Josh mashed the brake, causing Woof to lose his balance on the front seat and slip onto the floor.
“Sorry, buddy. We’re going to find Duncan. Do you want to find Duncan?”
Woof barked.
“Good boy. We’re going to find Duncan. Yes, we are.”
Josh jammed the Bronco into park and hunted around the back seat. Adam kept a load of crap back there, and Josh swore he saw a clothesline earlier. He found it and tied an end around Woof’s neck. Then he grabbed his Maglite and his pillowcase of supplies and climbed out of the truck. The world seemed a little wobbly, and he felt more than a little woozy, so he leaned against the fender and rested for a minute.
Woof barked again—it was too high for him to jump. Josh helped him to the ground.
“Where’s Duncan, Woof? Find Duncan. Go, boy!”
Woof tugged on the makeshift leash, and Josh jogged behind him. Part of Josh—the tiny part that still remained rational through all of the fumes he’d inhaled—knew that wandering around with a flashlight and a barking dog would attract the Red-ops. But he wasn’t scared. In fact, he felt in control and powerful. Invincible, even.
The dog sniffed everything: trees, bushes, leaves, sticks, rocks, and the open air. Josh began to wonder if Woof was just out for a good time, but then he strained against the rope and started barking like crazy.
“Duncan?” Josh called, sweeping with the flashlight.
The beam landed on a woman. A woman wearing hiking books and a blue-jean miniskirt. She was in her thirties, attractive. Her face looked like she might have been crying recently.
“Oh, my God!” she shrieked. “You’ve got to help me!”
Woof snarled at the new arrival, and Josh reined him in so he didn’t bite her.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“My friends and I were camping and we got attacked by these guys—oh, my God, it was awful! Do you have a phone or a car?”
She moved closer. Josh noticed she had long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and the sleeveless top she wore was dotted with blood. She was seriously built. Her calves above the boots bulged with muscle. So did her bare arms. She didn’t appear to have any makeup on, but she wore several pieces of jewelry, including a thick gold Omega necklace and matching anklet. On her finger was a large diamond engagement ring.
“Can you help me?” she repeated. “Please?”
Josh shook his head—not to say no, but to clear it. Woof kept barking. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t pin down what. He was on edge. No, not on edge. Excited. He felt a tremendous urge, a need, to do something. But he wasn’t sure what.
He blinked, his mouth went dry, and suddenly he knew what he needed to do.
You have to kill her.
The thought didn’t shock Josh like he felt it should have. Rather, it appealed to him.
That’s the drugs talking. It’s the Charge.
No, it’s not the Charge. She’s Red-ops.
“Where’s your car?” she pleaded. “What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?”
How could she be Red-ops? She’s just some scared girl. It’s the Charge. The chemicals are messing with your mind.
Then what is she doing out here, all by herself? She’s one of them. You have to kill her.
Josh dropped the rope and Woof charged at her. She kicked the dog in the side and he yelped and rolled into the bushes.
“Your dog just attacked me!”
She was four steps away.
You can’t kill her.
Yes, you can. This woman is the enemy. Kill her. Bash her head open.
Three steps away now.
She’s just a camper. She needs your help. The drugs are making you aggressive, making you crazy.
It’s not the drugs. She’s one of them. You need to kill her before she kills you.
“Please. You have to protect me.”
Josh held his hands out in front of him.
“You … you shouldn’t come any closer.” But even as the words left his lips, he wanted her closer. Much closer.
“I need your help, mister. Please.”
Kill her kill her KILL HER!
Two steps away.
“Stay back. Stay away from me.”
The Charge is warping you. Making you violent. But you’re in control. You don’t have to give in to every little urge. Fight it. Do the right thing.
“I was attacked.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you care?”
One step away.
“Yes, I care. Look how much I care.”
Josh used the Maglite like a club, smashing it across her face, trying to bust her skull open. The woman almost kept her balance but tripped on something in the weeds and kissed the ground.
SNAP!
Blood blossomed upward like a Roman candle.
Yes!
No …
“Oh, God, no …”
The woman stared at Josh with dead eyes, her head squished in the center like Mr. Peanut, the bear trap dripping crimson.
You killed her.
Woof limped over and Josh backed away, scared he might hurt the dog, too. Jesus Christ, what did he just do? Why did he hit her when she was obviously just looking for help? He killed her. He freaking killed her.
An accident. It was an accident.
No, it wasn’t.
You didn’t mean to kill her.
That’s what all killers say.
Josh looked at his hands. Murderer’s hands. They were shaking. How was he supposed to live with himself? He felt his stomach do flip-flops, like he’d swallowed a live carp.
What now? Run away? Hide the body? Turn himself in?
He wanted to save lives. That’s all he wanted to do. That was the promise he made to himself. To help others. To make the world a better place.
And now …
Over. His life was over. He couldn’t live with this.
Could he?
Maybe the Charge contributed, made him paranoid. Maybe it even made him temporarily insane. He didn’t mean to kill her. Just stop her. He didn’t know she’d fall on a bear trap.
No. He did want to kill her. He wanted it so bad he couldn’t stop himself.
Could he have stopped himself?
His eyes became glassy. He shook his head again, a litany of “should haves” and “whys” flying at him from all angles.
This is how it feels to be a murderer.
Josh set his jaw, embraced the responsibility.
It was ultimately his decision to hit her. He made the choice. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his actions. That’s how a civilized society worked. All criminals could justify their crimes. They all had reasons, excuses. But human beings weren’t programmable robots. Following instincts, or orders, or drug-induced impulses, were not excuses.
Everyone had free will. And no one ever had the right to murder another human being.
I belong in jail, Josh thought.
He dropped to his knees, unsure if he should cry for the poor soul he just slaughtered, or for himself.
Look at the jewelry.
He peeked through his tears. He’d seen that anklet and necklace before. And the ring—that was the ring he helped Erwin pick out when he proposed to Jessie Lee.
Josh begged the universe that he was right, that this woman was indeed a soldier and had played a part in butchering his friends. He crawled over to her, not looking at her face, and patted down her skirt. No pockets. The sweater didn’t have any, either. Josh almost began to cry. He checked to see if she had some sort of purse or backpack, but she didn’t. Then he held her dead hand, looked at the ring and anklet again, and doubted himself.