Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
McClain looks away. “We had a close professional relationship. She was a force in the scientific community. Nothing lit her up like talking about her family, though.”
Hearing that makes me warm and cold at the same time. I’ve accepted that my parents are gone, but their loss is still an ache I think will always be part of me.
“Do you know how she died?” I hold my breath, wanting to know and not wanting to in equal measure.
“I know it was quick and painless.” When he looks at me, I’m taken aback by the sadness and regret etched into his lean, lined face.
“Did you do it?”
“No. Absolutely not. I tried to save her. It just wasn’t enough.”
There’s a small sliver of peace in knowing she didn’t suffer. “So it wasn’t the virus, then? She was deliberately killed?”
Shame floods his expression. “Yes. And it’s too little, too late, but I am deeply sorry for your loss. She was endlessly proud of you and your sister and she loved your father with everything in her.” He clears his throat. “I need to get back to work.”
He turns away, and I swallow back my tears. I knew it wasn’t the virus that killed my parents, but McClain’s confirmation that they were murdered stokes the fire of anger inside me.
I keep my fury simmering, doing what I have to do to survive and find a way off the island—and I will find a way. Once I’m back in striking distance of Soren Whitman and the men who follow him, I’ll let the flames flare and spread until they consume every one of them.
12
“You missed your last two check-ins. I’m worried. Contact me as soon as it’s safe to do so.” - Decoded message from ILF handler Hiro Tanaka to ILF undercover operative Nightingale
Six Years Ago
Briar
Something is very wrong. I switch from jogging to a full-on sprint, my gaze flying around the yard of my parents’ home.
The grass is wildly overgrown. Mom’s prized dahlias are browned and drooping from neglect. The bungalow my parents have lovingly been restoring for almost twenty-five years looks like it did when I left for my internship more than two months ago, but they’d never let their yard and flowers look this way.
I stop in the driveway, catching my breath. Getting here was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m down to one bullet, and I’ve only been moving between three a.m. and seven a.m. to conserve it.
It’s taken me more than a month to get here, traveling only on foot and staying as hidden as I can. John joined a bigger group of survivors around a week into our trip, and I’ve been on my own since.
I key in the code to open the garage door, then slip inside and close it. The gun my dad gave me is clutched in my right hand, as always. Even when I’m sleeping, it’s there. I almost died when three men confronted me and it was buried in my backpack—I’ll never make that mistake again.
The terror that swam through me when one of them dragged me into the woods is still there. It walks beside me every day, and sometimes it even crawls inside my chest, making everything heavier.
My dad saved my life. Without his relentless training, I wouldn’t have been able to escape the man trying to rip my clothes off while his friends ransacked my bag. I disarmed him, broke his neck, and used his weapon to fire a bullet in the brains of each of his friends.
Being in the garage with my dad’s pegboard of gardening tools and his prized pickup truck makes me choke back tears. Both of my parents’ vehicles are here, which doesn’t feel right.
From everything I’ve seen and heard in the past month, I’m terrified I’m going to discover their bodies inside. The virus that hit the world out of nowhere was airborne, and it decimated the population.
There aren’t many people left, and many survivors are trying to capitalize on the devastation. I quickly learned to avoid populated areas with grocery stores. The power grid went down while I was still on the island for my internship. It took out cellular service. Looting and hoarding are rampant.
I was able to grab several boxes of protein bars from a tiny gas station, and I’ve been living on them. The water-filtering straw I had in my pack means I can drink from any stream or lake I find.
Though I’ve met my basic needs, I’m exhausted in every way. I need to find my family so I’m not doing this alone anymore.
When I walk into the house, I sigh with relief to see the kitchen looks like it always has. Mom’s potted herbs line the shelf above the sink, wilted. The wood cutting board Dad made sits on the counter, probably waiting for him to oil it.