Run

by Blake Crouch

“So I’m thinking they cut everyone down with AR-15s, and then went through with chainsaws. Making sure no one crawled out.” The blond hairs on the back of her neck stand erect, a rod of ice descending her spine. The sun burns down out of the bright June sky, more intense for the elevation. Brushstrokes of snow linger above timberline on the distant peaks.

“You okay?” Sam asks. “Yeah. Just that this is my first mission out west. I’d been working New York City up until now.” “Look, take the day if you want. Get yourself acclimated. You’ll need your head right for this one.” “No.” She stands, hoisting the duffle bag out of the grass and engaging that compartment in her brain that functions solely as a cold, indifferent scientist. “Let’s go to work.”

Dee Colclough lay watching it all on a flatscreen from a ninth-floor hotel room ten minutes from home, a sheet twisted between her legs, the air-conditioning cool against the film of sweat on her skin. She looked over at Kiernan, said, “Even the anchors look scared.”

“I got called up,” he said. “Your Guard unit?” “I have to report tomorrow morning.” He lit another one. “What I hear, we’ll just be patrolling neighborhoods.” “Keeping the peace until it all blows over?” He glanced at her, head cocked with that boyish smirk she’d fallen for six months ago when he’d deposed her as an adverse expert witness in a medical malpractice case. “Does anything about this make you feel like it’s going to blow over?”

Kiernan dragged heavily on his cigarette. “Something’s happening,” he said. “Obviously. The whole country—” “That’s not what I mean, love.” “What

didn’t answer right away, just sat there for a while, smoking. “It’s been coming on now, little by little, for days,” he said finally.

“I don’t understand.” “I barely do myself.” Through the cracked window of their hotel room—distant gunshots...

at least.” “What is this, Kiernan?” She could feel an angry knot bulging in her throat. “Are we not in this together? Are you having second thoughts about everything or what?” “It’s not that.”

you?” She couldn’t see all of his face in the mirror on the opposite wall, but she could see his eyes. Gaping into nothing. A thousand-yard stare. Somewhere other than this room. He’d gone deep,

back. Something missing. She climbed out of bed and walked over to her dress where

don’t understand what—” “Forget it.” “Kiernan—” “Fucking

“Nothing.” Dee pulled the straps over her shoulders as Kiernan glared at her through

shadow that reminded her so much of her father. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I don’t know.”

“You and I are not the same anymore, Dee.” “Did I do something or—” “I’m not talking about our relationship. It’s deeper. It’s…so much more profound than that.”

She was standing by the window. The air coming in was cool and it smelled of the city and the desert that surrounded it. A pair of gunshots drew her attention, and when she looked through the glass she saw grids of darkness overspreading the city.

“You need to get away from me right now,” he said. “What are you talking about?” “There’s this part of me, Dee, getting stronger every time I breathe in, that wants to hurt you.” “Why?”

“Last place I saw it.” Jack set the flashlight on the counter and stared at his fourteen-year-old daughter, pouting at the breakfast table, her purple-streaked blond hair twirled around her finger.

Jack said, “They’ve lost their fucking minds.” Dee turned off the tap, screwed a cap onto the final jug. “You think anyone’s actually acting on that?” “I don’t know.” “I don’t want to leave.” “I’ll take these jugs out to the car. Go make sure the kids are getting packed.”

Inside the house, Dee released a loud gasp. He grabbed the flashlight, negotiated the sprawl of backpacks and sleeping bags, and bolted up the steps and through the door into the utility room. Past the washer and dryer, back into the kitchen. Naomi and his seven-year-old son, Cole, stood at the opening to the hallway, their faces all warmth and shadow in the candlelight, watching their mother at the sink.