03:37AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Front door
Alarm triggered: Back door
03:38AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke: First floor hall
03:39AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke: Second floor hall
03:42AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke: Ash’s room
Alarm triggered: Smoke: Addy’s room
Alarm triggered: Smoke: Den
Alarm triggered: Smoke: Mistress Bedroom
04:14AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Kitchen
04:16AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Den
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Living room
04:17AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: First floor hall
04:18AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Second floor hall
04:29AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Ash’s room
04:31AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Mistress Bedroom
04:35AM – Home Assistant Alert
Alarm triggered: Smoke and Heat: Addy’s room
04:47AM — Home Assistant Alert
Unable to contact server. Retrying.
04:48AM — Home Assistant Alert
Unable to contact server. Retrying.
04:49AM — Home Assistant Alert
Unable to contact server. Retrying.
04:50AM — Home Assistant Alert
Unable to contact server. Check app configuration.
#
The footage — at least the footage until the moment the fire killed the little box tucked behind the TV console — made it onto the cloud. Which is good, y’know, for evidence. And for scaring the shit out of myself.
Sure, the vehicle that pulls up is marked as a sheriff’s SUV, but I don’t for a second believe that the people who walk up to the house, slamming the doors open with rams, and casually tossing in smoke grenades are actual employees of Eddy County Sheriff’s Office.
For one, they’ve got no name tags, and they’re wearing balaclavas. Which, yes, basically standard practice. But the unmarked black Escalade and van that pull up with them are pretty suggestive that it’s not just sheriffs. The guy in a suit who steps out from the van and casually leans against it watching the raid is, somehow, the most unnerving of them all.
Well, there’s that and there’s the fact the tactical gear they’re carrying? I remember it from watching the place I was meant to be living in Mexico being raided. It’s Rue’s standard issue.
Also, I don’t think, as a general rule, sheriffs set up incendiary devices in buildings once they’ve searched them, and drive off just before the house burns.
Maybe they do? Maybe it’s a new police protocol.
Burn the libs’ — sorry, radical-left domestic terrorists — houses to the ground does sound like the kind of policy Miller would like to create. It’s not one I’ve been aware of until now though. Dump them in a prison camp and use their house or land as an indulgence for some ass-kisser, sure. But turning our house into a pyre? Not something I was expecting.
It’s not like I could really sleep before, but watching the twenty minutes of our home being destroyed over and over isn’t really helping.
At least it gives me some time to think about how in hell I break it to Caitlin.
#
“Back up, a little further, yeah, a little more… Okay! That’s great.”
“Thank you! That would have been a real pain in the butt without your help.” Sangatham smiles, although the smile’s a pretty thin affair. Apparently he woke this morning feeling like crap, and not just from the hangover. Headache, fever, joint pain, weakness. No rash though. Devorah’s affected too, but she's moving in with Bianca, whose own RV, unlike the makeshift hospital, apparently has room for one more.
I saw the glint in Bianca’s eyes when she offered, and I strongly suspect an ulterior motive for her generosity.
Unlike mine, with Sangatham, obviously.
That generosity is completely without pretext.
Nothing about assuaging guilt.
No, this is definitely… What’s the concept? Teshuva?
Definitely. Reformation, not guilt. That’s me through and through. Just don’t look too closely.
“Glad to help,” I say. “You want some country potatoes and ham? I was just about to cook up breakfast. I can't face an MRE this morning.”
“And you can other mornings? You’re braver than I am! Is the ham Kutha?”
“Kutha?”
“Halal’d be close enough.”
“I uh, I dunno. Hang on.” I pull the packet out and hunt through the labeling. “It, uh, it doesn't say so I'm guessing no? I can do eggs though?”
“Are you sure? I know you've got your wife and kids to cook for. It seems like you’ve got enough on already.”
“It's cool, Sangatham. Wanda — I’m assuming you know who Wanda is?” He nods. “Yeah, she gave us the eggs. And the potatoes and peppers. The least we can do is share. You sit. Drink that hydration drink that Bianca sent over.” I laugh at the face he makes. “I'll rustle up the other nutrients.”
I didn’t ever get back to sleep. Not after the conversation I overheard and definitely not after the raid. And now one of the poor participants from that conversation is going to be hanging out in the next plot.
Getting sicker and sicker.
I know that sounds a little like it might be heading towards guilt, but it’s just regret. At least we can head off soon. Sangatham seems like a genuinely nice guy and I am having just the tiniest amount of definitely-not-guilt about y’know…everything.
“Caitlin?” I wander over and give her a nudge.
“Urgh.”
“I’m gonna cook breakfast. Potatoes and ham. And eggs. You got any other requests?”
“A nice coffin?” she says, peeling her eyes open momentarily.
“We’ve got a guest, by the way.”
“Oh hey,” Caitlin coughs a few times, clearing her throat. “Excuse me not getting up but I still feel like poop.
“No requests, whatever you feel up to making, sweetheart.” She reaches out and strokes my hand before closing her eyes again.
#
“You see the boys are fighting?” Sangatham says while I finish browning the potatoes.
“Huh?”
“The veep says Miller’s got it. Says he’s no longer an appropriate leader because he’s weak. Davis called for Miller’s removal this morning.”
“What? Really?”
“Yeah, did the whole thing — sent a letter to Congress. Says he’s the boss now. ‘Miller’s inherent leadership ability is impaired by the effects of the virus’ apparently. So, I guess Davis is our mighty leader now.”
“Huh.”
“Apparently Miller can respond and claim he’s fine. I looked it up this morning. That bit of the presidential succession stuff’s still intact. I guess they didn't think anyone'd have the balls to take Miller down. But you saw his speech, right?” I shake my head. “Oh. Well. Guy looked almost as bad as when they were puppeting Trump around.
“I ’unno. I just like watching when they fight.” He spreads his hands. “I can’t help it if assholes arguing makes me happy. Distracts them from us for five minutes, anyhow.” He smiles as I drop the plate down in front of him.
“Hey, these look great! I don’t know how you got such a great finish on that camp stove, but you got these onions really nicely caramelized.” He scarfs a mouthful before continuing. “Thank you, again. I was just gonna toss some fruit loops in a bowl and beg some milk.”
“It’s really no problem. I need something to keep me upright anyhow. Otherwise I’ll fall asleep and it’ll be tomorrow and we won’t be any further away.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah, real tired.” I roll my neck and try to stretch some of the kinks out of my back.
“You’ve been traveling a while?”
“It’s not really that, we’ve only been on the road a couple days, but it was a long one before we left, so maybe I guess that’s part of it? But I couldn’t sleep last night, and then…”
“And then?”
“I — I overheard some of your conversation.”
“Ah yeah. I’m sorry about that. It was kinda loud…”
“I feel badly for you. For y’know, a lot of folks. Maybe not John so much. He sounds like a douche, by the way.”
“John really shouldn’t drink that much, and Devorah shouldn’t needle him so much. She just likes getting under the skin of milquetoast libs. But arguments like that aren’t great for the community. We’re a small crew here, and it’s not like we’ve got the resources here that—
“Anyway, I mean, John’s really not that bad.” He picks at a pepper with his fork for a while. “Actually, yeah, he is. I should stop defending him. He’s a dick.
“I dunno why he doesn’t just fu—” He glances toward the chairs where Caitlin and Ash are slowly eating. Addy’s seemingly fallen asleep again having moved herself back into the truck. “Sorry. I forget about kids. Never had any. I don’t know why he doesn’t just head back to his a-hole friends. I thought for a while maybe he was a plant — but he’s crap at it if he is. He’s always like, ‘If we just let them have this, they’ll stop.’ And I tell him: ‘No, they won’t. They just wanna see what’s the next thing you’ll give up. Who’s the next group you’ll toss under the bus.’
“Shit. Sorry. You didn’t sign up for my daily rant.” He laughs, leans back, winces a little. “Click here to subscribe to more things you already know. Brown girl from New Mexico? Pretty sure you’ve had it at least as bad. Probably worse.”
“Nebraska…”
“Nebraska? Really?”
“Yeah, I just live in New Mexico. Moved there after — some stuff.”
“Oh. You just don’t— Huh. You like it?”
“I love my wife.”
“That’s not an answer…”
“Sometimes I love it. It can be beautiful… But right now, it’s hard to imagine loving anywhere here very much.”
“I get that. Ooof.” He leans back, watches the cloudless sky for a while. “And like, I’m still playing on easy mode compared to you. Jeeze. You’re putting up with me bitching about it. You’re good people, Erika.”
“I’m really not. But, thanks. I need something to take me out of my head and my stupid spiraling for a bit anyhow.”
“Glad I could help.”
He sits quietly for a while, eating and seemingly lost in thought before he leans forward again. “So, I don’t mean to pry, but you said you had it already?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. Stretching it out. “I guess I got it real early.”
“Oh, huh. Well, you’re looking well now. Tired, but well.”
“Kids’ll do that,” I say, managing a genuine laugh. “But, yeah, I've been good since I recovered. Better than I was before, for sure.”
“I hear that. Well, I hear that from women. Like, they feel better after? It’s rough while you’re in it but then it fixes your joints and shit, apparently. They all feel better after. Some of them deliberately caught it — y’know? They went and hung out with another girl who had it. It — I mean, it makes sense for them.
“And some of my guy— ex-guy friends, they got it early and they’re…fine?
“Pretty. Is that weird? I feel like I shouldn’t find my bros pretty?” I shrug my shoulders. “And like, they’re adjusting? And they said the same — all those little aches and things are gone. They all — well, mostly — say it’s weird being a girl, but not bad. But then others…” He sighs. “Some of the others are fu— sorry – screwed up. Like really. They hate their bodies and they’re crying all the time and — one of ‘em, Luke? He — he killed himself,” he ends in a whisper. “Said he couldn’t do it. Like he survived, he was one of the lucky ones, and he just…”
“Sh— Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t. I just.” He rubs his eyes, looks out into the desert. “No one wants to talk about it here. I mean, probably anywhere. And everything you read is such bullshit. So it just… like someone from outside for a minute?” He sits and pokes his food around the plate.
“God, this’d be a million times easier if I was a woman. And sorry, I don’t mean— like I know the government— I know it’s stupid-hard to be a woman right now. But, you know what I mean?”
“It’s okay. I get it. The virus’s real rough on guys.”
“It’s not really the pain. I mean I don’t want that but like I could deal with that. It’s not forever. It’s not even dying. Like that’s never bothered me that much — I’ve done my best to be good through my life, made good use of my time, so like, whatever.
“But I don’t — I’ve never wanted… I’m not saying being a woman is bad. You know that right? I mean it’s pretty shit right now with things the way they are, but like, being a woman — up here —” he taps his head, “I don’t think it’s better or worse than being a guy. It’s just, I never wanted that. And what if I’m like Luke? What if I can’t deal?”
“Sorry?”
“Like, I knew some trans girls, back in the day. Before they all ran, or hid, or whatever. I lost touch with them, and like now who’s gonna tell anyone if they’re trans. No one. Not if they can avoid it. Especially not some rando’ guy. But they’d talk about gender stuff sometimes and it was interesting. I just never felt that. Like, I’ve always liked — well, I like being a guy.”
“I hear some people do,” I say, gently.
“It’s just… It took me years to find my place. To work all the stuff out from being first generation. Especially with these assholes ruining everything. And y’know, it’s not like my brown ass can pretend to be Captain White-bread, or some guy called Chad whose parents came over on the damn Mayflower.
“And you get sick of it, right? You know that. Everyone assuming that you’re not from here.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
“People always make you feel like you’re some kinda outsider, just a bit wrong, whatever. You can’t possibly belong. And to some extent you don’t? You’ve always got these bits of you that don’t fit either place. You’re maybe raised a bit different than most everyone around you. Or your food’s a bit different.
“When I was a kid, my mom used to make cheese dosa, at the weekend. God I miss those. And sometimes she’d make pakoras. I ate that shit up. Not at school, mind you. I’d sometimes check my lunch on the way and—”
“You’d toss it, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Because they’d make fun of you for your weird food.”
“Yeah— I really wish I didn’t do that now. Give anything for another one of her pakoras. But yeah.”
“Same.” I say.
Sangatham goes back to watching the sky. A couple of small clouds are drifting slowly across. He follows them with his eyes, sipping on his drink.
“You ever go back to — wherever?”
“Nope. My parents never had the money. Mom went back, a couple of times.”
“Huh. I did. I went and saw mom and dad’s home. Met the family. I didn’t fit there either. I was like a misshapen puzzle piece. It took me forever to find a place I could slot in. And to love myself, and to love being who I am. To love being different. And that’s…” He trails off, stares at the ground. “Erika?”
“Yeah.”
“I really don’t want to change.”
“I’m sorry, Sangatham. I really am.”
He scoops up the cup. “Thanks. For listening. I think I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.”
“Hey Sangatham? You want a hug?”
He hesitates.
“It’s okay, you can say yes. I’ve had it before — it’s not gonna hurt me.”
He stands awkwardly for a moment before deciding.
“Yeah. Please.”
#
MA: You knew?
MA: All this time, you knew?
MA: Were you ever going to tell me?
EM: Knew?
EM: Knew what?
MA: https://nytimes.com/2031/0898/us/health/erika-morgen-confidante-or-collaborator.html
EM: Shit. It's not what it looks like.
EM: Although maybe it’s worse.
EM: I’ll explain when I get there?
EM: Is it still okay if we come?
EM: We can stay in a hotel instead.
#
Doctor Erika Morgen: Confidante or Collaborator
HOUSTON — Until today, very few people had heard of Dr. Erika Morgen or Itero Biotechnologies, the modest New Mexico company at which she is employed as a researcher. That abruptly changed this morning, after the CDC linked Itero Biotechnologies to an ongoing national security threat. Now its obscure role — partnering with pharmaceutical corporations to develop generic equivalents to products still under patent, and in-house development of what Itero terms “optimized genetically targeted therapies” — along with the disturbing work of its research team — is under intense scrutiny.
CDC Director Dr. Oaklen Rue, during a streamed question-and-answer session early this morning stated the CDC-Neuragene Genetic Protection Task Force had been “shocked and deeply concerned to find Neuragene intellectual property identified as part of Itero’s proposal for a currently unlicensed variolae inoculant against 2031-nHSMV.” Dr. Rue continued, “The team will be discussing these findings with Itero. They are especially keen to discuss them with the researcher responsible for the infringing papers contained within Itero’s application.”
According to Dr. Xavier Laing, head of the CDC Genetic Protection Task Force, Dr. Morgen’s research history shows a longstanding fascination with one specific virus’s mechanics, something not unusual for a biochemist working in the field. What is unusual is that the sequence of papers published by Erika, over a multi-year period, all explore the ways 2031-nHSMV attempts to trick human cells and the immune system, and her attempts to model disease spread in varying circumstances.
Dr. Laing stated, “Erika appears to have an astonishing degree of knowledge not just of the genome of 2031-nHSMV, but also data regarding the symptomatic progression of the disease. Data with a degree of accuracy that could only come from testing it in humans before it was released in the United States. Either she, or someone she knows got that data somehow.”
Laboratory manager for Itero Biotechnologies, Dr. Brandon Freeman, who submitted the funding request, stated that while the papers were published under Itero’s mark, they were researched and written by Erika during her personal research periods. Dr. Freeman states he was unaware of the use of Neuragene’s intellectual property in her research and reiterated that he does not know how she came into possession of it.
At this point the question is not, “Did Dr. Morgen know about 2031-nHSMV?” It is, instead, a constellation of questions: When did Erika know? What does she know? And was she complicit in its release?
All of these questions are difficult to answer in her absence.
Who is Dr. Erika Morgen?
Records indicate that Dr. Morgen was born Erika Smith in 1999. She was raised in Kearney, Nebraska, where she graduated from Minden High School with a 3.8 GPA. Classmates describe her as an outgoing and popular girl. She was a member of the drama club, the dance team, and an enthusiastic participant in student government. During her years at the school she won several awards, including the Presidential Volunteer Service Award.
But tragedy struck when, after she graduated high school, both her parents were killed while the family was on vacation. Friends from the time say they believed she had also died. She never returned, and the regional newspaper reported her death alongside her parents. The Smiths’ 2,000-square-foot home in Kearney was sold shortly afterward.
However, records obtained by The Times indicate that while she was severely injured, she was discharged from the hospital a few weeks later and went on to stay with her maternal grandparents (now deceased). While little is known about this period, it is believed that they were liberal extremists.
The following year, she enrolled to study Biochemistry at Nebraska State University. Unusually, she lived alone, off campus, in a small apartment in Lincoln. Even before the COVID pandemic several of her classes were available online, and records indicate whenever possible she avoided in-person activities. Professors and TAs state they have little recollection of her.
It seems she lived much of her life at NSU in the shadows.
In an interview with The Times, her PhD supervisor commented that she was highly intelligent, a pleasure to work with, but often quiet and withdrawn. He was concerned that she may be depressed, but she declined to seek counseling, choosing instead to focus her attention on her studies.
When she moved to New Mexico, Erika moved in with a woman working as a construction site supervisor, reportedly “co-parenting” two children. Shortly afterward, she changed her name to Erika Morgen to match her ‘partner’. As with her college experience it seems she often kept to herself. Neighbors described the family as extremely solitary and having limited contact with local families.
One resident of her neighborhood, Janine Fry, said, “Erika was always pretty quiet. Her and Caitlin — we never saw them at community events. They were living some kind of alternative lifestyle. You know, two women living together; no man there. And it's not for me to say how other people should live their lives, but they have two children involved. And those two kids — bless their hearts — you couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls.”
Another neighbor commented on the fact that the group seemed uncomfortable with American celebrations. “They never flew a New America flag — or even the regular one. Not even on the fourth!” Tori Snyder, head of the Neighborhood Association, said, adding, “And they never came out to our Patriot Days, or the America Youth potlucks. They really weren’t down with displays of civic or community pride. Sometimes I’d wonder if Erika was really American.”
Sudden Disappearance
As of this morning, Dr. Erika Morgen is being sought as a fugitive.
Dr. Brandon Freeman stated that Dr. Morgen is currently traveling for a commercially sensitive reason, and declined to provide any further information regarding her whereabouts. He added that he was cooperating fully with law enforcement’s attempts to locate her.
Inquiries with Caitlin Morgen’s workplace revealed that the site where, in contravention of OSHA guidance, she had been working as a foreman has been closed due to staff sickness. The school attended by the Morgens’ children states that the family reported both children as being sick and that they were temporarily withdrawing them from school. All of these coincidences are suggestive of an intent to flee.
The situation took a dramatic turn this morning, however, when the family home was engulfed in flames. Local authorities are still investigating the cause, but have stated no bodies were found in the building. They also noted that Caitlin’s truck was not at the property. Neighbors report that neither Erika, her ‘co-parent’ Caitlin Morgen, nor Caitlin’s children have been seen at the property for the past few days, leading some to speculate that she absconded when it became likely that her subversive anti-homeland connections would be revealed.
Dr. Oaklen Rue confirmed that CDC is working with multiple authorities to locate Dr. Erika Morgen as authorities attempt to uncover what she knew and when, whether she has contact with the terrorist Dr. Tavish Shah believed to be behind the release of 2031-nHSMV, and also whether she has information vital to treating this disease. With hospital admissions sharply increasing, and substantial fiscal impacts expected from this virus’s spread, her unwillingness to return and use her research to protect America leaves more questions unanswered.
#
EM: Mary-Anne?
EM: Please give me a chance to explain.
#
“You’ve got two choices,” Marcie says, hands resting on her hips, fury in her eyes. The small gathering behind her — all women apart from Sangatham — all look similarly pissed. “Y’all get out of here in that fucking thing, or you hand over the keys and we’ll get rid of it for you. You better damn well explain yourself if you want to stay though.”
“Can I have a second to talk to my wife? It’s her truck,” I say, clinging to the hope there’s some kind of option here that hasn’t been offered.
Marcie gives a curt nod. “Sure, but that time’s coming out of the ten minutes ’til I want that truck on its way out of the site. With or without y’all in it.”
“Ten minutes? You want it — or us — out in ten minutes?”
“Yep. And that’s six seconds wasted, honey.”
“But the police— if we— shit.”
“Yeah, honey. The police, and the feds and whoever the hell else are looking for that damn truck. And it’s here, in our campground.”
“Caitlin,” I say, urgently shaking her shoulder. “They know about…well, they think they know about me.”
“What?” She says, drowsily. “Who knows about you? And what do they know?” She blinks a few times trying to focus on me.
“Uh. Everyone knows I knew about the virus before…it was public. Including the feds. And they know we left in the truck. The folks here know the feds are looking for the truck.”
“Shi-ugar,” she says, snapping up, glancing back at the kids, then groaning and rubbing her back. “God, Erika, I feel like trash.” She rubs her face and blinks a few times, waking up. “Okay, so we need to lose the truck, right now. Maybe someone here can help us with that…? Wait. That cop? How far away was that?”
“About a hundred and fifty miles, I think? — But Caitlin…” I shuffle back a little to allow her to see past me to Marcie, and beyond her the small gang stood uneasily at the perimeter of our pitch.
“Ah,” she says. “Hi Marcie.”
“Caitlin.”
“You want us out?” Caitlin asks.
Marcie walks closer, her face softening a little. “First, I want that truck outta here — and yesterday. I want it far enough away that it doesn’t bring Miller’s Blackshirts down on us. Y’all? That mostly depends on what this one says,” she says, gesturing at me.
“And what we do if,” Caitlin says, pushing herself properly upright, “you take the truck away, and then you decide you want us out? I guess how do we get to where we’re going if that happens? What do we do for transport then?” She turns a little toward me. “Heck, either way? What do we do for transport?”
Marcie looks toward the group, a couple of hand signals pass between her and one of the other women before she turns back. “We’ll get you somewhere safe after here, regardless of what that one’s done. We’ll also help get you some sort of transport. Won’t be as nice as this, just to be clear. And I can’t guarantee a vehicle. Might be sharing a ride. But we’ll try. We won’t let you and the kids just be stranded here.”
“Okay.” Caitlin says, turning back to me.
“Six minutes,” Marcie says, giving us a little more space.
Caitlin and I reach an unspoken agreement. “Can y’all unload the truck while we talk? We really don’t want to lose what little we have with us.” Caitlin says. With a sinking feeling I realize I still need to her tell that this is all that we have, anywhere.
A series of shrugs pass through the crowd. A few women step forward, making quick work of removing the truck topper, then a bucket line forms stacking the contents of the bed around the picnic table.
“Moms, what’s going on?” Ash asks, pulling her headphones out. Addy, thankfully, is still out for the count.
“I need you to give your moms a minute,” Caitlin says, gently.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, pointlessly.
“Eh, not the time,” she says, waving it away. “So, they all know, and the feds know about the truck and…? There’s something else, isn’t there? I can see it in your face.”
“And the house is gone,” I say, quietly.
“What?!” Ash shrieks, this time waking up her sister. “What happened to the house!?”
“What’s going on?” Addy asks, her voice husky and weak. “Ow,” she adds.
“Girls, wait. We need a minute and then we’ll explain. But we have something your mom and I need to decide right now,” Caitlin says.
“But—”
“Ash. We need to do this right now. Then we’ll explain,” Caitlin says, firmly. “So,” she sucks in a breath. “The truck. We’d need to lose it anyway,” she says with disappointment. “I’m still making payments on this damn thing.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Even with the transponder disconnected it’s probably way too easy to trace.”
“Three minutes, ladies,” Marcie says.
“Okay,” Caitlin says, turning back to face the kids. “Girls, we need you to focus. We need you to help us get everything out of the truck. Pillows, toys, iPads, hoodies… Ash, don’t forget Frankie. We need everything out. And Ash, help Addy once you’re done.” Caitlin eases herself out and starts tossing the contents of the door pockets and glove box in a heap away from the truck. “Marcie, what do you need from us right now.”
“You sure?” Marcie says, looking slightly surprised as we toss everything onto the dusty ground. A last-second whirlwind.
We both nod, sadly.
“The keys, then. To be clear, you’re not gonna see it again.”
She gives us a few minutes’ grace as Addy unevenly stands and slowly moves the last of her stuff out, Ash eventually running around to help her. But, true to her word, a few seconds after we’re done our truck’s disappearing. Some woman startles us by handing the license plate to the driver. At some point in the chaos it must have been switched for another one.
We stand coughing a little in the dust kicked up as she drives away. The truck, and the cloud of dust tailing it rapidly get smaller before disappearing altogether.
“You; with me,” Marcie says, pointing at me. “Caitlin and the kids with her.” A woman with blonde hair steps forward, toward Caitlin.
“Why’re you separating us?”
“Check your stories, obviously,” Marcie says. “Clearly, you weren’t expecting this, so we’ll take the opportunity before you can get your stories all lined up. Also, both Caitlin and your kids look like they should lie down, and Jane’s got some camp beds. We’re not monsters.”
“Addy?!” Ash suddenly screams, running toward her sister.
I turn, seeing Addy collapse, and make a desperate grab to catch her.
She doesn’t make a sound on the way down.