by Blake Crouch
12
1:55 a.m.
No moon and a billion stars in a black, black sky.
Frigid.
The small, duckless pond in the city park beginning to rim with ice.
In the afternoon, one of Pilcher’s men had delivered a new Bronco to the curb in front of Ethan’s house, the SUV identical to its predecessor, if not a trace shinier.
But Ethan had chosen to walk.
He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his parka, fingertips tingling in the cold.
Soon he was moving alongside the river, the ruckus of water passing over rocks and the clean, sweet smell of it in the night air.
Had it only been two weeks since he’d crossed this river in the dead of night, the entire town in pursuit, and fled upcanyon?
He didn’t feel anything like that man anymore.
Ethan climbed over a disintegrating stone wall that looked straight out of a Frost poem, the rocks cold as blocks of ice to the touch.
The gravestones glowed like ancient faces under the starlight and the sound of the river fell away.
Ethan passed through waist-high weeds, through groves of scrub oak.
Here among the dead at the south end of town, the lights of Wayward Pines were all but invisible.
The mausoleum appeared in the distance.
Had she come?
The old Kate would have. No question.
But what about the new one? The Kate who’d lived in Wayward Pines for nine years. The Kate he no longer knew.
Something loitered in the back of his mind. Something ugly and off-balance.
Fear.
What if Kate and her group had tortured and murdered Alyssa Pilcher?
You have no idea what she’s capable of.
He couldn’t rid himself of what Pilcher had said yesterday morning, and as he approached the crypt, it occurred to him—I should’ve brought my gun.
The mausoleum stood in a stand of mature aspen trees that had already dropped their leaves—gold coins scattered in the dying weeds. The stone planters that framed the iron door had long since crumbled, but the columns retained their form.
There was no wind.
The river nothing more than a whisper.
He said, “Kate?”
No answer.
Dug a flashlight out of his pocket, swept the beam through the aspen, called her name again.
Ethan forced the heavy door open, its bottom dragging across the stone with a teeth-aching groan.
He put his light inside.
It fired the stone walls.
The stained-glass window in the back.
She wasn’t here.
He walked slowly around the perimeter of the crypt, shining his light into the surrounding weeds, which were already bending under the weight of a fragile glaze of frost.
Ice crystals glittering in the beam.
He arrived back at the entrance and sat down on the steps between the columns as the realization slowly dawned that she hadn’t come. He’d made a risky play, tipped his hand, and scared her off.
What would she do now? Run?
He killed the light.
The walk over from his house and the anticipation of seeing her had bolstered him against the cold, but now it came screaming in.
He struggled onto his feet.
Drew in a sudden breath.
Kate stood five feet away, a ghost in the dark, dressed completely in black with a hoodie pulled over her head.
As she moved forward, the blade of the butcher knife in her hand threw a glint of starlight.
Ethan said, “A knife? Really?”
“Thought I might be coming to a fight.”
“Did you now?”
“Never know these days.”
“Will you put it the fuck down? I didn’t even bring a gun.” She just stared at him. He couldn’t read her eyes in the low light, but her mouth was a thin, tight line. “What? You don’t believe me? Wanna pat me down, Agent Hewson?”
“Open your jacket.”
Kate slipped her knife into a makeshift sheath that had been constructed out of duct tape.
Her hands slid around his waist.
Then up and down his thighs.
Fast, thorough.
“You still got it,” Ethan said.
“Got what?”
“Still frisk like a pro.”
Kate stepped back. She looked at him with a hardness he’d not seen in her eyes before. At least not aimed at him.
“Are you fucking with me?” she said.
“No. Are you here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Harold?”
“You think we’re dumb enough to let you take both of us?”
“No one’s trying to take you, Kate. At least not tonight.”
“I don’t even know if I believe you.”
“But you came.”
“I had a choice?”
“How about we talk inside.”
“Fine.”
Ethan followed her up the stone steps into the crypt.
When they were both inside, she put her shoulder into the door and forced it shut.
Turned around.
Faced Ethan in the dark.
“Are you chipped?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So they know you’re here.”
“Probably.”
Kate spun and grabbed for the door handle, but Ethan dragged her back.
“Let go!”
“Relax, Kate. It doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t. They know you’re here.”
“Only my location. The mausoleum isn’t miked. I’m not miked.”
“But they know you’re talking to me tonight?”
“They sent me.”
She shoved him back toward the stained-glass window with a surprising burst of force and smoothed her clothes.
Ethan fished his flashlight out of his pocket, turned it on, set it on the floor between them. The light streaming up lit their faces grotesquely.
Their breath steaming in the cold.
“I need you to trust me, Kate.”
She leaned back against the wall, said, “I need you to prove that I can.”
“How do I do that?”
“What do they know about me?”
“They know that you and others remove your microchips. That sometimes you go out at night.”
“And they sent you to investigate me?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“For what?”
“You really want to play it that way?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Two weeks ago you’re turning this town upside down, desperate to leave. Now you’re sheriff. Clearly working for them.”
“So you know there’s a ‘them.’ ”
“What idiot doesn’t?”
“What else do you know, Kate?”
She eased down onto the floor.
Ethan sat too.
“I know there’s a fence around the outskirts of town. I know we’re all under surveillance. All the time. I know that two weeks ago you wanted the truth.”
“Have you gone beyond the fence?”
Kate hesitated, then shook her head. “Have you?” She must have read it in his face, said before he even had a chance to lie, “Oh my God, you have.”
“Tell me about Alyssa.”
Kate didn’t flinch exactly, but he read the surprise in her eyes.
“What about her?”
“You know she was killed two nights ago?”
“Are you serious?”
“She was found naked in the middle of the road, stabbed to death. Tortured.”
“Oh Jesus.” She let out a long, trembling breath. “Who found her?”
“I did.”
“Why are you asking me about this?”
“Kate.”
“What?”
“You think they didn’t know you were talking to Alyssa?”
&n
bsp; Her eyes darted, a flicker of panic setting in.
“She came to me,” Kate whispered.
“I know. I saw the footage. You were supposed to meet with her the night she died.”
“How do you know that?” He didn’t answer, just let the realization come. Kate’s face fell. “Oh. I see. She was with them.”
“Yeah.”
“A spy.”
“What happened that night, Kate? You were supposed to meet her here at one in the morning. She documented everything. What happened?”
Kate stared at the floor.
He said, “Maybe you’ll believe this. Maybe you won’t. But I am here as your friend.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t take the risk of being wrong.”
“Tell me what happened. I can help you.”
“Do I need your help?”
“In the worst way.”
“What’s on the other side of the fence?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“I need to know.”
“What happened to Alyssa?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you kill her?”
“You tell me. Am I a murderer?”
“I don’t know you anymore.”
Kate stood. “That hurts more than you know.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
Ethan grabbed his flashlight, struggled up onto his feet. “Tell me what you’re into.”
“Goodbye, Ethan.”
“I need to know.”
“For you? Or for the people who hold your leash?”
“They will kill you, Kate. You and Harold. They will disappear you.”
“I know the risk.”
“And?”
“And I live my life on my terms. If my terms lead me down that road, so be it.”
“I just want to help you.”
“Whose side are you on, Ethan? Really?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She smiled. “First honest thing you’ve said to me. Thank you for that.” She reached out and took hold of his hand. Her fingers were ice, but the shape of the hand was familiar. The last time he’d held it was two thousand years ago on a beach in northern California.
Kate said, “You’re scared.”
Her face was inches from his. Her attention like a heat lamp.
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’ve been here nine years. I don’t know where I am. Or why. Sometimes I think we’re all dead, but in the quiet, dark hours of the night, I know that isn’t true.”
“What are you doing when you leave your house at night?”
“What’s beyond the fence?”
“I can protect you, Kate, but you have to—”
“I don’t want your protection.”
She tugged the door open, stepped back out into the night.
Five steps from the crypt, she stopped, turned, stared back at Ethan.
“The last time I saw Alyssa alive was two nights ago.”
“Where did you see her last?”
“We parted ways on Main Street. We didn’t kill her, Ethan.”
“But she was with you the night she died.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Kate shook her head.
“Where do you go at night, Kate? And why?”
“What’s beyond the fence?” When he didn’t answer, she smiled. “Thought so.”
“Do you love him?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your husband. Do you love him? Is it real?”
The smile vanished.
“See you later, Sheriff.”
He walked home not knowing.
Not knowing if Kate had lied to him.
Not knowing if she had been on the other side of the fence.
Not knowing if she had killed Alyssa.
Not knowing a goddamn thing.
She’d had that effect in their relationship too. He’d spend a day with her that felt like bliss in the moment, then come out on the other side unsure of where he stood. Second-guessing everything. He’d never understood if it was a conscious play on her part, or his own failing in letting this woman get so deep and tangled in his head.
He pulled off his boots just inside the front door and crept across the hardwood to the staircase. It was cold in the house, the floor cracking and popping under the weight of his footsteps.
Down the upstairs hallway to his son’s bedroom.
The door was open.
He moved to the bed.
Couldn’t have been warmer than forty-five degrees in the room.
Ben slept buried under five blankets, but Ethan pulled them up a little closer around his neck, touched the back of his hand to the boy’s cheek.
Soft and warm.
Truckloads of firewood were due to arrive any day now. Word was the town burned copious amounts of pine for heat through the winter, with each household receiving six cords. Pilcher had a small army of men making daily trips beyond the fence under heavily armed protection. Cutting trees and splitting wood for the entire town.
Ethan headed for his bedroom.
Stripped off his pants and shirt, left them in a pile in the doorway.
The floor was freezing.
He hustled to the bed.
Crawling under the covers, he turned over onto his side and pulled Theresa in close.
She radiated heat.
He kissed the back of her neck.
Sleep seemed like a long shot. Almost impossible lately to turn down the noise in the back of his mind.
He shut his eyes.
Maybe it would come anyway.
“Ethan.”
“Hey baby,” he whispered. She rolled over, faced him. Her breath in his face a familiar, gentle heat.
“Get your feet off of mine. They’re ice.”
“Sorry. I wake you?” he asked.
“When you left. Where’d you go?”
“Work.”
“To see her?”
“I can’t—”
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“Where?”
“It doesn’t matter, Theresa. It really doesn’t—”
“I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what? Us?”
“This town. And us in it. You. Her. Your job.” She leaned in close, pressed her lips against his ear, whispered, “Can I keep talking like this or will they hear us?”
He hesitated.
“I’m going to do it anyway, Ethan.”
“Then just be still.”
“What?”
“Be completely still.”
“Why?”
“Will you just do it? In particular, don’t move your left leg.”
They lay still.
He could feel his wife’s heart beating against his chest.
Ethan counted to fifteen in his head, then whispered, “Speak no louder than this.”
“I used to think that if I could only be with you again, have you here with us, that I could do this. Buy into the lie.”
“And?”
“I can’t.”
“You don’t have a choice, Theresa. Do you know the danger you’re putting our family in just having this conversation?”
Her mouth pushed hard into his ear.
A chill shot down his spine.
“I want to leave this place. I’m done, Ethan. I don’t care what could happen to us. I just want out.”
“Do you care what happens to our son?” Ethan whispered.
“This isn’t a life. I don’t care if we all die.”
“Good. Because we will.”
“You know that for sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
“Because you know.”
“Yes.”
“What’s out there, Ethan?”
“We can’t have this conversation.”
“I am your wife.”
Their bodies were pushed against each other.
Her legs were cool and smooth against his skin and the heat coming off her was driving him mad. He wanted to shake her. Wanted to fuck her.
“Why the hell are you getting hard?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s out there, Ethan?”
“You really want to know.”
And then her hand was on his cock.
“Are you thinking about her?”
“No.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear.”
She slid away, down under the covers, and took him in her mouth. Brought him right to the edge. Then she came up and pulled off her nightie. She was sitting on top of him and her breath clouding. She leaned over and kissed him. Her nipples hard against his chest in the cold.
Theresa rolled over onto her back and pulled Ethan with her, pulled him inside.
She was loud and she sounded so beautiful.
As she started to come, she brought Ethan’s head down, her lips to his ear, his lips to hers. She moaned and said, “Tell me.”
“What?” He was breathless.
“Tell me… oooohhhhgodEthan… where we really are.”
Ethan buried his face into her ear. “We’re all that’s left, baby.” They were coming together, loud and hard, as in sync as they’d ever been. “This is the last town on earth.”
Theresa shouting yesyesyesohgoddontstop. Loud enough to cover his words.
“And we’re surrounded by monsters.”
They lay entwined and sweaty and perfectly still.
Ethan whispering into her ear.
He told her everything.
When they were. Where they were. About Pilcher. About the abbies.
Then he lay with his head propped up on one elbow, stroking her face.
Theresa stared at the ceiling.
She’d been here five years, a helluva lot longer than he had, but it had been a state of limbo. Of not really knowing. Now she did. Perhaps she had suspected before, but all uncertainty had just been burned away: aside from Ethan and Ben, she would never again see all of the people she had loved in her life before. They had been dead two millennia. And if she’d ever held out hope for leaving Wayward Pines, Ethan had just destroyed it.
There was no end date for her sentence in this place.
She was a lifer.
Ethan wondered which emotion was dominant—figured a full cocktail was flailing away inside her head: anger, despair, heartbreak, fear.
By the light of a distant streetlamp coming through the window, he watched tears form in her eyes.
Felt her hand begin to tremble in his.