“And if it goes as it usually does, in a couple of days, nobody will think any more about it. Maybe it’s better that way. If things like this stuck in people’s minds, the Hollow’d be a ghost town.”

“Maybe it should be. Don’t give me the old hometown cheer,” Gage said to Cal before Cal could speak. “It’s a place. A dot on the map.”

“It’s people,” Cal corrected, though this argument had gone around before. “It’s families, it’s businesses and homes. And it’s ours, goddamn it. Twisse, or whatever name we want to call it, isn’t going to take it.”

“Doesn’t it occur to you that it would be a hell of a lot easier to take him down if we didn’t have to worry about the three thousand people in the Hollow?” Gage tossed back. “What do we end up doing through most of the Seven, Cal? Trying to keep people from killing themselves or each other, getting people medical help. How do we fight it when we’re busy fighting what it causes?”

“He’s got a point.” Fox lifted a hand for peace. “I know I’ve wished we could just clear everybody the hell out, have a showdown. Fucking get it done. But you can’t tell three thousand people to leave their homes and businesses for a week. You can’t empty out an entire town.”

“The Anasazi did it.” Quinn stepped in from the doorway. She went to Cal first. Her long blond hair swung forward as she leaned over his chair to kiss him. “Hi.”

When she straightened, her hands stayed on his shoulders. Fox wasn’t sure the gesture was purely out of affection or to soothe. But he knew when Cal’s hand came up to cover one of hers, it meant they were united.

“Towns and villages have emptied out before, for mysterious and unexplained reasons,” she continued. “The ancient Anasazi, who built complex communities in the canyons of Arizona and New Mexico, the colonial village of Roanoke. Causes might have been warfare, sickness, or something else. I’ve been wondering if some of those cases might be the something else we’re dealing with.”