It felt like a very long time.
Scattered around him on the hillside were the other shelters. He could hear one boy rolling over and another snoring. If anyone was awake and aware of him, he was silent. Ethan stared at their shelters as if he did not recognize them or even understand their purpose. Everything in the world was foreign right now.
The chime again. He looked back down at the GPS unit.
LOCAL AUTHORITIES ADVISED AND EN ROUTE.
The closest local authority was going to come from Yellowstone. They’d pass through Silver Gate and Cooke City and reach his driveway. Fifteen minutes, at least. Maybe twenty. By the standards of those in the Texas bunker, that was swift. No ship would be lost at sea, no climber would be stranded on an icy peak. A fast response.
So very fast.
He could measure the seconds in heartbeats.
The wind rose and the plastic shelters rustled all around him and he began to stare at them again. He did not like the way he was looking at them. Did not like anything of this night or of this world. The messenger unit in his hand was silent. Heartbeat, heartbeat. Local authorities en route. Allison not answering. Heartbeat, heartbeat.
He turned his face to the wind and then he stood motionless and waited. Above him the clouds had pulled away to the northeast and the moon was bright and the stars glittered and a satellite circled amid them, looking down on his world and ready to destroy it. Catch a signal, sling it back. Break him in a single message.
The wind kept blowing and the moon kept shining. Time passed slow enough for him to become well acquainted with it. To make friends with the minutes. He urged them to hurry by, but they winked at him and lingered.
Finally, a chime. The GPS claimed that only nineteen minutes had passed. He could not agree with that assessment. All that impatience, all that desperate need, but when the device finally chimed, he no longer wanted to see the message. The waiting was suddenly not so bad.
He took his eyes off the moon with an effort and looked back at the display.
HOUSE FIRE REPORTED. FIRST RESPONDERS ARE ON SCENE. SEARCHING FOR SURVIVORS. WE WILL ADVISE IMMEDIATELY WHEN NOTIFIED. WHAT IS YOUR CONDITION?
Ethan dropped the GPS into the rocks and then, a few seconds later, fell onto his knees beside it.
Searching for survivors.
He knew already what they did not. He knew in his heart how it had come to pass and why and he knew that it all belonged to him. All belonged to one choice.
I’ll keep him safe, he had said. And he had. The boy was safe, but back at Ethan’s home they were searching for survivors.
“Which one of you is it?” Ethan said. His voice was as unfamiliar as all the rest of his world had become. The words came slowly but loudly.
There were a few shifting sounds as some boys woke. Others, deep sleepers, remained still. Ethan lifted his flashlight and clicked it on and began to pan over the shelters. He saw reflected eyes diffused through plastic, saw hands raised to block the light.
“Who is it?” he said, and this time it was a shout. “Get out here! Damn you, get out here! I need to know which one of you it is!”
Two of them obeyed. Marco and Drew, heads poking out of shelters, fear on their faces. The others stayed inside. As if the plastic could protect them. Ethan stumbled to his feet and grabbed the nearest shelter, took the plastic in his fists and tore it away, and there was Jeff, cowering, hands held up to protect himself. The posture of helpless fear.
The sight of him broke Ethan. He took a drunken man’s weaving steps backward, still holding the plastic balled in one hand, the flashlight in the other.
“Guys,” he said, his voice strangled. “Guys, I’m going to need you to get up. My wife is…there’s been some trouble at my house.”
They were all staring at him. Nobody answered. He realized for the first time that Raymond held a piece of wood in his hands like a bat.
“My house is on fire,” Ethan said stupidly. “My house is…it was burning. It burned.”
He dropped the tent he’d just ripped from over Jeff’s head. Breathed and looked at the moon and said, “Stop.” Very soft. Talked to himself now as he walked away from the boys to find the satellite messenger where he’d left it in the rocks. Whispered to himself.
“Be what you tell them to be,” he said. “You need to do that now.”
It felt like a stranger’s advice. He was detached from reality and needed to return to it fast. His whole life spent telling people how to deal with disaster, how to survive. What was the first priority? Positive mental attitude? Sure, that was the one. Okay, he could do that. She might be alive. There you go. How positive. How fucking positive.
“Get your head together,” he whispered, and his mind whispered back, Anticipation, Ethan. Preparation, Ethan. The first rules, and you ignored them. You are prepared for people to come after the boy, but you did not anticipate how they might do that.
He spoke louder then, as if he were teaching, and addressed the boys. “We need to…we need to do this right. Okay? We’re going to do this right. Bad start. Sorry about that start. But now let’s…let’s think. First things, guys, what are the first things? Respond. I need to respond.”
None of them spoke. He found the GPS and picked it up and wiped the dirt from it. What is your condition? they had asked him from the bunker in Texas. He wondered how to share that in 160 characters.
He sensed the boys were gathering behind him. Forming a tight knot. Good for them. That was the idea. They were supposed to learn to come together out here. Now he’d helped them do it. So, good for him too. Look at him go. Still teaching. His house was on fire and his wife was missing, but damn it, just look at him go.
His hand was shaking as he typed a response message.
IN MOUNTAINS ONLY ADULT WITH GROUP OF TEENS. PLEASE ADVISE THAT I AM RETURNING TO PILOT CREEK TRAIL AND SUPPORT IS REQUESTED.
He looked away, back up into the night sky, and then typed a second message.
PLEASE ADVISE ON SURVIVOR.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, now we go.” He turned to face them. “I’m sorry. But we have to start hiking. My wife…I need to get back.”
Marco finally broke the silence. “It’s okay, man. We’ll walk fast.”
Ethan wanted to cry. He laughed instead. Maybe it was a laugh. Maybe it was a sob.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m going to need to walk fast.”
15
Connor Reynolds was dead and Jace Wilson had risen from his grave.
The fearless boy, the bad-attitude boy, was gone and all that remained was Jace Wilson, afraid and alone, and he knew that he would not last long.
They had come for him. They had found him.
He knew that he was going to die when he woke to Ethan Serbin’s wounded shout, more of a howl than a scream, demanding to know the identity of the boy responsible for unnamed crimes. Everyone was confused except for Jace.
They had come for Jace, and they had burned Ethan’s house to the ground. Jace’s mind wasn’t on himself as they all gathered behind Ethan and began to stumble down the dark trail, headlamps bobbing and weaving. It was on Mrs. Serbin. Allison, that was her first name. Beautiful and kind and strong. A rancher’s daughter who still hired cowboys.
She was dead now. Ethan might not know that, but Jace knew. He had seen the two men in the quarry and he had heard more about them in the days following as his parents tried to find the perfect way to hide him, before they’d decided on this place in the mountains. He knew that those men did not leave any survivors. He had been determined to be the first.
Any hope of that was gone now.
The group walked maybe half a mile down the trail in silence before Jace allowed himself to consider what was waiting ahead of them. He pictured their faces and heard their voices, the strange calm they spoke with as they talked of things so violent. They were here. They’d come for him.