“Why did it dry up?”

“When more settlers came, they needed more water. They pumped it, they diverted it, they forced it into unnatural channels. And it wasn’t exactly the mighty Mississippi to begin with.”

A sad look came over her face, barely detectable in the dull light.

“What’s wrong?” said Hansen.

“I only know any of this because of my new roommate. A history grad student named Lisa.”

“So naturally she’d be interested in the history of the city she’s living in?”

“Right. The kindest, warmest person you’d ever want to meet.” Erin paused. “Are you familiar with the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?”

“Sure. I think. They were totally corrupt cities, and God destroyed them. I think the word sodomy comes from this story. What does that have to do with anything?”

“My mother was Jewish and my father Catholic. My mother used to joke about certain hallmarks of being Jewish. One is that if you have two Jews in a room, you have three opinions.”

Hansen chuckled.

“And the second involved this story,” said Erin.

“Sodom and Gomorrah? In what way?”

“Well, the thing about this story is, God tells Abraham he’s going to nuke the cities. Because the citizens are so wicked. Abraham says, ‘Yeah, that’s true and all, but what if there are fifty righteous men there? How can you destroy them along with the evil ones?’ And God agrees. If God can find fifty righteous men, he’ll spare the cities. So then Abraham says, ‘Well, what if you can only find forty-five?’ And God agrees again. Over a series of steps, they get down to ten righteous men. Of course, God isn’t able to find even ten in these cities, so he wipes them out. But the point is, Abraham is basically arguing—with God.” She paused. “My mom would laugh and say that only a Jew would have the chutzpah—the balls—to argue with God. And not only argue, but win some points.”

Hansen smiled. “I see why she liked this story so much. I’ve never heard that part of it.”

“So back to my roommate, Lisa. I study the evil that humans do. I work with murderers and rapists. My family was wiped out by pure evil. You know all that. But even those who aren’t psychopathic can be pretty violent and selfish and cruel. Sometimes it gets so depressing, I think to myself, to hell with the species. Sometimes I just want to curl up into a shell and give up on life. After all I’ve been through, given the current situation, it’s tempting to say, ‘Drake thinks we’re self-destructing? So what? Good riddance.’”

There was more silence, and once again Hansen suspected tears had come to Erin’s eyes. “But then I meet people like Lisa. Wonderful people. People who are kind, and gentle, and caring. Who would do anything for others.” She paused. “And I remember my family. My parents were the warmest, most generous people I’ve ever known. My father, so filled with love, that in the end…”

She faltered, and after a lengthy period of silence it became clear she would not continue.

Hansen now understood why Erin had shared this particular biblical story with him. “So you’re saying the world is Sodom and Gomorrah,” he whispered finally. “And people like Lisa and your family are the ten righteous men.”

“Exactly,” said Erin, her voice still thick with emotion. “So maybe we are worth saving. Because of them. And people like them.”

Erin took some additional time to gather herself. “Anyway,” she said, “I should probably continue filling you in. As I was saying, I knew about this river because of Lisa.” She paused. “So I came here to wait for you to regain consciousness. I had no idea it would take so long. That was one hell of a potent dose. I was getting worried.”

“Glad to be conscious again,” he said. Then, grinning, he gestured to the concrete pillar beside them and added, “But why do I feel like a troll?”

Erin laughed. “What? You’ve never hung out under a bridge before?”

Hansen rubbed his bald head. “No. And I usually go to better barbers too. I see you kept busy while I was out.”

“I had your goodie bags from Walmart. I was seriously thinking of disguising you as a woman, but I didn’t have a dress.”

“So you went with the bald look?”

“Yeah, bald with black tattoos. I used the rearview mirror to give myself some as well. I’m not a great artist, so I used the ink pens you got and stuck with simple designs.”

She had inked a giant cross on both sides of his neck and printed a stylized Carpe on one of her forearms and Diem on the other, large enough to be unmistakable. She had cut her hair short but hadn’t dyed it.

“Now that you’re finally up, we can move,” she said. “While you were out I came up with a plan. But the plan works a lot better if I don’t have to move you around in a wheelbarrow.”

“I’m sure it does,” said Hansen. “I’m dying to hear it.”

Erin winced. “From now on, let’s try hard not to use that particular phrase.”

34

“PULL IN HERE,” Erin Palmer instructed the driver of the cab they had called, a tall, unshaven man with a Russian accent. Erin had provided the address of their destination over the phone, and she and Kyle Hansen had remained silent in the backseat after the cab had picked them up on the little used bridge over the now-dry Santa Cruz River. Since Erin’s face, disguised though it was, had appeared on every television station in the Southwest, Hansen had screened her from view when they had entered the cab and she had immediately shut her eyes and dropped her head to her chin, pretending to be taking a nap.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at their destination; the back end of the University of Arizona’s psychology building, near the loading dock.

“She just needs to grab something from her office,” explained Hansen as Erin exited the cab, turned away from the driver, and strode behind a corner and out of sight. “Shouldn’t be more than five or ten minutes.”

“I’ll wait as long as you want,” said the driver in a thick accent. “The meter’s running.”

Hansen nodded. They had checked their cash reserves, and guessed they’d be down to their last fifty bucks after paying the cabbie.

Hansen tried to act bored, but couldn’t help glancing around nervously. It was hard to imagine Fuller would expect Erin to return to her office. Fuller had probably had her apartment under surveillance in the beginning, but Hansen wondered if he was continuing to waste manpower on such an effort. Erin had shown herself as far too capable to be foolish enough to return there. If she were in a horror film, Hansen knew, she wouldn’t be the dumb hot chick who went into the dark basement alone after hearing all the screaming.

Given the considerable territory Fuller’s people now had to cover, it was unlikely they were still watching the psychology building, if they ever had been, but just to be on the safe side they had decided to use the back entrance. All the door locks around the entire building were the same, and Erin’s pass code would gain her access to any entrance.

Even though Hansen believed this analysis intellectually, it was still hard not to be on the jumpy side, and he didn’t want to give the cabbie any reason to suspect he wasn’t completely relaxed. You’d think the man would wonder how they had come to need a cab where he had picked them up, but the cabbie had probably seen just about everything before, so had stopped wondering how people ended up in the unlikely circumstances they did long ago.

Seven minutes later, Erin rounded the corner of the building. When she approached the cab, Hansen said, “I’m sorry, but do you take credit cards?” knowing that this would distract the cabbie from studying her face as she returned.

It worked. The cabbie’s eyes left Erin and glanced at Hansen in his rearview mirror with a distasteful expression that said, what kind of shit are you trying to pull here—you’ll pay your fare if I have to beat it out of you. But aloud he simply shook his head and grunted, “Cash only.”