Something rippled across the metal of the helicopter. The front burst upward. Tyler couldn’t process it: The big bird seemed to be moving on its own. Again the wind held him back and he pushed his head down, saw something in the metal: a hand. Part of the fuselage rippled from gunfire from a few hundred yards away.

Tyler jumped to his feet and ran to the chopper. A body sprawled against a spar just inside the open hatchway. Tyler leaned in and grabbed it. The metal beneath his chest gave way; he fell into the Pave Low in slow motion, the side of the helicopter squishing as if it were held up by Jell-O. Tyler started to choke and blinked his eyes, grabbed hold of something-body or metal, he couldn’t even tell-and pulled.

“I’m okay. Get Chris.”

Someone pushed through the twisted metal on his right. There was smoke, something brown in his face. Tyler leaned into the dark hole, knowing he wasn’t coming out of here. He didn’t want to; he wanted to get away from the voices persecuting him, wanted to just fall into this black hole. He was a coward and he wanted to just disappear, to be sucked into oblivion.

“Help,” said someone.

“I’ll help you,” Tyler answered.

It seemed as if he were swimming, as if he were out on the river at night, under a bridge or a ledge, trapped as the current twisted around him.

“Out-we’re getting out,” he said, and there were raindrops now, the splatter of something against the surface of the water nearby.

He pulled and then pushed and could stand, and wasn’t in the water anymore. And someone yelled, “Here,” and the voice inside his head once more called him a coward. And then he saw that his hand was grabbing at a shirt. He stood and he pushed; he moved backward. Then he started to move forward.

“Come on,” someone shouted. “You’ve got them all, come on. They’re gunning for the helicopter.”

Tyler threw himself backward, tumbling onto a sandy beach.

Not a beach: the strip, away from the downed helicopter, away.

The ground was farther than he’d thought it could be-so much farther. His head finally hit and the pain shot up against his mouth and then back to his ears and to his neck and down his spine, and he vibrated as he swam again, the voice calling him a coward over and over.

Chapter 15

They drove over a set of railroad tracks, down a road with weeds tall enough to flank the sides of the car. Howe saw two buildings ahead, metal warehouses with green and white walls. They hadn’t been driving long enough to get out of Virginia, but where exactly they were he had no idea.

Howe looked at Alice. She blinked her eyes at him.

“Run,” he mouthed silently.

She blinked again but didn’t nod. The man in the front passenger seat got out of the car and walked around the front of the car.

Telling her to run was useless. Where would she go?

The door on her side opened. Howe grabbed her arms, holding her in the car.

“Let her go. You want me, right? Just let her go and we can work this out.”

“Just shut up,” said the man next to him. He opened his door and, as he was climbing out, gave Howe a sharp elbow in the side. Howe groaned and bent forward over Alice ’s lap; he felt her press down on top of him.

“Run as soon as you get a chance,” he told her. “Just run.”

Alice pushed her chin down into his back; if she said something, he couldn’t hear.

If he was going to make the call, now was the time; they couldn’t see him. He reached into his pocket and slid out the phone, fingers jabbing the buttons. The man who had gotten out of the car reached back and pulled him out. Jerked upward, Howe dropped the cell phone near Alice ’s feet and stumbled out. He managed to fall down and rolled on the ground; he figured he might be able to overpower one of the goons if they got close enough.

But the men weren’t that stupid. One squatted down in front of him, well out of reach, pointing his weapon at his face.

“You fuck with us, we shoot you and the lady. You want that?”

“I want you to let her go,” said Howe.

One of the other men had come around on the other side of him and kicked him in the ribs.

“Just let her go,” Howe groaned. “What do you need her for?”

The man kicked him again.

Fisher twisted the phone around so he could see the number as he hit the button to receive the call.

“Where are you?” he asked, but he got only a muffled reply. He pressed the phone to his ear, listening.

By the time the man grew tired of kicking him, Howe was writhing in pain. The kicker stooped down and picked him up, hauling him to his feet. Howe wobbled somewhat, moving forward unsteadily, trying simply to get his breath back. He couldn’t seem to manage it, and though he willed his body to help, it just didn’t seem able.

“Hey, this way,” said one of the other goons.

“Let her go,” muttered Howe.

“Tough guy, huh?” The man pushed him backward; Howe slipped and fell against the car.

“You know who I am?” Howe said.

The man laughed. “Like I give a fuck, right?”