Free Scavenger by David Morrell

Balenger glanced at the store’s entrance, where the spectacled man frowned. “Will you take a check?”
    “For thirty-thousand dollars? I don’t think he’s the type to appreciate a joke,” Ortega murmured.
    “I’m serious. Sometime, I’ll tell you about a coin I found.” Balenger turned toward the owner. “Whatever your insurance doesn’t cover, I’ll pay for.”
    Balenger heard sirens. Smoke drifted over the rooftops. People ran along the sidewalk toward the blaze.
    “We need to get over there and tell the fire investigators what we know,” Ortega said.
    “But it’ll take hours before they finish with us! You know as much as I do. Tell them I couldn’t stay.”
    “Couldn’t stay? What are you talking about?”
    “There’s too much to do. Report for both of us. I’ll talk to them later if they still have questions.”
    “When you were in law enforcement, is that how you handled things? You let your witnesses tell you to report for them?”
    “All right, all right, I hear you.” Balenger struggled to catch his breath. “Did you manage to keep that piece of paper?”
    “In my pocket.”
    “Can we use your photocopy machine?” Balenger asked the owner.
    The man seemed to think this was the most reasonable question in the world. He nodded.
    Balenger swatted dirt from his jeans and sport coat. They smelled of smoke. “We’ve got a piece of paper we need to photocopy so we can read what’s on it without leaving fingerprints.”
    Ortega studied him. “You look exhausted. Talking to the fire investigators will at least give you a chance to rest.”
    “When I find Amanda, that’s when I’ll rest.”
    It took barely a minute to make photocopies and return to the street, but in that brief time, the crowd increased dramatically. Balenger folded one of the photocopies and stuck it into his jacket pocket. He and Ortega struggled through noisy spectators. Ahead, more sirens wailed.
    “Police,” Ortega said. “Let us through.”
    A few onlookers made space, but three steps later, others blocked the way. Balenger felt squeezed. There’s no time for this , he thought.
    “Police!” Ortega yelled as more people jostled him.
    No time , Balenger decided. A determined man shoved in front of him, allowing him to hang back. When three others elbowed past, Balenger used them for cover and ducked away through the crowd.
    “Frank, where are you?” he heard Ortega shouting.

LEVEL THREE
    HIDE AND HUNT

    1
    Legs unsteady, Amanda obeyed the voice’s instructions and climbed the staircase. As Ray, Bethany, Derrick, and Viv entered their bedrooms, she went into hers. She’d been told to go to the closet and put on the clothes she found there, but first she went into the bathroom and relieved herself. She didn’t care if there were cameras. Urgency cancelled modesty. Suspecting that it would be a long time before she saw another bathroom, she pulled toilet paper off the roll and crammed it into her pocket.
    Now that the fog of whatever drug she’d been given was dissipating along with her nausea, Amanda realized how empty her stomach felt. Her mouth was dry. After flushing the toilet, she went to the sink, then paused, frowning toward the toilet. The water swirled down. But the tank didn’t make the sound of water refilling it. She had a fearful suspicion of what would happen when she turned the knobs on the sink—or rather what wouldn’t happen—but she tried it anyhow. No water flowed from the taps.
    Amanda’s mouth felt even more parched as she went to the closet and opened it. Blue coveralls hung on a hanger, a many-pocketed garment that reminded her of flight suits she’d seen in movies about military pilots. Waffle-soled hiking boots were on the floor. They, too, were blue, as were the wool socks and baseball cap next to them. Now she did feel modest. Trying to avoid the cameras, she stepped into the closet and hurriedly took off her jeans. In a rush, she stepped into the coveralls and zipped them