Page 68 of Smoky Lake

I’m a researcher.

That didn’t seem like very much information.

I’m affiliated with a respected university and several nonprofit research institutes. I have no interest in anything other than learning more about zombie viruses. I know nothing about you except that you seem to need some help. I have something you can try. It might or might not help, but it won’t hurt. I can promise that much.

Oh God. Was this sketchy? The vagueness and lack of detail bothered her, but then again, she was operating in the same manner. She was just as anonymous as he was.

That would end if they met face-to-face.

But if she chose somewhere public, somewhere safe, somewhere she’d have backup…

I’m a couple hours away from the Carlo Creek pizza shop, she posted, lying slightly. I can meet you on the terrace.

The terrace was always crowded. She’d alert Donohue about her plan. And after they talked, she’d make sure PetriFied left first and never saw that she was staying right there on the premises.

32

Gil surfaced from sleep knowing that something was wrong.

Of course something was wrong. He’d contracted a zombie permafrost virus that had knocked him on his ass. But he actually felt better in that respect—his body didn’t seem to be on fire anymore. He could think more clearly. In this more lucid state, he knew that Ani had stepped out for some fresh air.

He missed her.

He loved her.

God damn it.

That inner ping sounded again, that deeply ingrained warning system that he’d developed since childhood. He’d always been able to tell when Lachlan needed him; that came with being a twin, even though they were far from identical. It wasn’t exclusive to Lachlan. It had served him well in his job too, and now it was telling him something wasn’t right with Ani.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, happy to see that they no longer felt like two lead anchors tied to his body. Rising to his feet, he staggered and grabbed onto the back of a chair to steady himself. Sweet Jesus, he’d never felt this weak before.

But standing up felt good. He stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. That felt even better. His energy was returning. Not full-force, but enough so he could track down Ani and find out why his alarm bells were going off. Clothes. He needed clothes and he needed Ani. He looked down at his body, half expecting to see that he’d lost half his muscle mass, but saw no striking change in his physique. That was a relief—he could still use his body to defend Ani if she needed it.

He staggered around the room for a few moments looking for the rest of his clothes, but couldn’t find them. Maybe Ani had whisked them away to get laundered. Clean clothes would be nice. But right now, his drawstring pants would have to do. He didn’t see any of his shirts lying around either, so he grabbed his jacket off a hook by the door and pulled it on over his bare chest.

Stepping outside the door for the first time in days nearly knocked him off his feet. The blast of sunshine and fresh air gave him a sharp rush of adrenaline. He breathed in deep, exercising his lungs, letting oxygen flow through his system.

He was alive. He’d done it. He’d beaten that frozen bastard that come through time to try to kill him.

That thought triggered a flash of memory—something that had occurred to him in the depths of his fever. He’d told himself to hold onto it, to remember it later, because it was important. In his mind, he could see the little flagpole he’d planted in the snow. Something buried here. But he didn’t have time to dig it up now.

He had to find Ani.

When he rounded the corner of the restaurant, he saw that the outdoor terrace was filled with customers. It must be lunchtime. All the picnic tables were filled, which made it hard to make out one particular customer in the throng. He didn’t know if he was still contagious, so he didn’t want to barge right into such a crowded scene. Even though the CDC doctor had said it wasn’t airborne, she clearly didn’t know everything about it and he didn’t want to make any assumptions.

He walked along the outside of the terrace, scanning faces and silhouettes, until finally he saw a flash of dark hair, a bare peek between a group of sunburned backpackers.

Squeezing past the corner of the terrace, he finally got a line of sight on the woman with the dark hair. It was Ani, her hair in a ponytail, a baseball cap on her head, large black sunglasses perched on her nose. That baseball cap was part of their “disguise” when they’d left the Wagon Wheel…was she still trying to mask her identity?

She was conversing with someone, leaning over the table to listen intently to what they were saying. Gil’s view of her companion was blocked by an outdoor heater and a kid who was jumping on his chair with a fistful of pepperoni.

But at least Ani was fine. The virus must have messed with his inner warning system. He hadn’t needed to come out here in his underwear to check on her. He turned away, and as he did, something in the alder bushes on the other side of the parking lot caught his eye.

He squinted to bring it into focus. Someone was lurking in the brush. A man, still and alert, clearly watching someone on the terrace. Gil followed his line of sight and landed on Ani’s table. In a crowded restaurant situation, the man had located probably the only spot where he could easily surveil Ani and her companion.

Had he seen Gil? He showed no sign of it. Gil ducked his head and headed back the way he’d come, then circled around the rear of the restaurant. A stretch of the gravel lot on the other side was set aside for RV parking. Two of the big deluxe homes-on-wheels were currently occupying those spaces. If he climbed onto one of those roofs, he could get a clear look at the man and figure out what he was up to.

By the time he reached the top of the closest—a deluxe Chinook—he was out of breath. Damn, he was going to have to start some kind of rehab and recovery workout. That virus had drained him.

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