M Banner - Silo - Hope's Return

“And?”

“Craven said he’s almost ready. Just needs to know when and where.”

“That’ll depend on what your source has for us. Any word from him?”

“No, but I get the feeling he’s close. Said he’s been working on it 24/7, whatever that means.”

“Good, because we need to get Phase Two moving. The opportunity is now.”

“I’ll reach out again. I’m sure he’s anxious for more fuel.”

“He sure burns through a lot for one guy.”

“I’m guessing he’s not alone.”

Fletcher agreed. “Probably not.”

“But then again, he’s not exactly a Chatty Cathy when it comes to anything outside of business.”

“Nor should he be. We all need to tighten things up. It’s a new world out there.”

“In more ways than one.”

Fletcher snorted after a smirk, taking a moment to consider the situation surrounding all that was happening. “Between that crazy son of a bitch in The Factory and your elusive recluse, we are relying on some pretty interesting characters. Not the soundest plan by any stretch.”

“That’s putting it mildly, boss. They’re more like a couple of complete psychos.”

“But necessary psychos.”

“If you say so.”

“You know what they say: gotta dance with partner you bring to the party,” Fletcher said, slapping Dice on the back.

“Talk about an old saying from the way back machine.”

“Yeah, but it still fits, even if we aren’t talking about some skanky slut in a tight dress.”

“Been there, done that if you know what I mean.”

Dice gave Fletcher a fist bump. “That I do, my friend. That I do.”

A pause hung in the air until Fletcher decided to speak again. “I’m afraid it’s time to pick our command team.”

The look on Dice’s face turned sour. “I figured as much.”

“We need to be one-hundred-percent sure of each and every one.”

“Agreed. I’d start with Sketch for sure, plus a few other guys I have in mind.”

Fletcher knew where Dice was going with the conversation. “The hunting party—”

“Absolutely,” Dice said before letting out a prideful smile.

“One of the perks, when you keep the freezer full.”

Dice laughed. “Even though we both know that isn’t tough, by any stretch.”

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Fletcher quipped, letting a chuckle free from his lips.

Dice rolled his eyes, with a full-on grin smothering his face. “More like stabbing corpses in the morgue. Freezer burn notwithstanding.”

“I like that better.”

Dice raised an eyebrow. “Which part? The morgue or the freezer burn?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, they both apply when you think about it.”

“Anyone else?”

Dice ran his hand across his chin for a few beats. “I’d also toss Boone into the mix, and that little wiggler, Pepper.”

“Damn, he’s annoying.”

“And then some. But I think he’s a stand-up guy. Plus, I know for a fact he hated Frost.”

“What about the Indian?”

“Longbow?” Dice asked.

“He seems capable. I hear he’s one hell of a tracker and can sling a blade.”

“That’s the word in camp, though I haven’t had a chance to vet the claims yet. He’s relatively new.”

“Either way, that’s got to be a plus. Not much time to form a loyalty to our old boss.”

Dice nodded, his eyes pinching a bit. “I’ll feel him out.”

“Make it quick, though.”

“You got it.”

“Any more?”

“No. That’s about it off of the top of my head.”

“Then everyone else will need to go,” Fletcher said, having to force the words from his lips. It was the last thing he wanted to say, but there was no other way. There couldn’t be any doubt about what came next.

“I’ll arrange it.”

“Just make it seem legit. Then we can move forward with that business out of the way.”

“Should we use Craven again?”

Fletcher gave Dice a single head nod. “Worked once. It’ll work again.”

“Will do, boss.”

Zimmer followed Krista through the door leading into the medical bay, where they found Summer sitting in a visitor’s chair between two stainless steel medical tables. Her shoulders were only inches from both tables with her head hanging low in a slump of frizzy hair.

Zimmer could just see her eyes. They were trained on her lap and dripping with tears.

Liz was in the corner of the room with her back to the entrance, her hands fiddling with a glass vial near the prep station covered in medical supplies.

Krista cut in front of Zimmer and headed to where Liz stood in her traditional white lab coat.

Zimmer continued straight, stopping at the foot of the closest stainless-steel table.

A ratty-looking German shepherd lay on its side with its eyes closed. Some of its golden fur had been covered in a bloody wrap, though most of the redness looked dark and dry. There was a portion of it glistening a brighter red.

At first Zimmer thought the animal was dead, then he noticed its chest taking in air in short, rapid bursts.

Summer had hold of one of its front paws, her thumb stroking it from side to side in a measured rhythm.

Her other arm was outstretched in the opposite direction, reaching across the narrow space to the other table that contained a body under a sheet.

The face of the victim was covered but Zimmer knew who it was. Or more accurately, he knew what it was—Edison’s corpse.

The fingers on Summer’s left hand were intertwined with the Professor’s as his lifeless arm hung below the edge of the table. The man’s skin was a pale white.

Zimmer bent down to get a better view of the girl’s face, hoping to catch her attention. He waved his hand in the path of her eyes, but she never looked up or blinked, her focus remaining transfixed on her legs. He could see her lips moving with purpose but no words were coming out.

Zimmer cleared his throat. “You okay, Summer?”

She stopped her lips, then brought her head up and made eye contact. She didn’t respond, only shaking her head with streaks of tears on her face.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Once again, Summer shook her head in silence, her eyes holding his with a glazed look.

If she hadn’t just been appointed the new leader of Nirvana, Zimmer might have been more forceful with his attempt to connect with her.

Instead, he took a step back and turned, making a path to Krista and Liz at the prep station.

When Zimmer arrived, he caught the tail end of a phrase that Krista had just said: “—had your training, maybe I could have done something.”

Liz gave Krista a short hug, then pulled back, looking less like a doctor and more like a friend. “The blade severed his carotid artery. There was nothing anyone could’ve done, short of having a vascular surgeon on standby in a trauma center.”

“But you could have saved him, right?”

“I’m afraid not. That’s beyond my abilities. At least he passed with friends around him. That’s all anyone can ask for. It wasn’t your fault, Krista. Trust me on this.”

“I appreciate the kind words, Liz, but he’s dead because I failed. Me. Nobody else.”

Zimmer decided to interrupt the pity party to see if he could change the subject to something a little more productive. He pointed at the canine on the table. “Excuse me, Doc. Do you really think we should be wasting valuable resources on some junkyard dog?”

“His name is Sergeant Barkley and he’s no junkyard dog,” Summer said from her seat. “And yes, we are saving him.”

“That’s a big-time waste,” Zimmer said, peering first at Summer, then at Liz and Krista. Surely one of the last two would back his stance.