“Hello,” he said as calmly as he could. “Where did you come from?”

“Home,” the girl said. “I’m hungry.”

“What’s your name little girl?”

“Mimi Jones, 12138 Mendel Road, Orlando, Florida, 32826.”

“Are you lost?” he asked. He wondered where Mendel Road was and wondered who was going to hook this girl up with her parents, assuming they were alive. She seemed uninjured, so there was no way that she had been in the explosion. But there wasn’t anything standing for a kilometer around the explosion. If she had come from outside the explosion area, then she’d walked a long way.

“Yes,” she said. “I couldn’t find my house or my mommy. And Mommy said I shouldn’t talk to strangers but she said that soldiers were okay one time when we were at the mall.”

“Well, there’s a policeman here,” Crichton said, standing up. “He’ll probably be able to find your mommy. And we’ll get you something to eat. Come on.”

He wanted to ask what that thing on her shoulder was but he thought it might be a good idea to wait until he got her into the light and got a better look at it. It might be one of those robotic toys that were turning up these days.

In the light the thing was no better. It was almost entirely fur except for some stubby and goofy-looking legs; there seemed to be about ten spaced equilaterally around its body. And it didn’t seem to be threatening anything, just sitting on her shoulder.

A command truck had been parked at the edge of the light zone and he led the girl over to the group that was standing around at the back. Weaver was there and the SEAL commander along with a sergeant from Orange County Sheriff’s that had been sent over as a liaison. There was also a woman he hadn’t seen before, a tall brunette, just on the far side of chunky, with long brown hair. She was dressed in jeans and a flannel work shirt.