Page 55 of What Doesn't Kill Her

“Wade McNomara.”

WADE MCNOMARA:

MALE, ASIAN ANCESTRY/IRISH SURNAME (INTERESTING), 50 YO, 5'8", SO SKINNY NO ONE WOULD USE HIS DRUMSTICKS TO MAKE SOUP. NOT THE LEADER. UNFRIENDLY.

He lifted his index finger and waved it in a circle. “I’m the founder of the Cyclomaniacs.”

“Cute name. We’re headed to the lookout on top of Horizon Ridge.”

Wade moved from foot to foot. “You don’t want to do that. That guy up there—Zone.”

“Zone? His name is Zone?”

“That’s the least of it. He’s weird. He’s crazy.”

“That’s reassuring.” She needed the information, so she squatted against another tree. “What’s wrong with him?”

“His family owned Horizon Ridge way back in the day. It’s an extinct volcano, above the tree line, and you can see forever up there. Even standing on the ground, it’s amazing, and I’ve heard in the tower the view is west to the ocean and south and east for miles. When World War II rolled around, the federal government wanted to build a lookout up there, and Zone’s great-grandfather was a shrewd old bastard with good contacts. Somehow he made them agree that if he built the lookout, his family had the right to live there in perpetuity.”

“What’s wrong with this Zone person living there? Sounds okay, if he has the right.”

“You know how it is. When you’re in the mountains, everyone helps each other and if you visit one of the National Forest lookouts, you can go up and take photos. If there’s a ranger they’ll show you around, and sometimes you can rent the place for a night or a week.”

Kellen didn’t know that. Her previous experience with the mountains was of civil war in Afghanistan. And this experience, in the Olympics, had been unrelenting terror driven by the hope of escape. But she said, “Sure.”

“Zone is hostile.”

That’s the pot calling the kettle black.

“A loner. Barricades himself in. Two years ago, I took the Cyclomaniacs there. He came out on the deck with a shotgun.”

“That’s not good.” She had believed she was leading Rae to the one place they would be safe. Now another worry—would she get Rae safely to the lookout and be denied access?

“He never lets anyone come up, never leaves.” Wade shuffled his feet some more, stirring the carpet of pine needles, making aggressive eye contact.

“He has to leave,” Kellen pointed out. “If he lives above the tree line, he hasn’t got a garden. He needs supplies.”

“No one’s ever seen him out with the real people.”

“Is Zone his last name?”

Wade shrugged. “I think so.”

“What’s his first name?”

“Never heard it.”

If she was getting this right, Wade had led the group up the mountain, promising a spectacular view. Zone had ordered them away. Wade had looked like a fool, and everything about him spelled anger and resentment.

No wonder he wasn’t the Cyclomaniacs’ leader.

Still, he tried. “So don’t go up there,” Wade commanded.

She hesitated. Of course she did. Would she be wiser to take Rae and head back toward civilization?

No. The Greedy Bastards and the Mercenaries were back that direction. She assumed they were headed up the mountain now, searching for her and Rae. The Restorer was closer, and even if he was everything Wade said, he was better than the men who hunted them. “We’ve got an appointment with this Zone.”

“An appointment? You didn’t even know his name!”

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