Ethan tugged his boots off, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his khaki pants.
The floor was cold through his socks.
With his elbow, the surgeon shut off the tap.
Ethan climbed onto the table and lay on his stomach on the cloth.
There was a mirror on the wall across the room beyond the heart monitors and IV stands. He watched the doctor finish pulling on his surgical gloves and wander over.
“How deep is the microchip?” Ethan asked.
“Not terribly,” the doctor said.
He opened the bottle of iodine.
Poured some onto a cloth.
Scrubbed the back of Ethan’s left leg.
“We affix them to the biceps femoris.” The doctor jabbed the syringe into the smallest bottle. “Few little pinches coming,” he said.
“What’s in that?”
“Just a local anesthetic.”
Once the back of his leg was numb, it went fast.
Ethan couldn’t feel a thing, but in the reflection of the mirror, he watched the doctor lift the scalpel.
He felt some pressure.
Soon there were smears of blood on the doctor’s latex gloves.
A minute later, he traded the scalpel for the tweezers.
Twenty seconds later, the microchip plunked into the metal tray beside Ethan’s head.
It looked like a flake of mica.
“Do me a favor,” Ethan said as the doctor pushed a piece of gauze into the wound.
“What’s that?”
“Do a sloppy job on the sutures.”
“Smart,” Pam said. “It’ll buy you some Kate cred if she thinks you cut it out yourself. Like maybe you’re going rogue.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
The doctor lifted the needle holder, a length of dark thread dangling.
The pain from the incision was beginning to warm in the back of Ethan’s leg as he and Pam moved down the Level 1 corridor toward the cavern.
Ethan stopped at the door to Margaret’s cell, leaned in toward the glass window, and cupped his hands around his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Pam asked.
“I want to see her again.”
“You can’t.”
He squinted through the glass into darkness.
Couldn’t see a thing.
“Have you worked with her?” Ethan asked.
“I have.”
“What do you think of her?”
“She should be put in the incinerator with all of our specimens. Come on.”
Ethan looked at Pam. “You see no benefit to learning from the abbies? They do outnumber us by a few hundred million.”
“Oh, you mean so we can coexist? What kind of let’s-hold-hands hippie shit are you suggesting?”
“Survival,” Ethan said. “What if they aren’t all mindlessly violent? If they actually possess a real intelligence, then communication is possible.”
“We have everything we need in Wayward Pines.”
“We can’t live in this valley forever.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I don’t consider the conditions in town ‘living.’ ”
“What would you call it?”
“Imprisonment.”
He turned back to the cage.
Margaret’s head filled the circular window, inches away.
She stared into Ethan’s eyes.
Lucid.
Utterly calm.
“A penny for your thoughts,” he said.
Her black talons began to tap against the glass.
16
It was a two-bedroom Victorian on the northeast side of town, freshly painted, with two pine trees in the front yard and Wayne Johnson’s last name already stenciled on the black mailbox.
Ethan stepped up onto the front porch and rapped the brass knocker.
After a moment, the door opened.
A rotund, balding, gray-skinned man looked up at Ethan, squinting against the light.
He wore a bathrobe, and what hair he still had looked slept-on and uncombed.
“Mr. Johnson?” Ethan said.
“Yes?”
“Hi, I just wanted to swing by and introduce myself. I’m Ethan Burke, sheriff of Wayward Pines.” It felt strangely dirty claiming that position.
The man stared at him, confused.
“Would it be all right if I came in for a minute?”
“Um, sure.”
The house still smelled unlived-in and sterile.
They sat at a small kitchen table.
Ethan took off his Stetson and unbuttoned his parka.
Casserole dishes and plates wrapped in tinfoil lined the counters.
Neighbors no doubt had been called and urged to bring lunch and dinner to Mr. Johnson during this first difficult week.
The three plates within eyeshot looked untouched.
“Are you eating?” Ethan asked.
“Haven’t really had much of an appetite. People have been bringing food over.”
“Good, so you’re meeting the neighbors.”
Wayne Johnson ignored this.
The Wayward Pines Welcome Manual issued to each resident upon their arrival lay open across the table’s faux-wood veneer. Seventy-five pages of dire threats sugarcoated as “suggestions” for living a happy life in Pines. Ethan’s first week as sheriff had been spent memorizing it cover-to-cover. The book was currently open to the page that explained how food was distributed through the winter months when the gardens were in deep freeze.
“They tell me,” Wayne said, “that I’m going to be working soon.”
“That’s right.”
The man put his hands in his lap and stared at them.
“What will I be doing?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Are you one of the people I can actually talk to?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Ethan said. “Right now, you can ask me whatever you want, Mr. Johnson.”
“Why is this happening to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you won’t tell me?”
There was a section toward the beginning of the welcome manual entitled “How to Handle Questions, Fears, and Doubts About Where You Are.”
Ethan pulled the manual over and thumbed through to that section.
“This chapter might offer you some guidance,” Ethan said.
He felt like he was reading off a very bad script, which he didn’t believe in.
“Guidance for what? I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what happened to me. And no one will tell me anything. I don’t need guidance, I need fucking answers.”
“I understand your frustration,” Ethan said.
“Why doesn’t the phone work? I’ve tried to call my mother five times. It just rings and rings. That isn’t right. She’s always home, always by the phone.”
Ethan had been in Wayne Johnson’s shoes not long ago.
Frantic.
Terrified.
Coming unhinged as he ran around town trying to make contact with the outside world.
Pilcher and Pam had set out to make Ethan believe he was losing his mind. That had been their integration plan for him from the start. Wayne Johnson’s was different. He was getting what most people got: several weeks to explore town, explore the boundaries, and have several freak-outs before the tough love kicked in.