They trudged through the curtains of rain as the wind tried to tug the plastic ponchos from their bodies. Thomas gave Wexler a short signal from the wall before resuming his vigil of the surrounding land. They made their way down the first row of tents, the openings flapping in the wind like beckoning hands. Denver eyed each one warily as they passed as if he expected something to rise from inside.
Wexler lead at a brisk pace, not looking around, head down, hands gripping his weapon. The land slowly sloped away, gradually at first and then more quickly. An access road, packed solid by dozens of tires, ran parallel to the north wall, disappearing from their view as it made a sharp turn and dropped away. The rain fell harder until they could only see a dozen strides ahead, the water undulating like a living thing. Lightning flashed again, and Quinn made out a low, dark building a hundred yards away, its features hidden by the storm. Beyond that was something he couldn’t quite understand, his mind fumbling with the information relayed in the brief blast of light. They hurried toward the building. It was only when they were close enough to see the plastic windows set in its sides and the light glowing within that he realized what lay beyond the building itself.
The land completely dropped away into nothing fifty paces past the shelter.
He had the impression of an unfathomable hole without a bottom and then the wind shifted, obscuring everything into a rain-washed haze.
“Inside!” Wexler said, holding the door open for them. Ty and Denver went in first, Alice following. Halfway through the entry, she slipped on the slick partition, her arms flying out to steady herself. Quinn stepped forward, knowing he couldn’t catch her, but then Wexler’s arm was there, wrapping around her mid-back and holding her close. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and he smiled.
“Okay?” he asked. She nodded and regained her footing before going inside. Quinn looked down at the ground as he passed the soldier. Wexler held the door for him saying, “Careful, it’s slippery.”
“I got it,” Quinn said, stepping inside the building.
The structure was steel-framed construction with heavy poles secured in the earth, cement surrounding their bases. The shell was a tough canvas, its sides dotted with plastic widows beaded with rain. Medical equipment was everywhere. There were five cots, all missing their bedding, against one wall while the very front of the building was dedicated to computers and slim machines attached to them with snaking cables. A plastic curtain hung in the center of the space and a light shone behind it. A dark figure, only a smudged outline that moved toward them, drew a break in the curtain aside.
The soldier was a woman, mid-thirties with a round, pretty face framed by blond hair that she wore in a tight ponytail. She was shorter than Alice and heavier with a suggestion of muscularity beneath her uniform. Her eyes widened as she spotted them standing behind Wexler. Her gaze slid to each of their faces, her mouth partially open.
“They came in a little while ago,” Wexler said. “From Maine.”
“You’re kidding,” Collincz said, looking them over. “My God, that’s unbelievable.”
“They’ve come to speak with Holtz.”
“About what?”
Quinn stepped forward, holding out his paper. “Harold Roman had this in his pack when we found him. He’s dead,” Quinn said when Collincz’s eyes snapped up at the man’s name. She gave a quick nod and dropped her gaze to the text on the page. “That’s my father’s signature on the bottom.”
“Doctor Alex Gregory?”
There was something about the name that tolled a bell in his mind again, something about the way Collincz said it.
“No, James Kelly.”
“The James Kelly?” Collincz asked.
“If you’re referring to the movie star, then yes.” Both soldiers ran their gazes over his face before passing a look between them.