“You did well. This is my fourth time in a hot zone; the colonel’s been in at least a dozen.”

“How do you guys do it?” he rasps, his hands still shaking.

“You do your best to depersonalize it while you’re out there, then you hit the decon shower, remove your suit, and puke.”

Depersonalize it. Goddam windmills. I’m getting too old to fight ‘em anymore. “Let’s go home, Marvin.”

Chaney follows Teperman back to the chopper. As he boards, he turns to see two men toss another body onto the funeral pyre.

It is the nurse.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

NOVEMBER 24, 2012
HOLLYWOOD BEACH, FLORIDA

The tears are flowing so hard from her eyes that Dominique can barely see Edie’s image on the video-comm. Rabbi Steinberg squeezes her hand tighter, his wife rubbing her back.

“Edie, I don’t understand. What happened? What was Iz doing out there?”

“He was investigating those sounds within the crater.”

A wail rises from her throat. She covers her face in the rabbi’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Dominique, look at me!” Edie commands.

“—it’s my fault.”

“Stop it. This has nothing to do with you. Iz was out there, doing his job. It was an accident. The Mexican Coast Guard is investigating—”

“What about the autopsy?”

Edie looks away, struggling to stifle her own grief.

Rabbi Steinberg turns to Dominique. “All three bodies were infected by the black tide. They had to be burned.”

Dominique closes her eyes, her body shaking.

Edie’s face appears back on-screen. “Doll, listen to me. We’re going to have a memorial service in two days. I want you to come home.”

“I’ll be there. I’m going to come home for a while. Okay?”

“What about your internship?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She wipes back tears. “Edie, I’m really sorry—”

“Just come home.”

The gray afternoon sky is threatening by the time Dominique exits the ground-level entrance of the Hollywood Beach high-rise. She crosses A-l-A and unlocks the driver’s side door of the Pronto Spyder, tossing her suitcase onto the passenger seat. She inhales deeply, smelling the sea and the incoming rain, then climbs in.

Dominique keys the ignition and presses the starter switch, laying her forehead on top of the steering wheel while she waits for the anti-theft and safety system to complete its analysis.

Iz is dead. He’s dead, and it’s my fault. She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. It’s all my goddam fault.

The CD player activates.

The disc player is preset to Digital DJ. The Roadster’s built-in computer processor registers the temperature of her touch on the steering wheel, interpreting her mood.

The Best of the Doors CD clicks into place.

Think this thing through. The weather was calm, and Iz was too experienced a sailor for the boat just to sink. Something terrible, something unforeseen must have happened out there.