Next, they purchased two high-end RVs. The price was exorbitant, but they carried a thirty-day money-back guarantee, and they only had to make a down payment—the remainder was financed. Elliott had assured his neighbors that within thirty days, they would either be incredibly glad to have the two homes on wheels—or they’d have their money back.

Now he sat in his study, watching the news, waiting for the event he believed would come.

He hoped he was wrong.

DAY 7

DAY 7

900,000,000 Infected
180,000 Dead

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Desmond’s captors were trying a new approach. Gone were the teams that showed him pictures and played music. Now three skinny white guys were camped out at a long folding table, typing on their laptops. Black cords snaked out of their computers, connecting to dozens of cell phones and tablets.

Periodically, the three stooges, as Desmond had nicknamed them, would erupt in an argument. They stood, shouted, paced, pointed, and threw their hands up. He couldn’t hear them, though—they had turned off the speaker in his cell—so he could only watch the three guys argue like a silent slapstick comedy.

He had almost drifted off to sleep when a fourth figure entered the scene beyond the thick glass wall. She struck a sharp contrast with the greasy-haired guys. She was tall, blond, with piercing green eyes. She glanced at Desmond, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, then turned away. The exchange was so brief that he instantly wondered if he had imagined it. She focused her attention on a tablet and tapped several times.

The speaker in his cell crackled to life. Did she turn it on? Why?

“Where are we?” she asked, her tone forceful.

“Grasping at straws,” the closest programmer said.

“Grasp harder. We’re running out of time.”

Desmond wanted to turn toward them, but his instincts took over. He sensed that she—or whoever had turned the speaker on—wanted to keep that action a secret from the programmers or anyone watching the video feed. So he lay still in the bed, occasionally glancing over, showing only mild interest in the scene playing out.

“You know, telling us to work faster doesn’t actually help us, Avery. It just wastes our time.” The stooge grinned insincerely. “And I’ve heard we’re running out of time.”

“I see what you did there. That’s cute.” She raised her voice. “What would be helpful?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe some actual clue about what we’re looking for.” The programmer held his skinny white arms in the air and shook his hands theatrically. “I know that sounds super crazy. Like, why would we even need to know what we’re looking for?”