Jana closed the door softly behind her and made her way across the small sitting room, moving toward the sound of the shower. Her wrists were locked in place, her finger light on the trigger of the Hawlen, her mind sharp. She nudged open the half-closed bedroom door and stopped, scanning the room, the two unmade beds.

Unless they’d taken to showering together, only one was here now.

Suddenly, the shower stopped. Jana heard the curtain slide open and the sound of someone climbing out of the tub.

“Charley?” a woman’s voice called out.

The babysitter, Jana thought, squaring herself with the bathroom door, aiming for the height of an average woman’s head.

“Charley?” The tone was slightly more urgent.

The door swung open to reveal a dark-haired woman, older but far from old, in a white bath towel. Seeing Jana standing there with the gun, she drew back slightly.

“Where is Charlotte Middleton?” Jana demanded.

The woman didn’t answer. Her eyes were hard on Jana, searching for something. Then, suddenly, a look of recognition flickered across her face. “You’re Santash Grover’s daughter,” she said triumphantly.

Jana flinched. It was impossible that this woman should know about her father and yet she did. “Where is Charlotte Middleton?!” she asked once again, reminding herself that any knowledge the woman had would soon be irrelevant.

The woman smiled. “Go to hell.”

“You first,” Jana told her, pulling the trigger.

11 - DAVID LISS

11

DAVID LISS

The smoke, the heat of the fires, the falling debris, the ash that caked his mouth and choked his lungs—all these things were near unbearable, as was the clutching fingers of death at his heels, but what pained him most as he ran through this scene of destruction was the belief that for the rest of his life—whether the rest of his life spanned decades or minutes—he would never again hear the music he loved so much. His hearing was gone. No ringing. No hum. Nothing. Harold Middleton felt as though he were trapped in a horrible, violent snow globe, able only to peer helplessly at the world outside. He ran through the shattered compound, leaping over crumbled walls, scattered furniture, dead bodies, trying to find his way out of the destruction, holding on to the strange and childish notion that if he could escape soon enough, perhaps his hearing would be restored as his prize. He felt battered and bruised and hot but other than his hearing, no injuries seemed serious or permanent and for that he was grateful.