“Theresa and Ben?”

“I have a theory that if I can keep families together when possible, the transition will be smoother on the other side.”

Hassler stood.

Walked over to the window.

Stared out past the glass conservatory, which was illuminated with holiday lights.

He could hear traffic and live music down in Capitol Hill, but up here at the top of the water tower, he felt removed from everything.

Hassler said, “Have you given any thought to what we talked about last time?”

“I have. And you?”

“It’s all I think about.” Hassler turned, stared at Pilcher. “What will it be like?”

“What will what be like?”

“Wayward Pines. When you come out of whatever it is you call—”

“Suspended animation.” Pilcher’s face grew dark. He said, “You already know far more about my project than I’m comfortable with.”

“If I wanted to bring you down, David, I could’ve done that months ago.”

“If I wanted you dead, Agent Hassler—you and everyone you love—there is nothing in the world stopping me from making that happen. Not from prison. Not from the grave.”

“So we’ve established trust,” Hassler said.

“Perhaps. Or at the very least, assured mutual destruction.”

“No difference in my book.” Freezing spits of rain blew in the window. Hassler felt them misting the back of his neck with an unpleasant chill. “So, back to my question, David. What will it be like when you all wake up?”

“At first, work. Lots and lots of work. The town will have to be rebuilt. That’ll take some time. But then? I don’t know. We’re talking two thousand years from now. This tower we’re standing in will be in ruin. That skyline? Gone. All the people in this city and their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren disintegrated into nothing. Even their bones.”

Hassler clutched the fencing over the window.

“I want to be a part of it.”

“It’s no guarantee, Adam.”

“I understand that.”

“This is Columbus in search of the East Indies. Man flying to the moon. A million things could go wrong and we never wake up. An asteroid could hit. An earthquake. We could wake to a toxic atmosphere or a hostile world we never imagined.”

“Do you really think that’ll happen?”

“I have no idea what we’ll be waking up to. Only an image in my head of this perfect little town where humanity gets a chance to start over. That’s all that’s ever driven me.”

“So you’d let me come along?”

“I’m already fully staffed. What skill set would you bring?”

“Intelligence. Ability to lead. Survival skills. I was a Delta Force operator before I joined the Secret Service, but I’m sure you already know that.”

Pilcher just smiled, said, “Well, I guess you’re in.”

“I have one favor to ask, and if you agree to it, you can have this envelope back.”

“What?”

“Ethan Burke never wakes up.”

“Why?”

“I want to be there with Theresa.”

“Theresa Burke.”

“That’s right.”

“Ethan’s wife.”

“Yes.”

Pilcher said, “Are you in love with her?”

“I am actually.”

“And is she in love with you?”

“Not yet. She’s never stopped loving him.” Hassler felt the ulcer flaring in his stomach. That green flame of envy. “He cheats on her with his ex-partner, Kate Hewson, and still she takes him back. Still she loves him. Have you ever met Theresa Burke?”

“No, but I will shortly.”

“He doesn’t deserve her.”

“And you do.”

“I would love that woman like she was meant to be loved. She’ll be happier with me in Wayward Pines than she’s ever been in her life.” It took his breath away to say the words, to give them voice. He’d never shared this with anyone.

Pilcher laughed as he rose to his feet. “So at the end of the day, this is all just about you getting a girl?”

“No, it’s—”

“I’m kidding. I’ll make it happen.”

The men shook hands.

“When do we go under?” Hassler asked.

“It’s called de-animation. My superstructure is finished. All that’s left is to stock the warehouse and collect the last few recruits. I’m sixty-four years old, not getting any younger, and there’s going to be loads to do on the other side.”

“So…”

“We’re having a party on New Year’s Eve in Wayward Pines. Me, my family, and a hundred and twenty members of my crew are going to drink the best champagne money can buy and go to sleep for a couple thousand years. You’re welcome to join.”

“Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

“Where will people think you’ve gone?”

“I’ve made arrangements. It’s been seven years since my last public lecture. I’ve become a recluse. I’m guessing it’s fifty-fifty whether the AP even carries my obit. What about you? Considered how you’ll make your exit?”

“I’ll cash out my 401(k), empty my bank accounts, leave a messy trail to some shady purveyor of fake passports. That isn’t the hard part.”

“What is?”

Hassler glanced back out the window toward the mist-enshrouded hills of Queen Anne—Theresa Burke’s neighborhood.

“Knowing I have to wait two thousand years to be with the woman of my dreams.”

III

14

Tobias lay flat on his stomach in the swaying grasses.

He barely breathed.

Five hundred yards away, the abby emerged out of the forest of lodgepole pines.

It entered the field, moving at a comfortable lope in Tobias’s general direction.

Fuck.

Tobias had just come out of a forest on the opposite side of the field not five minutes prior. Thirty minutes before that, he’d crossed a stream and lingered half a second on the bank, debating whether or not to stop for a drink. He’d decided to push on. If he hadn’t, he’d have spent five or ten minutes drinking his fill and replenishing his one-liter bottles. Upshot being he would’ve arrived at the edge of this field with the abby already out in the open. Could’ve tracked its trajectory from the cover and safety of the woods. Made certain to avoid the precise situation of fuckedness he now found himself in: he was going to have to shoot it. A run-in was inevitable. It was midday. The abby was downwind. No other option with him stuck out here and the nearest patch of trees several football fields away. The creature’s sense of smell, sight, and hearing was so finely tuned, the moment he stood it would spot him. Considering the wind direction, it was going to smell him any second now.

Tobias had dropped his pack and rifle in the grass at his first glimpse of movement in the distance. Now he reached out, grabbed his Winchester Model 70.

He gripped the forend stock and came up on his right elbow.

Settled in behind the scope.

It hadn’t been zeroed out in ages, and as the abby came into focus in the reticle, Tobias thought of all the times the scope had been jostled when he’d leaned the gun against a tree or thrown it down. All the rain and the snow that had beat the shit out of his weapon in his thousand-plus days in the wild.

He gauged its distance at two hundred yards now. Still a long shot, but its center mass loomed large in the crosshairs. He made a slight adjustment for the wind. His heart beating against the ground that was still cold from last night’s freeze. It had been weeks, months maybe, since his last encounter. He’d had ammo for his .357 then. God, he missed that gun. If he’d still had his revolver, he’d have stood up, shouted, let that beast come running at him.

Blown its brains out from close range.

He could see its heart pulsing in the crosshairs.

Pushed off the safety.

Touched his finger to the trigger.

He didn’t want to pull.

A gunshot out here would announce his presence to everything in a three-mile radius.

Thinking, Just let it pass, maybe it won’t see you.