“Weapons.” Simon pointed with the pistol. “There. Now.”
Jake and Tommy dumped their weapons to the ground and Simon raised a brow at them. “All of ‘em, assholes. Even nail clippers if you got ‘em.”
Tommy gave him a confused look. “Nailclippers?”
“If the TSA won’t let you carry ‘em on a plane, you damned sure ain’t having ‘em.” Simon nodded toward the small pile. “Now.”
A crowd was beginning to form as people streamed out of their campers. Simon looked through the crowd. “Hammer, send somebody to check our sentries.”
“They’re fine,” Tommy replied. “We went around them.”
“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.” Simon barked. “Go. If they’re okay, bring them back.”
He sat down in his folding chair and kept his gun leveled on Trent. “Court is in session, motherfucker.”
22
Hatcher slowed the truck as the familiar sign announcing the park came into view. He actually got choked up and felt his chest tighten with anticipation as he turned the big diesel towards the boundary.
He felt his mouth go dry as familiar landmarks came and went in the early morning light. His hands began to sweat and he wiped them nervously against his jeans.
He glanced at the fuel gage and smiled. That reserve tank in the bed made all the difference in the world. He had to force himself to slow down for the curves on the winding road as he stared out at the land that was once like home to him.
He slowed the truck to a stop and let the morning breeze blow through the windows. The air just smelled different here. Even with the grand majority of the human population gone and the air pollution minimized everywhere, the air at Yellowstone just smelled sweeter.
He slowly rolled the truck forward, feeling lighter than he had in months. “Hi honey, I’m home,” he muttered as more familiar sights rolled by.
Hatcher navigated the park roads and continued driving, pointing the big truck towards the Ranger Station that had been the largest part of his adult life. He slowed for the curves, avoided the stray boulders that the military had scattered; the smaller, downed trees he drove right over. The larger ones he went around.
He had almost forgotten just how long the drive to the office was as he worked deeper inside the park. The park that was, for all intents and purposes, ground zero for the near extinction level event that wiped out the majority of mankind.
He could feel his anxiety levels rise as he drew closer to the station. He slowed the big truck as he crested the last hill and turned the curve that he knew led directly beside the office. He stopped and shut off the engine, his eyes taking in the abandoned military vehicles and the trash that still blew across the gravel parking lot.
Hatcher felt a twinge of regret that the pristine beauty of the place was lost now. Covered in debris and trash and human remains, it would never be the same.
He walked cautiously toward the office and stared at the front doors left ajar. A quick glance to the ground told him that nobody had been there in a while. The dirt and gravel scattered across the entrance looked as if it had been there for months.
He pushed the door slightly, listening intently for sounds of movement inside. He could feel gravel crunch under the door as he peered inside. His hand hovered over his pistol as he stuck his head in farther.
Dank and stale air greeted him.
“Hello?” He strained his ears to listen; the only sound was his own heartbeat thumping in his ears.
He pushed the door open further and stepped inside. The crunch of rocks between his boots and the concrete floor echoed through the empty station.
He turned to the right and saw his office door still open. He shoved his pistol firmly into his holster and pushed his way inside. He wiped a finger along the edge of his desk and grimaced at the film.
Hatcher sighed and slowly sat in his old chair, remembering the creaking sound it made as he leaned back. He closed his eyes and smiled, memories of a better time flooding his brain. Before the world ate itself. A time when his friends were still alive and just a radio call away.
He swiveled the chair side to side a bit, enjoying the familiar squeak. He sat up suddenly and cleared a thick wetness from his throat, quickly sniffing back the unshed tears. He came to his feet. His eyes shot directly above his desk, and he reached out for the framed photo. He plucked it from the wall and wiped the dirt from the glass.
Mitch and Shelly were both smiling back at him. He ran his finger along the familiar faces and paused at his own. “Was I ever that young?” He snickered to himself as he tucked the photo under his arm and walked back out to the truck. He set the frame in the passenger seat then opened the rear doors. He reached for a box and hefted it. As he turned back and saw the station again, he felt a tear finally break free and run down his cheek.
“Yeah,” he sniffed. “I’m home.”
Dr. Benedict stepped back and rubbed at his eyes. “Forgive me. Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my glasses.”
“Readers?” Carol asked.
“Prescription,” he replied. “I’ll make do.” He turned back to the microscope and adjusted it once more. “I’m afraid I have to concur with your original findings. There’s something in the blood that reacts to any changes you make.”
Carol gave him a knowing look. “Andre thinks that their behavior mimics a psychedelic.” She raised a brow. “He postulates that their bodies are creating it, whatever ‘it’ is. He wants to treat them with minor doses of LSD.”
William rubbed at his chin and studied the woman strapped to the table. “He’s thinking the treatment would
