“I’m going to take a look around. Whoever attacked her might still be here.” He peered over the weeds. Not seeing anybody, he crept upright. Trampled weeds in a zig-zag pattern led away fromChloe. He followed the tracks out of the greenbelt and up the street.
On his hands and knees, a human male retched into the gutter, a pistol on the concrete beside him. “Fucking goddamn bitch. Chloe, you bitch. As soon as I can see, I’m going to kill you if I didn’t do it already.”
A chilling calm filled Rok. “Human,” he said.
The male’s head snapped up, and he squinted, red eyes tearing and his nose running like a faucet. “Who’s there?” He fumbled for his gun.
Rok fired.Zzzz.The man’s moleculesdissipated into the atmosphere, leaving behind a guide’s silver medallion and a small gray tracking disc. Rok crushed the disc under his heel and scooped up the medallion.
He ran back to Chloe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chloe awakened to a splitting headache, a shirtless Rok, and three strangers with concerned expressions hovering over her.
“Thank Zok, you’re all right!” Rok clutched her hand against his bare chest. She could feel his heart racing.
“I’m Dr. Damon Joseph.” An unfamiliar blond man came forward and motioned to Rok who gave up his chair. “You can call me Damon. How are you feeling?”
Doctor? Huh? She shifted her gaze from him to a Progg bearing a strong resemblance to Rok and a dark-haired woman.Grav and LaurelI presume.
She was lying on a hard surface—a table?—her head on a pillow. Standing candelabra threw light at the pale walls and exposed ducts in the ceiling. “Where am I?”
“You’re backstage at the Gillioz,” Rok said.
“Do you remember what happened?” the doctor asked.
“Zack shot me! He shot at Kevin!” She sprang up. “Kevin! Is he all right?”
“Whoa, whoa!” The doctor pressed a gentle palm to her shoulder. “Not so fast.”
“Kevin is fine. He’s in the trailer,” Rok said.
“Thank God!” She relaxed and allowed the doctor to ease her to a reclining position again.
“We’re more concerned about you. Follow my finger,” the doctor said.
She tracked the movement with her eyes.
“Good. Now, how many?” He made a peace sign.
“Two,” she answered.
“Good.” He shined a penlight at her pupils. “Rok already kind of gave you a clue, but do you know where you are?”
“Besides the Gillioz?”
“Yes.”
“Springfield, Missouri.”
“Your name and date of birth?”
“Chloe Thorne,” she replied and gave him her birthday. “What kind of a doctor are you?”
“I was a radiologist,” he said sheepishly. “These days, I’m a GP. Do you know what day it is?”
“You’re kidding, right? I haven’t known the date in over a year. It might be June. I can narrow it down to a Monday, Wednesday, or a Friday since that’s supposedly when the survivor meetings are.”
