Chapters (82)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Epigraphs
- 1. What He Needs to Know
- 2. The Social Contract
- 3. War Machine
- 4. Clean as a Scalpel
- 5. The Eyes of the Data-Mining Beast
- 6. Struck Oil
- 7. The Inevitable Gurgle
- 8. His Own Dollhouse
- 9. Our Lady of Holy Death
- 10. The Strange Language of Intimacy
- 11. No Longer the Same Place
- 12. Magical Machinations
- 13. Last Glance Back
- 14. Rambo in a Bespoke Shirt
- 15. Back-Alley Philosophers
- 16. Faithful Companions
- 17. Beautiful Monster
- 18. Flesh and Bone
- 19. Somewhere Much, Much Worse
- 20. No End Point
- 21. In Trouble
- 22. Divine Right
- 23. Destroying Angel
- 24. A Complex, Sticky Business
- 25. Not Very Nice
- 26. Man or Nature
- 27. Six in Total
- 28. The Grim Reapress
- 29. Your Bad Self
- 30. Someone’s Idea of a Library
- 31. A Hard Man
- 32. Ready
- 33. The Inexpressible
- 34. What It Is You Do
- 35. Into the Snowy White
- 36. A Real Fighter
- 37. More Animal Than Human
- 38. A Bad Night’s Work
- 39. To the Brink
- 40. People Who Deserve It
- 41. No Ready Answer
- 42. Corners of His Mind
- 43. Unleash Hell
- 44. Celebration
- 45. A Different Kind of Ruckus
- 46. All the Honey
- 47. Collision Avoidance
- 48. Some Bizarre Mating Dance
- 49. Flicker of Coldness
- 50. Making His Preparations
- 51. A Shout into the Abyss
- 52. Some Kind of Advantage
- 53. Some Delicacies
- 54. Bad Dogs
- 55. Almost There
- 56. Mostly Certain
- 57. A Very Persuasive Call
- 58. Cold
- 59. Reborn
- 60. The Only Person Worse Than Us
- 61. To Do Harm
- 62. That Gnawing Feeling
- 63. The People No One Wants
- 64. The Slender Man
- 65. Fragile Little Bond
- 66. Banged Up in All the Right Ways
- 67. What Was Missing
- 68. Object Permanence
- 69. No Extradition
- 70. The Slightest Misstep
- 71. Vaporized
- 72. The Old Stories
- 73. Resolute
- 74. Overlord of Everything and Nothing
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Gregg Hurwitz
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
A nurse called over, “Can someone please tell me what the saline is doing in the freezer?”
Jack waved her off.
Trauma shears zippering open the coat.
Fabric peeling wetly back from Evan’s wound.
“Jesus,” the doctor said. “Um…”
Jack: “Speak.”
“Look, I got a very persuasive call from the 202 area code telling me to get to this location. I want to help, believe me, but I’m an anesthesiologist—”
“An anesthesiologist? For the love of Mary.”
“He needs a vein graft into the damaged subclavian vein. That requires a trauma surgeon.”
“I asked for a trauma surgeon.”
“Guess how many of those there are in Piscataquis County? Your guys, they finally tracked one down, but … um, the weather, the roads—she’s still two hours out. I’m just a placeholder till she gets here. But…”
“Get the words to come out faster.”
“Look. I’m sorry. He’s not gonna make it that long. He’s not gonna make it.”
Jack’s face bunched up.
Evan tried to make a noise, but nothing happened.
The lights wobbled in and out.
“Okay.” Jack tilted his forehead into the span of his palm. When he looked up, his eyes were different.
“Kill him,” Jack said.
58. Cold
58
Cold
Cold.
59. Reborn
59
Reborn
Lights fuzzed into existence.
Cabin. Soft bed. Jack sitting bedside.
“You have been,” Jack said theatrically, “reborn.”
“You look old,” Evan said, and drifted into the beckoning darkness.
60. The Only Person Worse Than Us
60
The Only Person Worse Than Us
Fade in on a new day.
Evan’s shoulder pulsed beneath the bandages. Jack remained in that bedside chair, same clothes, more scruff. The cabin smelled of wet cedar and coffee.
Seemed like a sorry-ass excuse for the Elysian Fields.
Was it real?
“Quit whining and get your ass up,” Jack said. “We got work to do.”
Yeah, Evan thought. It’s real.
“What’s … date?” Evan’s throat clutched, sending him into a coughing fit.
Jack said, “October twenty-seventh.”
Three days. That gave Evan three days to get to Alison Siegler before she got to Jacksonville.
He was still coughing. Jack handed him a glass of water. Evan took a sip, felt the coolness glide all the way down his parched throat into his stomach.
The cabin was one big room. Worn leather books lined a bookshelf, ordered by descending height. A water-filled heavy bag hung from one of the ceiling beams. A kettle perched on a stovetop, centered on the heating coil. Not a crumb, not a speck of dust in sight. Jack lived here, all right.
Evan set the glass down. Grimacing, he reached out with his left hand and poked Jack’s chest. Solid.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said.
“Later,” Jack said.
“I thought it was a dying vision. A deus ex machina in the form of a Black Hawk. My trusted mentor at the helm.” Evan had put more bite into “trusted mentor” than he’d intended.