Page 69 of Mastermind

“Let me try.” She turns around and shouts, “Hey, Mickey, want to see what’s this way?”

“Absolutely,” he says before breaking into a jog to join us.

Here I was planning some kind of subterfuge to distract the poor kid, and all we had to do was ask. Or rather, have Jessica ask him.

We cross the tracks and follow a side road until it comes to another road that leads straight into the woods under a canopy of overgrown trees.

From the aerial image, I could see that there’s another access road to the north of here, but it’s in an inner zone and probably requires a level of access even Mickey can’t provide.

The pavement is broken into uneven sections with tree roots occasionally rupturing the surface like mini mountain ranges. Weeds sprout from cracks everywhere, and insects crawl about their business.

What I’d give to be able to study these things more closely . . . As with other regions we’ve written off as uninhabitable, nature never got the eviction notice and has adapted in its own way here.

I’d be most interested in studying the microbial life near the main reactor. What survived? How did it adapt to the environment?

“Theo,” says Jessica, pointing to something on the ground.

It’s a dirty robe. I lean in to get a closer inspection, but Mickey puts his handheld Geiger counter between me and the robe.

It clicks with a not-insignificant number of rads, but nothing to worry about. Mickey still cautions me to step back. Not wanting to upset him, I leave it be.

We continue down the path and reach the start of a chain-link fence that’s overrun with vines. Parts of it have been pulled open, and the barbed wire on top has been stripped away.

Jessica touches my arm to stop me. I glance over and see a figure kneeling on the other side of the road: a man, wearing only pajama bottoms. He’s so skinny his vertebrae look like they’re going to burst through his skin.

Mickey speaks first. “Hello?”

The man turns around; his eyes are sunken, and his lips are blistered and cracked against paper-white skin. His hands and fingernails are covered in grime from digging into the ground.

Startled, the man gets up and runs across the road, slides through a gap in the fence, and vanishes into the trees.

Shocked, Mickey lets out an expletive in Ukrainian and crosses himself.

I step over to look at where he was digging. It’s just an empty hole in the ground. The man must have been out of his mind.

“This is messed up,” says Jessica.

“Was that a . . .” Mickey starts to ask.

“A person with a mental disability? Yes,” she says, trying to keep him from panicking. “Now what, Theo?”

“Let’s find out where he went to.”

I walk over to the fence and slide through the gap. Jessica follows. “Friends, I don’t think we should be doing this,” Mickey says.

“Wait here for twenty minutes, then call the police,” Jessica tells him.

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable waiting out here.”

“It may not be better in there,” I explain.

Torn, Mickey decides to follow us at a distance. We take a path through the trees in the direction the man ran and come to a clearing where the grass comes up to our knees. At the far end is a two-story building with barred windows. Behind the bars, a dozen pairs of eyes watch us from faces with sunken cheeks and listless expressions.

A door swings open, followed by a loud yell. Mickey starts running, but Jessica’s hand goes to her gun.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SKELETON CREW