Silencing Eve

him. Will that be okay, Mr. Foster?”
    “I guess it will have to be,” he said sourly. “We’re up here now.”
    “Don’t let me get in your way. I’m sure you have things you have to check,” Margaret said as she curled up on the floor beside a huge metal support beam. The area was cramped in this old, iconic scoreboard. “I’ll just stay here and make my notes.”
    He gazed at her uncertainly, then muttered something beneath his breath as he turned and walked away.
    She’d probably have fifteen or twenty minutes tops, she thought. Foster impressed her as being hardworking and conscientious, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity to accomplish his work now that he was here. He’d been hard to convince to bring her up to the scoreboard clock, but he’d finally relented.
    She closed her eyes, shutting out the sounds of the crowd and the announcer, the clicks of the scoreboard …
    Open your mind.
    Life. There was always so much life surrounding you if you let it into your consciousness.
    Pigeons. Lots of pigeons.
    Nothing there.
    A feral cat. Maybe …
    No, he was young and more accustomed to haunting the downtown restaurants than the stadium. A visitor, not a regular.
    A raccoon? Unusual.
    She spent five minutes on him before she gave up. Intense but not a decent memory.
    Okay, the rats.
    And she didn’t have much time. She’d have to throw open her mind and do a general scan. Not pleasant. With rats, it was like having your brain devoured.
    She drew a deep breath and tried to armor herself.
    Then she opened her mind.
    And was swept away by impressions.
    Darkness.
    Hunger.
    Yellow teeth gnawing, biting. Some short, some long. Try to isolate the rats with the long teeth. They would be the oldest. Rat’s teeth continued to grow until the day they died.
    Savage, hunting, scavenging.
    Where?
    Dark hallways, a hole near the scoreboard. Across the field and behind the kitchens of the refreshment stands.
    Where else?
    By the river, plastic, death. But not any longer.
    Why?
    Doesn’t matter. Only the cold. Only the cold …
    Running.
    Clock.
    Wires. Eat the wires.
    Run.
    Eat.
    Eat …
    *   *   *
    “YOU’RE PALE,” TREVOR SAID as Margaret strolled across the parking lot toward their rental car. “Something go wrong?”
    “Nah, I guess I’m a little tired.” Margaret jumped into the backseat. “Was it a good game? Did the Cubs win?”
    “We wouldn’t know,” Jane said. “Do you really think that we’d be able to concentrate on a ball game? Not likely, Margaret.”
    “Did Caleb call? Anything on Harriet?”
    “She went back to the hotel after she left the bank. No other calls or visitors,” Trevor said as he started the car. “And why are you asking questions instead of answering them?”
    “I’m trying to get my head together.” She shrugged. “I’m a little … scattered. I feel…” She tried to find the right word. “Chewed.”
    “Pleasant,” Trevor said.
    “No, it wasn’t. Believe me, it wasn’t.” She was silent a moment. “But it was productive. At least, I think it was.” She added. “The nuke is not in that field scoreboard and clock or anywhere around it. I didn’t think it could be when I saw the interior, but there’s always a possibility. But the rats know that scoreboard and surrounding areas inside and out, and they’re not familiar with anyplace that could house a device.”
    Trevor’s brows lifted. “They told you so?”
    “Trevor,” Jane said. “She’s having enough trouble with this.”
    Margaret smiled. “Thanks. I don’t like rats much. I have a hard time dealing with them. They … drain me.”
    “And it was all for nothing?”
    “I didn’t say that. I said the nuke wasn’t at Wrigley Field.” She paused. “But there’s a good chance it might be at the other clock tower.”
    Jane stiffened. “What?”
    “There are a couple of the older rats that evidently commute back and forth between the baseball field and the other clock tower. The pickings are richer here during the summer and fall. But when the stadium closes up, and it gets cold, the office complex is the place of choice for the winter.”
    “So?”
    “There’s a death memory in the lower level, near the river. Several rats were killed when they tried to gnaw through the wires surrounding a box that had been slid into a cavity in the walls.”
    “How long ago?”
    She shook her head. “I only get impressions. It’s lucky there’s a memory at all. But rats