He had proven to himself that Baker was involved in a cover up, but this was a fact William had already known. It had only been he, the escapee, who’d held any lingering doubt.

Hari cradled his head in his hands, attempting to block out the smokey sweet smell of freshly-charred human flesh

As soon as he stepped from the 747’s controlled climate the dry Arizona air began to bake Mukki’s lungs.

There was no hiss, nor rattle of warning, one moment they were speaking and the next the tent to Gord’s left seemed to explode into motion.

The conversation on the night of their unexpected meeting was so celebratory that Mukki was forced to repeat most of the details the following day when they met for dinner.

Seeing the shredded seats, deployed airbag, and tornado trail of upholstery and glass had brought a reality to his friend’s words.

Without physical records to pin them in place, the events, like the town of Jackfish itself, became a receding memory only touched upon by sentimentalists and conspiracy theorists.

You wouldn’t be so eager to sleep if you’d seen the damned thing.

He had argued to no end, then been dragged into the boat by a hand so firm it left four brown bars across his forearm.

While shuffling along the tracks, Gord mentally repeated his arguments against regretting this decision.