“Help us,” Danica said. “We’re in the dark against these people. We don’t know who they are, we don’t know what they want, we don’t know anything at all. We’re going to die if we don’t get some answers.”

Moss shut his eyes tight, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb.

Danica took another step toward him. “We were just little kids when this happened to us. Twelve years old, and they gave us a drug to fry our fucking brains. It could have killed us, and they did it anyway. Those are the kind of people we’re up against.”

Moss opened his eyes and looked at her. “You’re wrong about that part,” he said, his own voice going soft. “The people who are after you didn’t give you the drug.”

Danica traded a look with Dryden, then stared at Moss again. “What do you mean? How can you know that?”

“I know because I’m the one who drugged you,” Moss said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

For a long moment there was no sound except the idling engines. The wind picked up through the pines, cold at this altitude.

“Both of you,” Moss said, turning to look at Dryden as well as Danica. “I administered the drug to both of you. Same time and place. July 1989. Ashland, Iowa.”

Danica mouthed the name of the town, glancing at Dryden as she did. “I’ve never heard of it,” she said.

“You have,” Moss said. “You just don’t remember.”

Dryden searched his own memory for anything about a town with that name in Iowa. Nothing came to him. Which was no surprise, really.

“That must be where our families moved to,” Dryden said, looking at Danica. “Mine and yours.”

She nodded, thinking it through.

“You wanted to sit down and talk,” Moss said. “Alright. Follow me. I’ll tell you every part of it that I know, but I won’t promise it’ll be enough.”

The sedan pulled to the edge of the road to let the Explorer past. Beyond it, Moss’s vehicle—an old white F-150 pickup, covered with rust—backed up and made a three-point turn and lumbered off down the gravel lane. Dryden followed.

The road climbed for half a mile, wandering back and forth with the terrain, and then descended sharply through a series of switchbacks. Through the open window, Dryden could feel the air outside change, becoming more humid as they made their way down. Somber Valley had a microclimate of some kind, the landscape channeling the prevailing winds in some particular way.