The south sniper.
Evan’s last obstacle.
The man swept the rifle slowly back and forth, scanning the hillside below.
As the scope moved to turn full circle, Evan dropped to the cold earth behind a tree trunk and lay still. He exhaled down into the collar of his jacket so his clouding breath wouldn’t give him away.
When he risked a look again, he saw that the sniper had directed his attention to another stretch of the rise. Dawn was leaking through the valley, sending a glare off the new-fallen white.
If Evan could get across the swell of land beside him, he’d be out of sight, his path to the summit clear. Once he made it over the brink into the vast surrounding mountains, René’s men would never catch him.
One more stretch of snow and he’d be free.
He checked the sniper again, but the man was still facing away.
All clear.
Evan bolted.
The uneven earth jarred his boots, the dense pines jolting back and forth, as much obstacle course as cover. He crested the rise and saw the ground slope away. He slid down on the soft-packed snow, dropping over the final swell, dipping from the south sniper’s vantage.
He was beyond reach.
He’d made it.
He lay for a moment, catching his breath, enjoying the sight of the wide-open sky above. Then he shook snow from the cuffs of his pants and started to stand.
He’d just pulled himself up to full height when a wedge of tree trunk exploded two yards from his face as if hammered free with an ax. Before he could process what had happened, he heard the big-caliber signature boom across the valley.
For a moment his thoughts spun in freefall. It made no sense. The south sniper was lost to a fold of the mountain behind him. And the shot’s trajectory was wrong.
He scrambled into motion, heading for the nearest tree line. A bullet kissed the top of his shoulder, fraying the thick coat and obliterating a branch. He juked left, a half-assed wide-receiver move, but already his legs were throbbing, his boots skidding on ice.
Another shot whipped overhead, annihilating a pinecone. Splinters rained down across his shoulders.
Any way he turned, he was in the crosshairs.
The pinecone was a message, sent from the base of the valley. An incredible shot.
With dawning dread Evan put it together.
The north sniper had moved out of position, coming across the range to pin him down from an unexpected angle. This man who had taken a pinecone off Evan’s palm from five hundred meters.
And Evan was in the middle of an open patch, fully exposed. One wrong step and he’d be missing a limb.
He froze.
He could feel his heartbeat in the hollow of his throat.
He gritted his teeth.
Bowed his head.
Then he raised his arms, raised them high and wide so they’d be visible through a scope. He waited, his breaths jerking through his chest, steaming in the night air.
After a time he heard footsteps crunching through the snow behind him. The sound of reckoning.
The footsteps neared, but he didn’t dare turn around, didn’t dare move. Not until a kick to the kidneys knocked him to the ground. Dex stood over him, his head cocked with some sentiment that couldn’t quite make it to his eyes. Two narcos flanked him, their AKs pointed at Evan’s chest.
Dex’s big hands swung at his sides, the tattoos flashing. Too-broad smile. Bloody scowl.
One painted mouth dipped into a cargo pocket. The fingers came out gripping the hinged-open shock collar. Wearily, Evan lifted his head from the snow to see the big hands nearing. His vision clouded.
Even so he could hear the collar clank shut around his neck.
40
People Who Deserve It
Evan’s feet dragged lifelessly behind him, leaving ski tracks in the snow. The morning glare off the ground was piercing, forcing him to squint. His legs and arms throbbed from the cold. His head hung forward, hair latticing his eyes. A narco had him by either arm, Dex leading the merry little charge.
They hauled him into the barn and threw him onto the wrestling mat. Shuddering, he curled on the blue rubber. Only now did he allow himself to register the state of his body. The chill crept into his bruises, stung the ring of raw flesh around his neck. His head swam from the cold, from the exertion, from more kicks and punches than he could keep track of. He could no longer feel his nose or his lips. His ankles ached. His thighs burned, his calves were on fire, his breath growing more ragged by the second.
If he died here in this desolate valley, he’d be another in a long list of people who had failed Alison Siegler and the boy.
And yet how could he rescue them when he was in need of rescuing himself?
There was a lesson in that somewhere, of that he was sure, but he didn’t know what. If Jack were alive, he’d summarize it neatly into something pithy — part koan, part fortune cookie. He’d put the situation into context, salvage it by turning it around on Evan, transform impotence into insight.
Evan stared at the circle of narcos penning him in and tried to convert his helplessness to rage, but the old tricks no longer worked. Not right now. He felt undressed, vulnerable.
Defeated.
He heard the barn door roll open. Footsteps.
He caught a whiff of familiar cologne. It smelled like a country club.
René’s voice settled over him. “Your plan didn’t work out very well.”
“No,” Evan said. “Doesn’t seem to have.”
Two of the men patted him down roughly. One of them yanked the RoamZone from his pocket and handed it to René. With amusement René regarded the smashed screen and the cracked casing, bubbled from the fire. He laughed at the seemingly useless phone and tossed it back at Evan. With numb fingers Evan fumbled it into his pocket, then curled into himself again to try to generate warmth. The collar scraped into the tender flesh at the contact points.
René adjusted his eggplant-colored scarf. “You look cold.”
Evan licked his cracked lips and tried not to shudder. Tried and failed. Finally he let his eyes roll up to take in the stout man once again. Manny stood behind him.
Evan drummed up a smile. “The band’s getting back together.”
“You’ll find that your humor is going to evaporate quickly,” René said.
“I’ve seen what you do in that medical lab.” Evan’s fingers moved to the scab in his arm. “You stole my blood? When I was passed out?”
“You’re too old,” René said. “You’re just the bank. The kids, they’re the feast.”
Evan had to breathe a few times to get enough oxygen. “Why do you want their blood?”
René took a moment to smooth down his hair. He adjusted the thick fabric of his suit, skimming his hands over the lush lapels. “Scientists at Cornell have been conducting the most fascinating research,” he said. “They took old rats and young rats and stitched them together at the flanks. Literally combined their circulatory systems. You wouldn’t believe what they discovered.”
“Try me.”
“The short version is that it reversed aging in the older rats. Turns out that bathing old stem cells in young blood has a rejuvenating effect. It enhances memory, strengthens skeletal muscle, hastens healing. Who would have thought that the fountain of youth was right there all along? A fountain inside our youth?” He paused, pleased, and studied Evan. “Let me guess. You object vehemently. I’ve committed a moral atrocity that flies in the face of nature.”
“Antibiotics and skyscrapers fly in the face of nature,” Evan said. “I don’t give a shit about natural or unnatural. I care about who you’re doing this to.”