The yellow light he’d seen from outside was from the upstairs hall. Each room revealed décor but no people, until the last and biggest.
Side by side, they lay on the bed, holding hands over the covers. Frilly, floral bedspread. Flowers on the wallpaper. A pedestal lamp with a tasseled lampshade. Curtains pulled closed. They both wore pajamas, and their faces showed evidence of a long life. Hopefully, one of love and family, not terror and pain.
“They look like they’re asleep.” Bear stepped into the room and took a side step, not getting any closer.
Ramon didn’t need to check for a pulse. “They’ve been dead awhile.”
The couple looked to be in their seventies or eighties and lay in their bed as if they’d died in their sleep at the same time.
“Maybe everyone in this town is dead.”
“I hope not.” Ramon headed for the door. “It’s hard to interrogate a dead person.”
Down the stairs. Back outside.
“Everything about this town is wrong.”
Bear emerged from the house, closing the door behind him. “We might have to go house to house and check everywhere. I don’t like going home empty-handed.” His phone buzzed. “Yeah, Hazel.”
Her voice came from the speaker, so Ramon could hear it as well. “Half a klick to the west, there’s a signal that just started broadcasting.” She sniffed. “Is Smythe really gone?”
“Tell me about the signal,” Bear instructed.
“Someone initiated a connection a few minutes ago that I picked up.”
“Sounds like we’ve got a live one,” Ramon said. “Tell us how to get there.”
They raced along a single asphalt lane between two short brick walls that were probably built over a hundred years ago. Moss-covered and damp, the whole place would look peaceful and beautiful in the daylight, but right now, he couldn’t help thinking it seemed almost deadly.
Hazel directed them to another structure, one that looked a lot like all the other country-style farmhouse buildings. This one had a post office box outside, or what amounted to it in this part of the world.
But when they neared, Ramon heard a high-pitched whir.
He tackled Bear just as gunfire erupted out of the mail slot, aimed right at them. Both of them slammed into the ground, and Ramon kept going so he wasn’t on top of the big guy. Bear lifted his shoulders off the ground, raised his gun, and fired.
The shooting stopped.
“Now we’re talking.” Bear scrambled up and raced at full speed for the door.
It gave under the sheer force of his body. The door fell in, and he landed on it. “Hands up!”
Ramon raced in just as Bear stood.
“I said, hands up!”
Ramon wasn’t totally limping, but it was close. Landing on Bear felt like landing on boulders—after falling twenty feet.
He backed up his associate, sweeping the room, while Bear kept aim on the man standing behind the counter.
Older guy, wearing a dark wool sweater that had been knitted. Gray scruff of a beard on his face. Light eyes. Not much hair. He said something in Norwegian—or so Ramon would guess.
“We don’t speak your language,” Ramon said. “English? Or Spanish?” He didn’t lower his gun much.
Bear said, “English,” before the guy could answer.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?” He spoke in heavily accented English. Not a computer in sight on the counter. Just an old-style cash register that probably dated back to World War II.
“We’re looking for someone.” Ramon kept half his attention on the room around him, just in case someone else was lurking. Or this place had a secret room, where the shed hadn’t. More booby traps were also an option. “Maybe you can help us.”
