“I don’t need his forgiveness,” Egor assures her. “I needed my son. Oliver took something precious from me. Something I can never get back. And so now, I’ll take something precious from him.”
“This isn’t about maintaining ecological balance,” says Poppy, “this is revenge.”
Egor’s eyes have gone watery. He blinks them clear. “I am a man of science, and science requires sacrifice. Anyone will tell you that. I’m terribly sorry to say it, but Shea Parker will not be leaving this place alive.”
The quiet night is rent in two by the squeal of tires, the honk of a horn. The barn floods with headlights as the RV comes rumbling into view. A door squeals open and then slams shut with equal force. A lone figure steps out into the light. It’s Asher, his shotgun readied. He stares down the barrel at Egor, eyes burning, a streak of blood on his cheek.
If Egor is surprised to see him, he doesn’t show it. “Are they dead, then?”
“Yes.”
“Every last one?”
“Yes.” His voice is cold, iced over in a soldier’s careful detachment.
“Impressive,” says Egor. “I suppose they call you the sunshine sniper for a reason.”
Asher blinks, lowering the barrel. “You knew who I was?”
“I suspected,” admits Egor. “Your disappearance has caused quite a stir in certain circles. There’s a bounty on your head, you know. A fairly sizable one, at that. There are rumors, too. I’m afraid they don’t paint you in a very favorable light.”
Asher pales. “You want the money? Is that it?”
“I’m only pointing out a fact. It’s a rather large bounty. It would keep my research funded for a year, at least. Maybe more.”
“Go ahead and call it in,” says Asher. “See if I care. Parker, Zahar—get in the RV.”
They don’t argue, slipping out from the barn and racing for the vehicle. In action, it looks even worse than it did as a lawn ornament. The retractable awning hangs loose. There’s a crack in the windshield. The body is off-color, fiberglass yellowed with age. The inside isn’t much better. The windows are shuttered in bent vinyl blinds. The furniture is torn in places. Mold seeps out from under the fridge, discoloring the floor.
“It’s disgusting in here,” says Shea.
“I think it’s homey,” says Poppy, collapsing into the dinette. “Oh, hello, Kit. I didn’t even see you there.”
The door slams shut, sending the possum scuttling for cover. Asher climbs the shallow staircase in three short stomps, his face bloodless. There’s a hunted look in his eyes as he takes hold of Shea’s chin and angles her face toward his.
“Are you okay?”
She weasels out of his grasp. “I’m fine.”
“Zahar?”
“I’m not dead,” says Poppy, “but I would prefer not to do that again.”
Asher zeros in on Shea. “That was some horrible listening back there.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “My ears don’t work so good.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You should have followed orders.”
“I’ve famously never been great at that,” she reminds him hotly. “God, what is that smell? It reeks in here.”
“That would be the mold,” says Poppy cheerlessly. “Where’s all our stuff?”
“In the back room.” Asher slings off his shotgun and drops into the driver’s seat. “And I raided the Van Haut kitchen. We should be good on food for a few days, at least.”
“What about the bikes?” asks Shea.
Asher checks his mirrors. “No longer an option. You should take a seat, the suspension on this thing is crazy loose.”
