“Where are they?”
He brought the ax head close to Lowe’s face.
“A cabin up near the service camp.” He looked right at Jack. “You’ve been up there.”
“Lot of cabins. Which one?”
“Toward the back. Away from the center. All by itself. Has a number out front, Cabin 12.”
“Are they guarded?”
Lowe nodded.
“How many.”
“Just one guy. They’re okay.”
“You said that already.”
“You could stay with us Jack. You still could—”
“As if.”
Lowe deserved another metal smack on the face.
Was he telling the truth? No way to know until Jack got to that cabin.
“Let me tell you something”—a look at Shana—“and you, too. If they aren’t there, you are both going to feel so much pain, you’ll wish this place was crawling with Can Heads. You’ll wish they were ripping you apart.”
“They’re there,” Lowe said quietly.
Jack realized that he just told them both that they’d be allowed to live.
Insurance, to be sure. With them alive, his threat might actually mean something.
He turned to Shana. Be quicker to kill her. Make her kneel and chop into her, kill the animal that she had become.
But then, would he be any different than them?
There were lines in his job—to cross, to not cross. Decisions, judgment calls. Ethics.
Some guys on the job just let it go.
“Kneel down, facing the wall,” he said to Shana.
When she had done so, he put the gun and ax by his side.
“Move, and your brains will be on the wall in front of you.”
He tied her up, half expecting her to try something. But he guessed that she, too, wanted to live.
He rushed; but in minutes, she was also tied up tight.
He left the cabin, thinking…
I’m close. I’m going to do this.
Over and over.
And wishing that he really believed it.
39. Cabin 12
He saw the cabin. Had to be. Larger than the other cabins. More rooms, and off by itself, exactly where Lowe said it would be.
Jack couldn’t be sure unless he could see the number in the front. But no way that could happen. He’d have to find a way in through a window. He spotted a side door off one end.
There was that way in, and the front, or maybe a window, and, and—
All of them sucked. All of them so exposed.
He spent a few minutes watching the area past the cabin, studying the workers, the people who lived here, these “civilized” people who ate humans and pretended to be different from the Can Heads.
He turned away from the cabin.
Too much activity all around it, people coming out, enjoying the summer night, socializing.
Hey, neighbor, how are you tonight, and my—wasn’t that a good dinner?
He had one shot at this.
I can’t just run in there.
He turned back to the woods and started making his way to the great fence that circled the property.
Jack saw the shining mesh of the double fence, and blackness beyond it.
But he also saw a metal box with shelled tubes and wires snaking in and out. Something to control the electricity that ran through the outer fence, keeping Paterville safe from the hordes outside.
Not anymore, he thought.
He pulled out the small explosive. Smaller than a grenade, it didn’t have a lot of kick. Kick a door in, clear a room—that was about it.
But Jack imagined that it could also do damage to that electrical transformer. Did it need a direct hit? Would it do enough damage?
Only one way to find out.
The digital timer gave off a slight glow, not so much to attract attention, but enough for him to set it.
How much time. A minute, perhaps? Enough time for him to get away.
He had set it for sixty-eight seconds. Then he slid a latch to the right, exposing a single button. One punch and the countdown began.
He pressed the button and then, eyes locked on the transformer, lobbed it. The small explosive landed short of the transformer. A few good feet.
Fuck, Jack thought.
Was it close enough?
The seconds melted away. He could go for it, or start running.
Still frozen, looking.
“God damn it,” he said and he scurried toward the fence. Probably all on camera.
He scooped up the explosive and pressed the button. He had blown his protective cover. He quickly added more time to the explosive, which had dwindled to twenty-three seconds.
Then he placed the device right at the base of the fence, right under the transformer, and pressed the button again, turned and ran.
Surely on camera.
Being watched by the guards, who were already calling Ed Lowe, who somehow wouldn’t answer.
Maybe waking up other guards.
The whole night going wrong.
Running through the woods, fast as he could.
Then—the explosion.
Seconds later, the alarm sound, the horns blaring from everywhere and nowhere, filling the camp.
Back to Cabin 12.
Everyone running like ants when their underground home had been exposed. People ran all over. Jack joined them with no one noticing anything.
Good. That part fucking worked.
That alarm meant only one thing: Can Heads could be breaking in.
Would they? Jack wondered. Were they always lurking out there, waiting to stream into the camp whenever something went wrong with the fence?
I sure as hell hope so.
No hesitation now. Straight up the steps of the cabin. Into the living room. A guard spinning around.
Not recognizing Jack. Confused by the alarm. Maybe scared. All alone.
“What happened?”
Doesn’t even know who the hell I am, Jack thought.
Then, a flash of recognition on the guard’s face, perhaps seeing Jack covered with blood, his body and clothes becoming a map of this night.
“Wait a fuck—” the guard said, his rifle muzzle lowering toward Jack.
Jack shot him. A clean shot to the head. He heard screams from a room in the cabin.
Jack grabbed the guard’s rifle, then grabbed a tablecloth from the dining room and threw it over the body.
Then he turned to the screams, to the room, unlocking it with the key in the door.
Opening the door. To see them. God, to see them, screaming, crying, but alive.
40. The Plan
Christie ran to Jack, ignoring everything that covered him. Kate went around to his side, saying over and over, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.
Simon silently hugged him as tight as he could. Shivering with fear, locked on his father as though there was nothing else left in the world.
But then Jack pulled them away, and looked just at Christie.
“Listen,” he said to her. “We have to leave.”
She nodded. Of course they had to leave.
“Let’s go. C’mon kids—” she started.
He grabbed her arms and held them fast, the strength of his grip nearly pinching.
“No. Before we go…”
She saw him look down, aware that the two terrified kids still stood there, looking up.
Jack turned around and picked up the two .44s. He gave one to Christie, whose hand seemed to close over it reluctantly.
His wife let the gun rest in her lap.
Then he took Kate’s hand and closed it over the other gun.
He had taken her to the range one day. She had shot a gun before. “This is the safety. You leave it on until we leave here. And you hold it pointed down. Unless… unless you have to—”