Andrew said, “He’s backed by his own private army. Those are your words.”
“Yeah.”
“So what do you want us to do?”
“I want you to not lose hope! David Pilcher is a monster, but not everyone in the mountain is. I’m going across the valley.”
“When?”
“Right now. And I’d like Kate Ballinger and two others who can shoot to come with me.”
“We should take a large group,” the officer said.
“Why? So we attract more attention and get more people killed? No, we need to go light and fast. Stay unseen if at all possible. And yes, it’s likely we won’t come back, but the alternative is to sit here in this cave and wait for the inevitable. I say we go out swinging.”
Hecter said, “Even if you make it into the mountain, you actually believe you can stop this man?”
“I do believe that.”
A woman stepped out of the crowd. She still wore her costume from the night before—a ball gown with a tiara she hadn’t thought to take off. Her lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner streaked garishly down her face.
“I want to say something,” she said. “I know a lot of you are angry at this man. At the sheriff. My husband . . .” She took a moment to collect herself. “Was in another group. We’d been married six years. It was a forced marriage, but I loved him. He was my best friend, even though we barely talked. It’s amazing how well you can come to know a person through eye contact. Through subtle glances.” Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd. She stared at Ethan. “I want you to know that I would rather Carl be dead and I would rather die today than live in that sick illusion of a town for one more hour. Like prisoners. Like slaves. I know you did what you thought was right. I don’t blame you for a thing. Maybe not everyone feels this way, but I know I’m not the only one.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said. “Thank you for saying that.”
He made a slow turn, studying the ninety-five faces watching him, feeling the true weight of their lives on his shoulders.
He said, finally, “I’m going out that door in ten minutes. Kate, you in?”
“Hell yes.”
“We need two others. I know more of you may want to come, but there could still be another attack on this cavern. We want to leave you well armed and well guarded. If you think you can shoot, if you’re in exceptional physical condition, and if you can control your fear, then join me over at the door.”
Ethan sat on the stage between Theresa and Ben.
The boy said, “I don’t want you to go back out there, Dad.”
“I know, buddy. Between you and me, I’m not all that wild about it myself.”
“So don’t go.”
“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re the right things.”
He couldn’t imagine what was going through the boy’s mind. All the lies he’d been taught in school suddenly melting against the blistering heat of the truth. Ethan could remember his dad waking him from nightmares when he was Ben’s age, telling him it was just a bad dream, that there were no such thing as monsters.
But in his son’s world, monsters did exist.
And they were everywhere.
How did you help a boy come to terms with something like that when you could barely face it yourself?
The boy wrapped his arms around Ethan and squeezed.
“You can cry if you want,” Ethan said. “There’s no shame in it.”
“You’re not.”
“Look again.”
The boy looked up. “Why are you crying, Dad? Is it because you aren’t coming back?”
“No, it’s because I love you. So very much.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I’m going to try my best.”
“What if you don’t?”
“He’s coming back, Ben,” Theresa said.
“No, let’s be straight with him. It’s very dangerous what I have to do, son. It’s possible I won’t make it. If something happens to me, you take care of your mother.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Ben started to cry again.
“Ben, look at me.”
“What?”
“If something happens to me, you take care of your mother. You’ll be the man of the house.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
As Ethan kissed the top of the boy’s head, he looked over at Theresa.
She was so strong.
“You’ll come back,” she said, “and when you do, you’ll make everything about this town better.”
HASSLER
The nomad had planned to spend one last night in the wild, but the moment Hassler zipped into his bivy sack at the top of the pine tree, the realization hit: sleep would never find him.
He’d been out in the wild beyond the fence for 1,308 days. He couldn’t be certain, but by his estimate, Wayward Pines was just a few miles to the north, and now that the swarm of abbies had moved out of his path, he was in the clear to go home.
Every harrowing day of his expedition, at some point, his mind had wandered to this moment. Wondering, Would he ever see it again? What would it feel like to walk back into town? Into safety and all the things he loved?
There had been only eight nomads sent out beyond the fence in the history of Wayward Pines. Among Pilcher’s inner circle, it was seen as the ultimate honor and sacrifice. To Hassler’s knowledge, no nomad had ever returned from a long-term mission. Unless one of them had come back while he was away, Hassler would be the first.
He went slowly, methodically, packing his Kelty external frame backpack for the last time—the empty one-liter water bottles, his flint and steel, an empty first-aid kit, the last few scraps of moldy buffalo jerky.
Out of habit, he sealed his leather-bound journal in its plastic bag. Everything he’d experienced and encountered in his three and a half years in the wild was contained in those pages. Days of sadness. Joy. Days he was sure would be his last. All that he’d discovered. Everything seen.
His heart racing as an abby swarm, fifty thousand strong, had sprinted across what had once been called the Bonneville Salt Flats on the Great Salt Lake.
Tears running down his face as he’d watched a life-altering sunset turn the skeletal ruins of the Portland skyline from rust to bronze.