“What happened? What’s the matter? They were—they were—” The man broke down, his shoulders hunched, uttering bitter, bitter sobs. Then he shuddered. He raised his eyes to Gina. “They herded the whole station out on the soundstage, you know, stage three, where we did that kids’ show—”

“Okay. We need a satellite phone. Do you have one?”

“They just tore them apart. Oh, so slowly, and they were all dancing and drumming—oh my God.” The man fell forward and she took him into her arms.

Mark hated to disturb this poor, shocked man any further, but he could see that there was no choice. He took him by the shoulders and whirled him around hard enough to cause him to cry out with the pain from his arm. “Do you have a satphone? Tell me right now!”

“Yes, of course.” The man went to a steel cabinet that stood against the back wall of the control room and rummaged in his pocket for a key.

“It’s in there?”

“I don’t have the key! Oh, God, I don’t have the key!”

Mark reached down, got his fingers under the edge of the door, and peeled it up until he had more purchase, then ripped it off, tossing it aside with a great clang. The man watched him, then looked toward the door, which was now partially embedded in the wall it had hit.

Mark rummaged in the cabinet, which contained specialty equipment of various kinds. He found a familiar type of black case and opened it. Inside was a satellite phone similar to the ones he knew.

They would, however, need to be in an area open to the sky to use it, and that meant further exposure.

“Is there an antenna hookup?”

“The news department bought it so they could get feeds from isolated fire zones. We never used it.”

Mark turned it on. “Some of them have relay antennas. Does this have one?”

“It has a relay antenna,” the man said. “From the news department upstairs, not from here.”

“So, lead on. I’m Mark, she’s Gina. What’s your name?”

“Zack. But you can’t leave here.”

Mark raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“They—they—this is the only place they haven’t come. Because of the double fire doors. The safety glass. They … haven’t come in here.”

Mark could see through the windows that overlooked the soundstage unrecognizable masses of torn flesh on the floor, and dark smears of blood on the walls.

He was again struck by the gratuitousness of it. The most powerful mind on earth was also a pathological murderer, which said volumes about how dangerous the brilliant can be when they are afraid.

“Is that a spiral staircase up to the newsroom,” Gina asked, “at the back of the stage?”

“Don’t go out there!” Zack cried.

“It’s empty.”

“They’re waiting in the flies. They’re in the flies!”