by Dan Wells
“I haven’t lost as many people as you have,” I said, “but the ones I’ve lost were … significant. And it hurts, and I’m sorry.”
“You think you’re ever going to see them again?”
“Brooke, maybe,” I said. “Someday. Probably better for her if I don’t.”
“She loves you.”
“All the more reason to stay away.”
Margo smiled slyly. “When are you going to ask Jasmyn out?”
“Why does everyone keep asking that?”
“Because you’d be stupid not to.”
“She’s not my type,” I said.
“Alive?”
“That was low,” I said, pointing at her. “You don’t see me in here … pushing all your psychological buttons—”
My backpack sang out: ding-dong, ding-dong.
Margo raised her eyebrow. “You turned those things back on again?”
“It’s been almost six months,” I said, standing up. “Agent Harris is going to check in on us any day now.”
“Did he give you a schedule?”
“No,” I said, peeking out of the curtain. “I just know him. And there’s your car, you little FBI twerp. I know you as well as you know m—”
And then I heard a dog bark, and I froze in place.
“John?” asked Margo.
“Can you…” I peered out the window, but I couldn’t see anyone. “Can you tell a dog by its bark?”
“I guess so,” she said. “Depends on how well you know the dog.”
“I could swear I know this one,” I said, and moved out into the hall. Margo stood up and followed.
Agent Harris opened the front door, and Boy Dog waddled in. He sniffed the air and barked again, and I stopped. Boy Dog looked around, snuffling his nose against the floor, checking out the entryway to make sure it wasn’t filled with bacon, and then trundled over to me and sat down, his warm, fat bulk resting just on the edge of my toes.
“Hey John,” said Harris. “Brought you something.”
“Thanks,” I said. I stared at Boy Dog, half convinced he wasn’t even real. But he was.
“Is this that dog you keep talking about?” asked Jasmyn, stepping out of the chapel. “Lean down and pet him, for goodness sake, what kind of joyful reunion is this?”
“Trust me,” said Harris, watching my face. “This is about as joyful as I’ve ever seen him.” He winked. “At least so far.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Do I get a pony, too?”
“The United States government does not trust you with a pony at this time,” said Harris. “But yeah, I’ve got someone else here to see you.”
“Not Brooke,” I said, and took a step backward. Boy Dog whined at the shift in his bulk. “I can’t see her. I’m not ready to see her.”
Margo gripped my shoulders tightly. “It’s okay,” she said. “Whatever it is, we’re going to be okay.”
Harris looked to the door and nodded, and then beckoned again with his hand. Someone outside reached for the handle and pushed it open and stepped inside, and I thought for just one brief, tiny moment that it was my mother.
“Aunt Margaret,” I whispered, and then another woman came in behind her. “Lauren.”
“Oh my gosh,” said Lauren when she saw me, and her eyes filled with tears. “You’re so tall!”
“Hey,” I said, and then because I couldn’t think of anything else: “Do you…” I swallowed. “… know?”
“Yeah,” said Lauren.
“Everything?”
“Yeah,” said Lauren, nodding, and she glanced at Margo. “Everything.”
“And you’re … okay?”
She laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “John, we love you. No matter what.”
“Hey John,” said Margaret. “You look … Do you mind if…” Her eyes were wet, and she put her hand over her mouth. She tried again. “John, can I give you a hug?”
“Sure,” I said, and she opened her arms, and I walked up and hugged her, and Lauren hugged us both, and we were all crying and swaying and holding each other more tightly than I’d ever held anybody ever before.
And I was happy.
TOR BOOKS BY DAN WELLS
I Am Not a Serial Killer
Mr. Monster
I Don’t Want to Kill You
The Devil’s Only Friend
Over Your Dead Body
Nothing Left to Lose
The Hollow City
Extreme Makeover
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAN WELLS writes a little bit of everything, but he is best known for the Partials Sequence and the John Cleaver series, the first book of which is now a major motion picture. He is a cohost of the educational podcast Writing Excuses, for which he won a Hugo Award, and now helps run a yearly, weeklong writing conference. In addition to novels, novellas, and short stories, he has also written and produced a stage play, called A Night of Blacker Darkness, and works as a staff writer on the TV show Extinct. He has lived in the United States, Mexico, and Germany, and currently resides in Utah with his wife, six children, and 439 board games. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Tor Books by Dan Wells
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
Copyright © 2017 by Dan Wells
All rights reserved.
Cover photographs by Karen Grigoryan and koka 55/Shutterstock.com
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8070-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8071-5 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-4668-7499-2 (ebook)
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First Edition: June 2017