“I see you had company,” Franny said.

Baba Yaga grunted. “Hardly a social call if you have to pay them. What have you brought?” She nodded toward the sack.

“Chinese. You didn’t strike me as the pizza type.”

He pulled over the rolling table and started setting out containers. Baba Yaga watched him, frowning. “Why are you here, boy?”

“I’m not sure. I felt like I ought to check on you, I guess.” He glanced up at the television.

“You have no sweetheart to fuck before the world ends?” she asked. Her tone implied that she knew damn well he didn’t.

“You don’t seem to think it’s ending,” he said as he dished out General Tso’s chicken. “Not if you’re preparing for your prosecution.”

“I thought there might be a chance.” She gestured at the television. “Until I saw how badly you people have messed up. America proves once again to be a disappointment.” She snorted and folded her remaining arm across her chest.

“If you had leveled with me on the plane I could have called. Kept them from sending the aces. It was the right move based on what they knew. You don’t get to criticize them because you fucked up by playing for leverage.” Franny realized he was on his feet and shouting.

The guard appeared in the door. Baba Yaga waved him away. Her next remark surprised Franny. “I suppose that is true.” She took a few bites of the food he’d set out for her. “And it is human nature to grasp and cling to life and to hope. If they can keep Tolenka alive they may buy enough time to find a solution.” She tried another bite of General Tso’s chicken. “I also understand you have retired from the hero business.”

“Huh?”

“When that UN person and the ugly man came with maps and wanted me to pinpoint the location of the hospital. They said you had declined to help. I’m surprised. I would have expected you to leap onto your white horse.”

“Maybe I learned something from you. It should be all about me and my stuff.”

“I would have gone, Francis. I offered, but the doctors say I might not survive the journey, and Mr. Ray seems not to trust me.”

“Trying to guilt me?”

“Trying to understand why you’re fool enough not to try and save yourself.” Baba Yaga gestured up at the now muted pictures flicking by on the television screen.

It was showing a loop of a Kazakh general drawing a gun and shooting an interviewing journalist in the face. Blood and brains sprayed out the back of the man’s skull.

“That will soon be your fate, Francis. Who will you shoot? Or perhaps what happens to you will be worse. Some survivors have slithered out of the affected area. I believe some troops beat one of them to death before they realized it was a human. Or used to be.”