He had overheard enough last night to know that the fire had exploded so suddenly and burned so hot, there was no doubt that accelerant had been used-a lot of it. Probably the log buildings had been soaked with gasoline, then lit from a distance by electronic detonators. It had been done fast and efficiently-as if according to a preexisting plan.

Then Freeboot and his people had slipped away. A search was slated to start at first light, in case they were still in the woods. Monks doubted it.

He scanned the field, trying to identify from the smoldering remains which buildings had stood where. The lodge was easy to recognize because of its large rock foundation. He oriented himself by it and located other sites-Glenn’s cabin, the washhouse, several other cabins and sheds reduced to smoking heaps of debris. Toward the field’s far end, the roof had caved in on a barn that had stayed closed while he had been there. Now he saw that it housed the smoke-blackened remains of a D-6 Cat and other heavy equipment.

“They had themselves quite an operation here,” Agar said, coming to stand beside him. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find some surprises.”

Monks nodded distractedly. His gaze kept returning to the firefighters, prodding and dragging the ashes with their rakes-

Probing, first and foremost, for bodies.

More vehicles were arriving, headlights piercing the early-morning gray, bringing more deputies and volunteers for the search through the woods. Some of the pickup trucks had dirt bikes or ATVs in the beds or on trailers. Most parked up the road, discharging men in hunting gear, carrying rifles.

But one four-wheel-drive sheriff’s SUV drove all the way into the camp. When the two people in the backseat got out, Monks noticed that they were women-then, that one of them was Marguerite.

Multilayered emotions bristled in him: happiness at seeing her safe, gratitude for her help, anger that she had gotten him into this mess in the first place-and mystification at why she had left him to stand by the roadside.

“That’s the young woman who helped me escape,” he said to Agar.

The deputy nodded. “Her story checks out pretty good with yours.”

“Why’s she up here?”

“Same reason as you. We want her to show us around, tell us everything she knows.”

“Okay if I have a word with her?”

“I don’t see why not. Let me make sure.” Agar walked over to the deputies who had brought the women and spoke briefly with them. Then he turned and beckoned Monks to come on over.

Marguerite watched him approach, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets and her face emotionless-no happiness, no remorse. Monks could have been a mailman, coming to deliver a flyer about a tire sale. Her emotional shock had to be huge, with the trauma of all that had happened-and the shattering of her bond of loyalty, passion, and something mysteriously deeper still, to Freeboot.

He put one arm lightly around her shoulders. “I want you all to know that she’s a hero,” he announced to everyone standing around. “Saved that little boy’s life, and mine, too. Went through hell to do it.”

The words didn’t seem to unlock any warmth in her. She stayed passive, neither responding nor resisting, not even looking at him. Monks let her go. The gesture had been clumsy, but he wanted her to know that he was on her side-that in his mind the good that she had done far outweighed the bad. He hoped she would absorb that in time.

The other woman watched anxiously, but she seemed relieved at Monks’s goodwill. She was older, mid-forties, and had the same black hair and olive skin as Marguerite. He guessed that this was her mother, or maybe an aunt.

Agar said, “Lia, before our men start spreading out, you got any ideas which way those folks might have gone?”

He was looking at Marguerite as he spoke, and Monks was puzzled for a few seconds. Then he remembered that it was Freeboot who had given her the name Marguerite. Apparently, her real one was Lia.

“There’s a hidden road,” she said, still with almost trancelike somberness.

“Where?”

“It starts over by the security station. The men connected it to logging roads.” She pointed at the big Cat in the smoldering barn. “They’d work at night, then scatter brush around to cover up.”

“Where’s it lead, do you know?” Agar asked.

“Where the highway starts, near Elk Creek.”

“Christ, all the way down there?”

“They had ATVs. They’d radio ahead for people to meet them with cars.”

There was much pushing back of smokey-bear hats and shuffling of booted feet among the deputies. The maquis had probably gotten out of the forest yesterday afternoon before the fire had even been discovered.

Looking aggravated, Agar asked, “Lia, why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”

“I was too freaked, okay?” She lashed out the words, suddenly animated, wet-eyed with anger-or panic. “You got any fucking idea what this is like?” She walked away quickly, hugging herself. The other woman hurried after her.

Monks said nothing. But her real reason had come clear to him-the same reason why she hadn’t called immediately for help. She had wanted to give Freeboot plenty of time to escape.

Agar sighed and hiked up his gun belt. “Let’s get somebody to check it out,” he said. “And hold off the search. If she’s right, there’s no point in sending those boys out.”

The older woman had caught up with Lia and was talking to her quietly but sternly. Monks walked over to them.

“You’ve got to quit trying to shield Freeboot, Lia,” Monks said. “This has gone way past that.”

Her flat affect had returned, but there was a hint of resentment when she spoke-maybe at his use of her real name.

“He let us go,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Astonishment, then anger flared in Monks-that after all this, she was still clinging to the image of Freeboot as superhuman.

“He let us go because I had an assault rifle leveled at him,” Monks said.

Her eyes went uncertain, but then quickly cool, even pitying, as if he couldn’t possibly understand the deeper truth. She turned and walked away again. This time, the older woman stayed with Monks. She looked almost lost in a big raglan turtleneck sweater. Like Lia, she was attractive without being pretty. Her eyes were large, a little sloed, and very dark. Her face was drawn and anxious.

“I’m her mom,” she said. “I was afraid you’d hate her.”

Monks shook his head. He was all out of hate.

“She helped,” he said. “My own son refused to.”

“It’s that man Freeboot,” she said with sudden heat. “He turned them into zombies.”

“Maybe. But they let him.”

She sagged a little, and nodded. “I did try to talk to her. Probably not very well. She sure didn’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t I know,” Monks said.

There seemed to be a strange mutual comfort in that. They stood without speaking again for a moment longer, until Agar called to him.

“Dr. Monks, you ready to show us what happened to you?”

Monks joined the deputies and started telling his story, while a technician with a camcorder followed. For the next half-hour, they moved around the fire’s fringes, while he described everything he could remember.

He had just finished recounting being assaulted and getting his hair hacked off when the moment came that he had been dreading.

“Over here!” a man yelled. It was one of the firefighters, in the part of the smoking field where the small cabins had stood. He had set his rake aside and was bent over something, brushing it off with his glove.

When he stepped back, Monks got a glimpse of greasy, charred bones, lying like wreckage in the ashes.

Agar glanced quickly at Monks, no doubt with the same thought.

This could be Glenn.

“You better stay here, sir,” Agar said.

Monks watched from the sidelines while the firefighters and deputies conferred. He felt disembodied, as if something deep within him had grabbed hold of his already raw emotions and shoved them into a locked compartment, not daring to leave them near the surface.