Page 57 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
The implications surged through me like a tidal wave. “You EMP’d us? Without warning?”
“Small burst. Targeted. Completely safe for biological tissue and shielded electronics.” Mitzy waves off my concern. “But lethal to nanoscale surveillance devices.”
Doc Summers steps forward, medical kit in hand. “Which is why we need to do some confirmation testing.”
She and Mitzy move around the circle, Doc Summers taking skin swabs from everyone while Mitzy runs a scanner over our gear. The process is methodical and clinical. Swab, scan, move to the next person.
When they finish, Mitzy claps her hands together. “Okay, you guys are cut loose. This is going to take a couple of hours to process.”
“Cut loose?” Walt looks around the group. “What do you mean, cut loose?”
Carter starts to stand, probably heading back toward the gondola. “We can head back up while you?—”
“Nope.” Mitzy shakes her head. “Everyone has to stay down here.”
“What the fuck?” The words explode out of me. “What do you mean, stay down here?”
“We need to confirm that the nanobots were deactivated,” Doc Summers explains, already setting up what looks like a portable lab station on a flat section of rock. “If any of you go back up to the compound before we know for certain, you could re-contaminate yourselves.”
Forest appears from somewhere near the tide pools, carrying a case of medical equipment. “Think of it as quarantine. Better safe than sorry.”
“How long?” Ethan asks, his team leader instincts kicking in.
“Couple hours, minimum.” Mitzy connects cables between various pieces of equipment. “Maybe longer, depending on what the analysis shows.”
She straightens, dusting grit off her hands, and grins at all of us. “You guys are on your own. Check out the tide pools. Skip some rocks. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”
The dismissal is clear. We’re stuck here until further notice.
I look around the circle at the rest of the team. Blake’s already wandering toward the water. Rigel’s examining something in the rocks again. Walt and Carter are discussing the merits of different driftwood configurations.
Normal conversation. Casual banter. The kind of shit guys talk about when they’re not focused on missions or operations or life-and-death situations.
Hank remains where he is, leaning against his log, staring at the horizon like it holds answers to questions I can’t even guess at.
The afternoon sun hangs lower now, maybe two hours from dusk. The tide pools reflect the sky in perfect miniature, and somewhere in the distance, a seal barks from the rocks.
We’re stuck here. All of us. With nothing to do but wait.
And talk.
And the one person I need to talk to is giving me the fucking cold shoulder.
I push off my log and walk over to where Hank’s still leaning against his, arms crossed, studying the horizon like it’s a tactical map.
TWENTY
Tide Pools
HANK
The conversation replaysin my head like a tactical briefing gone wrong. Gabe’s words from the gym, sharp as broken glass:She’s mine.Not ours. Mine. Like the years between us meant nothing.
Like Ally’s choice meant nothing.
I’ve heard him say a lot of stupid shit over the years. Reckless plans. Dangerous theories. The kind of explosive thinking that makes him brilliant in the field and impossible to predict.
But he’s never tried to split up what we had.
