He thought about what his last sortie had cost Despi. He could see the glow of René’s iPad in her deep brown eyes, how her face had crumbled at the sight held up before her.

He hit the flue even harder, the ring echoing up the closed-off chamber beyond. He kept striking the metal plate, unleashing frustration and rage until his knuckles ached.

Jack came to him in a wisp of memory: Good thinking, son. Damage the only weapons you got left.

Evan stopped, breathing hard in the musk of the hearth, letting the throb in his hands subside.

A faint noise reached him, and at first he thought it had been conveyed from somewhere inside the building through the chimney itself. But no, it was more distant. He drew himself out and listened carefully.

A scraping sound. Not from the chalet but from outside.

He moved to the sliding glass door and stepped through into a blast of snow. It was late afternoon, the front edge of dusk made gloomier by bruise-colored clouds blotting out the sun. Squinting against the flakes, he peered through the dense bars toward the sound.

It took a few moments, but finally several figures came visible about halfway between the chalet and the barn, forms laboring in the whiteness. He could make out only their outlines, but eventually it became clear that they were using shovels, their blades scraping against the ice.

As the snowfall diminished, he noted four of them working away.

Not digging. Clearing a space.

He leaned closer, hands clenching the cold bars. The space, set a good distance from the buildings and any trees, looked to be about ten meters by ten meters.

It struck him what they were making, and suddenly even the bite of the air couldn’t cool the electric surge of panic rolling through him.

He came inside, put his shoulders against the sliding glass door, and closed his eyes. Tilting his head back, he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

The hissing from the air vent caught him off guard. His eyes flew open, and he gulped in a mouthful before realizing what he’d done. Already he felt the haze climbing into his head, the weight gathering on his eyelids.

It was so much earlier than usual. René had been wise to vary the schedule, to make the gassing episodes unpredictable.

Stumbling to the bed, Evan barely had time to curse his lack of preparedness before passing out.

*   *   *

The vibration stirred him from a deep, dreamless sleep. He groped beneath his pillow, came out with the wrecked RoamZone. A familiar number flickered across the cracked screen and then vanished.

It took great effort to lift his head. “Yuh?”

His mouth was bone dry, his tongue bitter, coated with a chemical aftertaste.

The same hushed voice came through the line, barely audible over the poor connection. “Are you coming to get me?”