Oh my God. It was him. It was Pastor.

She’d seen the photo tacked to the bulletin board in Tom’s home office, the one taken of Pastor, his wife, and the twins shortly before he’d run to Eden thirty years ago. He was older now, of course, and looked terrible, his skin gray and his hair thinning, but it was him.

He was being pushed by one of the nurses, and following behind was a woman in her midfifties. Her hair was liberally streaked with gray and pulled off her head in a simple bun.

But it was the item she wore around her throat that had Liza’s attention. A locket on a thick, heavy chain. An Eden locket. The nurse pushed Pastor to one of the tables by the window and covered his lap with a blanket. He leaned his head back, as if enjoying the sun on his face.

Belatedly aware she’d been staring, Liza jerked her attention back to the pile of red gems. But her hands were shaking so hard that she couldn’t get the gem into the little plunger.

It was rage, she realized. Pure, unadulterated rage. She hadn’t felt this angry in so long.

Not since she’d pushed Fritz’s body off her own, grabbed her rifle, and started firing at the insurgents who’d attacked her unit. Who’d killed her friends.

Because that was what Pastor had done. He’d allowed people to be attacked and killed. She wanted to run over there. She wanted to break him. Hurt him. Kill him.

But she couldn’t, of course. So get it together, Liza.

Carefully placing the gem on the table, she flattened her palms on her thighs, the soft cotton of her scrubs absorbing some of the clamminess. She drew a breath, remembering the relaxation techniques she’d learned to battle the anxiety of waking from a nightmare.

“Liza?” Brooklyn’s voice had grown small and a little scared. “Are you all right?”

Her brain raced to think of something comforting to say, because the truth was not an option.

She lifted her head to smile at the little girl. “I’m okay. You ever have a nightmare, and then the next day you remember part of it and just, like, get a little scared again?”

Brooklyn nodded sagely. “Sometimes I dream that I die.”

Liza sucked in a harsh breath. “Oh, honey. What an awful dream to have.”

Brooklyn lifted a shoulder. “I know. I wake up and I’m afraid. The last nursing assistant wasn’t very nice. She’d tell me to go back to sleep, even when I was crying.”

Liza reached out, palm up. Brooklyn took her hand and squeezed. “I told my mom when she visited, and Mom told Nurse Williams to get another assistant. That’s you.”

“Well, I have nightmares, too. And they’re scary, so I get it.”

“Do you die?”

“No, but people I love get hurt, and that’s scary, right?”

“Real scary. You don’t have a mom to tell you that it’s okay, because you’re old.”