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back. Faustus had bailed out of it so quickly he must not have put the shift solidly into park.
    By the time Faustus noticed, it was too late to react.
    The open driver’s door caught him on the back and threw him down onto the highway like he’d been tackled. The bottom edge of the door hit the back of his head hard enough that he did a face-plant on the pavement, arms outstretched.
    He wasn’t moving. Only his fingers, twitching, releasing their grip on the cylinder, which started to roll along the asphalt toward Reilly, bumping over small stones and irregularities in the surface.
    Please don’t have opened, please don’t have opened.
    Reilly bolted forward, threw his body over the cylinder, trapped it below his torso, smothering it like it was a grenade. Even though it was not going to explode, it had the potential to do more damagethan a thousand grenades. The truck rolled past him to his right, the front wheels turning slightly, angling the truck’s back end toward the ditch.
    As it rolled by, Reilly saw Garber and his daughter a good fifty yards away, heading for a wooded area beyond the highway’s edge. Garber glanced back, saw Reilly on the ground, grabbed Kelly by the elbow to stop her.
    Reilly could just barely hear him tell her, “Stay here.”
    And then he came running.
    â€œAre you hit?” Garber shouted.
    â€œNo!”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œI’m guessing dead. That door hit him hard, and then his head hit the pavement. He hasn’t moved.”
    â€œWhy are you lying on—?”
    â€œHave you got a bag in your truck? A plastic bag? A couple of them? Anything airtight?” A thought hit him. “Evidence bags in the cruiser!”
    Garber stopped, ran for the police car, grabbed the keys and ran around back to pop the trunk. It took him about fifteen seconds to find what he was looking for. Clear plastic, sealable bags, like oversized sandwich bags. He grabbed a handful and ran back to Reilly as his truck slowly backed into the ditch, the engine still running.
    The agent, still keeping his body pressed to the pavement, reached up for a bag. “Give it to me.”
    Garber had some sense of how serious the situation was.
    â€œShould I start running again?” he asked.
    Reilly grimaced. “Probably not much point. We’re either safe, or we’re not. You couldn’t run fast enough to save yourself.”
    He worked the bag under his torso, then, in one swift motion, got up on his knees, shoved the cylinder into it, and sealed the top.
    Garber realized he was holding his breath.
    â€œYou’ve got the end of the world in that bag, don’t you?”
    â€œPretty much,” Reilly replied. “Hand me another. I’m going to double bag it. Maybe even triple.”
    â€œDid anything leak out?”
    â€œIf we’re still standing a minute from now, I’d say no.”
    He reached out a hand to Garber, and he took it. He helped the agent to his feet, and they regarded each other for a moment. Garber kept glancing at his watch.
    â€œThirty seconds.”
    â€œGive it a little longer,” Reilly said.
    â€œIf it happens, what, exactly, will happen?”
    â€œYou don’t want to know. The good news is, it’ll be quick.”
    Garber kept his eye on his watch. “That’s a minute and a half now.”
    â€œI’d say we’re going to live.” Reilly smiled. “Your kid threw hot coffee in his face?”
    Garber nodded.
    The smile turned into a grin. “Get her over here.”
    Garber waved Kelly in. She arrived, nearly breathless, several seconds later. Shaken, but relieved, too.
    Reilly rested his hands on her shoulders. “You are something else.”
    Kelly smiled weakly.
    â€œReally, you are,” Sean Reilly said. “You ever need anything, you just name it.”
    Kelly thought a moment. She said, “I never did get my chicken nuggets.”

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