“Father and I found the beacon. It’s not your fault. We can help you.” He blinks. He looks to the gestation device, flat on the tarp a hundred yards away. “Can you walk?” I ask. Yarrow nods, stunned, his mouth agape. He’s somehow managed to bind his own hands behind him, but his legs are free. He lurches to his feet. I step toward the Aurora, scanning the countdown as I do. Five minutes.
i am in genuine emotional distress
