The Breach

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Alone with the sound of Paige trying to hold on, Travis found his mind returning to the attack that had knocked him unconscious. He didn't think he was misremembering it now. The details were clear. The gun in his hand had suddenly pulled itself down-but not just down. Down and forward. There'd even been a twist in the motion.

As if a human hand had grabbed it.

Then, half a second later had come the blow to the side of his head, from someone who must have been standing out of sight behind him.

But how? Travis had been in this small room from the moment the big guy in the John Deere hat had led him to it. There'd been nobody here. There was no closet to hide in, and the window had been closed. How had the attacker gotten behind him, unless he'd been hiding under the bed?

Even in that case, Travis knew there was some deeper flaw in the picture. Something more fundamental. But for the longest moment he couldn't put his finger on it.

Then he remembered.

The sunlight-coming from the northwest, almost straight into the room through the window. While he'd stood there with the gun leveled at the doorway, his own shadow had been projected on the wall just inside the room, hard and sharp as a picture on a movie screen. Anyone behind him-anyone within five feet of him in any direction-would have been shown there as well. He could not possibly have missed it.

So what the hell had happened here?

In his mind he saw Paige in the clearing again, holding the Whisper, telling him humans hadn't created it. Saying it like it was the most normal thing in the world. The most normal thing in her world, anyway.

What else was normal in Paige's world? What capabilities did her enemies have? What the fuck were they up against here?

A sound broke the moment. The last sound he wanted to hear. Rotors. This was it, then. Two minutes from now, he and Paige would be dragged from the building, onto the aircraft, and then they'd be winding through the valleys at low level, probably on nobody's radar. Maybe these people would have drugs and instruments to keep Paige alive for a while, and wake her up for a new marathon of agony.

Unless he killed her first.

There might just be time. If he contorted his body the right way, he thought he could get himself seated upright against the wall, and be standing without much trouble. His ankles were bound, but he could reach the bed in a couple jumps. Then just smother her with his shoulder. As weak as her breathing was, it would be simple.

He could make those moves. Could he make that choice? Jesus, could he do that to her? Logic, hard and clear, told him he'd regret it sorely if he didn't.

The necessary time was slipping away now, the rotors coming in loud, like a clock ticking off the seconds at hyper speed.

With the indecision came hatred, more bitter than he'd felt in years. Hatred of these fucking people for pushing him to the edge of this decision.

And then the chopper exploded.

A concussion wave shook the building, and in the wake of its bass came the most beautiful silence Travis had ever heard. Five seconds later a fighter screamed overhead, its own shockwave rattling the window. He heard the engines whine through some kind of power adjustment, and then the roar, instead of fading into the distance, seemed to even out. The jet was circling.

Obviously it couldn't save them from the man who was already here. Any second his footsteps would come pounding down the hall from wherever he'd gone; a quick detour to murder them before fleeing. But the worst possibility had been cancelled out. Travis had that to be thankful for while he waited to die.

Half a minute passed. No footsteps. He felt hope sliding back in, whether or not he trusted it yet.

Then instead of footsteps he heard voices, people shouting. Coldfoot's remaining residents, probably fewer than ten, had emerged from their homes and were calling one another outside to see the spectacle. He heard a woman call Molly's name, approaching the lodge, and then she screamed, and a moment later other voices rose around her, and the front door of the building swung in.

Travis yelled for them.

They came to him cautiously; it was a minute or more before they'd entered the room, sat him up and removed his blindfold and bindings.

Through the window, framed like a portrait, the steep ridge across the highway was strewn with the burning remains of the helicopter.

"Who did this?" the old man who'd released him asked. "Where'd they go?"

"I don't know," Travis said. "Any of the victims up front have guns on them?"

The man nodded, his curiosity deepening. "Molly and Lloyd both," he said. He glanced at Paige and then returned his eyes to Travis. "You gonna tell me what's happening here?"

"The military's coming," Travis said. "Maybe they can tell us both. Just get the guns and tell everyone to keep their eyes open until help arrives."

The man accepted that and left the room.

Looking at his own shadow on the wall, solitary as it'd been before, Travis wondered if that last advice even mattered.