Knew what? That he’d gotten away with something and could never, ever be right with it? Maybe. As the years went by and she observed his relationship with Aubrey, Thom wondered if she hadn’t intuited that it had something to do with his sister. From there, knowing what she did, it wouldn’t have been much of a leap for Ann-Sophie to guess what had really happened. Did his telltale heart beat that loudly? he wondered.
Either way, she’d never said a word, and he loved her for that. He resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her hair now. He didn’t want to wake her or have to answer any questions about why he was already awake when—
The gunfire was softer than he’d been expecting. The first few rounds, Thom had to lift his head off the pillow to confirm that he’d actually heard it.
It was louder the second time, two quick series of brap-brap-braps, clearly identifiable as an exchange of semiautomatic weapons fire.
Thom sat up abruptly, the reaction coming naturally even though he’d been waiting for it the past two and a half hours. He threw aside the covers and stood, his breath quickening.
Outside, there were two more prolonged bursts of gunfire, but they were still muffled, and goddamn it, why hadn’t he considered the thick, soundproof windows of the place? He should have insisted they use higher calibers or something.
Ann-Sophie stirred, not from the noises outside but because she’d been jostled when Thom leapt out of bed.
“What’s going on?” she asked, half-asleep.
“I don’t know. Stay here!” Thom answered, sounding very much in command. He pulled on a pair of jeans he’d draped over a chair, opened the bedroom door, and hurried down the short hallway into the living room. He went to the big windows, the ones that looked out over the desert expanse to one side, and the concrete guardhouse that was the main entrance to the bunker on the other.
There was another burst of gunfire outside, longer and louder, and this time he could see muzzle flashes. One set of flashes came from far off to his right, twenty or thirty yards down the faux-dirt road that led to the complex, and the other from just below them, near the entrance to the guardhouse.
“We’re being attacked!” Thom yelled, and no acting was required at this point. The gunfire, the flashes of light that lit up the surrounding area, the adrenaline in his veins—it was all real. Ann-Sophie jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and started to run out toward him.
“Don’t come out here!” Thom shouted back. “Get down!”
She did, and almost on cue, there was another round of gunfire outside. Thom noticed the muzzle flashes on the road were drawing closer. He ducked and turned, hissing to Ann-Sophie. “Get the kids and get down to the bunker!”
“What about you?!” she shouted back.
“I’ll be right behind you. I need to make sure everything’s secure first.”
“Thom—”
“Go!” he shouted, urgent and convincing.
Ann-Sophie scurried across the floor toward the kids’ bedrooms. As she went, Thom stood and turned to look out the window again, assessing the state of things. Just as he reached his full height, he heard the brap of another round of semiautomatic weapons fire, followed by a loud thud and a series of interconnected cracks.
Ann-Sophie screamed, Thom shouted, and they both fell backward as the window in front of Thom suddenly bloomed with three side-by-side spiderweb patterns, radiating out directly in front of where he was standing.
“Jesus Christ!” Thom shouted. “What the fuck are they doing?!”
“Get down!” Ann-Sophie shouted. “Get away from there!”
Thom whirled on her, genuinely scared this time, but even angrier than he was frightened. “Get the kids and get to the bunker, right now. I’ll handle this.”
He turned and went to the door, stepping into a pair of boots. Ann-Sophie shouted after him, but he didn’t answer, just headed outside. His behavior seemed to her the height of lunacy, a complete repudiation of all the drills and tiresome conversations they’d had over the years, but there wasn’t time to think about it. She ran into the master bedroom, grabbed the nearest clothes she could find, and slipped into them as she stumbled toward the kids’ rooms.
Ten minutes later, the A-level residents assembled in the common area on subterranean level four. The place had been modeled on a ski lounge, with two virtual fireplaces, half a dozen comfortable leather sofas, a pool table, a reading corner, and a small kitchen with chunky wooden tables and chairs. The big LED screens placed around the walls like windows had been tuned to alpine vistas, which at this hour meant snowy mountaintops lit by a full moon. There were a dozen people clustered around the room, looking frightened and sleepy. Thom arrived last, having regained his cool, and all heads turned toward him. Chloe was there, bleary and frightened, sitting alone, as well as the Friedmans, Dr. Rahman, and the others, whose names Thom couldn’t call to mind immediately. But they all had the desired expression of deep concern on their faces, and he perceived in the room a powerful desire to be led. He was happy to oblige.