Wayward (The Wayward Pines Series, Book Two)

by Blake Crouch

  You have no idea…

  What she’s capable of.

  “They tore her up, Kate,” Ethan said. “They tore her up bad.”

  19

  The exhaustion hit him at the intersection of Eighth and Main.

  He was alone now, had split off from Kate and Harold several blocks back.

  The sky wasn’t that deep blue-black anymore.

  Stars fading.

  Dawn coming.

  He felt like he’d been awake forever, couldn’t remember the last good night of sleep he’d logged.

  His legs ached. His stitches had ripped again. He was cold and thirsty, and just four blocks away, his house beckoned. He would strip out of his wet, freezing clothes, climb under as many blankets as he could amass, and just recharge. Get his head right for—

  The noise of an approaching car turned his head.

  He stared south toward the hospital.

  Headlights raced in his direction.

  The sight of them stopped him in the crosswalk under the traffic light.

  It was something you hardly ever saw in Wayward Pines—a car actually driving through town. There were plenty of vehicles parked along the streets, and most of them ran. There was even a filling station at the edge of town with a mechanic next door. But people rarely drove. It was mainly set decoration.

  For a moment, he imagined the impossible—that it was a minivan heading toward him. Dad behind the wheel. Mom asleep beside him in the front seat, kids in dreamland in the back. Maybe they’d been driving all night from Spokane or Missoula. Maybe they were coming here on vacation. Maybe just passing through.

  It wasn’t real.

  He knew that.

  But for a half second, standing in the predawn stillness in the middle of town, it felt possible.

  The approaching car was hauling ass down the middle of Main, tires straddling the white line, RPMs in the red. It must have been doing sixty or seventy, the racket of the engine reverberating between the dark buildings, high beams flooding his eyes.

  It had just occurred to Ethan that he might want to get out of the road when he heard the RPMs fall off.

  The Jeep Wrangler that had taken him up into the mountain so many times before slid to a stop in the crosswalk in front of him.

  No doors, no soft top.

  Ethan heard the emergency brake engage.

  Marcus stared at Ethan from behind the wheel, a grogginess in his eyes hinting that he hadn’t been awake for long.

  Over the idling engine, he said, “You gotta come with me, Mr. Burke.”

  Ethan put his hand on the padded roll bar.

  “Pilcher sent you to get me at five in the morning?”

  “He called your house. No one answered.”

  “Because I’ve been out all night doing what he asked me to do.”

  “Well, he wants to see you right away.”

  “Marcus, I’m tired, cold, and wet. You tell him I’m going home, taking a shower, and getting some sleep. Then—”

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to work, Mr. Burke.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Pilcher said now.”

  “Mr. Pilcher can fuck right off.”

  The traffic signal above them threw alternating colors on the Jeep, on Marcus’s face, on the gun he was suddenly pointing at Ethan’s chest. It looked like a Glock but Ethan couldn’t be sure in the twilight.

  He studied Marcus—anger, fear, nerves.

  The shake in the gun was barely perceptible.

  “Get in the Jeep, Mr. Burke. I’m sorry to have to do this, but I got my orders, and they’re to take you to Mr. Pilcher’s office. You were a soldier, right? You understand that sometimes you gotta do what you’re told, and whether or not you like it doesn’t matter.”

  “I was a soldier,” Ethan said. “I flew the Black Hawk. Carried men into battles I knew they wouldn’t return from. Unleashed hell on insurgents. And yeah, I took orders.” Ethan climbed into the passenger seat and stared down the barrel of the pistol into Marcus’s stormy eyes. “But I took them from men who had my total trust and respect.”

  “Mr. Pilcher’s got mine.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Your seat belt, Mr. Burke.”

  Ethan buckled his seat belt. Guess he wasn’t going to get that recharge after all.

  Marcus holstered his weapon, released the emergency brake, and shifted into first.

  Popping the clutch, he whipped the Jeep around on the snowy pavement, and floored it up Main Street, the back of the Wrangler fishtailing as the tires sought out traction.

  They shot past the hospital doing fifty-five, still accelerating as they approached the darkness beyond the edge of town.

  When the road entered the forest, Marcus downshifted into third.

  Ethan had been uncomfortable walking home, but at least he’d been moving enough to keep the blood circulating. This was miserable, the wind screaming into the Jeep, chilling him down to his core.

  Marcus downshifted again and veered off the road into the trees.

  Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly, but the last thing Ethan intended to do was show up for a meeting with Pilcher.

  As they neared the boulders, Marcus reached into his parka and pulled out something that resembled a garage door opener.

  In the distance, a triangle of light began to spread across the snow.

  Marcus brought the Jeep to a stop at the foot of the rock outcropping.

  The wide door in the cliff was still opening, sliding up and back into the rock.

  Ethan’s fingers were so numb he could hardly feel them gripping the knife.

  He flicked open the blade and leaned over in one movement.

  The curved point digging into the side of Marcus’s windpipe before he’d even thought to react.

  His right hand slipped off the steering wheel, reaching for the gun.

  Ethan said, “I will open you up.”

  Marcus put his hand back on the wheel.

  “Squeeze that wheel like your life depended on it, because it does.”

  The mountain was wide open now, light shining out from the tunnel onto the snow and the surrounding trees.

  Ethan spoke into Marcus’s ear.

  “Very slowly, take your right hand off the wheel, reach down, and shift into first. Keep your hand on the stick and drive into the tunnel. Once we’re inside, turn off the engine. You understand what I’m telling you?”

  Marcus nodded.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Marcus, but I will. I’ve killed before. In war. Even in this town. I’ll do it again. Don’t think I won’t just because I know you. That will not be a factor.”

  Marcus’s hand shook as he palmed the gearshift and worked it into first.

  He gave a little gas, and they rolled slowly into the tunnel.

  Marcus brought the Jeep to a full stop just inside like he’d been told.

  As the door lowered behind them, Ethan pulled the gun out of Marcus’s holster—a Heckler & Koch USP, chambered for .40 cal.

  He wondered if there were cameras watching.

  Marcus said, “You’re finished. You know that, right?”

  Ethan twirled the HK so he gripped it by the barrel. Marcus saw it coming, started to cover up, but Ethan caught him flush on the side of the head with the butt of the composite stock.

  Marcus sagged back and would’ve toppled out of the Jeep but his seat belt caught him. Ethan snatched his identification card off his coat, unbuckled him, and let gravity pull him the rest of the way down onto the pavement.

  Then he unbuckled himself and climbed over into the driver seat.

  Jammed his foot into the clutch.

  Cranked the engine.

  Soon, he was hurtling up the road into the mountain.

  The giant, hanging globe lights hummed above him in the massive cavern, but otherwise, the superstructure was quiet.

  Ethan checked the load on the HK.

  Had to laugh.

 
; Of course there was nothing in the chamber.

  He ejected the magazine—empty as well.

  Tossing the pistol into the backseat, he stepped down out of the Jeep.

  At the sliding glass doors, he dug Marcus’s ID card out of his pocket and swiped it through the reader.

  The Level 1 corridor was empty at this hour of the morning.

  Ethan took the stairwell up to the next floor.

  The long stretch of checkered tile gleamed under the fluorescent lights and the corridor echoed with his footfalls. It felt strangely illicit walking these hallways by himself.

  Unsupervised. Unchaperoned.

  Down toward the end, he stopped at the door leading into surveillance and peered through the glass.

  Someone sat at the console scrolling through the camera feeds—mostly shots of people tossing and turning and fucking in their beds, bodies indistinct through the glow of night vision.

  He swiped Marcus’s keycard.

  The door unlocked.

  He stepped inside.

  The man at the console swiveled around in his chair.

  Ted.

  Head of surveillance.

  The last guy Ethan was hoping to find at the controls.

  “Sheriff.” There was a note of alarm in Ted’s voice. “I didn’t know you were dropping by.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t put this one on the schedule.”

  Ethan moved toward the wall of screens as the door closed after him.

  He said, “Show me your hands.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t understand what ‘show me your hands’ means, Ted?”

  Ethan took out the knife.

  Ted slowly raised his hands.

  The room smelled of stale coffee.

  Ethan said, “Anyone next door?”

  “Two guys,” Ted said.

  “Any reason to expect your techs might make a surprise visit?”

  “I don’t think so. They typically keep their noses to the grindstone.”

  “Let’s hope so for everyone’s health and safety.”

  Ethan eased down into the chair next to Ted’s. The man’s hands shook and this gave Ethan a small push of relief. If he was afraid, he could be controlled. The lenses in the man’s glasses were as big as windows and the large, dilated pupils behind them looked bleary and fried.

  “You been up all night, Ted?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long until you’re off shift? And please understand that lying to me about this is the last thing you want to do.”

  Ted rotated his wrist so he could see the face of his watch.

  “Thirty-four minutes.”

  “Are you scared, Ted?”

  The man nodded slowly.

  “That’s good. You should be scared.”

  “Why are you doing this, Sheriff?”

  “To get some answers. You can put your hands on your lap, Ted.”

  The man wiped his brow on his shirtsleeves and placed his palms flat against his cotton pants.

  “I just want to make something very clear,” Ethan said.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t know if you have an alarm in here, some sneaky way of notifying people you’re in trouble. But if that happens, if you make that mistake, I will kill you.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t care if thirty armed guards show up outside that door. If it opens, I’m assuming you called someone, and the last thing I do before I’m taken down is cut your throat.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t want that to happen, Ted.”

  “Me either.”

  “That’s up to you. Now let’s go to work. Wipe the screens of the current video feeds.”

  Ted turned slowly in his chair and faced the console.

  He tapped at a panel and the twenty-five screens went dark.

  “First things first,” Ethan said. “I assume there’s a live camera feed of the Level Two corridor right outside that door?”

  “There can be.”

  “Bring it up and put it on that monitor in the top right corner.”

  A long shot of the Level 2 corridor appeared—empty.

  “Now I want to see where Pilcher is.”

  “He isn’t chipped.”

  “Of course he isn’t. Are there cameras in his residence or his office?”

  “No.”

  “Does that seem right to you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about his number two? Where’s Pam, or is she off the radar too?”

  “Nope, we should be able to locate her.”

  A screen in the upper left-hand corner flashed to life.

  Ted said, “There she is.”

  It was a shot of the gym from a camera in the corner.

  A room filled with exercise bikes, treadmills, free weights.

  The place was empty except for one woman in the center of the frame, doing effortless-looking pull-ups on a bar.

  “You just keyed off her microchip?”

  “That’s right. What’s this all about, Ethan?”

  Ethan glanced over at the feed of the Level 2 corridor.

  Still empty.

  Said, “You got a camera down at the entrance to the tunnel?”

  Ted’s fingers went to work.

  The tunnel appeared.

  Marcus was sitting up on the concrete, his head hung between his legs.

  “Who’s that?” Ted asked.

  “That was my escort.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He pulled a gun on me.”

  Marcus was trying to stand. He made it onto his feet, but his legs suddenly buckled, and he sat back down on the road.

  “Let me ask you something, Ted.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What’d you do before Pilcher brought you on board?”

  “When I met him, my wife had been dead a year. I was homeless, drinking myself to death. He used to volunteer at the shelter where I sometimes stayed.”

  “So you met him while he was serving you soup?”

  “That’s right. He helped me clean up. I’d be dead if he hadn’t come into my life. No doubt in my mind.”

  “So you believe he’s above suspicion? Can do no wrong?”

  “Did you hear me say that, Sheriff?”

  Up on the screens, Marcus was standing now, attempting to take a wobbling step up the tunnel.

  “Ted, last time I was here, you showed me how you could track a microchip. See where someone had been.”

  “Yep.”

  “I assume that’s not possible with Pilcher?”

  “Correct.”

  “How about Pam?”

  Ted turned in his chair.

  “Why?”

  Marcus was stumbling up the tunnel now.

  “Just do it.”

  “What date range?”

  “I want to see where she went three nights ago.”

  All the screens turned dark.

  They merged into a single aerial overview of Wayward Pines, and a red blip appeared overtop of the mountain south of town.

  “What’s that location?” Ethan asked.

  “The superstructure.”

  “Can you push in?”

  “Yeah, but it’s just going to zoom in on trees on the mountainside. We have a highly developed aerial grid over town, but not over this complex.”

  There were numbers—what looked like military time—in the bottom right-hand corner of the screens.

  “This is her location at twenty-one hundred hours?” Ethan asked.

  “Yeah, 9:00 p.m.”

  “All right, take us forward slowly.”

  Time sprinted by—seconds, minutes, hours—but the blip didn’t move out of the mountain.

  Ted paused everything, said, “We’re now at one in the morning.”

  “And Pam still hasn’t left the mountain. Run it forward.”

  Just before 1:30 a.m., the blip moved out of the mountain
, through the forest, and onto the road into Wayward Pines.

  Ted pushed in.

  The Pam-blip grew larger, now moving quickly down the road toward town.

  Ethan said, “Do that thing where it shows all the areas that are covered under visual surveillance.” The DayGlo overlay appeared. “Since Pam is chipped, her movement will trigger camera footage, correct?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes.”

  Pam took a backstreet that ran parallel to Main.

  “Now what’s our time?”

  “1:49 a.m.”

  “Can we actually see her on camera?”

  “Weird.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not getting a ‘view cam feed’ option.” Ted pushed in closer. An entire city block filled the twenty-five screens. “Oh, that’s why. See? She’s standing in a blind spot.” Up close, there was a scattershot of dark spaces in the DayGlo, and as the seconds whirled by, Pam seemed to always stay in the black.

  “She’s good,” Ted said. “Knows all the camera placements and where to go to stay out of the footage.”

  Ethan said, “Run it out to 1:55 a.m.”

  Ted zipped ahead several minutes.

  At 1:55 exactly, Pam’s blip hovered on the south side of the opera house at the corner of Main and Eighth.

  You were there. The night of Alyssa’s death, you were watching when she and Kate split up.

  Ted said, “Maybe if you told me what you’re looking for, I could help you.”

  At 1:59, Pam started moving south.

  And then you followed Alyssa.

  Pam passed into an area of DayGlo.

  Ted said, “I have a ‘view cam feed’ option.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  The screens changed to a camera view of Main Street.

  It was a grainy, night-vision shot, but Ethan could just make out the shadow of Pam walking quickly down the sidewalk.

  She passed out of view.

  The feed went black.

  The screens returned to the aerial map.

  “What was she doing in town?” Ted asked.

  “At 1:59, Alyssa and Kate Ballinger part ways at the corner of Main and Eighth. Neither woman is chipped, so there’s no footage. I’m told that Alyssa headed south, presumably toward the superstructure. Pam follows Alyssa. Keep in mind that several hours later, near the pastures south of town, I’ll discover Alyssa. Naked in the middle of the road. Tortured to death.”

  “The Wanderers killed Alyssa.”