though something inside her was surely eating her.

CHAPTER 11—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland stared at the throne room trying to decide what bothered him so much about it.

It was spacious, well placed on the tenth level of Hydrangea, and consumed what had once been two dining halls. The walls were red and black, lined with torches and sconces, with several strands of gold garland sprouting up and over the room’s many columns. A plush crimson carpet striped the floor’s length through the center of the room leading to the throne. Ornately carved wooden benches lined the walls on either side, where the citizens of Hydrangea could gather for their most important meetings.

The throne, gold and black as well, rested at the top of five long steps, a high perch from where Sutherland could survey the room and those who were eying the proverbial, if not literal, crown.

Gallus stood beside him, eager for a reaction.

For praise, like a child.

Sighing, Sutherland finally turned to his second in command. “I don’t know. It seems a bit too . . . formal.”

The young man’s face nearly melted.

“But, sir, I thought you wanted formal. I thought you were tired of the informal nature of the dining hall meetings. That is what you said, right?”

Sutherland sighed, “Yes, yes, I know what I said, but you were supposed to know what I meant.”

Gallus looked like he wanted to say something but knew better than to cross Sutherland. Gallus, just 19 when Sutherland handpicked him as Hydrangea’s second—to replace the traitor Katrina—was young, strong, and well respected among the citizens. But he was still a damned kid, which made him half idiot, and Sutherland should’ve known better than to trust a brat still missing the tit with details as important as a throne room.

Sutherland approached the throne and ran his hands along the chair’s ornate golden frame and dark-blue cushioned seat and back.

“Is this real gold?”

“Of course, sir.”

Sutherland traced his fingers along the carved laurels. “It is quite nice.”

“Have a seat, sir. I trust that you’ll find it to your liking.”

Sutherland sat.

It did feel good.

Though not good enough to give Gallus his praise.

“Not bad.”

He looked out around the room, imagining it filled with his citizens learning to respect—and fear—him again.

Yes, they were still The Patriots of The New Revolution, part of a community spread across The Barrens in nine separate camps. But Sutherland was no longer the leader. Not since he’d allowed Katrina to escape with Ana and Liam. In a vote by The Council of Patriots, which he’d once led, Sutherland had been replaced at Sagebrush by that foolish old bastard Jeffries. Jeffries wasn’t fit to lead a raid, let alone lead The Patriots. He was stuck in the past, and the way Sutherland saw it, too afraid to lead The Patriots in the bold direction they needed to go if they were ever going to live as truly free men and women.

But The Council had made its decision, and there was no recourse for Sutherland. Jeffries had the audacity to say, “You’re lucky to stay as Hydrangea’s leader. Remember that, and get your camp in order.”

Ever since Katrina’s betrayal, too many people had trafficked in whispers, wondering at Sutherland’s effectiveness. They didn’t think he heard them, but he hadn’t risen to the top without having ears everywhere.

When Oswald followed her flight a few months later, the chatter grew louder. Some idiots even considered holding an emergency “election” of all things, to select another leader for the camp.

Of course no one was bold enough to approach him and suggest such a thing. They were still fearful of crossing Sutherland—for now. He had to do something before the rabble began to clamor more vocally for his removal.

He had to make a statement. This throne room was a start. Soon enough they’d have other reasons to talk.

The throne room was ostentatious, but it wasn’t as if Sutherland was a stranger to extravagance. As he sat on his throne, he liked it—and his place above the people even more. In the worlds before The Old Nation, throne rooms were necessary, providing a majestic setting for a ruler to display his power. A king could hold official court and grant audiences to the rabble, award high honors and offices to the worthy. Sutherland would use his to prove his station.

“This will do quite nicely, Gallus.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Gallus stood as if waiting for additional praise, rather than leaving like Sutherland wanted.

“Yes?” Sutherland said.

“Well, sir, if you’re ready, Captain Horrance has news for you.”

“Oh?” Sutherland clapped. “Then bring him to me.”

Gallus left quickly to fetch Horrance. Moments later, the two men returned to the throne.

Horrance, a large ogre of a man with a smooshed face even a mother couldn’t love, spoke first. He appeared to be a big, dim man, but he wasn’t nearly as stupid as most people believed—though nowhere near as smart as Gallus—which was why Sutherland liked having Horrance in charge of his soldiers, The Black Guard.

“Greetings, Sir.” He bowed his head slightly.

“Yes, Horrance?”

“I was out in The Barrens, over near Quadrant 11, and saw something.”

Sutherland let out a long sigh, “Please, Horrance, can you be more specific, or do you delight in prolonging the agony of each moment I spend in your presence?”

“I saw Katrina and the escapees.”

“Ana and the boy?” Sutherland leaned forward in his throne.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you didn’t attempt to capture them?”

Horrance said, “They were with bandits, sir.”

“Bandits! Hah, I should’ve expected that whore Katrina to scurry back with vermin. And? Do you have a location?”

Horrance smiled like he was about to deliver some good news. If he had had a tail, Sutherland was sure it would’ve been wagging. “I do, sir. I followed them to what appears to be an old train station.”

“A train station? Are you sure it’s not another installation like this? Not another of the nine camps?” Sutherland thought that maybe this idiot was stupid enough not to realize that their base was connected to a train station.

“It’s not one of ours. And I don’t know if it’s just an old station or maybe a base, sir.”

“How many bandits?”

“I can’t say for certain until I can go back. I was on my own and didn’t want to risk capture before you had word.”

“Good job, Horrance.”

Horrance smiled his big, stupid grin and showed Sutherland his messed-up teeth. Sutherland tried not to let the man’s ugliness sour his appetite for dinner.

“Gallus? Please take Horrance to the whores. Let him have his pick—save for mine.”

“Yes, sir,” Gallus said.

“Thank you, sir.” Horrance smile grew bigger and uglier.

Sutherland tried not to imagine the beast on top of any woman, fouling them with what he imagined would be a misshapen cock. “You’re welcome. Come back later and we’ll plot our next course of action against the traitors.”

As Gallus escorted Horrance out, Sutherland sat in his throne room, alone with his excitement.

It wouldn’t be long before he’d capture the traitors. Once he had Ana back in his care, he would hold all the cards and ensure his return to head of The Patriots.

He smiled, deciding to avail himself of his whores.

CHAPTER 12—ANA LOVECRAFT

Liam and Ana left Oswald and Katrina behind, heading off to their own room while the doctor led Katrina to the one he’d promised her just before dinner. She would be on the other side of the tunnel, a loud yell away if needed.

Her heart began to beat faster as Liam closed the door behind them. They were alone, and things would be good. She wondered if it would be different with him missing his eye, if maybe he would be self-conscious of his wound when he didn’t need to be. Liam was like that, fierce and bold, then suddenly shy without warning. He was a wonderful lover, though Ana really had no one to compare him to.

Alone in the bathroom, she looked in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, and again thought of her mother. Ana remembered her mom’s prettiest nighties, the ones her she had said were her father’s favorites. She remembered her mother telling her that one day she would have her own favorite nighties, more grown up than the little girl ones in her dresser then, and that her man’s favorites would probably be her favorites too. She remembered feeling excited. Now Ana wondered if she’d ever have a favorite nighty or even a shabby dresser to keep it folded inside.

She finished in the bathroom, then emerged in a long white bed shirt as Liam was stepping into the room. He closed the door and turned to Ana.

“Where’d you go?”

“Katrina came back, right after you went into the bathroom. She wanted to let me know she’d be sleeping with one eye open tonight. She thinks Egan might try pulling a fast one.”

“Do you think he will? Try something, I mean.”

“No,” Liam shook his head. “I don’t. I think he was telling the truth. He’ll let us go.” He sat on the bed beside her, peeling off his shirt. “Are you sure you want to come?”

“What?”

She didn’t want to talk. She wanted his lips on hers, then everywhere else. She wanted no words to interrupt them.

“That little girl could die.”

“So could Adam.” Ana traced her fingers along Liam’s skin, circling his nipple then dipping down past his waistline to tease him. “Please, don’t make me feel worse than I already do. Can we not talk . . . now?”

Liam opened his mouth, then swallowed his words like a good boy. He said, “You’re right,” then moved in to kiss her.

As his mouth found Ana’s and his hands cupped her breasts, months of tension melted to nothing. Liam pressed himself against her, lowering her down to the mattress and pulling the blankets over their heads like a tarp.

“I love you, Liam,” Ana panted.

He mashed his lips hard against hers, making love to her mouth for a moment with his tongue.

“I love you too,” Liam said—a long time later, when they were finally done.

Ana felt herself falling asleep, naked, his warmth against her skin.

This was the way it should be. Forever.

She usually fell asleep slowly, most of the time wondering what the next day would bring. But here in the warmth of the tunnels, lying safe in a bed, breathing long shallow breaths beside Liam, an ounce of worry seemed like a pound too much. Next to Liam, everything seemed more than OK. She had to get Adam, then everything else would fall into place.

Her father had always told her to enjoy the moments they had, because one day they’d be gone, no matter what.

Good advice she should finally start taking.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? We are here now. Together.

Ana fell asleep.

When she woke, Liam was gone.

CHAPTER 13—ADAM LOVECRAFT

“Tell the truth,” Adam said. “Do you think we’ll make it?”

Colton peeked out the door and into the street. “I don’t see any zombies and the building is just a few more blocks ahead.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“No.” Colton shook his head without meeting Adam’s stare. “Probably not. But if we don’t try, we don’t stand a chance.”

Adam wondered if they stood a chance anyway. Colton had already told him what he expected to find. Based on what they’d seen earlier and the movement of the zombies, it seemed like the swarms were all headed toward the tallest building. Zelle was at the top. There would be plenty of fighting and pain before they could find her, if they were lucky enough to reach her at all.

Zombies were impossible to cut through once they started moving in a wall, and they’d be several layers deep so close to the building.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Adam answered, as if he had a choice, following Colton out as light snow flurries began to fall in the darkness.

The empty street allowed Adam to imagine for a moment that they really could make it the rest of the way without running into anything else. Maybe they would find a way to get inside the building. Colton was a great shot. Plus, he was smart. He would think of a way. Maybe there was power in the building. Or an elevator that went to the top. It didn’t make sense that Zelle would have climbed so many stairs by herself. Adam had asked Colton how tall he thought the tallest building was. He’d said he didn’t know, so Adam had tried to count and had had to stop. He’d guessed forty floors. Unlike most of the other buildings in the city, the tallest one seemed mostly unbroken, with only a few windows missing near the top. Not only was it the tallest, but clearly it was the strongest too.

“I wonder if Hooper made it out alive.” Adam didn’t believe it, but it seemed like Colton had lost hope for both of them. Maybe saying impossible things out loud might make things better.

Apparently Colton didn’t subscribe to that philosophy, saying in a dead voice, “No, Hooper didn’t make it. No way. There were too many.”

“You never know.”

Colton stopped walking. He turned to Adam, pulled a small black square from his pocket, and jammed his thumb on the middle of it. A small blinking circle with the number “51” in it appeared and moved toward two other circles, “17” and “88.” Tiny chirps bleated from the box’s small speakers.

Adam asked, “What is that?”

“This is a mini-radar I got in The Opening Rush. It shows you a few blocks’ radius around your location. That “51” is the number assigned to Hooper’s bracelet in the game. These other two dots are us.”

“He’s alive!” Adam said, smiling.

“Well, maybe. We don’t know if he’s infected.”

They watched the dot coming closer as the bleats grew louder.

“He’s moving pretty straight forward,” Adam said. “Zombies don’t tend to walk like that, do they?”

Colton nodded. “Maybe the bastard did manage to get away. Let’s stay put and wait, though, to be on the safe side.”

The bleats grew louder. Both Colton and Adam looked down as a fourth dot, one without a number, suddenly appeared on the screen behind Hooper.

“What’s that?” Adam asked.

“Not good news,” Colton said. “Either a zombie or a bandit.”

Colton handed the radar to Adam, then knelt, swung his rifle in front of him, lowered his eye to the scope, and scanned the darkness ahead.

Adam asked, “Is it him?”

“Yeah! He’s running, he’s not too far. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Suddenly, there was more beeping and several more dots appeared on the screen, all behind Hooper, and none with numbers.

“There’s a bunch more dots,” Adam said, looking up to see Colton’s face, staring wide-eyed and slack jawed through the scope as he registered what Adam had seen on the radar.

“What?” Adam asked.

“He’s got a whole damned horde behind him.”

“Doesn’t he see them?” Adam asked, looking down at the now dozens of dots on the screen.

“I don’t know, but he’s going to lead them right to us. Shit.”

Every muscle in Adam’s body felt tighter as he watched Hooper appear at the end of the street. He was too far away for Adam to tell how badly he was injured, but he was definitely not moving like an infected man. He was alive and eager to catch up with them.

Hooper waved his hands and called out, “Guys!”

He seemed to be oblivious of the threat mounting behind him.

Adam turned to Colton, “Aren’t you going to shoot them?”

Colton said nothing, eye to his scope.

Just when Adam thought he would have to ask again, or else suffer death from anticipation, Colton pulled the trigger.

THWAP!

But it wasn’t a zombie he shot.

Hooper dropped to the pavement.

Adam stared, hardly able to believe his eyes.

“You killed him!” he said, still staring straight ahead as the zombies descended on the fresh kill.

Adam could hear their ravenous grunts as they tore into Hooper’s flesh.

Colton turned to Adam, put his hands on both Adam’s shoulders, and shook him. “Come on, or we’re their next course.”

With no time to mourn, they ran.

Episode 3

CHAPTER 14—KELLER

Keller opened his eyes to a raging headache and an empty bed. He threw the covers from his body, stumbled to his feet, and wandered out into the living room of their spacious City 1 loft, one of the more obvious perks of being The State’s Provisional Leader, a title he’d assumed even though Jack Geralt was dead.

The Elders decided it better to keep the illusion that Geralt was still alive rather than to appoint Keller as The State’s One True Leader. And, as Keller’s understanding of the power structure’s true inner workings expanded—a few Elders secretly pulled strings behind the scenes—the decision made sense to him. It also left him with his taste for government sour on his tongue.

Keller had never thought it would be possible to mourn his old life as City 6 Chief, a position he’d done everything possible to get promoted from. But mourn it he did, every damned day as he woke to City 1’s glistening paradise, all through the evening, and into the black of night when the burn of scotch helped send him to sleep.

Jacqueline was happy enough, with her new friends and shopping trips. She was living in luxury’s lap and couldn’t understand why Keller’s mood had been so consistently awful since they’d left City 6. Considering he had always promised this move would be the one thing that might heal what was broken, it was particularly troublesome. Things had been different between them since Joshua’s death. And though she’d never said it, Keller knew a part of her blamed him. Whether the blame was for not spotting the bomb or The Underground scum who planted it—or for The State’s policies which The Underground opposed—she’d not looked at him the same since losing their son.

So he had buried himself in his work while she—well, he never thought to ask how she tried to fill the void. As if they could pretend they weren’t hurting long enough to truly kill the pain.

“Promotion means a new life, Jacqueline,” Keller had said aplenty. “We’ll have different things to see and different things to do. Everything will be better.”

But nothing was better. Even though Jacqueline seemed happy when keeping herself busy with friends and shopping, he could tell in their moments alone that things still weren’t right, and now likely couldn’t be.

Just admit it: you’re thinking about Adam.

Despite just having gotten up, Keller poured himself a drink—a small one now, more later—to silence his inner voice. That voice wanted to dwell on betrayal and scold him for allowing the kid to get close, letting the kid occupy a spot in his heart opened by Joshua’s death.

Adam will never be half the man my son would’ve been.

But it wasn’t just Adam’s betrayal that kept him low. There was something else—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He didn’t think it was the politics of City 1 leadership, at least not exactly. Keller had kissed ass as chief long enough to know how to play the game. Nor did he think it was the new stresses of having to deal with the privileged City 1 citizens and their many demands. So often he wished he could just take a few of them into an alley and set them straight. But his hands were tied: everyone in City 1 knew someone who knew an Elder.

Sometimes Keller wished Jonah had taken out more than 40 percent of City 1.

Really, what would have been the harm to The State if he’d taken out the whole damned city and left them to start over?

The law was solid, practical, necessary. It kept people safe. But it was poison to know that the people behind it were what they were. These esteemed Elders that he had only seen once or twice a year prior to coming here, he now saw on a daily basis. It was only when seeing them regularly that Keller realized just how screwed up and petty they were.

Rules weren’t just made to maintain power. They were also used to punish personal enemies, usually for the most trivial of things. These were rich, powerful men who were not used to being told “no.” And while Keller had yet to question his oath to The State, he did question those that held seats of power, and he wondered if improvements were possible.

And while he dared not say it publicly, he was on the lookout for an opportunity to bring new blood into the Elders Council, to find at least one other who truly believed in properly running The State.

Keller entered the kitchen and saw a note on the cupboard’s digital face.

“Gone out with Evia. Be back for dinner.”

Good, I can get nice and drunk.

Keller left the kitchen and went into his office. He sat at his desk and pulled the half-empty bottle of scotch from its home behind the bottom drawer, along with the tumbler he’d been using for days, pretending that Jacqueline didn’t count or notice it missing. Keller filled the glass and wondered why Jonah had unleashed the virus.

It didn’t make sense. It never had, and even a full tumbler of The State’s best scotch couldn’t make it so. No part of Keller believed the official story—that Jonah had decided to topple City 1 on his own to hit The State where it counted. While Keller could easily see some of the more radical leaders of The Underground pulling such a cowardly move, he couldn’t see it from Jonah.

Jonah was, despite his radical leanings, a good man.

No matter how angry Jonah was over his wife’s murder, his framing for the crime, or even Ana’s fate, Keller couldn’t imagine what would drive an honest man to murder so many innocents. Assuming The Underground had planned the attack—and Keller had no reason to suspect anyone else—he couldn’t think of a way they could ever have managed to drag Jonah into the scheme.

Yet somehow they had, and now nearly half of The State’s crown jewel was a memory.

Keller had studied the footage from Jonah’s attack over and over for hours at a time. The State wasn’t lying about the skeleton of facts: Jonah had definitely done the deed. He was the one on the train unleashing the virus. You could see the guilty horror all over his face. But Keller also thought that Jonah seemed uncertain and didn’t think it was The Underground that had given him the helpful shove.

But who exactly had forced his hand?

Someone helped Jonah get into City 1 and orchestrate the attack. Someone inside City 1.

Someone trusted by The State?

Keller assumed that the Elders had asked him to come here to get to the bottom of the crime, in addition to taking over as the Provisional Leader. But as he poked around, asking questions, his investigation was stonewalled by the Elders, who didn’t want a word whispered about an alternative possibility.

Go about your lives, ladies and gentlemen. Nothing to fear here in City 1.

But Keller was too smart to believe the lies he was forced to tell.

He took another swallow and wondered for the hundredth time, if not the thousandth, who his true enemy was, and when they might strike again.

CHAPTER 15—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Early morning light pounded on Adam’s eyelids, almost forcing them open as he slowly woke to the sound of movement. He managed to keep them closed. Something might be wrong, and if it was, Adam didn’t want to open his eyes to danger. It was best to feign sleep.

He kept his eyes closed, barely moving his fingers, hand slowly inching toward his blaster. Hand around the butt, Adam finally dared to open his eyes. He was ready to shoot . . . but didn’t need to. The “danger” was only Colton, who knelt a few feet across from him, stuffing his pack with supplies that probably weren’t worth the weight on his back.

The old store where they’d been staying had been picked dry already, who-knew-how-many times across who-knew-how-many years. Packing his bag with scraps made Colton seem as desperate as Adam knew he probably was.

With a guilty flush, Adam remembered that he had fallen asleep on the job. After Colton declared that they needed to rest before attempting to reach Zelle, Adam had been supposed to take—and stay awake through—the final shift.

At first, Adam had only pretended to sleep. After arguing with Colton over the necessity of shooting Hooper—which Colton insisted he’d had to do to save both of their lives—Adam wanted time to think. And think he did, over both Colton’s seemingly heartless action, and whether or not Adam would do the same thing if put in that position. Wondering was the last thing he remembered before nodding off and sleeping through the night despite the sporadic gunshots, screams, and rolling groans that seemed an ever- present soundtrack in The Outback.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Colton turned to Adam. “I wasn’t tired.”

“Really?”

“That so hard to believe?” Colton feigned insult. “You may be young, kid, but I’m in the prime of my life. There’s an old saying: ‘you’re only as old as you feel.’ Well, I feel fantastic, son. Top o’ my game.”

Colton stood with loudly creaking knees.

“Yeah,” Adam said grinning. “Might wanna grease those rusty gears.”

They laughed together.

After so long without laughing, it was like sun melting snow. Adam had suffered in deep isolation for too long. It felt wonderful just to be with someone, even while facing impossible odds trying to discover the girl who might be able to lead them out of the ravaged city that Kirkman had called The Outback.

Perhaps especially in that situation.

“So,” Adam said. “What’s the plan once we find the girl? How will we convince her to trust us and escape The Outback without us all getting killed?”

“One step at a time,” Colton said. “First we need to reach her.”

“But you do have a plan, right? You’re not just making this up as we go.”

Colton’s face wore no expression.

Adam pressed. “You’re not just winging this . . . right?”

Colton broke into a smile. “Naw, man. I’ve got a plan. Trust me.”

“My dad said to never trust a man who says ‘Trust me.’”

“Your dad was a smart man. If only he had taken his own advice. In the end, it comes to trusting the right people, those who prove themselves, which I think I’ve already done by saving you. Your father, however, trusted Liam Harrow blindly, and it was that blind trust that got him into trouble. Liam ratted him out, ya know? That led to Keller ordering your dad to kill your mom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keller had a chip put in your dad. A control chip that’s in all City Watchers. They activated your dad’s and forced him to kill your mother.”

Plenty of Colton’s words sounded—and felt—wrong, but the cloth was too large, and Adam didn’t know where to start cutting. He barely stammered, “W-w-why would Keller do that?”

“Because your father was part of The Underground and a threat to the status quo. And you know what they say about the status quo?”

“What?”

“That men at the top will sell their souls, kill their brothers, and destroy nations if it means they can maintain their power.”

Outside, they heard the sound of clopping hooves on the street.

“Shit,” Adam said jumping up and heading to the window.

Colton was there a beat before him. They stared through the glass as Adam’s heart gathered speed. A black and red stagecoach pulled by four armored horses was on the street below. Atop the stagecoach was a man in a black hat and matching trench coat clutching reins like a cowboy from The Old Nation flix.

It was hard to see inside the carriage, through the thick, drawn curtains and grime-coated windows.

But Adam was most horrified by what he saw behind the stagecoach—two women in blue Darwin Games jumpsuits being dragged by chains. One of the women was older and had dirty, matted blonde hair, but the other was young, with long dark hair, and reminded him of his sister, Ana.

The women wore large metal collars—evil black bands circling their necks and attached to thick black chains that looked to be around 70 feet long. Both looked exhausted, eager to die.

Adam had seen some horrible things happen in The Games. Of course, there was murder—The Darwins were “Kill or Be Killed,” after all—but there were also the rapes, which Adam hadn’t really understood when he was little, but as he got older, he saw how they presented a new level of barbarism as mass entertainment. Now with The Games being held in the lawless Outback, a city crawling with depraved bandits and worse, The Darwins were “throwing meat to the wolves.”

Adam wondered if the women were sex slaves or if they were being dragged behind the stagecoach as some sort of zombie bait. He thought of his father and how Jonah had always said that no matter what, you had to do what was right, even if it was hard or felt wrong. Adam had never stopped believing that, even after he was no longer certain what else he believed.

He couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Adam turned to Colton and looked up into his darkening eyes. “We have to do something.”

“No, we don’t. We sit tight until they pass.”

“But those women look like slaves! We can’t just watch from the window and not do anything.”

“There could be as many as four in the carriage, and old Big Hat on top,” Colton said. “I don’t like the looks of this—at all. We need to hit the building where Zelle is this morning and can’t afford to take unnecessary chances.”

“I saw your shooting,” Adam argued. “You could take two or three of those bandits out before they knew where the shots were coming from.”

Colton looked down again, as if assessing their odds, then met Adam’s eyes. “Do you see the guy driving the coach? You know what that is there beside him?”

Adam peered over the sill again and saw a long thick black rifle, like nothing he’d seen at the Academy. “What is it?”

“It’s called a Hellweaver. It fires ammo in bursts over a target, and those bullets explode above you. It’s like raining fire. One shot up here, we’re done for.”

“Then you hit him first,” Adam said as if raining fire meant nothing.

“And what if they have more Hellweavers inside? What if the coach is bulletproof? What then? We’re not doing anything, kid. Getting into a gunfight with them isn’t just stupid, it’s suicide. We’re too close to everything right now. The building’s just up ahead. We need to reach it. Dealing with the swarm of zombies at the bottom will be bad enough, the last thing we want to do is invite other players, bandits, or more zombies to pay us mind. I’m not trying to be cold, but there’s too much at stake to concern ourselves with worries that aren’t already ours. We can’t afford to have anything stop us from finding the girl. Not to mention that if any Darwin orbs see us together, and somehow catch on to what we’re up to with Zelle, we’ll never get outta here.”

Adam couldn’t believe Colton’s indifference.

“But if we do nothing, those women will die.”

“We were all dead the minute we got here.” Colton turned from Adam, looking down, then out the window. “You can’t save everyone.”

“Maybe not,” Adam stood. “But I can save them.”

He grabbed his blaster and turned toward the stairwell, making it one step before Colton grabbed him hard by the arm, dug his fingers into his flesh, and yanked him back toward the window.

“You can’t do this.” Colton’s face twisted into a scowl. “You’re putting both our lives at risk.”

“Let me go!” Adam shouted loud enough to attract the bandits below.

Colton let go of his arm, eyes wide. “Think about what you’re doing, boy.”

“I know what I’m not doing: sitting up here like a scared old man.”

Adam turned and ran down the stairs two at a time until he reached the street below.

He heard Colton bounding after him, but Adam was too fast, and by the time he hit the door, Colton had already realized the folly of chasing him out into the street.

CHAPTER 16—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana stormed into Egan’s office.

“Where are Liam and Katrina?”

Egan sat at his desk, hands folded as if waiting for her arrival. One of his youngest soldiers stood behind him, a skinny kid with thick glasses, hand resting on a shock stick hung loosely at his belt. Ana glared, as if daring him to raise it, and made him find something on the floor to stare at.

Egan spoke softly, “Please, Ana, sit.”

She didn’t want to sit, damn it.

She sat, leaned forward and repeated, “Where are Liam and Katrina?”

“They went to The Outback. To look for your brother, of course. This morning. Before you woke.”

“I was supposed to go with them!” she yelled. “You said we could take a skidder and you wouldn’t stop us.”

“Yes, I know what I said. But after speaking with Katrina last night, and then Liam . . . they were both concerned for your safety. They asked if I would give them one of my men if they left you here.”

“Damn it!” Ana said, kicking Egan’s desk. She couldn’t believe Katrina had tricked her like that. And that Liam had gone along with it. Katrina’s move was an unflinching betrayal; Liam’s a knife in her back.

“I’m going too,” she said, standing. “I’m not staying here when my brother’s out there.”

“Yes,” Egan said, “you are. You won’t be going anywhere.”

She spun back to Egan, rage already boiling inside her.

“Are you going to stop me?”

Ana glared at the skinny kid, wishing he’d try something so she could have an excuse to grab his shock stick and use it on him, then maybe on Egan. Though the blaster at her side would be the quickest way of dealing with them both, or any other trouble that might be coming her way.

Egan remained infuriatingly calm. It was as if he were dealing with a child and didn’t see Ana as capable of leaving The Station if she chose. After several seconds of a silence stretched to a maddening length, Egan pulled the elastic further, as if to prove his perfect control, before saying, “You’ll never reach The Outback if you leave on foot. And you’re certainly not taking one of our vehicles. Clark, Katrina, and Liam have already gone with one of our two skidders.”

“Who the hell is Clark?”

“A citizen kind enough to volunteer himself to go in your stead.”

“I didn’t ask for any volunteers,” Ana snapped. “I don’t need anyone to go in my stead. I should be there. Adam is my brother. My responsibility.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Ana. Your father would be proud.” Egan gave her a smile that Ana found impossible not to hate. She thought how nice it would feel to carve it from his face with a knife. “But sometimes the right thing to do is the hardest to choose. For you that means staying put even though you don’t want to, so you can help us develop a cure for the virus. That is what’s best for us all.”

She felt a sense of dé-jà vu, hearing her father: sometimes the right thing to do is the hardest.

Ana wanted to keep raging, but even she knew that Egan was basically right. Maybe not about her duty—her brother would always come first—but about her options. She considered them now, and in reality, was left with relatively few. She had no idea how to find The Outback on her own, how far from The Station it was, or how long it would take her to reach it even under the best of circumstances. She could escape and flee The Station, but where would she go once gone? Where would she be safest? Besides: if Liam and Katrina managed to find Adam, they’d immediately return to The Station.

Ana couldn’t risk not seeing her brother again. It was bad enough that she’d lost her mother and father. Adam was all she had left, other than Liam.

No wonder Egan is so calm. He knows he has me.

Ana spent several seconds glaring into his smile, then left his office without another word.

* * *

Ana was sitting on her bed, back to the wall and mind full of darkening thoughts, when there was a quiet, barely audible knock on her door.

“Yes?”

The door opened and Calla timidly stepped into Ana’s room. Calla’s constant companion loomed behind her, like a Grim Reaper in waiting.

Ana looked up at the kid charged to watch Calla. “She’s welcome to come in, but you are not.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“She can come in my room, but you may not.”

“I’m supposed to watch her. I can’t just—”

“You can wait outside,” Ana said. “It’s not like she can go anywhere from here.” She gave the kid her coldest stare.

The boy looked nervously back and forth.

“It’s okay, Elijah,” Calla looked up at the boy. “I feel good.”

He swallowed, “I don’t know if I should—”

“It’s okay,” Calla repeated, reaching up and touching his hand sweetly, like a little sister.

“Okay. I’ll be right outside the door.”

“Thank you,” Calla said.

As the boy sheepishly left, Ana felt she had her morning’s first victory, minor as it was. She looked at the girl expectantly. Calla smiled, stepped the rest of the way into Ana’s room, peeked her head out into the hallway and said something to her shadow that Ana couldn’t hear, then slipped back into the room, quietly closed the door, and walked over to Ana’s bed.

Calla sat on the end, looking little like she had when they met. Before, she was hard as a box of nails and dirty as a bandit. Thick clothes were her shield from the world. Now, sitting slouched and freshly scrubbed, wearing a long blue dress with a single yellow flower on her chest, she looked like the frail child she was.

“He means well.”

“He means to kill you if you turn,” Ana said.

“I know, and he’s right. He should kill me before I hurt someone.”

Ana swallowed a lump in her throat as she considered Calla’s bravery.

Calla pulled up her dress sleeve and showed Ana a bandage: white gauze wrapped around her left bicep. Eyes haunted, she said, “They say you’re the only one who has ever survived infection and fully recovered. That true?”

Ana cringed at the bandage, remembering Duncan as he ripped into her flesh.

“Yes. Oswald was infected too, but he chopped limbs off, so he doesn’t consider himself to truly have fought off the virus.”

“What happened?”

Ana didn’t know what to say and wished she could say nothing. She felt oddly shy and uncomfortably ashamed. Though she hated talking about such an ugly reality with a child, she felt compelled to give Calla the truth.

“I was bitten. It was bad right away, then quickly got worse. I was weak and every bone felt hollowed out and stuffed with pain. Most of the time it felt like my body was on fire. I begged Liam to kill me, but he wouldn’t. Without mercy, I spent every second hoping for death, angry at being unable to find it. Then, one morning, right after it got its worst, I felt suddenly better. I still don’t know why.”

“Dr. Oswald says it’s something in your blood. That your blood reacted to the virus by fighting it, and that maybe he can get mine to do the same.”

“That would be nice.”

Calla stared into Ana’s eyes for an uncomfortably long moment. Ana felt like the girl was trying to read her thoughts.

“You don’t think I’ll live, do you?”

Ana swallowed, regretting the lies even as they left her lips. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“Please, Miss. Don’t lie to me. Everyone walks around The Station saying I’ll be fine, but I can see in their eyes that they’re lying. No one believes it, except maybe Percy the cook. He still won’t let me have sweets. If he thought I was gonna die he wouldn’t care about my teeth. But everyone else acts like I’m already dead. Even my father, sometimes. Please—tell me the truth: Do you think I’ll be cured?”

Ana thought back to her lowest point, when she’d begged Liam to leave her. She’d tried to run, but he’d kept believing in her, no matter what. Ana had often wondered if she could have survived without his faith in her, or if her body would have slouched in a corner to die.

Ana stared into the girl’s eyes and saw a bright fire that belied Calla’s scrawny frame. The child had to believe, and—more importantly—needed someone to truly believe in her, without candy or lip service.

“Yes, I think you’ll live.”

Calla leaped across the space between them and threw her arms around Ana, tears streaming down her face.

Ana allowed herself to cry and hoped she wasn’t wrong about Calla.

CHAPTER 17—LIAM HARROW

As they navigated the alleyway, Liam stayed behind Katrina and the man Egan had lent them. The man’s name was Clark, skinny and pale like a half-dipped candle. Pale except for the fact that every inch of his body was painted with tattoos. Before they’d left, Liam saw that the man’s chest, arms, and back wore a blanket of color. Then he put on a thick black jacket like the one they gave Liam and covered all but his head.

On the skidder, and in the two hours since leaving it behind and sneaking in through the only part of The Outback’s vast drainage network that wasn’t patrolled by orbs, Liam found himself pondering the mystery of Clark’s ink.

The tattoos were colorful geometrics, threaded by intricately drawn black vines. Letters bled through the shapes, though Liam couldn’t find meaning and didn’t feel like asking—or trusting—a man who had barely breathed a word since joining their expedition.

Regardless, Clark was said to be The Station’s best shot after Egan and more than made up for Ana’s absence in that regard. Liam couldn’t stop thinking about her, anyway. She would be furious at him for lying and leaving her behind. But Katrina had pulled Liam aside while Ana was in the bathroom and convinced him that there wasn’t much of a choice. She was certain that Egan would never really allow Ana to leave. It was best to go with Egan’s blessing and give Oswald time to find a cure. So as Liam and Ana made love, Katrina went to Egan and said they’d go, on the condition that they were given another warrior to help keep them alive.

Last night, the mission seemed simple enough: find Adam and bring him back. But as they crept from the sewers and navigated the crumbling city’s crooked corridors, Liam couldn’t help but remember nearly losing Ana in The Outback a year before. They would certainly have died on that rooftop if not for Belan’s orb.

But there would be no orb to watch their backs this time. If anything, Belan—who was at Paradise, one of Hydrangea’s sister camps—might be more inclined to help Sutherland hunt Liam down.

All odds were against them: they faced.bandits, players, and a city thick with the undead, plus whatever orbs The State had sent to monitor The Games. Liam was reasonably certain that, if he was spotted by someone at The Network, he’d be reported and exterminated in efficient order. The State couldn’t afford to have Liam, of all people, pop up in the middle of their precious Games.

He hoped that his hair—much longer than it had been a year before—along with his scruffy beard and the eye patch over his left eye would serve as disguise enough. Thinking of his eye made it itch even more. Liam pressed the leather patch hard against the socket, to kill the itching with a shot of excruciating pain.

Katrina held out a hand to halt them.

Liam’s gaze tracked her finger, which was pointing up toward a bank of windows overlooking the street. So far they’d been walking along a windowless row of decaying buildings. Now they’d be exposed unless they moved through the building beside them, which held dangers of its own.

Then she pointed toward a door dangling by one hinge from a wet and rotting frame. Clark nodded as he pulled open the door one-handed while aiming his blaster inside.

Clark slid into the building’s darkness, then emerged a moment later and said, “Clear.”

Katrina followed, with Liam taking the rear.

The only thing he hated worse than navigating The Outback’s roads was crawling through the city’s dark interiors, which were teeming with the wrong types of life—rats, bandits, zombies, and even the occasional wolf.

They crept along the building’s bottom floor, stepping over debris and slowly making their way through the littered space, ducking in and out of shadows, quiet like scurrying mice.

Liam’s heart was pounding hard in his chest like a warning in echo. From somewhere ahead—the floor above, behind a wall, in the next room, he couldn’t be sure—Liam heard the rumble of zombies, the murmur of the undead who no longer spoke and could only croak their haunting cry of death that had yet to claim them.

He looked over to Katrina, then to Clark. Both nodded. They heard it too. Katrina didn’t bother with the hybrid rifle or the blaster at her hip. She clicked both her wrist blades to life like six razor-sharp claws eager to shred.

Liam wished like hell that he had such cool weapons rather than the crappy blaster he was carrying.

As they passed through two more rooms, the moaning grew louder. Katrina stopped at a door, shook her head, and twirled her finger through the air, motioning for them to turn back around. Liam was now in front, leading them back toward the door they’d come through a moment before.

Too late they realized the moaning was rolling in from every direction.

He was about to ask what Katrina thought they should do when the first zombie crashed through the doorway, rabid and frantic on its way to fresh meat. It gnashed and clawed toward Liam, the closest living human.

He made the mistake of looking to Katrina for direction, hoping she’d give him some miracle clue. She shot him a sharp look: pay attention, eyes—or eye—in front!

The lead zombie—an ancient looking man wearing crusted jeans and nothing else—launched himself at Liam.

They landed hard on the splintered wooden floor, zombie on top. Liam’s gun also lay on the floor, too far from his reach as the zombie’s jaws opened and closed repeatedly, desperate to taste his flesh. For the attack’s first few seconds he held out his thick jacketed arms, keeping the zombie from his skin. Before they’d left Hydrangea, they’d each wrapped several layers of cardboard and cloth around their forearms and wrists, both to protect from bites and to give them something to push the zombies away with.

With all of his strength, he pulled his arms back, then shoved forward. It wasn’t much: he still felt off balance with only one eye, and the zombie had most of the leverage, but Liam was able to tip him backward enough to use his momentum and shove the zombie from his body.

Liam scrambled to his feet and stomped hard on the zombie’s head, once, twice, three times—then four and five—harder and harder until the zombie’s face was a mountain of mush busted by God.

He might have kept at it if he hadn’t heard another three zombies approaching. Liam leapt back toward his gun, grabbed it off the ground, and turned to shoot. The closest zombie—a tall woman in pigtails, who looked like she might have been a kindly mom some once-upon-a-never-again—would have killed him for sure, but she flew by Liam on her way to something behind him. He managed to pop a shot between the second zombie’s eyes, disintegrating its face and sending the undead body twitching to the floor. The third zombie was on him and ready to bite.

Liam, caught by surprise, yelled out as if his scream could somehow scare the zombie away.

The zombie opened its mouth, putrid rot falling from it, as Liam struggled to guard his face. It was inches away when a blade split through the front of the zombie’s jaw, nearly slicing Liam’s cheek, and then the corpse was yanked away from him.

Clark turned on the zombie he’d just killed and swung his machete repeatedly, grunting with every hack, cutting into the creature’s head, chest, and arms until he leaned over in exhaustion, hands to knees.

Katrina stood behind him, slinging blood from her wrist blades onto the wall before sheathing then.

Liam stared at the litter of corpses—a wet, messy circle around them, seven full bodies and a couple in parts—dispatched mostly by Katrina and Clark.

“Are you OK?” Katrina’s voice was kind behind Liam. He looked over his still shaking body, trying to catch his breath.

“Yeah, I think so. Thanks.” Seeing he was fine, Katrina’s voice lost its softness.

“Well, be more fucking careful next time. You’ll get us killed.”

“What did I do?” Liam asked, genuinely perplexed. He’d done his best, followed her lead, turned when he was supposed to, handled the attack to the best of his ability. The problem was her bad idea, not him. Still, it was best to ignore it, at least until they were safe.

Katrina said nothing. She had been cold ever since the three of them had left the drainage tunnels. She’d always been a mystery to him, and he didn’t have time now to read between her many lines. He figured that probably more than anything, Katrina was more scared than she wanted—or was willing—to admit.

Liam didn’t want to think there was anything more, that maybe she harbored resentment toward him or perhaps regretted going on this mission. He hated politics and niceties in the best of times and certainly didn’t want to navigate them now.

They walked back toward the building’s exit in silence, prepared to go back into the snow, and paused at the door to stare out at a world that had grown louder around them, filled with gunshots, screams, and perhaps the most chilling of all sounds, man’s laughter as he committed atrocities against others. Danger was too close to risk being out in the open.

“We can’t go out there,” Katrina said, confirming his thoughts.

“Then where?” Liam asked.

She nodded across the room. A door, open. Beyond it, stairs.

“Up,” she said.

Liam didn’t argue. Instead, he fell into a soft gait behind Katrina and Clark, shoving the stir in his gut as low as he could, shaking his head from the memories of climbing to a roof where he and Ana were nearly killed a year ago.

CHAPTER 18—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland woke to the sensation of being shaken.

His head pounded from a gallon too much of last night’s hooch. That and whoring.

“Sir, Sir,” Gallus spoke urgently.

Last thing Sutherland needed was to hear Gallus braying into his morning.

“What is it?” Sutherland sat up. He pulled his red silk sheets up to cover his cold, naked body.

He looked over to where Nat’s curly, dark hair concealed her face beside him and repeated, “What is it?” Gallus was standing by his bed like an idiot.

“The throne room, Sir. Someone’s . . . well, I think you should just come see.”

Sutherland sighed, looked over at his whore. He said, “No, that’s okay, honey, you just sleep it off”—like she had any intention of waking—and stepped out of bed. He slid on clothes from the night before—black dress pants and a burgundy shirt—and pulled his long red hair into a ponytail. He tied it back with a thin strip of leather and fastened his belt with the blaster. He considered grabbing his sheathed sword as well but thought better of it. He still had to bathe and didn’t feel like fussing with more than he had to.

Sutherland felt suddenly hungry and realized he was damn near empty, but ignored the growl so he could effectively tend to whatever faux emergency Gallus was whining about.

As Sutherland’s number two led him through the crowded hallways, so many eyes staring at him felt like spiders on his body. Hydrangea’s air stank of something Sutherland could only identify enough to know he didn’t like it. He was about to ask Gallus if he could report what he’d seen, without the mystery and ballyhoo. He hated that everyone in Hydrangea seemed to know what in the hell was going on, while he fumbled his way from a hangover, trailing an idiot in officer’s clothing. But Sutherland couldn’t halt Gallus and ask him in front of the others, at least not unless he was willing to ignore their whispers. So he kept his eyes on the idiot and kept marching behind him.

They finally reached the throne room’s double doors where two of his men were standing guard. They met his eyes as he entered, then quickly looked down.

Sutherland was about to demand their reason for not holding his gaze but quickly swallowed the words when he saw for himself: someone had smeared two words on his new throne with feces.

KING SHIT

Sutherland stared, feeling his face redden, skin on fire.

He inhaled as slowly as he exhaled, swallowing the lump of betrayal, then turned to Gallus.

“Who did this?”

“I . . . um . . . don’t know, Sir.”

“Don’t know?” Sutherland snarled as if he couldn’t believe that Gallus had the nerve to admit something so stupid.

“No, Sir. We’re looking into it.”

“When did this happen?”

“We don’t know, Sir. Therault and Harris came down here this morning to let in the builders so they could finish the design. The doors were open when we got here.”

“Where’s Connor?”

“Who?”

“Connor Vinson, the sneaky rat bastard who tried to rally support for an election earlier this year. Find him. Now. Bring him to me. Five minutes.”

Gallus left and Sutherland stared at the shit. His blood rolled to a boil.

From behind, just outside the room, he heard suppressed laughter from one of the two men at the door. He spun, drawn to the men’s laughter like a falcon to a fat and filthy rat.

Sutherland stood in front of the men, knowing neither of their names. One was thin and in his 30s with dark circles under his eyes that made him look like the sobbing whore his mother most certainly was. The other was fat, his extra pounds weighing him down with expendable sloth. He looked 20 or so. Both men’s eyes widened as Sutherland began to pace before them, his arms crossed.

In a low voice: “Is something funny?”

“No, Sir,” the whore’s son said, his dark-rimmed eyes staring at an imaginary puddle of his own reeking piss.

“How about you, Piggy?” Sutherland turned to the fat one. “Something funny?”

“No, Sir,” said the sloth, growing more expendable by the second, still staring at the ground and his own imaginary puddle of ammonia-scented fear.

“Well someone was laughing.” Sutherland scrunched his face. “Unless I’m hearing things.” He paused, leaned toward them. “I’m not hearing things, am I?”

“We weren’t laughing,” said the pig.

Whore’s son kept his eyes to the ground.

“So are you calling me a liar?” Sutherland was suddenly an inch from Piggy’s face.

“No, Sir.”

“But someone was laughing. And you two are the only ones standing here, right?” He feigned surprise. “Oh! Did I miss a gaggle of school children skipping by laughing on their way into the City? Is that it? Did I miss the frolicking wee ones?” Sutherland shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Such a shame to have missed them. There’s always much to learn from an innocent’s whimsy.”

Sutherland stared into Piggy’s beady eyes. “Did you make me miss an innocent’s whimsy, or are you a lying pig who said something behind my back?”

The man’s jowls shook as he shivered. He managed, “I don’t know . . . Sir.”

“You don’t know if there were frolicking children, or you don’t know if you said something yellow when you thought I couldn’t hear.”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Piggy repeated, one heave away from tears.

Sutherland smacked the pig across the face and watched him tremble, too terrified to reach for his gun.

“I’m going to ask you both once more. Who was laughing?”

The two men exchanged glances. The candle bastard slowly raised his finger to Piggy. “He was, Sir.”

Piggy spoke quickly, “I was laughing at a joke, Sir!”

“A joke?” Sutherland said with an exaggerated smile, “Well, why the hell didn’t you tell me? I love jokes. Go ahead. Tell me the joke.”

Piggy shook his head and pointed at the skinny man. “Jim told me the j . . . joke, Sir.”

Sutherland spun to Jim’s face and stopped just inches from it.

“Okay, Slim Jim, make me laugh!”

Jim shuddered. He hemmed, hawed, and said nothing worth a damn. Finally, his eyes lit as if he’d conjured the perfect joke to cover the fib from his hog of a friend. “How can you spot a zombie whore?” He paused a beat, then finished. “Because she’s the one moaning.”

“What? Well, that’s not a very funny joke, Jim,” Sutherland said. “Which means that you, Piggy, have a horrible sense of humor!”

He jabbed his finger into Porky’s chest. “Now, please tell me the truth before I have to make you uncomfortable with something sharp. Was that really what you were laughing at?”

Piggy said nothing.

Sutherland turned to Jim. “Ten seconds: I want the truth or you’ll both lick shit from my throne before I cut you.”

“No, Sir,” Jim finally said. “He wasn’t laughing at a joke. He was laughing at the throne.”

“So you just lied to me, Slim? Why’d you go and make up a joke to cover for your fat friend?”

“I . . . um, don’t know, Sir.”

“At least you could’ve had the decency to think up a good one. Not that god-awful zombie whore joke. Tell you what, Slim. I’ve a guaranteed chuckle you’re both sure to love!”

Piggy and Slim Jim exchanged nervous glances.

Sutherland whipped out his blaster and fired it into the whoreson’s stupid face. His head puffed in a sick splash of blood and ash as the pig screamed like he was stuck. Piggy finally reached for his blaster.

“No, no, no,” Sutherland said sweetly, shoving his own in the man’s face. “Now, tell me who in the hell did this.”

“I don’t know, S . . . Sir,” Piggy said as his friend’s headless body spilled to the floor.

Piggy finally pissed himself.

Sutherland sighed as he shoved the blaster so hard past Piggy’s trembling lips he broke a tooth on the way into his mouth. “Once more . . . who did this?”

Piggy mumbled something.

Sutherland pulled the gun from his mouth.

“C—C—Connor Vinson!” Piggy spit.

“Who else?”

“I don’t k—know, Sir. Connor asked us to borrow the keys last night. Said he had a surprise for you; a gift.”

“Are you really that fucking stupid?”

Piggy said nothing and proved it.

Sutherland asked again.

Piggy nodded.

Sutherland shook his head in disgust, sighed, then reached for the man’s blaster. At first, Piggy’s fingers tightened on the gun. Sutherland met his eyes and the grip relaxed. Piggy closed his eyes in surrender.

“I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want you to dispose of Slim’s body, then return when you’re done. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sutherland held up a finger, “No, that’s yes, King Shit.”

Piggy looked at Sutherland wide eyed, like he wasn’t sure if he should be prepared to die, or laugh. He did neither, frozen and mumbling. Sutherland loved it.

He laughed and smacked Piggy’s back. “Now, that’s funny!”

Gallus came walking up with Connor Vinson. Connor’s eyes were dead.

“Hello, Traitor.” Sutherland smiled.

CHAPTER 19—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Adam crept along the wide city street, running hunched from one hiding spot to another, trailing the coach as close as he dared. As he hid behind one of the many hunks of stripped cars shoved to the side of the street (trying not to tremble from the wind as much as from his fear) he was surprised that the noises of clopping hooves, turning coach wheels, and metal chains scraping on the ground were doing nothing to attract nearby zombies.

Adam wondered if whatever was keeping the swarm gathered at the base of the building ahead was responsible. The closer he inched to the carriage, the more certain he grew that the women were being used as zombie bait of some kind, even if they weren’t yet doing their job.

He wondered what the bandits did once the women were attacked. Was the purpose to keep the riders safe through the assault—give the zombies easy prey to distract them—or something darker?

Did the bandits sit and watch? Or maybe place bets? What happened next? How would they deal with the horde? Maybe that’s when they’d pour from the coach and start hacking undead, Adam figured.

He realized with an uncomfortably large lump in his throat (suddenly missing Colton more than he cared to admit) that this looked like something designed for sport.

What kind of sick bastards do something like this?

Bandits, of course.

Alone in a cell for more than a long half year, it was finally easy for Adam to figure out how much of his City Watch training was mere propaganda. Still, as Michael had said before his murder, every lie had truth inside it, otherwise lies were hard to believe. Adam had learned plenty about the packs of bandits that lived as subhuman savages, haunting The Barrens with murderous intent, so this sort of thing shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Crouched behind a wall of warped metal and ancient tires—now nothing but rims in the snow—Adam found it easy to accept the City Watch rules about bandits:

Never trust a bandit.

Shoot first. Ask questions later.

Never sympathize with one of their women or children, lest you be tricked and stabbed in the back by one of their men.

At the time of Adam’s training, he had secretly wondered if perhaps the antibandit stuff was just a warped City Watch perception. He had never been outside The Walls but figured that the people in The Barrens couldn’t be all that different from citizens living inside The Cities: people were people, after all. If you spent life on the lookout for zombies, without any safe bed to call your own, scavenging for limited resources in a dead land, any man could be turned into a savage. Still Adam had always figured there was something human left in them.

Not any longer.

No one who chained women and dragged them through the streets deserved an ounce of sympathy. They deserved to die in the worst way imaginable—shot but not killed, then left to be dined on by the undead.

Adam darted from behind his metal rampart to a slab of rubber and concrete that reminded him of the partitions that kept City 6 stuffed behind Walls. He made it to within 20 feet of the chained women, when he realized that his idea—using the blaster to separate the chains—might not work. Blasters fired energy strong enough to disintegrate men, but he’d never used one to shoot at inorganic matter. If he were wrong, and the chain didn’t break, he’d be forced to take out the bandits—as many as five—entirely on his own.

And if any one of them got a shot off with a Hellweaver, Adam would be a dead man.

He peeked around the partition’s sheared-off edge, making sure the bandit riding atop the stagecoach wasn’t looking back, then launched himself forward to close the distance between himself and the women.

His heart slammed against his chest as he drew nearer, sucking in icy breaths that stung his lungs. Adam wondered how long he’d been chasing the coach, and more importantly, how much distance he’d put between himself and Colton.

He looked back, but the rotten buildings all looked similar, with one crumbling facade mirroring the next. Seeing everything lined in a row, Adam couldn’t remember—or determine—which building had held them for the night.

He cursed his impulsive stupidity.

Adam had managed to piss off Colton—the one guy in The Games who not only didn’t see him as an enemy but also was his path to possible freedom if they could find Zelle and make it to The Gardens, which might or might not exist.

Adam rechecked if the coast was clear, then darted to the left, crossing the street for a better look at the windows on the right, trying his best to see Colton.

Nothing seemed familiar. They’d barely glanced at the exterior as they ducked inside the night before, happy to find a place away from the screaming, a few alleys up and away from where Hooper had been feasted on after Colton put him down.

Even if everything looked different when cast under the bright morning light reflecting up from the snow, Adam didn’t think his memory was sharp enough to draw their particular hovel from the line.

Shit.

The coach pulled farther ahead.

Adam sprinted again and this time kept running until he pulled up even with the girls, some 70 feet behind the coach.

They looked at him, startled. The older woman cried out.

Adam put a hand to her mouth and shook his head.

“I’m here to save you,” he whispered, just above the icy wind, hoping like hell no one in front had been able to hear him.

The younger woman, the one who looked even more like Ana up close, seemed relieved. “Please, help us,” she whispered, looking ahead at the stagecoach.

Seeing her, some part of him wondered if this was his sister. It had been so long since he’d seen her that anything was possible. But then he noticed that she was shorter than Ana and had slightly different—fuller—cheeks.

Adam showed his blaster to the women. “I’m going to try and shoot your chains off. Once I do, run into one of the buildings and just keep running. Can you do that?”

The older woman looked like she desperately wanted to make words but just shook her head violently, as if that was the only way to rattle the words out. “They’ll k-kill us,” she finally managed.

“I won’t let that happen,” Adam said, surprised at his boldness and the unreasonable belief that he might be able to handle the bandits.

“Do it,” the younger woman said.

Adam aimed at the long thick chain linking body to collar, then angled down to the road, and back up to an iron rung at the stagecoach’s rear, figuring the chain was about 70 feet long.

He aimed at the ground, as the chain slinked this way and that. He had to aim low, or risk killing the women if the disintegration spread in either direction.

He fired and missed.

Shit.

Adam didn’t bother looking ahead to see if the driver had heard the blast, though it was hard to believe that he hadn’t, even if the horses weren’t spooked.

He fired again and this time hit.

A section of chain burned bright blue before it faded, leaving ash behind as the connection broke.

The girl’s eyes widened, relieved as she pulled up the remaining feet of chain still connected to her collar and ran toward the open door on the building to their left.

A yell came from up front. The clomping stopped and the stagecoach lurched to a standstill. Adam looked up front and saw the man in the black hat turn back toward him.

“Hey!” He screamed, then aimed a gun—a blaster, not his Hellweaver—at Adam.

The second woman, still chained, cried out, “I didn’t do anything!”

Adam fired at the driver. He missed, then dove to the ground, expecting the bandit’s shot to tear through his body.

Top Hat missed.

Adam had popped up, ready to fire another shot, when the carriage doors burst open and another three bandits poured out, all aiming their weapons at Adam.

The chained woman screamed, though Adam wasn’t sure if she was yelling for him to save her or because she was certain the bandits wanted her dead. Either way, he couldn’t look up.

Adam scrambled toward the same open door where the younger woman had fled. Dirt kicked up at his feet, chips of concrete sprayed his body as chunks of wall burst to dust around him.

He kept running, then dove through the open door and slid hard into a wall.

Pain splintered his head as he struggled to stand.

Suddenly, hands were on him, pulling him up from behind.

“Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got another member to the party,” the man in the black hat said before punching Adam in the nose.

Unbearable pain—like everything was breaking all at once—tugged at his consciousness. He considered the horror of what would happen to his body if his mind couldn’t fight.

It wasn’t enough.

Adam fell and knew he would die.

CHAPTER 20—LIAM HARROW

Liam watched as Katrina’s light bobbed along the stairwell walls. Without a light of his own, he was forced to keep close to her and Clark or risk getting left behind in a tangle of shadows, maybe missing a step. There was nothing he hated more than the idea of climbing stairs in the dark, one-eyed no less, with danger in wait above and below.

They’d climbed three flights so far but had yet to run into any more zombies. As they continued upward, Liam’s chest kept constricting. He hoped Katrina would choose the next floor to leave the stairs, yet she kept climbing and climbing.

“How high do we need to go?” he finally asked.

She turned, aimed her light at Liam, blinding his eye. “What do you mean?”

He raised a hand, and she lowered the light toward his chest. “Why are we climbing?”

“Because.” She spun the light from Liam, shined it up the stairs and kept walking.

“Thanks,” Liam grumbled, falling in step behind Clark.

The stairwell stank of death. They climbed another three floors, hearing scratching from the hallways past the stairwells, before they reached a quiet floor. Katrina insisted they climb another two floors to the tenth. Clark agreed—although he gave no indication why—giving Liam little choice but to follow and nod.

On the tenth floor she opened the door and held it open for Liam and Clark. The room was oddly empty. Most rooms Liam had seen, both this time and when he was forced to trek The Outback, were littered with Old Nation debris amid the few remaining relics of desperate survival. This room was barren except for dust like a carpet on the floor.

The room was relatively bright, lit by a long row of oversized windows displaying the city’s horrors below.

They went to the windows and looked out into the wasteland. Liam wondered if his face looked as hopeless as Katrina’s and Clark’s. He saw zombies, players, and orbs. No hope. From 10 floors up, in an office building that had managed to stay reasonably tall while so many of its brothers and sisters had crumbled to nothing, they could see much of the chaos.

An orb flew by the window, one floor below, then burst into a smoky plume lit by azure sparks. The broken machine swirled through the air on its descent to a few feet above the ground, where it was chased by a huddle of bandits.

Liam turned from the window to see that Katrina was gone. “Where did she go?”

Clark shrugged, still staring out the window. Liam stared with him, until a few moments later when Katrina returned.

“Floor’s clear,” she said. “There’s some stuff in the other rooms. I suggest we check it all out, see if there’s anything we can use. This area’s too neat. My guess is someone lives here. It’s worth checking out. Agreed?”

Katrina said it like a question, but Liam knew it wasn’t. Clark probably knew too. Both men nodded without a word.

They split up and, as expected, Liam found nothing. He did think Katrina was probably wrong—the area had been someone’s home but had long ago been abandoned. He found a room lined with shelves and neat rings in the dust. Outlines were faint but Liam was sure they had once harbored cans. One shelf read WATER. He swallowed to kill his sudden thirst.

“Find anything?”

Startled, Liam looked behind him. Katrina was standing at the room’s threshold, arms crossed, gaze and posture as sharp as her tone.

Liam could no longer hold it inside. “What in the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.” She crossed her arms tighter, and her scowl seemed to deepen. Everything about her said the opposite of her words.

“Yes, you do. And if we’re all working together, it would be great to know what’s crawled up your ass.”

“Nothing’s crawled up my ass, Liam. I just want to get this over and done with.”

“Over and done with? You knew what we were going to do. You wanted to go find Adam.
So why did you volunteer if you were afraid?”

“Who said anything about afraid?” she asked. “Besides, it’s not like I had much of a choice. What was my option, to let you go alone? Or go with Ana? You’d both be dead, and we still wouldn’t have Adam.”

Liam wanted to lash out, angry that she doubted him so much. Who was to say that he couldn’t have found Adam on his own or with Ana’s help? Liam wanted to argue but couldn’t. He didn’t know much about a past Katrina wasn’t willing to share, but he did know that much of her life was spent surviving the elements, predators, and zombies, while Liam grew up relatively safe behind City 6 walls.

No, he wouldn’t argue. He was ready to change the subject instead, until a deafening gunshot tore through the morning and took his chance. The first shot was followed by another immediate two.

“Clark?” Liam said, knowing it wasn’t.

“No.” Katrina shook her head, arms now uncrossed. She reached for her weapon. “He has a blaster, not a lead shooter.”

As if to answer Katrina and the gunfire, the sound of a blaster echoed the shots. Then, a tiny voice cried, “Sorry, I thought you were a zombie!”

From far off it sounded like a little girl. Up close, Liam saw he was wrong. She was much taller than he pictured from her voice. He could only see her from the back as he and Katrina approached, but her voice was smaller than her size. She was at least a teenager, if not an adult, and wore the blue that Egan had told them all the players were wearing.

“Put the gun down or I’ll shoot you,” Katrina said.

The girl was holding her gun on Clark, who looked as confused as Liam did. She half turned from the tattooed man to the newcomers, saw that they were both armed, and that Clark still had his blaster aimed at her. She aimed the gun to the floor, extended her arm, slowly squatted, and rested her gun on the ground.

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Get her gun,” Katrina instructed Liam.

He went over, keeping his own blaster trained on the girl, and bent to grab her pistol—an old revolver.

Liam stood, his heart nearly skipping a beat as he met her eyes and saw the girl’s face for the first time.

“Chelsea?”

“You know her?” Clark said.

“Yeah, she’s from City 6. We grew up together. She was a friend of Ana’s a long time ago.”

Something crawled onto Katrina’s face and died. Her eyes darkened and her mouth curled down at the corners. Her soured silence gave Liam a thirst to slap her. He turned to Chelsea.

She peered at Liam, studying his face. He remembered his hair, beard, and eye patch. He wondered if she knew who he was, then figured his voice hadn’t changed. He was about to identify himself anyway. She struggled for words and stuttered, “Liam? I . . . I th-thought you were dead!”

“No, that’s just what The State wanted you to think. How did you end up in The Games?”

Her face relaxed, ever so slightly. “Do you remember Alfonso Frailey?”

Liam thought, then shook his head.

“He’s your age. We’d been going out for a while, turned out his dad was in The Underground. Alfonso wasn’t, me neither. I didn’t even know his dad was until all of us were arrested—his mom and little sister too. I haven’t seen anyone but Alfonso since we were brought in.”

“They took you in?” Liam asked. “Just like that?”

Chelsea nodded. “The new Chief, Ives, he’s been going crazy since Keller left. Alfonso thinks it’s because he has something to prove. We weren’t doing anything wrong when City Watch came, just looking at old flix. They stormed in and dragged us off. I can still hear Samantha screaming.”

Liam could feel Katrina’s growing impatience and ignored it. “Have you seen Adam yet or anyone else from the City?”

“No. I spent last week alone in a cell, then was driven here in a van with five others, two more girls and three guys. But I didn’t know any of them. Only person I recognized at The Opening Rush was Alfonso, but he was all the way on the farthest side of the line and didn’t see me. At least, I don’t think he did.”

It looked like Chelsea was trying not to cry.

She swallowed, then seemed to catch herself. “What about you guys? Are you in The Games?”

Liam’s back was still to Katrina, but he could feel her stare and imagined her tapping foot.

“No, and neither of my friends are in The Games. They’re helping me.”

“Helping you with what?” The question left in a whisper, harsh, as if afraid of his answer. “And what about Ana? Is she alive too?”

“Yes, Ana’s still alive; she’s safe.” He nodded toward Clark. “They’re helping me find Adam. We have to get him and bring him—”

“That’s enough.” Katrina cut him off. “We need to get going. We’ve wasted too much time here already.”

Liam smiled at Chelsea, awkward and apologetic, then said, “I’ll be right back,” and walked to Katrina. Clark kept his blaster trained on the girl as Liam pulled Katrina to the side and whispered.

“We need to bring her along.”

“No,” Katrina barely let him finish. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t be this cold,” he argued. “If we don’t help her, she’s dead.”

“You don’t know that, Liam. She could be fine. Plenty of people survive. We’re on a mission. Last thing we need is to be looking after some kid.”

“She’s not a kid, Katrina. She’s the same age as Ana and me.”

“And you’ve survived fine.”

“Barely, with a lot of help, and now a missing eye. She’s not a fighter—if we don’t help her, we’re consigning her to death.”

Liam realized he might have said the last part too loud and felt a flush of guilt for showing his hand.

“Exactly. She’s not a fighter; you said it yourself. She’ll slow us down at best. At worst, she’ll consign us to death.”

“How can you be so selfish?”

“I’m not being selfish, Liam. You are. You’re putting your need for warm fuzzies above the practical truth: your little friend could slow us down or get us killed. You left Ana so you could bring her brother back. How do you think she’s going to feel when you bring that back instead?”

Katrina nodded at Chelsea, as though she were a bag of garbage waiting for the dump. Again he wanted to hit her.

“Well, I’m not going to just leave her to die. If I can help someone, I will. What harm could one more person possibly be? Another set of eyes and ears, more senses to help us stay alive.”

“Another mouth to feed or scream too loud.”

“I’m giving her my gun, then. It’s the right thing to do. If you’re so concerned about our odds of survival, know that it’s your choices making them worse.”

“This is your choice, Liam. And a stupid one. Why give up your weapon, just to prove a point?”

Liam turned from Katrina and walked over to Chelsea, drawing his weapon on the way. He made his eyes as kind as he could. She opened her hand as if by instinct and Liam set the gun on her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us. We have to find Adam and can’t afford to take anyone. We’ve been out here for a while, and know what to expect. If you come with us, we’re all at risk.”

Her voice cracked as she tried not to cry. “But I can’t be alone. Please, you can’t leave me. You can’t go. You can’t do that to me.”

He squeezed her fingers tighter around the gun. “This will help you.” Then, knowing what he was doing, Liam added, “Do you know how to use it?”

She shook her head and burst into tears. “No!”

Liam wouldn’t turn to see but felt reasonably sure that her vulnerable wail, trying hard to stay strong, had to have some effect on Katrina. Plus, there was no way Liam was going to use that peashooter Chelsea was carrying.

He looked at Clark and saw the man’s resolve to side with Katrina slipping.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said sadly, setting a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “We have to bring Adam home, make sure he’s safe. We have to go.”

Chelsea tried harder to choke back her tears, but lost them anyway. “What do you mean home? Where are you living? Please, you can’t do this. Please take me with you. I’ll shoot whoever I have to, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just please don’t leave me.”

Liam looked back at Katrina but didn’t give her a chance to recant. He turned back to Chelsea. “Sorry, we just can’t. We have to go.”

Liam patted her on the shoulder, then turned toward the exit. Chelsea erupted in fresh tears behind him, then audibly choked them back, forcing herself into steady breath, seemingly unwilling to lose any more pride than she already had.

“You can come with us,” Katrina said out of nowhere. She dipped down, grabbed the girl’s gun, and snatched Liam’s blaster back. She threw it to him.

Katrina turned to the girl. “Stay in the middle and keep your eyes out for everything. Got it?”

“Got it,” Chelsea vigorously nodded.

Katrina nodded at Clark, then the door, gesturing for him to go first. He stepped through the doorway, then Chelsea behind him. Before Liam could follow, Katrina pulled him back and whispered.

“If she slows us down even a little, I’ll put my sword right through her.”

Liam stepped through the doorway and muttered under his breath. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

CHAPTER 21—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland made a wide smile that Connor couldn’t see and stepped from the room’s only light, out of the shadows and into the dull flicker coming from behind the traitor.

Fingers woven in front of him, Sutherland made a long and loping orbit around the room, circling Connor’s lonely chair in the middle, hoping to drive the traitor’s temperature higher with every lingering pass.

Once finished, the throne room would be Sutherland’s favorite room in Hydrangea. For now, this confession room was the one he thought of most. It was special, because only here did people always find their god . . . before telling him truths they’d barely dared to whisper before.

All men were willing to sing the gospel once they had someone to show them the song.

Connor Vinson remained impressively frozen in his chair. Sutherland knew the man wanted to struggle or squirm, yank his restraints, and pull away from the chair. But he wouldn’t give his captors the courtesy of seeing his exterior crack. It would be admirable if it weren’t so explicitly stupid.

Connor was cuffed, hands behind his back, metal bracelets digging hard into his flesh. Gallus stood by the door, on the other side of a thin tangle of shadows, as required by The Patriots Constitution: a dog sitting by its master’s feet wagging its tail, while the master did as he pleased to the stray bitch trying to usurp his land.

“I won’t give you more than one chance. This is it, Vinson. Spend it as you wish. I’m innocent, I didn’t do anything, I don’t know anything, or even I’m sorry: none of these are acceptable. I want a full confession. And if your confession meets my satisfaction, I might leave you alive, though probably not. For sure I’ll spare you from the zombies, though, and that’s something, right?”

“I’m innocent, I didn’t do anything, and I don’t know a thing.” Connor’s lips cracked into a thin smile.

Connor and his stupid, stupid balls. Sutherland would have to slice the balls from his scrotum, then make the traitor eat them with jam. He chuckled at the thought, still grinning into the man’s treasonous glare.

Sutherland said, “You didn’t dare to say you weren’t sorry.” It dangled in the air like a question. In the room’s near silence, Gallus swallowed.

Sutherland looked thoughtful. He brought his fingers to his chin and started to stroke it. “Wasn’t it you, Connor Vinson—traitor extraordinaire—who tried to drum up support to get the good people here to rise up and vote me out?”

Connor looked at Sutherland like a petulant child. “Do we still have that ear kit?” Sutherland asked. He turned to Gallus. “The one we used on Sallinger last September?”

Gallus nodded like a good little number two.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Sutherland returned his eyes to the traitor. “Hearing problems have a way of working themselves out in here.” He cleared his throat and repeated, “Weren’t you the one rousing the rabble to vote me out of Hydrangea last year?”

“I don’t have to talk.” Connor looked like he wanted to spit.

“Oh, but you do.”

“I demand to see my representative, as afforded by law, and stated by Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution.”

Sutherland barked laughter. “Article 19! How did you know that one was my favorite?” As his laughter settled, he added, “Of course I could never forget Article 19. Gallus is your representative, as afforded by law, and stated by Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution.”

Sutherland nodded to the man in the shadows.

Connor was brazen and stupid enough to laugh. “Gallus isn’t my representative or anyone’s. He’s your little bitch and nothing more.”

Sutherland gasped and slapped his hand over his mouth as if suppressing laughter. “Oh, my.” He looked over at Gallus. “You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”

For the first time Sutherland was happy to see terror crack through the traitor’s veneer.

“You may think he’s nothing but a bitch, and I suppose you’d be right, but only if you compared Gallus to me. Compared to you,” Sutherland shrugged, “he’s nothing of the sort. Gallus would never wait until a man’s back was turned to scrawl profanity in feces on his favorite chair, nor would he commit acts of betrayal that are likely to get him killed. Gallus is more of a man than you’ll ever be, traitor, because he has enough balls to face his enemies. Are we enemies, Vinson?”

Sutherland leaned toward the traitor. Connor said nothing to him, though, just turned to Gallus and hissed, “You’re his little bitch, you know that, don’t you?”

Sutherland barked more laughter. To Gallus he said, “You’re not going to take that, are you? Go ahead and hit him—he’s practically begging you.”

Gallus looked uncertain.

“You can’t intimidate me,” Connor said. “I know my rights.”

“Show the man his rights.” Sutherland laughed. “Go on, Gallus. Hit him as hard as you can across his stupid traitor’s face. Then maybe we can start talking.”

The traitor stayed frozen as Gallus marched over, probably still stupidly certain this was only an act. He barely reacted, until Sutherland’s number two’s fists were bashing his face on both sides.

Sutherland roared. “You have no rights! You are in this room until I’m finished with you. And you will confess. All traitors eventually do.”

“This is bullshit,” Connor said, his jaw already swelling and probably throbbing. “I can’t just disappear, you know. People will look for me. They’ll know where I went. You can’t get away with this. You’re not even the leader.” As if it just occurred to him, he added, “I demand to speak with Jeffries.”

“Oh, my,” Sutherland said, as if worried. “You mean you didn’t hear?”

Connor’s bottom lip twitched—his version of No, I didn’t.

“He hasn’t heard.” Sutherland turned to Gallus and spoke in a hush. “Do you think we should tell him?”

Sutherland turned back to Connor and smiled. “Jeffries has been replaced by King Shit.”

Sutherland was pleased to finally see the traitor struggle in his restraints, making a valiant yet impossible effort to leap from his chair.

“You won’t get away with this,” he cried out. “My people will never allow it.”

“Your people?” Sutherland repeated. “May I ask what people you might be referring to? Last I heard you had no one. Your wife was too stupid to keep near the borders, and your daughter, well, it’s unfortunate that she was eaten so early, before the age of seven—so many of life’s best parts she never experienced. But I suppose that’s a father’s just deserts for not being careful. So, traitor, we’ve established that there’s no one to mourn you. Tell me, who are your people.”

“You can’t see it,” Connor said, looking like he could murder Sutherland with his eyes, “but there’s a revolution in Hydrangea happening right under your nose. People here don’t respect you. They want things back like they used to be—you’re just too drunk and buried in whores to notice.”

Sutherland knelt in front of Connor, daring the man to butt his head or try and bite his face. Instead, the traitor did nothing, waiting for Sutherland’s next move.

“Do you really believe you can take me out? Hmmm . . . I wonder if you can.” Sutherland paused, appearing to think. “I assure you better men have tried.”

“You’re a fool and a dictator, abusing your power. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The Patriots stand for freedom and for living a true life outside The Cities. But you’re as bad as The State, forcing outliers to surrender earnings, bleeding them dry for nothing in return.”

“You must be joking,” Sutherland said, standing, genuinely affronted. “Nothing in return? The Barrens are badlands, offering little chance for survival. This is Hydrangea, the best of all the camps. We live in a state-of-the-art facility, outside The Cities, where people are safe, unless they do something stupid, as your family is prone to do. Before me, this place was no different from the others. Now it’s the safest place outside The Cities—and free. That makes it better than anywhere in the world. Do you really think I don’t deserve respect for that?”

Spittle flew from his lips onto the traitor’s unblinking face. “Fine,” he continued to spit. “I’d like to see how well you rats can scurry without me.”

Sutherland turned to Gallus. “Leave us.”

The traitor’s face drained quickly of color. Sutherland could see its pallor even in the dim room.

“No,” he began to beg. “Don’t go. You can’t leave me with him. You know what he’ll do. This isn’t the work of a Patriot!”

Gallus was already on his way to the door. Still the traitor pled.

“Get me representation. You can do it, Gallus. You don’t have to do this. You’re better than that!”

The door closed behind Gallus, sealing them inside.

“You really shouldn’t have called him a bitch,” Sutherland winked. “He’s quite the delicate flower.”

Sutherland turned from the traitor and walked to the room’s only piece of furniture other than the chair—a small end table bolted to the corner floor. A small metal box rested on top. Sutherland lifted it, holding his eyes on Connor.

“Would you like to know what’s in here?”

Sutherland waited several seconds for the traitor to speak, then shrugged. “This box has 17 ways for me to get you talking. I’m certain at least one will work.”

Sutherland brought the box over to Vinson and showed the traitor his many species of pliers and knives.

Episode 4

CHAPTER 22—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Adam fell hard to the ground, hands flying to his nose, screaming as he tried to stop blood gushing between his splayed fingers.

“Come on!” One of the men grabbed him roughly by the back of his jumpsuit and dragged him from the building. He dropped Adam to the icy ground and landed a devastating kick to the young man’s soft middle.

Adam scrambled for his blaster, but he couldn’t see where it had fallen with all the red blurring his eyes.

“Should we look for the one that escaped?”

Adam blinked toward the gravelly voice as he tried to recover. It belonged to a pug of a man, waving a long blade he clearly wanted to use to catch and cut the freed girl.

“No,” said Black Hat. “We don’t need ’er. We’ve got a replacement.”

“What?” Adam gasped, a second before he took a second kick to the ribs.

“You heard him.” Pug yanked Adam up to his unsteady feet before throwing him back to the ground just behind the horses. Pug leaned in and pressed his gun barrel into Adam’s temple.

“Careful,” a gray-bearded man said to Pug. “He looks like a wily one—might want to watch your hands.”

Gray Beard nodded toward Pug’s full mitts, one holding the sword, and the other freshly outfitted with a blaster.

Pug said, “He’ll be no trouble. If he is, I’ll cut him to pieces.”

Gray Beard grunted, then went to the coach, grabbed another chained collar, attached one end to the back of the carriage, and approached Adam.

Adam screamed, hoping to capture Colton’s attention—assuming his companion was still back in the building where Adam had left him before running off like a fool.

Pug put his blaster to Adam’s skull, holding him down as the other man opened the collar and lowered it onto his neck, laughing as he clamped it shut.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up,” Black Hat snarled, his whisper harsh. “You’ll attract the zombies!”

As if on cue, a wave of moaning rolled in from behind them. Adam turned and saw six zombies shuffling one by one from the building back close to where he’d left Colton. To his minor relief, they were the slow-moving sort, but they were still close enough that they could easily catch the group if the carriage didn’t get rolling.

“Uh-oh,” Black Hat said. “Looks like the show’s gonna start early.” He ran back to the coach and climbed back to his spot up top as the other men followed, all diving inside.

The woman Adam hadn’t set free wailed as the zombies approached, still 20 feet off but closing in quickly.

Adam scanned the snow, searching for something—anything—he might use as a weapon.

He saw only puddles and some debris awkwardly piled against the side of the building (which was impossible to reach anyway). He’d have to fight the undead barehanded.

The woman, still screaming, backed away from the approaching zombies. Adam balled his fists, heart racing, bracing body and mind for certain attack.

He thought through his training at City Watch, which involved precious little close-quarters combat and virtually no unarmed fighting. However, Adam had spent the past half dozen months in solitary confinement going over and over moves on his cell’s cold concrete floor until ducks and parries were automatic reflexes. Whether or not those moves would be effective . . .

The three zombies in front flailed with outstretched arms and tromped through the dirty snow directly toward the woman. Adam readied himself to kick at the closest monster’s knees. He’d deaden the undead’s legs, then kick its skull into mush once it had fallen.

Just as the first zombie was about to make its move, though, it fell back, covering its ears as if in excruciating pain, shrieking an unholy cry like an animal trapped. The zombies just behind and beside it did the same thing. The swarm receded like a wave from the shore, all six zombies backing away from the still-screaming woman.

What the hell?

Adam turned and saw Black Hat half grinning, holding a small red cylinder high in the air. Whatever it was seemed to be emitting some sort of frequency—or something—that only the zombies could hear.

So that’s how they keep the zombies away.

Black Hat reached into his coat, retrieved his blaster, and hit three zombies in three shots, their rapidly disintegrating husks dropping to the ground. The second row of zombies were still backing up, shrieks growing louder as Black Hat fired another three shots. The undead fell into bloody chunks, plumes of steam rising from the snow.

Adam was impressed—and horrified—by Black Hat’s accuracy. He turned back to look up at the stagecoach.

Black Hat returned the blaster to his coat and looked down at Adam. “Don’t thank me just yet, kid.”

If he was going to die, Adam was determined to be brave on his way. He straightened his shoulders. “What do you mean by that?”

Black Hat chuckled, then turned, sat on the wooden bench, and snapped the reins to set the horses in motion.

Adam screamed from behind the stagecoach. “What do you want with us?”

The man ignored Adam as the horses began moving, the chain pulling taut and jerking Adam forward.

After the stagecoach had passed two alleyways and was slowly approaching a third filled with broken-down trucks lurking in open doorways into dozens of buildings likely teeming with zombies, the woman turned to Adam. Her eyes red and wet, she asked, “Why didn’t you set me free first?”

Without any idea what to say, Adam told her the truth.

“Because the other girl looked like my sister.” He forced himself to hold her gaze, instead of looking down. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d have more time.”

She scowled. “You done pissed them off.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. They came up on us and killed the man we were teamed with, then they put us in chains and forced us to follow.”

“How long have you been chained up?”

“An hour before you came.”

“And you have no idea what they’re planning?”

“None, but whatever it is, it ain’t good.”

Adam stared at the back of Black Hat’s head.

No, it’s not.

He’d heard stories at City Watch about bandit slavers in The Barrens. He’d figured it was a myth, since the ones who told the stories had never seen it with their own eyes. Now, here in The Outback, being dragged behind a black-hatted devil, Adam wondered if the men were taking them as slaves to some godforsaken hell and if maybe death would be better.

He imagined the pug bastard trying to have his way with the woman . . . or with him. He looked like the type to rape slaves. And maybe eat them once finished.

He looked back again, hoping against hope that Colton had forgiven his reckless decision. But he saw no sign and after another minute of walking decided: death beats slavery.

CHAPTER 23—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland returned the knives and pliers to their box, one by one—partly because he preferred that his favorite tools always stay neat, and partly because he enjoyed the ritual of show, making each movement matter as the traitor stared captive from his chair.

Sutherland wondered how well Connor could see him, with blood filling both of his eyes and all that flesh around them so crimson and bloated. Probably not well, especially considering the excruciating pain he must be feeling, pain eating through his cells, into his brain . . .

He snapped the lid shut, thinking of Oswald. The doctor had never had a stomach for torture, either as participant or observer. Leadership wasn’t for the weak. Men in charge had to be capable of doing what others would not, including the extraction of the information needed for survival, the sort that would never be surrendered any other way.

And yet as he walked to the door without any parting words to the traitor, he wondered if Connor had really surrendered all there was. Maybe he would return later, to see if an evening alone with his pain might make him even more talkative.

Sutherland stepped out of the chamber and fell immediately back, startled, against the door he’d just closed behind himself.

He straightened his shoulders as the four men approached, feeling suddenly stupid for not having his sword. Something Gallus would do: an idiot’s move. Now that idiot, Gallus, was marching down the hallway with three men walking as guard. His gait, and the way he was looking directly at Sutherland like a child looking to unseat his older brother, gave him away. Gone was the subservient look Gallus usually wore. No, this was the look of a traitor about to betray the one man who could keep Hydrangea safe.

Sutherland squinted, trying to get a better look at the three men walking a slight step behind Gallus. No use—he couldn’t remember their names, no matter how hard he tried to dig back in his memory. Their hands brushed against their sidearms, almost caressing them as they walked. The three men drew, barrels leveled at Sutherland as he stepped toward them, then stopped just a few feet shy. Only Gallus held no weapon, and yet his betrayal was loudest of all.

“What’s going on here?” Sutherland demanded.

Gallus was trying not to blink or sweat, just as Sutherland knew he would try to speak without splinters in his voice. But Sutherland also knew that Gallus was only a kid and wore his gumption like another man’s hat. The harder Sutherland glared, the more difficult it would be for the turncoat to maintain his composure. Sutherland would snap the man like a twig, then throw him into the fire to burn. Once down, the other three would crumble like loosely packed dirt.

But Gallus’ voice didn’t crack. Almost booming he said, “You have violated Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution and are hereby under arrest.”

Sutherland laughed, trying not to bristle. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He tried to sound even, waving his hand at the three men and their silly guns. “And please, put those away. This entire place reeks of danger. Traitors are growing like weeds.”

Sutherland narrowed his eyes and peered at each man in turn, before settling on Gallus. “We must cease the mutiny before it occurs. Right now there’s still time for everyone to make the right decision. The decision that will keep you and your families safe.”

Without flinching Gallus said, “Under the law, I am acting leader until such time that a free election is held.”

It was one thing to be stupid, another to suffer such delusions of grandeur. If Sutherland didn’t feel the moment’s true danger, he might almost feel sorry for Gallus and his potentially fatal mistake. If Gallus was willing to back down now, Sutherland might spare his life.

“Enough,” Sutherland snapped. “This is stupid. All of it.”

He thrust out his arm, planning to grab a weapon from the closest soldier—what was his name?—but the guard flinched back and fixed his aim harder on Sutherland.

Sutherland looked at Gallus.

“Don’t do this.” Sutherland tried to keep his voice bold and not show any sign of weakness, let alone begging. “You’re making the worst mistake of your life. You know who I am, you know what I’m capable of.” He lowered his voice to a low murmur, almost a growl. “You know what I’ll do, to you and everyone else involved in this coup.”

Gallus turned to his left. The name Benson leapt into Sutherland’s head—perhaps that was the soldier’s name.

“Don’t you dare,” Sutherland snarled, taking a step back and hating everyone in the hall—himself most of all—for forcing his retreat,.

Sutherland opened his mouth to give Gallus one final warning, a chance to cease his stupidity and maybe save his pitifully insignificant life. But before Sutherland could form words, two of the three guards circled behind him while the third—and surliest looking of the three—raised his weapon to Sutherland’s forehead, silently daring him to move.

All four were fools to believe they could usurp him.

“You are a traitor, and you know what happens to traitors at Hydrangea.” Sutherland held his even tone, eyes still drilling into Gallus. “You will pay for this, boy.”

Gallus looked past Sutherland, toward the two guards behind him. “Take him into custody and free Connor Vinson,” he said, without the slightest quiver.

Sutherland allowed his hands to be shackled behind his back—no need to tussle with no chance of winning. Forced to surrender doesn’t mean done. Let Gallus have his little victory. He’d be less prepared when Sutherland sprang into action.

Yet Sutherland couldn’t resist one last dig at the traitor. Softly, almost sweetly, he purred, “I am going to slowly peel the skin from your body, everywhere but your face. That I’ll save for last. Oh, the fun I will have.”

“Our options are clear, gentlemen,” Gallus said, turning from Sutherland. “If he violates any of our laws as we see them, pull the trigger and shoot him dead.”

CHAPTER 24—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana sat on Dr. Oswald’s examination table. His office was in a secure section of The Station, several tunnels down from the living quarters. She looked around, surprised at how much the room resembled a City 6 doctor’s office, clean and sterile. She wondered if Egan had been able to smuggle medical equipment from one of The Cities or if the old train station had been built with a doctor’s office inside it.

So far, Oswald’s office—and the long hallway leading to it—was all she’d seen of this sector, which was sealed off by a barricade and two guards who had apparently forgotten how to smile. The hall sprawled for some distance leading into darkened corridors where Oswald said he’d conducted experiments on infected subjects found in The Barrens. Ana felt a slithering chill at the thought of being so close to infected subjects—and perhaps to already-turned zombies.

Somewhere deep inside—likely in cells forever altered by the virus—Ana could still feel when the undead were near. She could feel it now, an anxious patter of her heart that swore something wasn’t right. The hammering thud tightened her chest and made her feel like she was sweating more than her clammy brow suggested.

She wasn’t sure if her reaction was to Oswald, who himself had partly turned zombie before arresting his transformation with the robotic enhancements; if it was her brain messing with her because Oswald had informed her of the infected down the hall; or if she truly felt them nearby.

Oswald went to the adjoining room to check on something, leaving Ana to nurse her rising anxiety. She closed her eyes and tried to think only calming thoughts. But closing her eyes brought visions of zombies: chomping through the guards at the checkpoint, then snarling on their way toward the living quarters, feasting on the men, women, and children who lived here until there was no one left.

Perhaps even worse than the thought of zombies rampaging through the tunnels would be for the virus itself to seep into the population and spread like the filthy disease that it was. A disease that had wiped out most of humanity so many years ago. A disease seemingly eager to finish the job.

And for all The Station’s precautions, Egan was still undermining his people’s safety by not quarantining Calla in the secure area with the rest of the infected. If the girl began to turn before someone noticed, she could make The Station a memory.

Oswald stepped into the room and looked at her oddly. “Are you OK?”

“I just feel really nervous,” Ana admitted. “My heart won’t stop racing.” She paused, swallowed, then went ahead and asked what she didn’t want to. “Are there zombies nearby?”

Oswald looked at her, something playing at the corner of his mouth, a decayed eyebrow slightly raised. “You can sense them?”

“Yes.” Ana nodded, now meeting Oswald’s eyes. “Ever since I was bitten. I can feel them when they’re close.”

“Me too,” he said. “There are zombies topside, roaming The Barrens. I feel them all the time. But at the moment, we’ve only one subject, infected but not yet turned.”

“How close are you to finding a cure? Be honest. I want to know how long Egan plans to keep me prisoner.”

She knew the word prisoner sounded ugly, but Ana said it anyway. The doctor sighed, not correcting her.

“I can’t say for certain. We’re taking it day by day, but without more human subjects, it’s difficult. Believe me, no one’s more motivated than Egan to find a cure. It’s his daughter’s life on the line.”

“I know,” Ana said, conflicted. “How is Calla doing? How long do you think she has?”

“I can’t say.”

Ana looked at Oswald’s robotic hand and half-metal face, suddenly getting an idea. “If she does get worse, can’t you replace her limbs with bionic parts, like you did with yourself?”

“I didn’t operate on myself. I had others, trained surgeons, to help me. We don’t have the staff here, let alone access to the parts or equipment required. Besides, in most cases, the virus infects the brain early on, which would render any attempts to salvage limbs pointless. While much of my body had atrophied, the infection hadn’t affected my brain. The odds of that being the case with anyone else, especially Calla, are statistically impossible. I think I can keep the virus at bay a while longer. Maybe as long as six months or with luck even a year. But I hope your blood will be the key to a cure before that.”

Ana hoped that was the case: she didn’t think she could stay in The Station another year—not without her brother and Liam or something to make the tunnels feel like her home.

Oswald asked Ana to roll up the sleeve on her blue tunic.

She turned away as he moved the needle closer to her arm. Ana had never been particularly afraid of needles but couldn’t stand to watch as they punctured her skin. She waited patiently as Oswald filled four vials, then placed a small bandage on her arm. The doctor thanked her and carried his tray of vials through a large sliding metal door, beyond which she saw a room full of coolers.

She sat in silence, wondering how Liam was doing. Wondering if he’d found Adam. Earlier, Egan had offered her access to a monitor—one of the screens he didn’t allow The Station’s residents to watch for fear of exposing them to State propaganda. He told Ana that she could watch The Games to see how her brother was faring. She’d thanked him, but had said no, unable to bear the thought of seeing Adam while she herself was helpless to do anything to save him. That would make her feel more like a prisoner than she already felt. Instead she asked that he let her know if anything happened. Neither had to say what she meant by anything.

No one had heard news on the mission yet—not surprising since Egan had said that communications in or around The Outback would be simple for The State to pick up, so the rescue team would be observing radio silence until after leaving the ancient city.

She heard clanging above as the heating system kicked on and warm air poured through the vents. Ana looked around the lab, reconsidering her earlier stance of wanting to leave when Liam returned. The Station was filled with safety, electricity, running water, food, and company—all luxuries in The Barrens, particularly in winter. Then again, she couldn’t see herself settling in another underground community led by one man, one man who decided all. Even if things seemed OK now, how long before they ran afoul of Egan? What was to stop Egan from becoming another Sutherland?

Oswald returned and thanked Ana again for giving blood.

She asked, “How is Egan to live with?”

“What do you mean?”

“After what happened at Hydrangea with that crazy bastard Sutherland, I’m a little leery of moving into some other underground installation run by one man. What is he like?”

“He’s as fair a man as I’ve ever worked with.”

Ana laughed, “That sounds . . . diplomatic. What is he really like?”

“He has a few issues.” Oswald shrugged. “But who doesn’t?”

“What kind of issues?”

Oswald pursed his lips. “I’m not comfortable discussing this, Ana.”

She leaned forward. “What do you mean? Should I be worried?”

“No,” Oswald said. “Trust me. If anyone’s safe here, it’s you.”

“But?” Ana waited for the doctor to color his silence.

The door opened behind her. She turned to see Calla, surprisingly alone.

Oswald asked, “Where’s Elijah?”

“I ditched him,” Calla said, smiling mischievously. “I wanted to see Ana.”

“What did I tell you about ditching Elijah?” Oswald asked sternly, pointing a metal finger at her. “Your father will be ticked.”

“I know. But I get soooo bored with Elijah always around. I’m a girl. I need privacy. Girl time. Ana understands, right, Ana?”

Ana smiled. “Yeah, boys can be totally annoying.”

“Thank you!” Calla nearly squealed. “Just the other day I was trying to read, and he kept talking to me, like nonstop. He wouldn’t shut up.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Ana said playfully.

“Gross!”

Oswald sighed, “OK, ladies, I think this is my cue to leave you two alone. Let me call your father and let him know where you are before he—”

A siren killed his thought.

His eyes went wide as a red light over the door started to spin, casting the room in a strobing red hue. Ana tensed, looking around. “What’s going on?”

Oswald said nothing as he scrambled back into the office where he’d taken her vials, then returned moments later with a pair of blasters.

“Can you use this?” Oswald handed Ana one of the guns.

“Of course.”

“Good, get in there.” He pointed to the adjoining office. “And wait.”

“What’s going on?” she asked as Oswald began shoving her and Calla toward the room with the vials.

Oswald didn’t answer until they were in the room, and he was on the other side of the sliding metal door.

“A zombie has infiltrated The Station. You protect Calla, understand?”

The door slid shut and locked before Ana could answer.

CHAPTER 25—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland stared at his cell door, seething.

He was surprised to see that Gallus had grown a pair. How, he had no idea. His Brussels sprouts had barely been peas while serving as Sutherland’s second.

How dare they take him into custody and lock him away; how dare they think they could do this to him; how dare they so arrogantly think he was powerless to stop them?

What made Sutherland angriest was the time it must have taken to plan the insurgence. It seemed as though it had come from nowhere. Gallus had apparently left the chamber so that Sutherland could take care of business. It was impossible to believe that his betrayal was born in that moment. Gallus had to have been nursing thoughts of treason before then. Maybe he was the one who had allowed that “King Shit” crap to happen.

Sutherland was plenty familiar with betrayal. The weak and petty hid like snakes in the grass, waiting to sink inferior fangs into superior strength, but in all his years and with all he’d given to Hydrangea, Sutherland had never been betrayed by his inner council. He’d been blind to trust someone so young as Gallus. In retrospect, he should’ve seen the man’s sycophantic behavior as a raw thirst for power. Such thirst could never be sated by serving one man, no matter how noble the cause.

As the hours ticked on, Sutherland’s hunger began to swell. He was starting to feel light-headed. He hadn’t been in this cell all that long, but he also hadn’t eaten since an early dinner the evening before. A night with plenty of brew and his favorite whore had left him empty. Morning started with the shit on his throne, then immediately moved into the traitor’s interrogation.

Sutherland stared down at his bed and the toilet, the dimly lit cell’s only two pieces of furniture. He wanted to kill someone. Many people. All deserving.

Soon, I will have my chance.

He kept repeating that to himself, because to think anything else would allow him to doubt he could get out of this jam. And doubt was one of your worst enemies when stuck in a cell. You needed to be strong and keep your resolve. His strength, he was certain, would give him an opportunity to strike back. He had to keep holding on.

The longer Sutherland sat, the more he was able to piece together the conspiracy’s puzzle.

The shit-covered throne was a catalyst designed to move him into action, get him to “break the law” so they could wag their crooked fingers between him and the ink marring The Patriot’s Constitution, a document they clearly did not understand. His opposition knew he would do what had to be done to keep Hydrangea safe. What cowards—to stage their coup while he was busy with the job they were all too yellow to do.

Gallus!

Sutherland hated that he’d been so blind, trusting when he shouldn’t have. He wondered how long they would make him wait to stand trial. Would they seek to hang him or merely send him out into The Barrens to fend for himself? They might think the latter a harsher punishment, but it would be their undoing. Sutherland could survive the winter and return in the spring, then burn Hydrangea to nothing.

The thought of Gallus and the other traitors sitting in his new throne room, commanding his officers, gorging their fat faces on his delicate food, sleeping in his chambers, screwing his whores—was a blade in his gut, and every hour twisted it deeper.

These people weren’t leaders. They were usurpers, taking advantage of a situation, of Sutherland’s leniency following Ana, Liam, and Katrina’s escape. And, of course, Oswald after that. He realized now that he should have come down harder, perhaps sealed the base like a drum. He was weak for not going further. That weakness had landed him in this cell while another ass sat on his throne. He should have held everyone responsible for helping the traitors flee . . . and stuck a handful of heads on pikes in the dining hall to keep the rest from their whispers. Instead he was forced to sit in this cell like a rat in a hole, waiting for his chance to run.

But his first and second round of interrogations after Oswald fled had produced nothing, so Sutherland had quit searching, assuming the rot had stopped with Oswald.

Clearly, it hadn’t.

I should have eliminated every cancerous cell.

There was no way they’d get away with this. He wondered if that old fool Jeffries knew about the coup, if he hadn’t somehow orchestrated it from Sagebrush. Whatever the case, neither he, nor Gallus, nor anyone else appointed could hope to run Hydrangea or keep it from devolving into chaos. Nor would they know what to do with the potential zombie solution Oswald had been working on. Sutherland wasn’t a praying man, but he hoped they wouldn’t discover the canisters of weaponized zombie virus before he could reclaim his position as leader. If knowledge of the canisters got back to Gallus or Jeffries, things could get ugly. The Council of Patriots would never approve of his plans to attack the remaining Cities.

Following the deaths in City 1, the other leaders had lost their backbones, second-guessing themselves and believing that maybe they’d made a mistake. They had ordered Sutherland to surrender his remaining canisters, which they had supposedly destroyed.

But Sutherland hadn’t gotten to this position by listening to others. Little did they know he had squirreled away enough to end every City three times over.

Sutherland wasn’t sure how long it had been—maybe four hours, though it could’ve been twice that—before the door finally opened and Horrance the ogre shuffled in with a plate.

“Horrance!” Sutherland said, happy to see him—assuming Horrance wasn’t also a traitor.

“Hello, Sir. I have your dinner.”

Behind Horrance, Sutherland noticed a second guard standing by, palm to the butt of his rifle.

Of course they wouldn’t trust Horrance alone.

Bastards.

Sutherland took the tray and looked down to see two slices of bread, a piece of overcooked meat, half an ear of old-looking corn, and a tin cup of water. He licked his lips, imagining the metallic taste as the sight of food stirred his appetite hard enough to raise a growl. He hated himself for being so weak but felt grateful it was only Horrance.

Good ole Horrance won’t judge me for being hungry, for being stupid enough to land in a cell.

“Thank you,” Sutherland said. He stared past the giant to glare at the other guard as he took the tray from Horrance’s massive paws. “You need two guards to keep me in line now, is that it?”

The guard said nothing but didn’t flinch.

Sutherland pictured himself slicing the guard’s throat. If they’d given him utensils, he might have tried.

They left without a word. Sutherland thought to call after Horrance, You’ve betrayed me too? but chose not to as the giant might still be on his side. The last thing he wanted to do was out a loyalist with access to his cell.

Sutherland lifted the meat for a bite when he saw a piece of brown paper folded beneath it. He dropped his meat to the plate, grabbed and unfolded the paper, then read the message.

TONIGHT WE WILL RIGHT THE WRONG.

Sutherland stared at the awkward scrawl, unsure if it was a threat from his captors or a sign from his supporters that help was on its way.

As Sutherland wolfed down his food, he tried not to worry that he could be chewing his final meal. All he needed was a little help, a small nudge, and he could easily tend to the rest. Surely there would be people out there who knew which side was right, men—or women—willing to stand up for what was true in this world.

It was impossible for Sutherland to believe that traitors had infiltrated every level of his council, or that every guard was a turncoat. Perhaps Horrance was gathering troops as Sutherland ate his long day’s first meal. He laughed at the irony. When things went bad, the most loyal man in the camp might be Horrance the Slow.

Good ole dumb Horrance.

At least Sutherland had been smart enough to keep the canisters from everyone else.

As Sutherland stared at the empty plate he realized that not only had Horrance brought him a meal and a message, he’d also hand delivered a weapon.

He picked up the plate then let it fall to the ground and shatter. He looked down, found the sharpest, longest piece, grabbed it with a smile, and shoved his new shiv under his pillow just as his cell door opened.

Piggy, the guard he’d dressed down outside the throne room, peered inside.

“Sorry,” Sutherland said, “slippery fingers.”

Piggy looked him up and down, then called for another guard. A second man appeared in the doorway, tall with a monobrow and iron jaw, whom Sutherland didn’t recognize. He wondered if his old guards had been replaced, and if so, how they had failed to get rid of Horrance.

Maybe because Horrance betrayed you too.

Piggy scowled. “You’ll pay for that.” He yanked the shock stick from his holster, aimed at Sutherland, then fired a blast at Hydrangea’s true leader before Sutherland could move to defend himself.

Sutherland fell back into bed, pain chewing through his cells, unable to move save for his twitching.

Piggy came toward him, smiling like he’d just found a table full of fat. “Oh, yeah, I thought of a funny joke, King Shit. You’re gonna love this one.”

He shoved the shock stick into Sutherland’s chest and delivered another arc of pure electricity.

Sutherland tried to fight it and stay conscious but couldn’t do either.

CHAPTER 26—ADAM LOVECRAFT

They’d walked for about an hour when Adam noticed the shrinking buildings on either side of the long road, three and four stories tall now rather than 10 and 15. Doors and windows on the nearest buildings were boarded shut—the first time he’d seen anything like that since fleeing the arena and entering the old, broken city at a sprint.

He wondered if the structures were now hovels, homes to bandits, maybe even homes to the devils driving the coach that dragged him behind it. Adam tried to see if he could spy movement in the dark spaces nested in the sliced recesses between planks, but he saw nothing: no blinking residents or sympathetic souls to take mercy on and help them, not even another prisoner like himself, staring out from his own boarded cell while waiting to die.

Adam heard one of the horses whinny, then the one beside it did the same. The carriage came to a stop.

His heart beat hard against his chest as he looked ahead and saw the road blocked by a large cargo truck. It was huge, its rust peeking out from the blanket of snow. Its bulk swallowed much of the alley, leaving barely enough room to squeeze by on foot.

Adam looked closer, peering to notice that the road’s debris wasn’t just the normal garbage they’d seen strewn through the city. The taste of copper coated his tongue as his eyes tried to make sense of what they didn’t want to see—hundreds of bones and mounds of bloodstained clothes poking through the snow.

How many others have they brought here?

Black Hat stood atop the carriage and surveyed the road like a baron. Appearing satisfied, he grunted, then reached down and picked up a pair of lead pipes each about two feet long. He turned to Adam and the woman.

“OK, folks. End of the line.”

He loudly clanged the pipes, one against the other. The sound echoed, then bounced off the alley walls and rolled with the wind for who knew how many miles.

Black Hat began to mimic Kirk Kirkman’s familiar voice: “Hear ye, hear ye, residents of The Outback! It’s time for another edition of The Outback Games! Let’s see if these lazy City folk—who look down their noses at us—can last one round in a genuine game of skill!”

Black Hat threw the pipes to the snow and got louder.

“If you can fend off the zombies for five minutes, I’ll sound the disruptor and send them off. Let you go on your merry ways.”

Adam scanned the windows and doors, still seeing no one. He wondered if there were in fact an audience beyond Black Hat and his unmerry bandits.

Suddenly, Adam spied subtle movement further down the alley, coming out of the doors and windows that hadn’t been boarded. At first a few crept out, then dozens.

He realized then that the bandits must’ve boarded the buildings closest to them to keep players from escaping even if they somehow broke their chains. It probably also allowed them to funnel all the zombies toward the other end of the alley, making escape that way impossible too. The only way out was to fight and kill them all.

Dozens of undead groaned in chorus as they ambled out into the freezing wind and toward their waiting dinner.

Adam grabbed the nearest pipe and watched as the woman shakily grabbed hers. Rather than prepare for the zombies, though, she decided to do something stupid: beg for mercy from men who clearly had none.

“Please, you don’t have to do this. Please! I’m a mother.”

The man’s smile was blacker than his hat. “Sorry, nothing personal, lady. But just so ya know, I didn’t care too much for my mama.” He thought about it for a minute. “Maybe it is a bit personal.”

Black Hat crossed his arms and watched, smiling at what was unfolding below like a man surveying a row of arcade stalls.

Adam saw men peering through the dirty curtained windows of the upper stories. Their faces were shrouded, but Adam imagined their smiles, grinning from front row balcony seats, waiting for the show.

He stared back at the horde—then down at his measly pipe. There was no way he could bash them all to death before one managed to rip into his flesh. He could only hope that they attacked the woman first, so he could maybe pick them off one at a time before they turned on him.

Something crossed Adam’s mind: a wicked, merciless thought.

If I hit the woman and knock the pipe from her hand, the zombies are sure to focus on her first.

Adam stared at her as she stupidly screamed, “Go away!” and swung her pipe at the first of the undead, as if they would listen or she might be able to reach them from 30 feet away. The woman was paying Adam no mind. He could easily do it. He could knock her out. And, maybe, buy himself time.

He hated himself for losing his mercy. He’d risked his life to save the girl who reminded him so much of his sister. And now, maybe an hour later, he was willing to kill the one who said she was a mother.

A gunshot rang out and thundered off the walls.

Adam half expected to look down to see a gaping wound in his chest and his blood adding more crimson to the snow. Instead, he heard Black Hat tumbling from the carriage top and falling to the ground, forward between the horses, which began to whinny and buck in their harnesses.

“Get the Hellweaver!” a voice shouted from the rooftops.

Colton!

Adam turned and ran toward the carriage.

The left side door swung open and Pug came out, sword in hand. He looked around for Black Hat, saw Adam racing toward him, screamed, and swung his sword.

Adam stumbled, lost his footing on the slippery ground, and fell hard onto his back.

Pug rushed him, sword raised, hate gleaming in his ugly brown eyes as spittle flew from his mouth.

Another gunshot, this time taking out the back of Pug’s skull. He fell to the ground. Adam scrambled to his feet, slipping, sliding, before finally finding purchase on the asphalt, cracked and covered with snow.

Noisy chaos erupted behind him: Colton firing shots, zombies moaning, and the sound of metal as it thwacked at rotting flesh. Adam wanted to look back and see if zombies were about to fall onto him. He wanted to look into the carriage as he passed the open door to see if the other two bandits were inside taking aim, if they’d come out to try and stop him, or—if they were smart—if they’d run like hell. But Adam saw nothing but the fallen twisted body of Black Hat being trampled by the horses as they struggled for freedom.

He also saw the Hellweaver beside Black Hat in the snow but couldn’t see the red disruptor he needed to drive the zombies away.

His momentum died as he moved toward the horses. He looked back to see Pug’s corpse, heavy on top of the chain that bound Adam to the carriage. A zombie was tearing into the dead man’s face, and there was no way Adam could pull them both off and get slack in his chain. He struggled to pull, just to gain a few more feet.

The collar bit deep into his neck as he stretched the chain as tight as it could go.

He reached out, still three feet shy, as the horses cried louder together. They grew more frantic, shaking and bucking, stomping Black Hat’s flesh into pulp. Suddenly, arms fell onto Adam’s shoulders, a growl hot on his neck.

He spun, pipe tight in his fist, driving the metal into the zombie’s skull and shoving it to the ground. From the corner of his eyes, Adam saw the woman go down in a pile, zombies atop her as death cries mingled with the sound of her choking on her own blood.

Horse cries found a new pitch behind him. Adam spun to see a pack of zombies circling to the other side of the carriage, several already tearing into equine flesh.

One of the two remaining bandits shoved the zombie feasting on Pug and fired his blaster into its body. The zombie fell, and the bandit looked down to see that Pug was past saving.

He looked up at Adam and raised his blaster to fire.

This is it.

The thought tore through his mind as he stared into death. The bandit fired . . .

He missed.

Or, as Adam realized a moment later, he’d been firing at a zombie approaching Adam from behind. He hit his target and sent the creature to the ground. Adam had no time to wonder why the bandit had chosen to save him, or if maybe he had in fact missed Adam and accidentally shot the zombie instead, because the man fell in the following moment, buried beneath the weight of another three zombies.

Fate smiled and sent the bandit’s blaster flying from his hand to just inches from Adam’s feet.

He dropped to the ground, grabbed the blaster and checked his perimeter. He saw a zombie approaching on his left, and fired, tearing a wide hole in its chest and sending the rest of its body on a short trip to the ground.

Adam grabbed the chain in his left hand, yanked tight, then fired three inches below his grip. He missed the first time, sending chunks of melted asphalt flying from the ground.

He heard undead shrieks behind him, closing in. Footsteps inches away.

He ignored the sound of imminent death, focused on the shaking length of chain in his hands.

Focus.

He fired again.

Adam fell back as the chain split, ripped, and set him free . . . tumbling into a pack of undead.

He fell straight through them to the ground and somehow managed to hold onto his gun. As the three monsters turned to catch the prey that had slipped through their rotting fingers, he fired three blasts, taking them all down.

His heart pounding, he leapt up, wondering where Colton was, but he had no time to look.

Bodies were all around him, moving, groaning, reaching, clawing, biting.

Adam raced toward the horses, all kicking and chomping their teeth in battle with raging zombies. He could scarcely make out anything among the heaving masses of moving flesh and blood but noticed that the horses had managed to yank the stagecoach forward about 10 feet, enough to leave Black Hat’s trampled corpse unmolested, face down under the carriage.

Adam raced forward, slid to the ground, and grabbed the Hellweaver.

He could almost feel its awesome power as he held the gun. But the weapon might not be enough. He had to get the disruptor. Adam set his blaster aside and reached into the bloody, wet clothes, desperately searching the man’s pants pockets, fingers closing around tons of stuff, none of it feeling right.

Adam heard footsteps behind him—more zombies. But he couldn’t turn before he found the disruptor.

His fingers finally seized an object that felt right in size and he started to pull.

Black Hat’s head turned and his eyes popped open.

For a moment, Adam thought the man was alive, until his groan said otherwise.

Zombie Black Hat lunged his head forward, gnashing at Adam.

Disruptor in hand, he raised his feet and kicked Black Hat in the chest, propelling himself away and out from under the carriage.

Hellweaver tight in one hand, disruptor in the other, Adam looked up in time to see no less than 20 zombies surrounding him, all rushing forward.

He felt a button on the disruptor’s slick, bloody surface and pressed it, raising it high as Black Hat had done.

The zombies stopped in their tracks, all slapping rotten hands on their ears as they shrank back, shrieking.

Adam held the device in front of him, stepping forward to carve a path through the mass of rotting monsters.

As Adam slowly marched forward, careful not to slip on the ice, he could feel his pulse pounding in his neck. The undead’s shrieking grew louder the nearer he got. As the crowd parted for Adam, who cleared a path through an alley full of even more of the creatures, he prayed to God that the device didn’t have some sort of time limit, or worse, that the zombies would too quickly become immune to whatever held them at bay.

Eyes darting between zombies, Adam scanned the alleyway, windows where more bandits might be lying in wait to attack, and rooftops searching for Colton. He saw the man nowhere.

Adam felt a sickening certainty that his father’s old friend was dead, shot by the bandits or killed by the zombies, leaving Adam to fend for himself.

“Colton!”

Adam’s only response was an uncaring wind and a dull gray sky.

He pushed the zombies farther back as he marched toward where they had come from, hoping Colton was waiting. He turned, checking behind to make sure that no zombies were sneaking up on him. He saw the undead backing away from the disruptor, content to feast on horses instead.

One of the wooden boards to Adam’s right pushed open.

He turned, aiming the Hellweaver, even though he had yet to check the ammo or fire it once and could only hope it worked the same as any other gun.

Adam didn’t bother to fight his smile as he realized it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have to fire.

Colton stepped out of the building, shaking his head. “I hate to say I told you so.”

Adam wanted to break down and cry hard, wanted to hug Colton and thank him for saving his life, wanted to confess that he was so very, very sorry.

But Adam only nodded, hanging his head low as he followed the man into the building’s dark shadows.

CHAPTER 27—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland opened his eyes as someone lightly slapped his face. Several thoughts erupted at once, then suddenly he remembered the worst—what had happened, where he was, and the sour truth that he was waiting for mercy or death at the hands of another.

Sutherland thought of the shard under his pillow and told himself it would be enough. All he needed was the right opportunity and the patience to wait for it. However, someone had cuffed his hands and legs to the iron bedposts.

He tried not to panic.

As soon as he opened his eyes all the way, he saw who was slapping him—Connor Vinson, the man who Sutherland had been torturing not too many hours before.

He thought again of the shiv and saw himself running it first along Connor’s throat, then across his former second’s. He would go slower with Gallus, taking his time to let him bleed out, just as the traitor had taken his own sweet time while crafting betrayal.

Connor leaned down and smiled, “Well, hello there. Glad to see you’re awake.”

Sutherland cleared his throat and spit, catching the traitor’s puffy red eye. He’d earlier pulled the lid back far enough to make Connor scream like a baby in a boiling bath.

Connor calmly wiped his eye then leaned forward, practically daring Sutherland to try it again. Sutherland held his saliva, licking his lips as he pictured tearing into the bastard’s throat with his teeth, then feasting on his face like a starved zombie. Connor whispered, “I knew this moment was coming. Anticipation was enough to pass the time, knowing that the next time we were alone in a room, things would be so much worse.” His voice dropped to a whisper as the door swung open on the other side of the room. “For you, of course.”

Gallus stepped into Sutherland’s cell and quietly closed the door behind him looking almost . . . sad.

Gallus walked straight to Connor, set his hand on the puffy-eyed traitor’s arm, and leaned toward his ear. Connor nodded as Gallus whispered, then stepped back to the door as Gallus took Connor’s place beside Sutherland’s bed.

Gallus looked down at Sutherland’s restraints, then up into his eyes. “Can you talk?”

“Of course I can talk,” Sutherland snarled back. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“I mean can you be reasonable? Are you able to have a conversation?”

Sutherland wanted to yell and scream, to ask Gallus how he dared to be so bold and stupid. But his hands were restrained and both Gallus and Connor were armed. He’d have to be patient.

“I’m always reasonable.”

Gallus continued to prove his new brazen nature as he sat at the edge of Sutherland’s bed. His voice was calm and collected, thick with authority in a way that Sutherland had not heard before.

“This is all rather unfortunate.” Gallus took a moment to breathe before continuing. Sutherland had time to wonder if he was supposed to agree. “Things didn’t have to be this way.”

“What way?” Sutherland had to try not to spit. “You were supposed to be my second in command. Yet you tricked me. How else was this supposed to go?”

Voice still cool, Gallus said, “Yes, you had to be tricked, and that’s why you’re here. But you had to be, Sir. This is all your fault and a long time coming. It’s your fault for being so selfish. It’s your fault for the throne room. It’s your fault because you’ve displayed reprehensible leadership when all of us needed you most.”

“You still need me. Everyone knows it. Without me, this place will fall to either zombies or bandits, mark my words.”

“No, we don’t need you,” Gallus said, as Connor nodded behind him. “The only one who thinks you’re an effective leader is you. It wasn’t hard to turn your most trusted people against you.”

Still clinging, Sutherland argued: “No. You’re lying. I will be missed. I’ve been gone since last night. If I’m not seen at dinner and am still missing tomorrow, people will ask. Word will get out. The people, my people, will demand my release.”

Gallus laughed, sad more than mocking. “Do you really believe that? Do you really believe the people still love you? Can you really not see that they think you’re a joke?”

The words cut him like the shiv under his pillow, but he wasn’t defeated yet.

“Weak minds are easily twisted,” Sutherland said. “It is clear to see what has happened. Fortunately, there are always those who can see the danger we’re facing and are sure to see how grossly you have misjudged this situation. I demand to speak with Jeffries.”

Connor laughed from behind Gallus, clearly louder than Gallus liked, judging by his face. He said, “Oh, now it’s you making legal demands. That’s rich.”

Sutherland again pictured his shiv and imagined somehow breaking free, sweeping it from beneath the pillow before launching from the bed to slice the traitor’s throat. But he was forced to stay still. He was, after all, restrained. But he refused to stay quiet.

“You think you’re better than me? You think that somehow your injustices shine with a brighter light than mine? You preach from up high, yet you’re no different, denying what’s rightfully mine, legally and otherwise. Clearly we’re more alike than you think.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Connor said.

Sutherland laughed.

Gallus held his hands up to Sutherland: an awkward plea for peace.

Sutherland continued. “And you’re an idiot who has dug his own grave and fashioned his coffin.”

“Say what you will, Sutherland,” Gallus said, still looking sad. “It changes nothing.”

“Too bad for you,” Sutherland dared to smile. “I knew you were stupid but had no idea that your reason had rotted like it has. You’ve chosen the wrong side.”

“Only to you,” Gallus said in a whisper.

“History will prove me right. You’ll beg me not to kill you. But I won’t listen. When I’m freed, you will all hang like the cowards you are.”

Gallus sighed, stood, then turned from Sutherland. He went to the door where Connor was standing. Connor opened the door and held it for Gallus. Sutherland’s former second stepped through. Before he followed, Conner turned to Sutherland and whispered.

“Good luck making it to trial.”

The door closed and Sutherland made a vow: Connor would either be the first or last to die.

CHAPTER 28—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana paced, fuming as she stared at the locked lab door—pissed that Oswald had told her a zombie was on the loose, then stuffed her away like some sort of precious child rather than letting her fight like she’d done since her ejection from City 6. Ana was probably as good—if not better—with a gun than most of The Station’s residents. She could be out there, contributing, doing something.

But no, she was babysitting Calla instead.

The room was 20 feet long by 10 feet wide with giant metal refrigerated coolers on either side. The lab also had a desk and a chair where Calla had been sitting for the 10 minutes since they had been shoved into the chamber.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to be OK,” Calla finally said.

Ana stopped pacing, not wanting to make the little girl any more nervous or frightened than she might already be. If Calla could somehow remain calm, then Ana had to try and do the same.

“You’re right. I just don’t like being stuck in here.”

Calla looked up. “It’s OK, I understand.”

“What?” Ana asked, confused.

“I understand you not wanting to be stuck in here with me, when I could—well, you know.”

Turn into a zombie. I hadn’t thought of that, actually . . . and now it’s all I can think about.

“Shit,” Ana said. “No, I didn’t mean that at all. No, I want to be out there, helping. I don’t like being told to sit out while others are fighting, like I’m a helpless—”

She wanted to say child, but here in The Station, many children, Calla included, were already expected to fight.

“I know. Father has been doing the same thing with me ever since I got bitten. He almost never lets me go on hunts or anything. Not anymore. I had to fight hard to get him to let me go rescue you when we did.”

“He’s just trying to protect you,” Ana said. “Liam’s like that with me sometimes. My father was the same. Maybe it’s a man thing. Or maybe it’s just how you are with the ones that you love—you want to protect them.”

“Your father was very nice.”

For a long moment, it seemed like Calla was going to say something more, as if she had a specific story to tell. Instead, she looked down at the floor.

When Calla opened her mouth, she said, “I like your tunic.”

“Thanks. Rosemary gave it to me.”

“She’s nice. She’s been kind of like a mom. She’s not with Father or anything, but she’s always been there for me.”

“What happened to your mom?”

“She died a long time ago, back in City 6. But I don’t want to talk about that.”

Ana looked down. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK,” Calla still stared at the floor.

Ana suddenly felt an internal gnawing, that feeling that a zombie was near. She’d felt the sensation earlier but had lost it once she was locked in the room with Calla. Here it was again.

She looked down at the blaster, made sure it was charged, and looked at the door as if expecting it to slide open at any second. She could hear nothing on the other side, only the whir of warm air pressing through the vents, blending with the steady hum of the wall’s bank of refrigerated units.

Her heartbeat quickened as she resumed her pacing.

“What’s wrong?” Calla asked.

Something’s coming. Can you feel it?

Ana didn’t want to frighten the girl, especially if there was no way a zombie could enter their room.

“Nothing,” Ana said.

She heard a loud popping sound and looked up to see the metal air duct vent 15 feet above her swing open. Seconds later, a man dropped down from above.

Ana screamed, barely managing to dodge out of his way as the man fell to the ground. Ana tripped, landed hard beside him, and lost her blaster. It slipped from her hand and skidded across the floor.

She reached out to grab it but was too slow.

The man yanked it from the floor, turned it on Ana, and barked, “Get over there!”

The man was wearing nothing but a thin white shirt and only slightly thicker white cotton pants. He looked maybe 30, thin, gaunt even, with medium-dark, curly brown hair and a short beard. His eyes were brown, but the whites were red, like his swollen lids.

“Get over there!” he yelled again aiming the blaster between them, and moving it ever so slightly side to side so she’d stand next to Calla, making them easier to keep an eye on.

Ana stood up slowly, putting herself between Calla and the gunman. “It’s OK,” she said. “We’re not going to do anything.”

The man looked back at the door and pressed the green button on the wall beside it.

“Why won’t it open?” he shouted, turning back to them, gun shaking.

“We’re locked in,” Ana said, “to protect us from the zombie.”

The man laughed, shaking his head without explanation. He seemed crazed, as if on drugs. On TV, she’d seen people in The Dark Quarters acting weird like this guy. They’d been described as extremely dangerous and to be avoided at all costs. Vermin, just as likely to slit your throat as rape you. Beware and report.

The man asked, “Is there a way out of here?”

“Not that I know of. Like I said, we’re locked in.”

Clearly the man was either messed up or stupid.

“Not this room,” he hissed, glaring at her. “Of this place. Wherever the hell we are.”

“Wait,” Ana said. “You’re not from here?”

He laughed that bitter laugh again, “No! They brought me here!”

Calla asked, “What are you talking about, mister?”

Ana looked back at Calla, trying to give her a look that said: Do not attract attention to yourself. Let me deal with this.

“They fucking kidnapped me. They’ve been doing experiments or something.”

Ana’s heart pounded faster as she realized that the man must be the infected subject that Oswald said they found in The Barrens—the zombie she’d been sensing nearby, the one that had made the siren start to scream.

Only he didn’t seem to know he was infected.

As she looked closer at the man, Ana tried to see how near he was to turning. His eyes were red and reminded her of Duncan’s. He was shaking and sweating, but she couldn’t tell if he was about to turn now, with her and Calla in a locked room, or if he was merely frightened.

She had to calm him before his frazzled nerves caused him to change—or shoot them.

“I can help you get out of here,” Ana said.

“How?” the man asked.

“If you go back up into the air vent, you can crawl a bit farther, 20 feet or so that way, and drop down into the room next to this one. Then you can open the door and I can sneak you out of here.”

The man looked at Ana as if considering her offer. He seemed like he was about to accept but instead shook his head. “No. The girl goes up.”

“What?”

“Send her up. She can unlock the door from the other side.”

Ana was about to argue but realized she liked the idea. Get Calla out of the room, away from danger.

“OK,” Ana said. “Calla, can you go up there, crawl into the next room, and open the door?”

“Yes,” Calla almost whispered, her chin trembling, looking more afraid than Ana had seen her before.

“OK,” Ana said, explaining every move to the man so as not to startle him into shooting them both. “I’m going to move the desk under the air duct, then climb up with Calla and lift her to the vent, OK?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the guy said irritated, running a hand through his sweaty hair and squeezing it tight as if doing so would allow him to regain control of the situation.

Ana pushed the desk over, climbed up, then waited for Calla to scramble up onto the desk. As she did, Ana noticed how much the small girl was sweating and shaking.

“It’s going to be OK.” Ana turned to the man, “After she lets us out, you let her go, OK? I’ll take you to the exit. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

The man chewed his lip, hand still shaking, and tugged at his hair in thought.

“All right?” Ana repeated forcefully.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Ana lifted Calla and, as she did, whispered, “Don’t open the door. Go get help.”

The girl nodded but said nothing as Ana lifted her up. She watched as Calla crawled into the duct, listening as the sound of banging metal faded away from their room.

The banging stopped a moment later, when Ana assumed Calla had dropped into the other room on her way to find help. Ana had to stall and keep the guy from what Calla was up to.

“So, what do you mean they took you and experimented on you? What happened?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I’m not from here. I only arrived a couple of days ago. They took me in after I got sick.” Ana lied, trying to make it seem like the people holding him weren’t as bad as he thought—that they weren’t experimenting on him but rather were trying to cure him. “They helped me get better. Are you sick, too?”

“I wasn’t!” he said, still glaring at Ana as if she’d personally taken him. “They grabbed me in the middle of the night, stole me and another two from our camp. We didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“Two others?”

“Yes, I was with Johan and Filner, two longtime mates. We have, or had, a camp near Yath River. Not a big place, but we managed. They came in the middle of the night and grabbed us all. I’m the only one left.”

“What happened to the others?”

“They turned them into zombies,” the man said, “and killed them.”

Ana shook her head. “No, they’re trying to help. Are you sure you weren’t infected before?”

“Hell no,” the man said, moving closer, spittle flying from his mouth through his anguished, angry cry. “They injected us with something! They turned my friends into monsters!”

Ana stared at his gun, now only aimed in her general direction. If she could inch closer, she might be able to snag the weapon from him. Ana was about to say something calming as she moved in, when the door suddenly opened behind the man.

Calla stood there, alone.

Ana stared in disbelief. Why hadn’t she run off and gotten someone?

Ana was shocked enough that she missed her chance to disarm the man. He aimed the gun at her again. “OK, girl, now you get me out of here.”

He waved his blaster, instructing Ana to move ahead.

She did as instructed, feeling him behind her, then looked down at Calla leaning against the exam table, holding her stomach.

Calla groaned, “I don’t feel good. I’m so cold.”

The color had completely left her face. She was sweating, her body shivering uncontrollably.

“What’s wrong?” Ana asked, reaching out to touch the girl. Calla was burning up, even though she said she was cold.

“I don’t know,” Calla said, swallowing and looking up at Ana, scared.

Ana realized that the infected man, by either proximity or by filling them with fear, might be causing Calla to change.

Oh no, no, no, no.

“I think it’s happening,” Calla said, voicing Ana’s fears aloud.

CHAPTER 29—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland had been palming his shiv for hours, waiting for the moment when one of the two cowards—or any of their followers—opened his door. There would be no waiting or waffling.

His hands were still bound, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need them to free himself. He would end his captors and storm from the cell.

No one would stop him…

No one came.

For hours Sutherland expected the door to open, and for hours stayed tense, ready to spring into action the moment the door dragged against the floor.

But nothing happened. The door didn’t open and no one came in.

It must be morning, or close. And something must be wrong with him. He was usually good at accounting for the passage of time, but minutes and hours had jumbled their meanings.

He may have lost a day.

Eventually, Sutherland fell asleep, still imagining the shard of plate dragging across a freshly made seam to spill a bucket of blood to the floor, laughing because his captors were too stupid to see the missing piece from the shattered refuse.

He woke as the door opened, instantly angry that he’d been caught off-guard despite his best intentions. He palmed the shard tighter, feeling it bite into flesh, like it would soon be biting into theirs.

He turned toward the intruders: Horrance and two others. Sutherland knew their names, Finch and Wormwood. Good men, if not turned. If they had been, their blood would spill as thick as the rest. Wormwood and Finch were both older, and had nobly fought in The Battle of ’32. Sutherland wanted to believe that older meant wiser, and that the pair of battle tested soldiers—along with the giant—could easily see Gallus’s folly.

“My men!” Sutherland greeted them, hoping that they were that.

“Sutherland,” Horrance nodded at his leader with understanding eyes. The other men joined him and swelled Sutherland’s hope.

“Good to see you,” he said, but continued to palm his homemade weapon, just in case.

“And you,” Horrance said.

Boldly, Sutherland asked, “Are you here to free me?” After a too long pause he added, “We can go now, arrest the traitors. Everything will be back to normal by morning.”

Finch stepped in front of Horrance, between him and Sutherland’s cot. “We can’t. It will never work.”

“Why not?”

Of course it would work, unless you’re all cowards.

“Because,” Wormwood cut in. “There aren’t enough people who … there aren’t enough supporters left in Hydrangea.”

“Impossible.” Sutherland refused to believe.

“Gallus has turned everyone,” Horrance said.

“That’s impossible,” Sutherland repeated. “How could he turn everyone? Surely, the world hasn’t gone stupid?”

“If you go out there, they’ll kill you.” Finch nodded toward the closed cell door. “Right now you’ve got 1,600 pissed off people, all of them think that you’re the problem--and have been for a long time.”

“That’s absurd.”

Finch kept going. “They think that Jeffries can help. They think he’ll be able to fix what they see as broken.”

Sutherland couldn’t speak. The weight of the possible truth was too much. He swallowed, searching for words, then stood from the bed and found Horrance’s eyes.

Finally, he asked, “Is it true, Horrance? Is Gallus right? Am I so out of touch? Have I truly lost it?”

“No.” Wormwood, the strongest—and smartest—of the three stepped to the front and vigorously shook his head. “Gallus is wrong like a zombie. You’re the one in Hydrangea with the balls to do what must be done. Most of the folks here are babes still on the tit, they can’t fathom doing what’s right when it’s hard. Sure, they’ll nod when talking, but when it’s time to wet their brow with the sweat of what’s necessary, like you’ve said, they’ll turn and run. They can’t do what you done to City 1, but what you done to City 1 was right as one moon a month.”

Horrance came up to Sutherland, gestured for him to hold up his hands—it was only then that he dropped the shard—then fumbled with several keys until he found one that worked. The shackles came off and Sutherland rubbed his wrists, soothing their burn.

“Well then, gentlemen, what in the hell am I supposed to do?”

Wormwood said, “We can help you escape. We have another five guys still sworn to do what’s right. That means serving you, and right now helping you escape. We’ll get you out of here for sure.”

“Then what? Where would I go?”

“The train station,” Horrance said. “Where Ana is.”

Sutherland brightened, for the first time since lowering the lid on his tools of torture, which seemed like an eternity ago. “Think we can take it?”

“Sure thing,” Finch nodded. “Easiest thing in the world, so long as we did what we done to City 1. Can you still get your hands on more of the zombie gas?”

“Can you get me to the science lab?”

Horrance nodded. “I think so.”

“Then what’s right,” Sutherland smiled wider, “can still be done.”

* * *

Horrance and Sutherland walked down the hallway on their way to the science lab. After allowing Sutherland to rub the burn from his wrists, Horrance apologized and said he had to replace them, for appearances’ sake. But they weren’t locked, so as Sutherland walked with both hands clasped and dangled before him, he kept imagining the moment when he would shake them off, grab the shiv that was now in his pocket, and end whoever stood in his way.

They descended two floors, then turned three corners down one long hallway until they were on the final approach to the lab. There, two men stood guard, one on either side of the door.

The first guard stepped forward and held up a hand. “What is he doing here?”

Horrance said, “Gallus asked me to bring him to the lab for a test.”

“Test? I didn’t hear anything about that.” The guard looked them up and down. “What sort of test? It’s the middle of the night.”

The guard turned and called to his partner, “Hey, you hear anything about—”

The man’s words were cut short by the shiv in his back. Sutherland started to laugh as he shoved up and twisted.

Horrance fired his blaster at the other guard, dropping the man before he could signal for help.

Then together, the two men rushed into the lab.

* * *

Sutherland and Horrance hefted the four black bags onto the service elevator where Finch was waiting.

“Good lord,” Finch said. “I suspected you may have held back some, but not this much.”

“Just because the other camps stopped fighting doesn’t mean the war is over. There are still six Cities standing, last time I looked. The State barely skipped a beat. It’s time to take them down, once and for all.”

Finch smiled. He’d lost his brother and sister in a State raid when they were escaping City 3. He knew exactly what they were fighting for. “And what about the antidote? Do you have enough?”

“Enough to spare those that deserve to be spared. Enough to start over and do things right.”

“Good,” Finch said.

They stepped into the elevator. Wormwood was about to press the button marked Garage, when Sutherland told him to wait.

“Are our people out?”

“Yes, they’re waiting on the surface. They’ve taken out the guards in the garage and are ready to take us away.”

“Good. Go to Level 7.”

“Civilian Living quarters? Why?” Wormwood asked, even as he pressed the button marked 7.

“Hydrangea is now as complicit as The State. I made the mistake of leniency, and ignoring the cancer as it spread under my roof. I can’t allow it to go any further.”

“What are you going to do?” Wormwood asked.

Sutherland watched as the elevator approached the seventh floor, then slammed his thumb on the Stop button, reached into one of the bags, and withdrew four gas masks.

“I suggest you put these on.”

“Are you sure about this?” Horrance asked. “I mean, aren’t there kids and stuff?”

“Are we at war, gentlemen? Besides, I’ve never known a child to stop growing.”

Finch nodded as he fastened the mask to his face.

Horrance looked uncertain. If Wormwood wore a smile or grimace, he was too ugly to tell.

Sutherland said, “If we don’t wipe them out now, they’ll hunt us like animals. You’re heroes, but they’ll see you as traitors for helping. We strike now. It’s our only chance.”

“I don’t know,” Horrance said.

Sutherland grabbed the man’s mask and pulled him closer. “You think these people are worth saving? You’ve heard the names these people … the kids too … have called you, right? Freak. Misfit. Mutant. Do you really want to spare their lives?”

“Okay.” Horrance looked down, as if ashamed. “Let’s do it.”

“No, you don’t need to help. I’ve got this.”

Sutherland withdrew a canister of the gas, and pushed the button to continue his trip to the seventh floor.

The doors dinged, then opened.

The immediate hallway was empty, dimly lit by orange lights along the rounded ceiling. Everyone was asleep in their rooms: 315 people on this level alone. The virus would spread to most within minutes.

Hydrangea would fall by morning.

He walked to the end of the hall, opened the canister, and began walking back toward the elevator. As Sutherland passed rooms on either side, he noticed that many curtains were open. He peeked inside at the sleeping traitors, and their treasonous children, then continued his march to the elevator.

He reached the elevator, tossed the canister back to the end of the hall, then stepped inside. Both Finch and Wormwood’s expressions were blank—soldiers who knew what had to be done.

Horrance, on the other hand, was sobbing.

“Don’t worry,” Sutherland said. “It gets easier each time. You’ll do the next floor.”

The elevator doors dinged, then closed.

* * *

After unleashing the gas on another three levels, they met the others in the garage where a liberated City transport truck waited.

A man named Clinch stood at the back of the truck’s open doors. Inside were four men and several crates of weapons.

“We’re ready, sir.”

“Good,” Sutherland said. “Let’s finish this battle.

“First stop: taking that damned train station.”

Episode 5

CHAPTER 30—LIAM HARROW

The sun left and took 40 degrees with it. A chill shot through Liam. He wondered if they could build a fire in their building without drawing the eyes of zombies, bandits, or other players.

From their spot on the fifth floor of an apartment building in surprisingly stable condition, they had an excellent view of one of the city’s main avenues. According to Egan’s roughly drawn map, the five-mile stretch of six lanes zigzagged from north to south, staying just straight enough to split The Outback’s heart roughly in half. The meandering road was littered with ancient transports and starving zombies, making it impossible to cross without a vehicle to cover distances quickly and provide immediate cover.

“We should leave the buildings if it snows,” Liam said, looking out the window. “The streets should be less crowded. Probably safer.” He turned to Chelsea. “How’s your ankle?”

She stood from her chair, wincing. “Still hurts, but I can keep up.”

Liam didn’t bother looking at Katrina, sitting on the floor in the corner beside Clark at the window. He could feel her stare. Ever since Chelsea twisted her ankle while the three of them were running from zombies a few hours before, they’d had to slow their pursuit of Adam. It wasn’t Liam’s first choice, but their only other option was to leave the girl behind to die. Too, they still had no idea where Adam was, so resting didn’t really change things.

“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said to Katrina. “I don’t want to slow you all down and keep you from finding Adam.”

Katrina ignored Chelsea and continued to rotate the dial on the box screen provided by Egan, searching through the 20 or so Network feeds from the orbs flying through the city. They’d stopped every half hour or so to cycle through channels but had yet to find any sign of Adam.

Liam tried not to become discouraged, telling himself that not seeing Adam didn’t mean he was dead. The Outback had plenty of places to hide, no shortage of hovels where a resourceful guy like Adam could bury himself, then wait for the others to eliminate one another before reaching the Mesa, wherever that was.

“Thanks for letting me rest my ankle, Liam,” Chelsea said, filling the silence left by Katrina. “I know we lost touch over the years and weren’t really all that close before. This is really kind of you. All of you.” She breathed through a beat, then repeated, “Thanks.”

Liam could practically feel Katrina rolling her eyes.

Clark muttered, “No problem.”

“I was rooting for you and Ana in The Games. When they showed you both dying, it broke my heart. I was so glad to see you today and realize it was a lie.”

Liam nodded, not knowing what to say, uncomfortable with the girl’s continued fawning. She’d been slathering him with compliments ever since he’d managed to convince Katrina to bring her along. Liam wasn’t sure if she was truly that grateful or afraid that he’d realize what a liability he’d invited into the group.

While the girl had tried to appear tough when they found her, she clearly wasn’t cut from Ana’s fabric. Chelsea wasn’t a fighter. She had a clerical job in City 6, useless in training for The Games.

He couldn’t dwell on it now, though, for at that moment Katrina said, “I found Adam,” pulling Liam back to the task at hand. She held up the box screen so Liam could see. “There.” She pointed.

Liam walked over and looked down at the small screen. It was Adam all right, creeping through an alley alongside another player, trying to pass a horde of zombies swarming the front of a tall building with large letters carved into its stone face: APEX NATIONAL BANK.

Katrina cranked the volume to see if Kirk Kirkman had anything to say. He didn’t. Liam figured they were likely watching one of the many feeds The State kept from the audience, meant for monitoring players internally. This footage with Adam would probably go to broadcast the moment he and his companion crashed into trouble.

“Look for an Apex National Bank,” Katrina said to Clark as he scanned the skyline with infrared binoculars.

Liam turned to a shaking Chelsea. “You OK?”

“Just cold,” she said through chattering teeth.

While Katrina, Clark, and Liam were prepared for the freeze, all covered in thick black coats, Chelsea had the thin Darwin coveralls and nothing more.

Liam shook the coat from his shoulders and slipped it around the girl.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He returned to his spot beside Katrina.

She looked up at Liam, not so subtly shaking her head. He ignored her and focused on the screen as Adam and his companion took cover behind a small wall to survey the zombies.

From the camera’s angle, it seemed like they could have easily sneaked past the zombies by turning down another alley.

“They could have kept going.” Katrina said, echoing his suspicions. “They must be trying to get into the bank.”

“Yeah. But why?” Liam asked.

“Maybe one of ’em’s cold,” Katrina said, looking up at Chelsea, then back at Liam before her eyes returned to the screen. He wished she’d drop the attitude already. He continued to bite his tongue, though, not wanting to cause a scene.

“I found the bank,” Clark said, staring through the binoculars. “Two blocks west and another north. The streets seem relatively clear if we hustle.”

Katrina turned off the box, slid it into her backpack, and stood. She pointed at Liam. “You, come here.”

Liam followed her from the room, down the hall, and into another empty room where she clicked on her flashlight.

“Your girlfriend stays.”

“What?”

“She can’t keep up, Liam. We’ve got a line on Adam and need to reach him before he’s gone or dead. That girl’s only gonna slow us down.”

“She said her ankle’s fine.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Where the hell is the Liam I met last year? The one who knew when shit had to get done and didn’t worry about anything other than the most immediate goal.”

“She’s not some stranger, Katrina. She’s a friend.”

“That girl doesn’t give a fuck about you. She’s saying whatever will stroke your ego and keep me from kicking her out of the club.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so eager to leave her behind.”

Katrina got in Liam’s face, burning her eyes into his. “She’s a liability, Liam. Tell me she’s not.”

He couldn’t lie, and she seized on his silence.

“You want to tell her, or should I?”

“Why don’t we tell her to stay put and we’ll come back for her?”

Katrina smacked her head, turned, and sighed. “We’re not coming back for her, Liam. We’re going to get Adam, then go to The Station so you and Ana can settle down, start a fucking family, or whatever it is you soft people do after you wave your white flag.”

Even though she had smacked her own head, Liam felt the sting as if she had struck him instead. “What’s really bothering you?”

Katrina shook her head and looked away.

Liam grabbed Katrina by the arm. She twisted from his grip and turned her fiery gaze back on him. “I hear you and Ana talking when you think I’m asleep about how you can’t wait to stop fighting and finally settle down somewhere safe.”

“And there’s something wrong with that?”

“I risked everything to break you both out of Hydrangea. I did it because I thought the two of you could help hurt The State, maybe even cure the zombie virus and bring down The Walls.”

“You helped us because you wanted to get away from Sutherland too. Because you knew Ana was in danger, just like you.”

“No,” Katrina shook her head, arms crossed. “I wasn’t in any danger until I helped you.”

“So what? Do you wish that you hadn’t? Are you saying that you weren’t happy to get away from that crazy fuck?” He stared at Katrina in disbelief. “The guy wiped out a city! Men, women, children. You’re OK with that?”

“I don’t approve of his methods, no, but he’s the only real chance The Patriots have of making genuine change. He’s the first person to come along who isn’t just spouting off at the mouth. You can say plenty about Sutherland, but he’s never been afraid to put words to his thoughts and action to both.”

Liam couldn’t believe his ears. All this time that he and Ana had traveled with Katrina, he had never suspected that she regretted her decision. He couldn’t believe she would condone what Sutherland’s insanity had done to the innocents living inside City 1.

Liam repeated, “He wiped out a city!”

“I’m not arguing with you, Liam. What’s done is done, no matter what I think. Right now we’re going to go out there into the other room, and one of us is going to tell your friend good-bye. Who’s it going to be?”

A loud beeping echoed from the other room.

Katrina and Liam raced back to see Chelsea shoving the screaming bracelet on her right wrist deep into Liam’s jacket in a futile attempt to muffle the racket.

But the bracelet was too loud. It was only a matter of time before it would bring zombies, bandits, and other players to end them. Only moments until Network orbs would surround their bodies to broadcast their imminent death.

“Get out of here!” Katrina screamed, raising her gun at the girl. “Go!”

“No,” she cried, “Please. It’ll stop soon. Please.”

Chelsea’s second “please” sounded so desperate, it tugged at something deep inside Liam. It had no such effect on Katrina. “Go!” Katrina screamed more loudly.

Liam’s heart pounded as he tried to take charge. He thrust himself between the two women, hoping Katrina wouldn’t shoot him in the back.

“Let me see it!” He yanked off the jacket to get a better look at the screeching bracelet. Chelsea’s arm shook as she cried, “Stop it, please, stop the beeping.”

He ran his fingers along the seam, searching for a way to release the bulky contraption. “What is this?”

“They put ’em on all of us. It’s got an alarm that pops off at random.”

“Oh, great!” Katrina said. “Get her out of here!”

“No!” Liam yelled, “I can get it off.”

Clark rushed over, and for a moment, Liam thought Clark would shoot her. Instead, he looked at the bracelet, inspecting it with Liam as the beeping continued screaming in their ears.

“Hold on,” Liam said, “I’m going to get my knife.”

Chelsea nodded, eyes wide, tears painting her face as the death sentence kept screeching its promise. Liam found the blade in his pants pocket as Katrina yanked the girl from his grip, spun her around, and forced her toward the window.

Liam screamed, “Don’t!”

Katrina never stopped, using her momentum to shove Chelsea through the glass.

Liam cried out as the girl disappeared over the ledge to plummet five flights down to the snowy street below.

Liam had his gun aimed at Katrina before he knew what he was doing. “What the fuck!” he cried out.

Just as fast, Clark drew his gun—precisely at no one. He stood roughly between them, his aim hovering somewhere in the middle, clearly nervous about having to choose between them.

Katrina looked the opposite of sorry. She glared at Liam, eyes daring his challenge. She wasn’t even reaching for her gun.

“What?” she snarled. “You weren’t going to do it. Someone had to. Would you rather we all ended up dead?”

Liam had to swallow his desire to pull the trigger and deal with the consequences later. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so suddenly shocked, or mercilessly affronted. He wanted to kill Katrina, not just for what she had done to Chelsea but for how she had so instantly betrayed his trust.

Yet another part of Liam wanted to lower his gun. The weight of Katrina’s stare pressed down on his arm. He didn’t stand a chance. A wrong move, and Clark would have to shoot him dead. But he couldn’t do nothing, so Liam held his aim, same as his stare.

She dared to laugh. “What are you going to do, Liam—shoot me? Really? You couldn’t eliminate an obvious threat, yet you expect me to believe that you’d shoot me down in cold blood. Sure you want to, but you won’t. You can’t. And that right there is the problem.”

Her eyes flitted to the window. “Look outside Liam, and what do you think you’ll see?” She offered no time for an answer. “Zombies dining on your girlfriend’s guts. Those same zombies would be eating us right now if I hadn’t done what I did. Say I’m wrong.”

Liam felt his finger twitching against the trigger, still desperately wanting to pull it. Clark lowered his gun and walked over to Liam. “Put the gun down, man. She’s right. And we all know you’re not going to shoot her.”

They were right: there was no way he would kill Katrina in cold blood. He wasn’t a murderer.

Still, it felt good to hold the gun at her face, to aim at someone who made excuses for monsters like Sutherland and killed the innocent without flinching.

Clark holstered his gun, then, very slowly, set his hand on top of Liam’s weapon and gingerly lowered the barrel.

Chelsea’s bracelet finally stopped screaming outside as Liam put his gun away.

With another angry glare at Katrina, he shouldered by her on his way to the window. Just as she had predicted, Liam saw a small horde of zombies five stories below, painting their faces with Chelsea’s blood. He could imagine the sounds of their feasting.

“It stopped,” he said through gritted teeth. “We could have made it out alive. All we had to do was wait.”

“It stopped because she’s dead. Quit being a fool. Your mercy will get us all killed. Are you on this mission or do you wanna run back to Ana and tell her you gave up?”

Liam looked from Katrina to Clark, then back, rethinking his decision to lower his gun, but deciding to stand down for now.

“After you.” He nodded toward the door. Now that he couldn’t trust her, he wanted her in front of him, where he could keep an eye on her.

Katrina looked as if she was biting back her smirk. Clark looked relieved as he led the way from the room with Katrina behind him. Liam took one final look out the window, feeling heavy and at least partially responsible for the girl’s untimely death. He shook his head and fell into a grim march at the rear, hoping that they found Adam soon so he could kill Katrina and get back to Ana.

As if reading his mind, Katrina said, “Think about it all you want, cowboy. We both know you don’t have the guts.”

CHAPTER 31—ANA LOVECRAFT

Calla fell to the ground and doubled over in pain, trembling as the siren continued to scream its alarm.

“Come on!” the infected man yelled at Ana, still aiming his gun between her eyes. “You said you’d take me out of here.”

“I can’t leave her, she’s . . .”

Ana turned to Calla, suddenly understanding the probable cause for her change. She remembered her own infection stirring inside her like soup rolling to a boil whenever she and Liam came close to the undead. Even now she still felt a deep connection to the zombies, a half year after her supposed curing. What if there was something in her and Calla that reacted directly to the infected? What if this man was initiating the young girl’s change by proximity?

“Go,” Ana yelled, eager to clear him from the room. “Go straight down this hall and make your second right.”

“No,” he said, reaching over and yanking Ana roughly by the hair, “you take me.”

Ana allowed him to pull her, holding her hands high out in front of her as she quickly calculated her choices and realized that she had to act before he took her from the room and away from Calla. “OK, OK.”

After she passed him, Ana dropped to the floor and kicked the man’s leg hard, buckling his knee and sending him to the ground in a screaming heap.

Ana leapt on him before he could react. Instead of going for the gun, she jabbed her fist at the man’s Adam’s apple. He dropped his gun and reached for his neck, gasping for air.

Ana grabbed the blaster and, before second-guessing herself, aimed square at his chest and squeezed the trigger. The man’s chest caved in and his organs turned to ash.

She screamed, “Oswald!” Then she rushed to Calla, dropped to the ground beside her, and swiped sweaty hair from the girl’s small face, startled to see her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Calla’s arms and legs spasmed and her head banged against the floor.

Ana slipped her hands beneath Calla’s head, cradling it softly to keep her from busting it like a melon. The girl’s breathing was fast and shallow, like she might start to hyperventilate at any moment. Ana had to calm her, though how could she soothe the child when she herself wanted to yell at someone—anyone—to kill the damned siren?

Ana tried to remember how Liam had managed to calm her at her worst. She drew a blank, though, and lamely sat there, calmly petting the girl’s hair. “It’s OK, it’s OK, Calla. He’s gone now. You’re OK.” Ana tried to sound like she wasn’t scared to her core, terrified that the girl was about to morph into a full-on zombie and either feast on Ana or die by her hand.

“It’s going to be OK,” she promised in whispers, over and over. “Just breathe slow, in and out. Focus on my voice. Nice and slow.”

Calla closed her eyes, wincing as she cried out in pain. “It hurts . . . so much.”

“You’ll be OK,” Ana said, continuing to promise things that she couldn’t deliver. “Just breathe slowly and don’t think about anything you don’t have to. Focus on my voice and think about the things that make you most happy.”

Think about the things that make you most happy? She’s turning into a fucking zombie!

Where the hell is Oswald? COME on!

Ana was desperate to see the doctor, to know he could hear her and was coming to help, but she didn’t dare scream for him again. Calla had finally stopped her violent shaking and seemed to be calming down to a low, steady shudder despite the shrill siren screaming all around them.

“That’s it, nice and slow.” Ana rocked Calla. “You’re doing so good.”

Ana was so relieved at how much Calla had finally calmed down, it took her a half minute before relief twisted into an ugly panic as it dawned on her that the girl had stopped moving. Ana’s heart froze as she reached for Calla’s neck to feel for a pulse.

Nothing.

Oh God.

NO.

Don’t let her die.

No, please, please, NO.

Ana wasn’t sure whom she was praying to. God had stopped answering prayers.

Still no pulse.

Ana moved her fingers, hoping she was simply being stupid and feeling in the wrong spot. Ana’s heart seemed to gather Calla’s lost beats as if stealing them, until finally she felt the girl’s pulse like a whisper, faint but there.

Ana exhaled, nearly collapsing into tears as Calla’s bright blue eyes blinked opened and looked up at Ana.

The whites were ringed in an angry red. She looked confused but mostly aware.

“You’re going to be OK,” Ana said again, desperately wanting to believe the words through her smile.

“I’m tired,” Calla said, her voice weak.

Ana wasn’t sure what she could say. Everything was stupid in her head. Should she let Calla sleep or force her to stay awake? Ana remembered how she’d been at her lowest point before losing herself to a sleep so deep that Liam said he thought she was on her way to somewhere else forever. Then she woke up feeling better, somehow having survived the infection.

Maybe if she let Calla sleep, the girl would wake up cured.

Then again she might never wake up again.

Where is Oswald?

The doctor answered her thoughts and appeared in the doorway. “Calla!”

He looked briefly at the dead subject, then dropped to his knees beside Calla as Father Truth appeared in the doorway behind him.

“What happened?” Father Truth asked.

Ana told them everything she could about Calla, while leaving out everything the infected man had said—that was for later.

Father Truth grabbed a com from his coat pocket, called someone, and told them that the situation was under control and that the subject was dead.

Moments later, the alarm finally stopped screaming.

Oswald picked up Calla and laid her flat on an exam table.

He asked: “Where are you? What’s your name? How do you feel?” and a dozen other questions, which Calla groggily, but accurately, answered. All the while he was checking her vitals and taking notes on a clipboard beside the table.

“I wasn’t sure if I should let her sleep,” Ana said. “I was afraid she might not wake up. Or wake up as a zombie.”

“It’s OK,” Father Truth said, reaching into his long coat and withdrawing a small brown pouch. He unfastened a leather string, opened the pouch, and poured two tiny white pills into his palm.

“Give her these,” he said to Oswald.

Oswald grabbed a bottle of water from his desktop, then helped Calla take the pills and drink the water. Within seconds, Calla’s eyelids closed.

“What did you give her?” Ana asked.

“Something to help her sleep,” Father Truth said. “You were right in trying to calm her. From what we’ve seen, the infected can trigger a rapid escalation in another’s virus. As can stress. The two together are a lethal recipe.”

“Was she starting to change? I mean, could she still change now or when she wakes up?”

Oswald answered, “Well, we can’t be certain if she was actually changing, though it would seem from your description that she may have been. As to whether she still might, we can’t say. But I don’t think so. She’ll be in a deeper sleep in a few minutes, then I’ll reinject her with the serum. Using your white blood cells, I should have something ready by tomorrow, a variation of our Hydrangea experiments.”

“Is it whatever you were using on this man?” Ana asked. “Because I’m not sure it was working.”

Oswald kept his eyes on Calla as her breathing slowed to a calm pattern, hiding his expression from Ana.

Father Truth answered instead. “No, we were giving him an older version of the serum. We have another subject responding quite positively to the new variation.”

Father Truth seemed so kind as he met her upset eyes. His voice was warm enough to make Ana loathe her next question. But she couldn’t ignore the accusation or stuff it inside her.

“The man said that you all infected him. Is it true?”

Father Truth rubbed his hand through his hair, pushing it back as he seemed to deliberate the proper response. Finally, he motioned for Ana to follow him out of the room and into the hallway.

“Yes, it’s true,” he nodded, hands folded in front of him, eyes on Ana as if expecting her to snap.

But Ana could only stare. She finally found words, but they sounded even uglier out loud.

“You guys are kidnapping and infecting people?”

Father Truth held her eyes, rather than flinching like a coward. “I’m not proud of it, Ana. But sometimes advances in science require sacrifice.”

“Like me?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. She swallowed her desire to yell and instead said, “I want to see Egan.”

“Certainly.” Father Truth nodded. “I’ll take you immediately.”

CHAPTER 32—KELLER

Keller sat alone in the master viewing room, staring at the two dozen screens that peeked onto streets and into resident homes inside City 1, returning to the search he’d all but surrendered four months ago.

There were cameras in every television, on every street corner, and in every public place in The City. They recorded everything, yet somehow none had managed to show Keller who had helped Jonah Lovecraft unleash the zombie virus on City 1.

There was a woman who’d met with him, but she had disappeared after the attack, and no one seemed to know her real name.

He stared at the screens, flipping through footage from the day of the attack on The City, growing increasingly annoyed with the red squares covering nearly half the screens on any one cycle.

Red squares were a designation from the Elders that the person in that home was not to be spied upon. An electronic block prevented these televisions from viewing or recording anything. Since the most powerful people resided in City 1, they were granted privileges that others were not.

Keller had asked the Elders if there were some way to unblock the squares. They had said no, the blocks were legitimate and there was nothing that he, or they, could do. They all had blocks themselves, so he doubted their explanations were necessarily on the level.

Regardless, it meant that if whoever helped plan the attack were among The City’s Elders or community leaders, Keller was shit out of luck.

He stared at the screens for so long they all became a giant blur of red, until his eyes tired and he closed them, wondering why he’d bothered to hit the office. He could’ve stayed home with nothing done. And there, he could drink.

After a few more wasted hours, his com rang—Jacquelyn asking if he’d be home for dinner.

“Yeah, Jackie. I’m heading out now.”

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevators. Of course his phone rang as the doors closed. It was Elderman Hesh, one of the six at the pyramid’s top. They ran The Elders’ Council—the only people above Keller, unless you counted the deceased Jack Geralt, who The State still pretended was alive.

“Yes, Elderman Hesh?”

“Mr. Keller,” Hesh said with his insincere joviality, “how are you this afternoon?”

Keller hated how The Council all referred to him—in person—as “Mr. Keller” rather than by his title “Provisional Leader.” It was as if they wanted to remind him at all times that he served at their discretion. State citizens thought Keller ran the show, as Geralt had before him. But these old men called the shots, disguising their influence with a “One True Leader” so no one would hold them accountable. Nor would the populace know that The Council acted in their own interests, maintaining power, wealth, and influence, while doing the same for their friends.

Hell, even Keller had had no idea how crooked the system was until he’d been named Provisional Leader. It was a different view behind the curtain—that is, behind the curtain behind the curtain. Corruption or no, he had a job to do and asses to kiss. Better this crooked system than The Underground’s unbridled anarchy.

“I’m quite fine.”

“I understand that you’ve been accessing data from The City 1 attack.”

“Well, yes.” Keller wondered how closely they were watching him.

“May I ask why?”

“Certainly. I’m following up on a lead.”

“A lead? What kind of lead?”

Keller wished he hadn’t said “lead.” A lead meant he’d have to divulge his source, when in fact he had none. And it wasn’t like he could make up something that would hold water if The Council were to try and verify it. This wasn’t like City 6 where Keller knew everyone, and City Watch had each other’s backs. People in City 1 were only interested in themselves—especially since the attack.

While few beyond Keller and The Council knew that Geralt was dead, the people could sense unoccupied rungs in the political ladder, and many were angling to climb. It wasn’t enough that three of The Council had died during the attack, which meant three newly appointed Elders. Several State departments were also affected, with new people holding key positions. There were so many new faces and changes, no one felt safe in their jobs. All were looking to secure their spots—which meant infighting and backstabbing.

While the attack was a strike at The State’s center of power, it hadn’t disrupted the flow but merely rerouted the current.

Keller felt like he was onto something, perhaps connecting a few more dots from the attack to someone within The City. And if his sniffing around had drawn the attention of an Elderman, he must be closer than he thought to sussing things out.

Hesh derailed his thought.

“What kind of lead, Mr. Keller?” Hesh repeated.

“Not a lead so much as a hunch.”

“What kind of hunch?”

“I don’t know, Sir. I was thinking maybe I missed something, so I figured I’d go through the footage from the day of the attack again.”

“And did you find anything?”

“No, Sir.”

“I thought The Council had made it clear that you were to end your investigation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And yet, here you are? Is there nothing better to do with your time?”

“No, Sir, I mean, yes, I have better things. I just hate thinking that our enemies are alive to strike again.”

“We have our enemy, Mr. Keller. The Underground, led by Jonah Lovecraft, who is dead. Those were your findings, correct?”

Yes, that’s what The Council decided that Keller had found after reviewing his investigation.

“Yes, Sir.”

“So, the case is closed then?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Great!” Hesh said. “Glad to hear it.”

Keller again wondered how the hell Hesh knew he’d been investigating the attack. He let him stew in the silence. This interrogation technique worked on 90 percent of criminals; maybe it would work on an old man with too much power.

This time was no different.

After a moment, Hesh said, “Some people would like this put to bed, so we can get to the business of moving on.”

Keller played dumb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was offending any Elders.”

“No, no—I mean, not me, anyway.”

So it is someone else asking you to make this call?

Keller stayed quiet, knowing a name was forthcoming. Hesh wanted to tell Keller this—people in the know always want to talk and prove their insider status.

Again, Hesh didn’t disappoint. “Elderman Sinclair was worried that maybe some of our people would see that you’re still investigating this when the case is closed and that it might send the wrong message about our priorities—or your fitness for leadership.”

Elderman Denton Sinclair was one of The Council who came into power following the attacks. For the third time, Keller wondered how the hell Sinclair, Hesh, or anyone else knew that Keller was viewing the feeds. It had to be someone close to Keller, someone angling for his job, feeding information to The Council in an attempt to undermine him or prevent him from finding the truth. Keller would have to find that someone and take care of the snitch. For now, though, politics.

“Should I speak to Elderman Sinclair?” Keller asked, suspecting Hesh wouldn’t want that at all.

“Oh, no, no, no. Not necessary. He asked me to take care of it because you and I have known each other so long. He figured you might take it better from me.”

Or perhaps he didn’t want me to know that he’s watching me, so he back channeled through you.

“Of course,” Keller said. “I understand. Please tell Elderman Sinclair that I’m finished. As far as I’m concerned, Jonah was The Underground’s head. We’ve cut that off nicely and are now inches from total eradication.”

Hesh thanked him and hung up.

Keller stared at the com, then pressed a button on the wall. The doors parted and he stepped into the garage, still unsure why Denton Sinclair was so interested in his investigation.

CHAPTER 33—SUTHERLAND

After parking their truck so as not to alert anyone of their presence, Sutherland had been scouting the area surrounding where he believed the train station housing Ana and the her friends to be. At his side was the giant oaf—and Sutherland’s savior—Horrance, as well as the two stooges, Wormwood and Finch, and another handful of idiots that he’d been traveling with ever since leaving Hydrangea an unpleasant memory.

Sutherland was also wrestling with himself. Half of him was grateful for the lot of them. They had risked plenty to save him and had trusted him enough to follow his plan to turn on their own people and unleash the virus in Hydrangea. The rest of Sutherland saw them for the idiots they were. That half wanted to strangle them as they clomped carelessly through the woods like they were on a merry jaunt.

“Want us to go find something to eat?”

Wormwood had been asking Sutherland the same goddamned question for the last few hours, ever since they reached the station’s perimeter and turned food into something they’d have to think about later.

“No,” Sutherland said, barely holding his pleasant facade. “We’ll eat after we find the base where Ana Lovecraft is hiding. Now, please.” He tried not to hiss as he forced his lips into the same tired sentences. “Try and keep your voice down. We want to see before we’re seen. Got it?”

“What?” Wormwood asked loudly.

A sudden rustling in the woods ahead caught their collective attention. Horrance turned to Sutherland, quietly begging for direction.

Sutherland ducked low in the brush along the tree line and with a gesture ordered his men to do the same. They crouched, Sutherland watching and hoping his men wouldn’t screw up.

A few of the men looked like they wanted to say something and point out the obvious, but Sutherland put his finger to his lips and wagged his head. He nodded toward the rustling, which grew louder until a pair of people entered the clearing.

Sutherland could feel the smile as it lit his lips. They had to be from the base. They looked healthy, their equipment and clothing were too nice for them to be scavengers or bandits. One was a young teenage boy, maybe 15 or 16, hard to tell with him bundled so tight. His companion, a girl, was a few years older. He bobbed behind her like a lovesick pup.

They would be easy enough to question and kill. Each carried a light-looking backpack. Sutherland assumed they were mostly empty, there to transport whatever they killed for dinner back to the base. In addition to their matching packs, the pair carried identical weapons—short bows, full quivers, and mini-blasters at their sides. The girl wore hers high on the right, the boy had his low on the left.

Sutherland nodded a gesture at Horrance, hoping the oaf wasn’t too stupid to get his meaning. The ogre got it, whispered something to Finch, then followed the leader alone, as the rest of the men stayed back behind the trees.

After he and Horrance had been trailing the scouts for a while, Sutherland felt his smile start to widen, remembering his own days staying alive by killing game. This wasn’t all that different, though the prey now came with half as many legs. He continued to follow his quarry.

In winter even skilled hunters went hungry. The best way to fight starvation was to hunt among the bedding areas where deer went to rest—a strategy the couple in front was clearly familiar with. The pair Sutherland was following was hunting smart and carefully.

The hunters spotted a buck, right where the pine trees started to thicken. Sutherland motioned for Horrance to stay back, then kept going alone, knowing the oaf would make too much noise and scare the deer along with the hunters trailing it.

As he continued to follow, Sutherland couldn’t help but be impressed with the hunters. Young as they were, they were patient, not rushing the kill, waiting until they had their shots lined up. With the wind picking up and a snowstorm brewing, they knew that they might not get another chance if they missed.

Deeper in the woods, with Sutherland’s men still far behind them, the hunters turned so quiet they were nearly invisible. The girl drew an arrow from her quiver, notched it in her bow, and aimed.

Too bad she’ll never fire.

Sutherland stepped up behind her, no longer worried about stealth. His boot heel snapped a branch and sent the deer darting into the woods. The girl’s arrow sailed toward the deer, too high, and thunked into a tree. As the deer vanished, he grabbed her from behind and put a knife to her throat.

The guy never stood a chance. By the time he realized what was happening, Horrance had him by the hair, blade to his throat.

“You can say something. No need to be quiet. Dinner’s gone. Dessert, well, that’s another matter.” Sutherland smiled at the hunters, thinking it funny that they were now prey, then focused on the girl. “If you don’t tell us exactly what we need to know, I’ll let my boys have all they can eat.”

He leaned forward and winked.

“But I’ll be the one to slice your pretty little throat when they’re through.”

CHAPTER 34—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Darkness cloaked them as they crept from one set of shadows to the next, sticking close to the walls, ready for anything.

But as night came, and with it fresh snow, life had left the streets—save for the undead variety of roughly two dozen zombies that stood between them and the bank, milling around in the lot in front of the entrance to Apex National Bank, the building to which they’d tracked Zelle.

“Why are they just standing there?” Adam whispered to Colton as they hid behind a wall of broken vehicles, rusting across the street.

“Hell if I know,” Colton said. “Maybe they were bankers and they just can’t stand the thought of leaving their money behind.”

Adam ignored the joke and looked at the box screen. “I still don’t see Zelle.” The girl, who had been on the rooftop until about an hour ago, seemed to be gone. Adam couldn’t help but think she’d been found and either killed by another player or eaten.

“Relax, kid. I’m sure she just went downstairs to get out of the elements when the temperature dropped.”

Adam stared at the bank. The building climbed 40 stories, with a tall spire at the top. Most of the building’s glass windows were still in place, dark and impossible to see through. The place could be empty, or packed 40 floors high with more zombies. The closer they got to Zelle, the more Adam felt an impending sense of doom closing in around them.

“What happens if she left without us?”

“No way she got out of The Outback alone. I’m the only one who knows where the right tunnels are.”

“Well, what if she’s dead? What then?”

“Then we leave. But we’re not doing that until we find out. You’re not getting cold feet, are you, Adam? I mean, you almost got us both killed trying to save those two strangers, and now you’re going to let a few zombies stand between you and saving a girl from your City, a girl you know?”

“I’m not getting cold feet,” Adam said, indignant. “I just don’t want to get our hopes up that she’s still alive.”

“Don’t be morbid, kid. Let’s find her.”

Colton led the way, Hellweaver aimed at the zombies as they approached. He fired overhead. The shrapnel spun in place momentarily before exploding in a screaming flash of white.

Adam turned from the blinding light, ears buzzing, then turned back, blaster in hand, trying to see if there was anything still standing. Before his eyes had adjusted from the flash, something dark began to lumber toward him.

Adam raised the blaster and fired.

After he got his shot off, something hit him from behind. Adam spun, firing blindly at the shape behind him, hoping it wasn’t Colton.

His eyes adjusted, and he saw the shredded remains of several zombies on the ground.

But beyond the ashes, Adam was alone.

He turned around, his heart racing.

Colton?

He looked back at the ground, thinking for certain he’d accidentally shot Colton.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

He screamed Colton’s name into the biting wind.

“Stop yelling,” Colton called from the bank’s front doors.

Adam breathed a relieved sigh, then followed.

Colton led the way—aiming his rifle with the mounted flashlight, rather than the Hellweaver now strapped to his back—as they stepped into the lobby.

Even in the dark, the bank seemed larger inside. Colton’s light revealed crumbling tiles dangling from the ceiling and half destroyed walls that turned the lobby into a debris-strewn pit. Adam tried to cover the areas where Colton wasn’t focused, staring into the darkness as if he could will his eyes to see into the shadows. They inched across the lobby. Adam felt exposed, as if something could be right next to him.

Between the pressing darkness and the sounds of creaking metal, the building felt like a sleeping giant, poised to wake and crush them at the slightest provocation.

Colton paused, his gear’s metal clinking to a stop as he whispered to Adam. “Keep your finger on the guard, not on the trigger. We don’t want to kill the poor girl.”

“Copy,” Adam said, sliding his finger from the trigger. He was a good shot but not great. If zombies came at them in the darkness he might not get a bead on them quickly enough to bring them down. But Colton was right. Adam was just as likely to accidentally shoot the girl.

As he swept his light across the lobby, Colton called out, “Zelle. We’re here to help you.”

They finished sweeping the lobby, then Colton led them to the stairs.

Thirty nine more floors of this? This’ll take hours.

Adam wasn’t about to gripe aloud, though. Colton had come back to save him. He owed his father’s old friend. He’d spend the next two days searching the bank if that’s what it took to find Zelle.

After another four floors of nothing, and what felt like those two days, they made it to the fifth floor. It was there they spotted movement for the first time, at the end of a long hallway.

“Did you see that?” Colton asked.

“What was it?” He’d seen something but couldn’t tell if it was the girl.

“Zelle?” Colton called, trying to keep his voice from going beyond their hall.

No response, other than creaky complaints from the building.

“What if it’s a zombie?” Adam asked, wanting Colton to quiet down.

“Zombies don’t run away. Whoever that was did.”

“What if it’s a bandit?”

“Could well be, so let’s be careful.”

The hallway was in a T formation with the stairway at the bottom of the T—unless there was a broken floor or ceiling, there was no way the person could get away without passing—or killing—them.

“Remember,” Colton said, “finger on the guard. Wait for my signal or my fire to take any shots.”

“Got it.” His gut twisted. Once again he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap. Adam wondered if he would continue down the hall or turn and run if he were alone. Part of him was grateful he didn’t have to find out and that Colton was with him. Precious little of his training had prepared him for this kind of situation, being virtually alone in a decrepit building possibly full of people and things that would like nothing better than to kill him.

“Zelle!” Colton called out. “We’re here to help.”

“Go away!” a young girl’s voice shouted back, trying its best to sound tough, “or my daddy will kill you.”

“Daddy?” Adam whispered to Colton. “I thought you said she was alone.”

Colton shrugged. “Call out to her. Tell her your name. I’m hoping she remembers you.”

“OK.” Adam cleared his throat. “Zelle! It’s me, Adam Lovecraft! We used to live in the same building. Me and my friend are here to help you get out.”

Silence.

Then the girl stepped out into the hallway, a light aimed at them.

“Adam?” she asked, voice still tough. “Come closer so I can see you.”

Adam stepped past Colton even as the man grabbed at him. A blast of energy blew toward his body, barely missing him and showering him with plaster as Colton tugged him back.

He fell to the ground, heart in his throat. Colton just looked down at him, shaking his head.

Who fired at me?

“Put your gun down!” Zelle screamed, light shaking in her hand. Adam realized she had a light on her pistol. She was scared and had probably fired accidentally.

Adam looked back to see Colton aiming his rifle at Zelle.

“Don’t shoot!” he yelled at Colton, then stood, slowly, hands in the air, his own gun on the ground. “Sorry!”

Adam’s heart raced as he stepped forward, hoping that she recognized him and wasn’t trying to disarm him simply to make killing him easier.

He stepped closer. She cried out, “Adam!”

Zelle lowered her light and gun. She ran to him, hugging Adam hard, crying into his chest.

Adam was caught off guard. Zelle was hugging him like he was a long-lost brother, rather than the kid who used to sometimes babysit. He could only imagine her hell since getting thrown into The Games.

Zelle pulled back and met his eyes, crying.

“You’ve got to help my dad. He’s hurt bad.”

CHAPTER 35—KELLER

Keller sat on the chair and stared at the sleeping man, watching, summoning the courage to do what had to be done.

He reached out with a gloved hand, clicked on the overhead lamp, then smacked Elderman Denton Sinclair across the face.

Sinclair woke with a yelp.

Keller covered the man’s mouth and placed his blaster to the man’s head.

Keller watched as Sinclair looked up, his eyes adjusting to his own horrified expression reflected in Keller’s helmet.

“Rise and shine, Elderman,” Keller said through his helmet’s speakers, knowing his voice would come out amplified and distorted.

Sinclair wouldn’t know who was in his house. Also, Keller had disabled the helmet’s always-on monitoring features. There was no way for anyone at City Watch to track where the suit had been.

And since Sinclair had blocked the camera feed inside his own house, there was nothing here to record this conversation.

Sinclair regained his composure quickly, or wore a solid façade at least. Keller almost wanted to give him credit for that.

“What are you doing in here?” He asked as if he knew who was behind the helmet.

“I’ve come to talk to you about the attack on City 1.”

“Do you mind removing the gun from my head?” Frustration furrowed Sinclair’s brow and seeped into his voice.

Keller sat back in the chair beside the bed, but his gun was still trained on the Elder.

Sinclair started to sit up.

“No,” Keller said. “You lie there.”

Sinclair glared at Keller. “I hope you see that what you’re doing here is treasonous. I’ll have your head, Mister Keller.”

No surprise, Sinclair guessing his identity, but Keller left his helmet on just the same.

“You really want to talk treason, old man? I’ve had a look around your place while you were up here sleeping the sleep of the damned.”

“What are you talking about?”

Keller reached over to the nightstand where he’d placed a few of the more incriminating papers, picked them up, and tossed them at Sinclair.

“I’ve got documents linking you to the attack on City 1 and to a man named Sutherland. I show this to anyone, you’ll be in a very Special Edition of The Games. Or, perhaps, we can work something out?”

Sinclair paused, eyeing Keller as if he could read Keller’s expression through the reflective glass. “What do you want, Mr. Keller?”

Keller removed his helmet and smiled into the man’s eyes. “I want what’s mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to be named the One True Leader. Not this provisional shit. I’ve given my life for this job and you people treat me like an errand boy. How am I supposed to command the respect of my people, of the other Cities, when you undermine me with this provisional title? Even if people don’t know Geralt is dead, they sure as hell know he’s not coming back. For all they’re concerned, he’s retired.”

Sinclair laughed, “Is that all you want?”

“No,” Keller said. “I also want to know why you planned the attack and who Sutherland is.”

Sinclair eyed him up and down. “May I please sit up?”

“Yes,” Keller said, watching the old man move into a seated position on the bed. “Now talk.”

“First, I need to know something.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you ever regretted the lives you’ve taken in The State’s name?”

“Not a one,” Keller said firmly.

“See, men like you, like us, we know the stakes of being too soft. The why of the attack is a bit complicated, but the short of it is that I, and some others, disagreed with The Council about The State’s general direction. As I’m sure you’re aware, The State had grown lenient over the past decade. You’ve had all these rebel groups popping up, disgracing and attacking us. Hell, I don’t need to tell you. You lost your son to one such attack, right?”

Keller nodded.

“That’s what happens when you reward aggression as The Council has done too often, cutting deals with traitors and not going full bore to the infestation’s root. Prior to the attack, the Elders were on the verge of passing some laws that would’ve not only ended The Darwin Games but instituted voting for individual City leaders . . . by the populace! We both know that people are too stupid to rule themselves. They need a strong council, a strong leader, people like us. Right?”

Keller nodded again. Exactly—they need me.

“There’re a few of us who still remember the final days of The Old Nation. A glorious nation brought to its knees by weakness, vice, and a cowardice in dealing with enemies—external and internal. But that all ended with our “great discovery.” It was the 1970s, and we’d made a way to slow aging so much it was practically stopped. Overnight we had the technology to live for centuries. Everything changed, but at the same time, we saw that our blessing was a curse. Death is a key instrument in preventing overpopulation and conserving resources. Nature is balanced. Our playing God threw a wrench in that. The government realized that given how society was crumbling already, this ‘miracle’ would only accelerate our extinction. So I, Jack Geralt, and a few others in the government developed a virus to end humanity as we knew it. You know it as the ‘zombie virus,’ though its actual name escapes me now.”

Keller’s stomach turned as the man nonchalantly discussed killing his own species like he was merely chatting over tea.

“Anyway, the government created six underground, city-sized bunkers and picked 60,000 of the best and brightest, people who would contribute rather than leach off of society, and divided these people among the bunkers. Then the government unleashed the virus. Mankind fell as its most talented thrived underground. Later, we erected cities over these bunkers while those who survived the plague became The Barrens’ savages.”

“So,” Keller said, just to be certain that he was hearing everything right, “you’re saying that you and Geralt unleashed the virus that wiped out humanity?”

“Well, us and others, yes. Including The City 1 Elders. We did return strong, but, sadly, within a few generations we saw the worst of humanity rearing its ugly head among our handpicked and their offspring. Funny, huh? It seems that without the guiding hand of power, humans always devolve into their true parasitic nature.”

“Yes indeed,” Keller said, still trying to process it all. It brought him to his other question: “So, how was Lovecraft involved?”

“We targeted Jonah early. We’d discovered his part in The Underground. We pushed him into a position where he would be sympathetic to ‘our cause,’ the one we told him, anyway. I said I felt guilty—imagine that—for what we’d done to humanity. And that I wanted revenge against Geralt and the evil State.”

“And he was OK with this?”

“Ha! If only. Funny thing—we programmed him to kill his wife, made him believe that you were responsible, and engineered it so his daughter and son would wind up in The Games, and still he didn’t hate The State enough to strike back! How weak are the foolish?”

Keller’s heart sunk with the realization that he was a pawn no different from Jonah. He wondered if his son had also been part of their plans. He figured this was his chance to find out.

“Were you responsible for Joshua’s death?”

“No,” Sinclair said with conviction, “that was The Underground. A despicable lot with all the wrong reasons and none of the sense God gave monkeys.”

“How did you get Jonah to do it?”

“Sutherland. You may remember him as Dennis Weaver, a lunatic cult-leader terrorist who wound up living in one of The Barrens’ many villages. He’s part of some nonsense out there called The Patriots of The New Revolution. Anytime some group calls itself ‘patriots,’ you know they’re easily led and eager to do the bidding of the true power holders. They stand for bringing down The Walls and bringing ‘equality’ and ‘freedom’ to all people—like these savages would know what the hell to do with freedom or the responsibilities that come with it. They’d somehow managed to grab hold of the weaponized canisters of the zombie virus, you see, probably left over in one of the bunkers. So I decided to pitch myself as an ally, fund them, see if I could put them to use like the good little tools they are. To answer your specific question, though, Sutherland had Ana. He threatened her if Jonah didn’t play ball.”

Sinclair was smiling, proud of his plot. “Irony is, of course, that getting them to attack City 1 played into our hands. They thought they’d cripple the government. But I and my companions knew the truth—it would only make us stronger. Every now and then you must flush out the world’s detritus and start over. It’s what we did with the original virus, and what we had Sutherland and Jonah do in City 1. They helped us eliminate enemies, the very people who might have helped them. We made sure beforehand that the right citizens wouldn’t get infected and that the right leaders would live to see prominence on The Council.”

“Genius,” Keller said.

Sinclair smiled. “Thank you. I wanted to bring you in earlier, but some of the things you’ve done since your arrival had me worried that we might not be on the same page.”

“Oh, no,” Keller said. “I’m sympathetic. But I don’t appreciate being left in the dark when I can be of use.”

“Good,” Sinclair said, beaming. “Sometimes, you need a catastrophic event like this to make people realize what’s important—strength, solidarity, and a strong leader. Tell me, Keller, are you ready to be that leader?”

Keller smiled. “I am. I think you people are geniuses. True leaders that The State needs and deserves!” He got serious for a moment. “I do, however, have one small concern.”

“What is that?”

“What’s to keep Sutherland from returning? Especially after he realizes—if he hasn’t already—that his complicity only made things worse for common people in The State and The Barrens?”

“Sutherland won’t be a threat. So what if he gasses us again? Like I said, the right people won’t be infected. We’ve administered an antidote as part of our routine vaccinations. You’ve received it without even knowing.” He laughed. “Your blood knows more than you!”

“Genius,” he said once more. Keller paused, then leaned forward, meeting Sinclair’s pale blue, almost white, eyes. “So, what’s it going to be, Elderman? Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, we do, One True Leader Keller.”

CHAPTER 36—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana stood at the metal rail looking over the surprisingly large underground farm sprawled beneath the large light squares in the ceiling, marveling at what such a small group of people had been able to pull together. The farm had plenty of potatoes, with carrots, corn, wheat, and several other foods growing in neat rows around the circular room.

“What was this place before?” Ana asked Father Truth, who was standing beside her as they waited for Egan to meet them.

“It was an unfinished area when The Old Nation fell. We believe it was going to be a seating area of some sort. It took us a while, but we finally managed to get the mix of soil and light just right for each section.”

While The Station had less than a hundred people, a fraction of Hydrangea’s population, they’d managed to form a tight-knit community and truly cared for one another, and they’d created an impressive farm and water filtration system which seemed even better than the one at Sutherland’s camp. They left only to hunt, gather supplies by raiding bandits, or wage the occasional campaign to hijack shipments from outbound City trucks.

This place, Ana decided, could be a good home—a place where she and Liam could make a life together and finally stop worrying about all the tomorrows that would otherwise haunt them. But she had to be careful. Even The Barrens and all the unknowns outside The Walls were better than settling under another despot. While Egan had seemed nice enough, Ana had always sensed an edge: he was the sort of man who was perfectly kind, so long as you were on his side of an argument. She’d always had her suspicions, but she couldn’t imagine even looking into his eyes now that she knew he was ordering the kidnapping of innocents to inject with the virus in the name of finding a cure.

Those were the actions of a man like Sutherland. Something Sutherland certainly would, and probably had, done. She had wanted to believe that Egan was better. But faith in powerful men was rarely rewarded.

Egan finally arrived and with a few kind words dismissed Father Truth so that he and Ana could be alone.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said, as if she hadn’t been the one to demand the meeting. He turned from Ana and cast his eyes across the underground farm. “I once held your father responsible for the death of my wife and son.”

“What?” she said, surprised.

He kept staring out over the field. “Yes, your father set me up a long time ago. His superiors had tricked him into doing so, but still, he went along.”

“What are you talking about?”

Egan finally turned to Ana, eyes wet, as if he might cry, or perhaps already had.

“I hated Jonah Lovecraft so much. A hate that festered for years. Hated him so much that when I found him abandoned and left for dead after ‘winning’ The Games, I took him, brought him here, and . . . well, let’s just say I wasn’t very nice.”

Ana felt sick to her stomach imagining what that meant. The thought that Egan had hurt her father, no matter what he’d done to deserve it, made her want to strike back. She imagined herself attacking him, trying to decide if she’d merely hurt him, or use the blaster. Either way, she didn’t think she’d get away with it.

He seemed to know it too. Egan was confident, or arrogant, enough to not even bring backup. He obviously felt she would do nothing to jeopardize her stay at The Station—not when Liam, Adam, and Katrina would hopefully be returning.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ana held her hands in front of her, squeezing the fingers of her left hand tight.

“Because you deserve to know the truth.”

“That my father was bad? That he set you up?”

“No, that he was mortal. That even though he was a good man, when The State required him to be bad for the greater good, he did so, without question. It wasn’t until later that he finally felt his overdue guilt. He told me. After he’d seen what happened to my wife and son.”

“What happened?” Ana asked, only half of her wanting to know.

Egan shook his head, “I’ll spare you the details, girl. Point is, I judged your father, like you’re probably judging me. I’m not a fool—I understand that our search for a cure has led to some less than noble means.”

“Say what you want about my father, but he never kidnapped anyone.”

“No, but he may as well have. His actions, and inactions, affected plenty of innocents. Your father was responsible for many infections. He destroyed families and caused death. And I’m not even talking about what he did at City 1.”

“He was forced to do that by that crazy bastard Sutherland! That wasn’t his fault! I already told you about that.”

“I know, and I don’t blame him for it. And while I still do blame him for the death of my family, he did redeem himself while here. Jonah had a chance to flee. Calla had helped him to escape, actually,” he said ruefully. “She liked your father a lot. But when she and I were in danger, he came back and saved us.”

Ana couldn’t help her swelling tears but stayed strong enough not to wipe them.

“Before Jonah came, there were only six or so of us living here at The Station. Mostly because I was bitter and suspicious of everyone. Your father’s departure changed something inside me. For the first time I decided that I would listen to my people and allow more members into our community. We’ve grown stronger and now have everything you see.” Again Egan turned from Ana to the farm. “Your father reminded me what it meant to do the right thing and how I wasn’t being a good father to Calla.”

“So why are you killing people?” Ana demanded.

“Because sometimes doing the right thing by your family means doing the wrong thing to others. It doesn’t mean those things will be easy or fill you with pride. But not wanting to do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Sometimes you have to ignore the acid in your gut and do what you have to. Your father understood that more than anyone I’ve ever met. The Jonah Lovecraft you knew would have done the same to save you, and you know it.”

Ana shook her head, “He wouldn’t have done this.”

“Then you don’t see how deep a father’s love runs. Your father would have, Ana. I’m certain—the proof is in the graves of City 1, if you don’t believe me. And I won’t apologize for trying all that I can to save Calla. We need uninfected subjects, and I can’t ask our own people to do it, not without a riot. So we take them from The Barrens. We usually go after bandits and other bad people who don’t even deserve to walk our planet. But I won’t lie; sometimes, we gather cases that aren’t so black and white, like our three most recent subjects. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I do hope you understand.”

“Why? Why is it important if I understand why you’re killing people?”

Egan met Ana’s eyes and tilted his head, as if trying to answer that very question in his head.

“Because I hope that Calla will understand and not see me as a monster.”

“She already knows,” Ana said. “That man told us everything.”

“I suspected as much.” Egan’s sigh seemed to swell from his depths. “I do hope she forgives me, but I’m not going to stop without a cure. I can live without her forgiveness, but I can’t live without her. I’m not willing to lose another member of my family. We already lost Verosh, a woman who was like a mother to Calla, to the flu last year.”

Egan looked away, leaning on the rail and staring at nothing rather than the impressive farm before him, maybe crying. Ana waited through a long uncomfortable moment until he turned back. “So, now you know the awful truth of what we do here. Will you be leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

“I respect your decision either way but will remind you that your presence is good for Calla. Other than Verosh, she’s never connected with anyone like she has with you. Please, consider her in your decision, and try not to let your opinion of me taint your feelings for her.”

Ana nodded. With no idea what to say, she settled on, “OK.”

CHAPTER 37—LIAM HARROW

The sun was dipping behind The Outback’s desolate horizon as Liam trailed Katrina and Clark with no interest in catching up. They’d been walking for too long without getting far, as the path had not been clear at all, and it was all he could do to keep his anger from swelling into a scream.

Trudging through the snow along the six-lane highway because they couldn’t find a vehicle worth a damn, running through the city, carefully navigating between cars forever stalled in their spots, and the ever-present zombies, bandits, and other threats, Liam felt a deep ache of regret for having left Ana at The Station. He felt outnumbered and alone.

Katrina was clearly out for herself. Clark was there to follow Egan’s orders, and that meant doing what was best for The Station. Which probably meant bringing Liam back alive—that would make Ana happiest after all, and she was Egan’s hope for a cure—but if he got in the way, he got in the way, and he couldn’t count on Clark to have his back.

Right now, the key was that Liam didn’t trust Katrina: a horrible truth that made their danger more glaring. That fact sank into his skin like an open wound, with her words stinging like alcohol.

Katrina had said that he’d grown soft, that he couldn’t do what had to be done, when it had to be. She claimed that he wasn’t the same man she had met, the man who gave her hope that The State could be damaged or perhaps even dismantled.

With every step forward he knew she was right.

Liam wondered if he’d felt loyal to Chelsea because they’d been born behind the same Walls. Was it because he knew her before his world had gone to hell? If Liam hadn’t known her, if she’d just been some Darwin Games player they’d stumbled upon, would he have felt so driven to protect her, even considering the inarguable risk?

Either way, Katrina was right: he was a liability.

Liam wondered what he would have done if Ana had come with them. What if it wasn’t just he and Clark, Katrina, and Chelsea. What if Ana had been in the room—would he have been willing to let Chelsea’s bracelet scream then?

No matter how many times he asked himself that simple question, Liam’s one word answer was always the same: NO. He would have—of course—silenced the bracelet immediately. Not with Katrina’s stroke of almost gleeful violence, but he wouldn’t have hesitated. Ana’s life was too important. Yet, as Katrina had pointed out with a snarling smile, he’d been content to pile risk on the three of them, not just with Chelsea’s bleating bracelet but with the girl’s sprained ankle that had clearly cast them as easier targets.

He looked up, around, and behind himself, then began to stare at Katrina’s back. Clark was walking about five feet ahead of him, and Katrina was another five feet in front of Clark. The part of Liam that knew he was wrong wanted to apologize. The rest of him felt too pissed to consider.

He was wrong, but Katrina was wrong too.

It wasn’t just what she had done to Chelsea. Liam could fault her cruelty but if honest couldn’t fault her decision. Sutherland was something different, however. She should hate him. She shouldn’t regret leaving Hydrangea. The man was a maniac. Completely insane and solely responsible for Jonah’s death. She could argue that he was a strong leader and looking to demolish The State’s iron grip on its people, but what good was a leader if he was willing to do things that were as horrible as the evil he was planning to unseat—or maybe worse? Liam wasn’t sure that The State, awful as they were, would ever willingly poison a city.

It’s not victory when you’re swapping one tyrant for another.

No, he couldn’t apologize. She didn’t deserve it.

Not only did Katrina not deserve his apology, she no longer deserved his presence. She’d lost the right to enjoy his company. Once they found Adam and brought him to The Station, Liam would be done with her for good. He couldn’t see eye to eye with someone who didn’t see Sutherland as the sociopath that he was. And even if he could, how could he explain it to Ana?

Something bristled Liam’s senses and stopped him in his tracks. He might be seething, but his instincts—Chelsea aside—were still there. Katrina and Clark kept walking. Liam looked up and saw movement on a roof ahead of them. Then shots rang out like cracks in the darkness.

It was old-fashioned lead, not a blaster. One, two, three shots plinked into concrete, metal, and glass, sending a chunk of something—maybe the ground?—ricocheting from somewhere into a gash across Liam’s cheek.

Katrina yelled, “Shooter!” Then she dove behind a long, snow-covered car. Clark had already dodged to the left and ducked into an alley. Liam looked up toward Katrina, then over at Clark, and decided on Door Number Three—a hollowed out van about 10 feet away.

He ran to the van and ducked behind the rear bumper just as the front windshield of an ancient car exploded across the street.

He peeked around the van, just enough to see Katrina as she peered ahead trying to locate their shooter. Another bullet tagged the snow on the car’s roof, sending her back to a crouch.

Liam reached up and yanked the mirror from the passenger side door.

Another shot exploded a window that Liam couldn’t see. He heard Katrina yell “Fuck” before she returned two blaster shots from her hybrid rifle.

Liam wiped grime from the mirror with his jacket, pressed his back against the tire, then held the mirror up and scanned the street ahead of them. He saw Clark in the reflection, or at least the man’s eyes, barely visible from the side of what Liam believed was a large metal dumpster—hard to tell for sure with it covered in snow.

Liam kept moving the mirror around until he found the shooter—a gun glinting from the rooftop of a modest-sized building a half block or so ahead of them. He turned the mirror, searching for another shooter as two more shots punched holes in the snow beside him.

Liam saw no one and thanked his lucky stars that their attacker was an awful shot. He yelled at Katrina, loud enough that Clark could hear from the alley.

“Ahead of us, top floor of the building that says EATS on the front. Eleven o’clock.”

Katrina gave him a barely perceptible nod, then proved her worth as a warrior. Liam may not have trusted her or agreed with her allegiance to a madman, but he couldn’t question that she was the best fighter he’d ever known.

There was another shot from the roof. Unperturbed, Katrina readied her rifle, then rolled out from the cover of the car. In a single fluid motion she raised the weapon, found her target—while standing frozen in the snow with a bulls-eye on her chest—and squeezed the trigger before rolling back behind the car.

The gunner returned a shot into the car’s windshield, cracking it, and sending snow into the car’s interior, missing Katrina by millimeters. Then silence.

Katrina peered over the edge and looked through her scope before firing two quick shots.

“Shooter down!” she cried out as she ducked back behind the car. “Anyone else?” Katrina asked.

Liam panned the shaky mirror along the roofline where the shooter had been, “Not that I can see!”

“Clark?” she yelled.

No response.

Liam turned toward the alley, looking for Clark, but saw him nowhere. He stood and squinted into the alley, finally spotting a long tattooed arm like a dead snake slithering out from behind a mountain of boxes. Feeling as though the pile was stacked on his lungs, Liam managed to breathe, “Clark’s down.”

“Fuck,” Katrina said, walking toward Liam.

Another shot thundered in the night, this one a laser blast—bright white light streaking so close that it sent them to the ground.

They rolled behind the van. Depending on the blaster’s strength, it could quickly disintegrate their cover.

Katrina risked rising from behind her shield, narrowing one eye into her scope as she scanned ahead.

Another blast hit just past them, but Katrina didn’t flinch as she found her target, and pulled the trigger. Twice.

“Second shooter down. I think we’re clear,” she said. Then, “Clark?”

“Clark!” Liam joined her cry above a growing, biting wind. He heard a groaning that was either coming from the alley or his head.

Not quite believing they were clear of danger, but feeling that he had to do something to prove his worth, Liam cried out, “Cover me!” Then he raced from his relative safe spot behind the van over to Clark in the alley.

Another blaster shot sizzled through the air as his foot hit the curb. Again Liam felt lucky his assailants were terrible shots.

He ducked into the alley, where Clark had fallen behind the snow-covered dumpster. He was doubled over, clutching his knee where he must have been hit by the first shooter.

“I’ve got Clark. He’s OK—I think he’s been hit in the knee, but he’s definitely alive.”

He put a hand on Clark’s shoulder, hoping to help the man stand. “Come on,” he said. “We’re going to be fine.”

Clark turned toward Liam, with bloodshot eyes and a twisted face, growling as he swiped out. He knocked the gun from Liam’s hand and sent him sprawling back to the ground.

He had a choice: scramble on the ground for his gun or keep Zombie Clark from biting his face. With his back in the snow, Liam launched his legs up to batter the zombie’s chest.

Zombie Clark continued to come at him, gnashing, falling on top of Liam, pinning his arms and bringing its gnashing teeth closer.

Liam couldn’t allow infection to end him.

He wiggled and writhed, trying to push back, squirming under Zombie Clark’s weight, attempting to move a man who was a boulder atop him.

How the hell did he get so strong?

“Help!” he called out to Katrina. “Clark has turned!”

Liam reached up, trying to keep the zombie’s mouth at a distance. He slipped his other hand free from Clark’s grip, reaching up and shoving his fingers into the zombie’s neck, trying to push it back or, if that didn’t work, rip out the bastard’s larynx.

Shots were traded in the street.

And then silence.

Something told Liam that Katrina was dead and he had just seconds himself. He could practically feel Clark’s sharp teeth as he pictured them ripping into his flesh. Death, or something worse, was only moments away. His cramping arms were made of fire and his heart was a tick away from explosion.

Still, silence in the street. Katrina was dead. He was certain of it. Liam’s arms were about to give way and once they did, they’d collapse under Zombie Clark’s weight and force.

And then the monster would be at his flesh.

Liam braced himself for what was coming.

He closed his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and accepted the inevitable because he had no other choice . . .

Steaming hot blood splashed his face.

He opened his eyes to see Katrina’s sword jutting through the side of Zombie Clark’s skull. She yanked the blade, pulling the monstrosity off of Liam, then drew her sword from the thing’s head. She wiped the steel against Clark’s jacket, cleaning off the blood as Liam spit Zombie Clark’s blood from his mouth.

On his knees, Liam grabbed a handful of snow, shoved it into his mouth, swished it around, and spit it out too, hoping like hell he wasn’t infected.

Katrina held out her hand in offering. He gripped it and launched himself from the ground as the sound of too many zombies echoed around them.

“I think I got the last of the shooters,” she said. “But there’s a mess of zombies on their way.”

He didn’t need any more than that. They took off at a full sprint, running almost blindly through pitch-black alleys, hoping that they were staying relatively on path toward Adam’s location, and that they wouldn’t run smack into a wall or worse.

Liam’s lungs felt near collapse. He could barely keep pace with a racing Katrina, who already seemed like she was going slower than she wanted to. Despite that, it was clear that they had lost the zombies.

Relatively safe for the moment, Katrina ducked into a small, one-story mercantile, pulling Liam into the old store behind her.

He tried twice to speak, but Katrina shushed him, staring out into the street as if daring herself to believe in its silence. Finally, after many minutes she turned from the window and rifled through her pack.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said. “For everything. You were right.”

She grunted, eyes still in her pack, and handed Liam a bottle of water and ration. She pulled out the box screen and began to stare with a furrowed brow.

“Do you see anything?” Liam asked, knowing she was likely searching for Adam.

“No,” she said, her eyes on the screen. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam repeated.

“It’s fine. Now’s not the time.”

Katrina held her stare to the screen, face creasing deeper. As she studied the screen, Liam’s eyes found something out the back window of the shop.

He gently shook her shoulder, then pointed, drawing Katrina’s attention to the spired building across the street, with the giant sign at the top that read, Apex National Bank.

“That’s it, isn’t it?”

She stared, open-mouthed. Like Liam, she hadn’t realized how close their flight had taken them to the bank. In the parking lot, they saw the ashen remains of what they hoped were zombies rather than Adam.

CHAPTER 38—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland continued to question the scouts.

He’d been going for a while, trying to ignore the grumbling of the men behind him who seemed more worried about having left the truck unattended and getting a meal than the job at hand. Wormwood still hadn’t stopped bitching about his growling stomach.

“I’ll ask you again,” Sutherland said, refusing to look up from the hunk of branch he’d been peeling to nothing. “I’d like to know everything that you two know about the train station. So far I have jack diddly, and if I don’t have more than jack soon, I’ll have to do something to improve my mood. So . . . once more, tell me everything you know about this station of yours: how many people are there, what sorts of weapons do you have, what do your supplies look like—both in quality and quantity—and, this one might be most important of all, where the hell is it?”

The scouts still refused to speak. Sutherland admired them, though esteem would in no way guarantee breath. They would answer or die.

He was most impressed with the girl. The boy went out of his way to show Sutherland that he wasn’t afraid, but his mask betrayed his horror, anyway. The girl was afraid, but made him work to know it. The boy, because he was a few years her junior, or was born a pussy, telegraphed fear through every blink and nod.

Sutherland was also surprised to find that the two weren’t fucking. The way the boy had been trailing the girl like a puppy, Sutherland had assumed that the kid wanted to bury his pecker, but when Sutherland suggested that a lack of answers might accelerate the rate at which Sutherland might decide to let his men bury their own, the idiot kid reacted more like a protective brother than a jealous boyfriend. That same melting mask that telegraphed his terror—the twitching eye and quivering voice—told Sutherland that they had the same daddy.

He’d given the kids more than a minute of quiet to think, but neither had lowered their jaw to tell him anything about their hideout, so Sutherland would have to move things along.

He dropped his peeled stick to the snow, stood with an exaggerated yawn, walked over to the boy, waited for him to finish flinching, then pulled back and launched his fist hard into the boy’s jaw to a chorus of oohs and ahs from the idiots behind him.

The kid was a pussy, so of course he started crying. He managed to swallow a yelp, but his eyes went bright red and began to water.

“Still nothing?” Sutherland said, almost kindly.

The boy stayed silent. His sister looked up, eyes colder than the wind and icy with hate.

Sutherland was many things, but a woman beater wasn’t one of them. He took no pleasure in striking the inferior sex. He wasn’t one of those idiots who believed a man should never hit a woman, but he did believe a man should only hit a woman when she truly deserved it.

He looked down kindly into the girl’s eyes, smiled a flicker—just long enough to let her believe that all might be swell—then pulled back and launched his fist into her jaw, even harder than he had for her pussy brother.

The girl’s eyes were redder and wetter than the boy’s, surprised as she was by Sutherland’s sudden ferocity. Still she said nothing. Her brother, however, behaved exactly as expected.

“OK,” he started. “I’ll tell you whatever you want!”

Sutherland turned from the girl to the boy, glad that the encounter was nearing its end. He was cold, and Wormwood wasn’t exactly wrong about dinner. He was starting to think that maybe he should have let them fell the deer before accosting them. Sutherland knelt next to the boy as his sister started to scream.

“No, don’t say anything, Jaul. Keep it trapped. He’ll kill us anyhow.”

Sutherland slowly rose from his crouch and turned to the girl, admiring her will as he surveyed and pitied its inevitable departure.

“Do you think that’s wise?” His voice was friendly, almost smooth.

She pursed her lips as if about to spit but said nothing.

“It’s OK, you can spit at me if you want to. The world would be better if people followed their instincts more often. You know, those true feelings we stuff down inside us because it’s easier than staring into their eyes.”

He returned to his crouch and brushed a knuckle across her cheek. He leaned in and whispered.

“Do you know what sort of things I’m talking about?”

He kissed her before drawing back. Inches away she let go, covering Sutherland in spit; a rope of saliva ran from one cheek to the other and drizzled his nose in between.

“Don’t touch her,” the boy yelled, as though the coward could do anything to stop him.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Sutherland soothed. “Not in that way. I’m used to women who know what to do. Your peasant sister is a child and wouldn’t know where to start.” He turned to look behind him. “Horrance, would you come here for a moment? And bring your friends.”

A moment later Horrance was in front of Sutherland, with the other men standing in a semicircle behind him.

“When’s the last time Little Horrance was wet?”

Horrance, who looked like a dog, actually started to drool. He looked down, as if embarrassed, and muttered under his breath. “Just the other day. You gave me one of your . . . you gave me one of your girls, Sir.”

“And you?” Sutherland turned to Wormwood and Finch, as if their brains were each so small it took two to make one.

“A month for me,” Wormwood said, then as if to prove Sutherland right he spoke for Finch. “And a month for him. It was with Sally, both of us on the same night, same time.”

He didn’t have to ask the other men. Fear was planted. He twisted his face into an unpleasant grimace and turned back to the girl.

“I’ve seen all of these men eat, and, well, I wouldn’t want them anywhere near me if I were you. I can’t imagine how ugly the whole thing will get. That’s nothing I want to see or hear. Of course, you can keep all of this from happening if you’re willing to stop being stupid and start telling me the truth. Really, shouldn’t we all just get to the inevitable conclusion?”

Again he brushed his knuckle across her cheek. “And such a pretty girl.” He turned to the boy. “You don’t really want your sister ruined, do you?”

“You think I haven’t been raped before?” the sister yelled. He wasn’t sure if she was bluffing or not, but the look in her eyes belied a toughness that said perhaps she had been through a lot of shit. “Don’t tell them anything, Jaul! They’re monsters and we have to protect our home.”

“Shut up!” Sutherland yelled, smacking the back of his hand across her cheek hard.

To her credit, she flinched but never broke eye contact. Nor did she yelp or cry.

Of course, the boy cracked.

“Why do you want to know about The Station? Are you going to hurt people there? If there are any,” he added, as if it wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot.

Sutherland winked at the girl, turned to Horrance and his men with a gesture that said to stand down, at least for now, then finally turned to the boy with his most pleasant grin. He was ready to break, desperately seeking any excuse to end his sister’s suffering.

One more nudge.

“Of course we won’t hurt them. Why would we want to do that?”

As seemed to be common between them, the boy’s sister spoke for him.

“You’re holding us prisoner right now and threatening to rape me; what kind of men are you? You’re nothing but bandit scum. All balls, no brains, so eager to inflict the world with your pain. There’s no way we’re bringing you to The Station.”

Still so stupidly brave, she gritted her teeth and snarled at Sutherland.

And she’s questioning my brains?

“Aw, darling, you got us all wrong. You know how it is out here in The Barrens,” Sutherland calmly explained. “We can’t just go knocking on doors and expecting charity. Sometimes we have to go about things in such uncivilized ways. I don’t like it any more than you do, really. But we’ve already tried to be kind and failed. You’ve no idea how many times we’ve traveled, hat in hand, hoping for the kindness of strangers, only to be shut out in the cold and left to suffer. I don’t know why, but some people seem to be scared of us. Believe me, missy, we don’t want to hurt anyone, but we do need a place to stay. We certainly can’t bunk out here with the savages.” He laughed. “Yes, we’re forcing our way in, but that’s only due to necessity. You’ll see, once inside we’re always happy to earn our keep. You should see Horrance with a broom.”

Sutherland nodded toward the ogre. The boy yelled, finally finding his balls. “Just leave her alone. Do whatever to me. Just let her go. I’ll take you to The Station. I’ll help you get inside.

“Stop it Jaul! Shut your mouth. Don’t tell these idiots anything!”

There it was again, her thinking she was smarter than Sutherland. As if he was just some common grunt and not the man who would bring freedom to the entire Barrens and Cities—even if these ungratefuls didn’t deserve his leadership.

He glared at her. He hadn’t wanted to rape her before. But now he did, just to show her who was boss.

She stared back, far braver than her brother. That look in her eyes, that look of hate and judgment he’d seen so many times before from all who underestimated him. From the whores who thought he was just some drunken fool to the traitors at Hydrangea who sold him out the first chance they got. Eventually, though, he always made them see just who was in charge. Who was the true genius.

Sutherland clucked his tongue. “You know, Jaul. I’m disappointed in you. After spending all this time out here in the cold, you finally started to warm my heart, knowing how willing you were to protect your friends back at The Station. But now, the way you’ve given them up, well, it makes me shiver.”

Sutherland shuddered for effect.

“You must really love your sister.”

The boy cowered back, knowing that their exchange was headed someplace awful. But he was too scared to retort and his sister too proud to craft one.

Sutherland shrugged. “Well then, I know what to do.”

To put awful thoughts into their mind or worsen the ones that were already there, Sutherland walked over to the huddled men, whispered into their throng, chuckled a few times for effect, then sent Horrance to drag the scouts to their feet.

They marched back toward where Sutherland had first spotted them, past where he’d seen them hunting the deer, heading toward where they’d left their truck.

They walked without words for many minutes. Both brother and sister stayed trembling, blue from the freezing air and fear. Horrance opened the truck’s rear by shoving the rolling wall to the top.

“Him first,” Sutherland ordered, nodding at the boy.

Horrance grabbed him roughly by the arm, hefted him up, and practically threw the boy into the truck.

Wormwood’s fingers dug into the girl’s arm.

“Her, to me,” Sutherland said.

With great ceremony Sutherland pulled a narrow capsule from one of his coat’s interior pockets, then lifted the lid and withdrew a syringe.

“Do you know what this is?”

The girl, suddenly too terrified for bravery or running her smart mouth, shook her head.

“It’s a zombie virus. It’s going to kill you.” He chuckled again. “Don’t worry, it won’t happen fast. It’s quite slow. First it will turn you, through torment and pain, a horrible agony you couldn’t possibly imagine. You’ll be undead, wishing you could taste the real thing. That is, of course, unless your brother is smart enough to decide that he loves you more than those poor souls who are already lost at The Station.”

Sutherland slipped the syringe back into the capsule as if pausing in thought. He peered into the truck’s back and the sobbing coward’s eyes.

“Do you love them more than your sister? If not, I need details. What is The Station?”

“I don’t understand. Just tell me what you want to know,” he said, blubbering as his sister finally started to cry.

“Is it a military base?”

He looked confused. “I don’t know.”

“Think long and hard,” Sutherland said, taking the syringe from the capsule and closing the lid with a loud snap. The girl tried to get away, but Wormwood held her tight as Sutherland stuck the needle into her skin, depressing the plunger. “Because if you don’t tell me the truth, your sister will never have the antidote. I want to know how many people are there, what kind of supplies you all have, and what kind of people we’ll be dealing with: Peaceful? Bandits? Soldiers? Everything.”

It took 10 minutes for the boy to spill all he knew. Unfortunately for everyone, that wasn’t much.

The boy then cried, “Now can she have the antidote?”

Sutherland chuckled for a final time. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jaul. Of course, I was lying. Really, I can’t believe you believed me. You’d think you would have learned better than to trust violent redheads you meet in the snow.”

“You fucker!” the girl screamed out as Sutherland grabbed her by the arm and shoved her over to Horrance. Without needing to be told, the ogre threw her into the truck on top of her brother.

She tried to jump out, lunging toward the big man. Horrance swung the butt of his rifle into her head, sending her sprawling backward with a loud crack. He then aimed the gun at the boy.

Sutherland approached the truck and met the girl’s dizzied gaze, wondering how smart she felt now—how much better than he—as she put a hand to her forehead to stop the bleeding. “We’ll leave you two alone. See how much your sister loves you after she turns into a zombie.”

“Please,” the boy pleaded, “you don’t have to do this.”

Sutherland met his eyes, then retrieved a blade from his chem suit’s pocket. He tossed it into the van for the boy to use on his sister, if he had the balls. “I guess we’ll see just how deep your love for your sister goes. Do you love her enough to give up your own life and let her eat you? Or will you do the right thing and put her out of her misery? Wow, this is almost as intriguing as The Darwin Games. Well, have fun, kids.”

Sutherland twirled his finger—a directive for Horrance to close the truck’s door.

As the door went down, the siblings screamed. Sutherland met the girl’s eyes one last time and he winked.

Then the men followed Sutherland toward The Station, ready to reclaim Ana and kill every other fucker inside.

CHAPTER 39—ADAM LOVECRAFT

“Your dad?” Adam asked Zelle.

“Zombies attacked, and one of them bit him. I was on my way downstairs to find him some food. Do you guys have anything?”

“Yeah, we’ve got some stuff.” Colton patted his backpack. “Where is he?”

“On the top floor. Is he going to be OK?”

“How long ago was he bitten?” Colton asked.

“It’s been eight days.”

Adam and Colton’s traded looks that more or less said the same thing—it’s only a matter of time before he turns.

He wondered if Zelle knew. The girl was bright for her age, but that didn’t mean she understood how the zombie virus spread, especially if her parents kept her from watching The Games as Adam remembered them doing.

Colton opened his pack. “Let’s see if we can help him.”

The girl thanked Colton. He turned to Adam, “Go get your gun.”

Adam ran back to get his dropped gun, then followed them upstairs, watching their lights—Zelle’s flashlight and Colton’s gun-mounted bulb—bounce off the walls. They’d found the girl, but Adam couldn’t shed his sense of doom, weighing heavier with each ascended floor. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d encounter more danger as they progressed—including the nightmare of the girl’s undead father. Adam wondered if Zelle would try to stop them from doing what would have to be done if her dad had already turned.

Adam remembered her father as a nice, soft-spoken man. Though also in City Watch, he was definitely brainier than the average Watcher. Despite that—or because of that—Adam was surprised to learn Daniel was Underground and wondered if his father and Daniel had both been traitors at the same time.

Adam followed Zelle and Colton as they climbed higher into the darkness. At each floor, he half expected to meet Zelle’s zombified father. But they reached the top without incident, arriving at a door blocked by two old filing cabinets and a chair awkwardly balanced on top.

“I wanted to make sure Daddy was safe,” she said. “The zombies aren’t smart enough to figure out how to unblock doors.”

“You’re a smart girl.” Colton grabbed the first cabinet and dragged it aside. Adam helped, listening for sounds behind the closed door.

Zelle didn’t hesitate, though, and pushed the door bar, leading them onto the top floor.

This hallway, like the one where they’d found Zelle, was T-shaped. Walls of the first few offices on the left had been blown out, as had the windows in the rooms beyond. Cold wind and snow poured through, chilling the hall.

“He’s down here.” Zelle led them to a closed door at the end of the hall with more furniture—this time a bookcase and chair—stacked in front.

“Daddy, we’re here!” Zelle pulled the chair away as Colton dragged the bookcase aside.

“Stay here,” Colton said before she could open the door.

“Why?”

“He may not be . . . the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said your father was bitten, right?”

“Yes,” she said, looking up at Colton, scared. “Why?”

“Do you know what happens to people who get bitten?”

She shook her head no.

Adam felt his heart breaking.

How could he not tell her? Warn her? He should’ve told her to run so he wouldn’t wake up one night and eat her.

Adam stared at the girl’s big blue innocent eyes, terrified as she searched Colton’s for answers. Zelle was only eight, nowhere near ready to face the world on her own. Maybe Daniel didn’t want to scare her or thought he could outlive the bite.

Adam couldn’t judge—it wasn’t his daughter.

Colton kneeled and put his hands on Zelle’s shoulders. “Sometimes when people get bitten they become zombies.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “he’s not a zombie.”

She tried pushing past Colton, but he held her firm. “Let me check on him then. Maybe I can help. Better safe than sorry.”

“I want to see my dad!” she yelled, trying to break free of his grip.

“Please, hold her.” Colton looked up at Adam. “Don’t let her come in until I give the all clear.”

Colton shoved the girl into Adam’s arms and rushed into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Zelle tried to wriggle free, but Adam held her tight.

“It’s going to be OK.”

“Let me go!” she cried out.

“Please,” Adam whispered, trying to calm her. “It’s going to be OK. Colton’s just being careful. You remember me, don’t you?”

She turned and looked up at Adam. He held his grip on her shoulders just in case. She nodded.

“You know I’d never lie to you. Right?”

She nodded again. “I’m scared.”

He released her, holding Zelle’s eyes with a subliminal, Please don’t run.

“It’ll be OK.” Adam wondered if Colton was killing her zombie father even as he made this promise.

No, things aren’t going to be OK. But we’re not about to stop fighting. Not now, or ever.

Wind howled as it whipped through the hallway. Zelle pulled her long black coat tighter around her tiny frame. As she did, Adam noticed that she wasn’t wearing the same blue coveralls as the other contestants. While her pants could’ve passed—especially in the dark hall—for the same blue as Adam’s clothing, her shirt was green.

“What happened to your coveralls?”

“What coveralls?”

“Like mine. The ones they give us when we play The Darwins.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not in The Games.”

“You’re not?” Ice ran up Adam’s spine.

Why did Colton say that Zelle was in The Games if she wasn’t?

Why hadn’t he mentioned her father?

“Was your father in The Games?”

“No,” her brow furrowed. “Why are you asking if we were in The Games?”

“How did you wind up here?” Adam felt on the verge of knowing what had been bothering him since they’d entered the building.

“We left City 6 a month ago. We’re on our way to Eden.”

“What’s Eden?” Adam asked, figuring it was The Gardens that Colton said they were looking for.

“A safe place in the mountains. Daddy and I had to leave when City Watchers found out he was in The Underground. We barely made it out of The City. When we saw that The Games were in The Outback, Daddy said it was too dangerous to leave, and that we had to hide here and wait for them to end. Then we ran into zombies.”

Adam’s uneasy mind flashed on several things at once: Colton lying about Zelle, how conveniently he’d had a store of weapons and a device allowing him to tap into The Games’ raw feed, how he’d shot Hooper when he perhaps didn’t need to.

Now he was alone in the room with the girl’s father.

Colton!

Adam grabbed his blaster and threw open the door.

Zelle’s father was lying in a pool of blood, sprawled in the corner with a blade through his skull.

Where’s Colton?

Adam felt the blow to the back of his head and fell to the ground.

Episode 6

CHAPTER 40—CHARLES EGAN

Charles stared at the woman on the other side of the glass. He needed the glass between them, even though it made him feel like the hypocritical coward he was. He should be able to stand by the table without the window creating a divide between them but couldn’t, at least not without feeling like a monster.

“You’re doing what you have to do,” Father Truth said, his own eyes fixed on the glass.

“Did I say I was uncomfortable with it?”

“Your body is saying plenty.”

Charles let it go, not wanting a back and forth exchange with anyone, especially Father Truth, who could be exhausting in his delight for verbal sparring. So instead he said, “How is she responding?”

“Better.”

“That’s good,” Charles said, as if he cared about the woman on the table rather than about the small changes in her blood and what they might mean.

“And is this latest variation with Ana’s blood?”

Father Truth finally turned. Charles saw the movement in the man’s hazy reflection but held his stare to the glass.

“Yes. This is the last sample from Hydrangea.”

“Do you think the new blood will behave differently?”

Father returned his eyes to the window. “We’ll see.”

So Egan forced himself to continue looking.

The woman was strapped to the table. Her face was an empty sack of sagging flesh, with hollow eyes and an unfortunate—and surely accidental—smile. She looked glazed. Drugged. Gone from her body. The woman lurched up from the table, yanking at her restraints. Her crazed eyes found his and Charles tried not to blink.

Dr. Oswald stood behind her, checking the woman’s blood pressure.

“She’s somebody’s daughter,” Charles said.

“Yes, she is. Probably someone’s sister as well.”

Charles was almost surprised anyone answered him—he hadn’t thought he had said anything out loud. “This isn’t right,” he muttered, hating what he was doing.

They had started out innocently enough. The Barrens were filled with plenty of people deserving of death. People they could snatch up and inject with the virus. For a while, that was enough. But winter neared as they circled the cure, and potential subjects became harder to come by. Now here they were.

“What did she do?” Charles asked, nodding at the glass, wanting Father to say something awful, even if they both knew it wasn’t true.

“Does it really matter? She’s here.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed. “She is.”

Father turned from the window. “Are you looking for someone to tell you that this is all right? To ease your conscience, say it’s fine to infect people so long as they’ve committed a worthy crime?”

Charles turned from the glass and looked down at the dwarf. “Something like that.”

“You value my opinion, Charles, too much for me to blow smoke. Wasn’t it you who said that morals must sometimes be abandoned in service of the greater good?”

“Put like that, I sound like The State.”

“We’re all human, doing what we must to protect our interests—whether it’s for power or family, the aims aren’t too different.”

“I’d like to think that because it’s for family that makes me less of a monster.” Father said nothing. Charles pressed. “Right?”

“I think so . . . for whatever that’s worth.”

“It means plenty, old friend.”

Charles punished himself by staring silently through the window for a few more minutes. Then he finally made the excuse that Father had been waiting for, telling him that he’d be in his office even though they both knew he’d be looking in on Calla.

“Please keep me informed of Dr. Oswald’s findings.”

“Of course.”

It didn’t take long to find Calla. She was in the garden, walking beside Ana, both of them laughing. He pressed his back to a wall and watched his daughter, wondering if she could ever know how often he was a bird in her life’s tree, perched high to see whatever he could.

There had been so few times in Calla’s life when she seemed truly happy. Charles wondered how she could be so pure of heart, how Calla’s soul could still be sweet after having been shredded so early with the loss of her mother. The girl was undaunted. She deserved to live, and that’s exactly what he kept reminding himself as he pictured the innocent woman strapped to Oswald’s table.

Out in the garden, Ana said something that he couldn’t hear. Calla laughed, then laughed louder.

Charles thought back to the time they were wandering The Barrens on her birthday. She had been unaware that she was turning five. He had known that Calla’s birthday was coming and had wanted to tell her, had wanted her to celebrate though he’d known it meant nothing to her. He had even wanted to somehow make Calla a cake but had known that was absurd.

That night she had snuggled against his chest, lightly snoring, while Charles had whispered “happy birthday” and softly kissed her head. As happy as he’d been to have her in his arms, he’d also been angry that night at the frustration of not being able to even note the passing of time in his daughter’s life—such things no longer had meaning in this godforsaken land. Yet, he’d stifled his anger in the morning. He had stopped counting days from that moment forward, knowing that no matter how much he tried to assign such things importance, they no longer mattered at all. But that was on the surface. Below, his rage boiled and continued to seethe until he met Jonah—the man who had shown him that life could be lived another way. Now Charles nursed two constant thoughts: he should have wished Calla “happy birthday” and kept counting days, and he should have said “sorry” to Jonah for hating him so.

He couldn’t wish Calla a happy birthday now—she wouldn’t know what he meant—but Charles could tell his daughter that he loved her and pull her closer like he should do more often.

He stepped away from the wall, about to do just that, but a chirp from his com pulled Charles away.

“What is it?”

“Someone has spotted intruders in the east entrance,” Father said.

“Any idea who they are?” Charles’ heart began to beat faster.

“Men with guns . . . a lot of them.”

CHAPTER 41—ADAM LOVECRAFT

Light burned his eyes and chased the fog from his brain.

It was bright enough to be morning or even late the next day. Zelle was sleeping beside him on the ground—bound and gagged. He couldn’t move his arms, his hands were tied behind his back, and he felt numb in the shoulders. But his mouth wasn’t gagged.

Adam sat bolt upright, turning, searching for Colton, but the man wasn’t in the room.

It seemed like they were still in the bank building but in a different room from where Colton had killed Zelle’s father. Light spilled through the filthy window and lit the city’s gray mass. Adam looked back at the girl.

She didn’t seem to be hurt, so at least Colton wasn’t a total monster. He’d knocked them out and tied them up. At least he hadn’t murdered them yet.

Adam leaned closer and listened to make sure she was breathing. He would have woken her to ask what had happened, but with a blue rag gagging her mouth, Zelle would have nothing to say. Instead, Adam looked around, searching for something to help him break free from the plastic ties binding his wrists, the same ties used by City Watch when they were out of metal cuffs.

He was about to stand when the door opened. Colton stepped in, holding two bottles of water with orange DARWIN GAMES labels in one hand, a blaster aimed at Adam in the other.

“You’re awake.”

“What the hell is this all about?” Adam glared at Colton.

“Don’t be upset. I’m doing this for your own good.”

“What are you talking about?”

Zelle woke, yelling into her gag as she lashed out with her limbs.

Colton kicked her feet. “Stop!”

She did, eyes wide and watery as she looked up.

“What’s going on, Colton?” Adam asked again.

Colton squatted across from them and unscrewed one of his bottles, probably from his Opening Rush supplies. He held the bottle to Adam’s lips. “Take a drink.”

Adam took four gulps before coughing.

Colton turned to Zelle. “I’m gonna remove your gag, so you can have a drink. If you yell, scream, or cry, I’m putting it back on and you won’t get any water. Understand?”

Zelle nodded, fear at war with sanity in her stare. Adam was surprised she’d not snapped already.

Colton leaned over, untied her gag from the back, then held the bottle for her to drink.

“What’s going on?” Adam repeated for a third time. “What do you mean for my own good?”

“No matter what happens next, remember one thing, boy: I saved your life. Well, me and Hooper.”

After Zelle finished the bottle and Colton pulled it from her lips, she yelled, “You killed my father!”

“He was a zombie, darling, otherwise he’d be here with us right now.”

“He didn’t look like a zombie,” Zelle yelled. “And you stabbed him in the head!”

“Trust me, your father had turned. Now keep quiet or it’s back to the gag.”

Zelle looked down.

Adam was getting frustrated at Colton’s evasions. “What do you mean you did this for my own good?”

“Your father was a good man. I believe you are, too. But there are consequences for breaking the law.”

“Breaking the law?” Adam’s voice climbed higher than he wanted. Then something dawned on him. “Wait. Are you with The State?”

Colton nodded. “Yes, I am. I was tasked to find Zelle and her father, then The Gardens.”

Zelle stared, too afraid to speak.

“So you lied to me? To get my help?”

“I knew she’d be more likely to trust you than me. Especially with Daniel alive. He would’ve remembered me from City Watch.”

“So you killed him?”

“No, he was turned. I swear.”

Zelle put her face down, crying. “No he wasn’t.”

Adam asked, “And Hooper? Was he with you?”

“No, he was just another player in The Games.”

“And that’s why you killed him? Because he would have stopped you from doing this?”

Colton shook his head, “Shit, Adam. Is that how little you think of me? I came back and saved your ass from those bandits after you ran off like a fool! I didn’t have to do that. I could’ve kept going and found Zelle myself. But no, I came back—for you.”

“You just said you needed me to convince her.”

Colton met his eyes harshly. “There were other, easier, ways to convince her.”

Colton looked at Zelle. Tears streaked the girl’s face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an orange cloth.

He reached out. She flinched.

“Just trying to help.”

Colton brushed her cheeks free of tears, almost as if he wasn’t a heartless bastard who had murdered the girl’s father before tying them up.

Adam asked, “What are you getting out of all this?”

“I’m doing my job, Adam—I’m getting the order and protection for me and my family that The State provides. Like I said, a number of Underground people have fled to The Gardens. We want to find it and bring those terrorists to justice.”

“And what of the people living there?” Adam asked. “You’re just going to attack them?”

“Only if they fight. That’s where Zelle comes in. As a show of good faith, we’ll bring her to The Gardens and she can stay, assuming they’ll have her.”

“And what about me?” Adam asked.

Colton turned his head to the side and was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, “I’m not sure what’s going to be done with you.”

Adam thought of Ana and wondered if he’d see her.

“Hold on a moment, will you?” Colton stood, walked over to Zelle, and untied her hands, then Adam’s. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve relayed our location to The State. They’ve got hunter orbs standing by to escort us out of here.”

Colton went to the door and stepped outside.

Adam reached for the second bottle of water and offered it to Zelle. She finished wiping her tears, then took it.

“I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I had no idea.”

“Do you think my father was really—” She couldn’t finish.

Adam wasn’t sure. He was wrong about Colton. The man had been playing him, with Adam too stupid to see it. And yet, he liked to believe that though Colton was bad, he was not evil and would have a hard time killing an innocent man.

Yeah, tell that to Hooper!

Hooper was about to get us all killed . . .

Adam argued with himself, weighing his moves. He could attempt to disarm Colton and might succeed if he could catch the man off guard. But if he failed, Adam was sure that Colton—or the orbs—would kill him.

Too, it seemed as if Colton was arranging to get them out of The Outback. So even if he managed to kill Colton, what then? It wasn’t as if he knew how to get out of The Outback. And there was no way he could survive long with the girl. Colton, despite the recent turn of events, might be their only chance of escaping The Outback alive.

But at what cost?

Adam couldn’t imagine many things worse than dying in The Outback and wasn’t about to risk the girl’s life on a chance that he might be able to take the man out. So he decided he would follow along and look for an opportunity that made more sense in terms of their survival. Still, he wondered why he was being pulled from The Games, and about the purpose of his rescue.

Almost as if in response to that thought, Colton stepped into the room holding a com to his mouth. “Yes, he’s right here.” He handed the com to Adam. “It’s for you.”

Adam put the com to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Adam.” The voice that he could never forget sent a chill through his body.

Keller.

CHAPTER 42—KELLER

Keller held the com, hardly able to believe Adam was on the other end.

It had been so long since he’d heard the boy’s voice. He sounded different—hardened by more than a half year in prison and days in The Games.

This is what a ghost sounds like.

“What do you want?”

Hate dripped from Adam’s voice. Keller couldn’t blame him. He’d killed the boy’s father. Adam probably assumed that Keller was behind his mother’s death as well.

“I don’t know what I want,” Keller said, honestly. “You hurt me, Adam. I thought of you like a son.”

“Bullshit! You were using me. You used me to get to Michael and the other Underground. You never cared about me! I’ve been thinking, Keller, and you know what? I think you only became my friend to hurt my father worse. You knew nothing would make him madder than seeing his son friends with the man responsible for killing the life that he loved.”

“I don’t know what your Underground friends told you, Adam, but I swear I had nothing to do with what happened to your parents.”

Keller wanted to explain that he just found out about the plot from Denton Sinclair, but he no longer trusted his people not to spy on him. There was a divide among the Elders, and Keller had to play his hand well, lest he be declared a traitor.

He couldn’t say nothing, though. It pained him to think the boy might blame the tragedy of losing both his mother and father on him.

Adam was silent. Keller couldn’t tell if Adam believed him or not. He had to assume he didn’t, though. Keller continued, “I wanted you to pay, Adam. I considered having Colton kill you once you got the girl. But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Changed your mind about Colton killing me?”

“I’ve been thinking: it shouldn’t end like this. You don’t deserve this. No matter how much you betrayed me.”

“You betrayed us!” Adam yelled. “You killed my father in front of the world! You can’t take that back!”

“I know,” Keller said. Scotch burned his throat.

“What are you going to do?” Adam asked. “Will you tell Colton to let us go?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Adam whined.

“Because the girl is our key to finding The Gardens and some of the worst Underground traitors.”

“Really? You say I don’t deserve this, yet you’re going to go after more people like me. Innocents.”

“They’re not innocent, Adam,” he said, anger creeping into his voice at Adam’s naiveté. “I know you look up to these people because they brainwashed you into believing their lies, and yes, some may be decent people. But there are also evil people in The Underground. People who want to create chaos to benefit their interests. You’re still young. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“These people just want to be left alone! They left The Cities; why not let them be?”

“Because the moment we let them be is the moment they strike—like your father did at City 1. We can’t afford weakness, Adam.”

The boy said nothing. For a moment, Keller was worried that something had happened.

“Adam?”

“What?” the boy snarled over the com.

“I promise that no harm will come to the girl. Nor you. Go with Colton so we can talk.”

“I don’t trust you,” Adam said.

“When have I lied to you?” He heard Adam start to speak but cut him off. “No—think about it. What lies have I told you? Did I hold back the truth sometimes? Yes. But I’ve never lied to you. Ever. And I’m not lying now.

The com lay dormant in Keller’s hand, and he was worried that something had happened to Adam again. He was about to call the boy’s name, when he heard a curt “OK. But if you hurt Zelle, I’ll slit your goddamned throat myself.”

Keller dismissed the threat. He knew that Adam might mean it, but he also knew that desire and action rarely came together. Adam didn’t concern him in terms of violence. Rather, he was concerned for Adam. He was angry now, and angry young men had such a difficult time hearing reason. Everything was the end of the world in their eyes, but Keller was potentially looking at the real end of the world, and a teenager’s threats were nothing compared to what The Underground could do. He could only hope Adam’s mood would soften once they were together.

“Please give Colton the com.”

A moment later: “What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Bring them to my house.”

“And if they try to escape?”

Keller didn’t like the fear and doubt creeping into Colton’s voice. He let none creep into his own. “Then kill them. But get the location of The Gardens first. Got it?”

“Understood.”

Keller refilled his scotch.

CHAPTER 43—LIAM HARROW

Liam and Katrina were about to enter the bank building when she threw her hand out in front of him, pointing into the darkness past the entrance.

Two lights were gliding along the first floor—hunter orbs, searching.

“Shit.”

“What are they looking for?” Liam asked.

“Hell if I know. Come on.”

Katrina crept toward a four-story building across the street, an ancient hotel with a weathered sign that read VACANCY in burnt-out neon on a parking-lot pole.

The lobby had no front door. Katrina kept her light off, likely wanting to avoid detection.

The lobby’s floor was split open, ancient cracked tile surrendering to vegetation and snow. In the lobby’s center, a thick, knotted tree had sprouted from the ground and stretched through to the floors above.

“The stairs,” she said, pointing toward a door with a red sign that read STAIRS at the other end of the lobby.

Inside the stairwell Katrina clicked on her gun light and led the way. Each step took several seconds as they carefully claimed one, then another, slowly making their way to the second floor—where Liam hoped nothing waited.

The second floor was empty. After giving it the all clear, Katrina crossed the room and stood by the window. She turned back toward Liam, still in the doorway, and waved her beam from him to the glass, suggesting that he join her. Liam crossed the room and stared out the window beside Katrina, looking across at the bank and waiting for the orbs to leave.

Air was unsettled between them. Too much silence from things unsaid. Liam wanted to break the tension but didn’t know what he could say to make things OK.

“Are you cold?”

Katrina turned from the window with a half smile. “Am I cold?”

“Yeah,” Liam shrugged, feeling dumb. “Are you cold?”

“Well, it’s freezing outside, and there’s no heat in here. I’m wearing the same jacket as you. What do you think, Liam—aren’t you cold?”

“Yeah, but you never seem affected by anything.”

Katrina grunted. “I’m affected by plenty.”

Her words sounded friendly enough to give Liam hope that things could get better between them. Before her sudden surliness and the thing with Chelsea, he and Katrina had always gotten along well—so well that Liam sometimes felt a spark of jealousy from Ana. She didn’t seem to think there was anything romantic between them, but he and Katrina shared a banter that Ana wasn’t really a part of—or invited to join.

“Now that you know my general level of warmth, is there anything more interesting you’d rather discuss?” Katrina finally let out a laugh. It was small and slightly raspy; still Liam was glad to hear it.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “How did you get so good at killing people?”

“That’s more like it.” Katrina finished her laugh. “I got good at killing people because I didn’t have any choice. I was on my own, after all.”

She finished her sentence as if waiting for Liam. He took his cue and asked what he’d never dared to ask her before. “What about your family?”

“I didn’t have one. I lost my father when I was small. He was in The Underground; it was only a matter of time before City Watch got him. My mother was taken into custody for conspiracy. I never saw her again.” Again silence, but he could tell she wanted him to ask: “Then what happened?” So he did.

“I was put into an orphanage, Sweeper Gates, and left to fend for myself. It was awful. The boys all picked on me and the girls were even worse. I hated every second. That is, until I met a guard at Sweeper named Clancy Harris. He showed me how to hate Sweeper Gates less by giving me purpose.”

“What was your purpose?”

“He taught me to spy.” A smile returned to her lips as if they were lit by memory. “I loved it because I was good, and good because I was only eleven. Little girls are easy to ignore, and men tend to say a lot they shouldn’t in front of them, things that can be useful to the right people. Clancy was a secrets broker, selling information to the highest bidder. ”

“So, how did that turn into killing?”

“I was caught a few years later, overhearing some things I shouldn’t between people of high rank in The City. Watchers grabbed me up and offered immunity if I just told ’em whom I worked for. But I couldn’t rat out Clancy or any of The Underground. They’d become like my new family or the closest I was going to get.” Her voice turned suddenly bitter. “Later, of course, I found out that Clancy had given me up, along with a bunch of others who worked for him. Anything to save his own ass. I learned not to look up to anyone, unless you want to be let down.”

Katrina stared out the window into the snowy night as if looking back in time.

“But I didn’t know that at the time, and I didn’t snitch. I was in prison for three months before Rene came to release me. Rene was hired by Jack Geralt to hunt and gather the kinds of girls that the monster loved most. The quarter year in my cell was meant to break my spirits so I’d be grateful when Geralt came to save me and so I’d know where I’d go back to if I disobeyed him.”

Liam swallowed, not wanting to hear the rest of her story. She wasn’t waiting for prompts anymore, though.

“I was warned by the other girls that I should just do as I was told, that life with Geralt wasn’t terrible—it was even nice—as long as you didn’t fight. At least as long as I stayed young enough for his tastes. The oldest girl, Jamara, said it was still nice even after we grew up. The best girls graduated from Geralt’s most private wing to other parts of his estate. Just be a good girl and everything will be fine.”

Katrina steeled herself, bracing against the memory, taking a moment to breathe. It was the closest Liam had ever seen her to tears.

“I’d never even kissed a boy before then. So the first time he took me, I tried to pretend in my head that it wasn’t happening to me. I told myself it was a character from a flix, and that if I could just pretend long enough, it would be over soon. But my body refused to cooperate with my head. I started crying, kicking, screaming, scratching. But rather than leave me alone, my protests excited the monster.”

Another pause, a crack in her voice, then, “I became his favorite pet. On the rare occasions when he would use someone else, I’d lie alone in a room full of other girls who could never be my friends, staring at the moon through iron bars in an overdecorated bedroom, somehow colder and lonelier than I’d been in City 2’s concrete cell.”

Katrina turned to Liam’s eyes.

“I used to imagine living on the moon—the one thing that almost always helped me fall asleep. I made up stories about a family living there. I’d give them adventures in my mind, then stare out the window and imagine that it was all really happening. I thought that maybe if I could believe that my imaginary family was alive on the moon, I could also believe there was a way to escape the horror, and that there was a way I could find my actual family. But when you live in that kind of hell, childish notions are a luxury. I soon saw my dreams for the impossible wishes they were. Then I started wishing for things I might be able to do—like kill Rene and Geralt.”

“Did you?”

“I tried. I was determined to end them, not just for myself but for every girl that would then never have to follow. One night I was lucky enough to sneak a knife from Geralt’s plate after dinner. I think Jamara might have missed my taking it on purpose when she collected our dishes. I slipped it under my pillow before bed, praying that Geralt wouldn’t find it. Lying beside him that night, I worked up my courage until I was strong enough to slip my hand under the pillow and curl my fingers around the hilt. I pictured myself pulling it out and sliding the blade across the monster’s throat. Torment’s escape was moments away.”

Another pause for breath, then: “But I flinched. I couldn’t bring myself to kill another person, no matter how evil he was.”

“Wow,” Liam said, not sure what else he could say.

Katrina continued, “I’ve regretted not doing it ever since. I failed to kill the monster and he made me pay. He beat me until I was begging for death, then called a guard and told him to dispose of me. I knew where I was going, had seen it twice with others, both a few years older than me. Argumentative girls were taken to the incinerator. I had no argument left inside me, but he was done with me just the same.”

“Oh my God,” Liam interrupted.

“The guard took pity on me. I’d seen him around a lot and could tell from the way he looked at me different than the others that he had a heart. Most people there regarded us women as trash, repulsive whores whose lives were only good for serving the men in power. He didn’t look at me like that, though. He led me to the sewers and said that I could never come back. If I did we’d both be worse than dead. I’ll never forget that part, worse than dead. At the time it confused me; I thought he was exaggerating. Now I know the incinerator was Geralt showing mercy.”

“Did you live in The Barrens by yourself?”

“Not at first. I spent the first few days alone, then met a family. They took pity on me and nursed me to health, but they told me from the start I’d have to be on my own once I was better. I stayed with them longer than I expected to, just long enough for me to start hoping they’d keep me around. I thought they were starting to like me. Maybe they were, but I was an extra mouth. There was one girl about half my age and a little boy a couple years older than her. The dad seemed indifferent, though I don’t think he was. The mom was saddest. I can’t remember any of their names. I try all the time.”

Katrina turned from the window, finished with the view. “I hate Clancy every day for what he did, but I’d be dead a hundred times if not for all he taught me. Being a good spy means you have to know people, how they behave, and why they do what they do. That’s what got the guard to take pity on me. I recognized that he wasn’t like the others and took a chance that he would spare me, that he would risk his own life to save mine. And he did. And then I used my wits to find that first family to take me in and help me. I did what I had to for plenty of years. And things were OK.”

Liam knew what Katrina was going to say.

“That’s when I met Sutherland. He gave me the first home I had since I was thrown in a cell in City 2 and made me feel like I deserved it. He was a good man with the right intentions. His ideals were arrows through my heart. He wanted to topple The State. He spoke with passion, using words I’d never heard. I saw my hatred for Geralt and all he’d done echoed by Sutherland. He taught me to kill, and I loved my schooling. ‘Targets must be more than accidents,’ he always said, as I learned to kill with purpose. I can’t say I was happy, but I was as close as I was likely to get.

“And then you came along.”

Katrina’s anger suddenly made sense.

Still, her last sentence hurt Liam like he’d fallen from a tree. Sure, Sutherland was a monster, but compared to Geralt, he was a saint. And he cared for her, something Katrina had been sorely missing. And things would’ve kept being OK if Liam and Ana hadn’t made her see Sutherland for what he was. They’d forced her hand, and now that she found herself in an almost maternal role in their odd little family, she was beginning to long for her old life. It might have been hell with Sutherland, but it was familiar.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said, pushing words through guilt. “I was an asshole. I didn’t mean it.”

“No. Don’t apologize. I’d become blind. Sutherland wasn’t always like you saw him. You’re thinking that I could never see how evil he was, but that’s because I was with him for so long, and the change was so gradual. It was slow, like boiling water. Warmer, warmer, dead.”

“We can all be blind to things sometimes, especially when we allow our hearts to guide us. Some people may call it a weakness, and they might be right. But it’s tough to balance humanity with doing what you need to do to survive.” He wasn’t admitting that she was right about killing the girl. But he was letting her know that he understood.

“The orbs are still outside,” Liam nodded toward the window.

“I know. I’m tired. I want to give up for the night.”

Liam raised his eyebrows.

“I won’t give up on the big stuff, but I think we deserve a nap.”

“Yes, you do.” Liam smiled. “I’m tired too.”

“And cold. It’s very cold in here.”

“Freezing,” he agreed.

“Will you keep me warm? I won’t try to seduce you.”

“I couldn’t imagine,” Liam said. “You’re too good for that.”

“So are you.” Katrina lay on the floor.

“I’m sorry that you never got to kill Geralt. Maybe someday you will, assuming he didn’t die when Jonah hit City 1. Though he probably is dead, don’t you think?”

Liam lay down beside her, put an arm around Katrina, and closed his eyes trying not to think about how good it felt to be close to another in The Outback.

She didn’t answer, asleep immediately.

Liam stared out the window across the room, keeping Katrina warm. He thought of Ana and hoped she was thinking of him.

* * *

“Wake up!”

Liam shoved his way through the fog.

He remembered falling asleep and the orbs still at the bank as he finally closed his eyes and killed the moon.

“Wake up!” Katrina whispered urgently.

“Are the orbs still there?”

“No,” she shook her head. “They’re gone. But that doesn’t matter. We have something else to deal with.”

“What?”

Katrina yanked Liam to his feet and turned him to the window.

Outside, Adam was being marched beside a small girl. There was a large man behind them holding a gun.

Katrina had her rifle in hand as she looked out the window. “I think I can get a clear shot.”

“Do it.” But it was too late.

The door exploded open behind them.

An orb flew into the room, cannon spinning with blue arcs of electricity sizzling like static.

It fired a shot, barely missing Katrina, blasting a hole through the wall, and clearing glass from the frame behind them.

Liam reached for his blaster, took aim, and fired. He missed and ripped a wide ribbon through the room’s west wall as the orb zipped upward to the ceiling.

The cannon crackled more loudly. Katrina dropped her rifle, whipped out her sword, and swung, forcing the orb to dip.

Momentum pushed her to the floor. The orb spun, turning its cannon on Katrina.

Time seemed to pause as the orb turned on her. Liam was directly behind it. Katrina was rising to her feet directly in front of the orb. If Liam did nothing, it would disintegrate her. If he fired from his present angle, he would likely miss the orb and kill Katrina himself. So he did the only thing he could think of:

“Hey!” he shouted.

The death machine spun and turned its cannon on Liam.

He lunged at it, screaming with arms raised, hoping to again scare it into moving without shooting.

His ploy worked. The cannon didn’t fire.

The orb started to move but wasn’t quick enough.

Liam’s hands seized the white-hot cannon and didn’t let go as he barreled forward, past Katrina who dodged out of the way and through the hole where a window had been just seconds ago.

Liam and the orb sailed out of the second story.

He landed hard on the orb and snowy ground. The orb’s back was smooth and round, blunting the impact.

Liam fell back, sucking wind through pained lungs. His hands and arms burned red against the cold relief of freshly fallen snow lying in a blanket across the lot.

The orb whirred to life, rising from the ground, shaky, cannon still crackling as it aimed.

This was it.

Nowhere to run.

He had failed to save Adam.

He’d never see Ana again.

A shadow fell across him. He looked up to see Katrina in a downward arc, sword in hand. She screamed.

The orb turned. It was too late, though, as she drove her sword through its front camera, then raised the blade and thrust it deeper, screaming a war cry as she brought it down hard against the ground.

The orb screeched, trying to flee.

She let go of her sword and unsheathed the wrist blades beneath her jacket, punching, stabbing, and dismantling the mechanical beast piece by piece in a frenzied attack, rabid in a way that Liam had never seen.

The orb was dead.

He stared up at Katrina. She met his eyes, then looked around, fists clenched, blades out, and eyes afire, ready to face whatever was coming.

Katrina looked like she could murder the world—and wanted to. Her expression suddenly changed and she looked ahead.

“Shit. They must’ve heard the commotion and took off. We need to find him now.”

She ran back into the hotel to retrieve her rifle, then returned armed with a blaster on her hip, sword on her back, the blades on her wrists, and the rifle in her hands.

God help the bastard who tried to stand in her way.

CHAPTER 44—KELLER

Keller anxiously looked back at the clock. Jacqueline was late, 14 minutes overdue to check on him, as she always did every two hours like clockwork when she was home. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss why he was in a bad mood—again. Like always, he wanted to finish with her unwanted interruption as quickly as possible.

Her being late only annoyed him further.

The door opened 15 minutes late. Keller hid the glass at the foot of his desk.

Jacqueline said, “Just checking on you, making sure you have everything you need.”

“I’m fine, Jackie.”

“You seem preoccupied, sweetheart. Anything wrong?”

“No. Nothing is wrong.”

Why couldn’t she get it: he didn’t feel like talking.

Now she’d give him that sour look full of disapproval and blame, then sigh, duck out, and close the door so she could sigh harder on the other side. Her tired, daily performance exhausted him. Once she was gone, he’d pour himself a double.

Instead, she stayed put. “Don’t lie to me.”

Keller stared up at his wife, surprised.

“You’ve been moping ever since we moved here. I don’t want you to stay in here drinking all day . . . and night. It makes you smell. And I don’t like how you’re lying, hiding your glasses when I come in the room like I’m an idiot.”

“I’m fine.” Keller ignored her accusation. “I just have a lot to do, a lot on my mind.”

“Yes, a lot on your mind. That’s what you always say. But I don’t think there’s a lot on your mind so much as that one thing that won’t go away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Jonah’s boy, Adam. We’ve been married for a long time. I know what eats you, even when you wish I didn’t. And not just since Joshua—before him too.”

“Please,” he said. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Then perhaps you don’t have time for us.”

“Come on, Jackie, don’t be so melodramatic.”

“And don’t be dismissive of me.” She glared at him, chin quivering, eyes on the verge of tears.

The very real moment unfolding with Jacquelyn sent Keller standing from his chair. He hated seeing her like this. All at once, years of guilt settled like a stone in his gut.

Keller stood straighter and walked to his wife, eyes meeting hers. He took her gently and led her through the apartment, into their bedroom in a slightly crooked but hurried line. His eyes flitted around, searching for hidden listening devices that he’d searched for many times before.

He lowered her gently to the bed. She looked up at him, sitting, puzzled as he planted a fingertip firmly to his lips. She blinked, then nodded.

Keller turned the room’s music up loud, then spun to Jacquelyn, smiled, and sat at the edge of the bed beside her.

She stared into his eyes like she wasn’t sure if he was going to try to distract her with lovemaking or to bare his soul and finally have the conversation that they’d both been avoiding for far too long.

“What is it?” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. He didn’t think she could possibly be ready for the truth, but he had to tell her now.

“It’s all a lie,” he whispered. “Denton Sinclair and some other Elders unleashed the zombie virus.”

He tried to keep his voice from cracking but couldn’t. His whisper grew louder, more ragged, and faster but still was barely voiced.

“They wanted to unleash the virus here too—to keep everyone in line. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t Jonah’s fault.”

Keller started to sob.

Jacquelyn pulled him to her chest and pet the back of his head.

“I think I killed an innocent man.” He cried against her, gurgling his confession. She said nothing, just rocked him. “I put his family into The Games . . . what have I done?” His voice split in a deep ravine. He shuddered, then into the crack added, “I’m a monster.”

Jacquelyn pulled him tighter, then pulled away.

“You’re not a monster. You’re a very good man who has had to make some very difficult decisions, under some not-so-easy circumstances.” She kissed him hard on the cheek. “It does nothing to beat yourself up over what you have done. Tell me what you are going to do now.”

Keller looked at his wife. He didn’t feel angry; he didn’t feel upset; he didn’t want her to go, and he didn’t wish for her to stop talking. He just wanted something to tell her that he could be proud of. It had been a long time since he had felt anything remotely like pride, and he desperately wanted to again.

He just couldn’t think of anything that could accomplish that.

“I don’t know that there’s anything to do. I can’t free Adam. He did betray me and was working with terrorists. Yes, there’s corruption in City 1, but the corruption comes from the same people who are my bosses. And that doesn’t excuse The Underground or Adam’s actions.”

Jacquelyn pressed. “So, what’s the right answer?”

“Maybe there isn’t one.”

“Shallots,” she said, because Jacquelyn never said bullshit. Despite the bleak situation, a small smile touched his lips as he remembered how fiercely he loved this woman. Especially after what she said next.

“There’s always a right thing to do. You’re just not willing to see it. You do that, you know. You decide what you don’t want to see, then build your walls high and hard enough to keep it out. You always have, but it’s been worse since Joshua.”

She looked into his eyes, knowing his look. She held out her hand, an offer for bed.

“But you can see it. I know you can.”

He took her hand and smiled. Suddenly his com chirped.

Keller growled, “What is it?”

“Are you available, Sir?”

Kern’s voice was at a higher pitch than it should have been, tilting into the Sir like a child standing on his toes.

“What is it?” Keller repeated.

Kern cleared his throat. “I have something to show you . . . in person.”

No tilting that time. Definite, immediate, and secret.

“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked from behind Keller, just soft enough for him to hear but not loud enough for Kern.

Keller turned to Jacquelyn, shaking his head. Into the com he said, “Come over.”

He hung up and wondered. Had they heard him over the music, sobbing the truth to his wife?

“What is it?” Jacquelyn asked again.

“Business,” he said, then went to the nightstand. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a blaster. “Whatever you do, keep what I said to yourself, or both our lives will be in danger.”

Keller placed the weapon into Jacquelyn’s hand. “Use this if you have to. If anything goes wrong.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, a touch of fear in her voice. “What might go wrong?”

“I don’t know. Just keep this as a last resort.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? Tell me why.”

“I don’t know, Jacquelyn.” He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just . . . please . . . trust me.”

She pulled back, but just enough to kiss him. It had been a long time for both of them, and it was only the nagging realization that Kern was coming over that pulled him out of her arms. He left her in the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Keller went to wait by the front door, trying his best to stay put and not pace, lest Kern notice his apprehension.

Kern knocked.

Keller took a deep breath, then opened the door.

“Come in.”

Kern nodded and stepped through the doorway.

“What is it?”

Kern held out his tablet and nodded at the screen. “We found Dennis Weaver—or Sutherland as he’s going by now. He’s in Quadrant 11.”

“Who else has seen this?”

“Only Jacobson so far.”

“Great! Thank you.” Keller gave Kern two taps on the shoulder, then went out to the balcony. Kern followed.

Outside, Keller was grateful for the fresh air, cold as it was. He looked around, up, down, and along the horizon. Seeing no orbs, he said, “Can I count on you?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“We have to do this one off the books. No one can know.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Keller smiled. This he would be proud to tell Jacquelyn.

“Let’s go catch this fucker once and for all.”

CHAPTER 45—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland loved the sound of chaos—blasters and death as it echoed around them.

He was making his way through the old train station with his six other men—all but the two who had stayed to guard the entrance—taking out hallway after hallway of surprised opposition.

He loved the looks on the residents’ faces as these men in City Watch chem suits stormed their castle. A blond man in brown robes attempted to play hero, coming at the men dressed in black with a sword.

Sutherland would’ve engaged the man in a sword fight but had no time for whimsy. Not when others in the tunnels might be mounting a more formidable defense. He fired a shot at the man’s crotch and laughed as the man fell to the ground dying, reaching for the cave of melted flesh where his dick had once sprouted.

Sutherland was scrubbing The Station. Once clean, he could decide what to do with it. For now, though, he was going through with workmanlike precision. The tunnels seemed to wind for a ways and in enough directions to keep him from boredom. The place didn’t seem nearly as large or occupied as Hydrangea, but he figured it could make a decent home.

But Sutherland couldn’t settle in until he got rid of the rats that currently occupied it.

He pulled the trigger again. Twice. Both blasts slapped a medium-sized brunette—a pretty thing with an overbite he found charming. Sutherland’s first shot was sloppy; it kicked her in the stomach and split her nearly in the middle. The second blasted the pretty from her face.

The other men were doing their work, though Horrance didn’t seem to be finding as much joy in the work as the others.

The ogre wasn’t just soft in the head, it seemed.

Something bristled Sutherland’s senses and sent him diving to the side. Before the shooter could pop a second shot, Sutherland pulled his trigger three times. One shot did it—enough to take out a small chunk of the top of the attacker’s head, more than enough to drop him dead.

The shooter fell and a small boy—about five years old—ran into the hall, crying for his mommy.

Farther down the hall, the child’s mother ran toward him as if she could stop the armed men marching toward them.

Sutherland darted toward the child, scooping him up before the mother could reach them.

He cradled the child in the crook of his arm, blaster to its forehead. He turned to the woman. She stopped, eyes wide in terror.

“Please don’t hurt him!” She threw her hands together in prayer as if God would care.

“Bring me to your leader, or your pup disappears.”

Three men raced up behind the mother with their guns drawn on Sutherland.

“Uh, uh, uh, boys, drop the guns or the kid dies.”

No one would risk the child. Sutherland knew he had won before they placed their guns on the ground.

“Who will take me to the leader of this . . .” He wrinkled his nose. “Does this hole in the ground have a name?”

“I’ll take you where you need to go.”

At first Sutherland didn’t see the voice, but then he looked down to find its owner—a dwarf, 30-something years old as far as he could tell. He had dark-brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Sutherland had known a few men with trimmed beards. They were always first to die—as they were usually pussies and traitors. Yet somehow, this dwarf seemed like more than a well-coifed toy soldier. The way he managed to look both up and straight at him made Sutherland wonder if he’d ever seen something with such stature in something that small. He’d have to be careful not to underestimate the little man’s threat.

“Please don’t kill the child.” The dwarf looked at him with kind eyes that—to Sutherland’s surprise—almost made him want to say yes.

Sutherland set the child down and aimed his gun at the dwarf. “Take me to your leader. You can tell me his name on your way.”

“I don’t have a leader.” The dwarf turned and led Sutherland down a hallway. “But the man you want to speak to is Egan. I suggest you remain as rational with him as you have been with me. He will try you harder, but if you resist I believe we’ll get through this. Egan means well, even when he’s foolish. Unfortunately, he’s foolish often. Hopefully this isn’t one of those days.”

The dwarf stopped at a door. Sutherland stopped him before he knocked, pushing him back and shaking his head. To his men he said, “If anything goes wrong in there, you start shooting out here. Everyone. Start with the child.”

He pushed past the dwarf, then ducked inside Egan’s office and closed the door behind him.

The leader, Egan, was staring at him openmouthed from behind his desk. He was halfway to reaching for something, frozen facing Sutherland’s blaster.

“So, this all belongs to you?” Sutherland looked around the room. “The dwarf says your name is Egan. That right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, even Jack Geralt has two names. Is Egan your number one or your number two?”

“My full name is Charles Egan. What does it matter? More importantly, who the hell are you?”

“My name is Sutherland. One name, thank you. I’m here for Ana Lovecraft. I know she’s here. I’ll leave once I have her. No one needs to die.”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

Sutherland mimicked him, “I don’t know who you mean,”
hoping he got the idiocy pitch-perfect. He then narrowed his eyes at Egan, “You are not in a position to lie. Tell me the truth or this place will be a memory of what it was this morning.”

“Why do you want her?”

“See,” Sutherland smiled, “you do know her.” He shook his head. “As to what I want . . . let’s just call it unfinished business. Whether she has something that once belonged to me, because she knows the ending to a flix I saw as a child, or because I desperately want the recipe to her world-famous apple pie, it doesn’t matter to you, Charles Egan. Now, where the hell is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. And in a moment I’m going to prove it by shooting your people, one at a time.” Sutherland leaned toward Egan. “Does this place have an intercom?”

Egan handed Sutherland a com.

“What do I press?”

Egan pointed to the thinner of two long buttons on the side. Sutherland pressed it.

“Ana Lovecraft, this is your old pal, Sutherland. I’m in Egan’s office. Come to me now and you will not be harmed. We’ll finish what we started; then you and loverboy can be on your way.”

He paused for effect, then continued in his most pleasant voice.

“Attention, residents of this shit hole, my name is Sutherland and in case you haven’t noticed, me and my friends are here making a rather big mess of your humble home. Now, if you want us gone and on our way, I’ve got good news. You can help us. Bring us Ana, and we’ll leave you be. Or . . . you can continue hiding her and force me to make a bigger mess.”

Sutherland paused for effect, then continued. “I’ve no doubt that you’ve all heard about the attack on City 1. That was us, and I have two men waiting at your station’s air units with enough zombie virus to make City 1 look like a nursery rhyme.”

Sutherland paused again, turned to a horrified Egan, and spoke into the com.

“I hope you’re listening, Ana. You have exactly 10 minutes, starting now.”

CHAPTER 46—LIAM HARROW

After losing the orbs that came looking for them, Katrina and Liam followed the three sets of footprints from outside the bank to where they abruptly ended at the doors of an old hospital. The building was massive: 20 stories high and wide enough to swallow a city block.

“How the hell are we going to find them in there?” Liam was growing more anxious. They’d lost their lead for good.

He didn’t think the man coercing Adam was running from them. He’d probably seen two people in the street fighting an orb and decided to take off before the fight spread to more orbs or people. Adam also probably hadn’t recognized Liam with his beard, eye patch, and thick dark jacket and pants.

Katrina motioned for Liam to follow her into the lobby. They made their way into a restroom.

“Watch the door.” Katrina threw her backpack to the ground. She found the box screen and searched the feeds.

Liam focused on the doorway, listening to the building’s noises—far off but still too close—mostly sounds of a building decaying loudly enough to be heard and maybe a few humans either living or undead. Whatever it was, Liam didn’t want to search more of the hospital to locate the sources. He was down to three blaster clips. They couldn’t risk a firefight or face a horde. Katrina was among the baddest of badasses, but Liam didn’t think she could take on a wall of zombies without getting plowed.

“Holy shit,” Katrina said.

Liam turned and looked down at the monitor: a view from just above the man with the gun leading Adam somewhere outside. Oddly, the orb wasn’t recording at a distance like they usually did. This orb was right on top of them.

“What the hell?” Katrina said.

“What is it?”

“I don’t think this orb is recording for The Games.”

Liam stared, confused. “What?”

She cranked the volume. The man spoke. “How much farther?”

Another man’s voice came over a com held by Adam’s keeper: “Just ahead to Carroway Street and into the manhole. Half mile until you reach a ladder with a red arrow. Let us know when you’re there. We’ll send a truck.”

Katrina said, “The orb isn’t recording them for the show, it’s escorting them. That bastard’s with The State.”

“What do you think he wants with Adam and the girl?”

“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”

* * *

They raced toward Carroway on a motorcycle stolen from a bandit who’d been stupid enough to stop for a pretty lady on the side of the road. The bandit probably thought he’d be taking advantage, but Katrina and her wrist blades did the taking.

They reached a manhole that seemed out of place given that there was no snow on the cover and several footprints stopping abruptly at it. Liam hefted the lid aside and said, “Ladies first” with a grin.

“Being a gentleman or do you just want my ass shot first,” she joked.

“Both,” he said, as she descended below the street.

He followed, pulling the lid back over the hole as he joined Katrina.

They raced through the darkness, splashing water as Katrina’s light bobbed. Eventually they found a blue orb glowing in the distance, illuminating a path for Adam and company.

Liam hoped they hadn’t been heard in their hasty pursuit.

Katrina killed her light, stopped, and aimed her rifle.

Liam wondered if she’d take out the orb or shoot the man first. She might not be able to take the orb down in a shot. That extra time could be all the man needed to put a gun to either Adam’s or the girl’s head and force them into a standoff.

If she shot the man, though, the orb could come at them strong before they could drop it.

She fired.

Liam watched as the man fell into the water. The orb’s blue light turned from Adam and the girl toward them.

“Fire!” Katrina yelled, dropping to the water. She took aim, shooting rapidly at the advancing orb. It fired off a bolt so close to Liam he could feel the electricity’s heat as it raced overhead.

It wouldn’t miss again.

He fired his blaster—one shot after another—as Katrina’s shots cracked like thunder against the narrow dark walls.

The orb raced toward them, cannon glowing blue as it recharged, readying itself for another shot.

Liam stood rooted, firing through his clip as he stared down the glowing death racing toward them.

His clip went dry.

The orb fired.

Liam dodged but not in time.

The blast hit him in the left arm, spread like wildfire, and left his limb in ashes.

Liam screamed as he fell face first into the water.

Above him an explosion. Katrina must’ve hit the orb. It didn’t matter.

Liam’s world decayed into darkness and pain.

CHAPTER 47—ANA LOVECRAFT

“You can’t go!” Calla said.

“I have to.”

They were in an underground room one floor beneath the main level with Dr. Oswald and Elijah, both ordered to protect them.

“He’s going to kill you,” Calla insisted.

“No, he won’t. I’m the cure; that’s why Sutherland wants me. He came here to keep me alive, and if I don’t give myself up and meet him, I’ll be responsible for the deaths of more innocents. I can’t allow that.”

“But you can’t leave me.”

Calla sobbed against Ana’s chest. The girl was usually so tough. She had a way of making Ana think that she took everything in stride, but now she wasn’t too proud to let her terror show on her face, body, and in every tremble.

The wall’s speaker crackled with Sutherland’s voice.

“Tick tock.”

The com hissed as it passed from one hand to the next; then Egan’s voice took Sutherland’s place.

“He’s serious, Ana. If you don’t come down here, this . . . man will start shooting more people.”

“I have to go,” Ana said to Calla and Oswald.

Clinging to Ana, Calla repeated “please don’t go” over and over.

“I have to.” Ana couldn’t look at her.

“Then let me go with you. I’m brave. I can do it. I have the virus too. If he won’t kill you, then that means he won’t kill me. If I go, we can be together.”

“Absolutely not. He’d take you from The Station with me, leaving your father all alone. No way he or I will let that happen. You’ll be safe here with Oswald.”

“I don’t want Oswald,” she screamed. “I want you!”

Ana pulled Calla into a tight hug, then ordered Oswald to open the door. He did. As she stood in the doorway, the doctor set a small pouch into her hand.

“What is this?”

“It’s flash powder. They’ll almost certainly take your gun, but you should be able to sneak this in.”

“OK.” Ana felt hopeful. “Then what?”

“Use it if you need to make a quick escape or disarm the enemy. Throw it to the ground and you’ll get a blinding flash. It will disorientate everyone, including you. Detail your surroundings before using it. Know where you’re going to go, because you’ll have to run blind the second you throw it.”

“Got it.” Ana nodded, deliberately turning away from the still-sobbing Calla.

“Go quickly.”

Ana turned from Oswald and walked down the hall, heartbroken, pretending not to hear her newest friend’s muffled cries. She slipped the pouch into the back of her underwear and stirred her hate for Sutherland as she walked.

Ana stepped into the common area, where friendly faces, warm discussions, and children playing were replaced with scared residents, some crying over those who’d already been killed, guarded by heavily armed men in black City Watch chem suits.

She passed a sobbing child. His mother tried to soothe the boy by running a hand over his back. Tightly hugging her son, she stared at Ana with something between fear and accusation, as if to say you brought this here.

Two guards stopped her in the hall just outside Egan’s office. The first took her gun as Oswald predicted and patted her down. She kept herself from flinching as his gloved hands groped her breasts and then ran over her backside where the pouch was concealed.

“I believe I’m wanted,” she said before he could notice the protrusion.

“I want you,” he leered. She didn’t even bother to respond and turned to the other guard.

“This way,” he said, leading her into Egan’s office.

The redheaded bastard was inside, helmet off.

Sutherland smiled like Ana held freshly baked cake. He crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. Full and large, it caught Ana by surprise with no hope of escaping. She forced herself to relax and accept the embrace, promising herself to surprise him with an upper hand later.

He pulled away.

“Why ever did you leave, Ana? You were such an important cog in our community. It never was quite right after you left. The place has truly gone to the zombies.”

“I left because you’re crazy.”

Sutherland frowned. “Oh, I’d hardly say that. You and I might have different perspectives, but you can’t say I’m crazy. Cunning, maybe, though I’m not sure that’s it either. Deadly, definitely, but there’s more than that. I rather like righteous.”

Sutherland stopped. He made his eyes big and cocked his head. He looked around the room, stretching his neck as if trying to see behind Ana. “Where’s Liam?” He turned his frown into a knowing smile. “Trouble in Paradise?”

“Liam ran off with that whore Katrina,” she lied.

Sutherland’s knowing smile split into friendly laughter, compassionate as he wrapped an arm around Ana.

“I’m really sorry, though neither of us should be surprised. The only shock is that Liam would be that stupid. The world is full of idiots; he didn’t strike me as one. But Katrina is a woman of many charms. I’ve been a victim myself. I can see where sweet Liam could have been led astray. Let’s not blame him. The poor man will already suffer for having left you.”

“What do you want from me?”

He shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. I do know I need you to help with this nasty plague. You’re just special enough to help end the zombie virus forever and bring the other Cities down. I’m not sure about the order.” Sutherland sighed. “I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about this place. Either way, where there are labs, there is work to be done. You can help with all of it.”

Egan looked like he was going to say something but bit his tongue.

Ana said, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Great,” he said. “That’s one vote for staying here.”

Ana could take his “crazy,” but she couldn’t take that along with him being so smug. She was about to tell him exactly what she thought but was saved from her fury by a loud knock.

The door opened and Horrance entered, his helmet also off. She’d never really talked much with him when at Hydrangea. The few times she had seen the big, ugly man, Sutherland was ridiculing him for something. She had felt sorry for him but couldn’t afford sympathy now when he was invading The Station. However, his presence might not be all bad. Her gears were spinning, wondering if maybe she could use Horrance against his master.

“Yes, Horrance?”

“There’s a girl, Sir. She lives here. She’s infected.”

Good thoughts about Horrance were doused.

“Oh?” Sutherland raised his eyebrows. He looked at Ana and gave her a light, disapproving shake of the head.

“Yes, Sir. It’s this man’s daughter. Her name is Calla Egan.” He nodded at Egan. “Ana’s helping them work to cure her.”

“Is this true?” Sutherland looked at Ana.

Shit. He’s going to know that Oswald is here, too!

Sutherland beamed. She couldn’t read if he were genuinely happy to hear that they were also working on a cure or if he were just formulating some crazy scheme in his head. He turned to Egan. “Is your daughter infected? That makes you and Ana like family. And any member of Ana’s family is welcome to stay with me!”

“Leave my daughter alone!”

Sutherland crossed his arms and stared at the man, as if daring him to go further.

“Leave her alone!” Egan repeated. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

“I highly doubt that.” Sutherland grabbed the com.

“Attention, I’m looking for one Calla Egan. Please report to your father’s office within five minutes, or I will turn everyone you know and love into zombies. Thank you, that is all.”

Sutherland turned to Egan. “Let’s hope your daughter’s a good listener.”

CHAPTER 48—CALLA EGAN

Calla stared at the speaker from where Sutherland had issued his threat. She’d never felt so isolated before—separated from both her father and Ana. She turned to Oswald, fists tight, eyes furious.

“I’m not letting you go,” Dr. Oswald said, before she could open her mouth to ask him. “Sutherland must want you for his experiments. Believe me, you don’t want that.”

“He’ll kill everyone here!”

“He’ll kill them anyway.” Oswald sighed. “Your father instructed me to keep you safe—no matter what. I let you out, and Sutherland will hurt you.”

“Elijah?” Calla pleaded with the boy who was practically her older brother. “Please, let me go.”

Elijah looked at the doctor, then back at her. “Sorry, Calla, I agree with Oz. We can’t take the chance.”

She stomped her feet, staring at the speakers as though Sutherland was inside them. “We have to do something!”

She turned to Oz, meeting his half-human–half-robot gaze. He was usually a nice—and reasonable—man. Of all the people in The Station, Oswald and Father Truth were the ones she enjoyed debating most. They didn’t let feelings get in the way. They respected logic and would cede to a compelling argument. Until recently, they also treated her least like a child.

“What do you think happens if you don’t let me out?”

Oz thought for a moment. “I think they’ll gas us.”

“And what then?”

“Well, everyone in The Station will become infected, except maybe for you, Ana, and me. We should be immune, though anything is possible.”

“And what happens then?”

“The virus will immediately kill a certain number of people. Those not killed, and not somehow immune, will become infected: alive but mad with rage, more dangerous than the undead, if you ask me. They’ll start killing one another, trying to feast on whoever’s left. Pandemonium.”

“How long do you think you can keep me safe from either the infected or Sutherland’s men once they start tearing this place apart looking for me?”

Oz thought more but had nothing to say.

“Not long, I bet,” Calla said. “And then what? They’ll come and take me, maybe killing you and Elijah. Then they’ll take me anyway. Right? The exact thing you’re trying to prevent. But everyone will have died and for what?”

Oz swallowed. “I swore I’d protect you, Calla. And that’s what—”

Sutherland’s voice returned to the speaker, now like a nursery rhyme.

“Oh, Calla? Where are you? You’ve just two minutes to save your father . . . and The Station. You really don’t want to be responsible for everyone’s death, do you?”

Calla turned to Oz, begging with tears. “Please!”

“Oh, by the way, could you please bring that traitor Dr. Oswald as well? Immediately.”

Calla turned to see Oz’s one wide human eye. His mouth hung partly open.

Calla looked up at him. “Well, looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Oz swallowed. “I know.”

CHAPTER 49—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana stared at Sutherland as he smiled back.

She’d had a feeling that he might have put two and two together and figured the only way The Station could be working on the cure was if Oswald was there.

When he asked for Oswald over the com, her shocked expression must’ve confirmed his suspicions.

“Please,” Ana said, “don’t hurt him. He’s trying to help. You say you want to bring down The State and give power back to the people; well, we want the same thing here. Dr. Oswald is working on a cure that could give us a tremendous upper hand in this war.”

“Yes, he can. That’s exactly what he was doing for me until you and your troublemaking loverboy showed up at Hydrangea and turned two of my top people against me.”

Ana had the definite feeling that something bad had happened at Hydrangea. Maybe a revolt. Sutherland didn’t usually go on raids with his men, at least from everything Katrina had told them over the last few months.

He had always seemed so calm and cool at the camp. So perfectly in control. Even when angry, Sutherland was a quiet sort of vicious. Now he seemed on edge, on the verge of snapping. Standing here, armed with a sword and blaster, men on standby to release the zombie toxin, the man appeared capable of anything.

Ana had to be careful not to push him too far, had to wait for the right moment to strike and take him out.

She looked surreptitiously around the room, trying to formulate how to best use the flash pouch to her benefit.

Sutherland was sitting at Egan’s desk.

Egan was sitting on the floor, per Sutherland’s request, in front of the desk.

Ana was standing, also per Sutherland’s request, in front of the desk where he could “keep an eye on her.”

Horrance was standing guard at the door behind her, with a holstered blaster and his left hand on a shock stick. Horrance was her best bet if she were going to strike first. He was strong but also dim and not likely to think at Ana’s speed.

However, Horrance had also been staring at her like a creep ever since he’d entered the room. With his eyes on her, she wasn’t sure how she could reach the pouch before he saw her. Perhaps, if she were fast enough, she could get close enough to kick him in the knee and break his leg. If she could then grab his gun, Ana could kill him, throw the pouch, then fire at Sutherland before he could regain his sight after the flash.

That was assuming that Sutherland stayed put once the flash exploded. The man was a warrior. He could drop and fire. Or she might accidentally hit Egan. Or Calla and Oswald once they arrived—assuming they were on their way.

She reassembled the pieces of the plan in her mind, but couldn’t put them together before the door opened. Calla and Dr. Oswald were on the other side. They surrendered their weapons, then Calla ran into the room and leapt into her father’s arms.

“Daddy!”

Sutherland stepped around the desk, walked past Egan and Calla on the floor, and smiled at Oswald. “So, Doc, how’s that research going?”

Oswald glared at Sutherland. “What do you want?”

“Want? I want for things to be like they used to be. You, me, Ana, Katrina, Liam, my men, all one happy Hydrangea family working to topple The State. That’s what I want!”

“Leave these people alone, and I’ll come with you,” Oswald promised. “I have no quarrel, Sir. I only want to find a cure. No reason we can’t do that together.”

Sutherland folded his hands in front of his waist.

Ana studied every move, waiting for her moment . . . and slowly starting to second-guess herself.

What if peace could be had? If Sutherland was being honest and all he wanted was things like they were, her actions could cause a needless massacre.

What if he’s our only chance?

Heart pounding, she wished Katrina were with her.

“I’ll go with you too,” Ana said. “If you leave these people alone. It’s not like I have a reason to stay after Liam ran off with that whore.”

Ana said this both to persuade Sutherland and to let Oswald and Calla in on her lie, in case Sutherland started asking questions about Liam.

Holding Calla tight, Egan looked up at Ana. Neither spoke, waiting for Sutherland’s response.

Sutherland turned his gaze to Ana. “It’s so gratifying to see this sudden change of heart. You were both soooo eager to leave, fleeing my home like I’m some sort of monster. I serve retribution to City 1 and suddenly I’m the bad guy!”

Sutherland laughed.

Ana glanced back at Horrance, still staring at her as if she were lunch.

Do it now. Do it!

“Oh, how I wish things could be like they were. I suppose that would be nice, wouldn’t it, Ana? You could have your father back. Your brother could still be a good citizen inside City 6, and”—his voice went from faux merry-buoyant to weighted by hate—“my people wouldn’t have overthrown their leader.”

Now!

Do it now! He’s about to do something bad.

Ana began to reach back but couldn’t quite finish her too obvious move. She knew Horrance would be on top of her before she could reach the pouch, and she couldn’t take the chance while peace was a possibility.

Oswald asked, “Overthrown? What happened?”

Sutherland yelled, as he pointed to Oswald and Ana. “You, and you, and that cunt Katrina! And that pretty boy Liam! You all happened. You undermined my authority. You made me look like a damned fool. And that weasel Connor Vinson staged a fucking coup. That’s what happened!”

Sutherland turned, staring at Ana as if able to read her mind. He stepped forward.

Ice flooded her veins.

He was too close and the pouch too far.

He shook his head. “So I have no home, thanks to all of you. But . . . perhaps all is not lost.”

He paused as he stepped just inches from Ana, his eyes reaching into her soul, searching to discover her horrible plot.

Her leg began to shake uncontrollably. Keller was the last person to intimidate Ana with a gaze, back when he locked her up.

Sutherland’s stare was a hundred times hotter.

He continued, “Perhaps I’ve found a new home. Here.”

Do it! Do it now!

Ana reached back for the pouch, found it, and brought it up to throw at Sutherland’s face.

He was too quick, reaching out and seizing Ana’s hand, sending her pouch to the floor. It did its job anyway.

The bright white flash was immediate and with it came a loud, piercing whistle.

She tried to wriggle free of his hand. But even blind, Sutherland was a step ahead. He punched Ana hard in her chest. She landed on the ground gasping for air.

Seconds later a loud thump was followed by the sound of one of their blasters. Two shots.

The ringing in her ears subsided, replaced by Calla’s shrill scream.

Ana was still gasping, hand on her chest, trying to stand. Horrance shoved her down, then put a gun to her head.

“Don’t move!” he barked.

As blindness faded and shapes returned, Ana saw Egan on the ground, his head melted into the floor.

Calla screamed again and flung herself at Sutherland.

Ana stared helplessly as Sutherland backhanded Calla and sent her sprawling to the ground. Calla hit the floor hard enough that Ana heard the thud of her skull.

The girl stopped moving.

Ana cried out between gasps, squirming as she tried to get the beast off of her. The bastard must’ve weighed 450 pounds.

Sutherland aimed at Oswald, shaking his head. He looked down at Ana, his blaster still on the doctor. “I want you to take a close look at what you’ve done, girl.”

He reached into his pants pocket, retrieved a com, and said, “Release the gas.”

“Release it?” a voice asked.

“Yes. Release it.”

Ana found her breath. “No!”

She couldn’t look at Egan’s corpse, so she stared at Calla, lying on the floor, eyes closed, probably dead.

Please don’t die. Please, Calla.

Blaster still trained on Oswald, Sutherland went and locked the door. “Once the herd is thinned, we can discuss making this our new home and continuing our research.”

Oswald said nothing.

Ana could only cry at what she’d set into motion.

On the other side of the door, she heard the first screams.

CHAPTER 50—KELLER

Keller and Kern, both in full gray chem suits, approached the truck parked in the woods near the train station with blasters drawn.

Kern, a tall man with greased black hair and a body built by six hours in the body ring per day, looked back. “Open it?”

Keller nodded.

They opened the door and saw an undead young woman hunched over a dead man around her age, entrails and gore littering the floor. The girl looked up, guts dangling from her lips, looking as if she were trying to decide between pursuing the new feast or continuing with her current one.

The girl kept eating.

Kern quietly closed the truck door. Best not to expend ammunition or make unnecessary noise.

Keller looked down at his armband’s screen: footage from one of two hunter orbs he had called in to find Sutherland.

The orb floated over an entrance to something. A second later the screen showed a heat map with two men, in older City Watch chem suits, guarding the entrance. Another view showed a solid structure under snowy ground, what looked to be an old tunnel or network. Moments later, orbs identified the structure as a train station with several underground tunnels stretching for miles.

Keller pressed a button on the screen and ordered the second orb to join the first, but for both to stay out of view until he and Kern were in position atop a hill 400 yards south of the entrance.

Keller and Kern reached the hill. Keller stared down through his gun’s scope at the entrance.

Although the two men at the tunnel were wearing old City Watch gear, the orbs did not recognize either man’s ID chip. These men must’ve been Sutherland’s terrorist “Patriot” group.

The orbs could locate no other heat signatures at the entrance or nearby.

Keller pressed a button and ordered the orbs to fire, then watched as their blue blasts snuffed the men in an instant.

“Come on.” Keller raced toward the entrance, hoping the rest of their pursuit would go as easily.

CHAPTER 51—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana cradled Calla’s head in her lap, watching the girl’s pulsing neck, the only sign that she was still alive. Her head had pounded the floor. While there was no blood, Ana couldn’t possibly gauge the internal damage.

Oswald sat beside her as Horrance stood in front of them, blaster rifle ready to fire. Sutherland was on his com trying to reach someone.

Chaos ensued outside the room: screaming, gunshots, and blaster bolts. A few times someone tried to get inside their locked room—she didn’t know if it was a sad soul seeking escape or the already damned trying to enter—only to eventually stop or die outside the door. Ana tried not to imagine the people she’d eaten breakfast with that morning now turned into monsters and massacring one another—or shot dead.

All my fault. If only I had waited for peace.

Five minutes in hell already felt like an hour.

“They’re not answering,” Sutherland said to Horrance. “I don’t like this. They had one job—to guard the entrance. How do you fuck that up?”

Horrance shrugged. “I dunno, boss. Maybe they turned into zombies?”

“Are you stupid?” Sutherland asked. “We all took the antitoxin, which will keep us safe from the virus for a couple of days.”

“Want me to check?”

Sutherland nodded, then said, “No. Stand here and watch them. I’ll go.”

Sutherland slipped on his helmet, checked his blaster rifle, then the energy clips on his belt. He looked down at Ana. “Obviously you don’t want to go out there. But if you try and escape, Horrance will kill you.”

Ana said nothing, eyes down at Calla.

Sutherland said to Horrance, “If they move, kill the little one first.”

“Yes, boss.”

Sutherland left, immediately firing shots into people on the other side of the door.

Ana listened to Horrance’s heavy breath for a few heaves and bellows before she opened her mouth.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Horrance turned to Ana. His eyes were curious.

“Do what?”

“Any of this. You don’t have to listen to Sutherland.”

“Why wouldn’t I listen to Sutherland?”

“Because he’s not a good person, Horrance. Not like you. And me. We’re good people, Horrance. Sutherland is bad. He likes to do bad things. Bad things make him happy. Do you understand?”

“Sir likes bad things because they make good things happen later. The end is very good.”

“That’s what he says, Horrance. But it’s not true. The bad makes him feel good, so he wants to keep it around. You can’t let him continue. You can stop him. You’re stronger than he is.”

“No.” Horrance shook his head. “I don’t like that. My job is doing what Sutherland says, so that’s what I do.”

It looked like Horrance wanted to say more but didn’t know the words or how to make them come out in order.

“I do the right things,” he finally said. “There is honor in following orders.”

“Of course,” Ana agreed. “But how do you know you’re following the right orders?”

Oswald stepped in. “Letting them go is the right thing to do, Horrance. You know that inside. Let Ana take the girl, get the two of them to safety. You can do that.”

“No.” The giant shook his head slowly.

Oswald continued.

“You’re not a bad guy, Horrance. We spent time together at Hydrangea. I know who you are. I helped you when you tore your leg in the forest. I was also there when you brought me the little girl in the red dress. Remember her?”

The memory’s weight pushed the giant’s gaze to the floor.

“You brought her to me, Horrance. When those men were drunk, you stood up for her. You were the one who brought all three of the men to me. You dragged them across the base and down three floors, beaten to pulp, with five broken limbs between them.”

Oswald continued, “I remember treating the men. I felt angry because you couldn’t just kill them. They were bad guys, but you weren’t allowed to do what should’ve been done. You were following orders. You remember what happened after that, right, Horrance?”

Horrance looked back up at the sound of his name.

“Her body was found mutilated a few days before she was going to testify against them. No one ever found her killers, but I think you and I know who was responsible for that. Don’t we, Horrance?”

The giant nodded, slammed his fist into the opposite palm, and snarled, “Fuckers!”

Oswald stood and walked toward him. The giant lurched forward, his whole body on full alert. “Stay back, Sir!”

Oswald raised his hands in the air. “I don’t mean any harm, Horrance. I just want to talk.”

Horrance looked uncertainly at the doctor. Oswald held his hands higher and somehow made his scarred robot face seem kind.

“Do you ever wish you could do things over, Horrance? Has there ever been a time when someone else has had the last word, and later you think of something you wish that you had said back then, when you were actually having the conversation. Do you ever wish you could do stuff over, Horrance, so that you could have the last word?”

Ana watched Oswald waiting for his response.

The giant nodded. Oswald smiled.

“Don’t you wish you could go back and do the right thing with those men? Kill them before they had a chance to kill the girl?”

Horrance nodded again.

“But you couldn’t. Because you were following orders. Sutherland’s orders. You were trapped. You wanted to do the right thing but your inner Horrance knew that what you were being told to do was wrong. Now’s your chance to do it right the first time. You want to do the right thing, don’t you?”

Horrance nodded . . . then surprised Ana.

“But I can’t. I have to follow my orders. That’s the most right thing.”

“No, Horrance. It isn’t.” Oswald turned from the giant to Ana. “Get up, Ana, and take Calla out of here now. Horrance is going to do the right thing.”

“No,” Horrance said, now furiously shaking his head. “No, don’t do that! You stay.”

Oswald spoke calmly. “Leave this room, Ana. And take Calla with you. Horrance doesn’t want to regret anything later. He wants to do it right the first time—now. Go,” he repeated. “Leave this room, Ana. And take Calla with you.”

Horrance looked confused, turning his eyes from the doctor to the girls, then to the door.

“No!” he yelled again.

“Go, Ana.”

The doctor said it so calmly, Ana could only obey. She stood, trembling, hoping the giant wouldn’t shoot her, then gathered Calla into her arms.

She crossed the room and waited by the door, looking back at Oswald.

The doctor went to the table and picked up a blaster. He held it like it was hot, delicate and high.

“I’m going to give this to Ana so she doesn’t get harmed. It’s for outside this room, to protect herself. She’ll die with no way to protect herself. You don’t want that, Horrance. We want Ana to live. No regrets. No do-overs for later. Let’s do the right thing now, the first time.”

“No.” Horrance looked like he was getting angry. Maybe Oswald was pushing him too far.

“Come on, Horrance. You can do better than this. You are better than this. Ana is going to carry Calla out of here. You’re going to let her because you’re a man who won’t just shoot two innocent girls. They never did anything to you, nor would they do anything to anyone. They are nice people who don’t deserve to die. Especially because you were following orders that you don’t want to take.”

“Don’t go,” Horrance said.

Ana’s heart raced. She still wondered if maybe Oswald was pushing Horrance too far.

She looked down at Calla, paralyzed by the fear of a wrong move claiming the girl’s life as she’d cost Calla’s father’s.

“Go!” Oswald cried out, now like an order.

Ana took the gun, nodded at Oswald, and hit the green button to open the door. Then she carried Calla through it, holding the blaster under Calla, hoping she could aim and fire without dropping one or both.

Still in the room, Horrance ordered them to stop. His bark sounded like a blaster would follow.

She froze. Oswald had been wrong.

But Oswald continued. “You don’t want to shoot them. You’re doing the right thing, Horrance. You don’t want to regret anything later. You don’t want to think about it every night. No regrets to keep you from sleep, Horrance. You can come with us, if you want.”

Just keep walking! Oswald is buying us time. Keep walking.

Ana’s back was still to Horrance as she put one foot in front of the other, hoping that Oswald was right, and that he’d be following shortly.

“You can come with us,” Oswald repeated to the big man.

Ana continued forward, looking down the corpse-riddled hall, strewn with dead men, women, and children. No guards, no lurking zombies, no stray fire behind her.

The coast was clear, but Ana didn’t know where to go.

She needed Oswald.

“Thank you, Horrance, for doing the right thing.” Oswald sounded slightly closer.

She took another step.

“You should come with us,” Oswald suggested again.

“No. Come back right now,” Horrance pleaded, sounding on the verge of tears.

“No,” Oswald said. “You can come with us, Horrance. You don’t have to stay with Sutherland. You can be free. With us. We’ll find the cure. No regrets, Horrance.”

Horrance had nothing left. “Come back” was barely a puff.

“Thank you,” Oswald called, now right behind Ana. She jostled Calla in her arms. The girl was starting to feel twice as heavy and three times as awkward.

Oswald was at Ana’s back. He said, “Thanks for doing the right thing, Horrance. You’re a good man.”

Ana thought she could feel Horrance’s anger dying like wind . . .

Blaster fire scraped frayed nerves and an otherwise silent tunnel. Ana turned to see Oswald standing behind her, a hole through his chest. His eye was open, startled, as he fell to the floor.

Ana looked through the space where Oswald had been and into Horrance’s horrified eyes. He looked down at the gun as if it had fired on its own, then back at Ana, eyes big and sad, face knotted in confusion.

Ana tightened her grip on Calla, then turned and ran. Horrance called “Come back!” three times, louder each time, but the next blast didn’t leave his gun until after she had cleared the hallway.

Ana raced until she found the secret panel that led to the stairwell that led to the room she’d been hiding in with Oswald, Calla, and Elijah just before all hell broke loose.

She hoped Elijah was still in there and hadn’t locked her out. The door opened as she touched the panel to its right. She went inside, immediately pressing the red lock button on the inside panel.

She turned to find Elijah on the ground, curled into a fetal position, shaking. Her heart dropped like a stone.

“Elijah?”

The boy looked up, eyes like two marbles on fire, face caked with early forming scabs, saliva drooling from the corners of his mouth.

Elijah leapt at Ana, almost hissing. She had forgotten he wasn’t immune.

She cried out, turning herself around and dropping on top of Calla to form a barrier between her and the boy. The gun clanged to the ground.

Elijah rolled right off her back and fell to the floor.

Ana gently laid Calla down. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Elijah spring up.

Shit!

The gun was three feet away, Elijah five feet past that.

Whatever human part of him that had yet to surrender to the monster must’ve recognized Ana’s intention to get the blaster.

He ran toward her.

Without time to think, she dug her foot into the floor and propelled herself straight at the infected boy. Seconds away from his wide-open mouth, she brought up both her hands, grabbed his shoulders, and used his weight against him, spinning the almost-zombie aside as she fell to the ground atop the blaster.

Ana grabbed it.

He lunged at her.

She brought the gun up and fired, hitting Elijah’s gut and slicing him in two. His torso sailed past Ana, his legs fell in a bloody tangled heap.

Ana fell back against the ground, sighing in relief. As she did, the boy’s head and arms twitched, and blood poured from his severed trunk, the hot stench of putrid guts souring the room.

Ana’s stomach spilled onto the floor.

She cried out as the vomit left her body. She turned and crawled over to Calla, pulled her body into her chest, and held the girl, still sobbing.

Sutherland’s voice came over the intercom.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

CHAPTER 52—KELLER

After breaching the station’s entrance, Keller and Kern stood frozen at the end of a large hallway staring at a holocaust of ripped bodies, corpses melted by blaster fire, blood and guts painting walls. Keller fought hard to control the vomit climbing his throat.

Infected men, women, and children, maimed but not yet dead, stared up at them, attempting to reach out for a meal or help.

“My God,” Kern said, a rare moment of shock registering through the hardened soldier’s shell.

Keller flashed back to carnage from the bombing that had killed his eight-year-old son, Joshua, along with 16 others at the parade, detonated by Underground cowards. Keller remembered staring down at his son’s dead, open eyes after shrapnel had ripped through his skull. No matter how hard Keller had stared and sworn that his son was alive, he hadn’t been able to change the truth that Joshua had not stared back.

Keller had done more than his fair share of despicable things in service to The State, but he’d never slaughtered innocents, or women and children.

Sutherland was the worst kind of coward and had to be stopped.

Keller considered putting these poor people out of their misery but couldn’t waste time or ammunition, not yet knowing what might be waiting in the station’s bowels.

A second hunter orb entered the hallway, and Keller instructed it to go forward and find Sutherland while the first held guard behind them. The machine floated further down the hallway and started to shoot. Keller had instructed it to open fire upon the infected, zombies, and any attackers. He hoped that any station survivors didn’t mistake orbs for enemies and mistakenly shoot at them.

Keller and Kern trailed the path of carnage behind the orb. They stepped into a brightly colored area and saw more half-disintegrated bodies but no sign of Sutherland or his men.

A voice crackled throughout the room from unseen speakers.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

“This fucker is taunting us?” Kern looked at Keller incredulously. “Let’s go—”

An explosion rocked the hallway behind them.

Keller spun to see their guard orb fall to the ground, now a chunk of molten metal. A large man in stolen City Watch gear stood holding a hefty Spinner 1220, the massive gun’s coils spinning in bright red as it charged, readying 40 rapid-burst blasts to send their way.

The man’s eyes were wild behind his helmet’s clear glass, his grin manic. He was in kill mode, eager to add bodies to the count.

Both Kern and Keller fired their blaster rifles as the man unleashed his weapon’s fury.

Kern vanished in a cloud of ash as Sutherland’s man turned the Spinner toward Keller.

Keller kept firing. His first two shots had missed.

Another miss meant death.

His third and fourth hit, blasting the man in the chest and sending him back. As he fell, his Spinner fired wildly into walls, the ceiling, and very nearly Keller, who dove to the ground. The Spinner stopped and its red lights faded.

Keller looked over at Kern’s remainders scattered in ashes across the charred ground—a man reduced to nothing in a flare.

There was no time for mourning. Nor would a soldier like Kern care for the waste. He would be given a hero’s funeral even if Keller couldn’t tell the man’s family or anyone in City 1 how he died—or have a body to show for it. That’s what happened in an unsanctioned battle hunting a terrorist that The State refused to acknowledge.

Keller got up and grabbed the heavy gun. Seconds later, the remaining orb raced back into the hallway, eager to show him something. City Watcher Reynolds was on-screen back at City 6—one of the few people Keller trusted with this off-book mission.

“Sir, there’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“The orb has picked up a reading nearby.”

“What?” Keller wished Reynolds would get to the point before another of Sutherland’s men sneaked up on him. If they were all packing Spinners, he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time.

“The orb is picking up signs of Ana Lovecraft.”

“Where?” Keller asked, heart racing.

The map showed her two halls over and one level down. It showed a thermal video of a girl lit red, pacing. Two shapes were on the floor, also red. Actually, three—one looked like a person torn in half. Did she kill them?

Keller couldn’t be certain it was Ana pacing but couldn’t imagine the girl had found someone to remove her ID chip.

“Why is she here?” Keller asked, confused, as if Reynolds might have an answer.

“I have no idea, Sir. I thought she was dead.”

Reynolds wasn’t among the few who knew of The Network’s duplicity: faking Ana and Liam’s deaths on instruction of The State.

“No,” Keller said. “She’s very much alive. Are you getting a reading for Liam Harrow or anyone else from City 6?”

“No, Sir.”

Keller stared at the short video of Ana’s frame stalking back and forth.

“Is she infected?” Keller asked.

“It’s hard to tell. Her movements aren’t erratic. But she may not be showing signs yet.”

Or she’s immune? Keller wondered.

“What do you want to do, Sir?”

“Follow me,” Keller said to the orb as he headed down the hall holding the Spinner with both hands, eager to unleash its lethal blast on Sutherland.

Ana would have to wait.

CHAPTER 53—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana paced as she waited for Sutherland’s voice to come back and taunt her.

She looked down at Calla, still on the floor, motionless but breathing. She couldn’t allow that bastard to hurt her.

He’d killed Egan. He was responsible for Oswald’s death. And he’d been responsible for her father’s, even if it was Keller who had murdered him in front of the world. It was all she could do not to charge out the door, find the bastard, and take him out herself. But there was no one else left to protect Calla.

And there was no way Ana could leave the girl lying on the floor, even if the room was hidden. Someone would find her, either Sutherland’s thugs or one of the infected.

Or, if Ana died, nobody would find Calla, and she’d never wake up.

Don’t think like that.

She’s going to live!

Perhaps not so strangely, her almost maternal instincts toward Calla made her think of her other “family,” and Ana wondered how Liam and Katrina were doing. Had they found Adam? Or had they failed and were they already dead?

There had been so much death in the past two years. First her mother, then nearly everyone she came into contact with. It was so hard to believe that just two years ago, her greatest concern had been taking another aptitude test so she could stop sewing buttons. And while Ana had loved her family, she’d still taken them for granted, thinking they’d always be there.

She thought how she used to chase Adam around the house tickling him until he was screaming for help. Then Mom would come and tickle her, and Father would come and tickle Mom, until they were all in a pile, laughing, red-faced and out of breath on the floor.

That was all gone.

She couldn’t continue alone.

Ana was a fugitive from her State, no City would have her. She was enemies with Sutherland, and who knew how far that animosity stretched in The Barrens? How many camps would consider her an enemy?

She could maybe return to Paradise, but she’d been kicked out of there right after her bite.

She was a girl without a home, friends, or family.

Alone in hell.

Stop it! You don’t know that Adam’s dead. He, Liam, and Katrina could come back at any minute. Stop it!

Would Father do this?

Or would he suck it up and do what had to be done?

She sank to the ground, putting Calla’s head in her lap, running her hands through the girl’s hair to hopefully coax her awake and give Ana something to believe in.

Startled by a knock on the door, she reached for her blaster, slipping a finger through its trigger but still holding Calla’s head in her lap.

Go away! Nobody’s here!

A man’s voice spoke. “Ana, open up.”

She set Calla’s head gently on the ground and stood, gripping her blaster with two hands, aiming at the door, not saying a word.

It didn’t sound like Sutherland, but it also didn’t sound like anyone she knew. But she also couldn’t think of who knew she might be in here. She didn’t think it sounded like Oswald, even if he were somehow alive. Maybe Father Truth?

“Ana, I’m here to help.” The voice returned, coming through a speaker, likely in a chem suit helmet, so altered a bit. It was familiar but not enough to place it—too deep to be Sutherland, though it could’ve been one of his men trying to coax her out.

She stood her ground, silent.

“Stand back, Ana, I’m going to open this door. Don’t shoot, or you will be killed. Along with your friend.”

That voice, so familiar . . .

Ana backed against the wall and crept toward the corner, standing at an angle from the entrance. She crouched low, assuming that whoever came in would be looking straight ahead and shooting high.

She might have the advantage.

She trained her gun on the door, hands shaking.

If she screwed this up, she and Calla would pay.

“I’m coming in, Ana. Three . . . two . . . one.”

The door clicked—how did he unlock it from the outside?—and slid open.

Ana aimed the blaster, ready, hoping she wasn’t about to fire on a friend.

A hunter orb hovered into the room, cannon glowing blue, a voice commanding from the speaker, “Put the gun down or you will die.”

A hunter orb?

City Watch?

Or maybe one of Egan’s?

She’d seen at least two orbs since her arrival, plus the one Elijah had taken when he and his crew saved her, Liam, and Katrina.

Its screen was dark as it hovered before her. She could fire and maybe even hit it but not before it killed her. Hunter orbs in close quarters were hard to take advantage of, and Ana didn’t know if it was friend or foe.

“Put the gun down!” the voice repeated.

The same voice, from outside the door at an angle she couldn’t see, said, “Listen to the orb, Ana.”

“OK.” Ana put her gun down.

The orb said, “The room is clear.”

The man who had murdered her father stepped into the room, and she immediately regretted lowering her weapon.

CHAPTER 54—SUTHERLAND

Sutherland couldn’t believe his people’s careless stupidity. The men at the front entrance weren’t responding. Nor were any others, except Michaels, who was searching for Ana and the girl, taking out infected as he went.

Where the fuck is everyone?

Then there was Horrance. The idiot had somehow lost Ana and killed the only person Sutherland could count on to finish the cure. Horrance was a special kind of stupid, the kind that came along only once in a generation, whose mom had been too stupid to drown him in the river once she saw what she’d given birth to.

He glared at the man as he paced, waiting for Ana.

Horrance said, “I don’t think she’s coming.”

“No, really? You don’t fucking say!” Sutherland shouted at the ogre, wanting to cleave his head from his shoulders.

As Horrance turned away, looking like he might cry, Sutherland reminded himself to breathe deep, in and out, and relax a little. He couldn’t afford to kill Horrance. Nor could he forget that Horrance, as useless and stupid as he was, had helped him escape from Hydrangea when all was lost.

He breathed in, counting to five, then out, again counting to five, wishing he had some Crash. Sweet chemical relief. It would be a while before he could indulge. Sutherland had to function at his peak level while he found Ana, then cleaned these corpses from the station.

Maybe give the place some fresh paint. Something whimsical, like yellow and pink.

He had an idea.

He turned to Horrance and smiled slow and wide.

“What is it, boss?”

“We’ll drive her out if she won’t come to us.”

CHAPTER 55—ANA LOVECRAFT

Keller was in a full chemical suit, but Ana thought she would recognize the ugly bastard’s crow nose anywhere. He lifted the black glass on his helmet to reveal a clearer glass beneath it.

She reached for the blaster.

The orb fired and melted the weapon. Ana’s hand stopped inches from a gooey stew of metal and plastic.

She pulled back.

“Stay put or I will put you down.”

Keller aimed the largest gun at Ana that she had ever seen. A circular glass tube with swirling red lights spinning through it wound around the stock of the weapon.

“You bastard.” She scowled. “I’m going to kill you.”

“I’m trying to save you, child.”

“I don’t need your saving. Leave!”

“What about the girl?” Keller looked down at Calla. “I know you hate me right now, and I have plenty to explain, but we must get you and the girl out of here.”

Ana swallowed, looking down at Calla.

“How is it that neither of you are infected?”

Ana didn’t want to tell the truth—that Calla was infected, or that Ana herself had been—as both admissions could jeopardize their freedom.

“We tested immune,” she lied.

“Both of you?” Keller asked. “How is that?”

“I don’t know.” Ana turned it back on Keller. “What are you doing here? Why should I trust you?”

“I came to capture Sutherland. He was behind The City 1 attack.”

“So my father was innocent?” Ana spit out.

“Your father was hardly innocent. But I’m not here to argue your father’s guilt or innocence. As I said, we have much to discuss, but I’m not your enemy.”

Sutherland’s voice came over the intercom.

“Attention, residents of this godforsaken hellhole. I’ve decided that I don’t want your precious train station after all. Blood is so hard to scrub from the walls. So I’ll be leaving, but I should warn you that my men have set bombs around The Station’s perimeter, and they’ll be detonating in 10 minutes. If you want to live—I’m talking to you, Ana and Calla—if you want amnesty, all will be forgiven. You can come with me. But hurry, the clock is ticking. Quite literally. Meet me outside The Station and we’ll put all this nastiness behind us.”

A long pause, then: “Or you can stay here and die. Your choice, but I’m tired of playing nice. Good day, Ana.”

“Does he really have bombs?”

Keller’s voice sounded very nervous, not full of the bravado he’d had the last time she spoke with him. She wondered what he’d gone through in getting this far into The Station.

“I have no idea,” Ana answered. “Do you think he’s lying? Do you think it’s a trap?”

“It’s almost certainly a trap. But we can’t take the chance he’s lying about the bombs. He did have weaponized zombie virus, so clearly he’s got access to whatever he needs to bring this place down.”

“What are we going to do?” There was no we—and she hated herself for slipping it into the sentence. She was not on Keller’s side. But, at the same time, she had to figure the best play for the hand she had been dealt. Just as her father would advise.

He turned to the orb and its on-screen Watcher. “How long would it take for more orbs to back us up?”

“Twenty minutes, Sir. Maybe more. That would include the risk of someone at City Watch discovering the request. Would you like me to order more, Sir?”

Keller shook his head. “We don’t have time. We’ll play this by ear.”

Keller looked at Ana. “You two coming with me?”

“I’ll have to carry her,” Ana said. “She hit her head.”

“OK, then you stay behind me. The orb will take the lead. Here . . .” Keller reached down and stripped a blaster pistol from his belt.

As her hand closed around the gun’s handle, Keller pulled it back until she met his eyes. “Don’t shoot me in the back. The orb will kill you both. Understood?”

“Yes.” Ana yanked the pistol away. He smiled ruefully. “You can always try to kill me after we get out of here alive.”

“You better have a good plan,” she said, ignoring his efforts at . . . whatever he was trying to do. She knelt down and gathered Calla in both hands.

“I’m sure it’s better than hiding in here and waiting to die,” Keller said, ordering the orb into the hallway.

They followed one corridor after another. Their route didn’t feel familiar, but Ana felt too defeated to map it. She stepped over bodies, horrified. A small girl—Ana thought her name was Lora—had shared her mom’s homemade cookie with Ana yesterday. Now she was staring up at Ana with eyes that couldn’t blink. Her throat was gouged out, eaten or torn from the rest of her.

My fault.

Ana swallowed, longing for it all to be over, as she followed the orb and told herself with every step that soon enough she wouldn’t ever again be forced to make another horrible decision. She tried to think ahead, to what Keller would do with her and Calla once they got free, but she couldn’t fall into that trap of wishful thinking. There were undoubtedly enough actual traps ahead.

It was one step at a time, until they were clear of this terror.

After several turns through many halls, she finally realized where they were—just outside the exit tunnel. However, there was a fire at the entrance to the tunnel. Black smoke rolled toward them, stinging and clouding her eyes. Ana wondered if the fire had been set intentionally or was simply a result of the chaos.

She wanted to stop and turn around. She called out for Keller, but he kept moving forward into the smoke. She had no choice but to follow him into the darkness. There was sudden rain from the sprinklers, but it did little to smother the smoke.

She coughed as she struggled to hold Calla and navigate the darkness. The heat was intense, covering her face and body with a second skin of sweat that blended with the water. She blinked, struggling to peer through the thick haze.

Calla started coughing and slipped from Ana’s wet hands.

Ana stopped, grabbed the girl’s body in the dark, choking on smoke as she picked Calla up again.

She was lost in the inky darkness, blind, not sure which way to go. Ana tried to cry out for Keller but could only cough. She turned, trying to decipher direction, but everything was black.

Oh, God!

Then Keller stepped in front of Ana, shining his light on her and Calla.

“I have a thermal view in my helmet,” he said. Ana was struck by the ever-increasing softness in his voice. Almost kind. “Stay close and I’ll get us through.”

Keller charged deeper into the wall of smoke. Ana carried Calla, stumbling after him.

Calla began to choke again, the smoke probably burning her lungs just like it was burning Ana’s.

“It’s OK,” she whispered to Calla.

Ana looked up, blinking into the smoke. She saw daylight ahead, clean like a promise. The sight gave her strength. She tightened her grip around Calla and rushed forward, passing Keller, hope fueling her flight to fresh air.

“Come back!” Keller called behind her. “Be careful!”

Calla was heavy in her arms, but Ana couldn’t bring herself to care. Keller wasn’t shouting—or shooting—as he fell farther behind.

Ana fled the tunnel into the daylight and fell with Calla in the snow, both of them breathing in deep gasps of air and coughing the smoke from their lungs.

We’re alive!

The joy was short-lived. The hunter orb raced past them and fired into the woods.

Someone fired back, a blast of energy tearing through a tree to Ana’s left.

Keller sped from the tunnel and put himself between Ana and the gunmen in the woods, opening fire with the giant gun.

“Stay down!” he yelled.

Snow and rock kicked up around Ana as she lay on top of Calla, pressing the girl into the snow, hoping to make a low, barely there target.

Keller blasted the tree line, screaming as if it somehow helped scare the men away.

The gunfire was deafening, but Ana could still hear Calla bellowing in her ears. She was trying to push Ana off of her and crying loudly for her father. “Daddy! Where are you?”

Ana hugged Calla, glad that she seemed to be coming to but also afraid she would get scared and run straight into danger. Ana did her best to keep the girl beneath her and out of the line of fire.

Keller ceased fire long enough to investigate the perimeter. He called to her, “Wait here. I’m going to make sure it’s safe.”

Ana’s ears were ringing as she turned, still on the ground, and watched her father’s killer walk into the woods, the hunter orb just ahead of him firing off shots at either Sutherland’s troops or zombies.

The ringing began to fade in Ana’s ears. She was about to get up and off of Calla when she felt a blade at her throat.

Her hand tightened on her blaster, then the blade pressed into her skin and she softened her grip.

Someone pulled the blaster from her hands, then yanked her to standing, peeling her from Calla.

She turned to see Sutherland.

Calla cried out.

Sutherland yelled at the little girl, “Shut up or I’ll kill her!”

Calla looked up at Sutherland, terrified, then toward the tree line, searching for a Keller who was no longer there, gone along with the orb.

Ana wondered if Sutherland was fast enough to have ended both the orb and Keller before she could notice.

“Now, now, little Calla,” he said in a syrupy, sick voice. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. But look, you’re both still alive! Now, I’m going to remove this knife from Ana’s neck and you are both going to follow me. Do you understand? Nod if you do, Ana.”

Ana nodded, the knife still sharp and cold against her throat.

“Calla? Do you understand?”

Calla was clearly frightened and could barely look back at Ana. Ana gave the girl a small nod, and she nodded in return.

“Good,” Sutherland said, removing the knife, then training his blaster on Ana. “Now let’s go. You lead the way, Ana, so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Where are we going?” Ana asked as they marched forward, in the opposite direction that Keller had gone.

Still pleasant, Sutherland said, “To find my truck, so we can get the hell out of here.”

They walked for a few minutes, the cold wind picking up and bringing snow. Ana shivered in her soaking clothes. If Sutherland didn’t kill her, hypothermia might.

“What happened to my father?” Calla asked, stopping to face her captor. Ana stopped as well.

Sutherland stopped clomping. He looked at the girls, brushed snow from his jacket, then focused on Calla. “I’m very sorry, dear, but your father won’t be coming with us. Unfortunately, he’s dead. Now, this wasn’t my fault. Your father was an enemy and made the silly mistake of standing in my way. Honestly, it’s not personal.”

Calla clearly disagreed.

Something broke inside her. She rushed Sutherland, blindly flailing on her way to attack. Ana watched in slow motion as the girl lurched toward him. He made a fist, reeled back, and punched Calla hard in the face.

Calla cried out. Ana wasn’t sure if she imagined the sound of something snapping before she saw the very real fountain of blood spraying from the girl’s broken nose.

Calla dropped to the ground. Sutherland arrogantly turned his back to Ana, kneeling over the girl. Ana was through with hesitating today.

She charged at Sutherland.

Sutherland, as if waiting for Ana’s stupidity, turned toward her before she could reach him, sword drawn.

He swung his blade in a wide arc that cut the air in front of Ana, forcing her to stop and hurl herself backward.

Instead, she slipped and fell on her ass, barely missing the blade the first time. Then Sutherland took another swipe.

He stabbed through her leg. She screamed, soaking wet and freezing, blood spilling from a leg on fire. Sutherland stood over her, holding his sword as if deciding whether to end Ana now.

Ana heard something like a dog growling and looked over to see Calla gritting her teeth, shaking her head, and rushing Sutherland a second time. Calla landed on his back, grabbed on, and used her weight to knock him down to the ground.

His sword fell just a couple of feet from Ana.

Calla punched Sutherland in the back of the head furiously, getting in several blows before he screamed out loudly enough to shake Ana’s core.

Then he shook Calla off, grabbed her, and threw her nearly four feet ahead of him where she landed in a gasp.

Sutherland walked over to her, balling his fists, as she tried to crawl away. He dropped on top of her, straddling her, and punched her twice in the stomach.

Ana cried as she tried to stand, but her leg betrayed her and she fell to the ground.

Sutherland turned back, just to make sure she wasn’t a threat. He laughed at her helplessness, then put his hands around Calla’s throat, choking her.

“Look what you did, Ana! Just look what you’ve made me do!”

Ana slithered toward his sword, but the pain was intense, and moving her leg made it feel like the limb was exploding.

Ana’s heart hammered in her frozen chest as she pulled herself forward, knowing she’d never reach Calla before Sutherland killed her.

She called out, “You coward!”

Sutherland kept choking the girl, ignoring her taunts.

“You fucking coward, you’re gonna kill a child?”

Sutherland ignored her, laughing as he leaned closer to Calla, perhaps to better look into her eyes and whisper some horrible thing while snuffing out her life.

The monster!

Ana reached out despite the pain, fingers clawing at the cold, wet snow, searching for purchase to pull herself forward.

But the sword, like Calla, felt a million miles away.

Ana could do nothing to save her.

Calla was going to die.

And so was she.

Ana heard the footfalls of someone running up from behind.

Oh, God, zombies!

But when she looked back, it wasn’t the shuffling undead. Instead, it was a tiny shape racing toward them. It took a moment before Ana registered the figure as Father Truth.

The dwarf grabbed the blade—almost as tall as he was—and yelled out an incoherent scream of syllables, still racing forward.

Sutherland had exactly enough time to turn and see the dwarf before the sword cleaved his head from his body.

CHAPTER 56—CALLA EGAN

Calla gasped for air and kicked the headless corpse from her body.

It fell back, neck spurting hot blood into the snow as Calla scrambled toward Ana, lying still, eyes closed and arms outstretched.

“Ana!”

Calla’s scream was drowned by the howling wind and brewing storm.

Father Truth dropped to the snow beside Ana. He ripped the blood-drenched pants along her left calf and looked at the wound.

He said to Calla, “She’s lost a lot of blood. Put pressure on the cut. Keep holding it, even if she wakes and screams.”

Calla looked at the wound that was still gushing blood and turned away before pressing her hand down, afraid she would wake Ana or hurt her even worse.

Branches snapped in the surrounding woods as the storm grew violent. Calla’s heart beat harder. She’d seen enough blizzards to know that they needed to get inside quickly, before they were blinded and unable to find The Station.

Father Truth ripped off his shirt, tore long strips from the bottom, and started making Ana a makeshift tourniquet.

“Keep pressure on it.” He reached under her leg with a length of cloth, then folded a second strip and handed it to Calla. “Put this on her wound; press down.”

Calla saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up to see dark shapes approaching. As the wind dimmed and flurries whirled more softly, she recognized Trina and Harris, a couple who’d come to The Station last year.

At first, Calla was happy to see them. More help. Then her stomach ate itself as she realized they were no longer Harris and Trina. Then she saw several more dark shapes moving within the white—zombies spilling out from the woods, about to converge on her, Father Truth, and Ana.

“Father! Look!”

He looked up, then back at Ana. “We have to stop her bleeding first!”

Moaning grew louder, just audible over the screaming wind, as if the zombies’ anticipation swelled with their approach.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

Calla’s heart pounded. The world blurred as she tried to focus on Ana’s leg rather than on the approaching zombies. She kept her eyes on her hands holding the cloth, not daring to look up at the undead on their way. If she looked up, she’d lose her will and let go. Ana could die.

Moaning grew louder. Something moved from somewhere behind her.

Can’t look!

The wind picked up and brought more blinding snow, chilling her wet body to the marrow.

A tree crashed somewhere in the storm.

Come on. Come on.

Father Truth spoke fast. “Almost there,” he said, tying the tourniquet loosely above Ana’s wound.

He reached back and grabbed another strip of cloth. He quickly folded it then brushed Calla’s hands away and laid it over the first cloth. He slid down the tourniquet and tightened it.

The zombies closed in, arms reaching for them.

Father Truth scrambled, reaching for his sword as a zombie behind Calla grabbed her.

She squirmed free and fell back.

The zombie, a tall, spindly, dark man with white eyes clawed at Calla’s leg and grabbed hold of her ankle. He dropped down, mouth wide-open, ready to bite.

Calla screamed as she spun, kicking the zombie hard in the jaw. It fell back but got up too quickly for her to mount another attack.

Calla was all that stood between the zombie and Ana. She didn’t dare turn to see how Father Truth was faring with the zombies on the other side of Ana. She could hear him grunting and the sound of metal slicing limbs, but if she saw him losing, she might lose hope herself.

Calla glanced back to search for Sutherland’s blaster, but the snow was too thick to see it.

The zombie threw itself at her.

She dropped to the ground and it flew past her, landing on top of Ana.

Calla yelled, launching herself at the zombie, and pulled it off of Ana. They rolled down the hill several times until they came to a hard stop with her back slammed into a tree.

The zombie was on all fours, practically growling just a few feet in front of her.

Through thick swirling blankets of snow, she saw Father Truth surrounded, barely fending off another three zombies. Beyond that, two more—Harris and Trina, no less—approached Ana.

Calla cried out, trying to draw Harris and Trina’s attention as she used the tree to pull herself to her feet.

Father Truth turned instead, perhaps thinking Calla was hurt. As he turned, one of the zombies jumped him.

No!

Calla wanted to intervene, but could do nothing as the closest zombie lumbered toward her.

She pivoted, trying to dodge and send it straight into the tree, but her foot slipped on the wet snow and sent her face first onto the ground.

The zombie landed on her back.

Calla then heard the most welcome sound of her life: a hunter orb firing its cannon.

The zombies on top of Father Truth fell away. A second shot from the orb hit those closest to him.

Calla managed to squirm free, but just as quickly as she slipped away, the monster pulled her back.

She flailed, squirmed, and tried to kick it away. All she managed to do, though, was land on her back. The zombie pounced on her, mouth open, hissing.

She threw her hands up, pressing them hard against its wet flesh, pushing back against its forehead and neck, trying to keep it from winning inches. She stared up into the zombie’s white eyes and chomping, rotting mouth.

Calla heard the orb firing more blasts into the zombies near Ana and Father Truth. She realized with horror that the orb didn’t see her. She’d rolled too far away. Calla cried out, trying to keep the zombie’s face from hers. It was all rotting flesh and muscles—and stronger than it had any right to be.

Her fingers were slipping on its wet skin.

Its mouth was getting closer.

Its weight was too much for her to push off.

Please! Someone see me!

Suddenly there was movement behind the tree. Another zombie, a fat giant the size of Sutherland’s large man, lurched forward just five feet away.

One zombie would pin her down.

The other would eat her.

There was nothing she could do.

She cried out again as the second zombie scooted its mouth toward her stomach and pulled her shirt up, its black teeth opening and closing while the first zombie continued to pin her down.

No! No! No!

She tried to move, but the zombie on top of her was too heavy. She continued squirming, grunting under the pressure as she tried to get away.

Get!

Off!

Of!

Me!

Her arms were about to give way—she couldn’t hold it off of her any longer. The two zombies were competing to see who would get the first bite of her flesh.

She looked down just as the second zombie opened its mouth, teeth inching toward her belly.

Noooo!

Another blast—this one red—decimated the fat zombie’s lower half, then a blade sliced through the first zombie’s head and a man wearing a full black chemical suit yanked the zombie away and kicked in its skull.

He turned, firing on more approaching zombies, as Calla sat stunned. She wanted to thank him, but all she could do was suck in air, glad to be in one piece.

The man held out a gloved hand and helped her off the ground.

“Come on,” he said, walking toward Ana and Father Truth.

Father Truth was struggling to gather Ana.

He called out to the man in the suit, “Can you help me get her inside The Station?”

“Yes.” The man bent to scoop Ana from the snow. “But are you sure you want to go back in there? They unleashed a virus.”

“There’s a second part of The Station, walled off and running on a different system than the first. I’ll show you the way. We can stay there until we can clear out the main station.”

“So you all were prepared for this?” the man asked.

“Not quite, considering how many we lost. Who are you?” Father Truth looked up at him. “City Watch?”

The man smiled. “In a fashion. The name is Keller.

“Provisional Leader of The State.”

CHAPTER 57—ANA LOVECRAFT

Ana woke up feeling blurry. The world agreed.

“Don’t move too fast.”

The man’s voice beside her bed was unfamiliar. Well, not completely unfamiliar. There was something about it . . .

He came into focus. She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Adam?”

“Yeah.”

Tears burst from Ana’s eyes as she ignored his advice and bolted up, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into an embrace.

She pulled away, looking Adam over. He looked so much different than she remembered. Leaner. No baby fat. Scruffy hair and a light stubble.

Her baby brother looked like a man.

“Oh my God, you’re OK!”

Tears continued to pour forth. Then she realized two things at once: they were still in The Station, even though the last thing she remembered was fleeing as it was overrun with the infected, and Liam wasn’t in the room.

“Where’s Liam?” Suddenly she felt certain he was dead.

“I need to tell you something,” Adam said.

“No.” Her chin quivered as bad news seemed to darken Adam’s eyes. “No, no, no.”

The door behind him slid open. Most of Liam appeared in the doorway, wearing pants and no shirt. His left arm was missing, the nub bandaged in thick white. Ana tried to stand, but pain shot through her leg and shoved her back down to the bed.

“You were stabbed in the leg,” Adam said. “Stay put.”

Liam came to her, tears in his eyes as he smiled. “I told you we’d get your brother back.”

“You better never leave me again!” She reached around Liam, careful not to brush against his bandaged stump, and hugged him. “Are you OK? What happened?”

“Father Truth says I’ll be OK, barring infection or anything else.”

Ana pulled Liam and her brother into hugs, not wanting to let either man go—ever again.

The door opened again, this time bringing Katrina, joined by Calla, Father Truth, and a small girl that looked familiar, but Ana couldn’t remember where she’d seen her.

“Ana!” Calla called, running over and jumping onto the bed, hugging her.

As Ana held her tight, she looked up at Katrina. She could’ve sworn the tough girl’s eyes were welling up.

“Thank you,” Ana said, “for keeping Liam from losing more of himself.”

“It wasn’t easy, and you owe me . . . but you’re welcome.”

The familiar-looking girl stared oddly at Ana.

“Who is she?” Ana whispered to Adam.

“It’s Zelle, our old neighbor.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ana remembered. “Hi, Zelle. How did you wind up here?”

“Your brother found me. He saved me, with Katrina and Liam, after my father died. Dad turned after he was bitten.”

“I’m sorry.” Ana tried to smile.

Katrina said, “There’s something else you need to know.”

“What’s that?” Ana asked.

“Zelle will tell you.”

Ana looked at the girl. “OK.”

“There’s a safe place we can go, a place The State can’t find. My dad called it ‘Eden,’ but most people call it ‘The Gardens.’”

Ana looked around, confused. “Where are The Gardens? Are we leaving here, then?”

Father Truth said, “The State will be coming here. No way to avoid it with everything that went down.”

Ana remembered something from before she’d passed out—Keller.

She looked at her brother, wondering how to break the news that the killer was here.

Or had he already seen him?

As if on cue, the door opened. Keller stepped into the room.

Ana’s heart raced, certain that Adam would strangle him.

Instead he looked over as if Keller were another well-wisher.

How long have I been out? What did I miss?

“Hello, Miss Lovecraft.” Keller was wearing his uniform instead of the chemical suit and mask he’d had on when she’d last seen him.

“He saved us, all of us.” Calla squeezed Ana’s hand.

“Why?” Ana asked, refusing to believe that he’d suddenly turned over a new leaf.

Men like Keller didn’t change—not for the better. They got worse. Entrenched in corruption, enslaved to the system, forever invested in clinging to power, they did whatever they had to do to maintain the status quo. Everything she’d seen from such men—Oli, the leader of Paradise; Sutherland, the leader of Hydrangea; and . . . even Egan, in his own way—had been trapped into the roles they had created for themselves. To believe that Keller was any different . . .

“I owe your father an apology,” Keller said. “I owe you all an apology.”

Ana tried not to cry at the thought of her parents’ deaths and Keller’s involvement.

“I was lied to by the people I serve. And only recently have I seen what that meant.”

“But you killed my father, on stage, in front of the world. He did it in front of you, Adam!” She turned to her brother, pissed that he wasn’t grabbing a gun and shooting their father’s killer in the face. But her brother only looked back at her, something—sympathy?—in his eyes.

Keller continued, “I can’t begin to ask you to understand, change the past, or bring your family back. Your father was a good man. But The State doesn’t reward men like your father, it rewards and promotes men like me—men who are so allegiant to the lie that they become blind to the truth.”

Adam looked at Ana. “Keller sent someone into The Outback to get Zelle, so The State could find The Gardens and get people they’re looking for.”

Keller said, “But instead I’m going to pretend I never saw you. Go to The Gardens. I’ll tell the Elders they’re only a lie. I’ll say that this station was home to the traitors. They’re dead now, thanks to the Patriot scum Sutherland, or rather, Dennis Weaver.”

“You’re letting us go?” Ana asked in disbelief. “All of us?”

“Yes,” Keller said. “Once Father Truth here says you’re ready, you can take whatever you need and go find the lives you deserve.”

“Why are you doing this? And how do we know you won’t change your mind and come looking for us later?”

“I want to fight my enemies, not The State’s. I’m not saying The Underground or these so-called Patriots have it right. They’re terrorists . . . well, a lot of them are. You can’t change the world by bombing innocents and attacking cities. You can only make it worse. You have to change it from within. I’ll find others who are also tired of fighting, who can help me change the leadership, find something in between what we have and the anarchy craved by The Underground. Something closer to The Old Nation’s foundation.”

Ana stared at Keller, trying to reconcile the man she’d come to hate—the man who’d shoved her family into The Games and murdered her father in front of an audience—with the man speaking now.

Could he possibly be telling the truth?

Am I the only one who thinks he’s lying? She couldn’t just sit here and listen to this.

“Is anyone else buying this? Am I the only one who isn’t ready to forgive this bastard for what he did to our father?”

“Nobody wanted to kill Keller more than I did,” Adam said. “But he did save us. And he got me out of The Games. From what these people have said, he saved you too. We could kill him, but it wouldn’t bring Father back. Or change the world. And The State would never stop searching for us. And he’d never have a chance to atone for his sins.”

Keller said, “No one understands what you’re feeling more than I do, Ana. The Underground bombed a parade and killed my son. It’s hard to see you all as anything but monsters. But yesterday and tomorrow aren’t the same thing.”

Keller offered his hand.

Ana looked from Adam to Liam, to Calla, and then finally to Zelle.

Adam was right. If they killed Keller, this wouldn’t end. Their future would be worthless.

Yet, she couldn’t forget all that Keller had done. As she stared at his hand, she remembered that very hand taking her father’s life. It was all she could do not to rip his arm off and beat him to death with it.

But she also thought of all the people she’d had to kill, both in The Games and as they fought to survive in The Barrens. Most deserved it, sure, but not all. How many people were the “good guys” in their own stories in which she was the villain?

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to shake his hand. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

She met Keller’s eyes and shook her head. “I can’t forgive you. I’d like to believe you, I really would. And perhaps you are working toward some kind of atonement. I’ll do whatever the majority wants and accept your help in getting us out of here, but you can’t just expect me to forgive and forget.”

Keller lowered his hand, nodded, and said, “Perhaps someday.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Someday.”

THE END

About the Author

Sean Platt and David Wright are cofounders of Collective Inkwell (an imprint specializing in character-rich horror and sci-fi) and coauthors of numerous works of serialized fiction, including the wildly popular indie hits Yesterday’s Gone, WhiteSpace, ForNevermore, and Available Darkness, as well as three previous titles with Amazon’s 47North: Monstrous, Z 2134, and Z 2135. Along with cohost Johnny B. Truant, Sean and David also host the Self-Publishing and Better Off Undead podcasts. Sean lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife, son, and daughter. David lives in Florida.

This book was originally released in Episodes as a Kindle Serial. Kindle Serials launched in 2012 as a new way to experience serialized books. Kindle Serials allow readers to enjoy the story as the author creates it, purchasing once and receiving all existing Episodes immediately, followed by future Episodes as they are published. To find out more about Kindle Serials and to see the current selection of Serials titles, visit www.amazon.com/kindleserials.