Sleeping Giants (Themis Files #1)

Her house appeared to be in fairly good shape from the front, but the back half had been ripped right off. It was like a dollhouse—you could see every room, every piece of furniture. Amy’s room was on the edge, it was just…Mitchell pulled the mother away from me, doing his best to restrain her. “She’s gone,” he told her, holding her as tight as he could. “She’s gone.”

The hole was all muddy and filled with debris. There must have been a water line running somewhere. There were telephone poles sticking out like ragweed, chunks of bricks. We could see the front end of a car. All of it was mixed with mud and rocks. There was no way to even try to look for survivors.

There was this dog, a Bernese mountain dog, not a puppy, but you could tell he wasn’t fully grown. It was just standing there, right on the edge, barking at a patch of debris. There were lots of dogs barking, but this one kept jumping and barking at the same spot. He was just so intent, staring at some random spot. There was nothing there, nothing but mud, some clothes, a microwave oven.

Mitchell and I left the crater and went through a couple of the houses that were on the edge. Nothing.

Only eight people died that night. That’s what they told me. Most apparently ran out when the ground started shaking. Only eight…I pushed a button fifteen thousand feet away and I killed eight people, ordinary folks who never did anything to deserve this. They must have been so scared.

They tell me there was nothing we could have done to save any of them. I know that’s not true. We could have not gone over there. We didn’t have to do any of this. I wish it were as easy as saying I was just following orders. I chose to go. I’m responsible.

Everyone seems to have found a way to bury this, everyone but me. They’ve all shown great concern over me, lots of care and compassion. I don’t deal well with that kind of attention. I know it’s not pity, but I’m used to being the one taking care of people.

Mitchell comes to see me as often as I let him, which clearly isn’t often enough for him. He really cares, everyone can tell. But I don’t want to talk to him about this. He was there, just like I was. He’s the one who actually pushed the button. He must feel as responsible as I do. And if we keep flying together, I don’t want this to get in the way.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dr. Franklin since it happened. She wants me to call her Rose, as if I ever could. She’s holding herself together really well, considering. She’s the one that orchestrated all of this. The weight on her shoulders must be unbearable.

She comes every morning before her shift, sometimes she stays for a few hours. She plays the part of the big sister very well. She’s the only one who gets me thinking about something else. She brings me a new book every couple days, bad ones; they’re all horribly corny love stories. But she reads them too, and we laugh about them when we’re done. We have the same kind of humor for that kind of stuff. I guess she’s been as lucky as I have when it comes to relationships.

She’s never asked me to talk about what happened. She knows I’ve talked about the incident with everyone else. It’s all they wanna talk about. I don’t need to go through the events a thousand times to remember. I was there. I’ll remember how it went down for the rest of my life. I remember every detail; what the people were wearing; the picture frames on the walls of those houses that were torn in half. Dr. Franklin understands that. I’m grateful for that. I’m not sure I could go through this if it weren’t for her.

I know she still believes that some good can come of this. I can tell. For a while, I thought she was just driven by scientific curiosity, but now I know, she believes it’s worth it. She really thinks we can gain some knowledge that will help people. It’s nice to see that kind of conviction remain after such a tragedy. I wasn’t expecting it.

Speaking of surprises, Vincent showed up yesterday. I certainly didn’t think he would, since we barely know each other. He only stayed for a minute, but he brought me a present, as he called it. A gift card, $25 at the Home Depot. I laughed my head off. That was the point, I guess. Then he just said goodbye and left. It was touching in some strange way. I don’t know anything about him. He spends all his time alone in the other room, so we never have a chance to talk.

Dr. Franklin told me they’ve put together a leg, and it’s not what we expected. The knee bends the wrong way, apparently. It has an extra joint, so we’re still missing a piece above the thigh. She says it’s like the hind legs on a horse. I can’t wait to see it, but I’m not ready to go back yet.

It must show. Ryan said our nameless friend asked him how he’d feel about taking over. Ryan wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he said he’d do it if I told him to. He said they could find me some work on the ground if I wanted out, that everyone would understand.

How nice of them. Ryan’s such a Boy Scout, he doesn’t even know when he’s being played. I get the feeling we’re dealing with someone who doesn’t easily take no for an answer. Push comes to shove, I think our “friend” would put a gun to my head before he ever let me quit.

What would I do anyway? Go about my business as if nothing ever happened? I couldn’t even talk about it to anyone. This is gonna sound incredibly selfish, but I’d get bored to death unless someone started World War III or something. Who could go from this to carrying crates from base to base? And I need to know. I mean, how could anyone start something like this and not know how it turns out? I’d lose my mind.

I just realized our personal journals are saved on the lab servers. I’d be really surprised if “you know who” wasn’t listening to them. Hey! Asshole! Two things I need to say to you. Number 1: Don’t do that. Number 2: I’m guessing you chose me for a reason. You didn’t have to pick a girl with a busted eye and an attitude. I never quit anything in my life. You didn’t learn much from that stupid test of yours if you think I could ever leave this behind.

Like I said, I just need some time to sort things out, but we have to finish this. That little girl, all those people…We have to see this through.





FILE NO. 033


NEWS ARTICLE—CATHERINE MCCORMACK, REPORTER, THE ARIZONA REPUBLIC





TERROR IN FLAGSTAFF—8 DEAD IN BOMBING ACCIDENT


More than half a city block was destroyed last night in Flagstaff, in what authorities are calling a terrorist plot gone wrong.

Suspected domestic terrorist Owen Lehman died last night around 1:00 A.M., along with his 15-year-old son and 6 other people, in what appears to be a tragic bomb-making accident.

Lehman, who had been denied disability benefits back in 2012, had been sending increasingly hostile letters to the Federal government. “The language used in some of his recent correspondence was considered threatening. We took it seriously,” said FBI Agent Robert Armstrong from the Phoenix field office. “Trace elements, as well as fragments recovered on-site, lead us to believe Mr. Lehman was attempting to build a large explosive device, which must have accidently detonated.” The FBI had been monitoring Mr. Lehman for several months but lacked sufficient evidence for an arrest. “Obviously, we wish we knew then what we know now,” said Armstrong, “but we believe the intended target was the Social Security office on Woodlands Village Blvd.”

When asked about the absence of any fire damage, Armstrong added: “The explosion ruptured waterworks directly below Mr. Lehman’s residence. That created some sort of landslide, which swallowed most of the debris and put out the fire. We got lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”

Nearby resident Clarissa Parlow said Lehman was well liked by his neighbors. “He had a quiet way about him. He seemed shy, more than anything. I guess you just never know about people.”

Further investigation is under way. Governor Udell plans to address the media later today when he visits the site.





FILE NO. 034


INTERVIEW WITH ROBERT WOODHULL, ASSISTANT TO THE PRESIDENT FOR NATIONAL SECURITY AFFAIRS

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