Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Foreword
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Praise for Linwood Barclay
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
Joe hesitated before replying. “Reports are coming in from all over. I’m hoping it’s not as bad as it sounds, but it might be. We’re stretched too thin to be able to deal with this on our own. Help’s coming but I don’t know when it’s going to get here.”
“But what about until then?”
“I don’t see a way for those cars to get you here in the house, but to be safe, let’s get you up to the second floor. One of those things might find a way to break through the front door, but I don’t see them climbing a set of stairs.”
As Joe spoke, his voice faltered. When his chin began to quiver, he turned away from his mother so she wouldn’t see.
“Joe?” she said.
When he did not respond, she said his name a second time. He took a moment to compose himself before turning around. “We really should get you up to your room. We’ll take up everything you need.” He forced a smile. “I suppose that would include the scotch.”
“Don’t forget the ice,” she said, nodding her agreement.
Joe got his mother settled up on the second floor. He’d had a stairlift installed a few months ago, with a seat built into it, so he didn’t have to help her up. Once upstairs, he assisted her into the bathroom, discreetly slipping into the hall while she did her business. Then he helped her to her bedroom. She got comfortable in a faded, fraying lounge chair, and he made sure she had something to drink—bottled water, as well as her scotch and some ice—and her favorite snacks, including a cardboard tube of Pringles and some seedless grapes. He set her phone on the table next to her and connected it to a charger.
“Joe,” she said as he was starting to leave the room, “can you grab me the remote?”
It was resting on the bedside table, next to a well-thumbed, used paperback copy of a John Irving novel. Joe grabbed it, and the book, and set them in his mother’s lap.
“I really have to go, Mom,” he said, his face starting to crack again.
She nodded. “Go save the island,” she said. “And be careful.”
He tried to crack a smile. “Later, I’ll arrest myself for stealing a bicycle.”