If they were lucky, the abbies would reach the dairy first, slaughtering their way through the cattle before tearing into town.

There it was.

Straight ahead.

The outskirts of Wayward Pines.

On a clear day, the town defined perfection. Neat blocks of brightly colored Victorian houses. White picket fences. Lush, green grass. Main Street looked like something built for tourists to wander down and dream of retiring here to live the good life. The quaint life. The mountain walls that surrounded the town promised shelter and security. At first blush, nothing about it felt like a place you couldn’t leave—a place where you’d be killed for even trying.

Except tonight.

Tonight, the houses and buildings stood ominously dark.

Ethan turned onto Tenth Avenue and screamed through seven blocks before ripping out onto Main so hard the right-side wheels lifted off the ground.

Up ahead, at the intersection of Main and Eighth, the entire town stood where he’d left them—out in front of the opera house. Four hundred and something souls waiting around in the dark like they’d been kicked out of a ball en masse, still dressed in their ridiculous costumes from the fête.

Ethan shut off the car and climbed out.

It was eerie to see Main Street in the dark, all that storefront glass lit only by torchlight.

There was the Steaming Bean.

Wooden Treasures—Kate and Harold Ballingers’ toy store.

The Wayward Pines Hotel.

Richardson’s Bakery.

The Biergarten.

The Sweet Tooth.

Wayward Pines Realty Associates, where Ethan’s wife, Theresa, worked.

The noise of the crowd was overwhelming.

People were emerging from their disbelief and shock in the wake of Ethan’s decision to tell them all the truth about Wayward Pines. Beginning to talk to one another, in some ways, for the first time.

Kate Ballinger hurried over. It was Kate and her husband, Harold, who’d been on the execution block for tonight’s fête, whose lives Ethan’s revelation had momentarily saved. Somebody had done a fast-stitch job on the gash above her left eye, but her face was still streaked with blood, which had also matted her prematurely white hair. Kate’s disappearance in Wayward Pines had brought Ethan to this town two thousand years ago. In another lifetime, they had worked together in the Secret Service. They’d been partners. For a brief, scorching window, they’d been more than partners.

Ethan took Kate by the arm and hustled her around to the back of the Bronco, out of earshot from the crowd. She’d almost died tonight, and as Ethan stared down at her, he could see in her eyes that she was holding everything together by a fraying thread.

He said, “Pilcher killed the power.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean he killed the power to the fence as well. He opened the gate.”