The Last Town (The Wayward Pines Trilogy 3)

THE RICHARDSONS

Bob Richardson slid in behind the wheel of his 1982 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera and cranked the engine as his wife, Barbara, piled into the front passenger seat beside him.

“This is the stupidest idea,” she said.

He put the car into gear and eased out into the dark street.

“What’s yours?” he asked. “Wait inside the house for those things to break in?”

“Your lights aren’t on,” Barbara said.

“That’s intentional, darling.”

“You don’t think they can hear our engine?”

“Will you shut up and let me drive please?”

“Of course. This’ll be the shortest trip ever taken on account of there being no roads out of town.”

Bob turned onto First Avenue.

He wasn’t about to admit it verbally, or by action (which would mean using the lights), but it was pretty dark. Arguably too dark to drive without headlights.

It had been months since he’d been behind the wheel, and he felt rusty.

They passed the sheriff’s station.

With their windows rolled up, the screams emanating from town barely intruded into the tense silence inside the car.

Soon, they reached the outskirts.

Through his window, Bob could see movement in the pasture.

“They’re out there,” Barbara said.

“I know it.”

She reached across his lap and hit the lights. Twin beams shot out across the grassland. Eviscerated cows littered the pasture by the dozens, each one surrounded by a cluster of monsters in the throes of gorging themselves.

“Goddammit, Barbara!”

They all looked up from their kills, bloody mouths glistening in the high beams.

Bob floored the accelerator.

They blew past the goodbye sign—a perfect 1950s family, smiling and waving.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR VISIT TO WAYWARD PINES! DON’T BE A STRANGER! COME BACK SOON!

The road entered the forest.

Bob downgraded the high beams to corner lamps, the fog lights just bright enough to keep him straddling the double yellow.

Mist swept across the road between the narrow corridor of pines.

Bob kept glancing in the rearview mirror, but all he could see was a tiny swath of scrolling pavement lit red by the taillights.

“Go faster!” Barbara said.

“I can’t. There’s a hairpin turn coming up.”

She climbed between the seats into the back and sat on her knees, staring through the window.

“Anything?” Bob asked.

“No. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but at least we aren’t in town, in the midst of everything. Maybe we could just pull off into a quiet place in the trees?” he suggested. “Ride this out?”

“What if there’s no end to it?” she asked.

The question hung between them like a black cloud.

The road out of town began to curve and Bob steered into it, keeping their speed under twenty miles per hour.

Barbara was crying in the backseat.

“I wish he hadn’t told us,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Sheriff Burke. This is all happening because he told us the truth.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m not saying I loved it here, but you know what?” Barbara sniveled. “I didn’t worry about bills. I didn’t worry about our mortgage. You and I got to run a bakery.”

“You had gotten used to the way of things.”

“Exactly.”

“But we couldn’t talk about our past,” Bob said. “We never saw our friends or family. We were forced to marry.”

“That didn’t turn out so bad,” she said.

Bob held his tongue as he drove through the heart of the curve.

The road out of town became the road into town.

He eased off the gas as they passed the welcome sign.

Wayward Pines lay straight ahead, enveloped in darkness.

He let the car roll to a stop and killed the engine.

“We just wait here?” Barbara asked.

“For now.”

“Shouldn’t we keep moving?”

“There’s barely any gas left.”

She climbed back into the front seat.

She said, “People are dying out there. Right now.”

“I know.”

“That goddamned sheriff.”

“I’m glad he did it.”

“What?”

“I said I’m glad.”

“No, I heard you the first time. I mean, why? Our neighbors are being slaughtered, Bob.”

“We were slaves.”

“How are you enjoying your new freedom?”

“If this is the end, I’m glad I know the truth.”

“You’re not scared?”

“I’m terrified.”

Bob opened his door.

“Where are you going?” Barbara asked.

The interior dome light burned his eyes.

“I need a moment alone.”

“I’m not getting out of this car.”

“That’s kind of the point, darling.”