Henry touched the back of Claire’s neck with his hand.

“Gary Hart.”

The doctor stiffened.

He coughed. “Kidding.”

“I need to talk to him,” Archie said.

The doctor raised a hand. “Not now,” she said.

“Archie?” Henry said, lifting his head to look around the room.

“Do you remember what happened?” Archie asked.

“He’s not going to remember anything,” the doctor said. “His brain has been through a terrific trauma.”

Henry lifted his hand from Claire’s neck and made a beckoning motion at Archie.

Archie inched forward, past the neurologist, and leaned in as close as he could.

Claire didn’t move.

A stain from her tears spread on the thin cotton of Henry’s hospital gown.

Henry’s voice was barely more than a rasp. “White male. Early forties. Rubber waders. He had a kid with him.”

Chapter 45

CHAPTER

45

The defroster in Susan’s Saab didn’t work, so she had the windows rolled down to keep the windshield from fogging up. Rain slapped her in the face. She hunched forward over the steering wheel and squinted in an attempt to make out shapes in the darkness ahead.

The traffic lights on Division Street were all out. Some of the streetlights had blown. Even with the porch lights and house lights, it was hard to see the street. Susan slowed as she crossed the railroad tracks. She didn’t see any other cars on the road. Apparently everyone was taking this curfew thing pretty seriously.

Her radio was blasting. A DJ broke in with a news update. The serial killer had claimed another victim. Sauvie Island was flooding. The port was flooding. Swan Island was flooding. The Willamette was expected to crest later that night. Susan changed the station.

She didn’t realize how deep the water was until she was in it.

It had pooled in the intersection, creating a vast black swamp. The water surged around her tires and she could feel the pressure of it pressing against the car. “Fuck,” she said. She put the car in reverse and turned around to back up. But the engine stalled.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned the ignition key once, twice, three times.

“No,” she said. “No, no, no, no.”

Not even a sputter.

She sat up a little in her seat and peered over the hood of her car. The headlights were still on, skimming the surface of the water, illuminating the rain. Then they went out.

The radio stopped.

It was dark and still and quiet. And the car started to slide. It happened slowly at first, an almost imperceptible shift, something more like vertigo than actual motion. Then it fishtailed.

Susan didn’t have time to react. Not that there was anything she could do. She just held on and braced for impact.

It didn’t come.

She unclenched her eyes and looked around.