"I'm dead? What the hell do you mean, I'm dead?" Jack grabbed an old glass tumbler, cracked and dirty, and hurled it against the wall, where it smashed into a thousand pieces. "Jesus Christ, Sammy. What the hell are you playing at?"

Susanna stood her ground, fighting the urge to cower away from Jack's anger. Two days in the wasteland, that's how long she'd managed to keep it a secret from him -- the remarkable absence of wraiths had kept his questions at bay. But the little mind-control tricks she'd been using had stopped working by the second day, and she'd had to resort to pleading and coaxing to get him to the second safe house, a battered-looking trailer, in time. Now, a bare hour into day three -- they hadn't even left the safe house yet! -- he was back to fighting her. So out came the truth.

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