Hassler said, “Hey, Ethan.” A month in civilization had done wonders for the man. Hassler had put on enough weight to look almost like his old self again.
“Adam. How you guys holding up?”
“All right, I guess.”
Kate said, “I feel like I’m about to get on this terrifying ride, you know? No idea where it’s going.”
They passed the hospital, Ethan thinking back to that first time he’d woken up to the smiling face of Nurse Pam. Those first days he’d wandered in a daze around this town, confused, still trying to call home and unable to reach his family. The first time he’d seen Kate, nine years older than she should’ve been.
What a journey.
Ethan looked at Kate. “It’s going to get crazy in a little while. I was thinking maybe we should say goodbye here.”
Kate stopped in the middle of the road, the last residents of Wayward Pines moving past them. The way she smiled, the early sun in her face, eyes squinting—she looked like the Kate of old. Of Seattle. Of the worst and the best mistake he’d ever made.
They embraced.
Fiercely.
“Thank you for coming to look for me all those years ago,” Kate said. “I’m sorry it ended up like this.”
“I wouldn’t change any of it.”
“You did the right thing,” she whispered. “Never doubt it.”
Theresa reached them.
She smiled at Kate.
She went to Hassler and hugged him.
As they came apart, she asked, “Do you guys want to walk with us for a while?”
“We’d love to,” Adam said. Ethan wondered, as he stood there with his wife, his son, his former mistress, and the man who had once betrayed him, Is this what a family looks like in this new world? Because no matter what had happened in the past, in this harrowing present, everybody needed everybody.
As the last of the crowd pushed on past them, they lingered where the main road out of Wayward Pines entered the darkness of the forest.
Behind them, the town stood abandoned.
The morning sun glaring down against the streets.
The storefront glass shimmering on the west side of Main.
They took in all those picket-fenced Victorians.
The surrounding cliffs.
The turning aspen trees as the wind stripped their branches of the last golden leaves.
In this moment, it was so . . . idyllic.
Pilcher’s brilliant, mad creation.
At length, they turned away and moved on down the road together, into the woods, away from Wayward Pines.
Ethan sat at the main console in the surveillance center, Alan on one side, Francis Leven on the other.
“What exactly is the point of this message?” Leven asked.
“In case someone stumbles across this place,” Ethan said.
“I find that highly unlikely.”
“Do you know what you want to say?” Alan asked.
“I wrote something down last night.”
Alan’s fingers danced across the touch screen.
“Ready when you are,” he said.
“Let’s do this.”
“We’re recording.”
Ethan took the scrap of paper out of his back pocket, unfolded it, and leaned into the microphone.
He said his piece.
When he’d finished, Alan stopped the recording.
“Well said, Sheriff.”
Above them, the bank of twenty-five monitors still streamed a rotating series of surveillance feeds from the valley.
The empty corridors of the hospital basement.
The empty hallway in the school.
The empty park.
Vacated homes.
Abandoned streets.
Ethan looked over at Francis Leven. “We ready?” he asked.
“All nonessential systems have been powered down.”
“Everyone’s prepped?”
“It’s already underway.”
As Ethan walked alone down the Level 1 corridor, the overhead lights winked out, one by one. When he reached the sliding glass doors that opened into the ark, he glanced back down the passage as the last light at the far end of the corridor went dark.
Already, it was colder, the heating and ventilation systems running on idle.
The stone floor of the great cavern was freezing against his bare feet.
It was frigid inside the suspension hub, just a few degrees above freezing. Masked by a blue-tinged fog, there was movement all around.
The machines hummed and ejected streams of white gas.
He pushed through the fog, turned a corner, and made his way between two rows of machines.
Men in white lab coats were helping the residents of Wayward Pines to climb into the suspension units.
He stopped at the machine at the end of the row.
The digital nameplate read:
KATE HEWSON
SUSPENSION DATE: 9/19/12
BOISE, ID
RESIDENT: 8 YEARS, 9 MONTHS, 22 DAYS
She was already inside.
Ethan peered through the two-inch-wide panel of glass that ran down the front of the machine.
Kate stared back at him, locked into her suspension unit.
She was trembling.
Ethan put his hand to the glass.
He mouthed, “It’s going to be okay.”
She nodded.
He hurried three rows down, threading his way through more people in white sleeping suits.
Theresa was kneeling down in front of Ben, holding him, whispering in his ear.
Ethan wrapped his arms around them, pulled his family in close.
Tears streamed.
“I don’t want to do it, Dad,” Ben cried. “I’m scared.”
“I’m scared too,” Ethan said. “We’re all scared and that’s okay.”
“What if this is the end?” Theresa asked.
Ethan stared into his wife’s green eyes.
“Then know I love you. It’s time,” Ethan said.
He helped Ben onto his feet, held the boy’s arm as he stepped into his machine.
His son was shaking—from the cold, from the fear.
Ethan eased him down onto the metal seat.
Restraints shot out of the walls, locking around Ben’s ankles and wrists.
“I’m so cold, Dad.”
“I love you, Ben. I’m so proud of you. I have to shut the door now.”
“Not yet. Please.”
Ethan leaned in and kissed his forehead, thinking, This could be the last time I ever touch my boy. He stared into Ben’s eyes.
“Look at me, son. Be brave.”