He fixed the first rocket to the launcher. With a twist it issued the satisfying hum that meant the warhead was armed. Thousands of years of technical advancement, the whole history of human civilization, seemed contained within that sound, the hum of an arming HEAT. The 29 was reusable, but Richards knew he’d only get one shot. He hoisted it to his shoulder, lifted the sighting mechanism into position, and stepped away from the truck.

“Hey!” he yelled, and, at precisely that moment, the sound of his voice streaming away into the gloom, a cold shudder of nausea burbled from his gut. The ground beneath him swayed, like the deck of a boat at sea. Beads of sweat were popping out all over. He felt the urge to blink, a random current from the brain. So. It was happening quicker than he’d thought. He swallowed hard and took two more steps into the light, swinging the RPG toward the treetops.

“Here, kitty, kitty!”

An anxious minute passed as Doyle scrabbled through various drawers until he found a penknife. Standing on a chair, he used the blade to undo the screws. Wolgast lowered Amy into Doyle’s arms, then dropped to the floor himself.

He didn’t at first know whom he was seeing.

“Sister Lacey?”

She was holding the sleeping girl against her chest. “Agent Wolgast.”

Wolgast looked at Doyle. “I don’t—”

“Get it?” Doyle lifted his eyebrows. He was, like Wolgast, wearing scrubs. They were too large, hanging loosely on his body. He gave a little laugh. “Trust me, I don’t get it either.”

“This place is full of dead men,” Wolgast said. “Something … I don’t know. There was an explosion.” He couldn’t explain himself.

“We know,” Doyle said, nodding. “It’s time for us to go.”

They stepped from the room into the hall. Wolgast guessed they were somewhere near the rear of the Chalet. It was quiet, though they could hear scattered pops of gunfire from outside. Quickly, without speaking, they made their way to the front entrance. Wolgast saw the dead soldiers sprawled there.

Lacey turned to him. “Take her,” she said. “Take Amy.”

He did. His arms were still weak from his ascent up the ladder, but he held her hard against him. She was moaning a little, trying to wake up, fighting the force that was keeping her in twilight. She needed to be in a hospital, but even if he could get her to one, what would he say? How would he explain any of this? The air near the doors was wintry cold, and in her thin gown Amy shivered against him.

“We need a vehicle,” Wolgast said.

Doyle ducked out the door. A minute later he returned, holding a set of keys. He’d gotten a gun from somewhere, too, a .45. He took Wolgast and Lacey to the window and pointed.