‘How long has he lived here?’ called Taylor.
Baruti shrugged, sandals slapping on leathery feet. His easy gait and slim frame made Taylor feel huge and awkward, an elephant beside a gazelle.
‘Could be an indicator of how far -‘
A hot wind blew up the valley and there it was – the same sound in Philadelphia, Bologna, Yekaterinburg. A wind chime made of bones.
‘There,’ said Baruti.
On top of the hill, a large hut on stilts.
‘Did he make that?’ said Taylor.
Forester had been an accountant, the least practical man Taylor ever met. But many of the sufferers had developed new skills. The virus’s capacity to construct new neural pathways in the brain was the reason he was there. One reason.
Baruti was already hurrying away, dust swallowing him.
Taylor checked the comforting swell of the Beretta under his jacket and pressed on.