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  “Nice, huh?” she said, but her eyes stayed on the ground. Not many people knew about her leg. Fewer had ever seen it.

  En leaned forward and brushed his fingers along the slim metal of her leg and foot. He grinned and she felt less self-conscious.

  “I pieced it together myself after insurance gave me one of those crap plastic ones. Looked like a department store mannequin.”

  “How did you lose it?” he asked. “Sorry. I mean, I never knew, yeah?”

  “It’s fine. I don’t really talk about it. My dad and I were in a car accident when I was fourteen. He died and my leg was crushed.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she said again, ignoring the pang that always came when mentioning her dad. “Anyways, old news. But here’s a gun for you.” She zipped the leather back over her knee.

  Enrique stood and held his hand out. She let him help her up.

  “Don’t worry. You can still be my knight,” he said with a smile.

  “If you’re lucky,” she answered.

  They followed the path right out of the park and into a more heavily wooded area. Now and then the trees were replaced by rock on both sides—as though the path had been blasted through.

  “Where are we?” she finally asked, giving way to her curiosity. She’d never seen a park trail like this.

  Enrique dug in his basics and pulled out the crumpled map.

  “You had that this whole time?” Arie asked, snatching it from him. “Nice,” she smiled, and spread the map flat on a tree trunk. “So we got off on 299, then turned somewhere…”

  En reached around her, and she couldn’t help but notice how close he was again. She watched his finger trail across the line and stop at a side street. “Here’s the park. We’re on the Rail Trail,” he read. “Like an old railroad?”

  “That would explain the rock. Here’s another old railroad,” she pointed. She squinted at the map, feeling like she was forgetting something.

  Suddenly she dropped the map and grabbed the tag again. “Look!” She traced the lines on the map. “Two vertical highways, joined here and here by cities. Crossed in the middle by 299!”

  The map matched the lines on the tag perfectly.

  “But what about this side?” En flipped the tag over. A network of lines crossed each other, forming several crossed roads.

  Arie compared them to the map. “I think that’s Black Creek, and this is the trail we’re on. That line could be this old rail bed. Somehow we’re exactly where we need to be.”

  “See? Lucky,” En grinned.

  Arie shook her head. She’d never been lucky—not really. Just prepared. Family motto, right? They approached a bridge over the Black Creek and Arie paused to look around. “Maybe we should take a break and eat something.”

  En dangled his legs over the edge of the bridge as they ate Bas’s reconstituted cheesy pasta. “Not bad,” he shrugged.

  “Not good, either,” Arie said, but she grinned anyways.

  “Wish we had some spray paint. I’d love to tag this bridge. Right over there—by the one that says ‘BE PREPARED.’” En laughed. “How about ‘the end is near’?”

  Arie leaned over to see where he was pointing. The dull green paint was blocky and small on the mossy stone of the bridge—not the sort of splashy tag she was used to seeing.

  “Who tags crap way out here in the suburbs, anyways?” she asked.

  En hopped down and skidded down the bank, knocking rocks into the shallow creek below. “Check this out, yeah?” he called up to her. She leaned even farther over, grabbing the railing to keep herself steady. The stone supports of the bridge were massive—they reminded her of an old castle drawbridge.

  “Arie! Get down here!” En yelled, and she shoved to her feet, climbing down as fast as she could with her awkward leg.

  “What? Are you okay?”

  He just pointed, his eyes round with wonder.

  There was a door in the bridge support, right beneath the words they’d seen. And a lock.

  “I feel like we’re in a movie,” she giggled nervously. But she pulled the key off her neck. It slid into the lock and clicked over with only a very small push. The metal door screeched as they both pushed, but it opened.

  As soon as they stepped inside, Arie knew.

  This was Bas—everywhere she looked, this was Bas.

  A double set of bunked cots on one wall. Canisters, labeled in small block print, were shelved on another wall. Bricks of water stacked ceiling high. A generator. Blankets. A drum of gasoline. Board games.

  Her eyes could barely take it all in.

  Enrique cursed under his breath, and all she could do was nod.

  “Lucky, yeah?” he laughed, whooping. He squeezed her from behind, his arms strong and shaky all at once.

  “Prepared,” she whispered, and tugged the necklace back over her head.

  Learn more about Hilary Thompson

  Amy was stuck in a New York City traffic jam on her way to work when her cell phone chirped.

  Amy pushed a button on her dashboard to answer. “Amy Savino, WNMN news, can I help you?”

  “Miss Savino,” a male voice said. “I have a story that you might like to look into.”

  Amy frowned. She got calls like this all the time, but usually from people she knew. She did not recognize this man’s voice. She looked down at the caller ID. It said, ‘unknown.’

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  Ignoring her question the man said, “A woman by the name of Rosa Manuel resigned without any warning from a pharmaceutical company called Peter Franklin Donalds after working there for decades.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. It was another waste of her time. She was about to politely brush him off when he continued.

  “Shortly after her resignation, she was admitted to the hospital in an unexplained coma.”

  Amy waited a moment to see if there was anything else. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was she a relative of yours? Or a co-worker maybe?”

  Once again, he ignored her questions. “Peter Franklin Donalds is responsible. I don’t know how yet, but they are.”

  Amy heard the distinct click of the man hanging up.

  That was creepy, she thought. Ordinarily, she would brush a phone call like this off, but something about the vehemence in the man’s voice made the hairs on Amy’s arms stand up. She decided she would look into it when she got to the office.

  Amy breezed into the WNMN news building a short time later. Her cameraman, Vince, was leaning against the young blonde receptionist’s desk when Amy walked past.

  “Hey Amy!” he said when he saw her.

  “Morning Vince,” she said distractedly, pulling her hand through her dark brown hair.

  “I hear we are heading out for an interview later, yeah?”

  “Aren’t we always?” Amy said looking at him for the first time.

  He smiled and stared for a moment before turning to go back to his own work area.

  “Amy!” Amy’s boss yelled her name across the room.

  “Morning Mick!” She waved in his direction but kept moving.

  “Got anything good for me today?” Mick followed her with a cup of coffee near his lips.

  “Got a tip on the way in. I’m going to follow up on it.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Keep me posted.”

  Amy went straight to her office, before anyone else could intervene.

  She fired up the computer and typed in Rosa Manuel. A local newspaper story popped up immediately.

  Rosa Manuel had faithfully worked for Peter Franklin Donalds for decades before suddenly resigning with no explanation. Shortly after her resignation, she was admitted to the hospital in an unexplained coma.

  Exactly like the man had said.

  “Rosa, you ticked off the wrong people,” Amy whispered to herself.

  She typed in Peter Franklin Donalds on her keyboard and waited. Once she found their website, she clicked on it. For some
reason their logo immediately caught her eye. It was very simple. Just a grey diamond with the blue letters, PFD, in front of it. Somehow she felt like she had seen it before, but she couldn’t remember where. She brushed it off and quickly ran through the page, clicking relevant links and copying information into her notes. It didn’t take long. No matter how much she searched, there was not much to find.

  She tapped her pen on her desk for a moment thinking. She pressed a button on the screen and a mechanical voice said, “Calling Peter Franklin Donalds”.

  It rang only once before someone answered. “Hello, thank you for calling Peter Franklin Donalds, how may I direct your call?”

  “Good afternoon, I would like to speak with Mr. Donalds please?” Amy asked hoping they did not trace her to WMNM right away.

  “I’m sorry he does not receive unscheduled calls. Would you like to schedule a time to speak with him?”

  Amy was swearing in her head. “Yes, please. As soon as possible.” She had really hoped to get an interview for this evening’s news report.

  “May I have your name?”

  “Amy Savino,” she told the operator. She figured it was better to tell the truth than have them trace her call and catch her lying.

  “I’ll look at his schedule. Hold, please.”

  Amy tapped her foot while she waited impatiently. Her boss was not going to be pleased if she didn’t get this interview.

  Amy heard a click in the receiver, “Ma’am? I’m sorry Miss Savino, our company does not speak with members of the press by phone or in person. They only speak at press conferences. If you would like our press schedule or any other information, it is available on our website.”

  Amy heard the click of the connection breaking. She stared at the screen stunned.

  “Oh no you didn’t just…” Amy began. She immediately called back. This time it went straight to voicemail. Amy left a message knowing that she would not be hearing from them again.

  Fuming, she decided then and there that she would get to the bottom of Rosa’s story. That hers was going to be the one story Peter Franklin Donalds would take notice of. Never tick off a reporter, she thought, smiling.

  Amy spent the rest of that morning attempting to reach members of Rosa Manuel’s family, her friends, former co-workers, all to no avail. As much as she wanted to run the story, she just couldn’t get any solid proof. Which in itself was suspicious.

  By noon, she decided proof or no proof she was running with the story. She typed up her report and emailed it to Mick. Then she moved on to some other stories that she was supposed to be working on.

  Before long, Mick appeared in her doorway.

  He didn’t need to say anything. Amy could tell he was not happy.

  “Before you jump me Mick, hear me out,” Amy said with her hands in the air. “Something about the Rosa Manuel story just got to me. I have a feeling about it.”

  “Amy…” Mick began.

  Then suddenly Amy remembered something. The Peter Franklin Donalds logo. She remembered where she had seen it.

  “I’m sorry Mick,” she interrupted his scolding, “I’ve got to look something up.”

  “You better be right about this Savino,” her boss said leaving the room.

  She brought up the Peter Franklin Donalds page again. She stared at the logo. She remembered where she had seen it before. It was in Africa! Months ago she had done an interview with a deputy health minister in Sierra Leone. There had been a bad outbreak of a particularly dangerous hemorrhagic virus. Amy remembered it was called AVHF for short. It was a big story for a while, thousands had died, but they had contained it and, like anything, with time the AVHF virus became something people talked about less. More out of denial and fear than anything else. As if not talking about it meant it didn’t exist at all.

  Amy pressed the button for her camera man’s personal phone. He picked up almost immediately.

  “Hey gorgeous, what’s up?”

  “Hey Vince. I need you to look through our past recordings for the Africa interview and send it to me.”

  “Ugh. Why would you want to be reminded of that? All those people bleeding out of their—”

  “Just do it. As fast as you can,” Amy interrupted him.

  “Already on it. You okay?” Vince asked more seriously.

  “Of course. I just thought of something I need to check out.”

  “Okay it should be there any second.”

  Amy watched the file pop up on her screen. “Thanks Vince.”

  “No problem.”

  She hung up without even saying goodbye.

  Amy pressed play on the recording. She fast forwarded through much of the interview. When she thought the interview was mostly over she pressed play. She watched herself saying to the doctor beside her:

  “Doctor, the virus has been confirmed as airborne, correct? Has there ever been a hemorrhagic virus that was airborne before?”

  “No, there has not.”

  “Some conspiracy theorists believe that means that this particular virus was engineered—can you confirm that to be true?”

  “I have no comment on that.”

  Amy had seen enough. She didn’t need to be reminded of how terrifying that virus was. She fast forwarded to the footage that was tagged onto the end. The footage she and Vince had both had nightmares from seeing. Men in containment suits were carrying children on gurneys. They had blood dripping from their eyes.

  Amy paused it. On the arms of the containment suits was a gray diamond with the letters PFD. Just like the Peter Franklin Donalds logo.

  Amy printed the image on the screen. She stared at it, her mouth going dry.

  She had never gotten over the virus in Africa. She’d gone there and seen what this virus did in person, making it personal for her. In between her assigned work, she had been digging into this previously unknown strain of a virus. Something about the whole thing felt off. The fact that it came out of nowhere and then was somehow miraculously stopped with no vaccine or cure had her naturally suspicious side tingling.

  Amy’s phone buzzed, breaking her out of her thoughts.

  “Amy Savino, WMNM news,” she said automatically.

  “Hello, Ms. Savino, my name is Gloria. I am calling on behalf of a patient here at New York Hospital here in Queens. A Mr. George Pascelli.”

  “How can I help you?” Amy asked when she paused.

  “I know you are a very busy woman, but Mr. Pascelli would like for you to come see him. He is sure he has something newsworthy to share with you Ms. Savino. He is quite adamant.”

  Amy smiled at the exasperation in the woman’s voice. “What is this regarding?”

  “You will have to ask him. Something about one of those prepper groups.”

  “Do you know which group, Gloria?” Amy asked more interested.

  “That Prep for Doom one I think.”

  Amy was instantly excited.

  One of the results of the AVHF virus in Africa was that a whole new seriousness about prepping for disasters sprang up throughout the country. So much so that Amy and several other stations did stories on the various hardcore prepper groups. Prep for Doom, in particular had the New York area buzzing. Mostly because of the wide variety of people that were supposedly involved. Including church officials, medical professionals, and even members of government.

  “Okay, I can stop by and see him. I am on in a bit, but can swing by after.”

  “I’m sorry dear, visiting hours will be over then.”

  Amy was disappointed, but decided it would just have to wait.

  “First thing in the morning then?”

  “Oh you will make him very happy. Not much makes him happy these days,” she said whispering the last.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I will be over in the morning.”

  “Wonderful. Oh and one more thing. He asks that there be no cameras. He doesn’t look too well these days.”

  “Of course. I will come alone.”

  “
Wonderful,” Gloria said again. “Goodbye dear.”

  “Goodbye.”

  No one had landed an interview with a Prep for Doom member before and Amy was buzzing by the end of the call. She hung up and instantly typed the name George Pascelli into her computer. It turned out he was a former government official. She spent the next hour researching George Pascelli and the Prep for Doom group. When she was convinced she knew enough for an adequate interview, she printed it all and put it into a folder. By that time she had to get ready to be on camera. Despite what Mick thought, she was going to deliver a story on Rosa Manuel and Peter Franklin Donalds. One New York would pay attention to.

  * * *

  “Could you tell me which room Mr. George Pascelli is in?” Amy asked the hospital receptionist the next morning.

  “Oh,” the young woman in scrubs said, looking up in surprise. “Of course Miss Savino.”

  Amy smiled. She was used to being recognized.

  “He is in room 342. I just love you by the way. I watch your station every night.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said.

  She made her way to the appropriate elevator and stepped in with a large group. When she was on the third floor, she found her way to Mr. Pascelli’s room easily. She knocked on the open door before stepping into the room and approaching the man in the hospital bed. He looked terrible. His skin was a grayish color and he had several tubes attached to him.

  “Good morning, Mr. Pascelli. I’m Amy Savino from WMNM news. Is this an okay time?”

  He attempted to speak, but had to cough instead. He swept his arm in a ‘come here’ gesture and pointed to the chair beside his bed.

  Amy politely took a seat. When he finished coughing, he tried again.

  “Yes, Miss Savino. I know who you are.” He sucked in air. “Even if you weren’t beautiful, you are also a damn fine reporter,” he finished, breathless.

  Amy smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Mr. Pascelli. I appreciate your request for me to come see you. Before we get started, can I have your permission to record our conversation?”

  He waved his permission dismissively, obviously anxious to get on with the interview.