Page 116 of Broken Wheels

Chalmers inclined his head toward the TV. “I hate this woman,” he grumbled. “She’s got the top show in the time slot, and she’s always belittling her callers.”

“Then turn it off,” Dix suggested, casting a sideways glance at Doc, still huddled on the couch, stroking Coby.

I need to do something about this, and fast.

The sharp-featured host spoke. “We’ve got an anonymous caller on the phone. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching the coverage, and I’ve noticed something no one else seems to be questioning.”

“Holy fuck!” Chalmers exclaimed. “That’s Sam!” He increased the volume.

“Oh, this should be good. Go on, caller who can’t even work up the courage to identify himself. Dazzle us with your brilliance.”

“You know, you’re a sarcastic bitch.”

Chalmers chuckled. “Yeah, that’s definitely Sam.”

She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Is that an example of your sparkling repartee? I call it weak and pathetic.”

Chalmers pointed to her. “And this is why I hate this woman.”

“Think on this,” Sam continued. “The footage was shot by an amateur, right? How did he or she not get killed by the mist? There were people dropping like flies all around, but whoever was filming kept right on going.”

For a moment the woman was quiet. “Maybe he used a drone.”

“And that would be a great answer, except for one important fact. Reporters have been telling the public ever since the news broke to avoid contact with?—”

“And that’s all the time we have.” She smiled at the camera. “Tune in tomorrow, when we’ll be chatting with?—”

Chalmers turned the television off. “And now that’s out there.” He met Dix’s gaze. “Great minds, huh? What was I saying, hours ago? It’s not just me who thinks this stinks.” Then his face fell. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? Like you said, it’s put the idea out there.”

“But what if Spencer gets to hear about it? He sure doesn’t want anyone looking into it too deeply. It doesn’t buy into the narrative he’s putting out.” He stared at Dix, his eyes troubled. “What if Sam just painted a big fat target on his back?”

Dix hoped to God Doc didn’t hear that.

Josh gazed at Chalmers, stretched out on the couch. “How long has he been asleep?” he said in a low voice.

“Only about fifteen minutes. He was exhausted.” Dixon touched Josh’s arm. “We should probably get some sleep too.”

Josh shook his head. “Not tired.” Not physically tired, at any rate. His mind, however? Now that was another matter. It hadn’t stopped, sifting through the information, pulling threads together, until an idea began to percolate, one he didn’t even want to contemplate.

One he couldn’t ignore.

“Doc? Where’d you just go?”

Josh didn’t usually adhere to the theory that a problem shared was a problem halved, but he had to tell someone.

I want to be wrong.

The roiling in his belly told him the likelihood of his wish being granted was infinitesimally remote.

Josh walked into the kitchen, away from the sleeping Chalmers, Dixon following. He closed the door behind them.

“Look, we need to talk. I’ve been thinking about what Spencer said. You know, about some new terror cell. We know that’s bullshit, but….” Josh swallowed. “He said its leader is a citizen.”

“And?”

---