The helicopter bobbed up and down as if it couldn’t quite land—or as if it were taunting him, beckoning him on only to dance away at the last second.

Tim didn’t care. He’d never been so unconflicted in his life. He wanted one thing and it was onboard that helicopter. “Jake!” he screamed, his voice torn apart by the chopper’s roar. He didn’t care, he just kept running.

Suddenly he was there, even with the bobbing helicopter. Hands reached down and grabbed his, pulled him upward and onto the aircraft’s deck even as it lifted up away from the ground. What was their hurry? Were they worried droolers would come chasing after him, that they would flood on board the helicopter?

Someone pushed a helmet toward him but he shook his head and tried to get his feet under him. The boy had been pulled back further into the chopper’s belly, away from the doors. Tim shoved his way through arms and hands that tried to stop him, pushed inward with all his strength. The troop area wasn’t big enough to get lost in. He reached out and pulled the boy toward him, smelled the familiar boy smells, shampoo in the hair, smelled the skin, pulled the boy into a deep hug.

The boy laughed as if he’d been tickled. Tim just held him tighter and tighter.

“Mister Kempfer,” someone shouted behind him. “Mister Kempfer, let him go.”

“Fuck you,” Tim said, and pulled the boy tighter into his hug.

He already knew, of course. He knew.

He knew because the smell was just a little wrong.

Gradually, a little at a time he loosened his grip on the boy, let his arms loosen. He wanted to prolong the moment because he knew what came next was pure pain. He let the boy squirm out of his arms, finally, and look up at him. It wasn’t Jake. It was a boy the same age as Jake would be, if Jake were still alive.

It had all been a trap, and he had walked right into it.

“What’s your name?” he asked the little soldier.

“Dana,” he replied. “Are you Mister Kempfer?”

“Yes, I am. Where are your parents, Dana?”

“In Olympia. They sent me to be a soldier with all my friends.” He looked very proud of what he said next. “They’re safe.”

“I guess I am too, now,” Tim said, and sat back. A soldier who was maybe eighteen pushed him gently back into a crew seat, then handcuffed him to a rail that ran beside it. “You expect me to jump out?” Tim asked, nodding his head toward the still-open door. He could see the houses and stores of Seward Park sweep by below, at least a hundred feet down. “That would be suicide.”

The soldier shrugged. He put a helmet on Tim’s head and adjusted the straps. When he spoke next Tim heard it over speakers built into the helmet over his ears. “We were told you might try anything. Can I have your weapons, sir?”

Tim nodded. He felt like such an idiot—certainly he no longer deserved the Ruger or the baseball bat. He would never have used them against the soldiers, of course. Little Dana might have gotten hurt in the crossfire. Without further argument he pointed at his pack and let the soldier draw out the revolver, which he dropped in a red plastic box with a padlock on its handle. The bat he just threw out through the open door.

The helicopter made a tight circle in the air, then streaked south. The door was closed so Tim couldn’t even see where they were headed. No one beat him but they didn’t speak to him, either. The eighteen year old was the oldest person onboard, with the possible exception of the unseen pilot. Three other soldiers, ranging from twelve to fifteen, sat in seats like Tim’s, rifles shipped across their laps. Dana had a special child seat at the back with elaborate straps to keep him from wriggling.

“He doesn’t get a gun, I hope?” Tim said, trying to engage the eighteen year-old.

“He’s in training.” It was the only response that Tim got.

They flew for only a few minutes before Tim’s stomach grew light and he realized they were descending. The chopper set down easily and the soldiers lined up near the door, the oldest leading Dana by the hand. The door slid open and they all jumped out. Through the opening Tim could see a wide stretch of concrete with some tall buildings in the distance. Maybe five hundred yards away a Learjet stood alone, unattended.

It looked like SeaTac International Airport. Why he had been brought there Tim had no idea. He was left alone in the crew hold, still handcuffed to his seat. He waited for a very long time, alone with his thoughts, before Colonel Horne appeared in the open doorway and smiled into the dark interior. “Kempfer! How wonderful to see you again. You’ll be happy to hear we picked up Ms. Carron. She was a little dehydrated and very scared, but she’s fine now. She’s extremely grateful to you. As am I.”

Tim stared right at Horne. Stared through him.

“Hmm,” the Colonel said. “I imagine you probably hate my guts by now.”

Tim looked away from the man. It wasn’t that simple. His feelings for Horne went deeper than hate, and they were a lot darker.

“I won’t apologize for lying to you,” the Army man said. “I think it’s alright to lie to a man, if it keeps him from killing himself, don’t you?” Horne didn’t seem to expect much of a response. “I do have some things to show you, that much wasn’t a lie. If I uncuff you, do you promise not to strangle me?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” Tim said, glaring at Horne.

The Colonel just laughed.