Chapter Twenty-Two 5 page

When she got fifteen feet from them, they both smiled. Zoe’s eyes were panicked, and the mask on her face dented in and out with her rapid breathing.

“Drop the rifle,” Miguel said in Spanish.

Fetch stopped in front of them and threw the rifle at their feet.

“Where are the other hostages?” Miguel asked.

“Somewhere safe,” Fetch replied calmly. If she told them the virus had killed them, she’d have nothing to buy time or bargain with. She hoped Zoe would catch on.

“Where?”

“Fuck you.”

As he approached, glowering at her, Miguel took her own Glock out of his waistband and shoved the end of it against her mouth. “I shoot you in your dirty mouth.”

“I die, and you never find the others.”

“We will. We found you.”

“Maybe,” Fetch said. “But you could be looking for a long time.”

His face went red. “Tell me! They must be near. You would not leave them.”

“Fuck you.” Fetch hoped she could convince him she wouldn’t reveal where the others were.

Miguel backhanded her with the butt of the gun in his fist. Fetch stumbled, but rapidly resumed her position in front of him. She spat blood at him, and it splattered across his mask. He was about to hit her again when the other rebel, the one holding Zoe, stopped him with a grunt.

“Who do you work for, Medica?” Miguel demanded. “Santos?” he asked. “You betray us for that pig?”

Fetch didn’t answer. Let him think she worked for the Colombian president.

The soldier took that as a yes and kicked her leg. Fetch collapsed to her knees.

“Where are the others?”

“Somewhere in the jungle.”

Miguel looked to the one holding Zoe, who was clearly his superior. The other nodded, and Miguel pulled Fetch up by the front of her shirt. He stuck the Glock in his waistband and, without warning, punched her in the face.

If she fought back, they’d kill her instantly and take Zoe back to camp. So she took the blows, as Miguel punched her until the pain dulled. She stayed on her feet only because Miguel still held her shirt, but soon she couldn’t support her head, and it lolled to one side. Somewhere in the darkness of her mind, she could hear Zoe screaming.

“Do whatever you want to me, I don’t care,” Zoe shouted. “Just leave her alone!”

“Look away, Zoe,” was all Fetch managed before Miguel punched her again.

If she talked now, told them what had happened to the others, the men would take them both back to camp and continue a long, slow torture until they died. She could not, and would not, put Zoe through that. She’d promised Zoe she’d get her out of there, and she would. Somehow. Fetch sank more with every punch.

Finally, Miguel let go of her shirt and she fell to the ground, choking on her own blood. She could hardly see from the swelling around her eyes.

“Gianna, please,” Zoe screamed. “They’ll kill you. My God, your face.”

“I’m okay.” Her mouth ached, every word an effort.

“If you don’t care about your own life, Medica, maybe you care about hers,” the senior rebel said. “Get up.”

Fetch slowly made it to her knees and struggled to stand.

“Bring her here,” the second rebel said to Miguel.

Miguel shoved Fetch forward, until she and Zoe stood side by side.

“So,” the soldier in charge said, “here are the options.” He spoke casually, as if about to announce the day’s menu. “One.” He stuck his index finger in front of her face. “You tell us where the others are. Or, two…” He stuck up another finger, “you watch me kill the Brit and then shoot you in your lying mouth. It’s your decision.” He shrugged and walked to stand behind them.

Fetch assessed their predicament and how she might get them out of it in seconds. She instantly analyzed how she might use her martial arts and combat skills to take advantage of their proximity, body positions, the terrain, and even the particular weapons used against them. The EOO had prepared her well, and she’d learned much for herself as a soldier.

Zoe was to her left, three feet away.

Miguel now stood ten feet in front of them. He held his old Chinese 308, a semiautomatic copied from the M14, at chest level, pointed in their direction, his hand on the trigger. But he had the cocky, relaxed posture of one certain his captives wouldn’t try or be capable of doing anything to escape. Fetch’s rifle was on the ground at his feet, and her Glock was in his waistband.

The one in command, covering them from the rear with a Russian AK-47 assault rifle, was left-handed, and he’d set the selector lever on the weapon to the full-automatic position.

“So?” the one in charge said in Spanish. “Where are they?”

The cold end of the rifle jabbed the back of Fetch’s neck, but she didn’t respond.

“Pity to kill her, no?” the man said next. Fetch turned her head slightly, so she could see in her peripheral vision the same action repeated against Zoe’s neck. “But I…” he went on, poking Fetch again, “will be glad…” Zoe’s turn, “to kill you both…” Fetch again. Both men laughed.

The men were only toying with them; they would follow Barriga’s orders. Zoe was still very valuable to them, especially since she was the only hostage they had found, so they probably wouldn’t kill her. The chief would reward them for showing up with her. But they, and others, would most likely rape Zoe or punish her in various ways for escaping.

As to Fetch’s future, Barriga might have ordered them to shoot her immediately, or he might want them to bring her back to him alive so he could torture her for information about her alliance with the president before he killed her himself. One thing was certain. The guerrillas would not go all the way back to camp if they thought the other hostages were nearby.

“Perhaps,” the rebel behind her said, moving closer to caress the right side of her face with the barrel of the AK-47, “we fuck you both before we kill you.” His breath was rancid.

“Or after,” Miguel said, and they both laughed again.

During this moment of relaxed laughter Fetch sprang into action, targeting the guerrilla behind them first. In one fluid motion, she brought her right elbow back hard, dislodging the man’s grip from his trigger hand as she grabbed the barrel resting on her shoulder with her left hand. Within a split second, she had pulled the rifle forward and held it. She shot Miguel in the face before he could get a shot off, then slammed the butt end of the rifle against the shocked face of the rebel behind. He reeled backward, stunned but still a threat.

Fetch pointed the AK-47 at him and said, “You forgot option number three,” wiping the blood from her mouth with her left shoulder. “The option where we go home and you rot in hell.”

The guerrilla smiled up at her. “Shoot, puta. What are you waiting for?”

“Get up.” Fetch handed the rifle to Zoe.

The man didn’t waste any time getting to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Zoe asked.

Fetch walked up to the guerrilla. “Don’t get me wrong. “You’re going to die today, but on my terms.” She punched him in the face, and when he tried to fight back, she furiously deflected every blow with her hands and forearms and kept punching until he was exhausted. One more blow in the stomach, and he bent over, wheezing. She kicked him in the face and he fell on his back.

“Get up. I’m not done.” The man didn’t move. “Come on, you couldn’t wait to stick your dick in me a few minutes ago. What happened?”

The guerrilla slowly rolled over onto his stomach to get up. “I’m going to kill you, puta,” he grumbled.

Fetch stood over him and stomped his spine hard with her boot. Then she kneeled, a leg on either side of his back. Bending forward until her face was close to his, she said, “No. I’m going to kill you.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. “Did you really think you would fuck her? No one touches her.” With one swift twist, she broke his neck.

She got up and retrieved her M14 and her Glock from Miguel’s body. “Let’s go,” she said to Zoe without looking at her. “If more are out there, they heard the shot.”

Chapter Thirty

Zoe watched from behind, still trembling, as Gianna cleared the way ahead. She limped, but Zoe didn’t know how the woman was still standing after that beating, let alone how she’d managed to overcome both rebels and be able to keep going, her injuries not seeming to hamper her. Zoe wanted to ask if she was all right, if she was in pain, but Gianna wouldn’t even look at her. She knew soldiers were trained to fight, but she’d never realized women were capable of such brutal strength and bravery. If she wasn’t still half in shock, she’d be even more impressed by Gianna’s pure power and controlled rage. But why, when Gianna could have shot the second guerrilla, hadn’t she? Why did she have to fight and kill him with her bare hands?

“We should stop and take care of your face,” Zoe dared suggest in a low voice.

“No need,” Gianna replied curtly. “No time for that.”

“This is all my fault. If I’d stayed where you told me, this would have never happened.”

“They were already following us. Just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s my job to know,” Gianna shot back. “No more talking.”

They walked without pause until the sun was about to set, not even stopping to remove food from their packs. Both reacted to every sound and shadow, and the constant alertness, nonstop marching, and lack of nourishment was quickly draining Zoe’s reserves. Gianna was slowing down, too.

Finally, in an area of dense vegetation, Gianna stopped in a spot with a level patch of moss wide enough to accommodate them and their gear. “We should eat and rest for a while,” she said. Still avoiding eye contact, she dropped her backpack and rifle and sat on the ground.

Zoe opted for a fallen tree trunk.

“Not there,” Gianna said. “Stay low.”

Zoe complied and sat next to her. Gianna’s face was badly bruised and swollen. Her bottom lip was split in two places, and both her eyes were nearly shut. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.” Gianna dug in her bag, opened a can of beans, and poured some into her mouth. Her hands were swollen and bruised as well, the knuckles bloodied and raw.

Zoe got a can from her bag and started to eat, lifting the edge of her mask just enough to do so. “Why didn’t you just shoot him?” she finally asked.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I don’t care. The arsehole deserved it.”

Gianna looked at her, surprise on her face. “Sometimes,” she said, “shooting someone isn’t enough.”

“Why not?”

“Because they deserve worse. They deserve to hurt as much as they hurt another.”

“But why him?” Zoe asked. “The other guy hurt you.”

“I know.” Gianna looked away. “But he was the one who…who touched you.”

“You broke his neck because he smacked me? That’s nothing compared to what happened to you.” She raked her hand through her hair. “Christ, Gianna. He hardly touched me and you risked your life for that?”

“I didn’t risk anything. He didn’t stand a chance.”

“No, he didn’t. I’ve never met a woman like you. Even a man wouldn’t have survived that beating, let alone beat the crap out of another man like that. You seemed to black out for a while.”

Gianna shrugged. “He didn’t have the right to touch you.”

“The last time I saw that look in your eyes was when the guerrilla attacked me by the river.”

Gianna poured some more beans into her mouth and chewed slowly. “I’m sorry if I scare you,” she finally said.

“You don’t. I know you’d never hurt me. But you don’t have to get yourself beat up just because someone—”

“He touched your body.”

Zoe didn’t know what to say. Yes, it had been horrible, and she’d also thought the two soldiers intended to rape her but…they hadn’t.

“That bastard pulled your sweats off. He had no right.” The muscles in Gianna’s bruised jaw tightened. “No one touches you like that, Zoe. No one, ever again.”

Zoe hunched in front of Gianna and looked into her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “But I don’t want you getting hurt…or worse, just to defend my honor. If it meant keeping us both alive I would’ve let him—” she couldn’t bring herself to use the word rape— “have me.”

“I’ll kill anyone who tries.” Gianna’s mouth twitched, and the muscles in her jaw bunched again. “You have no idea what that does to a woman. I’ve seen it enough to know. In war, horrible things go on. I can’t let that happen to you.”

Zoe pressed her lips to Gianna’s forehead. “You’re a remarkable woman,” she whispered.

Gianna tried to pull away, but Zoe stopped her by putting her palm very gently against her bruised cheek. “Let me reward your chivalry by cleaning you up.”

Gianna relaxed into her touch and nodded her consent.

Once she’d tended to Gianna with medical supplies from her backpack, they finished their food and were soon pushing their way through the jungle again toward the safe house.

Frankfurt, Germany

October 25

Luka wiped the blood from her chin and remained frozen in front of the bathroom mirror. How could she tell Hayley, and how could she die now that they were starting a new family? Was it meant to be? Had some higher power made her decide to create a child, to leave a part of her behind before she left this life? If true, it was life’s pathetic attempt at consolation. She exited the bathroom and sat on the bed, vacant of emotions and filled with a million thoughts.

She’d tried to ignore how feverish and headachy she’d felt that morning, though she’d been even more careful to keep a distance from Misha and ensure they both always had their masks on. Earlier that day, they’d been to the wrecker company that had hauled away the suspect’s car and discovered two pinholes in the brake lines. It confirmed what they suspected—that the pseudo cleaning woman been silenced for her part in the virus conspiracy—but they had no clues to who might have done it.

They planned to conduct another search of the woman’s apartment after they had some dinner, but not long after Misha left for the deli down the street, Luka began to cough up blood. She’d undeniably come down with the virus.

She had to call Monty, tell him she could no longer work this mission. Not with Misha this close. She couldn’t take the risk of infecting a stranger, never mind someone she loved. But where would she go? Was there a place to wait for death that didn’t include loved ones? Hospitals were full and could do nothing for her anyway. Maybe Monty had a place for her at the EOO.

Misha would be back soon. Luka had to make that phone call while she was still alone. She dialed the EOO number and was put through to Joanne Grant.

“Domino?”

“I’m sick. And I can’t go home. I need a place to stay until…”

Joanne was silent for a long time and when she spoke her voice was hoarse. “I’ll make arrangements and call you back with details.” Luka heard her sniffling. “Is Allegro…”

“She’s fine as far as I know.”

“Have you told Hayley?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll work that out when you get here. Be at the Frankfurt Air Base as soon as possible. I’ll have transport waiting.”

She’d just disconnected when Misha walked in carrying two plastic bags of Chinese takeaway. “The deli was clo— What’s wrong?”

Luka rubbed her face. “I’m, uh…I’m sick, Misha.”

Misha dropped the bags and started toward her, but Luka raised her hand to keep her at a distance. “Don’t. Stay away from me.”

“Screw that,” Misha said. “I have the God damn mask on.” She sat on the bed next to Luka. Neither spoke for a long time. “Are you sure?” Misha asked finally.

“Coughing blood, fever, headache. I’m sure.”

Misha bent over, with her elbows on her knees, and ran her fingers manically through her hair. “Fuck.”

“I’m leaving for the air base soon. Talked to Joanne. She said they’ll make arrangements for me to stay somewhere until—”

Misha shot up. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say it.”

Luka stood and walked to the window. Rain was beating against it and Luka traced the drops as they glided down the glass. “Maybe I was meant to leave a child behind.”

“Stop it!” Misha shouted. “You’re not going to… It won’t happen.”

“Chances are it will, Misha.” Luka jumped and turned around when she heard a crash. Misha had thrown the bedside lamp across the room.

“Fuck.” Misha slumped onto the floor, her back against the bed. She dropped her head and sat crying silently, her shoulders shaking as she tried to muffle the sound with her hand.

Luka sat on the floor across from her. She wanted to put her arm around her friend, her confidant. The woman who for years had been her only family. They had laughed and cried, fallen and risen, and survived bullets and free falls because they had each other. And, most of all, Misha had always managed to make her laugh when her life had made her cry. She put her hand on Misha’s knee.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Misha said, her attention focused on the carpet between her legs.

“Misha…”

“No.”

Luka squeezed her knee. “Okay, then let’s work with probabilities and scenarios.”

When Misha didn’t fight her, she said, “If anything happens to me, I want you to take good care of yourself.” Luka laughed softly. “I want you to be a bit less…reckless.”

Misha didn’t answer.

“For Kris’s sake as well. I don’t know why she puts up with you, lunatic, but she loves you to death.” Luka kidded to lighten the atmosphere. “Will you do that for me?”

“Whatever,” Misha mumbled, picking at the seam of her jeans.

“Is that a yes?”

“I guess.”

“And I need you to do one more thing.”

“Should it be necessary, right?”

“Right.” Luka took a deep breath to brace herself. These were the hardest words to speak. “I want you to take care of Hayley and the baby, if there is one.”

“Does she know?”

“No. Not yet.”

Misha finally looked up at her, the tears running freely down her face. “I’ll take care of them. I promise,” she managed between sobs, her whole body shaking. She threw herself into Luka’s arms, and Luka held her tight.

“I love you, lunatic,” Luka said, as she cried on her shoulder.

“I love you too, freak,” Misha replied as she kissed Luka on the temple.

Colorado

October 25

Cassady Monroe woke from her post-sex dozing and rolled over to find Jack still asleep on the other side of her queen-sized bed. She was lying on her back, her face serene. She hadn’t had any nightmares for the last few weeks. A good sign, she hoped, that Jack was making peace with her past and finding reasons to look forward to the future, despite the recent crisis.

The world pandemic had turned their lives upside down. Jack was forced to leave her job when the virus reached New York. Countless there had died, including many of the troubled children she was working with. She and Jack had retreated to Cassady’s house outside Colorado Springs, where the death toll was still low, but rising. They avoided going out unless absolutely necessary, and Cassady kept up to date on the crisis through frequent calls to headquarters.

Cassady shifted to nestle against Jack, resting her head in the crook of Jack’s shoulder. Jack stirred, embracing her closer. They lay silent in bed, each apparently lost in thought. When they made love today they had done more than express their feelings for each other. They had attempted to forget all that was going wrong in the world. They wanted to feel alive, thankful they hadn’t been infected by the virus that was spiraling out of control.

“Any news from Fetch?” Jack’s thoughts had obviously strayed in the same direction.

“She’s alive, somewhere in the Colombian jungle. That’s all we know.”

“Is anyone closer to finding the antivirus?”

“They’re working on it. Monty said they may have a lead.”

“How did things go to hell this fast?” Jack rubbed her face with one hand. “So much death, so little hope.”

“Don’t say that, Jack. There’s still hope.” Cassady had to believe that. Silence fell between them again for several minutes.

“I can’t imagine what I’d do if anything ever happened to you, Cass.”

“Nothing will. We’re both taking all precautions.” Cassady’s cell rang and she checked the display. “It’s work.” Jack’s body stiffened, as it always did when the organization contacted her. Jack knew Cassady would never hurt her, but she still didn’t trust the EOO. Even though Montgomery Pierce had made no move against her, she was wary of his intentions. Cassady sat up in bed. “Lynx 121668.”

“Be at Peterson Air Force Base in four hours.” It was Pierce. “You’ll be briefed en route.”

“Is Fetch—”

“As far as we know, alive. We’re sending you to chase down that lead. You’re going in with Allegro.” Pierce disconnected.

Cassady stood up and turned to Jack. “I have to leave.”

Jack threw the sheets off and stood up. “What? Why?”

“The lead panned out. I leave in four hours.”

Jack grabbed her clothes off the floor and walked to her. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not. Even if you could, I don’t want you there. It was only a matter of time before I got my next assignment.”

“Not this, Cass. You know what’s going on there.”

“It’s my job. I don’t have a choice, and even if I did—”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack said resignedly. “You’d do it anyway.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t let you go. I can’t risk anything happening to you.” Jack cupped her face gently between her hands, and Cassady wrapped her arms around Jack’s waist.

“I’ll be fine.” She gave Jack a sweet, brief kiss, meant as encouragement. “Besides, we have a house to build.” The home Jack had always dreamed of building on Saint Lucia was on hold until the crisis passed.

“We have a life to build,” Jack replied, and Cassady could see her struggling with the thought of letting go. “I love you so much it—”

“Hurts,” Cassady whispered.

Jack nodded and kissed her, long and deep and full of passion. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Cassady had never made that promise before. Not only because it was impossible to know what the outcome of any assignment might be, but because no one had ever asked her to. But right now, she knew she would do whatever it took to be with Jack again. Making her happy was one mission Cassady would never fail. She tightened her hold around Jack. “I promise. I’ll come back to you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Guaviare Jungle, Colombia

October 25

Fetch was glad Zoe had refused her offer to take her turn wearing a mask, once she’d cleaned her up. Her eyes were mere slits; she could barely see out of one of them, and she had to breathe through her mouth because her nose was so swollen. Zoe had put salve on her lips, which helped a lot—before that, they’d stung every time she sucked in the humid air. The mask would’ve made it still tougher to breathe, and even the slight pressure against her bruised face would’ve made her even more miserable. To top it off, her headache had returned, and the ibuprofen she’d taken hadn’t touched it.

They’d walked through the night, stopping only long enough to catch their breath and fuel up with panela and water, and now, as dawn broke, they were only half a day or so away from the safe house. They hadn’t seen any further sign of rebels pursuing them so far, which could only mean that the two soldiers Fetch had killed were either alone on a long-shot journey to find them, or they were far from the other soldiers.

Fetch stopped and turned to Zoe. “We should be at our target by dusk.”

“I can’t believe we’re almost there.” Zoe bent over, huffing to catch her breath.

Fetch set her pack down and dug out her HUD lenses and cell phone. They were in a clear spot on a ridge, so hopefully she’d get a signal here. After making sure the phone’s battery was still charged, she put in her lenses. It wasn’t easy with her eyes so swollen, but she managed after a couple of tries. She turned on the phone and activated the GPS, and their coordinates lit up in front of her on the lenses. Without looking down, she punched them into the cell phone while reading them off the optical heads-up display and added their ETA. All she needed was enough reach in the dense jungle to send the message. She checked the phone and read Sent on the display.

“What are you doing?” Zoe asked.

“Giving my people the approximate position of extraction and TOA.”

“Do you think I can use your cell to call my father once they pick us up?”

“No problem. A few more hours and you can talk to your heart’s content.” Fetch looked down when the phone vibrated. The reply from Montgomery Pierce read Roger.

They walked on, closing in rapidly on their destination with the help of the HUD display. It couldn’t be too soon for Fetch. Every step she took was an effort, and breathing through her mouth all day had wrecked her throat. She kept drinking water, but it wasn’t helping much. Coughing, she reached for a small chunk of panela and sucked on it, hoping it would ease the irritation.

Finally, just before sunset, they reached the overlook where she’d first spotted the clearing. “Down there,” she said to Zoe. “See it?”

“We’re here?” Zoe was so excited she jumped.

“Just a short way down the slope and we’re there.”

“I’m so happy I could cry,” Zoe said, and Fetch put her arm around Zoe’s shoulder. “What am I saying?” Zoe sniffed. “I am crying.”

Fetch squeezed her tighter. “We’re going home.”

Zoe wrapped her arms around Fetch and hugged her close, her mask crushing against Fetch’s chest as she sighed loudly. But suddenly she pulled back, staring at Fetch’s shirt. “Gianna,” she said, her voice strained.

“Yeah?”

“You’re burning up.”

“It’s from walking.”

Zoe looked up at her and jumped back. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“Your mouth.”

Fetch wiped her mouth with her forearm. Blood.

“No!” Zoe said. “This can’t be happening.”

“Let’s keep going.” Fetch turned away from her. “They should be here soon.”

Ten minutes later they arrived at the safe house—a small, dilapidated shack with crudely made furniture—and went inside to wait for the helicopter.

Fetch pulled a stool to the door where she could look out at the clearing and removed the optical HUD lenses. Darkness was coming fast.

Zoe brought another stool over and sat beside her. “This isn’t true,” she said. “You can’t be sick. I won’t allow it.”

“I’ll be fine, okay?”

“You will not die on me. Not after all this.” Zoe’s voice was full of emotion and she started to cry.

Fetch took her hand. “You’re going home, Zoe.”

“We’re going home.” Zoe’s crying turned to sobs so intense her whole body shook. “I can’t lose you.”

“Hey,” Fetch said. “Zoe, listen to me.” She wanted to embrace her, hug her close and reassure her, but she didn’t dare. “Who knows, maybe they’ve already found a cure.”

“Wouldn’t your people have told you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had my phone turned off the whole time.”

“And what if they haven’t, Gianna? What if there is no cure?”

Fetch didn’t know how to answer. She’d shut the door to her hotel room so many times, not knowing if she’d ever be back, and she’d learned to live with that. She had tamed the fear of death because she believed in what she did.

But here, in this savage world, surrounded by death, a remarkable woman had somehow taught her to live.

The sound of the approaching helicopter made them both look out. Fetch put a mask on and waited until the bird was close enough to see them. “Time to go home,” she said to Zoe. They stepped into the searchlight that illuminated the clearing and Fetch waved her arms to signal the crew.

Zoe squinted against the dirt and debris stirred up as the helicopter descended and felt Fetch’s hand on her head, urging her to keep low. When the skids touched the earth, a man in U.S. military fatigues in the open doorway hoisted her into the chopper. Both he and the two pilots wore oxygen masks, with tanks strapped to their backs.

When Gianna got into the cabin, she sat next to Zoe and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a cough. Zoe reached for her and brushed Gianna’s hand away when she tried to stop her.

Zoe glanced toward the front, wondering why they weren’t going up. Both pilots and the other guy were watching them. They must have seen Gianna cough and the stain of blood on her mask from it, because they all looked at each other.

“She’ll be all right,” Zoe said in annoyance, loud enough to be heard over the propeller.

As soon as they were in the air, the man who’d helped them into the helicopter came over to them and explained they were taking them to the air base near San Jose del Guaviare, where a plane would take them to their final destination.

Gianna pulled out her cell and wiped the mouthpiece, then wrapped a clean mask over it. “Call your father,” she said as she handed the phone to Zoe.

Date: 2015-01-11; view: 682