Read Passage Graves for Free Online Page A

done anythi ng like this before.” Thatcher said.
    “Knocked me clean on my arse,” Lee snapped. “All I know is Donovon and I were outside and Golke and Bailey were alone with the cannon.”
    “Could it have been a resonance echo from the earlier round?” Thatcher regretted asking the question, already knowing the ridiculousness of that scenario.
    “A resonance echo?” Lee frowned at her. “Hummer needs to know about this. He’ll expect a full report, so you better start documenting, Doctor.”
    Thatcher raised her shoulders. “Golke and Bailey should—”
    Lee cut her off. “I already told the m to collect specimens. Who knows how many birds they’ll find before sun-up.” He let slip a grin and turned his full attention back to the generator.
    “Marek, will you give him a hand?” Thatcher asked.
    “Sure.”
    She bit her tongue. God, she wanted to unleash. Blow apart and put Lee in his place. If she said something, he would find some way to reduce her to nothing more than an over-emotional female. “Why’d I take this bloody job?” she whispered.
    Marek took Lee’s light and held it above the generator, enabling the engineer to use both hands. Lee connected a few more wires, and the large fans groaned to life. Seconds later, the overhead lights flickered on.
    “Tick tock, doctor,” Lee said, looking over at Thatcher.
    “I’ll contact Hummer,” she responded coolly. “Marek, will you help the boys collect specimens?”
    Marek whistled, trying to ease the tension. “Another day, another dollar.”
    Thatcher turned back toward the tent. More work, more memos to Hummer, more wretched aviary autopsies. It w as shaping up to be a long day.
    “Dr. Thatcher!” Marek yelled as she disappeared into the tent. “Those dead birds of yours—you want ‘em in paper or plastic?”
    Thatcher waved him off, rolling her eye s as she caught his last words.
    “Yeah, she wants me.”

Chapter 9
    SATURDAY 8:02 a.m.
    Stenness, Scotland
     
    The silence was booming.
    Curtains subdued the morning sunlight, only allowing it to enter at the window’s perimeter. David rubbed his ears, listening for the sounds of breakfast. No sizzle of ham. No crackle of fried eggs. No one shuffling around in slippers downstairs. There wasn’t even the hum of an occasional passing car along the street below.
    He twisted to see Darwin beside the open door. Curled in a tight ball, she was asleep. It had taken most of the night for her to calm down. He recalled waking a few times to her whining, but the door was open and she knew how to get outside.
    “Darwin?” his whisper cut the dead air.
    She was perfectly still.
    “Darwin?”
    She didn’t move.
    “Darwin?” David jumped from the bed and dropped beside her.
    She was tranquil, h er chest motionless. He watched her, waiting, willing her to move. His throat burned. It was a throbbing ache that threatened tears. He slid his arms underneath her. Her body was limp and cold. Something had been wrong with her. The snapping, the lashing out. Her pacing, whining. Why hadn’t he done anything for her?
    He lifted her gently off the floor, holding her body tight against him.
    “Marta?” H is voice tight with emotion.
    The house was quiet.
    He carried Darwin downstairs. Trace embers remained in the fireplace. The breakfast rolls sat uncovered on the dining room table. The clock on the wall had stopped ticking, the time frozen at exactly 2:00 a.m. He looked at his watch. The hands were suspended at 2:00 a.m.
    Dread replaced the lump in his throat.
    He set Darwin on the floor.
    Something was wrong. Very wrong.
    Hurrying through the kitchen, he continued down the hallway to Marta’s bedroom. He knocked on her door. “Marta?”
    He pushed open the door, flinching as it creaked.
    Marta was tucked under a thick comforter, her back to him.
    “Marta?” H is voice cracked again.
    She didn’t move.
    He stepped inside and placed one hand on the innkeeper’s side. “Mart—”
    Her body tipped