A whole lot of planes.
Beyond the glass wall his people worked like crazed ants to produce and pack the Reaper mutagen.
Price was too numb to pray that Reaper would work.
The tests on the Volker infected were ongoing, but it would be months before any reliable conclusions could be drawn. He’d told the president that. He’d told the generals that.
It might work was a million miles away from it will work.
It was even farther from we should try it.
If only they had Volker’s notes …
He prayed to a God he’d long ago ceased to believe in. He prayed with every fiber of his being that there was still time to find that research and to study it for a doorway out of this hell.
On the monitor the second Chinook was now landing on the pad and the first was already dwindling in the distance.
His cell rang and it jolted Price out of his horrified daze. He fished it out of his pocket and saw that the scramble alert was active. He punched that button and held the phone to his ear.
“Th-this is Price.”
“We have it,” said a breathless Scott Blair.
“What?”
“The reporter who had them gave them to his cameraman and he sent it all via DropBox to his email accounts. The cybercrimes team cracked it and downloaded everything. I’m sending it to you now.”
Price closed his eyes and swayed. He murmured three words he would have mocked anyone else for saying.
“Thank you, God…”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY
ROUTE 80
FAYETTE COUNTY, PENNSYLVANIA
When they were sure it was safe, the convoy stopped in the middle of the road.
Trout nearly collapsed over the wheel. Strange, bad lights were bursting all around him and he saw darkness trying to close in around the edges of his vision. He took several long breaths and gradually—gradually—reclaimed himself.
Jenny jerked the door open and went running toward the front-end loader. Big Jake DeGroot climbed down, snatched her up and swung her around. She was like a toy in his massive arms. Their simple joy seemed to put a tiny swatch of color into the day.
Behind him, children were snuffling and crying. With fear and perhaps with relief.
Thumps atop the bus told Trout that Dez and the soldiers were climbing down. He hauled himself out of the seat and staggered outside to find Dez.
She was the first to come down and she ran to him and wrapped her strong arms around him. She was stained with gunpowder residue and sweat, and Trout could not help kissing her lips and her face over and over again. Then he held her as Gypsy and Boxer climbed down.
Trout looked up, waiting for Shortstop and Sam.
Waiting.
“No,” said Dez, and there were tears in her eyes. Gypsy leaned her head on Boxer’s shoulders and they sobbed quietly together.
He stared at her without understanding what she meant.
“What—wait, Dez, where are they? What happened?”