Run by Blake Crouch Page A

same age as the blonde, who Jack could hear moaning behind the rock. He was sunburned and stinking. Lips chapped. Wore filthy hiking shorts and a pale blue, long-sleeved tee-shirt covered in rips and holes and dark sweat- and bloodstains.
    “Drop it.”
    The revolver fell in the dirt.
    “Move that way,” Jack said, directing him up the hill away from the gun. “Now sit.”
    The man sat down against the boulder, squinting at the new sun.
    “Naomi, you and Cole come here.” He glanced over his shoulder as he said it, glimpsed a small figure moving toward them on the desert—Dee. In the morning silence, he could still hear that Jeep heading toward the mountains, the noise of its engine on a steady decline.
    The man glared at Jack. “Let me help Heather.”
    Naomi came around the boulder, struggling to carry Cole who whimpered in his sister’s arms.
    “Go put him in the car, Na.”
    “Is Mom okay?”
    “Yes.”
    “I want to see Heather.”
    Naomi looked at the man as she moved past. “Why? She’s dead. Just like you’re going to be.”
    The man called for her, and when Heather didn’t answer, his face broke up and he buried it in the crook of his arm and wept.
    Jack’s left shoulder had established a pulse of its own. Lightheaded, he eased down onto a rock, keeping the Glock leveled on the man’s chest.
    “Look at me.”
    The man wouldn’t.
    “Look at me or I’ll kill you right now.”
    The man looked up, wiped his face, tears cutting streaks of red through the film of dirt and dust.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Dave.”
    “Where you from, Dave?”
    “Eden Prairie, Minnesota.”
    “What do you do for a living?”
    It took him a moment to answer, as if he were having to sift back through several lifetimes.
    “I was a financial advisor for a credit union.”
    “And this morning, out here in the desert, you were going to kill my children.”
    “You don’t understand.”
    “You’re fucking right I don’t understand, but if you explain it to me right now, you won’t die.”
    “Can I see her first?”
    “No.”
    Dave stared for a split second at Jack—a look of seething hatred that vanished as fast as it had come.
    “Heather and I came out several weeks ago with our friends on a backpacking trip near Sheridan. Up in the Big Horns. We camped at this place, Solitude Lake. Little knoll a couple hundred feet above the water. Our first night there, we had this crazy supper. Pasta, bread, cheese, several bottles of great wine. Smoked a few bowls before bed and crashed. The lights woke me in the middle of the night. I got Heather up, and we climbed out of our tent to see what was happening. Tried to wake Brad and Jen but they wouldn’t get up. We laid down in the grass, Heather and me, and just watched the sky.”
    “What did you see?” Jack asked. “That turned you into this?”
    The man’s eyes filled up. “You ever witnessed pure beauty?”
    “You’re out of your mind.”
    “I saw perfection for fifty-four minutes, and it changed my life.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “God.”
    “You saw God.”
    “We all did.”
    “In the lights.”
    “He is the lights.”
    “Why do you hate me?”
    “Because you didn’t.”
    “Were those your friends in the Jeep?” Jack asked, though he already knew the answer. As Dave shook his head, Jack felt a molten-liquid mass coalescing in the pit of his stomach. “You murdered them.”
    Dave smiled, a strange and chilling postcard of glee, and he was suddenly on his feet and running, four steps covered before Jack had even thought to react.
    The full load of double aught buckshot slammed into Dave’s chest and threw him back onto the ground. Dee stood holding the smoking shotgun, still trained on Dave who was trying to sit up and making loud, gasping croaks like a distressed bird. After a minute, he fell back in the dirt and went into silent shock as he bled out.
    Jack struggled onto his feet and walked over to Dee.
    “You’re really