door.
“I’d like to have my dog,” he said.
“I’m sorry?” Thatcher was caught off guard by the request.
“Darwin. I’d like to take her with me. Bury her.”
She couldn’t help but pity him. Imagine what he’d been through, waking up to find everyone dead. “I wish I could help you,” she said, “but everything has to stay in the area. That’s protocol.”
The first airlock door slid open and they stepped inside. Fans kicked on overhead, cleansing them of microbes and bacteria.
“Can I ask what you were doing in Stenness?” she asked.
“Studying Maeshowe,” he spoke softly.
She shook her head, unfamiliar with the term.
“It’s a passage grave, an ancient megalithic ruin—like Stonehenge. But Maeshowe is a mound.”
“Hyden?” She knew she recognized the name . “I read your work on the Dead Sea Scrolls. How they may prove the existence of a resurrected Christ.”
“That was my father.” David frowned. “I research legitimate subjects.”
She tried to l oosen him with a smile. “You don’t find biblical archeology interesting?”
“No.”
The fans clicked off and the doors slid open. Hummer and Bailey were waiting outside, standing in the underground corridor that led to the elevator. The last NCEC convoy had left the area, so everyone had removed their hazmat gear.
“Show him out, Golke,” Hummer said to Bailey.
Bailey scowled. He wouldn’t dare correct the Director on his name. He steered David toward the elevator.
David turned back. “Dr. Thatcher, how do you know it wasn’t me who killed these people?”
“I don’t…” She wished she could give him peace of mind. Something to calm survivor’s guilt. Especially since this was probably her team’s fault. “I’m sorry.”
The elevator door shut and ascended to ward the surface.
Before the lift disappeared, Hummer was barking orders. “Reexamine the bodies. I want to know how the hell we did this.”
Chapter 13
SUNDAY 7:15 p.m.
Orkney Island, Scotland
David drove away from Stenness as fast as he could, trying to ignore the void in Darwin’s empty seat. The Jeep’s top cover had been removed during the investigation. He didn’t bother to replace it, even if it meant being exposed to the elements.
Stinging raindrops pricked his face. The smell of wet grass and decomposing sheep was thick in the air. Rain clouds sank over the grasslands blending into gray fog too dense to rise above the atmosphere. It hovered over the village like a plume of pollution, trapping the heavy, unbearable stench that seemed imprinted inside his nose as a rancid, inescapable memory.
The Jeep powered up the incline that led out of the valley.
Even though the dead were far behind, he could smell them, feel them, and hear their silence. He stared at his rearview mirror until finally, the rain clouds submerged Stenness, and the barrage of white tents disappeared.
The world was too quiet.
He fumbled with the radio, finding static and then the voices of BBC news. “…Scottish village of Stenness is in a state of disaster after an unknown biological toxin took the lives of 47 civilian—”
He flipped off the radio, his hands trembling.
They didn’t even have the story right. There was no biological toxin. There was only him. And he was cause enough. Everyone he cared about died. Images of death bombarded his mind—Darwin, Marta, the young neighbor girl—three more lifeless faces joining the others who made his throat crack and his chest heave.
He glanced at the rearview mirror again and was startled to see who stared back at him. It was a dead man, a ghost, comatose with empty, soulless eyes. Himself, the lone survivor. He envisioned the revolver back in his Aberdeen apartment, tucked under a phonebook in his kitchen junk drawer. Its black rubber grip stretched taut over the metal stock waiting for a tight embrace. The click of the hammer sounded in his mind. The barrel’s sultry eye stared back at him, promising a
“I’d like to have my dog,” he said.
“I’m sorry?” Thatcher was caught off guard by the request.
“Darwin. I’d like to take her with me. Bury her.”
She couldn’t help but pity him. Imagine what he’d been through, waking up to find everyone dead. “I wish I could help you,” she said, “but everything has to stay in the area. That’s protocol.”
The first airlock door slid open and they stepped inside. Fans kicked on overhead, cleansing them of microbes and bacteria.
“Can I ask what you were doing in Stenness?” she asked.
“Studying Maeshowe,” he spoke softly.
She shook her head, unfamiliar with the term.
“It’s a passage grave, an ancient megalithic ruin—like Stonehenge. But Maeshowe is a mound.”
“Hyden?” She knew she recognized the name . “I read your work on the Dead Sea Scrolls. How they may prove the existence of a resurrected Christ.”
“That was my father.” David frowned. “I research legitimate subjects.”
She tried to l oosen him with a smile. “You don’t find biblical archeology interesting?”
“No.”
The fans clicked off and the doors slid open. Hummer and Bailey were waiting outside, standing in the underground corridor that led to the elevator. The last NCEC convoy had left the area, so everyone had removed their hazmat gear.
“Show him out, Golke,” Hummer said to Bailey.
Bailey scowled. He wouldn’t dare correct the Director on his name. He steered David toward the elevator.
David turned back. “Dr. Thatcher, how do you know it wasn’t me who killed these people?”
“I don’t…” She wished she could give him peace of mind. Something to calm survivor’s guilt. Especially since this was probably her team’s fault. “I’m sorry.”
The elevator door shut and ascended to ward the surface.
Before the lift disappeared, Hummer was barking orders. “Reexamine the bodies. I want to know how the hell we did this.”
Chapter 13
SUNDAY 7:15 p.m.
Orkney Island, Scotland
David drove away from Stenness as fast as he could, trying to ignore the void in Darwin’s empty seat. The Jeep’s top cover had been removed during the investigation. He didn’t bother to replace it, even if it meant being exposed to the elements.
Stinging raindrops pricked his face. The smell of wet grass and decomposing sheep was thick in the air. Rain clouds sank over the grasslands blending into gray fog too dense to rise above the atmosphere. It hovered over the village like a plume of pollution, trapping the heavy, unbearable stench that seemed imprinted inside his nose as a rancid, inescapable memory.
The Jeep powered up the incline that led out of the valley.
Even though the dead were far behind, he could smell them, feel them, and hear their silence. He stared at his rearview mirror until finally, the rain clouds submerged Stenness, and the barrage of white tents disappeared.
The world was too quiet.
He fumbled with the radio, finding static and then the voices of BBC news. “…Scottish village of Stenness is in a state of disaster after an unknown biological toxin took the lives of 47 civilian—”
He flipped off the radio, his hands trembling.
They didn’t even have the story right. There was no biological toxin. There was only him. And he was cause enough. Everyone he cared about died. Images of death bombarded his mind—Darwin, Marta, the young neighbor girl—three more lifeless faces joining the others who made his throat crack and his chest heave.
He glanced at the rearview mirror again and was startled to see who stared back at him. It was a dead man, a ghost, comatose with empty, soulless eyes. Himself, the lone survivor. He envisioned the revolver back in his Aberdeen apartment, tucked under a phonebook in his kitchen junk drawer. Its black rubber grip stretched taut over the metal stock waiting for a tight embrace. The click of the hammer sounded in his mind. The barrel’s sultry eye stared back at him, promising a
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