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now? Look at us sitting here. Look at where we are. I took two slugs in the back, Sammie took one in the gut, and hell, I don’t know how many times the Queen Bee plugged you. We killed people; god only knows how many others are dead. Thousands?” He looked over his shoulder at the scorched earth. “And there’s this deal. So pardon me if I ask whether you’re planning on dying again. I think it’s a pretty sensible question.”

Jamie couldn’t help himself. Despite everything that happened, the horrors he witnessed, the impossible obstacle he overcame, and the uncertain future crawling inside his skin, Jamie laughed. He was embarrassed as the chuckles crossed his lips, but the absurdity of Michael’s question offered a perverted sense of amusement. A part of him said this was OK, that he should give himself a fleeting moment to be thankful.

“The point is,” Sammie said, “we’re alive.” She lifted herself up from her perch and stared out upon the creek, rifle slung over her shoulder. “It’s over, and we’re still alive. So many people didn’t …” She choked back her tears. “We saved each other. Nothing else matters, Coop. We’re here.”

Jamie’s eyes latched upon the creek.

“I’m thirsty,” he said. “I’m so damn thirsty.”

They realized they had something else in common and made their way down the rock face to the edge of the clear water, which glistened in the sun, untouched by the blast. Jamie cupped his hands and drank. He felt the exhaustion of the past eight hours rising to bring him down. When they got their fill, they sat by the water’s edge until Michael asked the obvious question.

“What do we do now?”

“We have to move soon,” Sammie said. “The military will have this area cordoned off before long. I’m sure of it. They’ll use satellites to figure out where the blast began.”

She and Michael debated the possibilities. They assumed the government would blame the disaster on terrorists and connect it with what happened at the police station. If the three of them returned, Sammie concluded, the police and the military would be out for blood. Michael decided that meant one thing: They were screwed six ways to Sunday.

“Are we?” Sammie asked. “Think about it, guys. There’s a good chance they found Daddy’s GPS and were tracking us. They had to know we were in this general area. But the explosion happened fifteen minutes ago, and we haven’t heard a single helicopter or plane. I don’t think they’re too concerned about us anymore.”

Michael nodded. “They think we’re dead.”

“Just like all the others,” Jamie said.

“Not many folks in these parts. If it didn’t stretch too far …”

He fell silent as they studied the distant edge of the cloud.

Sammie said they could use this as cover to slip away, but Jamie wasn’t listening. Their entire conversation seemed like a distant echo. Rather, his eyes focused on the sparkling sunlight dancing upon the creek. He reached in and scooped water, which dribbled through his fingers.

The water became like a mirror upon which Jamie saw all his memories battling for space against his overwhelming and newfound knowledge of time itself. He heard the words of those who ever tried to protect him and felt the bile of those turned against him. He heard the cries of people not far away who lost loved ones in the past few hours and of those who now bore witness to the horror of a chunk of Earth having been tossed into the heavens. He felt the defiance and commitment of billions of people in another universe who demanded change and threatened armed rebellion against overwhelming odds.

The cascade of images and sounds would have remained an impossible jigsaw if not for Jamie’s ability to focus upon the desperation he saw in the eyes of three beaten humans: Ben Sheridan, Walt Huggins, and Agatha Bidwell. They staked their lives on Jamie’s destiny, and he was the last person any of them saw. He never imagined having a life of such value, where men and women who should have been of much greater worth sacrificed themselves over the likes of an angry, confused kid in a town hardly anyone knew existed.

He was not that boy anymore.

Jamie returned inside the skin of the last person he encountered, pushed his way past Agatha Bidwell’s dogged obsession, and saw the truth. He saw it in a way that Walt’s arrogance only hinted at and which Lydia’s smug superiority confirmed. And then, Jamie listened to the words of two adults whose voices echoed across the universes and without whom none of this would have been possible.

He saw the truth, and it saw him.

Jamie jumped to his feet, interrupting Sammie and Michael’s debate. He stretched his hand toward Sammie.

“We can’t stay here,” he said with calm precision. “And we can’t ever go back. There’s nothing we can say they’ll believe. When they got nobody else to blame, they’ll come after us.”

When Michael reached his feet, he said, “Uh, yeah. OK. They’re gonna pepper us about that police station business, but we ain’t terrorists.”

“Doesn’t matter, Coop. I can …” Jamie hesitated, not sure how to explain his sudden revelation. “I can feel what’s happening. Everybody else we knew is dead, and they’ll need somebody to blame. Coop, I’m sorry. I wanted more than anything to get you back home safely. But I’m not gonna see you shut up in prison the rest of your days.”

Michael swallowed. “I’m down with that. Where can we be safe?”

Jamie wrapped an arm around Sammie. He knew they were bonded in a way neither of them ever predicted.

“No place close,” he told Michael. “Where I’ve got to go.”

Michael sighed. “OK. Well. That don’t exactly clear up much, but hey …” He kicked at the water’s edge. “Why not? What’s another big adventure with my No. 1

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