The three men stop as they get close to us, and Falk takes a step in front of me. I watch him closely as they interact.
“Hey there!” One of the men in the group moves ahead and addresses Falk. “What the fuck happened around here?”
“I was hoping you would know.” Falk takes a step forward and offers his hand. “Falk Eckhart. We haven’t seen anyone since it happened.”
“Beck,” the dark-haired man says. “Beck Majors.”
Beck is slightly taller than Falk with a more slender build. He’s got that rough-and-ready look I associate with old cigarette or whiskey commercials. He would have looked completely in place if he had ridden up on horseback. He points to the other two men as he introduces them.
“This is Caesar and Ryan Tucker.”
“My brother and I just came here for the weekend,” Caesar says. He’s a medium-sized, broad shouldered guy with a shaved head. “Beck had gone on about how we needed to visit, but I think we picked the wrong time.”
“Phones aren’t working at all,” Ryan says. He’s much smaller than his brother and obviously younger by several years, and they look nothing alike. He’s got a scruffy beard, round eyeglasses, and a beret on his head, giving him a hipster vibe. “I’ve got a short wave radio that isn’t picking up anything, either. I’m not so sure this is isolated to Atlanta.”
“Where were you when it happened?” Falk asks. “How did you keep from getting caught up in it?”
“We were exploring the storm drains near Decatur,” Beck says. He rubs at a smudge on his jeans, and I wonder just what they’ve been walking through. A distinctly unpleasant smell comes from the group. “Caesar and Ryan are big into spelunking, so I said they ought to see what the city has to offer. Felt the ground shaking, but we were pretty deep in, and it took a while to get out. Some of the exits were blocked by rubble from the street. When we got back to the surface…well, we saw all this.”
Beck waves his arm in the direction of the street.
“Where were you?” Caesar asks. “Any idea what happened?”
“None,” Falk admits with a shake of his head. “We were downtown at the time. Took shelter in a MARTA tunnel. When we came back out, everyone was dead.”
“How did you end up out here?” Beck asks.
“I live near here,” Falk replies.
“Who’s this?” Beck asks, indicating me. He runs his tongue over his lips and gives me a smile. “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”
I swallow and start to respond, but Falk beats me to the punch.
“Hannah,” Falk says tersely. “Where are you headed now?”
Beck glances back and forth between me and Falk and raises his eyebrows. Ryan shuffles his feet, and Caesar stares at me closely. He widens his eyes, and I know he’s recognized me, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I was going to head home,” Beck says. “Try the landline.”
“Mine was dead,” Falk says. “What area are you in?”
“Near Emory.”
“You a student?”
“Faculty,” Beck says. “I teach anthropology. Caesar and Ryan live in Valdosta, right by the Florida border.”
“What do you do there?” Falk asks as he turns to the other two men. His questions are starting to sound like an interrogation, and Beck’s eyes narrow as his friends respond.
“I’m a state trooper,” Caesar says. “Ryan’s been working at the local airport, saving money for school.”
“I’m going for a law degree,” Ryan says, but Falk doesn’t look at him. His eyes are on Beck, and the two men are staring each other down. The silent interaction is unnerving.
“You were military,” Falk says with a very matter-of-fact tone.
“Yeah, briefly.” Beck’s throat bobs as he swallows.
“What branch?”