SoJo made a long face and verbalized what each of them was thinking.

  “Uh-oh.”

  VAN

  Twenty-Two Hundred Meters Southeast of Area 57 – New Mexico

  And now I’m sneaking up on Sara like Buffalo Bill snuck up on Clarice! Just like in Silence of the Lambs!

  It’s so cool!

  Van liked Silence of the Lambs. It didn’t have any jump scares.

  But he didn’t like the nonstop endless chatter about a seemingly infinite number of stupid Tonys, and he pulled his ear radio out and chucked it into the desert.

  Irritating Harry McGlade just made it onto my Must Murder List.

  But first things first…

  Sara had no clue he stood only six steps away from her. And her night vision image was clear and bright and even in color, which Van hadn’t expected.

  In fact, she’s as bright as an open beach a sunny day.

  And getting brighter. And brighter.

  Why is she glowing?

  Van heard a car, and turned to see headlights, burning into his eyes like he’d been stabbed with road flares.

  Just like in Silence of the Lambs!

  It’s so painful!

  Who could have predicted this could happen?!?

  He dropped the binoculars and clutched his eyes—

  —driving his own scalpel into his eye socket.

  The #10 blade.

  It did have better penetration after all.

  Van fell to his knees, hearing a car door open.

  “Sara! Are you okay?”

  It’s that ex-cop. Tom.

  I should have killed him on the plane.

  I should have killed all of them.

  “Van drugged everyone. Then attacked me.”

  Van tried to deny it. But the words in his head wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

  How deep did I stab myself?

  Did I hit my brain?

  He tried to pull out the scalpel, but it was stuck in there pretty good.

  Pretty good, and pretty deep.

  Only an inch of handle is still sticking out.

  I need to get to a doctor.

  He tried to tell that idiot Tom and that idiot Sara that he needed medical attention immediately.

  But once again, he couldn’t form words.

  “Jesus. He stabbed himself.”

  I didn’t do it, you cretin! You did! With your headlights!

  “That’s got to be deep in his brain.”

  No kidding, you stupid woman! I wish I could call you that to your stupid face!

  Why am I falling over?!?

  Why is this happening to me?!?

  “He’s going into shock. I think he’s dying.”

  Dying?!? I can’t be dying, you moron!

  I’m a brilliant genius artist! I’m a content creator! I’m essential to life on this planet! I can never die!

  Then Van died.

  FABLER

  Twenty-Three Hundred Meters Northwest of Area 57 – New Mexico

  Fabler pushed himself off of the ground and spat out another piece of tooth while Leo jogged off to attack Joan.

  That pisses me off. Hitting a woman.

 

  I don’t give a shit about politics or who I offend. He’s twice her size.

 

  You don’t hit people who are smaller. Women are usually smaller.

 

  Not if I can help it.

 

  Women should be allowed to defend themselves. And their country.

 

  Swearing an oath to support and defend the Constitution also means protecting Freedom of Speech, which includes the right to offend others.

 

  Hate is ignorant. Bigotry is ignorant. So is pride when it is based on things you had no control over. I won’t take responsibility, or blame, for things that I did not do. I am not bound or obligated to live a certain way because of the circumstances of my birth. Culture, tradition, and religion are like language, borders, and infrastructure. They predate me. My ancestors don’t dictate my actions because I didn’t have any say in what they did.

 

  Repay kindness with kindness, and be kind until I can no longer tolerate kindness not being repaid. Why are you digging into my head while I’m fighting for my life?

 

  I know.

 

  I know.

 

  Get out of my thoughts.

 

  Who are you? Have we met before?

 

  Fabler was pretty sure the voice in his head didn’t belong to him. But he obeyed anyway, forcing one foot in front of the other. He passed Leo, who knelt next to the pummeled, swollen Mary.

  Nice work, Joan.

  “Burn her!” Mary screeched. “I want to see that bitch burn!”

  Fabler bent down, looming over Joan. “You okay?”

  “Been better.”

  “I’m okay!” Abe yelled. “In case anyone was worried!”

  Fabler held out his hand and pulled Joan to her feet.

  “He can’t cover us both,” Fabler told her. “One of us can get to the car, grab the weapons.”

  Leo’s head perked up at hearing that, and he left Mary to guard the SUV, standing in front of it.

  “He knows a lot of martial arts,” Joan said. “In Vegas, I saw him handle six guys in about five seconds.”

  “I once handled three women,” Abe volunteered. “But that took two and a half hours.”

  No one responded to him.

  “Fine, I’m lying. It took two minutes. But trust me, every woman is thinkin’ to let Lincoln sink-in. Especially when they’ve been drinkin’.”

  Again, no response.

  “How about we cut out all this fighting and play a game? Like we all used to play at slumber parties? Who’s up for a few rounds of Hide The Finger?”

  Silence.

  “Milk The Cow?”

  More silence.

  “Butt Spelunker? None of you played Butt Spelunker at a sleepover? We pretend we’re intrepid explorers, mapping the Brown Caverns?”

  The silence got thicker.

  “Stinky Pinky? Name That Secretion? Icky Licking?”

  What kind of slumber parties did this guy go to?

  “Duck Duck Goose?”

  “I remember that one,” Joan said.

  “The version where the goose has to tongue punch everyone in the fart box?”

  “I remember it differently.”

  “Is everyone made of stone?” Abe lamented. “Would it kill you guys to laugh? I know y’all are fighting for your lives, but right now I’m the one dying here.”

  Fabler chuckled. That one was actually funny.

 

  Seriously, who the hell are you?

  Joan went left. Fabler approached Leo straight on.

 

  How do you know?

 

  Fabler didn’t know if he was experiencing Psytox flashbacks, residual N-Som issues, a mental breakdown, or a concussion from getting hit in the head by Leo too many times, but he listened to the voice. As soon as Leo moved, Fabler slipped a shoulder then threw up a block.

  Astonishingly, both worked, though his ribs screamed at him. They screamed even louder when Fabler cracked Leo in the neck with the knife edge of his hand.

  The larger man grunted and staggered backward.

 

  Shh. I got this.

  Fabler stepped up, snap kicked Leo in the side, then launched at him, connecting with a flying Muay Thai knee, hearing one of his opponent’s ribs snap.

  Hurts, don’t it?

  As Leo backpedaled, Fabler whipped a leg around, the spinning kick catching Leo in the face.

  The clone of the King of Sparta went down on one knee just as Joan made it to the SUV, yanking on the passenger door.

  Locked.

  Leo sprang up and ran for her, and Fabler followed, tackling his legs. Grappling, Fabler focused on Leo’s right arm, circling his legs around it.

  If I can get him in an arm bar I can incapacitate him.

  Leo must have been thinking the same thing because he fought like hell, grabbing his own wrist, then hooking Fabler’s arm in his elbow and using his free hand to pull out the trapped one.

  Which was fine with Fabler, who used the distraction to drive his heel, repeatedly, into Leo’s face.

  Leo pushed and rolled, again going for Joan, who had a softball-sized rock and was banging away at the safety glass of the hatchback window.

  Once more Fabler pursued him, yelling for Joan to duck as he jumped on the larger man, getting an arm around his neck and riding him piggy-back.

  Fabler cinched in the sleeper hold and flexed his biceps, determined to cut off his air. But Leo had a neck like an oak tree. He tried to flip Fabler, who resisted by digging in his heels, bronco buster-style.

  Leo dropped to his knees, then began a forward roll, Fabler quickly releasing him before getting pinned. They wound up on their bellies, face-to-face, and Fabler stole from Joan’s playbook and threw a handful of sand into Leo’s eyes.

  Leo turned his face to avoid being blinded, then he tugged at the back of his waistband and produced the KA-BAR knife.

  “I knew someone here played Butt Spelunker!” Abe declared. “He pulled that knife right out of his man-purse!”

  Leo lunged, and Fabler rolled to the side, ribs screaming, and managed to stand up. Leo also was on his feet, blade extended and pointing at Fabler’s face.

  “I thought you were going to break all my ribs.”

  “New plan. I’m going to slit your throat and pull your spine out of the hole.”

  That’s disturbingly descriptive.

  “Don’t let him cut you!” Abe exclaimed. “That knife is covered in ass juice!”

  Leo feinted with the knife, and Fabler dodged backward.

  Yeah, he’s bigger and stronger and faster and younger and knows a bunch of martial arts.

  He’s armed, and I’m not.

  But according to his DNA, he’s just ten years old.

  I have more experience. That counts for something.

  And I think my reflexes are finally back to normal.

  Only one way to know for sure…

  Fabler held up his palms.

  Leo grinned. “We’re past the point where you can surrender—”

  Fast as a cobra, Fabler struck with both hands. One hit the inside of Leo’s wrist, forming a fulcrum, while the other slapped the outside of his palm, bending it at a ninety-degree angle. Leo’s fingers opened, and the knife went flying off to the side, and Fabler followed up with a head-butt, connecting hard with Leo’s chin, knocking him to the desert sand.

  “I’m in!” Joan yelled.

  Fabler didn’t wait for her. He dove to the side, grabbing the dropped knife, readying for Leo’s next attack.

  That’s when a vehicle pulled up and Tom hopped out, holding a gun.

  “Thomas Jefferson!” Abe bellowed. “Second best president to ever be elected!”

  Leo looked at Tom. Then at Fabler. Then at Joan. And finally at Mary, still lying on the ground.

  Then he turned tail and sprinted off into the desert night.

  He said that Leonidas should have run away at Thermopylae. At least he’s consistent.

  “Leo!” Bloody Mary wailed, reaching a hand out to him. “Come back!”

  For once, Leo did not follow Mary’s orders. That guy was gone.

  Fabler focused his attention on Tom. “Welcome to the party. You hear from the other teams?”

  “Presley hasn’t hooked up comms yet. Van tried to murder all of Team Two, but took himself out before he hurt anyone, because he was an idiot. McGlade is in my ear right now, naming every single person in the Tony Mafia. He’s up to vegetables. Tony Eggplant. Tony Brussels Sprouts. Tony the Turnip. Parsnips Tony. Tony Carolina Reaper Pepper.”

  “I hear he’s hot,” Joan said.

  Tom and Joan exchanged one of those meaningful looks meant for lovers-only, and Fabler turned away, giving them their privacy.

 

  What is it you want from me?

 

  Fabler finally recognized the voice.

  You’re Mu. Last time I saw you, you were a pocket calculator.

 

  Fabler pictured an image of a talking banana.

 

  How’d you get in my head?

 

  What sort of training?

 

  What battle?

 

  ZIGGY

  Area 57 – New Mexico

  Ziggy frowned at his bank of monitors, watching Bub plow through the security team like the Tasmanian Devil, except the dim-witted cuteness was replaced with screaming and bloody chunks of flesh and human organs flying everywhere.

  Not my emergency. This one is on Charles.

  Tork had been killed.

  A shame, because the man had been useful.

  But he isn’t essential. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, when required.

  Sacagawea and Sojourner were still on the loose.

  Also unfortunate. But there is no place for them to go. They won’t find the exits. They’ll be recaptured, and I’ll be able to scratch off African American and Native American on my Kill Every Race bingo card.

  Thomas had also gotten away.

  He’s no threat. And his companion, Presley, seems to have gotten into my office. But my computer is password protected. She won’t get in…

  Everything will sort itself out. It always does. No need to panic.

  Ziggy turned his attention back to the lab and pressed the intercom.

  “How’s it going, Nicky?”

  “We’re close. And I’ve repeatedly told you to call me Nick.”

  “Bub is free. Charles isn’t here to contain him. The teleforce may be the only thing that saves us. Work faster.”

  After sending Charles a quick text to inform him that his pet has escaped and was probably going to destroy the world, Ziggy did the one thing he did every night after dinner.

  He called Shackleton, Iowa. To talk to his mom.

  “Good evening, Luanne.”

  Ziggy pictured her on the sofa, in that sheer nightgown, her silver hair up in a tight bun.

  “Good evening, Sigmund. Please don’t call me by my first name. I’m your mother.”

  “You know my feelings for you aren’t maternal, Luanne.”

  She sighed, and it was musical. “Sigmund, don’t go down this route again. It’s disturbing and wrong.”

  “How can love be disturbing and wrong, Luanne? You have my heart. What can be wrong with that?”

  “You’re a psychologist, Sigmund. Your feelings for me are improper. Do you know what Freud would say?”

  Ziggy’s playful demeanor frosted-over. “I know exactly what Freud would say, Luanne.”

  “He’d say an Oedipus complex is causing you subconscious guilt.”

  “I have no guilt! It’s completely natural! And you aren’t my real mother, you’re my adoptive mother!”

  “I changed your diapers.”

  “And one day I’ll change yours! It will all come full circle! Everyone knows a boy’s best friend is his mother!”

  Who originally said that quote? Someone wise, no doubt.

  “I’m hanging up, Sigmund.”

  Ziggy cleared his throat and regained his composure. “Sorry, Luanne. You know how passionate I am on this matter.”

  “I love you as my son, Ziggy. There will never be anything romantic about it.”

  Ziggy turned his chair away from a screen of Bub tearing a man in half and gnawing on his exposed spine. “Fine. I don’t want to upset you.”

  “Thank you. Let’s discuss something else.”

  “Of course. What are you wearing?”

  “A bathrobe with a mustard stain on it.”

  Disappointing. “Why don’t you wear the nightgown I bought you?”

  “Because it’s inappropriate. A child shouldn’t be buying lingerie for his parents.”

  “But I’m no longer a child, Luanne. I’m a man. A grown man. An important man. I run an entire government facility. I have money. And power. And soon I will possess the teleforce. Do you remember what I promised?”

  Another sigh. “That you’ll destroy Shackleton unless I go on a date with you.”

  “So what’s your answer?”

  “The same answer I always give you, Sigmund. No. The answer will always be no. I only agreed to take your calls again because you promised to lose your ridiculous crush on me. The only relationship we’re ever going to have is as parent and child. Nothing else. Stop suggesting it. It’s gross.”

  What can’t she understand?

  No one will ever love her more than I do.

  Doesn’t she realize my threat is real? That I’d rather kill her than live without her?

  “I love you, Luanne. I love you so much.”

  “I love you too, Sigmund, in a strictly maternal way. You were a difficult son to raise. But I’m proud you’ve finally found your place in the world.”

  “Can I visit you?”

  “Sigmund, according to Iowa law this phone call is violating the restraining order. If you show up in person, the police will come again.”

  “I don’t fear the authorities.”