gunfire. “Rifle,” he said under his breath. “Saw the reflection of the scope.”
The door opened again and Wendy stood there, wearing jeans and a bra. She didn’t speak, but her eyes were wide in surprise. Roland waved her back inside then rolled toward the door. Another shot plowed into the wood inches from his head, the bullet’s passage causing his ears to ring.
He scrambled through the door and was about to kick it closed when Gundersson fired twice, duck-walking backward a few steps before rolling into a ball and taking a tumbling somersault through the door.
Wendy slammed it shut behind him and leaned against the wall, breathing rapidly. “Ro?”
“I need answers,” Roland said to Gundersson.
“Do you need a scorecard?” Gundersson said. “Somebody found out, that’s all.”
The agent untangled his limbs on the floor. A red blotch had collected on the outside of his thigh, and Gundersson pressed against it with his palm. The effort didn’t stanch the flow much.
Roland snaked along the wall to Wendy and put his arm around her. She appeared to be catatonic, helpless and vulnerable. Just like in the Monkey House. “I thought they wanted us alive,” he said to Gundersson.
Gundersson rose, locking the door and limping to the nearest window. “I guess they changed their minds.”
Wendy stuttered as if wanting to say something, but Roland put a finger to her lips. “Shh. It’s going to be okay, baby.”
He thought about sending her upstairs, but she might be visible through the windows as she climbed the steps. The walls of the cabin were made of thick beams of yellow pine, so she was safer staying where she was.
“How many are there?” he asked Gundersson.
“Hard to tell. The shots came from two different locations, but they could have a backup so they can cut off any escape.”
Gundersson lifted away the curtain with the tip of his Glock, craning his neck to peer out.
“Pretty convenient, don’t you think?” Roland asked.
“What?” Gundersson was barely listening.
“Staging an attack so we would trust you.” Roland pointed his revolver at Gundersson, who didn’t notice. “But you made a mistake. You should have waited until Alexis and Mark got here.”
“Quit the goddamned crazy talk, Roland. They shot me in the fucking leg! My field director warned me that other agencies might be closing in. I just didn’t think they’d be hostile.”
“You guys are all on the same side to me. The wrong side.”
Gundersson must have heard the menace in Roland’s voice, because he finally turned. He might have said “Oh, shit” under his breath, or maybe he was wheezing in pain.
Wendy was moving behind him, but Roland didn’t dare move his gaze from Gundersson. The revolver was his one chance to control the situation.
God, grant me the wisdom to know the difference…
“Just tell me one thing,” Roland said. “Who is behind it?”
“We don’t know. My field director was checking into it, and that must have raised some eyebrows. It wouldn’t have been hard to track my location by satellite if you had the right gear.” Gundersson was talking fast but calmly, and Roland almost believed him. But people lied to save their necks. Roland knew all about that.
“According to our information, a rogue element-”
“Well, I’ve got some new information,” Roland said. “I have the formula for Seethe. The candy that everybody wants.”
Gundersson checked outside the window once more. Roland had to admire the guy. Here he was with a pistol pointed at him from six feet away, and he was acting more worried about the guns out there a hundred feet away. Gundersson gave a little nod that Roland didn’t understand, and then Roland’s head exploded in violent flares of electric yellow and solar-flare red.
The dull klung filled his skull like a funeral bell, and as he slumped to the floor, his last image was of Wendy, standing there in her bra, a black cast-iron skillet in her hand.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Wendy’s not answering,” Alexis said.
“Try again.” Mark had grown more edgy and hostile the deeper they’d penetrated into the Blue Ridge Mountains, and in the first light of dawn, Alexis was horrified by her husband’s appearance. He was unshaven and his hair was mussed, but it was his eyes that made him seem wild and dangerous. As she watched his face in the rearview, his eyes flitted from side to side, then to the back of Forsyth’s head, and then to hers in the mirror.
They’d passed several recreational entrances to the wilderness area, and the houses had thinned out accordingly as the asphalt turned to gravel. Alexis was afraid they might be lost.
Finally she came upon the unmarked side road that was little more than two ruts running through the forest. There were only two mailboxes at the intersection, one of them dented and missing its flap. She pulled up alongside the mailboxes and on one of them, hand painted, were the words “Roby Snow Rd.”
“This is it,” she said.
“Try them again,” Mark said.
She concentrated on punching the correct numbers, even though the reception was spotty and she only had half a bar of signal. Forsyth watched her with eyes like a vulture’s.
“Did you hear that?” Mark said.
Alexis, who had been intent on the ringing of the phone, shook her head. “What?”
“A gun.”
“Probably a hunter,” Forsyth offered. “This looks like Daniel Boone country.”
“Except hunting season ended four months ago.”
Alexis lost the signal, but seven rings had failed to get an answer. She dropped the phone in her purse. She glanced at her husband, who was hunched in the backseat. The Halcyon had not seemed to ease his condition, and she was afraid to lure him into trying another dose. Maybe Darrell Silver’s new formula wasn’t as new and improved as he’d promised.
“Do you think Roland and Wendy set us up?” Mark asked.
“They wouldn’t tell anyone,” Alexis said. “They have as much to lose as we do.”
“And as much to gain.”
“What should I do?”
“Drive.”
Alexis pulled forward, dodging the depressions and rocks in the road. The car jerked, slamming Forsyth against the door.
“Are you okay, Wallace?” Alexis asked him, slowing to about four miles per hour.
“‘And the Lord instructed the angels to pour out the seven vials upon the Earth,’” the old man muttered.
“You can take that as a yes,” Mark said. “He’s never been better.”
“I remember,” Forsyth said. “I remember the Monkey House. That’s when I had the vision.”
A second gunshot sounded. “They’re in trouble,” Mark said. “Speed up.”
The vegetation was thick on both sides of the road, waxy rhododendrons and laurels casting permanent shade. The trees were thick with green, and Alexis saw menace in their tangled branches, slowing the car to a hushed crawl.
She soon rounded a curve, swerving to avoid a large jagged stone, and ahead of them was a black SUV with tinted windows. It was pulled to the side of the logging road, two wheels in a ditch.
“Government license plate,” Mark said. “Looks like the bad guys got here first, Forsyth.”
Alexis braked to a stop. “Now what?”
Mark answered by racking a round into his Glock. “Now I go see what the hell’s going on. You stay here and keep an eye on our friend.”
“What if somebody comes?”
