time one of the boys facing him threw the ball, it sailed over the head of its intended target and struck the side of a sliding board, bouncing high toward the fence. The ball one-hopped over the chain-link fence and settled at the curb by his feet.
“Jimmy, you missed it,” yelled the boy who had made the errant throw to the one who hadn’t jumped high enough. “You gotta get it back.”
Jimmy looked askance, unconvinced by his playmate’s logic, then sighed and jogged across the playground area, pulling up short when he came to the fence. Jimmy looked up and up, startled by the tall man standing before him. Squinting into the sun, he raised a hand to shield his eyes. The back of his hand exhibited several shallow scratches, stippled with blood.
“Hey, mister, can you get the ball? We can’t go out.”
“Certainly.”
Bending over, Tora palmed the ball in one hand and stepped up to the fence.
One of the children’s guardians had noticed the stranger by the fence, apparently talking to one of her charges. The young woman hurried across the playground, her brunette ponytail swishing from side to side. “Jimmy! Stay back from the fence.”
“Huh?”
By this time, she had closed the distance between them. She placed one hand protectively on the child’s shoulder, as if physical contact would prevent the child from suffering any harm at the stranger’s hands. “The children aren’t allowed near the fence,” she stated flatly.
In his most pleasant voice, Tora said, “I was simply retrieving the child’s ball.”
“Of course.” The woman forced a smile.
The few seconds of interaction had allowed him time to accelerate the spread of an aggressive MRSA virus he had placed on the surface of the ball. With exaggerated formality, he extended his arm over the fence and lowered the ball into the child’s raised hands. “There you go—Jimmy, right?”
He glanced at the woman for confirmation. She nodded uncomfortably. She hadn’t revealed any personal information about the child in her care, but obviously the minor detail of his given name was no longer secret.
“Enjoy your game, Jimmy,” he added.
“Thanks,” Jimmy said, and hurried back to his playmates.
Later, the town would refer to the boy as Patient Zero.
“Good day,” he said to the woman, tapping the brim of his hat with the handle of his cane in an old-fashioned salutation.
Without waiting for a response, he returned to the sidewalk and continued on his way. He felt her gaze on his back, but resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Despite her suspicious mind, she hadn’t witnessed anything to stoke her fears of child endangerment.
In the distance, the sirens of emergency vehicles wailed, heading toward the airfield to restore unpleasant order to the delicious chaos he had generated. For now, Tora contented himself with a productive outing and moved on. The more he stretched and stressed the town’s resources, the better.
Five
One hundred miles north of Laurel Hill, the hunters stopped for lunch at another anonymous diner. Afterward, Dean acquired a medium-blue 1976 Monte Carlo with a few dings on the chassis and a small square of the grille missing. Judging by its layers of caked mud and the profusion of bird droppings, nobody would miss the car any time soon. Before they hit the road again, Dean inflated the sagging tires and ran the car through a self-serve carwash. Clean, the Monte Carlo was barely recognizable as the same vehicle. And while it passed the roadworthy test, as a source of driver envy it was pure fail, not worth a second glance. Sadly, in their post-Leviathan existence, that made it the perfect car for the Winchesters.
“Bobby,” Dean called as the older man opened the door of his Chevelle. “This maybe-hunter you know. Does hehave a name?”
“Roy Dempsey.”
Dean looked at Sam. “Any bells ringing?”
Sam shook his head.
Dean turned back to Bobby. “Is he onboard?”
“A firm
“Jimmy, you missed it,” yelled the boy who had made the errant throw to the one who hadn’t jumped high enough. “You gotta get it back.”
Jimmy looked askance, unconvinced by his playmate’s logic, then sighed and jogged across the playground area, pulling up short when he came to the fence. Jimmy looked up and up, startled by the tall man standing before him. Squinting into the sun, he raised a hand to shield his eyes. The back of his hand exhibited several shallow scratches, stippled with blood.
“Hey, mister, can you get the ball? We can’t go out.”
“Certainly.”
Bending over, Tora palmed the ball in one hand and stepped up to the fence.
One of the children’s guardians had noticed the stranger by the fence, apparently talking to one of her charges. The young woman hurried across the playground, her brunette ponytail swishing from side to side. “Jimmy! Stay back from the fence.”
“Huh?”
By this time, she had closed the distance between them. She placed one hand protectively on the child’s shoulder, as if physical contact would prevent the child from suffering any harm at the stranger’s hands. “The children aren’t allowed near the fence,” she stated flatly.
In his most pleasant voice, Tora said, “I was simply retrieving the child’s ball.”
“Of course.” The woman forced a smile.
The few seconds of interaction had allowed him time to accelerate the spread of an aggressive MRSA virus he had placed on the surface of the ball. With exaggerated formality, he extended his arm over the fence and lowered the ball into the child’s raised hands. “There you go—Jimmy, right?”
He glanced at the woman for confirmation. She nodded uncomfortably. She hadn’t revealed any personal information about the child in her care, but obviously the minor detail of his given name was no longer secret.
“Enjoy your game, Jimmy,” he added.
“Thanks,” Jimmy said, and hurried back to his playmates.
Later, the town would refer to the boy as Patient Zero.
“Good day,” he said to the woman, tapping the brim of his hat with the handle of his cane in an old-fashioned salutation.
Without waiting for a response, he returned to the sidewalk and continued on his way. He felt her gaze on his back, but resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. Despite her suspicious mind, she hadn’t witnessed anything to stoke her fears of child endangerment.
In the distance, the sirens of emergency vehicles wailed, heading toward the airfield to restore unpleasant order to the delicious chaos he had generated. For now, Tora contented himself with a productive outing and moved on. The more he stretched and stressed the town’s resources, the better.
Five
One hundred miles north of Laurel Hill, the hunters stopped for lunch at another anonymous diner. Afterward, Dean acquired a medium-blue 1976 Monte Carlo with a few dings on the chassis and a small square of the grille missing. Judging by its layers of caked mud and the profusion of bird droppings, nobody would miss the car any time soon. Before they hit the road again, Dean inflated the sagging tires and ran the car through a self-serve carwash. Clean, the Monte Carlo was barely recognizable as the same vehicle. And while it passed the roadworthy test, as a source of driver envy it was pure fail, not worth a second glance. Sadly, in their post-Leviathan existence, that made it the perfect car for the Winchesters.
“Bobby,” Dean called as the older man opened the door of his Chevelle. “This maybe-hunter you know. Does hehave a name?”
“Roy Dempsey.”
Dean looked at Sam. “Any bells ringing?”
Sam shook his head.
Dean turned back to Bobby. “Is he onboard?”
“A firm
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