“Dead. I saw.”
Quinn gathered up the rest of the papers, replacing all of them in the pack, save for the one holding the ID, which he jammed in his pocket.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked as he rose and stretched his aching spine.
“A little. Not much. Is it daylight yet?”
“Just before dawn.”
“We need to go. We need to find the army, now.” He grabbed the pack and the rifle, handing the latter to Alice as he moved past her into the dark of the warehouse.
“Okay. Any reason you’re so raring to go?”
“We just need to get there,” he said over his shoulder as he made his way through the sections of alcohol.
“Quinn, slow down. Let’s take a second—”
“No, damnit! We’re going now!” His voice rang throughout the open space and came back to him. Hearing the frantic sound of his words along with the stricken look on Alice’s face was enough to sober the racing anxiety burning a hole in his chest.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “You’re starting to scare me.” Ty sat up from his bed and called to Denver quietly before walking beside the dog to stand near his mother.
Quinn’s legs grew weaker and weaker as he pulled the paper from his pocket and flipped it open, catching the ID as it slid out. He held it before him as if it were something foul that he couldn’t stand to touch.
“We need to find the army because my father’s signature is on this piece of paper the dead man was carrying.”
Chapter 25
The Army
They drove through the gray dawn, its light choked with bruised clouds that hung low and heavy with rain.
They’d spent an hour packing the Challenger with supplies that the man in the warehouse had accumulated, their talk limited to the necessities since Quinn had shown Alice the signed page. There was no mistaking his father’s writing, the loop of his e’s and the long tail of the y were all Quinn needed to know it wasn’t simply someone with the same name or an attempt at a forgery. The paragraphs above his father’s hand gave them no clues as to what the document signified. The language was unmistakably medical in origin, but other than that, the page was a shard of a sculpture without any definable shape.
“Do you think he was sick before he caught the plague?” Alice asked as the last buildings of Fort Dodge passed by on their left. “You said he came home from a business trip right before everything happened, right?”
“Yeah,” Quinn said, prying his vision from the road ahead.
“Maybe it wasn’t a business trip at all. Maybe he was getting treatment.”
“I don’t think so. He never had more than a cold all my life. He wasn’t sick; he would’ve told me.”
“Parents don’t tell their kids everything.”
“I know, you never tell me anything,” Ty muttered from the backseat.
“Oh stop it, Tyrus. You’re the most informed six year old I know.”
“I’m almost seven!”
“You won’t be seven for another nine months.”
“That’s pretty close, though. Right, Denver?”
The dog woofed once.
“See?” Ty said, crossing his arms.
Alice rolled her eyes. “Now I have to argue with a dog too.”
“Take this next right coming up,” Quinn said, studying the smart phone’s display. Alice turned the car onto a beaten county road, its surface pockmarked with attempted patches of potholes and frost heaves.
“But the guy, Harold Roman, was definitely military, right? I mean, that ID had nothing but his photo, his name, and clearance number,” Alice said.
“If I had to guess, I’d say military, but who knows,” Quinn said. “Turn left on the next road.”