He held his head in his hands and refused to weep. She’d gone off the deep end and there was nothing he could do about it. He sat up and stared at the ceiling. “Can she even be saved?”
12
Hatcher kept his eyes peeled for Missy as he drove back to the main station and attached the small utility trailer to the pickup. He loaded the two ATVs and all of the fuel cans before taking them back to the outpost.
He tucked the gas cans into the small outbuilding and parked the ATVs on either side. The entire time that he worked, he couldn’t help but wonder where he’d gone wrong with her. She seemed perfectly fine one moment, and the next she was angry at him and wouldn’t say why.
He tried to chalk it up to a generation gap, but something in his heart told him that wasn’t it. He drove the utility trailer back to the main station and dropped it where he’d found it.
He walked slowly towards the station, his eyes purposely avoiding the shattered window and the blood soaked gravel in the front. He pushed open the door and tried to see the station the way it had been and not the disheveled mess it was now.
He turned and pushed open the door to his office and took one last look around. Somehow, he knew that this was the last time he’d stand in the space.
He sat down quietly in his chair and smiled at the familiar squeak. He rifled through his desk and pulled out a handful of mementos. They were just little things that keyed specific memories for him, each one a reminder of when times were simpler—even if they didn’t feel that way at the moment.
He put a few into a small leather bag and stood from his chair. He reached across his desk and removed the last framed photo of him with his people then walked back out to the truck.
He tucked the things into the toolbox and gently shut the lid. As he climbed into the cab and started the engine, he had a sudden and peculiar feeling that things were never going to work out for him. His gut was telling him that this search was a lost cause. Maybe he just hadn’t been listening before. Perhaps Missy was right.
About everything.
If Shelly were alive, she’d have either returned to the station and settled in or she’d have made her way to the closest town to search for survivors.
He felt a familiar pang in his chest as he realized, she might well have returned to Texas. She could be anywhere in that huge state, and the odds of him finding her were slim to nothing.
As he pulled up to the outpost and shut off the engine, he also realized that she could even be anywhere in this park, and he’d likely never find her.
He suddenly felt drained of energy as he slid off of the seat and his feet hit the dusty ground. He shut the door and leaned against the truck, his eyes searching the shadows of the deep stands of trees surrounding him one more time. “Why couldn’t you have just left me a note, Shelly?”
He slapped the hood as he turned toward the little building. He had just stepped onto the wooden porch when the sound of an engine caught his attention. He turned and saw Missy’s Jeep returning.
Quickly.
Hatcher leaned against the porch post and sighed. “She’s still pissed.” He crossed his arms and watched as she slid in the loose gravel, the Jeep skidding to the side.
Missy’s eyes were wild as she leaned out of the doorless Jeep. “You gotta see this!”
Captain Hilliard listened as Andre explained their rationale for wanting the Fort Collins location. “And while I don’t know where the general intends to create his new community, the Colorado facility is closer than any other to Cheyenne Mountain.” Andre sat back and crossed his arms. “We could maintain radio communications with the base here and they could arrange for resupply drops when necessary.”
Hilliard nodded and closed the file. “You make a lot of really good points.” He glanced at Carol then back to Broussard. “But what of the samples you said could be had at Atlanta? Surely you wouldn’t expect soldiers to try to retrieve such deadly organisms.”
Andre shook his head. “I’ve already spoken with Dr. Benedict and Dr. McDonald. Both are willing to retrieve the viable samples from Atlanta and transport them back to Fort Collins.”
Hilliard blanched and looked around the lab. “Benedict? He’s the Zed, right?”
Broussard bristled then cleared his throat. “Yes, he is the cured professor of genetics who has assisted us.”
Hilliard sighed heavily and lowered his voice. “Can you really trust somebody who was…one of them?”
Carol rolled her eyes. “While we can’t be certain what may or may not have occurred while he was infected, we can be certain that Dr. Benedict has been more than helpful since he returned with us to the mountain complex.” She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. “If you need us to, we’ll both vouch for him.”
Hilliard shook off her offer. “I just don’t feel comfortable with him.”
“Give him a spray tan and a three piece suit and he could pass for any professor at any given university,” Broussard stated. “Don’t let appearances detract from his abilities.”
“Of course,” Hilliard added quickly. “I was just thinking aloud.”
“The staff at the facility will be left to me, oui?”
Hilliard nodded. “Of course.”
“Then he is with us.” He nodded towards the lab. “As are the rest of the staff here.”
“Minus Higgins,” Hilliard added.
“Correct,” Carol stated. “The man would cause more problems than—”
“Say no more, doctor.” Hilliard held a hand up. “I’ll take this to the general and let him know. I doubt there will be any kickback from him or his office. For now, prepare your people to assume responsibilities at
