The medics finally arrived, bulled Jack aside, and swept Evan up. They jostled him back toward the Black Hawk on the stretcher, Jack jogging alongside them. Evan caught an upward view of Jack and could see that concern was winning out now.

As they loaded Evan into the chopper, the RoamZone fell out of Evan’s coat pocket. He twisted and grabbed for it, crying out, but the noise of the rotors swept away his words.

“What?” Jack shouted. “What’s wrong?”

They slid Evan into the belly of the Black Hawk. He kicked and reached. Jack followed him in, the shattered phone in his hand. “This? You want this?”

Evan nodded.

Jack looked from the busted casing and shattered screen to Evan, his forehead furrowed. “Okay.”

Evan grabbed the phone, squeezed it tight. A needle pricked his arm. His stomach swooned as they lifted up. The cold, cold air breezed through the open door.

Jack was shouting into a headset: “—blood units ready, throw the saline in the freezer, and get a trauma surgeon there. Now.”

They banked high above the valley, and Evan peered down at the dollhouse of the chalet, spirals of smoke still rising from the blown-out wall.

Jack: “I don’t care how hard it is. You don’t get me someone in time, I will land this helo on your skull. Understand?”

Movement below caught Evan’s eye. A caravan of black SUVs blazed up the gravel road, sweeping onto the cobblestone driveway, doors flying open, men spilling out.

Breaking from the tree line, two dots sprinted to meet them.

Evan felt himself going out, and he blinked hard, fighting to stay conscious.

A figure broke from the pack of men, waiting to receive Candy McClure and Orphan M. The man was dressed differently from the others, wearing some kind of cloak. He paused, turning skyward to glare at the Black Hawk as it hung overhead. His hood was raised, his face shadowed, but Evan knew right away who it was.

Van Sciver.

The Black Hawk banked again, the view swept away, replaced by the endless scroll of the sky.

Evan shut his eyes, and this time they didn’t open.

57. A Very Persuasive Call

57

A Very Persuasive Call

Pain.

Horizontal.

Drifting along as if in a canoe.

Evan’s throat—sandpaper and rust.

His hand cramped around the RoamZone.

Needle jammed in his arm, saline bag clutched in Jack’s blocky fist.

Fluorescent lights floated overhead.

An empty corridor led to another empty corridor.

Doors.

A warehouse interior.

Arranged in the middle of the blank space, lit like a movie set, a full operating theater.

Bizarre.

As out of place as René’s basement lab.

The afterlife was weird.

A doctor in blue scrubs ran over. “Who is he?”

Jack’s disembodied voice, gruffer than usual. “John Doe.”

“Who are you?”

“John Doe Sr.”

Thumb on eyelid.

Flare of penlight.

Latex fingers on the side of his neck.