J.M. Dillard - War of Worlds: The Resurrection by J. M. Dillard Page A

the verge of making contact with the map spread across his desk. Apparently, the entire pot of coffee he'd consumed at three-thirty no longer had any effect. The compass in his right hand slipped out with a faint clatter.
    Hovering over him, Harrison—fading himself after the first rush of adrenaline wore off—grasped Norton's shoulder and gave it a firm shake.
    Norton jerked his head up, his eyes wide, and drew a brown hand over his face. "Jesus, man . . ." He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "Harrison, I gotta get outa this place and bag some z's." He squinted painfully at the brightening sky beyond the window. "What time is it?"
    "Seven-thirty," Harrison said. "Dammit, Norton, I've missed two naps myself. But we're not leaving until you give me what I want."
    Norton's lip curled. "Study your history, Doc. Slave-driver mentality never worked." But he picked up his compass and bent over the map again. Because, thought Harrison, he understands that if there's any chance of it being . . . Them, then we have so very little time.
    "There." Norton triumphantly handed the plot map of the southwestern United States to Harrison. "The location of the transmissions. Now let me pass out in peace."
    Harrison stared at it, transfixed. Norton had circled a desolate spot in the desert, close enough for Harrison to get there in the Bronco in a matter of several hours. It would probably take most of the day to get there; he'd need to pack a bag first, take a nap—but time was of the essence. Scrap the nap. He'd just have to try to stay awake somehow. Harrison staggered toward the door.
    "You're welcome!" Norton croaked, indignant. "Anytime! No problem!"
    But there was no time to respond. Harrison hurried out into the parking lot, nose buried in the map.
    "Good morning," someone said.
    He mumbled something into the map. It took him three full strides to recognize the voice; he lowered the map and turned to look behind him.
    Suzanne McCullough was staring at him with a puzzled expression. Navy pinstripe dress today. For
    crying out loud, why did the woman always look as if she were on her way to an East Coast power breakfast?
    "Have they changed the dress code at the Institute?" she asked, sounding amused; at that point he remembered he was still wearing the tuxedo.
    "Pack a bag," he told her before he realized he was going to. "We're taking a trip." She could drive while he slept. He'd just have to make sure not to let her get too close if things started to look dangerous. And who knew? Maybe this was just the thing to convince her of the project's importance.
    She blinked; her mouth dropped open a bit. "We are? Why?"
    "Won't know that till we get there," he said.
    SEVEN
    Harrison was tossing his ditty bag into the back of the old Bronco when the little Mercedes came roaring up the driveway and stopped less than a foot behind it.
    "Char." He smiled wearily and waved, then strolled over. Damn good thing she'd showed up when she did; he'd completely forgotten to let her know he was leaving town. By tonight Charlotte would have been fuming. "I'm glad you're here. I was just about to call you."
    "I can't stay long," she said in clipped tones. "I'm on my way to a client's this morning."
    Harrison leaned through the open window on the driver's side to kiss her, but she turned her head so that his lips pressed against carefully applied cheek blusher. He noticed then that the Mercedes' engine was still running.
    "Uh-oh." He withdrew a little and rested his hands
    on the car door. "Okay, Charlotte, give it to me straight. Are you mad mad, or just mad?"
    "Harrison, how could you?" Makeup done especially well today, to enhance the performance; Charlotte whispered the words with just the right mixture of coolness and hurt. No tears, though; never tears. Char was always in control.
    He didn't try to pretend that he didn't understand the question. She was too sharp for that. "I'm sorry, but it was unexpected. You know I didn't do it on purpose. We