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Already, Mrs. Sandler had clapped her hand over her mouth and was starting to sob, clearly devastated and broken by this bombshell.
“Could that . . . could it mean she’s still alive?”
“We don’t know, ma’am,” May said sympathetically. She gave Mrs. Sandler a minute to pull herself together before she continued.
"The other victim has been identified as Chloe Terry. So, the first thing we need to know is this. Is the name familiar to you? Did your daughter know Chloe at all?"
"Chloe Terry. Chloe?" Gulping back her tears, Mrs. Sandler frowned. "That's a familiar name. She’s the pageant queen, isn’t she? Such a lovely young woman." She sighed, her breath sobbing out. "I'm sorry. My mind’s all over the place. I'm battling to focus. I just . . . I just have so many questions and so much anxiety about my own daughter. And yet now, there's this terrible situation with someone else's daughter. It's all too much. Let me breathe."
Owen leaned forward. "You're being incredibly brave, ma'am. Thank you so much for what you're able to do to help."
It was as if Owen's kind words galvanized her. She sat straighter. Her eyes narrowed, and May could see her focus was sharpening.
"Chloe and Giselle. Yes. I knew Chloe. I've known her for a few years, not just as a celebrity model, but personally, as someone in the area who I used to see and greet from time to time. And she and Giselle did have something in common. Or, should I say, someone."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Time was running out. The doomsday survivalist knew this. The signs were everywhere. Flashing at him like weird, disjointed signals. They fractured his thoughts. They increased the urgency of his mission like staccato gunshots blasting into the night.
The human race was going to be obliterated. Soon. The survivalist didn't know how. Whether it would be through a poison that made the air unbreathable, or a massive explosion such as a meteor strike, or a volcanic eruption.
Something huge and lethal, and it was coming. Fast.
If only he'd started his mission earlier. It might already be too late. But he needed to act now. Time was now the enemy. He needed to act with speed. To find the right assets, those he could use. To make sure he left no clues. Because nobody else could see it. He knew that already.
The other people were blankly unaware, going about their daily lives as if there was no sense of urgency, no hourglass ready to tip. As if each breath might not be their last.
"They're stupid," he muttered as he walked through the general store.
Accidentally, his arm jostled a gray-haired woman. She turned and glared at him, then stared critically at his shopping cart, which was loaded up with all kinds of essentials. The items he would need to withstand the troubles to come. Flour, candles, bottled water, tins of beans, bags of rice, and basic medical supplies. He hoped he wouldn't need them, that they would be self-sufficient before the time came to dig into the stockpile. But it would be there if they did.
Blood would be spilled. Oh, yes. He had no doubt about that. Blood would be spilled and very soon.
"What are you doing? Going camping?" the woman asked, sounding surprised.
He sneered at her. She was useless, far too old to be part of his plan. Nobody over thirty factored in at all. He could not afford dead weight, for unhealthy, weaker humans to form part of the core community that would save the entire race. She'd be annihilated, and he had to admit that he felt a cold glee at the thought.
"Camping. I guess you could say so." He gave her a superior glance. "Not the kind of camping you'll ever know."
Who did she think she was—she was just a nobody that could never contribute. The core that he was creating with his assets would be young and new. Strong and skilled. No room for passengers.
Even ones that were now giving him an amused glance.
"I went camping in my time. But we weren't reliant on canned food alone. In my day, it was beef jerky, biscuits, and powdered gravy."
"In your time, you knew nothing. Your time is over. And you won't be spending it with me," he snapped back.
To his surprise and feeling a tiny flare of humiliation, she didn't get angry at his scathing retort. Instead, she smiled. "I'm comfortable with the idea of not spending time with you, actually. Especially if you’re planning on living on what’s in that cart. I hope your tent has good ventilation with all of those beans," she said.
He felt anger flare. The same kind of anger that a few years ago, might have seen him storm out and then wait for her in the parking lot to pull her roughly to the ground, to hurt her and bruise her in revenge for that humiliation. He felt a deep thrill of longing at the thought of unleashing this violence. It was like a primal need inside of him, and it was one that for too long, hehadn't been able to fully explore. He was feeling the frustration like a low-burning flame inside him that wouldn't be quenched.
But he knew now that he couldn't do that. His need had to be controlled, for now, out in public, anyway. He had to channel it in a considered way, where it would benefit him. He could not attract the wrong kind of attention, or it would derail his mission. Every move he made and every moment he spent counted now. He had no illusions about that.
"I hope wherever you are in the days to come, when it happens, is well sealed. Perhaps you'll last a few seconds longer," he sneered, thinking of the poisons that would consume her.
He thought she was going to reply, but instead she just rolled her eyes at him and walked away. Frustrated, he stared after her, hating that he hadn't been able to properly take her down. Her attitude was a threat. People like her—interfering busybodies with no respect—were his biggest danger.
If he came across that same lack of respect after what he knew would play out, then he would not hesitate to kill. Each one of his assets was precious, but each one had to obey. Obedience was the most critical part of his plan, and now he had seen how disobedience could cause his entire framework to fail.
