I do not love phone calls. They interrupt your flow; whatever train of thought you are riding derails the second you have to answer. And these days, the odds of it being something worthwhile? Slim. Telemarketers and scammers see to that.
I especially do not like a phone call in the middle of the night. Nothing good ever comes at 2 a.m.; it is almost always bad news.
And anyone calling me, Judah Sands, at 2 a.m. should know better — because at that hour, you’re either bringing something I don’t want to hear, or inviting me into a problem I sure as hell don’t want to be part of.
So when my eyes snapped open in the darkness of my austere studio apartment on the Norfolk waterfront, dragged from sleep by the tinny chiptune of my cellphone’s 8-bit ringtone, I groaned. I sat up, pushed myself off the mattress, and fumbled for the phone. The screen’s glare stung my eyes as I squinted at the caller ID.
It was Ryan. This was really not looking promising.
"Hello?" I said into the speaker, my voice harsh, cracked and husky from sleep.
"Hey, bud, sorry to bother you, but it’s important."
Tension crackled in Ryan’s voice, more than the usual kind of stress. Something had him really on edge.
"You good?" I asked, concern shaking off the last fog of sleep.
"Oh, I'm fine," he said, but the words sounded hollow. "But, there has been... well, something out here on the trail."
"How delightfully unspecific." I winced. I was not trying to be an asshole to one of my few friends, especially my oldest friend, but in my defense, he did wake me up for this.
Based on the lack of a specific trail name, my mind defaulted to the most well-known one in the region, the Appalachian Trail that runs from Georgia to Maine and cuts past the town where Ryan and I grew up. He was now an officer for the Deep Springs Police Department, a job I was offered before I blew town right out of high school, joining the Navy and getting out of that isolated prison valley.
"Well, if I could be more specific, I would." His voice dipped back into that well of tension. He was... disturbed, the same way he had sounded after that domestic case a decade ago that almost got him killed. "It is a real mess up here, Judah. I have got something like thirteen people dead, from some military-ish contractor types with serious hardware to some academic types, if I am reading this right."
Oh no. Researchers. Do not say it—
"We ain't found your dad at all, but we know he was with them. His gear is at the encampment, or what is left of it, but no Isaac."
