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settled in Eden. They raped, pillaged and plundered at will, and shot anyone who had the gumption to stand up to them.
         Marty Haskins, a friend of Mark and Hannah, led a team of vigilantes to clean up the town several months before.
         Now Eden was mostly peaceful again.
         At least it was for the thirty residents who’d survived the freeze and the brutality of the inmates.
         Two of those thirty residents worked together to run the Eden Medical Center.
         They were Doctor Harold Hamlin and Nurse Donna Toten.
         Actually, it was a “medical center” in name only. Eden didn’t have a hospital before the meteorite ravaged the small town. Before Saris 7 hit it was a privately owned clinic.
         But it had an operating room, of sorts, for outpatient procedures. So there was that.
         And it had the latest equipment for performing exams and running lab tests. So there was that too.
         Mostly, it had two people who were among the best in the country at triaging trauma victims.
         Harold had spent time in Vietnam as a young man and saw the worst that war had to offer. After he lost half a dozen good friends he swore he’d spend the rest of his days trying to save lives, not take them.
         Donna was the most highly regarded nurse San Antonio’s St. Mary’s Hospital ever had. She was credited with saving the lives of many critically injured patients being brought in for emergency surgery.
         The other nurses used to tell patients that once they made it to Nurse Donna, they had it made. That she’d wrap her angel’s wings around them and keep them safe until the surgeons could work their own magic.
         Donna retired and moved to Eden six months to the day before the world grew dark and cold.
         And when people were dying all around her, she went to Doctor Hamlin and said, “We’ve got to do something.”
         So the old clinic became the Eden Medical Center. It was tiny. But it was staffed by two very talented and very dedicated people. And they continued to save lives.
         Bryan had only been to the clinic once, but it was easy to remember where it was. Tucked behind a Dairy Queen at the intersection of Highway 87 and Highway 83, it was hard to miss.
         It was the only stoplight in town.
         Bryan’s driver pulled into the parking lot and examined the tiny building.
        “It’s not much of a clinic.”
         “Nope. But it’s the closest one to where we lost her scent. If it was a local who found her, this is where he’d bring her.”
         The driver waited in the Humvee with the engine running while Bryan went inside.
         There was an old-fashioned cowbell tied to the knob on the inside of the door. It wasn’t fancy, but it did an adequate job of announcing Bryan’s arrival.
         Nurse Donna met him at the front counter.
         “Hello there, young man. How can I help you?”
         “I’m looking for my wife. She was lost in the woods southwest of here. We lost her scent and the tracker said somebody picked her up. I’m hoping they brought her here.”
         “No, I’m afraid not. Was she injured?”
         “Yes. She was dripping blood every fifty or sixty feet for three miles.”
         “My goodness, that’s a significant amount. Have you tried the clinic in Kerrville, or the hospitals in San Angelo?”
         “No, ma’am. You’re our first stop. Are you in radio contact with any of them?”
         “We used to be. But our ham radio hasn’t worked in months.”
         Bryan was disappointed.
         And a little bit frustrated too.
         But he had no time to dwell on his bad luck, for he had more places to go.
         “Thank you, ma’am.”
         “You’re welcome, and I hope you find her. God bless you, son.”
         Bryan returned to the Humvee disappointed but undeterred.
         The driver, a young