G.P.PUTNAM’SSONS
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pagescm.—(5thwave)
Summary:“CassieSullivanandhercompanionslivedthroughtheOthers’fourwavesofdestruction.
Now,withthehumanracenearlyexterminatedandthe5thWaverollingacrossthelandscape,theyfacea
choice:braceforwinterandhopeforEvanWalker’sreturn,orsetoutinsearchofothersurvivorsbefore
theenemyclosesin”—Providedbypublisher.
[1.Extraterrestrialbeings—Fiction.2.Survival—Fiction.3.War—Fiction.4.Sciencefiction.]I.Title.
PZ7.Y19197Inf2014[Fic]—dc232014022058
ISBN978-1-101-59901-3
DesignbyRyanThomann.TextsetinSabon.
Cassiopeiaphotocopyright©iStockphoto.com/Manfred_Konrad.
Version_1
ContentsTitlePage
Copyright
Chapter84
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ForSandy,guardianoftheinfinite
Mybountyisasboundlessasthesea,
Myloveasdeep;themoreIgivetothee,
ThemoreIhave;forbothareinfinite.
—WilliamShakespeare
THEWHEAT
THEREWOULDBEnoharvest.
Thespringrainswokethedormanttillers,andbrightgreenshootssprangfromthemoistearthandrose
likesleepersstretchingafteralongnap.Asspringgavewaytosummer,thebrightgreenstalksdarkened,
becametan,turnedgoldenbrown.Thedaysgrewlongandhot.Thicktowersofswirlingblackclouds
broughtrain,andthebrownstemsglistenedintheperpetualtwilightthatdwelledbeneaththecanopy.The
wheatroseandtheripeningheadsbentintheprairiewind,aripplingcurtain,anendless,undulatingsea
thatstretchedtothehorizon.
Atharvesttime,therewasnofarmertopluckaheadfromthestalk,rubtheheadbetweenhiscallused
hands,andblowthechafffromthegrain.Therewasnoreapertochewthekernelsorfeelthedelicateskin
crackbetweenhisteeth.Thefarmerhaddiedoftheplague,andtheremnantsofhisfamilyhadfledtothe
nearesttown,wherethey,too,succumbed,addingtheirnumberstothebillionswhoperishedinthe3rd
Wave.Theoldhousebuiltbythefarmer’sgrandfatherwasnowadesertedislandsurroundedbyan
infiniteseaofbrown.Thedaysgrewshortandthenightsturnedcool,andthewheatcrackledinthedry
wind.
Thewheathadsurvivedthehailandlightningofthesummerstorms,butluckcouldnotdeliveritfromthe
cold.Bythetimetherefugeestookshelterintheoldhouse,thewheatwasdead,killedbythehardfistof
adeepfrost.
Fivemenandtwowomen,strangerstooneanotherontheeveofthatfinalgrowingseason,nowboundby
theunspokenpromisethattheleastofthemwasgreaterthanthesumofallofthem.
Themenrotatedwatchesontheporch.Duringthedaythecloudlessskywasapolished,brilliantblueand
thesunridinglowonthehorizonpaintedthedullbrownofthewheatashimmeringgold.Thenightsdid
notcomegentlybutseemedtoslamdownangrilyupontheEarth,andstarlighttransformedthegolden
brownofthewheattothecolorofpolishedsilver.
Themechanizedworldhaddied.Earthquakesandtsunamishadobliteratedthecoasts.Plaguehad
consumedbillions.
Andthemenontheporchwatchedthewheatandwonderedwhatmightcomenext.
Earlyoneafternoon,themanonwatchsawthedeadseaofgrainpartingandknewsomeonewascoming,
crashingthroughthewheattowardtheoldfarmhouse.Hecalledtotheothersinside,andoneofthe
womencameoutandstoodwithhimontheporch,andtogethertheywatchedthetallstalksdisappearing
intotheseaofbrownasiftheEarthitselfweresuckingthemunder.Whoever—orwhatever—itwas
couldnotbeseenabovethesurfaceofthewheat.Themansteppedofftheporch.Heleveledhisrifleat
thewheat.Hewaitedintheyardandthewomanwaitedontheporchandtherestwaitedinsidethehouse,
pressingtheirfacesagainstthewindows,andnoonespoke.Theywaitedforthecurtainofwheattopart.
Whenitdid,achildemerged,andthestillnessofthewaitingwasbroken.Thewomanranfromtheporch
andshovedthebarreloftherifledown.He’sjustababy.Wouldyoushootachild?Andtheman’sface
wastwistedwithindecisionandtherageofeverythingevertakenforgrantedbetrayed.Howdoweknow?
hedemandedofthewoman.Howcanwebesureofanythinganymore?Thechildstumbledfrom
thewheatandfell.Thewomanrantohimandscoopedhimup,pressingtheboy’sfilthyfaceagainsther
breast,andthemanwiththegunsteppedinfrontofher.He’sfreezing.Wehavetogethiminside.Andthe
manfeltagreatpressureinsidehischest.Hewassqueezedbetweenwhattheworldhadbeenandwhat
theworldhadbecome,whohewasbeforeandwhohewasnow,andthecostofalltheunspoken
promisesweighingonhisheart.He’sjustababy.Wouldyoushootachild?Thewomanwalkedpasthim,
upthesteps,ontotheporch,intothehouse,andthemanbowedhisheadasifinprayer,thenliftedhis
headasifinsupplication.Hewaitedafewminutestoseeifanyoneelseemergedfromthewheat,forit
seemedincredibletohimthatatoddlermightsurvivethislong,aloneanddefenseless,withnooneto
protecthim.Howcouldsuchathingbepossible?
Whenhesteppedinsidetheparloroftheoldfarmhouse,hesawthewomanholdingthechildinherlap.
Shehadwrappedablanketaroundhimandbroughthimwater,littlefingersslappedredbythecold
wrappedaroundthecup,andtheothershadgatheredintheroomandnoonespoke,buttheystaredatthe
childwithdumbstruckwonder.Howcouldsuchathingbe?Thechildwhimpered.Hiseyesskittered
fromfacetoface,searchingforthefamiliar,buttheywerestrangerstohimastheyhadbeenstrangersto
oneanotherbeforetheworldended.Hewhinedthathewascoldandsaidthathisthroathurt.Hehada
badowieinhisthroat.
Thewomanholdinghimproddedthechildtoopenhismouth.Shesawtheinflamedtissueatthebackof
hismouth,butshedidnotseethehair-thinwireembeddedneartheopeningofhisthroat.Shecouldnot
seethewireorthetinycapsuleconnectedtothewire’send.Shecouldnotknow,asshebentoverthe
childtopeerintohismouth,thatthedeviceinsidethechildwascalibratedtodetectthecarbondioxidein
herbreath.
Ourbreaththetrigger.
Ourchildtheweapon.
Theexplosionvaporizedtheoldfarmhouseinstantly.
Thewheattooklonger.Nothingwasleftofthefarmhouseortheoutbuildingsorthesilothatineveryother
yearhadheldtheabundantharvest.Butthedry,lithestalksconsumedbyfireturnedtoash,andatsunset,a
stiffnortherlywindsweptovertheprairieandliftedtheashintotheskyandcarriedithundredsofmiles
beforetheashcamedown,agrayandblacksnow,tosettleindifferentlyonbarrenground.
BOOKONE
1
THEWORLDISaclockwindingdown.
Ihearitinthewind’sicyfingersscratchingagainstthewindow.Ismellitinthemildewedcarpetingand
therottingwallpaperoftheoldhotel.AndIfeelitinTeacup’schestasshesleeps.Thehammeringofher
heart,therhythmofherbreath,warminthefreezingair,theclockwindingdown.
Acrosstheroom,CassieSullivankeepswatchbythewindow.Moonlightseepsthroughthetinycrackin
thecurtainsbehindher,lightinguptheplumesoffrozenbreathexplodingfromhermouth.Herlittle
brothersleepsinthebedclosesttoher,atinylumpbeneaththemoundedcovers.Window,bed,back
again,herheadturnslikeapendulumswinging.Theturningofherhead,therhythmofherbreath,like
Nugget’s,likeTeacup’s,likemine,markingthetimeoftheclockwindingdown.
Ieaseoutofbed.Teacupmoansinhersleepandburrowsdeeperunderthecovers.Thecoldclamps
down,squeezingmychest,thoughI’mfullydressedexceptformybootsandtheparka,whichIgrabfrom
thefootofthebed.SullivanwatchesasIpullontheboots,thenwhenIgototheclosetformyrucksack
andrifle.Ijoinherbythewindow.IfeellikeIshouldsaysomethingbeforeIleave.Wemightnotsee
eachotheragain.
“Sothisisit,”shesays.Herfairskinglowsinthemilkylight.Thesprayoffrecklesseemstofloatabove
hernoseandcheeks.
Iadjusttherifleonmyshoulder.“Thisisit.”
“Youknow,DumboIget.Thebigears.AndNugget,becauseSamissosmall.Teacup,too.ZombieIdon’t
getsomuch—Benwon’tsay—andI’mguessingPoundcakehassomethingtodowithhisroly-poly-ness.
ButwhyRinger?”
Isensewherethisisgoing.BesidesZombieandherbrother,sheisn’tsureofanyoneanymore.Thename
Ringergivesherparanoiaanudge.“I’mhuman.”
“Yeah.”Shelooksthroughthecrackinthecurtainstotheparkinglottwostoriesbelow,shimmeringwith
ice.“Someoneelsetoldmethat,too.And,likeadummy,Ibelievedhim.”
“Notsodumb,giventhecircumstances.”
“Don’tpretend,Ringer,”shesnaps.“Iknowyoudon’tbelievemeaboutEvan.”
“Ibelieveyou.It’shisstorythatdoesn’tmakesense.”
Iheadforthedoorbeforeshetearsintome.Youdon’tpushCassieSullivanontheEvanWalkerquestion.
Idon’tholditagainsther.Evanisthelittlebranchgrowingoutofthecliffthatsheclingsto,andthefact
thathe’sgonemakesherhangoneventighter.
Teacupdoesn’tmakeasound,butIfeelhereyesonme;Iknowshe’sawake.Igobacktothebed.
“Takemewithyou,”shewhispers.
Ishakemyhead.We’vebeenthroughthisahundredtimes.“Iwon’tbegonelong.Acoupledays.”
“Promise?”
Noway,Teacup.Promisesaretheonlycurrencyleft.Theymustbespentwisely.Herbottomlipquivers;
hereyesmist.“Hey,”Isaysoftly.“WhatdidItellyouaboutthat,soldier?”Iresisttheimpulsetotouch
her.“What’sthefirstpriority?”
“Nobadthoughts,”sheanswersdutifully.
“Becausebadthoughtsdowhat?”
“Makeussoft.”
“Andwhathappensifwegosoft?”
“Wedie.”
“Anddowewanttodie?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Notyet.”
Itouchherface.Coldcheek,warmtears.Notyet.Withnotimeleftonthehumanclock,thislittlegirlhas
probablyreachedmiddleage.Sullivanandme,we’reold.AndZombie?Theancientofdays.
He’swaitingformeinthelobby,wearingaskijacketoverabrightyellowhoodie,bothscavengedfrom
theremainsinsidethehotel:ZombieescapedfromCampHavenwearingonlyaflimsypairofscrubs.
Beneathhisscruffybeard,hisfaceisthetelltalescarletoffever.ThebulletwoundIgavehim,ripped
openinhisescapefromCampHavenandpatchedupbyourtwelve-year-oldmedic,mustbeinfected.He
leansagainstthecounter,pressinghishandagainsthissideandtryingtolooklikeeverything’scool.
“Iwasstartingtothinkyouchangedyourmind,”Zombiesays,darkeyessparklingasifhe’steasing,
thoughthatcouldbethefever.
Ishakemyhead.“Teacup.”
“She’llbeokay.”Toreassureme,hereleaseshiskillersmilefromitscage.Zombiedoesn’tfully
appreciatethepricelessnessofpromisesorhewouldn’ttossthemoutsocasually.
“It’snotTeacupI’mworriedabout.Youlooklikeshit,Zombie.”
“It’sthisweather.Wreakshavoconmycomplexion.”Asecondsmileleapsoutatthepunchline.Heleans
forward,willingmetoanswerwithmyown.“Oneday,PrivateRinger,you’regoingtosmileatsomething
Isayandtheworldwillbreakinhalf.”
“I’mnotpreparedtotakeonthatresponsibility.”
HelaughsandmaybeIheararattledeepinhischest.“Here.”Heoffersmeanotherbrochureofthe
caverns.
“Ihaveone,”Itellhim.
“Takethisone,too,incaseyouloseit.”
“Iwon’tloseit,Zombie.”
“I’msendingPoundcakewithyou,”hesays.
“No,you’renot.”
“I’mincharge.SoIam.”
“YouneedPoundcakeheremorethanIneedhimoutthere.”
Henods.HeknewIwouldsayno,buthecouldn’tresistonelasttry.“Maybeweshouldabort,”hesays.
“Imean,itisn’tthatbadhere.Aboutathousandbedbugs,afewhundredrats,andacoupledozendead
bodies,buttheviewisfantastic...”Stilljoking,stilltryingtomakemesmile.He’slookingatthe
brochureinhishand.Seventy-fourdegreesyear’round!
“Untilwegetsnowedinorthetemperaturedropsagain.Thesituationisunsustainable,Zombie.
We’vestayedtoolongalready.”
Idon’tgetit.We’vetalkedthistodeathandnowhewantstokeepbeatingthecorpse.Iwonderabout
Zombiesometimes.
“Wehavetochanceit,andyouknowwecan’tgoinblind,”Igoon.“Theoddsarethere’reother
survivorshidinginthosecavesandtheymaynotbereadytothrowoutthewelcomemat,especiallyif
they’vemetanyofSullivan’sSilencers.”
“Orrecruitslikeus,”headds.
“SoI’llscopeitoutandbebackinacoupleofdays.”
“I’mholdingyoutothatpromise.”
“Itwasn’tapromise.”
There’snothinglefttosay.There’reamillionthingslefttosay.Thismightbethelasttimeweseeeach
other,andhe’sthinkingit,too,becausehesays,“Thankyouforsavingmylife.”
“Iputabulletinyoursideandnowyoumightdie.”
Heshakeshishead.Hiseyessparklewithfever.Hislipsaregray.Whydidtheyhavetonamehim
Zombie?It’slikeanomen.ThefirsttimeIsawhim,hewasdoingknucklepush-upsintheexerciseyard,
facecontortedwithangerandpain,bloodpoolingontheasphaltbeneathhisfists.Whoisthatguy?I
asked.HisnameisZombie.Hefoughttheplagueandwon,theytoldme,andIdidn’tbelievethem.
Nobodybeatstheplague.Theplagueisadeathsentence.AndReznikthedrillsergeantbendingoverhim,
screamingatthetopofhislungs,andZombieinthebaggybluejumpsuit,pushinghimselfpastthepoint
whereonemorepushisimpossible.Idon’tknowwhyIwassurprisedwhenheorderedmetoshoothim
sohecouldkeephisunkeepablepromisetoNugget.Whenyoulookdeathintheeyeanddeathblinksfirst,
nothingseemsimpossible.
Evenmindreading.“Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”hesays.
“No.Youdon’t.”
“You’rewonderingifyoushouldkissmegood-bye.”
“Whydoyoudothat?”Iask.“Flirtwithme.”
Heshrugs.Hisgriniscrooked,likehisbodyleaningagainstthecounter.
“It’snormal.Don’tyoumissnormal?”heasks.Eyesdiggingdeepintomine,alwayslookingfor
something,I’mneversurewhat.“Youknow,drive-thrusandmoviesonaSaturdaynightandicecream
sandwichesandcheckingyourTwitterfeed?”
Ishakemyhead.“Ididn’tTwitter.”
“Facebook?”
I’mgettingalittlepissed.Sometimesit’shardformetoimaginehowZombiemadeitthisfar.Piningfor
thingswelostisthesameashopingforthingsthatcanneverbe.Bothroadsdead-endindespair.
“It’snotimportant,”Isay.“Noneofthatmatters.”
Zombie’slaughcomesfromdeepinhisgut.Itbubblestothesurfacelikethesuperheatedairofahot
spring,andI’mnotpissedanymore.Iknowhe’sputtingonthecharm,andsomehowknowingwhathe’s
doingdoesnothingtoblunttheeffect.AnotherreasonZombie’salittleunnerving.
“It’sfunny,”hesays.“Howmuchwethoughtallofitdid.Youknowwhatreallymatters?”Hewaitsfor
myanswer.IfeelasifI’mbeingsetupforajoke,soIdon’tsayanything.“Thetardybell.”
Nowhe’sforcedmeintoacorner.Iknowthere’smanipulationgoingonhere,butIfeelhelplesstostopit.
“Tardybell?”
“Mostordinarysoundintheworld.Andwhenallofthisisdone,there’llbetardybellsagain.”He
pressesthepoint.Maybehe’sworriedIdon’tgetit.“Thinkaboutit!Whenatardybellringsagain,
normalisback.Kidsrushingtoclass,sittingaroundbored,waitingforthefinalbell,andthinkingabout
whatthey’lldothatnight,thatweekend,thatnextfiftyyears.They’llbelearninglikewedidaboutnatural
disastersanddiseaseandworldwars.Youknow:‘Whenthealienscame,sevenbillionpeopledied,’and
thenthebellwillringandeverybodywillgotolunchandcomplainaboutthesoggyTaterTots.Like,
‘Whoa,sevenbillionpeople,that’salot.That’ssad.AreyougoingtoeatallthoseTots?’
That’snormal.That’swhatmatters.”
Soitwasn’tajoke.“SoggyTaterTots?”
“Okay,fine.Noneofthatmakessense.I’mamoron.”
Hesmiles.Histeethseemverywhitesurroundedbythescruffybeard,andnow,becausehesuggestedit,I
thinkaboutkissinghimandifthestubbleonhisupperlipwouldtickle.
Ipushthethoughtaway.Promisesarepriceless,andakissisakindofpromise,too.
2
UNDIMMED,THESTARLIGHTsearsthroughtheblack,coatingthehighwayinpearlywhite.Thedry
grassshines;thebaretreesshimmer.Exceptforthewindcuttingacrossthedeadland,theworldiswinter
quiet.
IhunkerbesideastalledSUVforonelastlookbackatthehotel.Anondescripttwo-storywhiterectangle
amongaclusterofothernondescriptwhiterectangles.Onlyfourmilesfromthehugeholethatusedtobe
CampHaven,wenicknamedittheWalkerHotel,inhonorofthearchitectofthathugehole.
SullivantoldusthehotelwasherandEvan’sprearrangedrendezvouspoint.Ithoughtitwastoocloseto
thesceneofthecrime,toodifficulttodefend,andanyway,EvanWalkerwasdead:Ittakestwoto
rendezvous,IremindedZombie.Iwasoverruled.IfWalkerreallywasoneofthem,hemayhavefounda
waytosurvive.
“How?”Iasked.
“Therewereescapepods,”Sullivansaid.
“So?”
Hereyebrowscametogether.Shetookadeepbreath.“So...hecouldhaveescapedinone.”
Ilookedather.Shelookedback.Neitherofussaidanything.ThenZombiesaid,“Well,wehavetotake
sheltersomewhere,Ringer.”Hehadn’tfoundthebrochureforthecavernsyet.“Andweshouldgivehim
thebenefitofthedoubt.”
“Thebenefitofwhatdoubt?”Iasked.
“Thatheiswhohesaysheis.”ZombielookedatSullivan,whowasstillglaringatme.“Thathe’llkeep
hispromise.”
“Hepromisedhe’dfindme,”sheexplained.
“Isawthecargoplane,”Isaid.“Ididn’tseeanescapepod.”
Beneaththefreckles,Sullivanwasblushing.“Justbecauseyoudidn’tseeone...”
IturnedtoZombie.“Thisdoesn’tmakesense.Abeingthousandsofyearsmoreadvancedthanusturnson
itsownkind—forwhat?”
“Iwasn’tfilledinonthewhypart,”Zombiesaid,halfsmiling.
“Hiswholestoryisstrange,”Isaid.“Pureconsciousnessoccupyingahumanbody—iftheydon’tneed
bodies,theydon’tneedaplanet.”
“Maybetheyneedtheplanetforsomethingelse.”Zombiewastryinghard.
“Likewhat?Raisinglivestock?Avacationgetaway?”Somethingelsewasbotheringme,anagginglittle
voicethatsaid,Somethingdoesn’taddup.ButIcouldn’tpindownwhatthatsomethingwas.EverytimeI
chasedafterit,itskitteredaway.
“Therewasn’ttimetogointoallthedetails,”Sullivansnapped.“Iwassortoffocusedonrescuingmy
babybrotherfromadeathcamp.”
Iletitgo.Herheadlookedlikeitwasabouttoexplode.
Icanmakeoutthatsameheadnowonmylastlookback,silhouettedinthesecond-storywindowofthe
hotel,andthat’sbad,reallybad:She’saneasytargetforasniper.ThenextSilencerSullivanencounters
mightnotbeaslovestruckasthefirstone.
Iduckintothethinlineoftreesthatborderstheroad.Stiffwithice,theautumnruinscrunchbeneathmy
boots.Leavescurleduplikefists,trashandhumanbonesscatteredbyscavengers.Thecoldwindcarries
thefaintodorofsmoke.Theworldwillburnforahundredyears.Firewillconsumethethingswemade
fromwoodandplasticandrubberandcloth,thenwaterandwindandtimewillchewthestoneandsteel
intodust.Howbafflingitisthatweimaginedcitiesincineratedbyalienbombsanddeathrayswhenall
theyneededwasMotherNatureandtime.
Andhumanbodies,accordingtoSullivan,despitethefactthat,alsoaccordingtoSullivan,theydon’tneed
bodies.
Avirtualexistencedoesn’trequireaphysicalplanet.
WhenI’dfirstsaidthat,Sullivanwouldn’tlistenandZombieactedlikeitdidn’tmatter.Forwhatever
reason,hesaid,thebottomlineistheywantallofusdead.Everythingelseisjustnoise.
Maybe.ButIdon’tthinkso.
Becauseoftherats.
IforgottotellZombieabouttherats.
3
BYSUNRISE,IreachthesouthernoutskirtsofUrbana.Halfwaythere,rightonschedule.
Cloudshaverolledinfromthenorth;thesunrisesbeneaththecanopyandpaintsitsunderbellya
glisteningmaroon.I’llholeupinthetreesuntilnightfall,thenhittheopenfieldstothewestofthecityand
praythecloudcoverhangsaroundforawhile,atleastuntilIpickupthehighwayagainontheotherside.
GoingaroundUrbanaaddsafewmiles,buttheonlythingriskierthannavigatingatownduringthedayis
tryingitatnight.
Andit’sallaboutrisk.
Mistrisesfromthefrozenground.Thecoldisintense.Itsqueezesmycheeks,makesmychestachewith
eachbreath.Ifeeltheancientyearningforfireembeddeddeepinmygenes.Thetamingoffirewasour
firstgreatleap:Fireprotectedus,keptuswarm,transformedourbrainsbychangingourdietsfromnuts
andberriestoprotein-richmeat.Nowfireisanotherweaponinourenemy’sarsenal.Asdeepwintersets
in,we’recrushedbetweentwounacceptablerisks:freezingtodeathoralertingtheenemytoourlocation.
Sittingwithmybackagainstatree,Ipulloutthebrochure.Ohio’sMostColorfulCaverns!Zombie’s
right.Wewon’tsurvivetillspringwithoutshelter,andthecavesareourbest—maybeonly—bet.Maybe
they’vebeentakenordestroyedbytheenemy.Maybethey’reoccupiedbysurvivorswhowillshoot
strangersonsight.Buteverydaywestayatthathotel,theriskgrowstenfold.
Wedon’thaveanalternativeifthecavesdon’tpanout.Nowheretorun,nowheretohide,andtheideaof
fightingisludicrous.Theclockwindsdown.
WhenIpointedthisouttohim,ZombietoldmeIthinktoomuch.Hewassmiling.Thenhestoppedsmiling
andsaid,“Don’tlet’emgetinsideyourhead.”AsifthiswereafootballgameandIneededahalftime
peptalk.Ignorethefifty-sixtonothingscore.Playforpride!It’smomentslikethosethatmakemewant
toslaphim,notthatslappinghimwoulddoanygood,butitwouldmakemefeelbetter.
Thebreezedies.There’sanexpectanthushintheair,thestillnessbeforeastorm.Ifitsnows,we’llbe
trapped.Meinthesewoods.Zombieinthehotel.I’mstilltwentyorsomilesfromthecaverns—shouldI
risktheopenfieldsbydayorriskthesnowholdingoffatleasttillnightfall?
BacktotheRword.It’sallaboutrisk.Notjustours.Theirs,too:embeddingthemselvesinhumanbodies,
establishingdeathcamps,trainingkidstofinishthegenocide,allofitcrazyrisky,stupidrisky.
LikeEvanWalker,discordant,illogical,andjustdamnstrange.Theopeningattackswerebrutalintheir
efficiency,wipingout98percentofus,andeventhe4thWavemadesomesense:It’shardtomustera
meaningfulresistanceifyoucan’ttrustoneanother.Butafterthat,theirbrilliantstrategystartstounravel.
TenthousandyearstoplantheeradicationofhumansfromEarthandthisisthebesttheycancomeup
with?That’sthequestionIcan’tstopturningoverandoverinmyhead,andhaven’tbeenableto,since
Teacupandthenightoftherats.
Deeperinthewoods,behindmeandtomyleft,asoftmoanslicesthroughthesilence.Irecognizethe
soundimmediately;I’vehearditathousandtimessincetheycame.Intheearlydays,itwasnearly
omnipresent,aconstantbackgroundnoise,likethehumoftrafficonabusyhighway:thesoundofahuman
beinginpain.
Ipulltheeyepiecefrommyrucksackandadjustthelenscarefullyovermylefteye.Deliberately.
Withoutpanic.Panicshutsdownneurons.Istandup,checktheboltcatchontherifle,andeasethroughthe
treestowardthesound,scanningtheterrainforthetelltalegreenglowofan“infested.”Mistshroudsthe
trees;theworldisdrapedinwhite.Myfootstepsthunderonthefrozenground.Mybreathsaresonic
booms.
Thedelicatewhitecurtainparts,andtwentyyardsawayIseeafigureslumpedagainstatree,headback,
handspressedintoitslap.Theheaddoesn’tglowinmyeyepiece,whichmeanshe’snocivilian;he’spart
ofthe5thWave.
Iaimtherifleathishead.“Hands!Letmeseeyourhands!”
Hismouthhangsopen.Hisvacanteyesregardthegrayskythroughbarebranchesglisteningwithice.
Istepcloser.Arifleidenticaltomineliesonthegroundbesidehim.Hedoesn’treachforit.
“Where’stherestofyoursquad?”Iask.Hedoesn’tanswer.
Ilowermyweapon.I’manidiot.Inthisweather,Iwouldseehisbreathandthereisnone.ThemoanI
heardmusthavebeenhislast.Idoaslow360,holdingmybreath,butseenothingbuttreesandmist,hear
nothingbutmyownbloodroaringinmyears.ThenIstepovertothebody,forcingmyselfnottorush,to
noticeeverything.Nopanic.Panickills.
Samegunasmine.Samefatigues.Andthere’shiseyepieceonthegroundbesidehim.He’sa5thWaver
allright.
Istudyhisface.Helooksvaguelyfamiliar.I’mguessinghe’stwelveorthirteen,aroundDumbo’sage.I
kneelbesidehimandpressmyfingertipsagainsthisneck.Nopulse.Iopenthejacketandpulluphis
blood-soakedshirttolookforthewound.Hewashitinthegutbyasingle,high-caliberround.
AroundIdidn’thear.Eitherhe’sbeenlyinghereforawhileortheshooterisusingasilencer.
Silencer.
•••
AccordingtoSullivan,EvanWalkertookoutanentiresquadbyhimself,atnight,injuredand
outnumbered,sortofawarm-uptohissingle-handedblowingupofanentiremilitaryinstallation.Atthe
time,IfoundCassie’sstoryhardtobelieve.Nowthere’sadeadsoldieratmyfeet.HissquadMIA.
Andmealonewiththesilenceofthewoodsandthemilkywhitescreenoffog.
Doesn’tseemthatfar-fetchednow.
Thinkfast.Don’tpanic.Likechess.Weightheodds.Measuretherisk.
Ihavetwooptions.Stayputuntilsomethingdevelopsornightfalls.Orgetoutofthesewoods,fast.
Whoeverkilledhimcouldbemilesawayorhunkereddownbehindatree,waitingforaclearshot.
Thepossibilitiesmultiply.Where’shissquad?Dead?Huntingdownthepersonwhoshothim?Whatifthe
personwhoshothimwasafellowrecruitwhowentDorothy?Forgethissquad.Whathappenswhen
reinforcementsarrive?
Ipulloutmyknife.It’sbeenfiveminutessinceIfoundhim.I’dbedeadbynowifsomeoneknewIwas
here.I’llwaittilldark,butIhavetopreparefortheprobabilitythatanotherbreakerofthe5thWaveis
rollingtowardme.
IpressagainstthebackofhisneckuntilIfindthetinybulgebeneaththescar.Staycalm.It’slikechess.
Moveandcountermove.
Isliceslowlyalongthescaranddigoutthepelletwiththetipoftheknife,whereitsitssuspendedona
dropletofblood.
Sowe’llalwaysknowwhereyouare.Sowecankeepyousafe.
Risk.Theriskoflightingupinaneyepiece.Theopposingriskoftheenemyfryingmybrainwiththetouch
ofabutton.
Thepelletinitsbedofblood.Theawfulstillnessofthetreesandtheclinchingcoldandthefogthatcurls
betweenbrancheslikefingersinterlacing.AndZombie’svoiceinmyhead:Youthinktoomuch.
Ituckthepelletbetweenmycheekandgums.Stupid.Ishouldhavewipeditofffirst.Icantastethekid’s
blood.
4
IAMNOTALONE.
Ican’tseehimorhearhim,butIfeelhim.Everyinchofmybodytingleswiththesensationofbeing
watched.Anuncomfortablyfamiliarfeelingnow,presentsincetheverybeginning.Justthemothership
silentlyhoveringinorbitforthefirsttendayscausedcracksinthehumanedifice.Adifferentkindofviral
plague:uncertainty,fear,panic.Cloggedhighways,desertedairports,overrunemergencyrooms,
governmentsinlockdown,foodandgasshortages,martiallawinsomeplaces,lawlessnessinothers.
Thelioncrouchesinthetallgrass.Thegazellesniffstheair.Theawfulstillnessbeforethestrike.Forthe
firsttimeintenmillennia,weknewwhatitfeltliketobepreyagain.
Thetreesarecrowdedwithcrows.Shinyblackheads,blankblackeyes,theirhunched-shouldered
silhouettesremindingmeoflittleoldmenonparkbenches.Therearehundredsofthemperchedinthe
treesandhoppingabouttheground.Iglanceatthebodybesideme,itseyesblankandbottomlessasthe
crows’.Iknowwhythebirdshavecome.They’rehungry.
Iam,too,soIdigoutmybaggieofbeefjerkyandonly-slightly-expiredgummybears.Eatingisarisk,
too,becauseI’llhavetoremovethetrackerfrommymouth,butIneedtostayalert,andtostayalert,I
needfuel.Thecrowswatchme,cockingtheirheadsasifstrainingtohearthesoundofmychewing.You
fatasses.Howhungrycouldyoube?Theattacksyieldedmillionsoftonsofmeat.Attheheightofthe
plague,hugeflocksblottedoutthesky,theirshadowsracingacrossthesmolderinglandscape.Thecrows
andothercarrionbirdsclosedtheloopofthe3rdWave.Theyfedoninfectedbodies,thenspreadthe
virustonewfeedinggrounds.
Icouldbewrong.Maybewe’realone,meandthisdeadkid.Themoresecondsthatslipby,thesaferI
feel.Ifsomeoneiswatching,Icanthinkofonlyonereasonwhyhe’dholdtheshot:He’swaitingtoseeif
anymoreidiotickidsplayingsoldiershowup.
Ifinishmybreakfastandslipthepelletbackintomymouth.Theminutescrawl.Oneofthemost
disorientingthingsabouttheinvasion—afterwatchingeveryoneyouknowandlovedieinhorribleways
—washowtimesloweddownaseventsspedup.Tenthousandyearstobuildcivilization,tenmonthsto
tearitdown,andeachdaylastedtentimeslongerthantheonebefore,andthenightslastedtentimesas
longasthedays.Theonlythingmoreexcruciatingthantheboredomofthosehourswastheterrorof
knowingthatanyminutetheycouldend.
Midmorning:Themistliftsandthesnowbeginstofallinflakessmallerthancrows’eyes.There’snota
breathofwind.Thewoodsaredrapedinadreamlike,glossywhiteglow.Aslongasthesnowstaysthis
light,I’mgoodtilldark.
IfIdon’tfallasleep.Ihaven’tsleptinovertwentyhours,andIfeelwarmandcomfortableandslightly
spacy.
Inthegossamerstillness,myparanoiaratchetsup.Myheadisperfectlycenteredinhiscrosshairs.
He’shighinthetrees;he’slyingmotionlesslikealioninthebrush.I’mapuzzletohim.Ishouldbe
panicking.Soheholdshisfire,allowingthesituationtodevelop.TheremustbesomereasonI’mhanging
outherewithacorpse.
ButIdon’tpanic.Idon’tboltlikeafrightenedgazelle.Iammorethanthesumofmyfear.
Itisn’tfearthatwilldefeatthem.Notfearorfaithorhopeorevenlove,butrage.
Fuckyou,SullivansaidtoVosch.It’stheonlypartofherstorythatimpressedme.Shedidn’tcry.She
didn’tpray.Shedidn’tbeg.
Shethoughtitwasover,andwhenit’sover,whentheclockhaswoundtothefinalsecond,thetimefor
crying,praying,andbeggingisover.
“Fuckyou,”Iwhisper.Sayingthewordsmakesmefeelbetter.Isaythemagain,louder.Myvoicecarries
farinthewinterair.
Aflutterofblackwingsdeepinthetreestomyright,thepetulantsquawkingofthecrows,andthroughmy
eyepiece,atinygreendotsparklingamongthebrownandwhite.
Foundyou.
Theshotwillbetough.Tough,notimpossible.I’dneverhandledafirearminmylifeuntiltheenemy
foundmehidinginthereststopoutsideCincinnati,broughtmetotheircamp,andplacedarifleinmy
hand,atwhichpointthedrillsergeantwonderedaloudifcommandhadslippedaringerintotheunit.
Sixmonthslater,Iputabulletintothatman’sheart.
Ihaveagift.
Thefierygreenlightiscomingcloser.MaybeheknowsI’vespottedhim.Itdoesn’tmatter.Icaressthe
smoothmetalofthetriggerandwatchthebloboflightexpandthroughtheeyepiece.Maybehethinkshe’s
outofrangeorispositioninghimselfforabettershot.
Doesn’tmatter.
ItmightnotbeoneofSullivan’ssilentassassins.Itmightbejustsomepoorlostsurvivorhopingfor
rescue.
Doesn’tmatter.Onlyonethingmattersanymore.
Therisk.
5
ATTHEHOTEL,Sullivantoldmeastoryaboutshootingasoldierbehindsomebeercoolersandhow
badshefeltafterward.
“Itwasn’tagun,”shetriedtoexplain.“Itwasacrucifix.”
“Whyisthatimportant?”Iasked.“ItcouldhavebeenaRaggedyAnndollorabagofM&Ms.What
choicedidyouhave?”
“Ididn’t.That’smypoint.”
Ishookmyhead.“Sometimesyou’reinthewrongplaceatthewrongtimeandwhathappensisnobody’s
fault.Youjustwanttofeelbadsoyou’llfeelbetter.”
“BadsoIfeelbetter?”Withadeepblushofangerspreadingbeneathherfreckles.“Thatmakesabsolutely
nofriggin’sense.”
“‘Ikilledaninnocentguy,butlookhowguiltyIfeelaboutit,’”Iexplained.“Guy’sstilldead.”
Shestaredatmeforalongtime.“Well.IseewhyVoschwantedyoufortheteam.”
•••
Thegreenblobofhisheadadvancestowardme,weavingthroughthetrees,andnowIcanseetheglintof
ariflethroughthelanguidsnow.I’mprettysureitisn’tacrucifix.
Cradlingmyrifle,leaningmyheadagainstthetreeasifI’mdozingorlookingattheflakesfloatbetween
theglisteningbarebranches,lionessinthetallgrass.
Fiftyyardsaway.ThemuzzlevelocityofaM16is3,100feetpersecond.Threefeetinayard,which
meanshehastwo-thirdsofasecondleftonEarth.
Hopehespendsitwisely.
Iswingtheriflearound,squaremyshoulders,andletloosethebulletthatcompletesthecircle.
Themurderofcrowsrocketsfromthetrees,ariotofblackwingsandhoarse,scoldingcries.Thegreen
balloflightdropsanddoesn’trise.
Iwait.Bettertowaitandseewhathappensnext.Fiveminutes.Ten.Nomotion.Nosound.Nothingbutthe
thunderoussilenceofsnow.Thewoodsfeelveryemptywithoutthecompanyofthebirds.Withmyback
pressedagainstthetree,Islideupandholdstillanothercoupleofminutes.NowIcanseethegreenglow
again,ontheground,notmoving.Istepoverthebodyofthedeadrecruit.Frozenleavescracklebeneath
myboots.
Eachfootstepmeasuresoutthetimewindingdown.Halfwaytothebody,IrealizewhatI’vedone.
Teacupliescurledintoatightballbesideafallentree,herfacecoveredinthecrumbsoflastyear’s
leaves.
Behindarowofemptybeercoolers,adyingmanhuggedabloodycrucifixtohischest.Hiskillerdidn’t
haveachoice.Theygavehernochoice.Becauseoftherisk.Toher.Tothem.
Ikneelbesideher.Hereyesarewidewithpain.Shereachesformewithhandsdarkcrimsoninthegray
light.
“Teacup,”Iwhisper.“Teacup,whatareyoudoinghere?Where’sZombie?”
Iscanthewoodsbutdon’thearorseehimoranyoneelse.Herchestheavesandfrothybloodboilsover
herlips.She’schoking.Igentlypushherfacetowardthegroundtoclearhermouth.
Shemusthaveheardmecursing.That’showshefoundme,bymyownvoice.
Teacupscreams.Thesoundknifesthroughthestillness,bouncesandricochetsoffthetrees.
Unacceptable.Ipressmyhanddownhardoverherbloodylipsandtellhertohush.Idon’tknowwho
shotthekidIfound,butwhoeverdiditcan’tbefar.Ifthesoundofmyrifledoesn’tbringhimbackto
investigate,herscreamingwill.
Damnit,shutup.Shutup.Whatthehellareyoudoingouthere,sneakinguponmelikethat,youlittle
shit?Stupid.Stupid,stupid,stupid.
Teethscrapefranticallyagainstmypalm.Tinyfingersseekmyface.Mycheekspaintedwithherblood.
Withmyfreehand,Itugopenherjacket.I’vegottocompressthewoundorshe’llbleedout.
Igrabthecollarofhershirtandripdownward,exposinghertorso.Iwaduptheremnantandpressitjust
belowherribcage,againstthebulletholeweepingblood.Shejerksatmytouchwithastrangledsob.
“WhatdidItellyouaboutthat,soldier?”Iwhisper.“What’sthefirstpriority?”
Slicklipsslideovermypalm.Nowordscomeout.
“Nobadthoughts,”Itellher.“Nobadthoughts.Nobadthoughts.Becausebadthoughtsmakeusgosoft.
Theymakeussoft.Soft.Soft.Andwecan’tgosoft.Wecan’t.Whathappenswhenwegosoft?”
Thewoodsbrimwithmenacingshadows.Deepinthetrees,there’sasnappingsound.Abootcrunching
onthefrozenground?Oranice-encrustedbranch,splintering?Wecouldbesurroundedbyahundred
enemies.Orzero.
Iracethroughouroptions.Therearen’tmany.Andtheyallsuck.
Firstoption:Westay.Theproblemisstayforwhat.Thedeadrecruit’sunitisunaccountedfor.
Whoeverkilledthekidisalsounaccountedfor.AndTeacuphasnochanceofsurvivingwithoutmedical
attention.Shehasminutes,nothours.
Secondoption:Werun.Theproblemiswhere.Thehotel?Teacupwouldbleedtodeathbeforewemakeit
back,plusshemayhavetakenoffforagoodreason.Thecaverns?Can’triskgoingthroughUrbana,which
meansaddingmilesofopenfieldsandmanyhourstoajourneythatendsataplacethatprobablyisn’t
safe,either.
There’sathirdoption.Theunthinkableone.Andtheonlyonethatmakessense.
Thesnowfallsheavier,thegraydeepens.Icupherfacewithonehandandpresstheotherintothewound,
butIknowit’shopeless.Mybullettorethroughhergut;theinjuryiscatastrophic.
Teacupisgoingtodie.
Ishouldleaveher.Now.
ButIdon’t.Ican’t.LikeItoldZombieonthenightCampHavenblew,theminutewedecideoneperson
doesn’tmatter,they’vewon,andnowmywordsarethechainthatbindsmetoher.
Iholdherinmyarmsintheawfuldeadstillnessofthewoodsinsnow.
6
IEASEHERDOWNontotheforestfloor.Drainedofallcolor,herfaceisonlyslighterdarkerthanthe
snow.
Hermouthhangsopen,hereyelidsflutter.She’sslippedintounconsciousness.Idon’tthinkshe’llwake
again.
Myhandsareshaking.I’mstrugglingtokeepittogether.I’mpissedashellather,atmyself,attheseven
billionimpossibledilemmastheirarrivalbrought,attheliesandthemaddeninginconsistenciesandall
theridiculous,hopeless,stupidunspokenpromisesthathavebeenbrokensincetheycame.
Don’tgosoft.Thinkaboutwhatmatters,righthere,rightnow;you’regoodatthat.
Idecidetowait.Itcan’tbemuchlonger.Maybeaftershe’sdead,thesoftnessinsidemewillpassandI’ll
beabletothinkclearly.EveryuneventfulminutemeansIstillhavetime.
Buttheworldisaclockwindingdown,andtherearenosuchthingsasuneventfulminutesanymore.
AheartbeatafterIdecidetostaywithher,thepercussivethrumofrotorsshattersthesilence.Thesound
ofthechopperssnapsthespell.Knowingwhatmatters:besidesshooting,thethingI’mbestat.
Ican’tletthemtakeTeacupalive.
Iftheytakeher,theymaybeabletosaveher.Andiftheysaveher,they’llrunherthroughWonderland.
There’sthetiniestchancethatZombie’sstillsafeatthehotel.AchancethatTeacupwasn’trunningfrom
anything,justsnuckofftofindme.Onetripbyeitherofusdowntherabbitholeandeverybody’sdoomed.
Ipullmysidearmfromtheholster.
Theminutewedecide...IwishIhadaminute.IwishIhadthirtyseconds.Thirtysecondswouldbea
lifetime.Aminutewouldbeaneternity.
Ilevelthegunatherheadandliftupmyfacetothegray.Snowsettlesonmyskin,whereitquiversfora
momentbeforemelting.
SullivanhadherCrucifixSoldierandnowIhavemine.
No.Iamthesoldier.Teacupisthecross.
7
IFEELHIMTHEN,theonestandingdeepinthetrees,motionless,watchingme.Ilook,andthenIsee
him,alighterhuman-shapedshadowbetweenthedarktrunks.Foramoment,neitherofusmoves.Iknow,
withoutunderstandinghow,thatheistheonewhoshotthekidandtheothermembersofhissquad.AndI
knowtheshootercan’tbearecruit.Hisheaddoesnotglowinmyeyepiece.
Thesnowspins,thecoldsqueezes.Iblink,andtheshadowisgone.Iftheshadowwaseverthere.
I’mlosingmygrip.Toomanyvariables.Toomuchrisk.Shakinguncontrollably,Iwonderifthey’ve
finallybrokenme;aftersurvivingthetsunamithattookmyhome,theplaguethattookmyfamily,thedeath
campthattookmyhope,theinnocentlittlegirlwhotookmybullet,Iamterminal,done,finished,andwas
iteverinquestion,neverifbutalwayswhen?
Thechoppersbeardown.IhavetofinishwhatIstartedwithTeacuporI’lljoinherwhereshelies.
Isightalongthebarrelofmypistolintothepale,angelicfaceatmyfeet,myvictim,mycross.
AndtheroaroftheBlackHawks’approachmakesmythoughtsseemlikethetinysqueakingwhimpersof
adyingrodent.
It’sliketherats,isn’tit,Cup?Justliketherats.
8
THEOLDHOTELswarmedwithvermin.Thecoldhadkilledoffthecockroaches,butotherpests
survived,especiallybedbugsandcarpetbeetles.Andtheywerehungry.Withinaday,allofuswere
coveredwithbites.Thebasementbelongedtotheflies,wherecorpseshadbeenbroughtduringthe
plague.Bythetimewecheckedin,mostoftheflieshaddiedoff.Somanydeadfliesthattheirblackhusks
crunchedbeneathourfeetwhenwewentdowntherethefirstday.Thatwasalsothelastdaywewentinto
thebasement.
Theentirebuildingreekedofrot,andItoldZombiethatopeningthewindowswouldhelpdissipatethe
smellandkilloffsomeofthebugs.Hesaidhe’drathergetbitandgagthanfreezetodeath.Ashesmiled
todrenchyouinhisirresistiblecharm.Relax,Ringer.It’sjustanotherdayinthealienwild.
Thebugsandthesmelldidn’tbotherTeacup.Itwastheratsthatdrovehercrazy.Theyhadchewedtheir
wayintothewalls,andatnighttheirgnawingandscratchingkepther(andthereforeme)awake.
Shetossedandturned,whinedandbitchedandgenerallyobsessed,becausepracticallyanyotherthoughts
aboutoursituationendedupinabadplace.Inavainattempttodistracther,Ibeganteachingherchess,
usingatowelforaboardandcoinsforthepieces.
“Chessisastupidgameforstupidpeople,”sheinformedme.
“No,it’sverydemocratic,”Isaid.“Smartpeopleplay,too.”
Teacuprolledhereyes.“Youwanttoplayjustsoyoucanbeatme.”
“No,IwanttobecauseImissplayingit.”
Hermouthdroppedopen.“That’swhatyoumiss?”
Ispreadthetowelonthebedandpositionedthecoins.“Don’tdecidehowyoufeelaboutsomething
beforeyoutryit.”IwasaroundheragewhenIbegan.Thebeautifulwoodenboardonastandinmy
father’sstudy.Thegleamingivorypieces.Thesternking.Thehaughtyqueen.Thenobleknight.Thepious
bishop.Andthegameitself,thewayeachpiececontributeditsindividualpowertothewhole.Itwas
simple.Itwascomplex.Itwassavage;itwaselegant.Itwasadance;itwasawar.Itwasfiniteand
eternal.Itwaslife.
“Penniesarepawns,”Itoldher.“Nickelsarerooks,dimesareknightsandbishops,quartersarekingsand
queens.”
Sheshookherhead.Ringerisanidiot.“Howcandimesandquartersbeboth?”
“Heads:knightsandkings.Tails:bishopsandqueens.”
Thecoolnessoftheivory.Thewaythefelt-coveredbasesslidoverthepolishedwood,likewhispered
thundercrashing.Myfather’sfacebentovertheboard,leanandunshaven,red-eyedandpurse-lipped,
encrustedwithshadows.Thesicklysweetsmellofalcoholandfingersthatthrummedlikehummingbirds’
wings.
It’scalledthegameofkings,Marika.Wouldyouliketolearnhowtoplay?
“It’sthegameofkings,”IsaidtoTeacup.
“Well,I’mnotaking.”Shecrossedherarms.Sooverme.“Ilikecheckers.”
“Thenyou’lllovechess.Chessischeckersonsteroids.”
Myfathertappinghischippednailsonthetabletop.Theratsscratchinginsidethewalls.
“Here’showthebishopmoves,Teacup.”
Thisishowtheknightmoves,Marika.
Shejammedastalepieceofgumintohermouthandchewedangrilyasthedryshardscrumbled.
Mintybreath.Whiskeybreath.Scratch,scratch,tap,tap.
“Giveitachance,”Ibeggedher.“You’llloveit.Ipromise.”
Shegrabbedthecornerofthetowel.“Here’swhatIfeel.”Isawitcoming,butstillflinchedwhenshe
flungthetowelandthecoinsexplodedintotheair.Anickelpoppedherintheforeheadandshedidn’t
evenblink.
“Ha!”Teacupshouted.“Iguessthat’scheckmate,bitch!”
Reactingwithoutthinking,Islappedher.“Don’tevercallmethat.Ever.”
Thecoldmadetheslapmorepainful.Herbottomlippokedout,hereyeswelledup,butshedidn’tcry.
“Ihateyou,”shesaid.
“Idon’tcare.”
“No,Ihateyou,Ringer.Ihateyourfuckingguts.”
“Cussingdoesn’tmakeyougrown-up,youknow.”
“ThenIguessI’mababy.Shit,shit,shit!Fuck,fuck,fuck!”Shestartedtotouchhercheek.Shestopped
herself.“Idon’thavetolistentoyou.Youaren’tmymotherormysisteroranybody.”
“Thenwhyhaveyoubeenlatchedontomelikeapilotfishsinceweleftcamp?”
Nowateardidfall,asingledropthattraileddownherscarletcheek.Shewassopaleandthin,herskin
asluminescentasoneofmyfather’schesspieces.Iwassurprisedtheslaphadn’tshatteredherintoa
thousandbits.Ididn’tknowwhattosayorhowtounsaywhathadbeensaid,soIsaidnothing.
Instead,Ilaidahandonherknee.Shepushedmyhandaway.
“Iwantmygunback,”shesaid.
“Whydoyouwantyourgunback?”
“SoIcanshootyou.”
“Thenyou’redefinitelynotgettingyourgunback.”
“CanIhaveitbacktoshootalltherats?”
Isighed.“Wedon’thaveenoughbullets.”
“Thenwepoisonthem.”
“Withwhat?”
Shethrewupherhands.“Okay,sowesetthehotelonfireandburnthemallup!”
“That’sagreatidea,onlywehappentobelivinghere,too.”
“Thenthey’regonnawin.Againstus.Abunchofrats.”
Ishookmyhead.Ididn’tfollowher.“Win—how?”
Hereyeswidenedindisbelief.Ringerthemoron.“Listentothem!They’reeatingit.Andprettysoonwe
won’tbelivingherebecausetherewon’tbeanyheretolivein!”
“That’snotwinning,”Ipointedout.“Theywouldn’thaveahome,either.”
“They’rerats,Ringer.Theycan’tthinkthatfarahead.”
Notjusttherats,Ithoughtthatnightaftershefinallyfellasleepnexttome.Ilistenedtotheminsidethe
walls,chewing,scratching,screeching.Eventually,withthehelpofweather,insects,andtime,theold
hotelwouldcollapse.Inanotherhundredyears,onlythefoundationwouldremain.Inathousand,nothing
atall.Hereoranywhere.Itwouldbeasifwehadneverexisted.Whoneedsthekindofbombsusedat
CampHavenwhentheycanturntheelementsthemselvesagainstus?
Teacupwaspressedtightagainstme.Evenundermoundsofcovers,thecoldsqueezedhard.Winter:a
wavetheydidn’thavetoengineer.Thecoldwouldkilloffthousandsmore.
Nothingthathappensisinsignificant,Marika,myfathertoldmeduringoneofmychesslessons.
Everymovematters.Masteryisinunderstandinghowmucheachtime,everytime.
Itnaggedatme.Theproblemofrats.NotTeacup’sproblem.Nottheproblemwithrats.Theproblemof
rats.
9
ISEETHECHOPPERSclosinginthroughtheleaflessbranchesclothedinwhite,threeblackdotsagainst
thegray.Ihaveseconds.
Options:
FinishTeacupandtakemychancesagainstthreeBlackHawksequippedwithHellfiremissiles.
LeaveTeacuptobefinishedbythem—orworse,saved.
Onelastoption:Finishbothofus.Abulletforher.Abulletforme.
Idon’tknowifZombieisokay.Idon’tknowwhat—ifanything—droveTeacupfromthehotel.WhatIdo
knowisourdeathsmaybehisonlychancetolive.
Iwillmyselftosqueezethetrigger.IfIcanfirethefirstround,thesecondwillbemucheasier.Itell
myselfit’stoolate—toolateforherandtoolateforme.There’snoavoidingdeath,anyway.Isn’tthatthe
lessonthey’vebeenhammeringintoourheadsformonths?Nohidingfromit,norunningfromit.
Putitoffforaday,anddeathwillsurelyfindyoutomorrow.
Shelookssobeautiful,notevenreal,nestledinabowerofsnow,herdarkhairshimmeringlikeonyx,her
expressioninsleeptheindescribableserenityofanancientstatue.
Iknowthatkillingbothofusistheonlyoptionwiththeleastrisktothemostpeople.AndIthinkofrats
againandhowsometimes,topasstheinterminablehours,TeacupandIwouldplotourcampaignagainst
thevermin,stratagemsandtactics,wavesofattack,eachmoreridiculousthanthelast,untilshedissolved
intohystericallaughter,andIgaveherthesamespeechIgaveZombieonthefiringrange,thesamelesson
thatnowcomeshometome,thefearthatbindskillertopreyandthebulletconnectingbothasifbya
silvercord.NowIamthekillerandtheprey,acircleofacompletelydifferentkind,andmymouthhas
gonedryasthesterileair,myheartascold:Thetemperatureoftruerageisabsolutezero,andmineis
deeperthantheocean,widerthantheuniverse.
Soitisn’thopethatmakesmeslipthesidearmbackintoitsholster.Itisn’tfaithanditsureisn’tlove.
It’srage.
Rage,andthefactthatIhaveadeadrecruit’simplantstilllodgedbetweenmycheekandgums.
10
ILIFTHERUP.Herheadfallsagainstmyshoulder.Wetakeoffthroughthetrees.ABlackHawkthunders
overhead.Theothertwochoppershavesplitoff,onetotheeast,onetothewest,cuttingoffanyescape.
Thehigh,thinbranchesbend.Snowwhipssidewaysintomyface.Teacupweighsnothing;Icouldbe
carryingawadofdiscardedclothes.
WecomeoutofthetreesasaBlackHawkroarsinfromthenorth.Theblastofairwhipsmyhairwith
cyclonicfury.Thechopperhoversaboveusandnowwearemotionless,standinginthemiddleofthe
road.Nomorerunning.Nomore.
IlowerTeacuptotheblacktop.Thehelicopterissoclose,Icanseetheblackvisorofthepilotandthe
opendoortotheholdandtheclusterofbodiesinside,andIknowI’minthemiddleofahalfdozensights,
meandthelittlegirlatmyfeet.AndeverysecondthatpassesmeansI’vesurvivedthatsecondand,with
eachsecond,theincreasedprobabilityI’llsurvivethenext.Itmightnotbetoolate,notforme,notforher,
notyet.
Idonotglowintheireyepieces.Iamoneofthem.Imustbe,right?
Islingtheriflefrommyshoulderandslipmyfingerthroughthetriggerguard.
11
FROMTHETIMEIcouldbarelywalk,myfatherwouldaskme,Cassie,doyouwanttofly?Andmy
armswouldshootovermyhead.Areyoukiddingme,oldman?DamnstraightIwanttofly!
Andhewouldgrabmywaistandtossmeintotheair.MyheadwouldsnapbackandIwouldhurtlelikea
rockettowardthesky.Foraninstantthatlastedathousandyears,itfeltasifI’dkeepflyinguntilIreached
thestars.Iwouldscreamwithjoy,thatfierceroller-coaster-ridefear,myfingersclutchingatclouds.
Fly,Cassie,fly!
Mybrotherknewthatfeeling,too.Betterthanme,becausethememorywasfresher.Evenafterthe
Arrival,Dadwaslaunchinghimintoorbit.IsawhimdoitatCampAshpitafewdaysbeforeVosch
showedupandmurderedhiminthedirt.
Sam,m’boy,doyouwanttofly?Loweringhisvoicefrombaritonetobasslikeanold-timecarnyhustler,
thoughtheridehewassellingwasfree—andpriceless.Dadthelaunchingpad.Dadthelandingzone.Dad
thetetherthatkeptSams—andme—fromhurtlingintothenullityofdeepspace,anullityhimselfnow.
IwaitedforSamtoask.That’stheeasiestwaytobreakhorriblenews.Alsothelowest.Hedidn’task,
though.Hetoldme.
“Daddy’sdead.”
Atinylumpbeneathamoundofcovers,browneyesbigandroundandblankliketheteddybear’spressed
againsthischeek.Teddybearsareforbabies,hetoldmethefirstnightatHotelHell.I’masoldiernow.
Burrowedinthebednexttohis,anothersolemn,pint-sizedsoldierstaringatme,theseven-year-oldthey
callTeacup.Theonewiththeadorablebaby-dollfaceandhauntedeyeswhodoesn’tshareabedwitha
stuffedanimal;shesleepswitharifle.
Welcometothepost-humanage.
“Oh,Sam.”Ileftmypostbythewindowandsatbesidethecocoonofcoversswaddlinghim.
“Sammy,Ididn’tknowhow—”
Hesluggedmeinthecheekwithaballed-up,apple-sizedfist.Ineversawitcoming,inbothmeaningsof
thephrase.Brightstarsexplodedinmyvision.ForasecondIwasafraidhe’ddetachedmyretina.
Okay.Rubbingmycheek.Ideservedthat.
“Whydidyoulethimdie?”hedemanded.Hedidn’tcryorscream.Hisvoicewaslowandfierce,
simmeringwithrage.“Youweresupposedtotakecareofhim.”
“Ididn’tlethimdie,Sams.”
Myfatherbleeding,crawlinginthedirt—Whereareyougoing,Dad?—andVoschstandingoverhim,
watchingmyfathercrawlthewayasadistickidmightaflythathe’sdewinged,grimlysatisfied.
Teacupfromherbed:“Hitheragain.”
Samsnarledather,“Youshutup.”
“Itwasn’tmyfault,”Iwhispered,myarmwrappedaroundthebear.
“Hewassoft,”Teacupsaid.“That’swhathappenswhenyougo—”
Samwasonherintwoseconds.Thenitwasallfistsandkneesandfeetanddustflyingfromtheblankets
andDearGod,there’sarifleinthatbed!andIshovedTeacupaway,scoopedSamintomyarms,and
heldhimtightlyagainstmychestwhileheswunghisarmsandkickedhislegs,spittingandgnashinghis
teeth,andTeacupwasshoutingobscenitiesathimandpromisingshe’dputhimdownlikeadogifheever
touchedheragain.ThedoorflewopenandBenburstintotheroomwearingthatridiculousyellow
hoodie.
“It’scool!”Ishoutedoverthescreaming.“I’vegotthis!”
“Cup!Nugget!Standdown!”
Likeaswitchbeingflipped,theminuteBenbarkedtheorder,bothkidsfellsilent.Samwentlimp.
Teacupfloppedagainsttheheadboardandfoldedherarmsoverherchest.
“Shestartedit.”Sampouted.
“IwasjustthinkingofpaintingabigredXontheroof,”Bensaid.Heholsteredhispistol.“Thanks,guys,
forsavingmethetrouble.”Hegrinnedatme.“MaybeTeacupshouldbunkinmyroomuntilRingergets
back.”
“Good!”Teacupsaid.Shejumpedoutofbed,marchedtothedoor,turnedonherheel,wentbacktothe
bed,grabbedtherifle,andyankedonBen’swrist.“Let’sgo,Zombie.”
“Inaminute,”hesaidgently.“Dumbo’sonthewatch.Takehisbed.”
“Mybednow.”Shecouldn’tresistapartingshot:“A-holes.”
“You’rethea-hole!”Sammyshoutedafterher.Thedoorslammedinthatquick,violentwayofhoteldoors.
“A-hole.”
Benlookedatme,righteyebrowcocked.“Whathappenedtoyourface?”
“Nothing.”
“Ihither,”Sammysaid.
“Youhither?”
“Forlettingmydaddydie.”
NowSamlostit.Asintears,notfists,andthenextthingIknew,Benwaskneelingandmybabybrother
wascryinginhisarms,andBenwassaying,“Hey,it’sokay,soldier.It’sgoingtobeokay.”
StrokingthecrewcutIwasstillgettingusedto—Sammyjustdidn’tseemlikeSammywithoutthemopof
hair—sayingthatdumb-asscampnameoverandover.Nugget,Nugget.Iknewitshouldn’t,butit
botheredmethateveryonehadanomdeguerrebutme.IlikedDefiance.
Benpickedhimupanddepositedhiminthebed.ThenhefoundBearlyingonthefloorandplacedhimon
thepillow.Samknockedhimaway.Benpickedhimupagain.
“YoureallywanttodecommissionTeddy?”heasked.
“Hisnameisn’tTeddy.”
“PrivateBear,”Bentried.
“JustBear,andIneverwanttoseehimagain!”Samyankedthecoversoverhishead.“Nowgoaway!
Everybody.Just.Go.Away!”
Itookasteptowardhim.Bentskedatmeandjerkedhisheadtowardthedoor.Ifollowedhimoutofthe
room.Alargeshadowhulkedbythewindowdownthehall:thebig,silentkidnamedPoundcake,whose
silencedidnotfallintothecreepycategory,moreliketheprofoundstillnessofamountainlakevariety.
Benleanedagainstthewall,huggingBeartohischest,mouthslightlyopen,sweatingdespitethefreezing
temperature.Exhaustedafteratusslewithacoupleofkids,Benwasintrouble,whichmeantweallwere.
“Hedidn’tknowyourdadwasdead,”hesaid.
Ishookmyhead.“Hedidandhedidn’t.Oneofthosethings.”
“Yeah.”Bensighed.“Thosethings.”
AleadballofsilencethesizeofNewarkdroppedbetweenus.BenwasabsentlystrokingBear’shead
likeanoldmanstrokesacatwhilereadingthenewspaper.
“Ishouldgobacktohim,”Isaid.
Bensidesteppedtothedoor,blockingmyway.“Maybeyoushouldn’t.”
“Maybeyoushouldn’tpokeyournoseinto—”
“Notthefirstpersoninhislifetodie.He’lldeal.”
“Wow.Thatwasharsh.”We’retalkingabouttheguywhowasmyfather,too,Zombieboy.
“YouknowwhatImeant.”
“Whydopeoplealwayssaythataftertheysaysomethingtotallycruel?”ThenIsaidit,becauseImay
havecertainissueswithself-editing:“Ihappentoknowwhatit’sliketo‘deal’withdeathallbyyourself.
Justyouandnothingelsebutthebigemptyofwhereeverythingusedtobe.Itwouldhavebeennice,
really,reallynice,tohavehadsomeonetherewithme...”
“Hey,”Bensaidsoftly.“Hey,Cassie,Ididn’t—”
“No,youdidn’t.Youreallydidn’t.”Zombie.Becausehedidn’thavefeelings,deadinsidelikeazombie?
TherewerepeopleatAshpitlikethat.Shufflers,Icalledthem,human-shapedsackfulsofdust.
Somethingirreplaceablehadcrumbledinside.Toomuchloss.Toomuchpain.Shuffling,blank-eyed,
slack-jawedmutterers.WasthatBen?Washeashuffler?ThenwhydidheriskeverythingtorescueSam?
“Whereveryouwere,”Bensaidslowly,“wewerethere,too.”
Thewordsstung.Becausetheyweretrueandbecausesomeoneelsesaidpracticallythesamethingtome:
You’renottheonlyonewho’slosteverything.Thatsomeoneelsesufferedtheultimateloss.Allformy
sake,thecretinwhomustbereminded,again,thatshe’snottheonlyone.Lifeisfulloflittleironies,but
it’salsopockmarkedwithsomethesizeofthatbigrockinAustralia.
Timetochangethesubject.“DidRingerleave?”
Bennodded.Stroke,stroke.Thebearwasbuggingme.Ituggeditfromhisarms.
“ItriedtosendPoundcakewithher,”hesaid.Helaughedsoftly.“Ringer.”Iwonderedifhewasawareof
howhesaidhername.Quietly,likeaprayer.
“Youknowwehavenobackupplanifshedoesn’tcomeback.”
“She’llcomeback,”hesaidfirmly.
“Whatmakesyousosure?”
“Becausewehavenobackupplan.”Nowanall-out,fullsmile,andit’sdisorienting,seeingtheoldsmile
thatlitupclassroomsandhallwaysandyellowschoolbusesoverlaidonhisnewface,reshapedby
diseaseandbulletsandhunger.Liketurningacornerinastrangecityandrunningintosomeoneyouknow.
“That’sacircularargument,”Ipointedout.
“Youknow,someguysmightfeelthreatenedbeingsurroundedbypeoplesmarterthantheyare.Butitjust
makesmemoreconfident.”
Hesqueezedmyarmandlimpedacrossthehalltohisroom.Thenit’sthebearandthebigkiddownthe
hallandthecloseddoorandmeinfrontofthecloseddoor.Itookadeepbreathandsteppedinsidethe
room.Satbesidethelumpofcovers.Ididn’tseehimbutknewhewasthere.Hedidn’tseemebutknewI
wasthere.
“Howdidhedie?”Muffledvoiceburied.
“Hewasshot.”
“Didyousee?”
“Yes.”
Ourfathercrawling,handsclawingthedirt.
“Whoshothim?”
“Vosch.”Iclosedmyeyes.Badidea.Thedarksnappedthesceneintosharpfocus.
“Wherewereyouwhenheshothim?”
“Hiding.”
Ireachedtopulldownthecovers.ThenIcouldn’t.Whereveryouwere.Inthewoodssomewhereoffan
emptyhighway,agirlzippedherselfupinasleepingbagandwatchedherfatherdieagainandagain.
Hidingthen,hidingnow,watchinghimdieagainandagain.
“Didhefight?”
“Yes,Sam.Hefoughtveryhard.Hesavedmylife.”
“Butyouhid.”
“Yes.”CrushingBearagainstmystomach.
“Likeabigfatchicken.”
“Notlikethat,”Iwhispered.“Itwasn’tlikethat.”
Heslungtheblanketsasideandboltedupright.Ididn’trecognizehim.I’dneverseenthiskidbefore.
Faceuglyandtwistedbyrageandhate.
“I’mgoingtokillhim.I’mgoingtoshoothiminthehead!”
Ismiled.Ortriedto,anyway.“Sorry,Sams.Ihavedibs.”
Welookedateachotherandtimefoldedinonitself,thetimewehadlostinbloodandthetimewehad
purchasedinblood,thetimewhenIwasjustthebossybigsisterandhewastheannoyinglittlebrother,
thetimewhenIwasthethingworthlivingforandhewasthethingworthdyingfor,andthenhecrumpled
intomyarms,thebearsmushedbetweenusthewayweweretrappedbetweenthebefore-timeandthe
after-time.
Ilaydownnexttohimandtogetherwesaidhisprayer:IfIshoulddiebeforeIwake...AndthenItold
himthestoryofhowDaddied.Howhestoleagunfromoneofthebadguysandsingle-handedlytookout
twelveSilencers.HowhestooduptoVosch,tellinghim,Youcancrushourbodiesbutneverourspirit.
HowhesacrificedhimselfsoIcouldescapetorescueSamfromtheevilgalactichorde.SoonedaySam
couldgathertheragtagremnantsofhumanityandsavetheworld.Sohismemoriesofhisfather’slast
momentsaren’tofabroken,bleedingmancrawlinginthedirt.
Afterhefellasleep,Islippedoutofbedandreturnedtomypostbythewindow.Astripofparkinglot,a
decrepitdiner(“AllYouCanEatWednesdays!”),andastretchofgrayhighwayfadingintoblack.
TheEarthdarkandquiet,thewayitwasbeforeweshoweduptofillitwithnoiseandlight.Something
ends.Somethingnewbegins.Thiswasthein-betweentime.Thepause.
Onthehighway,besideanSUVthathadrunintothemedianstrip,starlightglintedofftheunmistakable
shapeofariflebarrel,andforasecondmyheartstopped.Theshadowtotingthegundartedintothetrees
andIsawtheshimmerofjet-blackhair,glossyandperfectly,annoyinglystraight,andIknewtheshadow
wasRinger.
RingerandIdidn’tstartoffontherightfoot,andtherelationshipjustwentdownhillfromthere.She
treatedeverythingIsaidwithakindoficycontempt,likeIwaslyingorstupidorjustcrazy.Especially
whenEvanWalkercameup.Areyousure?Thatdoesn’tmakeanysense.Howcouldhebebothhuman
andalien?ThehotterIgot,thecoldershegot,untilwecanceledeachotheroutlikeeithersideofa
chemicalequation.LikeE=MC2,thekindofchemicalequationthatmakesmassiveexplosionspossible.
Ourpartingwordswereaperfectexample.
“Youknow,DumboIget,”Itoldher.“Thebigears.AndNugget,becauseSamissosmall.Teacup,too.
ZombieIdon’tgetsomuch—Benwon’tsay—andI’mguessingPoundcakehassomethingtodo
withhisroly-poly-ness.ButwhyRinger?”
Heranswerwasanicystare.
“Itmakesmefeelalittleleftout.Youknow,theonlygangmemberwithoutastreetname.”
“Nomdeguerre,”shesaid.
Ilookedatherforaminute.“Letmeguess,NationalMeritScholar,chessclub,mathteam,topofyour
class?Andyouplayaninstrument,maybeaviolinorcello,somethingwithstrings.Yourdadworkedin
SiliconValleyandyourmomwasacollegeprofessor,I’mthinkingphysicsorchemistry.”
Shedidn’tsayanythingforacouplethousandyears.Thenshesaid,“Anythingelse?”
IknewIshouldstop.ButIwasinnow,andwhenIgoin,Igoallthewayin.That’stheSullivanway.
“You’retheoldest—no,anonlychild.YourdadisaBuddhist,butyourmomisanatheist.Youwere
walkingattenmonths.Yourgrandmotherraisedyoubecauseyourparentsworkedallthetime.Shetaught
youtaichi.Youneverplayedwithdolls.Youspeakthreelanguages.OneofthemisFrench.Youwereon
theOlympicdevelopmentteam.Gymnastics.YoubroughthomeaBonceandyourparentstookawayyour
chemistrysetandlockedyouinyourroomforaweek,duringwhichtimeyoureadthecompleteworksof
WilliamShakespeare.”Shewasshakingherhead.“Okay,notthecomedies.Youjustcouldn’tgetthe
humor.”
“Perfect,”shesaid.“That’samazing.”Hervoicewasasflatandthinasapieceofaluminumfoilfresh
fromtheroller.“CanItryyou?”
Istiffenedupalittle,bracingmyself.“Youcantry.”
“You’vealwaysbeenself-consciousaboutyourlooks,especiallyyourhair.Thefrecklesareaclose
second.You’resociallyawkward,soyoureadalotandyou’vekeptajournalsincemiddleschool.You
hadonlyoneclosefriendandyourrelationshipwascodependent,whichmeanseverytimeyoufought
withher,youslidintoadeepdepression.You’readaddy’sgirl,neverthatclosetoyourmother,who
alwaysmadeyoufeellikenomatterwhatyoudid,itwasn’tgoodenough.Itdidn’thelpthatshewas
prettierthanyou.Whenshedied,youfeltguiltyforsecretlyhatingherandforbeingsecretlyrelievedthat
shewasgone.You’restubbornandimpulsiveandalittlehyper,soyourparentsenrolledyouinsomething
tohelpwithyourcoordinationandconcentration,likeballetorkarate,probablykarate.Youwantmeto
goon?”
Well,whatwasIgoingtodo?Isawonlytwooptions:laughorpunchherintheface.Okay,three:laugh,
punchherintheface,orgivebackoneofherownstoicstares.Ioptedfornumberthree.
Badidea.
“Okay,”Ringersaid.“You’renotatomboyandyou’renotagirlygirl.You’reinthatgrayareainbetween.
Beinganin-betweenmeantyoualwayssecretlyenviedtheoneswhoweren’t,butyousavedmostofyour
resentmentfortheprettygirls.You’vehadcrushesbutneveraboyfriend.Youpretendyouhateboysyou
likeandlikeboysyouhate.Wheneveryou’rearoundsomeonewho’sprettierorsmarterorbetterthanyou
inanyway,yougetangryandsarcastic,becausetheyremindyouofhowordinaryyoufeelinside.Go
on?”
Andtiny-voicedme:“Sure.Whatever.”
“UntilEvanWalkercamealong,youhadneverevenheldaboy’shand,exceptonelementaryschoolfield
trips.Evanwaskindandundemandingand,asanaddedbonus,almosttoobeautifultolookat.Hemade
himselfanemptycanvasyoucouldpaintwithyourlongingforaperfectrelationshipwiththeperfectguy
whowouldeaseyourfearbyneverhurtingyou.Hegaveyouallthosethingsyouimaginedtheprettygirls
hadthatyouneverdid,sobeingwithhim—ortheideaofhim—wasmostlyaboutrevenge.”
Iwasbitingmylowerlip.Myeyesburned.Iclenchedmyfistssohard,mynailswerebitingintomy
palms.Why,oh,whydidn’tIgowithoptiontwo?
Shesaid,“Youwantmetostopnow.”Notaquestion.
Iliftedmychin.AndDefianceshallbemynomdeguerre!“What’smyfavoritecolor?”
“Green.”
“Wrong.It’syellow,”Ilied.
Sheshrugged.SheknewIwaslying.Ringer:thehumanWonderland.
“Seriously,though,why‘Ringer’?”That’sit.Putherbackonthedefensive.Well,sheneveractuallywas
onthedefensive.Thatwouldbeme.
“I’mhuman,”shesaid.
“Yeah.”Ipeekedthroughthecrackinthecurtainstotheparkinglottwostoriesbelow.WhydidIdothat?
DidIreallythinkI’dseehimstandingthere,lurkerthathewas,smilingupatme?See?IsaidI’dfind
you.“Someoneelsetoldmethat,too.And,likeadummy,Ibelievedhim.”
“Notsodumb,giventhecircumstances.”
Oh,nowshewasbeingkind?Nowshewascuttingmesomeslack?Ididn’tknowwhichwasworse:ice
maidenRingerorcompassionatequeenRinger.
“Don’tpretend,”Isnapped.“Iknowyoudon’tbelievemeaboutEvan.”
“Ibelieveyou.It’shisstorythatdoesn’tmakesense.”
Thenshewalkedoutoftheroom.Justlikethat.Rightinthemiddle,beforeanythingwasresolved.
Who,besideseverymalepersoneverborn,doesthat?
Avirtualexistencedoesn’trequireaphysicalplanet...
WhowasEvanWalker?Shiftingmyeyesfromthehighwaytomybabybrotherandbackagain.Whowere
you,EvanWalker?
Iwasanidiotfortrustinghim,butIwashurtandalone(aloneasinthinkingIwasthelasthumanbeingin
thefreakinguniverse)andmajorlymindscrewedbecauseIhadalreadykilledoneinnocentperson,and
thisperson,thisEvanWalker,didn’tendmylifewhenhecouldhave;hesavedit.Sowhenthebellswent
off,Iignoredthem.Plusitdidn’thurt(help?)thathewasimpossiblygorgeousandequallyimpossibly
obsessedwithmakingmefeellikeImatteredmoretohimthanhedidtohimself,frombathingmeto
feedingmetoteachingmehowtokilltotellingmeIwastheonethinghehadleftworthdyingforto
provingitallbydyingforme.
HebeganasEvan,wokeupthirteenyearslatertofindouthewasn’t,thenwokeagain,hetoldme,when
hesawhimselfthroughmyeyes.Hefoundhimselfinme,andthenIfoundhiminmeandIwasinhimand
therewasnospacebetweenus.HebeganbytellingmeeverythingIwantedtohearandendedtellingme
thethingsIneededto:Theprincipalweapontoeradicatethehumanhangers-onwerethehumans
themselves.Andwhenthelastofthe“infested”weredead,Voschandcompanywouldpulltheplugonthe
5thWave.Purgeover.Housecleanandreadytomovein.
WhenItoldBenandRingerallthis—minusthepartaboutEvanbeinginsideme,abittoonuancedfor
Parish—therewasalotofdubiousstaringandsignificantlooksfromwhichIwaspainfullyexcluded.
“Oneofthemwasinlovewithyou?”RingeraskedwhenIfinished.“Wouldn’tthatbelikeusfallingin
lovewithacockroach?”
“Oramayfly,”Ishotback.“Maybetheyhaveathingforinsects.”
WeweremeetinginBen’sroom.OurfirstnightattheWalkerHotel,asRingerdubbedit,mostly,Ithink,
togetundermyskin.
“Whatelsedidhetellyou?”Benasked.Hewassprawledonthebed.FourmilesfromCampHaventothe
hotel,andhelookedlikehe’djustsprintedamarathon.ThekidwhopatchedmeandSamup,Dumbo,
wouldn’tcommitwhenIaskedhimaboutBen.Wouldn’tsayifhe’dgetbetter.Wouldn’tsayifhe’dget
worse.Ofcourse,Dumbowasonlytwelve.“Capabilities?Weaknesses?”
“Theyhavenobodiesanymore,”Isaid.“Evantoldmethatitwastheonlywaytheycouldmakethe
journey.Someweredownloaded—him,Vosch,theotherSilencers—somearestillonthemothership,
waitingforustobegone.”
Benrubbedhismouthwiththebackofhishand.“Thecampsweresetuptowinnowoutthebest
candidatesforbrainwashing...”
“Andtodisposeoftheoneswhoweren’t,”Ifinished.“Oncethe5thWavewasrolledout,alltheyhad
todowassitbackandletthestupidhumansdotheirdirtywork.”
Ringerwassittingbythewindow,silentasashadow.
“Butwhyuseusatall?”Benwondered.“Whynotdownloadenoughoftheirtroopsintohumanbodiesto
finishusoff?”
“Notenoughofthem,maybe,”Iguessed.“Orsettingupthe5thWaveposedtheleastrisk.”
“Whatrisk?”Shadow-Ringersaid,breakinghersilence.
Idecidedtoignoreher.Foralotofreasons,themainonebeingyouengagedwithRingeratyourown
peril.Shecouldhumiliateyouwithasingleword.
“Youwerethere,”IremindedBen.“YouheardVosch.They’dbeenwatchingusforcenturies.ButEvan
provedthat,evenwiththousandsofyearstoplan,somethingcanstillgowrong.Idon’tthinkitever
occurredtothemthatbybecomingus,theymightactuallybecomeus.”
“Right,”Bensaid.“Sohowcanweusethat?”
“Wecan’t,”Ringeranswered.“There’snothingSullivan’stoldusthatwillhelp,unlessthisEvanperson
somehowsurvivedtheblastandcanfillintheblanks.”
Benwasshakinghishead.“Nothingcouldhavesurvivedthat.”
“Therewereescapepods,”Isaid,graspingatthesamestrawI’dbeenreachingforsincehesaidgoodbye.
“Really?”Ringerdidn’tsoundlikeshebelievedme.“Thenwhydidn’theputyouinone?”
Itoldher,“Look,Iprobablyshouldn’ttellsomeoneholdingahigh-poweredsemiautomaticriflethis,but
you’rereallystartingtogetonmynerves.”
Sheactedsurprised.“Why?”
“We’vegottogetahandleonthis,”Bensaidsharply,cuttingoffmyanswer,whichwasagoodthing:
RingerwasholdinganM16andBenhadtoldmeshewasthebestshotinthecamp.“What’stheplan?
WaitforEvantoshowuporrun?Andifwerun,whereto?”Cheeksflamingwithfever,eyesshining.
It’sfourthandlongwithfoursecondsleft.“IsthereanythingelseEvantoldyouthatmighthelp?Whatare
theygoingtodowiththecities?”
“They’renotgoingtoblowthemup,”Ringersaid.Shedidn’twaitformetoanswer.Thenshedidn’twait
formetoaskhowthehellshewouldknowthat.“Ifthatwastheplan,theywould’veblownthemupfirst.
Overhalftheworld’spopulationlivedinurbanareas.”
“Sotheyplantousethem,”Bensaid.“Becausethey’reusinghumanbodies?”
“Wecan’thideinacity,Zombie,”Ringersaid.“Anycity.”
“Why?”
“Becauseitisn’tsafe.Fires,sewage,diseasefromalltherottingcorpses,othersurvivorswhomustknow
bynowthey’reusinghumanbodies.Ifwewanttostayaliveaslongaspossible,wehavetokeepmoving.
Keepmovingandstayaloneaslongaspossible.”
Oh,boy.WheredidIhearthatrulebefore?Myheadfeltlight.Mykneewaskillingme.Thekneeshotby
aSilencer.MySilencer.I’llfindyou,Cassie.Don’tIalwaysfindyou?Notthistime,Evan.Idon’tthink
so.IsatonthebednexttoBen.
“She’sright,”Isaidtohim.“Stayinganywhereformorethanafewdaysisnotagoodidea.”
“Orstayingtogether.”
Ringer’swordshungintheicyair.Besideme,Benstiffened.Iclosedmyeyes.Heardthatrule,too:Trust
noone.
“Notgoingtohappen,Ringer,”Bensaid.
“ItakeTeacupandPoundcake.Youtaketherest.Ourchancesdouble.”
“Whystopthere?”Iaskedher.“Whydon’tweallsplitup?Ourchancesquadruple.”
“Septuple,”shecorrectedme.
“Well,I’mnomathwhiz,”Bensaid.“Butitseemstomesplittingupplaysrightintotheirstrategy.
Isolate,thenexterminate.”HegaveRingerahardlook.“Personally,Iliketheideaofsomeonehavingmy
back.”
Hepushedhimselffromthebedandswayedforasecond.Ringertoldhimtoliebackdown.Heignored
her.
“Wecan’tstay,butwehavenowheretogo.Youcan’tgettonowherefromhere,sowheredowego?”
heasked.
“South,”Ringersaid.“Asfarsouthaspossible.”Shewaslookingoutthewindow.Iunderstood—a
decentsnowandyou’retrappeduntilitthaws.Ergo,getsomewherewhereitdoesn’tsnow.
“Texas?”Bensaid.
“Mexico,”Ringeranswered.“OrCentralAmerica,oncethewaterrecedes.Youcouldhideintherain
forestforyears.”
“Ilikeit,”Bensaid.“Backtonature.There’sjustonelittleflaw.”Hespreadhishands.“Wedon’thave
passports.”
Hewatchedher,holdingthegesture,likehewaswaitingforsomething.Ringerlookedbackathim,
expressionless.Bendroppedhishandswithashrug.
“You’renotserious,”Isaid.Thiswasgettingridiculous.“CentralAmerica?Inthemiddleofwinter,on
foot,withBenhurtandtwolittlekids.We’llbeluckytomakeittoKentucky.”
“Beatshangingaroundherewaitingforyouralienprincetocome.”
Thatdidit.Ididn’tcareifshewasholdinganM16.Iwasgrabbingahandfulofthosesilkylocksand
slingingheroutthatwindow.Bensawitcomingandsteppedbetweenus.
“We’reallonthesameteamhere,Sullivan.Let’skeepittogether,okay?”HeturnedtoRinger.
“You’reright.Heprobablydidn’tmakeit,butwe’regonnagiveEvanachancetokeephispromise.I’m
innoshapeforaroadtripanyway.”
“Ididn’tcomebackforyouandNuggetsowecouldbethefeaturedguestsataturkeyshoot,Zombie,”
Ringersaid.“Dowhatyouthinkisright,butifthingsgethot,I’moutofhere.”
IsaidtoBen,“Teamplayer.”
“Maybeyou’reforgettingwhosavedyourlife,”Ringersaid.
“Oh,kissmyass.”
“Thatdoesit!”Benboomedinhisbestquarterback,I’m-the-guy-in-charge-herevoice.“Idon’tknowhow
we’remakingitthroughthisunholymess,butIdoknowthatthisisnottheway.Stowthecrap,bothof
you.That’sanorder.”
Hefellbackontothebed,gaspingforair,ahandpressedagainsthisside.RingerlefttofindDumbo,
whichleftBenandmealoneforthefirsttimesinceourreuniondeepinthebowelsofCampHaven.
“Somethingweird,”Bensaid.“Youwouldthink,withninety-ninepercentofusgone,thetwopercent
wouldgetalongbetter.”
Um,thatwouldbeonepercent,Parish.Istartedtopointthatoutandthensawhimsmiling,waitingfor
metocorrecthismath,knowingitwouldnearlyimpossibleformetoresist.Heplayedwiththe
stereotypeofthedumbjockthewaysomeoneSammy’sageplayedwithsidewalkchalk:inbroad,clumsy
strokes.
“She’sapsycho,”Isaid.“Seriously,something’soff.Youlookinhereyesandthere’snoonetherethere.”
Heshookhishead.“Ithinkthere’salotthere.It’sjust...realdeep.”
Hewinced,handtuckedinthepocketofthathideoushoodielikehewasdoingaNapoleonimpression,
pressingonthebulletwoundthatRingerhadgivenhim.Awoundheaskedfor.Awoundsohecouldrisk
everythingtosavemylittlebrother.Awoundthatnowmaycosthimhislife.
“Itcan’tbedone,”Iwhispered.
“Ofcourseitcan,”hesaid.Helaidhishandontopofmine.
Ishookmyhead.Hedidn’tunderstand.Iwasn’ttalkingaboutus.
Theshadowoftheircomingfelluponusandwelostsightofsomethingfundamentalwithintheabsolute
darkofthatshadow.Butsimplybecausewecouldn’tseeitdidn’tmeanitwasn’tthere:Myfather
mouthingtome,Run!whenhecouldn’t.Evanpullingmefromthebellyofthebeastbeforegivinghimself
uptoit.BenplungingintothejawsofhelltosnatchSamfromthem.Thereweresomethings—well,there
wasprobablyonlyonething—unblemishedbytheshadow.Confounding.
Indefatigable.Undefeatable.
Theycankillus,evendowntothelastofus,buttheycan’tkill—canneverkill—whatlastsinus.
Cassie,doyouwanttofly?
Yes,Daddy.Iwanttofly.
12
THESILVERHIGHWAYthatfadedintotheblack.Theblacksearedbystarlightunleashed.Theleafless
treeswitharmsupraisedlikethievescaughtintheact.Mybrother’sbreathcongealinginthefrigidairas
heslept.ThewindowfoggingasIbreathed.And,beyondthefrostyglass,besidethesilverhighwayinthe
searingstarlight,atinyfiguredartingbeneaththeupraisedarmsofthetrees.
Oh,crap.
Ilaunchedacrosstheroomandsmashedintothehall,wherePoundcakewhippedaround,rifleup,Relax,
bigboy,thenbustedintoBen’sroom,whereDumboleanedagainstthewindowsillandBensprawledon
thebedclosesttothedoor.Dumbostoodup.Bensatup.AndIspokeup:“Where’sTeacup?”
DumbopointedatthebednexttoBen’s.“Righthere.”GivingmealooklikeThiscrazychick’slostit.
Iwenttothebedandwhippedasidethemoundofcovers.BencursedandDumbobackedupagainstthe
wall,hisfaceturningred.
“IsweartoGodshewasjustthere!”
“Isawher,”ItoldBen.“Outside—”
“Outside?”Herolledhislegsoffthesideofthebed,gruntingwiththeeffort.
“Onthehighway.”
Thenheunderstood.“Ringer.She’sgoingafterRinger.”Heslappedhisopenhandonthemattress.
“Damnit!”
“I’llgo,”Dumbosaid.
Benhelduphishand.“Poundcake!”hehollered.Youcouldhearthebigkidcoming.Thefloorprotested
hispassage.Hestuckhisheadintheroom,andBensaid,“Teacuptookoff.AfterRinger.Gograbher
littlebuttandbringitbackheresoIcanwhaleonit.”
PoundcakelumberedoffandthefloorwentThanksalot!
Benwasstrappingonhisholster.“Whatareyoudoing?”Iasked.
“TakingPoundcake’spostuntilhegetsbackwiththatlittleshit.YoustaywithNugget.Imean,Sam.
Whoever.Weneedtopickonenameandsticktoit.”
Hisfingerswereshaking.Fever.Fear.Alittleofboth.
Dumbo’smouthopenedandclosed,butnosoundcameout.Bennoticed.“Atease,Bo.Notyourbad.”
“I’lltakethehall,”Dumbosaid.“Youstayhere,Sarge.Youshouldn’tbeonyourfeet.”
HerushedfromtheroombeforeBencouldstophim.Ben,nowlookingatmewithsparklyeyes,fever
bright.“Idon’tthinkItoldyou,”hesaid.“AfterwewentrogueinDayton,Voschdispatchedtwosquads
tohuntusdown.Iftheywerestillinthefieldwhenthecampblew...”
Hedidn’tfinishthethought.Eitherhethoughthedidn’tneedtoorhecouldn’t.Hestoodup.
Staggered.Iwenttohimandhethrewhisarmaroundmyshoulderswithoutembarrassment.There’sno
nicewaytosaythis:BenParishsmelledsick.Thesourodorofinfectionandoldsweat.Forthefirsttime
sinceIrealizedhewasn’tacorpse,Ithoughthemightbeonesoon.
“Getbackinbed,”Itoldhim.Heshookhishead,thenhishandloosedonmyshoulderandhefell
back,hittingtheedgeofthemattresswithhisbuttandslidingdowntothefloor.
“Dizzy,”hemurmured.“GogetNuggetandbringhiminherewithus.”
“Sam.CanwegowithSam?”WheneverIheardNugget,IthoughtoftheMcDonald’sdrive-thruandhot
Frenchfriesandstrawberry-bananasmoothiesandMcCaféFrappéMochastoppedwithwhippedcream
anddrizzledwithchocolate.
Bensmiled.Anditbrokemyheart,thatluminoussmileonthatwastedface.“We’llgowithit,”hesaid.
SambarelysighedwhenIpulledhimfromthebedandcarriedhimintoBen’sroom.Ilaidhimin
Teacup’svacatedbed,tuckedhimin,touchedhischeekwiththebackofmyhand,anoldhabitleftover
fromtheplaguedays.Benwasstillsittingonthefloor,headthrownback,staringattheceiling.Istarted
towardhim,andhewavedmeback.
“Window,”hegasped.“Nowwe’reblindononeside.Thanksalot,Teacup.”
“Whywouldshetakeofflike—?”
“EversinceDayton,she’sbeenlatchedontoRingerlikeapilotfish.”
“AllIeversawthemdoisfight.”Thinkingofthechessbrawl,thecoinsmackingTeacupinthehead,and
Ihateyourfuckingguts!
Benchuckled.“It’sathinline.”
Iglanceddownattheparkinglot.Theasphaltshonelikeonyx.Latchedontoherlikeapilotfish.I
thoughtofEvanlurkingbehinddoorsandaroundcorners.Ithoughtoftheunblemishedthing,thethingthat
lasts,andIthoughttheonlythingwiththepowertosaveusalsohadthepowertoslayus.
“Youreallyshouldn’tbeonthefloorlikethat,”Iscoldedhim.“It’swarmeruponthebed.”
“Ahalfofahalfofahalfofadegree,right.Thisisnothing,Sullivan.Aheadcoldnexttotheplague.”
“Youhadtheplague?”
“Oh,yeah.RefugeecampoutsideWright-Patterson.Aftertheytookoverthebase,theyhauledmein,
pumpedmefullofantivirals,thenputarifleinmyhandandtoldmetogokillsomepeople.Howabout
you?”
Acrucifixclutchedinabloodyhand.Youcaneitherfinishmeorhelpme.Thesoldierbehindthebeer
coolerswasthefirst.No.ThefirstwastheguywhoshotCriscoinapitofashes.That’stwo,andthen
thereweretheSilencers,theoneIshotrightbeforeIfoundSamandtheonerightbeforeEvanfoundme.
Four,then.WasImissingsomebody?Thebodiespileupandyoulosetrack.OhGod,youlosetrack.
“I’vekilledpeople,”Isaidsoftly.
“Imeanttheplague.”
“No.Mymom...”
“Howaboutyourdad?”
“Differentkindofplague,”Isaid.Heglancedoverhisshoulderatme.“Vosch.Voschmurderedhim.”
ItoldhimaboutCampAshpit.TheHumveesandbigflatbedfulloftroops.Thesurrealappearanceofthe
schoolbuses.Justthekids.Roomonlyforthelittleones.Thegatheringoftherestinthebarracksand
DadsendingmewithmyfirstvictimtofindCrisco.ThenDadinthedirt,Voschtoweringoverhim,while
Ihidinthewoods,andDadmouthingRun.
“Weirdthattheydidn’tputyouonabus,”Bensaid.“Ifthepointwastobuildanarmyofbrainwashed
kids.”
“Isawmostlylittlekids,Sam’sage,someevenyounger.”
“Atcamp,theyseparatedanyoneunderfive,kepttheminthebunker...”
Inodded.“Ifoundthem.”Inthesaferoom,theirfaceslifteduptomineasIhuntedforSam.
“Whichmakesyouwonder:Whykeepthem?”Bensaid.“UnlessVoschexpectsaverylongwar.”
Thewayhesaidit,asifhedoubtedthatthatwasthereason.Hedrummedhisfingersonthemattress.
“WhatthehellisgoingonwithTeacup?Theyshouldbebackbynow.”
“I’llgocheck,”Isaid.
“Likehellyouwill.Thisisturningintoeveryhorrormovieevermade.Youknow?Gettingpickedoffone
byone.Uh-uh.Fivemoreminutes.”
Wefellsilent,listening.Buttherewasonlythewindwhisperinginthepoorlysealedwindowandthe
constantundercurrentofratsscratchinginthewalls.Teacupwasobsessedwiththem.Ilistenedtohours
ofherandRingerplottingtheirdemise.ThatannoyinglecturingtoneofRinger’s,explaininghowthe
populationwasoutofcontrol:Thehotelhadmoreratsthanwehadbullets.
“Rats,”Bensaid,asifhereadmymind.“Rats,rats,rats.Hundredsofrats.Thousandsofrats.Morerats
thanusnow.Planetoftherats.”Helaughedhoarsely.Maybehewasdelirious.“Youknowwhat’sbeen
buggingthehelloutofme?Voschtellingusthey’vebeenwatchingusforcenturies.Like,howisthat
possible?Oh,Igethowit’spossible,butIdon’tgetwhytheydidn’tattackusthen.Howmanypeople
wereonEarthwhenwebuiltthepyramids?Whywouldyouwaituntilthere’resevenbillionofusspread
outovereverycontinentwithtechnologyalittlemoreadvancedthanspearsandclubs?Youlikea
challenge?Thetimetoexterminatethevermininyournewhouseisn’taftertheverminoutnumberyou.
WhataboutEvan?Hesayanythingaboutthat?”
Iclearedmythroat.“Hesaidtheyweredividedoverwhethertoexterminateus.”
“Huh.Somaybetheydebateditforsixthousandyears.Dickedaroundbecausenobodycouldmakeuphis
mind,untilsomeonesaid,‘Oh,whatthehell,let’sjustoffthebastards.’”
“Idon’tknow.Idon’thavetheanswers.”Iwasfeelingalittledefensive.AsifknowingEvanmeantI
shouldknoweverything.
“Voschcouldhavebeenlying,Iguess,”Benmused.“Idon’tknow,togetinourheads,messwithus.
Hemessedwithmefromthestart.”Helookedatme,thenlookedaway.“Shouldn’tadmitthis,butI
worshippedtheguy.Ithoughthewas,like...”Hetwirledhishandintheair,searchingforthewords.
“Thebestofus.”
Hisshouldersbegantoshake.Atfirst,Ithoughtitmustbethefever,andthenIthoughtitcouldbe
somethingelse,soIleftmyspotbythewindowandwenttohim.
Forguys,breakingdownisaprivatething.Neverletthemseeyoucry,meansyou’reweak,meansyou’re
soft,ababy,awuss.NotverymanlyandallthatBS.Icouldn’timaginethepre-ArrivalBenParishcrying
infrontofanyone,theguywhohadeverything,theboywhoalltheotherboyswantedtobe,theonewho
brokeothers’heartsandneversufferedhisowntobebroken.
Isatbesidehim.Ididn’ttouchhim.Ididn’tspeak.HewaswherehewasandIwaswhereIwas.
“Sorry,”hesaid.
Ishookmyhead.“Don’tbe.”
Hewipedthebackofhishandagainstonecheek,thentheothercheek.“Youknowwhathetoldme?
Well,morelikepromised.Hepromisedhewouldemptyme.Hewouldemptymeandfillmeupwithhate.
Buthebrokethatpromise.Hedidn’tfillmewithhate.Hefilledmewithhope.”
Iunderstood.Inthesaferoom,abillionupraisedfacespopulatingtheinfinite,andtheeyesthatsought
mine,andthequestioninthoseeyestoohorribletoputintowords,WillIlive?It’sallconnected.
TheOthersunderstoodthat,understooditbetterthanmostofus.Nohopewithoutfaith,nofaithwithout
hope,nolovewithouttrust,notrustwithoutlove.Removeoneandtheentirehumanhouseofcards
collapses.
ItwaslikeVoschwantedBentodiscoverthetruth.Wantedtoteachhimthehopelessnessofhope.
Andwhatcouldbethepointofthat?Iftheywantedtoannihilateus,whydidn’ttheyjustgoaheadand
annihilateus?Theremustbeadozenwaystowipeusoutquickly,buttheydrewitoutinfivewavesof
escalatinghorror.Why?
Uptonow,IalwaysthoughtthattheOthersfeltnothingtowardusexceptdisdainwithmaybealittle
disgustmixedin,thewaywefeelaboutratsandcockroachesandbedbugsandothernastylowerformsof
life.Nothingpersonal,humans,butyougottago.Itneveroccurredtomethatitcouldbeentirely
personal.Thatsimplykillingusisn’tenough.
“Theyhateus,”Isaid,asmuchtomyselfastohim.Benlookedatme,startled.AndIlookedbackathim,
scared.“There’snootherexplanation.”
“Theydon’thateus,Cassie,”hesaidgently,thewayyoutalktoafrightenedlittlekid.“Wejusthadwhat
theywant.”
“No.”Nowmycheekswerewetwithtears.The5thWavehadoneexplanationandonlyone.Anyother
possiblereasonwasabsurd.
“Thisisn’taboutrippingtheplanetawayfromus,Ben.Thisisaboutrippingus.”
13
“THAT’SIT,”Bensaid.“Time’sup.”
Thenhewasup,buthedidn’tgetveryfar.Halfwaytohisfeetbeforeploppingdownhardonhisbutt.
Iputahandonhisshoulder.
“I’llgo.”
Hesmackedhisthighwithhispalm.“Can’tletithappen,”hemutteredasIopenedthedoorandpokedmy
headintothehallway.Can’tletwhathappen?LosingTeacupandPoundcake?Losingallofusonebyone?
Losingthebattleagainsthisinjuries?Orlosingthewaringeneral?
Thehallwasempty.
FirstTeacup.ThenPoundcake.NowDumbo.Weweredisappearingfasterthancampersinaslasher
movie.
“Dumbo!”Icalledsoftly.Theridiculousnameechoedinthecold,stagnantair.Mymindracedthroughthe
possibilities.Leastlikelytomost:Somebodyquietlyneutralizedhimandstashedhisbody;hewas
captured;hesaworheardsomethingandwenttoinvestigate;hehadtopee.
Ilingeredinthedoorwayforacoupleofsecondsincasethelastpossibilitywastrue.Whenthehall
stayedempty,Isteppedbackintotheroom.Benwasupright,checkingthemagazineofhisM16.
“Don’tmakemeguess,”hesaid.“Nevermind.Idon’tneedtoguess.”
“StayherewithSam.I’llgo.”
Heshuffledtoastopaninchfrommynose.“Sorry,Sullivan.He’syourbrother.”
Istiffened.Theroomwasfreezing;mybloodwascolder.Hisvoicewashard,flat,withoutanyfeelingat
all.Zombie.WhydotheycallyouZombie,Ben?
Thenhesmiled,averyreal,veryBenParish–ysmile.“Thoseguysoutthere—they’reallmybrothers.”
Hesidesteppedmeandstumbledtowardthedoor.Thesituationwasescalatingquicklyfromimpossibly
dangeroustodangerouslyimpossible.Icouldn’tseeanyotherway:IscrambledoverBen’sbedand
grabbedSambytheshoulders.Shookhimhard.Hewokeupwithasoftcry.Islammedmyhandoverhis
mouthtostopperthenoise.
“Sams!Listen!Something’swrong.”IpulledtheLugerfromtheholsterandpresseditintohislittlehands.
Hiseyeswidenedwithfearandsomethingthatunnervinglyresembledjoy.“BenandIhavetocheckitout.
Putonthenightlatch—youknowwhatanightlatchis?”Big-eyednod.“Andputachairundertheknob.
Lookthroughthelittlehole.Don’tlet...”DidIneedtospellouteverything?“Look,Sams,thisis
important,veryimportant.Very,veryimportant.Youknowhowwetellthegoodguysfromthebadguys?
Thebadguysshootatus.”Bestlessonmyfatherevertaughtme.IkissedthetopofSam’sheadandleft
himthere.
Thedoorclickedshutbehindme.Iheardthenightlatchslideintothenotch.Goodboy.Benwashalfway
downthehall.Hemotionedformetojoinhim.Hepressedhislips,fever-hot,againstmyear.
“Wecleartherooms,thenwegodown.”
Weworkedtogether.ItookthepointwhileBencoveredme.TheWalkerHotelhadanopendoorpolicy:
Everylockhadbeenbustedatsomepointassurvivorssoughtrefugeduringthewaves.Also
helpfulwasthefactthattheWalkerwasperfectforthefamilyonabudget.Theroomswereroughlythe
sizeofBarbie’sDreamhouse.Thirtysecondstocheckone.Fourminutestoclearthemall.
Backinthehall,Bencrushedhislipsintomyearagain.
“Theshaft.”
Hedroppedtoonekneeinfrontoftheelevatordoors.Gesturedformetocoverthestairwaydoor,then
pulledouthisten-inchcombatknifeandshovedthebladeintothecrack.Ah,Ithought.Theoldhide-inthe-elevatortrick!SowhywasIcoveringthestairs?Benpushedopenthedoorsandwavedmeover.
IsawrustycablesandalotofdustandsmelledwhatIassumedtobedeadrat.Ihopeditwasdeadrat.He
pointedatthedarknesspoolingbelow,andthenIunderstood.Weweren’tcheckingtheshaft—
wewereusingit.
“I’mclearingthestairs,”hebreathedinmyear.“Youstayintheelevator.Waitformysignal.”
Heplacedhisfootagainstonedoorandleanedbackagainsttheothertoholdthemopen.Pattedthetiny
spacebetweenhishipandtheedge.Mouthed,Let’sgo.CarefullyIeasedoverhislegs,plantedmybuttin
thespace,anddroppedmylegsovertheside.Thetopoftheelevatorlookedtwentymilesdown.
Bensmiledreassuringly:Don’tworry,Sullivan.Iwon’tletyoufall.
Iinchedforwarduntilmybuttdangledinopenspace.Nope,thatwon’twork.Iswungbacktotheedge,
thenmaneuveredontomyknees.Bengrabbedmywristandgavemeathumbs-upwithhisfreehand.I
knee-walkeddowntheshaftwall,grippingtheedgeuntilmyarmswerefullyextended.Okay,Cassie.
Timetoletgonow.Ben’sgotyou.Yeah,dumbass,andBen’shurtandaboutasstrongasathree-yearold.Whenyouletgo,yourweightisgoingtopullhimoffhisperchandyou’llbothdrop.He’lllandon
topofyouandbreakyourneckandthenhe’llslowlybleedtodeathalloveryourparalyzedbody...
Oh,whatthehell.
Iletgo.IheardBengruntsoftly,buthedidn’tdropmeandhedidn’ttumbledownontopofme.
Bendingfromthewaistasheloweredmedown,untilIsawhisheadsilhouettedintheopening,hisface
maskedinshadow.Mytoesbrushedagainsttheroofoftheelevator.Igavehimathumbs-up,thoughI
wasn’tsureifhecouldseeit.Threeseconds.Four.Andthenheletgo.
Isanktomykneesandfeltaroundfortheservicehatch.Somegrease,somedirt,andalotofgreasydirt.
Beforeelectricity,theymeasuredbrightnessincandlepower.Thelightdownherewasaboutonehalfof
onehalfofonecandle.
Thenthedoorsabovemeclosedandthecandlepowerdroppedtozero.
Thanks,Parish.YoucouldhavewaitedtillIfoundthehatch.
And,whenIdid,thelatchwasstuck,probablyrustedshut.IreachedformyLugerwiththethoughtof
usingthebuttendasahammer,thenrememberedI’dentrustedmysemiautomaticpistoltoafive-yearold’scare.Ipulledthecombatknifefrommyankleholsterandgavethelatchthreehardwhackswiththe
handle.Themetalscreeched.Averyloudscreech.Somuchforstealth.Butthelatchgave.Ipulledthe
hatchopen,whichresultedinanotherveryloudscreech,thistimefromtherustyhinge.Well,sure,this
soundsreallyloudtoyou,kneelingrightnexttoit.Outsidetheshaft,probablyonlyatinymouselike
squeaky-squeak.Don’tgetparanoid!Myfatherhadasayingaboutparanoia.Ineverthoughtitwasvery
funny,especiallyafterhearingittwothousandtimes:I’monlyparanoidbecauseeveryoneisagainstme.
Onlyajoke,Iusedtothink.Notanomen.
Idroppedintotheutterdarkoftheelevatorcar.Waitformysignal.Whatsignal?Benneglectedtocover
that.Ipressedmyeartothecrackbetweenthecoldmetaldoorsandheldmybreath.Countedtoten.
Breathed.Countedtotenagain.Breathed.Aftersixtencountsandfourbreathsandhearingnothing,I
startedgettingalittleantsy.Whatwashappeningoutthere?WherewasBen?Wherewas
Dumbo?Ourlittlebandwasbeingrippedapartonepersonatatime.Abigmistakesplittingup,buteach
timewedidn’thaveachoice.Wewerebeingoutplayed.Someonewasmakingthislookfoolishlyeasy.
Ormultiplesomeones:AfterwewentrogueinDayton,Voschdispatchedtwosquadstohuntusdown.
Thatwasit.Thathadtobeit.Oneorpossiblybothsquadshadfoundourhidingplace.Wewaitedhere
toolong.
That’sright,andwhydidyouwait,Cassiopeia“Defiance”Sullivan?Ohyeah,becausesomedeadguy
promisedhe’dfindyou.Soyouclosedyoureyesandjumpedoffthecliffintothatemptiness,andnow
you’reshockedthere’snobigfatmattressatthebottom?Yourfault.Whateverhappensnow.You’re
responsible.
Theelevatorwasnotlarge,butinthepitchdarkitseemedthesizeofafootballstadium.Iwasstandingin
avastundergroundpit,nolight,nosound,alifeless,lightlessvoid,frozentothespot,paralyzedbyfear
anddoubt.Knowing—withoutunderstandinghowIknew—thatBen’ssignalwasn’tcoming.
Understanding—withoutknowinghowIunderstood—thatEvanwasn’tcoming,either.
Youneverknowwhenthetruthwillcomehome.Youcan’tchoosethetime.Thetimechoosesyou.
I’dhaddaystofacethetruththatnowfacedmeinthatcold,blackspace,andI’drefused.Iwouldn’tgo
there.Sothetruthdecidedtocometome.
Whenhetouchedmeonourlastnighttogether,therewasnospacebetweenus,nospotwhereheended
andIbegan,andnowtherewasnospacebetweenmeandthedarknessofthepit.Hepromisedhewould
findme.Don’tIalwaysfindyou?AndIbelievedhim.Afterdistrustingeverythinghesaidfromthe
momentImethim,forthefirsttime,inthelastwordshespoke,Ibelieved.
Ipressedmyfaceagainstthecoldmetaldoors.Ihadthesensationoffalling,milesuponmilesofempty
airbeneathme.Iwouldneverstopfalling.You’reamayfly.Hereforadayandthengone.No.
I’mstillhere,Evan.You’retheonewho’sgone.
“Youknewfromthemomentweleftthefarmhousewhatwouldhappen,”Iwhisperedintothevoid.
“Youknewyouweregoingtodie.Andyouwentanyway.”
Icouldn’tstayuprightanymore.Ihadnochoice.Isliddowntomyknees.Falling.Falling.Iwouldnever
stopfalling.
Letgo,Cassie.Letgo.
“Letgo?I’mfalling.I’mfalling,Evan.”
ButIknewwhathemeant.
I’dneverlethimgo.Notreally.Itoldmyselfathousandtimesadayhecouldn’thavesurvived.
Lecturedmyselfthatourholingupinthisfleabagmotelwasuseless,dangerous,crazy,suicidal.ButI
clungtohispromisebecauselettinggoofthepromisemeantIwaslettinggoofhim.
“Ihateyou,EvanWalker,”Iwhisperedtothevoid.
Frominsidethevoid—andfromthevoidinside—silence.
Can’tgoback.Can’tgoforward.Can’tholdon.Can’tletgo.Can’t,can’t,can’t,can’t.Whatcanyou
do?Whatcanyoudo?
Iliftedmyface.Okay.Icandothat.
Istoodup.That,too.
Isquaredmyshouldersandslippedmyfingertipsintotheplacewherethetwodoorsmet.
I’msteppingoutnow,Itoldthesilentdeep.I’mlettinggo.
Iforcedthedoorsapart.Lightfloodedintothevoid,devouringthesmallestshadow,downtothelastone.
14
ISTEPPEDINTOthelobby,ourbravenewworldinmicrocosm.Shatteredglass.Moundsoftrashpiled
intocorners,likeautumnleavesblowntherebythewind.Deadbugsontheirbacks,legscurledup.Bitter
cold.Soquiet,yourbreathwastheonlysound:AftertheHumvanished,theHush.
NosignofBen.Betweenthesecondfloorandthestairs,somethingmusthavehappenedtohimandnota
goodsomething.Ieasedtowardthestairwaydoor,fightingtheinstincttohaulassbacktoSambeforehe
disappearedlikeBen,likeDumbo,likePoundcakeandTeacup,like99.9percentofeveryoneonEarth.
Debriscracklingbeneathmyboots.Coldairburningmyfaceandhands.Myhandsgrippingtherifleand
myeyesbarelyblinkingintheweakstarlightthatblaredspotlight-brightaftertheabsolutedarkofthe
elevator.
Slow.Slow.Nomistakes.
Stairwaydoor.Iheldthemetalhandleforagoodthirtyseconds,earpressedagainstthewood,butallI
heardwasthethumpingofmyheart.Slowly,Ipusheddownthehandle,pulledthedooropentocreatea
crackjustwideenoughtopeekthrough.Totallydark.Totallysoundless.Damnit,Parish.Wherethehell
areyou?
Nowheretogobutup.Islidintothestairwell.Snick:Thedoorclosedbehindme.Plungedintodarkness
again,butthistimeIwasdeterminedtokeepitontheoutside,whereitbelonged.
Thetartsmellofdeathhunginthemustyair.Arat,Itoldmyself.Oraraccoonorsomeotherwoodland
creaturethatgottrappedinhere.Mybootcamedownonsomethingsquishy.Tinybonescrunched.Iwiped
offthegooeyremainsontheedgeofastep;Ididn’twanttoslip,tumbledowntothebottom,breakmy
neck,liehelplesslywaitingforwhoeveritwastofindmeandputabulletinmybrain.Thatwouldbe
bad.
Ireachedthetinylanding,onemoreflight,deepbreath,almostthere,andthentheshotrangout,followed
byanother,thenathird,thenawholebarrageaswhoeverwasshootingemptiedthemagazine.
Irocketeduptheremainingsteps,slammedthroughthedoor,andchargeddownthehalltowardtheroom
thatwasnowmissingadoor,theroomwheremybabybrotherwas,andmytoecaughtonsomething—a
softsomethingIdidn’tseeinmymaddashforSam—andIwentairborne,landingwithajaw-popping
forceonthethincarpeting,jumpedup,glancedback,andsawBenParishlyinglifelesslythere,arms
outstretched,darkwetblotchofbloodseepingthroughthatridiculousyellowhoodie,andthenSam
screamedandI’mnottoolate,nottoolate,andhereIcome,yousonofabitch,hereIcome,andinthe
roomatallshadowloomedoverthetinyfigurewhosetinyfingeryankedimpotentlyatthetriggerofthe
emptygun.
Ifired.Theshadowwhirledtowardme,thenpitchedforward,reachingforme.
Islammedmyfootdownonitsneckandjammedthemuzzleoftherifleagainstthebackoftheshadow’s
head.
“Excuseme,”Igasped;Ihadnobreath.“Butyouhavethewrongroom.”
15
ASACHILD,hedreamedofowls.
Hehadn’tthoughtofthedreaminyears.Now,ashislifeslippedaway,thememorycamebacktohim.
Thememorywasnotpleasant.
Thebirdperchedonthewindowsill,staringintohisroomwithbrightyelloweyes.Theeyesblinked
slowly,rhythmically;otherwise,theowlnevermoved.
Watchingtheowlwatchinghim,paralyzedwithfearwithoutunderstandingwhy,unabletocallforhis
motherand,afterward,thesickfeelingallover,nauseated,dizzy,feverish,andthejittery,unnerving
sensationofbeingwatchedthatlingeredfordays.
Whenheturnedthirteen,thedreamsstopped.Hehadawakened;therewasnoneedtohidethetruth
anymore.Whenthetimecame,hisawakenedselfwouldneedthegiftsthatthe“owl”hadgiven.He
understoodthedreams’purposebecausehispurposehadbeenrevealed.
Makeready.Preparetheway.
Theowlhadbeenalietoprotectthetenderpsycheofhishostbody.Afterheawakened,anotherlietook
itsplace:hislife.Hishumanitywasalie,amask,likethedreamofowlsinthedark.
Nowhewasdying.Andtheliewasdyingwithhim.
Therewasnopain.Hedidnotfeelthebittercold.Hisbodyseemedtofloatonawarm,boundlesssea.
Thealarmsignalsfromhisnervestothepaincentersofhisbrainhadbeenshutdown.Thisgentle,
painlesseasingofhishumanbodyintooblivionwouldbethefinalgift.
Andthen,afterthelasthumanbeingwasdead:rebirth.
Anewhumanbodyunburdenedbythememoryofbeinghuman.Hewouldnotrememberthepasteighteen
years.Thosememoriesandtheemotionsattachedtothemwouldbeforeverlost—andtherewasnothing
thatcouldbedoneabouttheagonyattendingthatknowledge.
Lost.Everythinglost.
Thememoryofherface.Lost.Thetimewithher.Lost.Thewardeclaredbetweenwhathewasandwhat
hepretendedtobe.Lost.
Inthequietofthewinter-drapedwoods,floatingonaboundlesssea,hereachedforher,andsheslipped
away.
Heknewwhatwouldcomeofit.Hehadalwaysknown.Oncehefoundherimprisonedinsnowand
carriedherbackandmadeherwhole,hisdeathwouldbetheprice.Virtuesarevicesnow,anddeathis
thecostoflove.Notthedeathofhisbody.Hisbodywasthelie.Truedeath.Thedeathofhishumanity.
Thedeathofhissoul.
Inthewoods,inthebittercold,onthesurfaceofaboundlesssea,whisperinghername,entrustingher
memorytothewind,totheembraceofthesilentsentineltreesandtothecareofthefaithfulstars,her
namesake,pureandeverlasting,theuncontaineduniversecontainedinher:
Cassiopeia.
16
HEWOKETOPAIN.
Blindingpaininhishead,hischest,hishands,hisankle.Hisskinwasonfire.Hefeltasifhe’dbeen
dippedinboilingwater.
Abirdperchedonatreebranchabovehim,acrow,regardinghimwithregalindifference.Theworld
belongedtothecrowsnow,hethought.Therestwereinterlopers,short-timers.
Smokecurledinthebarebranchesoverhead:acampfire.Andthesmellofmeatsizzlinginapan.
Hewasproppedupagainstatree,coveredbyaheavywoolblanket,witharolled-upwinterparkafora
pillow.Slowly,heliftedhisheadaninchandrealizedimmediatelythatanymovementatallwasavery
badidea.
Atallwomancameintoviewcarryinganarmloadofwood,thenvanishedfromsightforamomentwhile
shefedthefire.
“Goodmorning.”Hervoicewaslow-pitched,lilting,andvaguelyfamiliar.
Shesatbesidehim,pulledherkneestoherchest,andwrappedherlongarmsaroundherlegs.Herface
wasfamiliar,too.Fair-skinned,blond,Nordicfeatures,likeaVikingprincess.
“Iknowyou,”hewhispered.Histhroatburned.Shepressedthemouthofhercanteenagainsthisrawlips,
andhedrankforalongtime.
“That’sgood,”shesaid.“Youweretalkingnonsenselastnight.Iwasworriedyou’dsufferedsomethinga
littlemoreseriousthanaconcussion.”
Shestoodupanddisappearedfromviewagain.Whenshecameback,shewasholdingafryingpan.
Shesatnexttohim,placingthepanonthegroundbetweenthem.Shewasstudyinghimwiththesame
haughtyindifferenceasthecrow.
“I’mnothungry,”hesaid.
“Youhavetoeat.”Notpleading.Statingafact.“Freshrabbit.Imadeastew.”
“Howbadisit?”
“Notbad.I’magoodcook.”
Heshookhisheadandforcedasmile.Sheknewwhathemeant.
“It’sprettybad,”shesaid.“Sixteenbrokenbones,skullfracture,second-degreeburnsovermostofyour
body.Notyourhair,though.Youstillhaveyourhair.That’sthegoodnews.”
Thewomandippedaspoonintothestew,broughtthespoontoherlips,blewgently,swipedhertongue
slowlyaroundtheedge.
“What’sthebadnews?”heasked.
“Yourankleisfractured.Fairlybadly.That’sgoingtotakesometime.Therest...”Sheshrugged,sipped
thestew,pursedherlips.“Needssalt.”
Hewatchedherdigintoherrucksack,searchingforthesalt.“Grace,”hesaidsoftly.“Yournameis
Grace.”
“Oneofthem,”thewomansaid.Thenshesaidherrealname,theonesheborefortenthousandyears.
“Ihavetobehonest.IlikeGracebetter.Somucheasiertopronounce!”
Sheswirledthesoupwiththespoon.Offeredhimasip.Hislipstightened.Thethoughtoffood...
Sheshruggedandtookanothersip.“Ithoughtitwasdebrisfromtheexplosion,”shewenton.“Inever
expectedtofindoneoftheescapepods—oryouinit.Whathappenedtotheguidancesystem?Didyou
disarmit?”
Hethoughtcarefullybeforeheanswered.“Malfunction.”
“Malfunction?”
“Malfunction,”hesaidlouder.Histhroatwasonfire.Sheheldthecanteenforhimwhilehedrank.
“Nottoomuch,”shecautionedhim.“You’llgetsick.”
Waterdribbleddownhischin.Shewipeditforhim.
“Thebasewascompromised,”hesaid.
Sheseemedsurprised.“How?”
Heshookhishead.“Notsure.”
“Whywereyouthere?That’sthecuriousthing.”
“Ifollowedsomeonein.”Thiswasnotgoingwell.Forapersonwhoseentirelifehadbeenalie,lying
didnotcomeeasilytohim.HeknewGracewouldnothesitatetoterminatehiscurrentbodyifshe
suspectedthatthe“compromise”extendedtohim.Theyallunderstoodtheriskindonningthehuman
mantle.Sharingabodywithahumanpsychecarriedwithitthedangerofadoptinghumanvices—aswell
ashumanvirtues.Andfarmoredangerousthangreedorlustorenvyoranyofthosethings—oranything—
waslove.
“You...followedsomeone?Ahuman?”
“Ididn’thaveachoice.”Thatmuchwastrueatleast.
“Thebasewascompromised.Byahuman.”Sheshookherheadwithwonder.“Andyouabandonedyour
patroltostopit.”
Heclosedhiseyes.Perhapsshe’dthinkhepassedout.Thesmellofthestewmadehisstomachroll.
“Verycurious,”Gracesaid.“Therewasalwaysriskofacompromise,butfromwithintheprocessing
center.Howcouldahumaninyoursectorknowanythingaboutthecleansing?”
Playingpossumwasn’tgoingtowork.Heopenedhiseyes.Thecrowhadnotmoved.Thebirdstaredat
him,andherememberedtheowlonthesillandthelittleboyinthebedandthefear.“I’mnotsureshe
did.”
“She?”
“Yes.Itwasa...afemale.”
“Cassiopeia.”
Helookedsharplyather,couldn’thelpit.“Howdoyou...?”
“I’vehearditalotoverthepastthreedays.”
“Threedays?”
Hisheartquickened.Hehadtoask.Buthowcouldhe?Askingmightmakehermoresuspiciousthanshe
alreadywas.Itwouldbefoolishtoask.Sohesaid,“Ithinkshemighthaveescaped.”
Gracesmiled.“Well,ifshedid,I’msurewe’llfindher.”
Helethisbreathoutslowly.Gracewouldhavenoreasontolie.IfshehadfoundCassie,shewouldhave
killedherandhadnoreservationsintellinghim.ThoughGracenotfindingherwasnoproofoflife:
Cassiestillmaynothavesurvived.
Gracereachedintoherrucksackagainandtookoutabottleofcream.“Fortheburns,”sheexplained.
Gingerly,shepulledtheblanketdown,exposinghisnakedbodytothefreezingair.Abovethem,thecrow
cockeditspolishedblackheadandwatched.
Thecreamwascold.Herhandswerewarm.Gracehadbroughthimoutoffire;hehadbroughtCassieout
ofice.He’dcarriedherthroughtheundulatingseaofwhitetotheoldfarmhouse,whereheremovedher
clothesandplungedherfreezingbodyintowarmwater.AsGrace’shands,slickwithsalve,roamedhis
body,hisfingershadworkedthroughtheiceencrustedinCassie’sthickhair.Removingthebulletas
shefloatedinthewaterstainedpinkbyherblood.Thebulletmeantforherheart.Hisbullet.And,afterhe
pulledherfromthewaterandbandagedthewound,carryinghertohissister’sbed,avertinghiseyesashe
dressedherinhissister’sgown;Cassiewouldhavebeenmortifiedwhensherealizedhe’dseenher
unclothed.
Grace’seyesfixedonhim.Hiseyesfixedontheteddybearonthepillow.Hepulledthecoversto
Cassie’schin.Gracepulledtheblankettohis.
You’regoingtolive,hetoldCassie.Moreofaprayerthanapromise.
“You’regoingtolive,”Gracetoldhim.
Youhavetolive,hesaidtoCassie.“Ihaveto,”hesaidtoGrace.
Thewayshecockedherheadasshelookedathim,likethecrowinthetree,theowlonthesill.
“Weallhaveto,”Gracesaid,noddingslowly.“It’swhywecame.”
Sheleanedforwardandkissedhimgentlyonthecheek.Warmbreath,coollips,andthefaintodorof
woodsmoke.Herlipsslidfromhischeektowardhismouth.Heturnedhishead.
“Howdidyouknowhername?”shewhisperedinhisear.“Cassiopeia.HowdidyouknowCassiopeia?”
“Ifoundhercamp.Abandoned.Shekeptajournal...”
“Ah.Andthat’showyouknewsheplannedtostormthebase.”
“Yes.”
“Well,itallmakesperfectsense,then.Didshesayinherjournalwhyshewasstormingthebase?”
“Herbrother...takenfromarefugeecamptoWright-Patterson...sheescaped...”
“That’sremarkable.Thensheovercomesourdefensesanddestroystheentirecommandcenter.That’s
evenmoreremarkable.Itbordersontheunbelievable.”
Shepickedupthepan,slungthecontentsintothebrush,androsetoherfeet.Shetoweredoverhim,asixfootblondcolossus.Hercheekswereflushed,perhapsfromthecold,perhapsfromthekiss.
“Rest,”shesaid.“You’rewellenoughtotravelnow.We’releavingtonight.”
“Where’rewegoing?”EvanWalkerasked.
Shesmiled.“Myplace.”
17
ATSUNSET,Gracekilledthefire,slippedthebackpackandrifleoverhershoulder,andscoopedEvan
fromthegroundforthesixteen-milehiketoherstationhouseonthesouthernoutskirtsofUrbana.She
wouldkeeptothehighwaytomakebettertime.Therewaslittleriskinitatthisstageofthegame:She
hadn’tseenahumanbeinginweeks.Thoseshehadn’tkilledhadbeentakenbythebusesorhadtaken
refugeagainsttheonslaughtofwinter.Thiswasthein-betweentime.Inanotheryear,perhapstwo,though
nomorethanfive,therewouldbenoneedforstealth,becausetherewouldbenomorepreytostalk.
Thetemperatureplungedwiththesun.Raggedcloudsracedacrosstheindigosky,drivenbyanorthwind
thattoyedwithherbangsandplayfullyflippedthecollarofherjacket.Thefirststarsappeared,themoon
rose,andtheroadshoneahead,asilverribbontwistingacrosstheblackbackdropofdeadfieldsand
emptylotsandtheguttedshellsofhouseslongabandoned.
ShestoppedoncetorestanddrinkandspreadmoresalveoverEvan’sburns.
“There’ssomethingdifferentaboutyou,”shemused.“Ican’tputmyfingeronit.”Puttingherfingersall
overhim.
“Ididn’thaveaneasyawakening,”hesaid.“Youknowthat.”
Shegruntedsoftly.“You’reabrooder,Evan,andaverysoreloser.”Shewrappedhimbackupinthe
blanket.Ranherlongfingersthroughhishair.Lookeddeeplyintohiseyes.“There’ssomethingyou’renot
tellingme.”
Hesaidnothing.
“Ifeltit,”shesaid.“Thefirstnight,whenIhauledyououtofthewreckage.There’sa...”Shesearched
fortherightwords.“Ahiddenroomthatwasn’ttherebefore.”
Hisvoicesoundedhollowtohim,emptyasthewind.“Nothingishidden.”
Gracelaughed.“Youshouldneverhavebeenintegrated,EvanWalker.Youfeelfartoomuchforthemto
beoneofthem.”
Shepickedhimupaseasilyasamotherhernewbornchild.Sheliftedherfacetothenightskyand
gasped.“Iseeher!Cassiopeia,thequeenofthenight.”Shepressedhercheekagainstthetopofhishead.
“Ourhuntisover,Evan.”
18
GRACE’SSTATIONWASanold,one-storywoodenframehouseonHighway68,locatedattheexact
centerofherassignedsix-square-milepatrolsector.Asidefromboardingupthebrokenwindowsand
repairingtheexteriordoors,she’dleftthehouseasshefoundit.Familyportraitsonthewalls,heirlooms
andmementostoolargetocarryeasily,smashedfurnitureandopendrawersandthethousandpiecesof
theoccupants’livesdeemedworthlessbylooterswerescatteredineveryroom.Gracedidnotbotherto
cleanupthemess.Whenspringarrivedandthe5thWaverolledout,shewouldbegone.
ShecarriedEvantothesecondbedroomattherearofthehouse,thekids’room,withbrightblue
wallpaperandtoyslitteringthefloorandamobileofthesolarsystemhangingdejectedlyfromtheceiling.
Shelaidhiminoneofthetwinbeds.Achildhadscratchedhisinitialsintotheheadboard:K.M.
Kevin?Kyle?Thetinyroomsmelledliketheplague.Therewasn’tmuchlight—Gracehadboardedthe
windowinhere,too—buthiseyesightwasmuchmoreacutethananordinaryhuman’s,andEvancould
seethedarksplotchesofbloodthathadbeenflungonthebluewallsduringsomeone’sdeaththroes.
Shelefttheroom,returningafterafewminuteswithmoresalveandarollofbandages.Sheworked
quicklywrappingtheburns,asifshehadpressingbusinesselsewhere.Neitherspokeuntilshehad
coveredhimagain.
“Whatdoyouneed?”Graceasked.“Somethingtoeat?Bathroom?”
“Clothes.”
Sheshookherhead.“Notagoodidea.Aweekontheburns.Two,maybethreeontheankle.”
Idon’thavethreeweeks.Threedaysistoolong.
Forthefirsttime,hethoughtitmightbenecessarytoneutralizeGrace.
Shetouchedhischeek.“Callifyouneedanything.Stayoffthatankle.Ihavetogetsomesupplies;Iwasn’t
expectingcompany.”
“Howlongwillyoubegone?”
“Nomorethanacouplehours.Trytosleep.”
“I’llneedaweapon.”
“Evan,thereisn’tanyonewithinahundredmiles.”Shesmiled.“Oh.You’reworriedaboutthesaboteur.”
Henodded.“Iam.”
Shepressedherpistolintohishand.“Don’tshootme.”
Hewrappedhisfingersaroundthegrip.“Iwon’t.”
“I’llknockfirst.”
Henoddedagain.“Thatwouldbeagoodidea.”
Shepausedbythedoor.“Welostthedroneswhenthebasefell.”
“Iknow.”
“Whichmeanswe’rebothoffthegrid.Ifsomethingshouldhappentooneofus—oranyofus...”
“Doesitmatternow?It’salmostover.”
Gracenoddedthoughtfully.“Doyouthinkwe’llmissthem?”
“Thehumans?”Hewonderedifshewasmakingajoke.He’dneverheardhertrybefore;joking
wasn’tinhercharacter.
“Nottheonesoutthere.”Shegesturedbeyondthewalls,atthewiderworld.“Theonesinhere.”
Handtoherchest.
“Youcan’tmisswhatyoudon’tremember,”hesaid.
“Oh,IthinkI’llkeephermemories,”Gracesaid.“Shewasahappylittlegirl.”
“Thenthere’llbenothingtomiss,willthere?”
Shefoldedherarmsoverherchest.Shewasleavingandnowshewasn’t.Whydidn’tsheleave?
“Iwon’tkeepallofthem,”shesaid,meaningthememories.“Onlythegoodones.”
“That’sbeenmyworryfromthebeginning,Grace:Thelongerweplayatbeinghuman,themorehuman
webecome.”
Shelookedathimquizzicallyandsaidnothingforaverylong,veryuncomfortablemoment.
“Who’splayingatbeinghuman?”sheasked.
19
HEWAITEDUNTILherfootfallsfaded.Windwhistledinthecracksbetweentheplywoodandthe
windowframe;otherwise,heheardnothing.Likehiseyesight,hishearingwasexquisitelyacute.IfGrace
wassittingontheporchcombingherhair,hewouldhearit.
Firstthegun.Hepulledthemagazinefromtheframe.Justashesuspected:nobullets.Hethoughtthegun
hadbeentoolight.Evanallowedhimselfaquietlaugh.Theironywastoomuch.Theirprimarymission
hadnotbeentokill,buttosowmistrustamongthesurvivorsanddrivethemlikefrightenedsheepto
slaughterhouseslikeWright-Patterson.Whathappenswhenthesowersofmistrustbecomeitsreapers?
Reapers.Hefoughtbackahystericalgiggle.
Hetookadeepbreath.Thiswasgoingtohurt.Hesatup.Theroomspun.Heclosedhiseyes.No.
Thatmadeitworse.Heopenedhiseyesandwilledhimselftoremainupright.Hisbodyhadbeen
augmentedinpreparationforhisawakening.Thatwasthetruththedreamoftheowldisguised.Thesecret
thatthescreenmemorykepthimfromseeingandthereforefromremembering:WhileheandGraceand
tensofthousandsofchildrenlikethemhadslept,giftshadbeendeliveredinthenight.Giftstheywould
needintheyearstocome.Giftsthatwouldturntheirbodiesintofinelytunedweapons,forthedesigners
oftheinvasionhadunderstoodasimple,thoughcounterintuitive,truth:Wherethebodywent,themind
followed.
Givesomeonethepowerofthegodsandhewillbecomeasindifferentasthegods.
Thepainsubsided.Thedizzinesseased.Heslidhislegsofftheedgeofthebed.Heneededtotestthe
ankle.Theanklewasthekey.Theotherinjurieswereseriousbutinconsequential;hecouldmanagethose.
Gently,heappliedpressuretotheballofhisfoot,andalightningboltofagonyrocketeduphisleg.He
fellontohisback,gasping.Overhead,dustyplanetswerefrozeninorbitaroundadentedsun.
Hesatupandwaitedforhisheadtoclear.Hewasn’tgoingtofindawayaroundthepain.Hewouldhave
tofindawaythroughit.
Heeasedhimselfontothefloor,usingthesideofthebedtosupporthisweight.Thenheforcedhimselfto
rest.Noneedtorush.IfGracereturned,hecouldexplainthathefelloutofbed.Slowly,byinches,he
scootedhisbuttalongthecarpetuntilhewasflatonhisback,seeingthesolarsystembehindashowerof
white-hotmeteorsthatcascadedacrosshisfieldofvision.Theroomwasfreezing,buthewassweating
profusely.Outofbreath.Heartracing.Skinonfire.Hefocusedonthemobile,thefadedblueoftheEarth,
theduskyredofMars.Thepaincameinwaves;hefloatednowinadifferentkindofsea.
Theslatsbeneaththebedwerenailedintoplaceandweigheddownbytheheavyframeandmattress.
Nomatter.Hewiggledintothetightspacebeneath,thebodiesofdecayedinsectscrunchingunderhis
weight,andtherewasatoycaronitsbackandthetwistedlimbsofaplasticactionfigurefromthetime
whenheroespopulatedchildren’sdaydreams.Hebroketheboardfreewiththreehardwhacksoftheheel
ofhishand,scoochedbackthewayhecame,andbroketheotherendfree.Dustsettledintohismouth.He
coughed,sendinganothertsunamiofpainacrosshischest,downhisside,tocurlanaconda-likearoundhis
stomach.
Tenminuteslaterhewascontemplatingthesolarsystemagain,worriedthatGracewouldfindhim
passedout,clutchingafour-by-sixbedslattohischest.Thatmightbealittlemoredifficulttoexplain.
Theworldspun.Theplanetsheldstill.
There’sahiddenroom...Hehadcrossedthethresholdintothatroom,whereasimplepromisethrewa
thousandbolts:I’llfindyou.Thatpromise,likeallpromises,createditsownmorality.Tokeepit,he
wouldhavetocrossaseaofblood.
Theworldunloosed.Theplanetsbound.
20
NIGHTHADFALLENbythetimeGracereturned,herarrivalpresagedbytheglowofalampexpanding
inthehalloutside.Shesetthelamponthebedsidetable,andthelightthrewshadowsthatengulfedher
face.Hedidnotprotestwhenshedrewdownthecovers,unwrappedthebandagescoveringhiswounds,
andexposedhisbodytothefrigidair.
“Didyoumissme,Evan?”shemurmured,fingertipsslickwithsalveslidingoverhisskin.“Idon’tmean
today.Howoldwerewethen?Fifteen?”
“Sixteen,”heanswered.
“Hmm.YouaskedmeifIwasafraidofthefuture.Doyouremember?”
“Yes.”
“Sucha...humanquestion.”
Thefingersofonehandmassaginghimwhilethefingersoftheotherslowlyunbuttonedhershirt.
“NotasmuchastheotheroneIasked.”
Shetiltedherheadinquisitively.Herhairfelloverhershoulder.Herfacelostinshadowandhershirt
fallingopenlikeacurtaindrawnback.
“Whatwasthat?”shewhispered.
“Ifyou’dnotbeen,foraverylongtime,inexpressiblylonely.”
Thecoolnessofherfingers.Theheatofhissearedflesh.
“Yourheartisbeatingveryfast,”shebreathed.
Shestoodup.Heclosedhiseyes.Forthepromise.Justoutsidethecircleoflight,Gracesteppedoutof
thepantsthatpooledaroundherankles.Hedidnotwatch.
“Notsolonely,”Gracesaid,herbreathcaressinghisear.“Beinglockedinthesebodiesdoeshaveits
compensations.”
Forthepromise.AndCassietheislandheswamtoward,risingfromablood-filledsea.
“Notsolonely,Evan,”Gracesaid.Shetouchedhislipswithherfingers,hisneckwithherlips.
Hehadnochoice.Hispromiseaffordednone.Gracewouldneverlethimgo;shewouldnothesitateto
killhimifhetried.Therecouldbenooutrunningherorhidingfromher.Nochoice.
Heopenedhiseyes,reachedupwithhisrighthandandranhisfingersthroughherhair.Hislefthandslid
beneaththepillow.Abovethem,hecouldseethelonelysunstrippedofitsoffspring,shininginthe
lamplight.HethoughtGracemightnoticetheplanetsweremissing.Heexpectedhertoaskwhyheneeded
toremovethem,thoughitwasn’ttheplanetsheneeded.
Itwasthewire.
ButGracehadn’tnoticed.Hermindhadbeenonotherthings.“Touchme,Evan,”shewhispered.
Herolledhardtohisrightandsmashedhisleftforearmintoherjaw.Shestumbledbackwardashecame
offthebed,drivinghisshoulderintohermidsection.Shesankhernailsdeepintotheburnsonhisback
andripped.Theroomwentblackforamoment,buthedidn’tneedtosee—hejustneededtobeclose.
Shemayhaveseenthemakeshiftgarroteofbrokenwoodandmobilewireinhishand,orshemighthave
beenjustlucky,butherfistclosedaroundthewireandpushedashedrewittight.Hesweptherleg
withtheoutsideofhisgoodankleandtookhertothefloor,followingherbodydown,crushinghisknee
intoherlowerbackonimpact.
Nochoice.
Hesummonedeveryounceofaugmentedstrengththatremainedintotighteningthewire,untilitsliced
throughherpalmandhitbone.
Shebuckedagainsthisweight.Heswunghisrightkneearoundandgrounditintoherhead.Tighter.
Tighter.Hesmelledblood.His.Hers.
Theroomspunaround.
Sinkingdeepintoblood,his,hers,EvanWalkerheldstill.
21
WHENITWASDONE,hecrawledtothebedandpulledoutthebrokenslat.Alittlelongforacrutch—
hehadtoholdtheboardatadifficultangle—butitwouldhavetodo.Hehobbledtotheotherbedroom,
wherehefoundmen’sclothing:apairofjeans,aplaidshirt,ahand-knitsweater,andaleatherjacketwith
thenameoftheowner’sbowlingteam,TheUrbanaPinheads,emblazonedontheback.Thefabric
scrapedandrubbedagainsthisrawskin,makingeverymovementastudyinpain.Thenheshuffledinto
thelivingroom,wherehefoundGrace’srucksackandrifle.Hethrewbothoverhisshoulder.
Hourslater,restinginthenestlikemangleofmetalinthemiddleofaneight-carpileuponHighway68,he
openedthesacktotakeinventoryandfounddozensofplasticbaggieslabeledwithblackmarker,eachbag
containingclippingsofhumanhair.Atfirsthewaspuzzled.Whosehairwasthisandwhywasitin
baggies,eachneatlymarkedwithdates?Thenheunderstood:Gracewastakingtrophiesfromherkills.
Wherethebodywent,themindfollowed.
Hefashionedasplintforhisanklefromtwopiecesofbrokenmetalandtherestofthebandageroll.
Hedrankafewsipsofwater.Hisbodyachedforsleep,buthewouldnotsleepagainuntilhekepthis
promise.Heliftedhisfacetothepinpricksofpurelightfixedabovehiminthelimitlessdark.Don’tI
alwaysfindyou?
Theheadlampofthecarbesidehimexplodedinashowerofpulverizedglassandplastic.Hedove
beneaththenearestvehicle,draggingtheriflebehindhim.
Grace.Ithadtobe.Gracewasalive.
Helefttooquickly.Heassumedtoomuch,hopedtoomuch.Andnowhewastrapped,pinneddownwith
nowayout,andEvanrealizedinthatmomenthowpromisescanbekeptinthemostunexpectedofways:
He’dfoundCassiebybecomingher.
Wounded,trappedbeneathacar,unabletorun,unabletorise,atthemercyofafaceless,mercilesshunter,
aSilencerengineeredtosnuffoutthehumannoise.
22
HEMET—foundwouldbemoreaccurate—Gracethesummertheybothturnedsixteen,attheHamilton
CountyFair.Evanwasstandingoutsidetheexoticpettingzootentwithhislittlesister,Val,whohadbeen
demandingtoseethewhitetigersincetheyarrivedearlythatmorning.ItwasAugust.Thelinewaslong.
Valwastiredandgrouchyandstickywithsweat.He’dputheroff.Hedidn’tliketoseeanimalsin
captivity.Whenhelookedintotheireyes,somethingintheireyeslookedbackathim.
HefoundGracefirst,standingbesidethefunnelcaketrailer,adrippingwedgeofwatermeloninherhand.
Blondhairthatfelltothemiddleofherback,cool,nearlyarcticfeatures,especiallytheice-blueeyes,
andthecynicalturnofhermouth,glisteningwithjuice.Sheturnedtowardhimandhequicklylooked
away,tothefaceofhisbabysister,whowouldbedeadinlessthantwoyears.Afacthecarriedwithin
him,lockedawayinadifferentkindofhiddenroom.Sometimesitwashardtoshake—theknowledgethat
everyfacehesawwasthefaceofacorpse-to-be.Hisworldwaspeopledwithlivingghosts.
“What?”Valasked.
Heshookhishead.Nothing.Hetookadeepbreathandglancedtowardthetraileragain.Thetallblond
girlwasgone.
Insidethetent,behindasteelmeshfence,thewhitetigerpantedintheheat.Smallchildrencrowdedin
front.Behindthem,camerasandsmartphonesclicked.Thetigerremainedregallyindifferenttothe
attention.
“Beautiful,”ahuskyvoicemurmuredinEvan’sear.Hedidnotturn.Heknew,withoutlooking,itwasthe
girlwiththelongblondhairandlipsthatglistenedwithwatermelonjuice.Theexhibitwaspacked;her
barearmbrushedagainsthis.
“Andsad,”Evansaid.
“No,”Gracesaid.“Hecouldtearthroughthatfenceintwoseconds.Ripoffakid’sfaceinthree.He’s
choosingtobethere.That’sthebeautifulthing.”
Helookedather.Hereyeswereevenmorestartlingupclose.Theyboredintohis,andinakneeweakeninginstant,heknewtheentityhidinginsideGrace’sbody.
“Weshouldtalk,”Gracewhispered.
23
ATDUSK,thelightsoftheFerriswheelwereswitchedonandthetinnymusicwasturnedupandthe
crowdswelledalongthemidway,cutoffshortsandflip-flopsandthesmellofcoconut-scentedsunscreen
andthewaddleofbig-belliedmeninJohnDeerecapswithdeeplycallusedhandsandwalletsattachedto
beltloopsbulginginbackpockets.HehandedValofftotheirmother,thenheadedfortheFerriswheelto
waitnervouslyforGrace.Shematerializedoutofthecrowd,holdingalargestuffedanimal:awhite
Bengaltiger,plasticbrightblueeyesonlyslightlydarkerthanhers.
“I’mEvan,”hesaid.
“I’mGrace.”
Theywatchedthegiantwheelturnagainstthepurplesky.
“Doyouthinkwe’llmissitwhenit’sgone?”heasked.
“Iwon’t.”Hernosecrinkled.“Thesmellofthemishorrible.Ican’tgetusedtoit.”
“You’rethefirstI’vemetsince...”
Shenodded.“Metoo.Doyouthinkit’sanaccident?”
“No.”
“Iwasn’tcomingtoday,butthismorningwhenIwokeup,therewasthislittlevoice.Go.Didyouhear
it?”
Henodded.“Yes.”
“Good.”Shesoundedrelieved.“ForthreeyearsI’vebeenwonderingifI’mcrazy.”
“You’renot.”
“Youdon’twonder?”
“Notanymore.”
Shesmiledarchly.“Doyouwanttogoforawalk?”
Theywanderedovertothedesertedshowgroundsandsatonthebleachers.Thefirststarsappeared.
Thenightwaswarm,theairmoist.Graceworeapairofshortsandasleevelesswhiteblousewithalace
collar.Sittingclosetoher,Evancouldsmelllicorice.
“Thisisit,”hesaid,noddingattheemptycorralwithitsmangledfloorofsawdustandmanure.
“What?”
“Thefuture.”
Shelaughedasifhe’dmadeajoke.“Theworldends.Theworldendsandtheworldbeginsagain.It’s
alwaysbeenthatway.”
“You’reneverafraidofwhat’scoming?Never?”
“Never.”Huggingthestuffedtigerinherlap.Hereyesseemedtotakeonthecolorofwhatevershe
lookedat.Nowshewaslookingupatthedarkeningsky,andhereyeswereabottomlessblack.
Theyspokeforafewminutesintheirnativelanguage,butitwasdifficultandtheygaveupquickly.
Toomanywordswereunpronounceable.Henoticedthatshewasmuchcalmerafterward,andherealized
itwasn’tthefuturethatfrightenedher;itwasthepast,thefactthatshefearedtheentityinsideherbody
wasafigmentofayounghumangirl’sshatteredmind.MeetingEvanvalidatedherexistence.
“You’renotalone,”hetoldher.Helookeddownanddiscoveredherhandinhis.Onehandforhim,
theotherforthetiger.
“That’sbeentheworstpart,”sheagreed.“Feelingasifyou’retheonlypersonintheuniverse.Thatthe
wholethingishere,”touchingherchest,“andnowhereelse.”
Yearslater,hewouldreadsomethingquitesimilarinthediaryofanothersixteen-year-oldgirl,theonehe
foundandlost,found,thenlostagain:
SometimesIthinkImightbethelasthumanonEarth.
24
THECAR’SUNDERCARRIAGEagainsthisback.Thecoldasphaltagainsthischeek.Theuselessrifle
clutchedinhishand.Hewastrapped.
Gracehadseveraloptions.Hehadtwo.
No.Iftherewasanyhopeofkeepinghispromise,hehadjustone:
Cassie’schoice.
Shehadmadeapromise,too.Ahopeless,suicidalpromisetotheonepersononEarthwhostillmattered
toher—matteredtohermorethanherownlife.Shestoodupthatdaytofacethefacelesshunterbecause
herdeathwasnothingcomparedtothedeathofthatpromise.Iftherewasanyhopeleft,itlayinlove’s
hopelesspromises.
Hecrawledforward,pastthefrontbumper,intotheopenair,andthen,likeCassieSullivan,EvanWalker
stoodup.
Hetensed,waitingforthefinishinground.WhenCassiestoodupthatcloudlessautumnafternoon,her
Silencerhadrun.HedidnotthinkGracewouldrun.Gracewouldfinishwhatshebegan.
Butnofinishcame.Nosilencingbullet,connectingGracetohimasifbyasilvercord.Heknewshewas
there.Knewshecouldseehimstandingcrookedlyinfrontofthecar.Andherealizedtherewasno
escapingthepast,nododginginevitableconsequences:Cassie’sterror,heruncertaintyandpain,they
belongedtohimnow.
Overhead,thestars.Straightahead,theroadthatshoneinthestars’light.Thetightgripofthefreezingair
andthemedicinalsmelloftheointmentGracehadspreadoverhisburns.Yourheartisbeatingveryfast.
She’snotgoingtokillyou,hetoldhimself.Notthegoal.Ifkillingyouwasthegoal,shewouldn’thave
missedthatshot.
Therecouldbeonlyoneanswer:Graceintendedtofollowhim.Hewasariddletoherandfollowinghim
wasthewaytosolvetheriddle.Hehadescapedthetraponlytosinkdeeperintothepit.Keepinghis
promisenowwasnotbeingfaithful;itwasanactofbetrayal.
Hecouldn’toutrunher,notwiththebadankle.Hecouldn’treasonwithher—hecouldbarelyarticulate
hisownreasonsanymore.Hecouldwaitherout.Stayhere,donothing...andriskCassiebeing
discoveredbysoldiersofthe5thWaveorabandoningthehotelbeforehisstalematewithGraceended.
Hecouldforceaconfrontation,buthe’dfailedonceandtheoddswerehewouldagain.Hewastooweak,
toohurt.Heneededtimetohealandtherewasnotime.
Heleanedagainstthehoodofthecarandlookedupatthestar-encrustedsky,undimmedbyhumanlights,
scrubbedcleanofcontaminants,andthesethesamestarsthatshoneontheworldbeforehumankind
walkeduponit.Forbillionsofyears,thesesamestars,andwhatwastimetothem?
“Mayfly,”Evanwhispered.“Mayfly.”
Heshoulderedtherifleandwormedhiswaythroughthepileupbacktothebackpackofsupplies,which
hethrewovertheothershoulder.Tuckedthemakeshiftcrutchbeneathhisarm.Thegoingwouldbeslow,
painfullyslow,buthewouldforceGracetochoosebetweenlettinghimgoandfollowinghim,deserting
herassignedterritoryatthemomentwhendesertioncouldmeanaserioussetbackinthe
carefullyconstructedtimetable.Hewouldswingnorthofthehotel—northtowardthenearestbase.
Northwheretheenemyhadfledandretrenchedandwaitedforspringtolaunchthefinal,finishingassault.
That’swherehopelay—whereallhopehadbeenfromthebeginning—ontheshouldersofthe
brainwashedchild-soldiersofthe5thWave.
25
LATERTHATEVENINGonthedaytheymet,EvanandGracewalkedalongthemidwaybeneaththe
lightsthatbeatbackthedark,weavingtheirwaythroughthecrowd,pasttheringtossandballoondart
gameandbasketballfreethrow.Musicblaredfromspeakersmountedonthelightpoles,andbubbling
beneaththemusicwasthesoundofathousandconversations,likeanundercurrent,andtheflowofthe
crowdwaslikeariver,too,eddyingandswirling,swifthere,languidthere.Tallandlissomeandstriking
intheirgoodlooks,EvanandGracedrewattentionfromthepassersby,whichmadehimuncomfortable.
Heneverlikedcrowds,preferringthesolitudeofthewoodsandthefieldsofthefamilyfarm,an
inclinationthatwouldservehimwellwhenthetimeofcleansingarrived.
Time.Abovethem,thestarsturnedlikethepointsoflightontheFerriswheelthatloomedabovethe
fairgrounds,thoughtooslowlyforthehumaneyetoregister,thehandsoftheuniversalclockthatwas
windingdown,thathadbeenwindingdownfromthebeginning,andthefacesthatpassedmarkingthe
time,likethestarsthemselves,prisonerstoit.EvanandGracewerenot.Theyhadconqueredthe
unconquerable,deniedtheundeniable.Thelaststarwoulddie,theuniverseitselfwouldpassaway,but
theywouldgoonandon.
“Whatareyouthinking?”sheasked.
“‘Myspiritwillnotcontendwithhumansforever,fortheyaremortal.’”
“What?”Shewassmiling.
“It’sfromtheBible.”
Sheshiftedthestuffedtigertoherotherhandsoshecouldtakehis.“Don’tbemorbid.It’sabeautifulnight
andwewon’tseeeachotheragainuntilit’sover.Yourproblemisyoudon’tknowhowtoliveinthe
moment.”
Shetuggedhimfromthemainconcourseintotheshadowsbetweentwotents,whereshekissedhim,
pressingherbodytightlyagainsthis,andsomethingopenedinsidehim.Sheenteredintohimandthe
terriblelonelinesshe’dfeltsincehisawakeningeased.
Gracepulledaway.Hercheekswereflushed,hereyesburningwithapalefire.“Ithinkaboutit
sometimes.Thefirstkill.Whatitwillbelike.”
Henodded.“Ithinkaboutit,too.Mostly,though,Ithinkaboutthelastone.”
26
HELEFTTHEHIGHWAY,cuttingthroughopenfields,crossinglonelycountrylanes,pausingtorefillhis
canteenwithwaterfromanicystream,navigatingastheancientsdid,bytheNorthStar.Hisinjuries
forcedhimtorestoften,andeachtimehesawGraceinthedistance.Shedidn’tbothertohide.She
wantedhimtoknowshewasthere,justoutsidetherangeoftherifle.BydawnhehadreachedHighway
68,themajorarteryconnectingHuberHeightsandUrbana.Inasmallstandoftreesborderingtheroad,he
gatheredwoodforafire.Hishandswereshaking.Hefeltfeverish.Heworriedtheburnshadbecome
infected.Hisbodilysystemshadbeenaugmented,butanenhancedbodycouldreachatippingpointfrom
whichtherewasnoreturn.Hisanklewasswollentotwiceitsnormalsize,theskinhottothetouch,and
thewoundthrobbedwitheachbeatofhisheart.Hedecidedtospendadayhere,maybetwo,andkeepthe
fireburning.
Abeacontodrawthemintothetrap.Iftheywereoutthere.Iftheycouldbedrawn.
Theroadbeforehim.Thewoodsbehindhim.Hewouldremainintheopen.Gracewouldstayinthe
woods.Shewouldwaitwithhim.Outofherassignedterritory,fullycommittednow,nogoingback.
Hewarmedhimselfbythefire.Gracemadenofire.Histhelightandwarmth.Hersthedarkandcold.
Heshruggedoutofthejacket,pulledoffthesweater,slippedofftheshirt.Alreadytheburnswere
scabbingover,buttheyhadbeguntoitchhorribly.Todistracthimself,hewhittledanewcrutchfroma
treebranchsalvagedfromthewoods.
HewonderedifGracewouldrisksleep.Sheknewhisstrengthgrewwitheachpassinghourandevery
hourshedelayed,herchancesofsuccesswaned.
Hesawheratmidafternoononthesecondday,ashadowamongshadows,ashegatheredmorewoodfor
thefire.Fiftyyardsintothetrees,holdingahigh-poweredsniper’srifle,abloodybandagewrapped
aroundherhand,anotheraroundherneck.Inthesubzeroair,hervoiceseemedtocarryintotheinfinite.
“Whydidn’tyoufinishme,Evan?”
Hedidn’tansweratfirst.Hecontinuedgatheringkindlingforthebeacon.Thenhesaid,“IthoughtIdid.”
“No.Youcouldn’thavethoughtthat.”
“MaybeI’msickofmurder.”
“Whatdoesthatmean?”
Heshookhishead.“Youwouldn’tunderstand.”
“WhoisCassiopeia?”
Herosetohisfullheight.Thelightwasweakinthetreesbeneathasheetofiron-grayclouds.Evenso,he
couldseethecynicalsetofherlipsandthepalebluefireofhereyes.
“Theonewhostoodupwhenanyoneelsewouldhavestayeddown,”Evansaid.“TheoneIcouldn’tstop
thinkingaboutbeforeIevenknewher.Thelastone,Grace.ThelasthumanbeingonEarth.”
Shedidn’tsayanythingforalongtime.Heremained.Sheremained.
“You’reinlovewithahuman.”Hervoicewasfullofwonder.Andthentheobvious:“That’snot
possible.”
“Weusedtothinkthesameaboutimmortality.”
“Itwouldbelikeoneofthemfallinginlovewithaseaslug.”Smilingnow.“You’remad.You’vegone
insane.”
“Yes.”
Heturnedhisbacktoher,invitingthebullet.Hewasmad,afterall,andmadnesscamewithitsown
armor.
“Itcan’tbethat!”sheshoutedafterhim.“Whywon’tyoutellmewhat’sreallygoingon?”
Hestopped.Thekindlingclatteredtothefrozenground.Thecrutchtoppledfromhisside.Heturnedhis
headbutdidnotturnaround.
“Takecover,Grace,”hesaidsoftly.
Herfingertwitchedonthetrigger.Normalhumaneyesmighthavemissedit.Evan’sdidnot.“Or—
what?”shedemanded.“You’llattackmeagain?”
Heshookhishead.“I’mnotgoingtoattackyou,Grace.Theyare.”
Shecockedherheadathim,likethebirdinthetreewhenheawakenedinhercamp.
“They’rehere,”Evansaid.
Thefirstbulletstruckherupperthigh.Sherockedbackwardbutremainedupright.Thenextround
punchedintoherleftshoulderandtherifleslippedfromherhand.Thethirdround,mostlikelyfroma
secondshooter,explodedinthetreedirectlybesidehim,missinghisheadbymillimeters.
Gracedovetotheground.
Evanran.
27
RANWASANEXAGGERATION.Morelikeafrantichop,swinginghisbadlegwidetokeepmostof
hisweightonthegoodone,andeachtimehisheelhittheground,pinwheelsofbrightlightexplodedinhis
vision.Pastthesmolderingcampfire,thebeaconthathadburnedfortwodays,thesignhe’dhunginthe
woods,Hereweare!Snatchingtheriflefromthegroundinstride;hehadnointentionofstandinghis
ground.Gracewoulddrawtheirfire—apatrolofatleasttworecruits,perhapsmore.Hehopedmore.
MorewouldkeepGracebusyforawhile.
Howfar?Tenmiles?Twenty?Hewouldn’tbeabletomaintainthispace,butaslongashekeptmoving,
heshouldbeclosetothehotelbydawnthenextday.
Hecouldhearthefirefightbehindhim.Sporadicpops,notcontinuousfire,whichmeantthatGracewas
beingmethodical.Thesoldierswouldbewearingtheeyepieces,eveningtheplayingfieldabit.Not
much,butabit.
Heabandonedanyattemptatstealthandhitthehighway,lopingdownthecenteroftheroad,asolitary
figureundertheimmensityofaleadensky.Amurderofcrowsathousandstrongwhippedandwheeled
overhim,headingnorth.Hekeptmoving,gruntingwithpain,everystridealesson,everyjoltingfootfalla
reminder.Histemperaturesoared,hislungsburned,hisheartslammedinhischest.Thefrictionfromthe
clothestoreopenthedelicatescabsandsoonhewasbleeding.Bloodplasteredhisshirttohisback,
soakedthroughthejeans.Hewaspushingit,heknew.Thesysteminstalledtomaintainhislifepastall
humanendurancecouldcrash.
Hecollapsedwhenthesundidbeneaththedomeofthesky,aslow-motionstumblingkindoffall,hitting
shoulderfirstandrollingtotheedgeoftheroad,wherehecametorestflatonhisback,armsspread
wide,numbfromthewaistdown,shakinguncontrollably,burninghotinthebitterair.Darknessrolled
overthefaceoftheEarth,andEvanWalkertumbleddowntothelightlessbottom,toahiddenroomthat
dancedinlightandherfacethesourceofthatlight,andhehadnoexplanationforit,howherfaceillumed
thelightlessplaceinside.You’remad.You’vegoneinsane.He’dthoughtso,too.Hefoughttokeepher
alivewhileeverynighthelefthertokilltherest.Whyshouldonelivethoughtheworlditselfwillperish?
Sheilluminedthelightless—herlifethelamp,thelaststarinadyinguniverse.
Iamhumanity,shehadwritten.Self-centered,stubborn,sentimental,childish,vain.Iamhumanity.
Cynical,naïve,kind,cruel,softasdown,hardastungstensteel.
Hemustgetup.Ifhecan’t,thelightwillgoout.Theworldwillbeconsumedbythecrushingdark.
Butthetotalityoftheatmospherepushedhimdownandheldhimunder,fivequadrilliontonsofbonebreakingforce.
Thesystemhadcrashed.Taxedpastitslimits,thealientechnologyinstalledinsidehishumanbodywhen
hewasthirteenhadshutdown.Therewasnothingtosustainorprotecthimnow.Burnedandbroken,his
humanbodywasnodifferentfromhisformerprey’s.Fragile.Delicate.Vulnerable.Alone.
Hewasnotoneofthem.Hewascompletelyoneofthem.WhollyOther.Fullyhuman.
Herolledontohisside.Hisbackspasmed.Bloodrushedintohismouth.Hespatitout.
Ontohisstomach.Thenknees.Thenhands.Hiselbowsquivered,hiswriststhreatenedtobuckleunderhis
ownweight.Self-centered,stubborn,sentimental,childish,vain.Iamhumanity.Cynical,
naïve,kind,cruel,softasdown,hardastungstensteel.
Iamhumanity.
Hecrawled.
Iamhumanity.
Hefell.
Iamhumanity.
Hegotup.
28
ALIFETIMELATER,fromhishidingplacebeneaththehighwayoverpass,Evanwatchedthedark-haired
girlsprintacrossthehotelparkinglot,crosstheinterstateaccessramp,trotafewhundredyardsnorthon
Highway68,thenpausebesideanSUVtolookbackatthebuilding.Hefollowedhergazetoasecondstorywindow,whereashadowflittedforaninstant,thenwasgone.
Mayfly.
Thedark-hairedgirlvanishedintothetreesborderingthehighway.Whyshehadleftandwhereshewas
goingwereunknown.Perhapsthegroupwassplittingup—itwouldincreasethechanceofsurvivalalittle
—orperhapsshewasscoutingamoresecurehidingplacetorideoutthewinter.Whicheverthecase,he
hadthesensehe’dfoundthemjustintime.
Thedark-hairedgirlwasone,leavingatleastfourinside,theoneshehadseenmanningthewindows.
Hedidnotknowifanyofthemhadsurvivedtheexplosion.Hewasn’tevensureithadbeenCassie’s
shadowinthewindow.
Notthatitmattered.He’dmadeapromise.Hehadtogoin.
Hecouldn’tapproachopenly.Thesituationwascomplicatedbytoomanyunknowns.Whatifitwasn’t
Cassiebutasquadof5thWavesoldierscutoffwhenthebaseblew—likethesquadhe’dleftinGrace’s
care?He’dbedeadbeforehecrossedadozenfeet.TheriskwasnearlyasgreatevenifitwasCassieand
agroupofsurvivors:Theymightdrophimbeforetheyrealizedwhohewas.
Goinginnow,though,poseditsownsetofrisks.Hedidn’tknowhowmanytherewereinside.Didn’t
knowifhecouldmanagetwo,muchlessfour,heavilyarmedtrigger-happykidsjackeduponadrenaline,
readytoblowawayanythingthatmoved.Thesystemthataugmentedhisbodyhadcrashed.
I’mfullyhuman,he’dtoldCassie.Nowthatwasliterallytrue.
Hewasstillweighingtheoptionswhenatinyfigureappearedintheparkinglot.Achildwearing5th
Wavefatigues.NotSam—Samhadbeendressedinthewhitejumpsuitoftheunderagedandnewly
processed—butyoung.Sixorseven,heguessed.Followingthesamerouteasthedark-hairedgirl,even
pausingbythesameSUVtolookbackatthehotel.Thistimehesawnoshadowinthewindow;whoever
hadbeentherewasgone.
Thatmadetwo.Weretheyabandoningthehoteloneatatime?Tactically,itmadesomesense.
Shouldn’thesimplywait,then,forCassietocomeout,ratherthanriskhislifegoingin?
Andthestarsspunoverhead,markingthetimewindingdown.
Hestartedtogetup,thensankback.Anotheroneexitedthehotel,muchlargerthantheonebefore,abig
kidwithalargehead,totingarifle.Threenow,noneofthemCassieorSamorthefriendfromCassie’s
highschool—whatwashisname?Ken?Witheachexodus,theoddsofCassienotbeinginthisgroup
increased.Shouldheevenattemptentry?
Hisinstinctsaidgo.Noanswers,noweapons,andhardlyanystrength.Instinctwasallhehadleft.
Hewent.
29
FOROVERFIVEYEARShe’dreliedonthegiftsthatmadehimsuperiortohumansinalmosteveryway.
Hearing.Eyesight.Reflexes.Agility.Strength.Thegiftshadspoiledhim.He’dforgottenwhatnormalfelt
like.
Hewasgettingacrashcoursenow.
Heslippedintoaground-floorroomthroughabroken-outwindow.Hobbledtothedoorandpressedhis
earagainstit,butallhecouldhearwasthethunderingofhisheart.Easingthedooropen,slidingintothe
hall,listening,waitinginvainforhiseyestoadjusttothedark.Downthehallandintothelobby.
Hisownbreath,frostinginthefrigidair,otherwisesilence.Apparentlythegroundfloorwasdeserted.
Heknewsomeonewasstandingatthesmallhallwaywindowupstairs;hecaughtaglimpseofhimashe
maneuveredhiswayintothebuilding.
Stairwell.Twoflights.Bythetimehereachedthesecondlanding,hewasdizzyfromthepainandoutof
breathfromtheeffort.Hetastedblood.Therewasnolight.Hewasentombedinutterdarkness.
Iftherewasonlyonepersonontheothersideofthisdoor,hehadseconds.Morethanoneandtimedidn’t
matter;hewasdead.Everyinstinctsaidwait.
Hewent.
Inthehallontheothersideofthedoorwasasmallkidwithextraordinarilylargeearsandamouthflying
openinastonishmentthemomentbeforeEvanlockedhiminthechokehold,pressinghisforearmhard
againstthekid’scarotid,cuttingoffthebloodsupplytohisbrain.Hedraggedhissquirmingcatchback
intotheblackpitofthestairwell.Thekidwentlimpbeforethedoorclickedshutagain.
Evanwaitedforafewsecondsontheotherside.Thehallhadbeenempty,thesnatchquickandrelatively
quiet.Itcouldbeawhilebeforetheothers—iftherewereothers—realizedtheirsentrywasgone.He
draggedthekidtothebottomofthestairsandtuckedhisunconsciousbodyintothesmallspacebetween
thestepsandthewall.Wentbackup.Crackedopenthedoor.Halfwaydownthehall,anotherdooropened
andtwoshadowyfiguresemerged.Hewatchedthemcrossthehallandenteranotherroom.They
reappearedamomentlaterandwenttoanotherdoor.
Theywerecheckingeachroom.Thestairswouldbenext.Ortheelevator;he’dforgottenaboutthe
elevator.Wouldtheydropdowntheshaftandtakethestairsfrombelow?
No.Ifthere’reonlytwo,they’llsplitup.Oneforthestairs,onedowntheshaft,andmeetupinthe
lobby.
Hewatchedthemcomeoutofthelastroom,thengototheelevator,whereoneheldthedoorswhilethe
otherdroppedoutofsightintotheshaft.Theonewhoremainedhadtroublestanding,holdinghisstomach
andgruntingsoftlyfromtheeffort,favoringonesideashelimpedtowardEvan.
Hewaited.Twentyfeet.Ten.Five.Holdingtherifleinhisrighthand,hisgutwithhisleft.Standingonthe
othersideofthedoor,Evansmiled.Ben.NotKen.Ben.
Foundyou.
ToodangeroustotrustthatBenwouldrecognizehimandnotshoothimonthespot.Heburstthroughthe
doorandrammedhisfistashardashecouldintoBen’swoundedstomach.Theblowknockedthebreath
outofhim,butBenrefusedtogodown.Rockingback,hebroughthisrifleup.Evanslungitto
onesideandhithimagain,samespot,andthistimeBenwentdown,droppingtohiskneesatEvan’sfeet.
Hisheadfellback.Theireyesmet.
“Iknewyouweren’tforreal,”Bengasped.
“Where’sCassie?”
Heknelt,grabbedtwofistfulsoftheyellowhoodieBenwaswearing,andbroughttheirfacesclose.
“Where’sCassie?”
Ifhehadbeenhisoldself,ifthesystemhadn’tcrashed,hewouldhaveseentheblurofthebladeasit
camearound,heardtheinfinitesimallysmallwhistleofitcuttingthroughtheair.Instead,hewasn’taware
oftheknifeuntilBenhadburieditinhisthigh.
Hefellback,draggingBenwithhim.HurledhimtoonesideasBenrippedtheknifefree.Evanslammed
hiskneedownonBen’swristtoneutralizethethreatandclampedbothhandsoverBen’sface,covering
hisnoseandmouthandpushinghard.Timespunout.Beneathhim,Benthrashedandkicked,whippedhis
headfromsidetoside,hisfreehandclawingfortheriflelessthananinchfromhisfingertips,andtime
froze.
ThenBenwentstillandEvanfellaway,gulpingair,drenchedinbloodandsweatandfeelingasifhis
bodymightburstintoflames.Notimetorecover,though:Downthehall,throughacrackinthedoor,a
small,heart-shapedfaceturnedhisway.
Sam.
Hepushedhimselftohisfeet,losthisbalance,careenedintothewall,fell.Backupagain,convincednow
itwasCassiewhohaddroppedintotheshaft,buthehadtosecureSamfirst,exceptthekidhadslammed
thedoorandwasnowscreamingobscenitiesthroughit,andthen,asEvandroppedhishandontheknob,
heopenedfire.
HethrewhimselfagainstthewallnexttothedoorwhileSamemptiedthemagazine.Whenthepause
came,hedidn’thesitate.Samhadtobeneutralizedbeforehecouldreload.
Evanhadachoice:kickopenthedoorwiththebadfootorputallhisweightonitwhilehekickedwith
theother.Neitheroptionwasgood.Hechosetokickwiththebrokenone;hecouldn’trisklosinghis
balance.
Threehard,sharpkicks.Threekicksthatproducedpainashe’dneverexperienceditbefore.Butthelock
brokewithaloudwallopandthedoorslammedintothewallontheotherside.Hefellintotheroomand
therewasCassie’sbrothercrab-crawlingtowardthewindowandsomehowEvanremainedupright,
somethingheldhimupandpropelledhimtowardthechild,handoutstretched,I’mhere,rememberme?I
savedyoubefore;I’llsaveyouagain...
Andthen,behindhim,thelastone,thefinalstar,theonehecarriedacrossaninfiniteseaofwhite,theone
thinghe’dfoundworthdyingfor,openedfire.
Andthebulletconnectedthemwhenitweddedbone,bindingthemtogetherasifbyasilvercord.
30
THEBOYSTOPPEDtalkingthesummeroftheplague.
Hisfatherhaddisappeared.Theirsupplyofcandlesranlowandheleftonemorningtofindmore.He
nevercameback.
Hismotherwassick.Herheadhurt.Sheachedallover.Evenherteethhurt,shetoldhim.Thenightswere
theworst.Herfevershotup.Hertummycouldn’tholdanythingdown.Thenextmorningshewouldfeel
better.MaybeI’llgetoverit,shesaid.Sherefusedtogotothehospital.They’dheardstories,terrible
stories,aboutthehospitalsandwalk-inclinicsandemergencyshelters.
Onebyone,familiesfledtheneighborhood.Lootingwasgettingbadandgangsroamedthestreetsatnight.
Themanwholivedtwodoorsdownwaskilled,shotinthehead,forrefusingtosharehisfamily’s
drinkingwater.Sometimesastrangerwanderedintotheneighborhoodandtoldstoriesofearthquakesand
wallsofwaterfivehundredfeethigh,floodingthelandasfareastasLasVegas.Thousandsdead.
Millions.
Whenhismotherbecametooweaktogetoutofbed,thebabybecamehisresponsibility.Theycalledhim
thebaby,buthewasactuallyalmostthree.Don’tbringhimnearme,hismothertoldhim.He’llgetsick.
Thebabywasn’tthatmuchwork.Hesleptalot.Heplayedonlyalittle.Hewasjustatinykid;hedidn’t
know.SometimeshewouldaskwherehisdaddywasorwhatwasthematterwithMommy.Mostofthe
time,heaskedforfood.
Theywererunningoutoffood.Buthismotherwouldn’tlethimleave.It’stoodangerous.You’llgetlost.
You’llgetabducted.You’llgetshot.Hewouldarguewithher.Hewaseightandverybigforhisage,the
targetofschool-yardtauntsandcruelinsultssincehewassix.Hewastough.Hecouldhandlehimself.
Butshewouldn’tlethimgo.Ican’tkeepanythingdownandyoucouldstandtolosealittleweight
anyway.Shewasn’tbeingcruel;shewastryingtobefunny.Hedidn’tthinkitwasfunny,though.
Thentheyweredowntotheirlastcanofcondensedsoupandwrapperofstalecrackers.Heheatedthe
soupinthefireplace,overafirehefedwithpiecesofbroken-upfurnitureandhisfather’soldhunting
magazines.Thebabyateallthecrackersbutsaidhedidn’twantthesoup.Hewantedmacandcheese.
Wedon’thavemacandcheese.Wehavesoupandcrackers,andthat’sallwehave.Thebabycriedand
rolledonthefloorinfrontofthefireplace,screamingformacandcheese.
Hebroughtacupofthesouptohismother.Herfeverwasbad.Thenightbefore,shehadstartedthrowing
upthelumpyblackstuff,whichwastheliningofherstomachmixedwithblood,thoughhedidn’tknow
thatthen.Shewatchedhimcomeintotheroomwithdead,expressionlesseyes,thefixedstareoftheRed
Death.
Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?Ican’teatthat.Takeitaway.
Hetookitawayandateitstandingatthekitchensinkwhilehisbabybrotherrolledonthefloorand
screamedandhismothersankdeeperintomindlessness,thevirusspreadingintoherbrain.Inthefinal
hours,hismotherwoulddisappear.Herpersonality,hermemory,thewhoofwhoshewas,surrendering
beforeherbody.Heatethelukewarmsoupandthenlickedthebowlclean.Hewouldhavetoleaveinthe
morning.Therewasnomorefood.Hewouldtellhislittlebrothertostayinsidenomatterwhatand
hewouldn’tcomebackuntilhefoundsomethingforthemtoeat.
Hesnuckoutthenextmorning.Helookedinabandonedgroceriesandconveniencestores.Helookedin
lootedrestaurantsandfast-foodplaces.HefoundDumpstersreekingofdecayingproduceand
overflowingwithtorn-opengarbagebagswheremanyhandsbeforehishadsearched.Bylateafternoon,
he’dfoundonlyoneediblemorsel:asmallcakeaboutthesizeofhispalm,stillinitsplasticwrapper,
underneathanemptyshelfinagasstation.Itwasgettinglate;thesunwasgoingdown.Hedecidedtogo
homeandreturnthenextmorning.Maybethereweremorecakesandotherkindsoffoodstashedorlost
andheneededtolookharder.
Whenhegothome,thefrontdoorwasajar.Herememberedclosingitbehindhim,soheknewsomething
waswrong.Heraninside.Hecalledforthebaby.Hewentroomtoroom.Helookedunderbedsand
insideclosetsandinthecarsthatsatcoldanduselessinthegarage.Hismothercalledhimintoherroom.
Wherehadhebeen?Thebabywouldn’tstopcryingforhim.Heaskedhismotherwherethebabywasand
shesnappedathim,Can’tyouhearhim?
Butheheardnothing.
Hewentoutsideandyelledthebaby’sname.Hecheckedthebackyard,walkedovertotheneighbor’s
houseandbangedonthedoor.Hebangedoneverydooronthestreet.Nobodyanswered.Eitherthe
peopleinsideweretooscaredtocomeoutortheyweresickordeadorjustgone.Hewalkedseveral
blocksoneway,thenseveralmoretheotherway,callinghisbrother’snameuntilhewashoarse.Anold
womantotteredoutontoherporchandscreamedathimtogoaway;shehadagun.Hewenthome.
Thebabywasgone.Hedecidednottotellhismother.Whatwouldshedoaboutit?Hedidn’twantherto
thinkhewasbadforleaving.Heshouldhavebroughthimalong,buthethoughtitwassaferathome.Your
homeisthesafestplaceonEarth.
Thatnight,hismothercalledtohim.Whereismybaby?Hetoldherthebabywasasleep.Itwastheworst
nightyet.Bloodytissueswaddedonthebed.Bloodytissuescrowdingthenightstand,litteringthefloor.
Bringmemybaby.
He’sasleep.
Iwanttoseemybaby.
Youmightmakehimsick.
Shecursedhim.Shetoldhimtogotohell.Shespatbloodyphlegmathim.Hestoodinthedoorway,
handsnervouslyfiddlinginhispockets,andthecakewrappercrackled,theplasticdamagedbytheheat.
Wherehaveyoubeen?
Lookingforfood.
Shegagged.Don’tsaythatword!
Watchinghimwithbrightred,bloodyeyes.
Whywereyoulookingforfood?Youdon’tneedanyfood.You’rethemostdisgustingpieceofpiglard
I’veeverseen.Youcouldlivetillwinteronjustyourbellyfat.
Hedidn’tsayanything.Heknewitwastheplaguetalking,nothismother.Hismotherlovedhim.
Whentheteasingatschoolgotbad,shewenttotheprincipalandsaidshewouldfilealawsuitifthe
bullyingdidn’tstop.
What’sthatnoise?What’sthathorriblenoise?
Hetoldherhedidn’thearanything.Shegotveryangry.Shestartedtocurseagainandbloodyspittle
spatteredontheheadboard.
It’scomingfromyou.Whatareyouplayingwithinyourpocket?
Therewasnothinghecoulddo.Hehadtoshowher.Hepulledoutthecakeandshescreamedforhimto
putitawayandnevertakeitoutagain.Nowonderhewassofat.Nowonderhisbabybrotherwas
starvingwhileheatecakesandcandiesandallthemacandcheese.Whatsortofmonsterwashethathe
ateallhisbabybrother’smacandcheese?
Hetriedtodefendhimself.Buteverytimehestartedtalking,shescreamedathimtoshutup,shutup,shut
UP.Hisvoicemadehersick.Hemadehersick.Hedidit.Hedidsomethingtoherhusbandandhedid
somethingtohisbabybrotherandhedidsomethingtoher,madehersick,poisonedher,hewaspoisoning
her.
Andeverytimehetriedtospeak,shescreamedathim.Shutup,shutup,shutUP.
Shediedtwodayslater.
Hewrappedherinacleansheetandcarriedherbodyintothebackyard.Hedousedthebodywithhis
father’scharcoallighterfluidandsetitonfire.Heburnedhismother’sbodyandallthebedding,too.
Hewaitedanotherweekforhisbabybrothertocomehome,butheneverdid.Hesearchedforhim—
andforfood.Hefoundfood,butnothisbrother.Hestoppedcallingforhim.Hestoppedtalking
altogether.Heshutup.
Sixweekslater,hewaswalkingdownahighwaydottedwithstalled-outcarsandwrecksofcarsand
trucksandmotorcycleswhenhesawblacksmokeinthedistanceand,afterafewminutes,thesourceof
thesmoke,ayellowschoolbusfullofchildren.Thereweresoldiersonthebusandthesoldiersaskedhis
nameandwherehewasfromandhowoldhewas,andlaterherememberednervouslystuffinghishands
inhispocketsandfindingtheoldpieceofcake,stillinitswrapper.
Piglard.Livetillwinteronyourbellyfat.
What’sthematter,kid?Can’tyoutalk?
Hisdrillsergeantheardthestoryofhowhecametocampwithnothingbuttheclothesonhisbackanda
pieceofcakeinhispocket.Beforeheheardthestory,thedrillsergeantcalledhimFatboy.Afterheheard
thestory,thedrillsergeantrenamedhimPoundcake.
Ilikeyou,Poundcake.Ilikethefactthatyou’reabornshooter.Ibetyoupoppedoutofyourmommawith
aguninonehandandadoughnutintheother.IlikethefactthatyougotthelooksofElmerFuddandthe
goddamnedheartofMufasa.AndIespeciallylikethefactthatyoudon’ttalk.Nobodyknowswhere
you’refrom,whereyou’vebeen,whatyouthink,howyoufeel.Hell,Idon’tknowandIdon’tgiveashit,
andyoushouldn’t,either.You’reamute-assed,stone-coldkillerfromtheheartofdarknesswithaheartto
match,aren’tyou,PrivatePoundcake?
Hewasn’t.
Notyet.
31
THEFIRSTTHINGIplannedtodowhenhewokeupwaskillhim.
Ifhewokeup.
Dumbowasn’tsurethatwouldhappen.“He’smessedupbad,”hetoldmeafterwestrippedhimdownand
Dumbogotagoodlookatthedamage.Stabbedinoneleg,shotintheother,coveredinburns,bones
broken,shakingwithahighfever—thoughwepiledcoversonhim,Evanstillshooksoviolentlythatit
lookedlikethebedwasvibrating.
“Sepsis,”Dumbomuttered.Henoticedmestaringdumblyathimandadded,“Whentheinfectiongetsinto
yourbloodstream.”
“Whatdowedo?”Iasked.
“Antibiotics.”
“Whichwedon’thave.”
Isatontheotherbed.Samscootedtothefoot,clutchingtheemptypistol.Herefusedtogiveitup.
Benwasleaningonthewall,cradlinghisrifleandeyeingEvanwarily,likehewassureanysecondEvan
wouldboltoutofbedandmakeanotherattempttotakeusout.
“Hedidn’thaveachoice,”ItoldBen.“Howcouldhejuststrollupinthedarkwithoutsomebodyshooting
him?”
“IwanttoknowwherePoundcakeandTeacupare,”Bensaidthroughgrittedteeth.
Dumbotoldhimtogetoffhisfeet.He’drepackedthebandages,butBenhadlostalotofblood.Ben
wavedhimaway.Hepushedhimselffromthewall,limpedtoEvan’sbedside,andwhackedhimacross
thecheekwiththebackofhishand.
“Wakeup!”Whack.“Wakeup,yousonofabitch!”
IshotfromthebedandgrabbedBen’swristbeforehecouldpopEvanagain.
“Ben,thiswon’t—”
“Fine.”Heyankedhisarmawayandlurchedtowardthedoor.“I’llfindthemmyself.”
“Zombie!”Samcalledout.Hepoppedupandrantohisside.“I’llcome,too!”
“Cutitout,bothofyou,”Isnapped.“Nobody’sgoinganywhereuntilwe—”
“What,Cassie?”Benyelled.“Untilwewhat?”
Mymouthopenedandnowordscameout.Samwastuggingonhisarm:Comeon,Zombie!Myfive-yearoldbrotherwavingaroundanemptygun;there’sametaphorforyou.
“Ben,listentome.Areyoulisteningtome?Yougoouttherenow—”
“Iamgoingouttherenow—”
“—andwemightloseyou,too!”Shoutingoverhim.“Youdon’tknowwhathappenedoutthere—
EvanprobablyknockedthemoutlikehedidyouandDumbo.Butmaybehedidn’t—maybethey’reonthe
waybackrightnow,andgoingoutthereisastupidrisk—”
“Don’tlecturemeaboutstupidrisks.Iknowallabout—”
Benswayed.Thecolordrainedfromhisfaceandhewentdowntooneknee,Samgrabbingfutilelyonhis
sleeve.DumboandIpulledhimupandgothimtotheemptybed,wherehefellback,cussingusand
cussingEvanWalkerandcussingthewholefucked-upsituationingeneral.Dumbowasgivingmea
deer-in-headlightslook,likeYougottheanswers,right?Youknowwhattodo,right?
Wrong.
32
IPICKEDUPDumbo’srifleandpusheditintothekid’schest.
“We’reblind,”Itoldhim.“Stairway,bothhallwindows,east-siderooms,west-siderooms,keepmoving
andkeepyoureyesopen.I’llstayherewiththealphamalesandtrytokeepthemfromkillingeachother.”
Dumbowasnoddinglikeheunderstood,buthewasn’tmoving.Iputmyhandsonhisshouldersand
focusedonhisjigglyeyes.“Stepup,Dumbo.Understand?Stepup.”
Hejerkedhisheadupanddown,ahumanPEZdispenser,andslumpedoutoftheroom.Leavingwasthe
lastthinghewantedtodo,butwe’dbeenatthatpointforalongtimenow,thepointofdoingthelastthing
wewantedtodo.
Behindme,Bengrowled,“Whydidn’tyoushoothiminthehead?Whytheknee?”
“Poeticjustice,”Imuttered.IsatnexttoEvan.Icouldseehiseyesquiveringbehindthelids.Hehadbeen
dead.I’dsaidgood-bye.NowhewasaliveandImightnotbeabletosayhello.We’reonlyaboutfour
milesfromCampHaven,Evan.Whattookyousolong?
“Wecan’tstayhere,”Benannounced.“ItwasabadcallsendingRingerahead.Iknewweshouldn’t’ve
splitup.We’rebuggingoutofhereinthemorning.”
“Howarewegoingtodothat?”Iasked.“You’rehurt.Evanis—”
“Thisisn’tabouthim,”Bensaid.“Well,Iguessitistoyou—”
“He’sthereasonyou’realiverightnowtobitch,Parish.”
“I’mnotbitching.”
“Yes,youare.You’rebitchinglikeajuniormissbeautyqueen.”
Sammylaughed.Idon’tthinkI’dheardmybrotherlaughsinceourmotherdied.Itstartledme,likefinding
alakeinthemiddleofadesert.
“Cassiecalledyouabitch,”SaminformedBen,incasehemissedit.
Benignoredhim.“Wewaitedhereforhimandnowwe’retrappedherebecauseofhim.Dowhatyou
want,Sullivan.Inthemorning,I’moutofhere.”
“Metoo!”Samssaid.
Bengotup,leanedonthesideofthebedforaminutetocatchhisbreath,thenhobbledtothedoor.
Samtrailedafterhim,andIdidn’ttrytostopeitheroneofthem.Whatwouldbethepoint?Bencracked
thedoorandcalledsoftlytoDumbonottoshoothim—hewascomingouttohelp.ThenEvanandIwere
alone.
IsatonthebedBenhadjustabandoned.Itwasstillwarmfromhisbody.IgrabbedSammy’sbearand
pulleditintomylap.
“Canyouhearme?”Iasked—Evan,notthebear.“Guesswe’reevennow,huh?Youshootmeintheknee;
Ishootyouintheknee.Youseemebuttnaked;Iseeyoubuttnaked.Youprayoverme;I—”
Theroomswamoutoffocus.ItookBearandpoppedEvaninthechestwithit.
“Andwhatwaswiththatridiculousjacketyouwerewearing?ThePinheads,that’saboutright.Thatnails
it.”Ihithimagain.“Pinhead.”Again.“Pinhead.”Again.“Andnowyou’regoingtocheckoutonme?
Now?”
Hislipsmovedandawordleakedoutslowly,likeairescapingfromatire.
“Mayfly.”
33
HISEYESOPENED.WhenIrecalledwritingabouttheirwarm,meltedchocolateness,somethinginme
wentgah.Whydidhehavethisknees-to-jellyeffectonme?Thatwasn’tme.WhydidIlethimkissand
cuddleandgenerallymopearoundaftermelikeaforlornlittlelostalienpuppy?Whowasthisguy?
Fromwhatwarpedversionofrealitydidhetransportintomyownpersonalwarpedversionofreality?
Noneofitfit.Noneofitmadesense.Fallinginlovewithmemightbelikemefallinginlovewitha
cockroach,butwhatdoyoucallmyreactiontohim?What’sthatcalled?
“Ifyouweren’tdyingandall,I’dtellyoutogotohell.”
“I’mnotdying,Cassie.”Flutterylids.Sweatyface.Shakyvoice.
“Okay,thengotohell.Youleftme,Evan.Inthedark,justlikethat,andthenyoublewuptheground
beneathme.Youcouldhavekilledallofus.Youabandonedmerightwhen—”
“Icameback.”
Hereachedouthishand.“Don’ttouchme.”NoneofyourcreepyVulcanmind-meldtricks.
“Ikeptmypromise,”hewhispered.
Well,whatsnarkycomebackdidIhaveforthat?Apromisewaswhatbroughtmetohiminthebeginning.
AgainIwasstruckbyhowreallyweirditwasthathewaswhereIhadbeenandIwaswherehehad
been.Hispromiseformine.Mybulletforhis.Downtostrippingeachothernakedbecausethere’sno
choice;clingingtomodestyintheageoftheOthersislikesacrificingagoattomakeitrain.
“Youalmostgotshotinthehead,moron,”Itoldhim.“Itdidn’toccurtoyoutojustshoutupthestairs,
‘Hey,it’sme!Holdyourfire!’?”
Heshookhishead.“Toorisky.”
“Oh,right.Muchmoreriskythanchancingyourheadgettingblownoff.Where’sTeacup?Where’s
Poundcake?”
Heshookhisheadagain.Who?
“Thelittlegirlwhotookoffdownthehighway.Thebigkidwhochasedafterher.Youmusthaveseen
them.”
Nowhenodded.“North.”
“Well,Iknowwhichdirectiontheywent...”
“Don’tgoafterthem.”
Thatbroughtmeupshort.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Itisn’tsafe.”
“Nowhereissafe,Evan.”
Hiseyeswererollingbackinhishead.Hewaspassingout.“There’sGrace.”
“Whatdidyousay?Grace?Asin‘AmazingGrace’orwhat?What’sthatmean,‘There’sgrace’?”
“Grace,”hemurmured,andthenheslippedaway.
34
ISTAYEDWITHHIMtilldawn.Sittingwithhimlikehesatwithmeintheoldfarmhouse.Hebroughtme
tothatplaceagainstmywillandthenmywillbroughthimtothisplace,andmaybethatmeantwesortof
ownedeachother.Orowedeachother.Anyway,nodebtiseverfullyrepaid,notreally,nottheonesthat
reallymatter.Yousavedme,hesaid,andbackthenIdidn’tunderstandwhatIhadsavedhimfrom.That
wasbeforehetoldmethetruthaboutwhohewas,andafterwardIthoughthemeantIhadsavedhimfrom
thatwholehumangenocide,mass-murdererthing.NowIwasthinkinghedidn’tmeanIsavedhimfrom
anything,butforsomething.Thetrickypart,theunanswerablepart,thepartthatscaredthecrapoutofme,
waswhatthatsomethingmightbe.
Hemoanedinhissleep.Hisfingersclawedatthecovers.Delirious.Beenthereanddonethat,too,
Evan.Itookhishand.Burnedandbruisedandbroken,andIhadwonderedwhattookhimsolongtofind
me?Hemusthavecrawledhere.Hishandwashot;hisfaceshonewithsweat.Forthefirsttimeit
occurredtomethatEvanWalkermightdie—sosoon,too,afterrisingfromthedead.
“You’regoingtolive,”Itoldhim.“Youhavetolive.Promise,Evan.Promisemeyou’regoingtolive.
Promiseme.”
Islippedalittle.Triednotto.Couldn’thelpit:
“That’llcompletethecircle,thenwe’redone;we’rebothdone,meandyou.YoushotmeandIlived.
Ishotyouandyoulive.See?That’showitworks.Askanybody.Plusthefactthatyou’reMr.TenCenturies-OldSuperbeingdestinedtosaveuspitifulhumansfromtheintergalacticswarm.That’syour
job.Whatyouwereborntodo.Orbredto.Whatever.Youknow,asplanstoconquertheworldgo,yours
hasbeenprettysucky.Almostayearintoitandwe’restillhere,andwho’stheoneflatonhisbacklikea
bugwithdroolonhischin?”
Actually,hedidhavesomedroolonhischin.Idabbeditupwithacorneroftheblanket.
Thedooropenedandbigol’Poundcakesteppedintotheroom.ThenDumbo,grinningfrombigeartobig
ear,thenBen,andfinallySam.FinallyasinnoTeacup.
“Howishe?”Benasked.
“Burningup,”Ianswered.“Delirious.Hekeepstalkingaboutgrace.”
Benfrowned.“Like‘AmazingGrace’?”
“Maybesayinggrace,likebeforeameal,”Dumbosuggested.“He’sprobablystarving.”
Poundcakelumberedovertothewindowandstareddownattheicyparkinglot.IwatchedhimEeyorewalkacrosstheroom,thenturnedtoBen.“Whathappened?”
“Hewon’tsay.”
“Thenmakehimsay.You’rethesarge,right?”
“Idon’tthinkhecan.”
“SoTeacup’svanishedandwedon’tknowwhereorwhy.”
“ShecaughtupwithRinger,”Dumboguessed.“AndRingerdecidedtotakehertothecaverns,notwaste
anytimebringingherback.”
IjerkedmyheadtowardPoundcake.“Wherewashe?”
“Foundhimoutside,”Bensaid.
“Doingwhat?”
“Just...hangingout.”
“Justhangingout?Really?YouguyseverwonderwhichteamPoundcakemightbeplayingfor?”
Benshookhisheadwearily.“Sullivan,don’tstart—”
“Seriously.Themuteactcouldbejustanact.Keepsyoufromhavingtoansweranyawkwardquestions.
Plusthefactthatitmakesalotofsenseplantingoneofyourownintoeachbrainwashedsquad,incase
anybodystartstowise—”
“Right,andbeforePoundcakeitwasRinger.”Benwaslosingit.“Nextit’llbeDumbo.Orme.Whenthe
guywhoadmittedhewastheenemyislyingrightthere,holdingyourhand.”
“Actually,I’mholdinghishand.Andheisn’ttheenemy,Parish.Ithoughtwecoveredthis.”
“Howdoweknowhedidn’tkillTeacup?OrRinger?Howdoweknowthat?”
“Oh,Christ,lookathim.Hecouldn’tkilla...a...”Itriedtothinkoftheproperthinghehadthestrength
tokill,buttheonlythingmyhungry,sleep-deprivedbraincouldcomeupwithwasmayfly,whichwould
havebeenareally,reallybadchoiceofwords.Likeaninadvertentomen,ifanomencanbeinadvertent.
BenwhippedaroundtoDumbo,whoflinched.IthinkhepreferredBen’swrathbedirectedatanybodybut
him.“Willhelive?”
Dumboshookhishead,thetipsofhisearsgrowingbrightpink.“It’sbad.”
“That’smyquestion.Howbad?Howsoonbeforehecantravel?”
“Notforawhile.”
“Damnit,Dumbo,when?”
“Acoupleweeks?Amonth?Hisankle’sbroke,butthat’snottheworst.Theinfection,thenyou’vegotthe
riskofgangrene...”
“Amonth?Amonth!”Benlaughedhumorlessly.“Hestormsthisplace,takesyouout,beatsthecrapoutof
me,andacouplehourslaterhecan’tmoveforamonth!”
“Thengo!”Ishoutedacrosstheroomathim.“Allofyou.Leavehimwithme,andwe’llfollowyouas
soonaswecan.”
Ben’smouth,whichhadbeenhangingopen,snappedclosed.SamwashoveringnearBen’sleg,onetiny
fingerhookedintohisbigbuddy’sbeltloop.Somethinginmyheartgavealittleatthesight.Bentoldme
theycalledmylittlebrother“Zombie’sdog”incamp,meaningeverfaithfullybyhisside.
Dumbowasnodding.“Makessensetome,Sarge.”
“Wehadaplan,”Bensaid.Hislipsbarelymoved.“Andwe’restickingtotheplan.IfRingerisn’tback
bythistimetomorrow,we’rebuggingout.”Heglaredatme.“Allofus.”Hejabbedhisthumbat
PoundcakeandDumbo.“Theycancarryyourboyfriend,ifheneedstobecarried.”
Benturned,bumpedintothewall,pinballedoffit,lurchedthroughthedoorandintothehall.
Dumbotrailedafterhim.“Sarge,where’reyou...?”
“Bed,Dumbo,bed!IgottaliedownorI’mgonnafalldown.Takethefirstwatch.Nugget—Sam—
whateveryournameis—whatareyoudoing?”
“I’mcomingwithyou.”
“Staywithyoursister.Wait.You’reright.She’sgotherhandsfull—literally.Poundcake!Sullivanhasthe
duty.Getsomeshut-eye,youbigmutemother...”
Hisvoicefadedaway.DumbocamebacktothefootofEvan’sbed.
“Sargeisstrungout,”heexplained,likeIneededhimtoexplain.“He’susuallyprettychill.”
“Metoo,”Isaid.“I’mthelaid-backtype.Noworries.”
Hewouldn’tgoaway.Hewaslookingatmeandhischeekswereasbrightredashisears.“Ishereally
yourboyfriend?”
“Who?No,Dumbo.He’sjustaguyImetonedaywhilehewastryingtokillme.”
“Oh.Good.”Heseemedrelieved.“He’slikeVosch,youknow.”
“He’snothinglikeVosch.”
“Imeanhe’soneofthem.”Loweringhisvoicelikehewassharingadarksecret.“Zombiesaysthey’renot
likethesetinybugsinourbrains,butsomehowtheydownloadedthemselvesintouslikeacomputervirus
orsomething.”
“Yeah.Somethinglikethat.”
“That’sweird.”
“Well,Iguesstheycouldhavedownloadedthemselvesintohousecats,butgoingthatroutewould’ve
madeourexterminationmoretime-consuming.”
“Onlybyamonthortwo,”Dumbosaid,andIlaughed.LikeSammy’s,minesurprisedme.Ifyouwantedto
separatehumansfromtheirhumanity,Ithought,killinglaughterwouldbeagoodplacetostart.Iwas
neververygoodathistory,butIwasprettysuredouchebagslikeHitlerdidn’tlaughverymuch.
“Istilldon’tgetit,”hewenton.“Whyoneofthemwouldbeonourside.”
“I’mnotsurehecompletelyunderstandstheanswertothatquestion.”
Dumbonodded,squaredhisshoulders,tookadeepbreath.Hewasdeadonhisfeet.Weallwere.Icalled
softlytohimbeforehesteppedoutside.
“Dumbo.”Ben’squestion,unanswered.“Ishegoingtomakeit?”
Hedidn’tsayanythingforalongtime.“IfIwereanalienandIcouldpickanybodyIwanted,”hesaid
slowly,“I’dpickareallystrongone.Andthen,justtomakesureI’dlivethroughthewar,I’dlike,Idon’t
know,makemyselfimmunetoeveryvirusandbacteriaonEarth.Oratleastresistant.Youknow,like
gettingyourdogvaccinatedforrabies.”
Ismiled.“You’reprettysmart,youknowthat,Dumbo?”
Heblushed.“That’sanicknamebasedonmyears.”
Heleft.Ihadtheeeriefeelingofbeingwatched.BecauseIwasbeingwatched:Poundcakestaredatme
fromhispostbythewindow.
“Andyou,”Isaid.“What’syourstory?Whydon’tyoutalk?”
Heturnedaway,andhisbreathfoggedthewindow.
35
“CASSIE!CASSIE,wakeup!”
Iboltedupright.I’dbeencurledupnexttoEvan,myheadpressedagainsthis,myhandinhis,andhowthe
helldidthathappen?Samwasstandingbesidethebed,pullingonmyarm.
“Getup,Sullivan!”
“Don’tcallmethat,Sams,”Imumbled.Thelightwasbleedingfromtheroom;itwaslateafternoon.
I’dsleptthroughtheday.“What...?”
Heputonefingertohislipsandpointedattheceilingwithanother.Listen.
Iheardit:theunmistakablesoundofachopper’srotors—faintbutgrowinglouder.Ijumpedfromthebed,
grabbedmyrifle,andfollowedSamintothehall,wherePoundcakeandDumbohuddledaroundBen,the
formerquarterbacksquattingonhishaunches,callingtheplay.
“Mightbejustapatrol,”hewaswhispering.“Notevenafterus.Thereweretwosquadsouttherewhen
thecampblew.Mightbearescuemission.”
“They’llpickupoursignatures,”Dumbosaid,panicking.“We’redone,Sarge.”
“Maybenot,”Bensaidhopefully.He’dgottenbacksomeofhismojo.“Hearit?Fadingalready...”
Nothisimagination:Thesoundwasfainter.Youhadtoholdyourbreathtohearit.Wehungthereinthe
hallforanothertenminutesuntilthesounddisappeared.Waitedanothertenanditdidn’tcomeback.
Benblewouthischeeks.
“Thinkwe’regood...”
“Forhowlong?”Dumbowantedtoknow.“Weshouldn’tstayheretonight,Sarge.Isayweheadforthe
cavernsnow.”
“AndchancemissingRingeronherwayback?”Benshookhishead.“Orriskthatchoppercomingback
whilewe’reexposed?No,Dumbo.Westicktotheplan.”
Hepushedhimselftohisfeet.Hiseyesfellonmyface.“What’supwithBuzzLightyear?Nochange?”
“HisnameisEvanandno.Nochange.”
Bensmiled.Idon’tknow,maybeimminentperilmadehimfeelmorealivesomehow,forthesamereason
zombiesarecarnivoreswithonlyoneitemonthemenu.Youneverheardofundeadvegetarians.
Where’sthechallengeinattackingaplateofasparagus?
Samsgiggled.“Zombiecalledyourboyfriendaspaceranger.”
“Heisn’taspaceranger—andwhyiseveryonecallinghimmyboyfriend?”
Ben’ssmilebroadened.“He’snotyourboyfriend?Buthekissedyou...”
“Fullon?”Dumboasked.
“Oh,yeah.Twice.That’swhatIsaw.”
“Withtongue?”
“Ewww.”Sammymouth’sformedasourlemonpout.
“Ihaveagun,”Iannounced,onlyhalfjoking.
“Ididn’tseeanytongue,”Bensaid.
“Wantto?”Istuckmytongueoutathim.Dumbolaughed.EvenPoundcakesmiled.
That’swhenthegirlappeared,steppingintothehallwayfromthestairwell,andtheneverythinggotvery
strange,veryfast.
36
AMUD-(oritcouldhavebeenblood-)stained,tatteredpinkHelloKittyT-shirt.Apairofshortsthatonce
hadbeentan,maybe,fadedtoadirtywhite.Grungywhiteflip-flopswithacouplestubbornrhinestones
clingingtothestraps.Anarrow,pixieishfacedominatedbyhugeeyes,toppedbyamassoftangleddark
hair.Andyoung,aroundSammy’sage,thoughshewassothin,herfacelookedlikealittleoldlady’s.
Nobodysaidanything.Wewereshocked.Seeingheratthefarendofthehall,teethchattering,knobby
kneesknockinginthefreezingcold,wasanotherCampAshpit,yellow-school-bus-pulling-up-whenschool-would-never-exist-againmoment.Somethingthatsimplycouldnotbe.
ThenSammywhispered,“Megan?”
AndBensaid,“WhothehellisMegan?”Whichwasverymuchwhattherestofuswerethinking.
Samtookoffbeforeanybodycouldgrabhim.Pulleduphalfwaytoher.Thelittlegirldidn’tmove.
Didn’thardlyblink.Hereyesseemedtoshineinthedwindlinglight,brightandbirdlike,likeawizened
owl’s.
Samturnedtousandsaid,“Megan!”Asifhewerepointingouttheobvious.“It’sMegan,Zombie.
Shewasonthebuswithme!”Heturnedbacktoher.“Hi,Megan.”Casually,liketheyweremeetingupat
themonkeybarsforaplaydate.
“Poundcake,”Bensaidsoftly.“Checkthestairs.Dumbo,takethewindows.Thensweepthefirstfloor,
bothofyou.There’snowayshe’salone.”
Shespoke,andhervoicecameoutinahigh-pitched,scratchywhinethatremindedmeoffingernails
scrapingacrossablackboard.
“Mythroathurts.”
Herbigeyesrolledbackinherhead.Herkneesbuckled.Samracedtowardher,buthewastoolate:She
wentdownhard,smackingthethincarpetingwithherforeheadasecondbeforeSamcouldreachher.Ben
andIrushedover,andhebentdowntopickherup.Ipushedhimaway.
“Youshouldn’tbeliftinganything,”Iscoldedhim.
“Shedoesn’tweighanything,”heprotested.
Ipickedherup.Hewasnearlyright.Meganweighedlittlemorethanasackofflour;bonesandskinand
hairandteethandthat’saboutit.IcarriedherintoEvan’sroom,putherintheemptybed,andpiledsix
layersofblanketsoverherquakinglittlebody.ItoldSamtofetchmyriflefromthehall.
“Sullivan,”Bensaidfromthedoorway.“Thisdoesn’tfit.”
Inodded.Worsethantheoddsofherluckingintothishotelatrandomweretheoddsofhersurvivingthis
weatherinhersummeroutfit.BenandIwerethinkingthesamething:Twentyminutesafterourhearingthe
chopper,Li’lMissMeganappearedonourdoorstep.
Shedidn’twanderinhereonherown.Shewasdelivered.
“Theyknowwe’rehere,”Isaid.
“Butinsteadoffirebombingthebuilding,theydropherin.Why?”
Samcamebackwithmyrifle.Hesaid,“That’sMegan.WemetonthebusonthewaytoCampHaven,
Cassie.”
“Smallworld,huh?”Ipushedhimawayfromthebed,towardBen.“Thoughts?”
Herubbedhischin.Irubbedmyneck.Toomanythoughtsskitteringaroundbothourheads.Istaredathim
rubbinghischinandhestaredatmerubbingmyneck,andthat’swhenhesaid,“Tracker.
They’veimplantedherwithapellet.”
Ofcourse.ThatmustbewhyBen’sincharge.He’stheIdeaMan.ImassagedthebackofMegan’spencilthinneck,probingforthetelltalelump.Nothing.IlookedatBenandshookmyhead.
“Theyknowwe’dlookthere,”hesaidimpatiently.“Searchher.Everyinch,Sullivan.Sam,youcomewith
me.”
“Whycan’tIstay?”Samwhined.Afterall,he’djustreunitedwithalong-lostfriend.
“Youwanttoseeanakedgirl?”Benmadeaface.“Gross.”
BenpushedSamoutthedoorandbackedoutoftheroom.Idugmyknucklesintomyeyes.Damnit.
Goddamnit.Ipulledthecoverstothefootofthebed,exposingherwastedbodytothedyinglightofa
midwinter’sevening.Coveredinscabsandbruisesandopensoresandlayersofdirtandgrime,whittled
downtoherbonesbythehorriblecrueltyofindifferenceandthebrutalindifferenceofcruelty,shewas
oneofusandshewasallofus.ShewastheOthers’masterwork,theirmagnumopus,humanity’spastand
itsfuture,whattheyhaddoneandwhattheypromisedtodo,andIcried.IcriedforMeganandIcriedfor
meandIcriedformybrotherandIcriedforalltheonestoostupidorunluckytobedeadalready.
Suckitup,Sullivan.We’rehere,thenwe’regone,andthatwastruebeforetheycame.That’salways
beentrue.TheOthersdidn’tinventdeath;theyjustperfectedit.Gavedeathafacetoputbackinour
face,becausetheyknewthatwastheonlywaytocrushus.Itwon’tendonanycontinentorocean,no
mountainorplain,jungleordesert.Itwillendwhereitbegan,whereithadbeenfromthebeginning,
onthebattlefieldofthelastbeatinghumanheart.
Istrippedherofthefilthy,threadbaresummerclothes.IspreadherarmsandlegsliketheDaVinci
drawingofthenakeddudeinsidethebox,containedwithinthecircle.Iforcedmyselftogoslowly,
methodically,startingwithherheadandmovingdownherbody.Iwhisperedtoher,“I’msorry,I’mso
sorry,”pressing,kneading,probing.
Iwasn’tsadanymore.IthoughtofVosch’sfingerslammingdownonthebuttonthatwouldfrymyfiveyear-oldbrother’sbrains,andIwantedtotastehisbloodsobadly,mymouthbegantowater.
Yousayyouknowhowwethink?ThenyouknowwhatI’mgoingtodo.I’llripyourfaceoffwithapair
oftweezers.I’lltearyourheartoutwithasewingneedle.I’llbleedyououtwithsevenbilliontiny
cuts,oneforeachoneofus.
That’sthecost.That’stheprice.Getready,becausewhenyoucrushthehumanityoutofhumans,
you’releftwithhumanswithnohumanity.
Inotherwords,yougetwhatyoupayfor,motherfucker.
37
ICALLEDBENintotheroom.
“Nothing,”Itoldhim.“AndIchecked...everywhere.”
“Whataboutherthroat?”Bensaidquietly.Hecouldheartheresidualrageinmyvoice.Hegotthathe
wastalkingtoacrazypersonandhadtotreadlightly.“Rightbeforeshefainted,shesaidherthroathurt.”
Inodded.“Ilooked.There’snopelletinher,Ben.”
“Areyoupositive?‘Mythroathurts’isaveryweirdthingforafreezing,malnourishedkidtosaythe
minutesheshowsup.”
Hesidledovertothebed,Idon’tknow,maybebecausehewasconcernedImightjumphiminamoment
ofmisplacedfury.Notthatthat’severhappened.Hegingerlypressedonehandtoherforeheadwhile
pryinghermouthopenwiththeother.Stuckhiseyeclose.“Hardtoseeanything,”hemuttered.
“That’swhyIusedthis,”Isaid,handinghimSam’scamp-issuedpenlight.
Heshonethelightdownherthroat.“It’sprettyred,”heobserved.
“Right.Whichiswhyshesaidithurt.”
Benscratchedhisstubble,worryingovertheproblem.“Not‘helpme’or‘I’mcold’oreven
‘resistanceisfutile.’Just‘mythroathurts.’”
Icrossedmyarmsovermychest.“‘Resistanceisfutile’?Really?”
Samwashoveringinthedoorway.Bigbrownsaucereyes.“Issheokay,Cassie?”heasked.
“She’salive,”Isaid.
“Sheswallowedit!”Bensaid.TheIdeaMan.“Youdidn’tfinditbecauseit’sinherstomach!”
“Thosetrackingdevicesarethesizeofagrainofrice,”Iremindedhim.“Whywouldswallowingonehurt
herthroat?”
“I’mnotsayingthedevicehurtherthroat.Herthroathasnothingtodowithit.”
“Thenwhyareyousoworriedaboutitbeingsore?”
“Here’swhatI’mworriedabout,Sullivan.”Hewastryingveryhardtostaycalm,becauseclearly
somebodyhadtobe.“Hershowingupoutofthebluelikethiscouldmeanalotofthings,butnoneofthose
thingscouldbeagoodthing.Infact,itcanonlybeabadthing.Averybadthingmadeevenbadderbythe
factthatwedon’tknowthereasonshewassenthere.”
“Badder?”
“Ha-ha.Thedumbjockwhocan’ttalktheQueen’sEnglish.IsweartoGod,thenextpersonwhocorrects
mygrammargetspunchedintheface.”
Isighed.Theragewasleachingoutofme,leavingmeahollow,bloodless,human-shapedlump.
BenlookedatMeganforalongmoment.“Wehavetowakeherup,”hedecided.
ThenDumboandPoundcakecrowdedintotheroom.“Don’ttellme,”BensaidtoPoundcake,whoof
coursewouldn’t.“Youdidn’tfindnothing.”
“Anything,”Dumbocorrectedhim.
Bendidn’tpunchhimintheface.Buthedidholdouthishand.“Givemeyourcanteen.”Heunscrewedthe
capandheldthecontaineroverMegan’sforehead.Adropofwaterhungquiveringon
thelipforaneternity.
Beforeeternityended,acroakyvoicespokeupbehindus.“Iwouldn’tdothatifIwereyou.”
EvanWalkerwasawake.
38
EVERYBODYFROZE.Eventhedropofwater,swellingattheedgeofthecanteen’smouth,heldstill.
Fromhisbed,Evanwatcheduswithred,fever-brighteyes,waitingforsomeonetoasktheobvious
question,whichBenfinallydid:“Why?”
“Wakingherlikethatcouldmakehertakeaverydeepbreath,andthatwouldbebad.”
Benturnedtofacehim.Thewaterdribbledontothecarpet.“Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”
Evanswallowed,grimacingfromtheeffort.Hisfacewasaswhiteasthepillowcasebeneathit.“Sheis
implanted—butnotwithatrackingdevice.”
Ben’slipstightenedintoahard,whiteline.Hegotitbeforetherestofus.HewhippedonDumboand
Poundcake.“Out.Sullivan,youandSam,too.”
“I’mnotgoinganywhere,”Itoldhim.
“Youshould,”Evansaid.“Idon’tknowhowfinelyit’sbeencalibrated.”
“Howfinelywhat’sbeencalibratedtowhat?”Idemanded.
“TheincendiarydevicetoCO.”Hiseyescutaway.Thenextwordswerehardforhim.“Ourbreath,2
Cassie.”
Everybodyunderstoodbythatpoint.Butthere’sadifferencebetweenunderstandingandaccepting.
Theideawasunacceptable.Afterallwehadexperienced,therewerestillplacesourmindssimply
refusedtogo.
“Getdownstairsnow,allofyou,”Bensnarled.
Evanshookhishead.“Notfarenough.Youshouldleavethebuilding.”
BengrabbedDumbo’sarmwithonehandandPoundcake’swiththeotherandslungthemtowardthedoor.
Samhadbackedintothebathroomentrance,tinyfistpressedagainsthismouth.
“Also,somebodyshouldopenthatwindow,”Evangasped.
IpushedSamintothehall,trottedovertothewindow,andpushedhardagainsttheframe,butitwouldn’t
budge,probablyfrozenshut.Benpushedmeoutofthewayandsmashedouttheglasswiththebuttofhis
rifle.Freezingairrushedintotheroom.BenstrodebacktoEvan’sbedandconsideredhimforasecond
beforegrabbingahandfulofhishairandyankinghimforward.
“Yousonofabitch...”
“Ben!”Iputmyhandonhisarm.“Lethimgo.Hedidn’t—”
“Oh,right.Iforgot.He’sagoodevilalien.”Heletgo.Evanfellback;hedidn’thavethestrengthtostay
up.ThenBensuggestedhedosomethingtohimselfthatwasanatomicallyimpossible.
Evan’seyescutovertome.“Inherthroat.Suspendeddirectlyabovetheepiglottis.”
“She’sabomb,”Bensaid,hisvoicequaveringwithrageanddisbelief.“Theytookachildandturnedher
intoanIED.”
“Canweremoveit?”Iasked.
Evanshookhishead.“How?”
“That’swhatshe’saskingyou,dipshit,”Benbarked.
“TheexplosiveisconnectedtoaCOdetectorimbeddedinherthroat.Iftheconnection’slost,it2
detonates.”
“Thatdoesn’tanswermyquestion,”Ipointedout.“Canweremoveitwithoutblowingourselvesinto
orbit?”
“It’sfeasible...”
“Feasible.Feasible.”Benwaslaughingthisweird,hiccuppingkindoflaugh.Iwasworriedthathemight
befallingovertheproverbialedge.
“Evan,”IsaidassoftlyandcalmlyasIcould.“Canwedoitwithout...”Icouldn’tsayit,andEvan
didn’tmakeme.
“Theoddsofitnotdetonatingarealotbetterifyoudid.”
“Doitwithout...what?”Benwashavingahardtimefollowing.Nothisfault.Hewasstillflailinginthe
unthinkableplacelikeapoorswimmercaughtinariptide.
“Killingherfirst,”Evanexplained.
39
BENANDICONVENEDthelatestoh-we’re-screwedplanningmeetinginthehallway.Benordered
everybodyelsetogoacrosstheparkinglotandhideinthedineruntilhegavethemtheall-clear—orthe
hotelblewup,whichevercamefirst.Samrefused.Bengotstern.Samtearedupandpouted.Ben
remindedhimthathewasasoldierandagoodsoldierfollowsorders.Besides,ifhestayed,whowas
goingtoprotectPoundcakeandDumbo?
Beforeheleft,Dumbosaid,“I’mthemedic.”He’dfiguredoutwhatBenwasupto.“Ishoulddoit,
Sarge.”
Benshookhishead.“Getoutofhere,”hesaidtersely.
Thenwewerealone.Ben’seyeswouldnotstaystill.Thetrappedcockroach.Thecorneredrat.The
fallingman,offthecliffandnoscrawnyshrubtograsp.
“Well,Iguessthebigriddle’sbeenanswered,huh?”hesaid.“WhatIdon’tgetiswhytheydidn’tjust
wasteuswithacoupleofHellfiremissiles.Theyknowwe’rehere.”
“Nottheirstyle,”Isaid.
“Style?”
“Hasn’titeverstruckyouhowpersonalit’sbeen—fromthebeginning?There’ssomethingaboutkillingus
thatgetsthemoff.”
Benlookedatmewithsickwonder.“Yeah.Well.Icanseewhyyou’dwanttodateoneofthem.”Notthe
thingtosay.Herealizeditimmediatelyandquicklybackedoff.“Who’rewekidding,Cassie?
There’snothingreallytodecide,exceptwho’sgoingtodoit.Maybeweshouldflipacoin.”
“MaybeitshouldbeDumbo.Didn’tyoutellmehetrainedinfieldsurgeryatthecamp?”
Hefrowned.“Surgery?You’rekidding,right?”
“Well,howelsearewe...?”ThenIunderstood.Couldn’taccept,butunderstood.Iwaswrongabout
Ben.Hehaddroppedfartherthanmeintothatunthinkableplace.Hewasfivethousandfathomsdown.
Hereadthelookonmyfaceanddroppedhischintowardhischest.Hisfacewasflushed.Not
embarrassedsomuchasangry,intenselyangry,theangerthat’spastallwords.
“No,Ben.Wecan’tdothat.”
Heliftedhishead.Hiseyesshone.Hishandsshook.“Ican.”
“No,youcan’t.”BenParishwasdrowning.Hewassofarunder,Iwasn’tsureIcouldreachhim,wasn’t
sureIhadthestrengthtopullhimbacktothesurface.
“Ididn’taskforthis,”hesaid.“Ididn’taskforanyofthis!”
“Neitherdidshe,Ben.”
HeleanedcloseandIsawadifferentkindoffeverburninginhiseyes.“I’mnotworriedabouther.
Anhourago,shedidn’texist.Understand?Shewasnothing,literallynothing.Ihadyou,andIhadyour
littlebrother,andIhadPoundcakeandDumbo.Shewastheirs.Shebelongstothem.Ididn’ttakeher.I
didn’ttrickherintogettingonabusandtellhershewasperfectlysafeandthenstuffabombdownher
throat.Thisisn’tmyfault.Itisn’tmyresponsibility.Myjobistokeepmyassandyourassaliveforas
longaspossible,andifthatmeanssomebodyelsewhoisnothingtomedies,thenIguessthat’swhatit
means.”
Iwasn’tholdingupwell.Hewastoodeep,therewastoomuchpressure,Icouldn’tbreathe.
“That’sit,”hesaidbitterly.“Cry,Cassie.Cryforher.Cryforallthechildren.Theycan’thearyouand
theycan’tseeyouandtheycan’tfeelhowreallybadyoufeel,butcryforthem.Atearforeachofthem,
fillupthefuckingocean,cry.
“YouknowI’mright.YouknowIdon’thaveachoice.AndyouknowRingerwasright.It’sabouttherisk.
It’salwaysbeenabouttherisk.Andifonelittlegirlhastodiesosixpeoplecanlive,thenthat’stheprice.
That’stheprice.”
Hepushedpastmeandlimpeddownthehalltothebrokendoor,andIcouldn’tmove,Icouldn’tspeak.I
didn’tliftafingerorframeanargumenttostophim.I’dreachedtheendofwords,andgesturesseemed
pointless.
Stophim,Evan.Please,stophim,becauseIcan’t.
Inthesaferoomunderground,theirfaceslifteduptome,andmysilentprayer,myhopelesspromise:
Climbontomyshoulders,climbontomyshoulders,climbontomyshoulders.
Hewouldn’tshoother.Becauseoftherisk.He’dsmotherher.Placeapillowoverherfaceandpressuntil
hedidn’tneedtopressanymore.Hewouldn’tleaveherbodythere:therisk.Hewouldcarryitoutside,
buthewouldn’tburyitorburnit:therisk.Hewouldtakeitfarintothewoodsandtossitonthefrozen
groundlikesomuchtrashforthebuzzardsandcrowsandinsects.Therisk.
Isankdownthewallanddrewmykneestomychest,duckedmyhead,andcovereditupwithmyarms.I
stoppedmyears.Iclosedmyeyes.AndtherewasVosch’sfingerslammingdownonthebutton,Ben’s
handsholdingthepillow,myfingeronthetrigger.Sam,Megan.TheCrucifixSoldier.AndRinger’svoice,
speakingoutofthesilentdark:Sometimesyou’reinthewrongplaceatthewrongtimeandwhat
happensisnobody’sfault.
AndwhenBencameout,alltornupandempty,IwouldgetupandIwouldgotohimandIwouldcomfort
him.Iwouldtakethehandthatmurderedachildandwewouldgrieveforourselvesandthechoiceswe
madethatweren’tchoicesatall.
Bencameout.Hesatagainstthewalltendoorsdown.Afteraminute,Igotupandwenttohim.Hedidn’t
lookup.Herestedhisforearmsonhisupraisedkneesandbowedhishead.Isatnexttohim.
“You’rewrong,”Isaid.Hetwirledhishand:Whatever.“Shedidbelongtous.Theyallbelongtous.”
Hisheadfellbackagainstthewall.“Hearthem?Thosemother-effingrats.”
“Ben,Ithinkyouneedtogo.Now.Don’twaittillmorning.TakeDumboandPoundcakeandgettothe
cavernsasfastasyoucan.”MaybeRingercouldhelphim.Helistenedtoher,alwaysseemedalittle
intimidatedbyher,evenawed.
Helaughedfromaspotdeepinhisgut.“I’mkindofbusteduprightnow.Broke.I’mbroke,Sullivan.”He
lookedatme.“AndWalkerisinnoshapetodoit.”
“Noshapetodowhat?”
“Cutthedamnthingout.You’retheonlyoneherewhohashalfachance.”
“Youdidn’t...?”
“Icouldn’t.”
Helaughedagain.Hisheadbrokethesurfaceandhetookadeep,life-givingbreath.
“Icouldn’t.”
40
THEROOMWHEREshelaywascolderthanawalk-infreezer,andEvanwassittingupnow,watching
measIwalkedin.ApillowonthefloorwhereBenhaddroppedit,andmepickingitupandsittingatthe
footofEvan’sbed.Ourbreathscongealingandourheartsbeatingandthesilencethickeningbetweenus.
UntilIsaid,“Why?”
Andhesaid,“Toblowapartwhatremains.Tobreakthefinal,unbreakablebond.”
Ihuggedthepillowtomychestandrockedslowlybackandforth.Cold.Socold.
“Noonecanbetrusted,”Isaid.“Notevenachild.”Thecoldboreddowntomybonesandcurledinside
themarrow.“Whatareyou,EvanWalker?Whatareyou?”
Hewouldn’tlookatme.“Itoldyou.”
Inodded.“Yes,youdid.Mr.GreatWhiteShark.I’mnot,though.Notyet.We’renotgoingtokillher,
Evan.I’mgoingtopullitout,andyou’regoingtohelpme.”
Hedidn’targue.Heknewbetter.
Benhelpedmegatherthesuppliesbeforehelefttojointheothersinthedineracrosstheparkinglot.
Washcloth.Towels.Acanofairfreshener.Dumbo’sfieldkit.Wesaidgood-byeatthestairwaydoor.I
toldhimtobecareful,thereweresomeslipperyratgutsonthewaydown.
“Ilostitbackthere,”hesaid,loweringhiseyesandscrubbinghisfootacrossthecarpetlikean
embarrassedlittleboycaughtinalie.“Thatwasn’tcool.”
“Yoursecretissafewithme.”
Hesmiled.“Sullivan...Cassie...incaseyoudon’t...Iwantedtotellyou...”
Iwaited.Ididn’tpushhim.
“Theymadeamajormistake,”heblurtedout,“thedumbbastards,whentheydidn’tstartbykillingyou
first.”
“BenjaminThomasParish,thatwasthesweetestandmostbizarrecomplimentanyone’severgivenme.”
Ikissedhimonthecheek.Hekissedmeonthemouth.
“Youknow,”Iwhispered,“ayearago,Iwouldhavesoldmysoulforthat.”
Heshookhishead.“Notworthit.”And,forone–tenthousandthofasecond,allofitfellaway,thedespair
andgriefandangerandpainandhunger,andtheoldBenParishrosefromthedead.Theeyesthat
impaled.Thesmilethatslayed.Inanothermoment,hewouldfade,slidebackintothenewBen,theone
calledZombie,andIunderstoodsomethingIhadn’tbefore:Hewasdead,theobjectofmyschoolgirl
desires,justastheschoolgirlwhodesiredhimwasdead.
“Getoutofhere,”Itoldhim.“Andifyouletanythinghappentomylittlebrother,I’llhuntyoudownlikea
dog.”
“Imaybedumb,butI’mnotthatdumb.”
Hedisappearedintotheabsolutedarkofthestairwell.
Iwentbacktotheroom.Icouldn’tdothis.Ihadtodothis.Evanscootedbackinthebeduntilhisbutt
touchedtheheadboard.IslidmyarmsbeneathMeganandslowlyliftedher,turned,andthen
loweredhercarefullyontoEvan,leaningherheadbackintohislap.Ipickedupthespraycanofair
freshener(ADelicateBlendofEssences!)andsaturatedthewashcloth.Myhandswereshaking.Noway
couldIdothis.NowayIcouldn’t.
“Afive-prongedhook,”Evansaidquietly.“Embeddedbeneaththerighttonsil.Don’ttrytopullitout.Get
agoodgriponthewire,makethecutasclosetothehookasyoucan,thenpullthehookout—
slowly.Ifthewirecomesloosefromthecapsule...”
Inoddedimpatiently.“Kaboom.Iknow.Youalreadytoldmethat.”
Iopenedthemedkitandtookoutapairoftweezersandsurgicalscissors.Small,buttheyseemedhuge.I
clickedonthepenlightandstuckthebuttendbetweenmyteeth.
IhandedEvanthewashclothreekingofpine.HepressedtheclothoverMegan’snoseandmouth.Her
bodyjerked,hereyelidsflutteredopen,hereyesrolledtothebackofherhead.Herhands,foldedprimly
inherlap,twitched,becamestill.Evandroppedtheclothontoherchest.
“IfshewakesupwhileI’minthere...”Isaidaroundtheflashlight,soundinglikeaverybad
ventriloquist:Ehcheewecksuh...
Evannodded.“Ahundredwaysitcangowrong,Cassie.”
Hetiltedherheadbackandforcedhermouthopen.Istareddownaglisteningredtunnelthewidthofa
razorandamiledeep.Tweezersinmylefthand.Scissorsinmyright.Bothhandsthesizeoffootballs.
“Canyouopenitanywider?”Iasked.
“IfIopenitanywider,I’lldislocateherjaw.”
Well,inthegrandschemeofthings,adislocatedjawwasbetterthanbeingabletopickupourpieceswith
thispairoftweezers.Butwhatever.
“Thisone?”Touchingthetonsilgentlywiththeendofthetweezers.
“Ican’tsee.”
“Whenyousaidrighttonsil,youmeantherright,notmyright,right?”
“Herright.Yourleft.”
“Okay,”Ibreathed.“Justwantedtomakesure.”
Icouldn’tseewhatIwasdoing.Ihadthetweezersdownherthroatbutnotthescissors,andIdidn’tknow
howIwasgoingtostuffbothinthetinymouthofthislittlegirl.
“Hookthewirewiththeendofthetweezers,”Evansuggested.“Thenveryslowlyliftitupsoyoucansee
whatyou’redoing.Don’tyank.Ifthewiredisconnectsfromthecapsule—”
“DearJesusChrist,Walker,youdon’thavetowarnmeeverytwominuteswhathappensifthefreaking
wiredisconnectsfromthefreakingcapsule!”Ifeltthetipofthetweezerscatchonsomething.
“Okay,IthinkI’vegotit.”
“It’sverythin.Black.Shiny.Yourlightshouldreflect—”
“Pleasebequiet.”Or,inpenlightspeak:Pweezbeqwiwet.
Mywholebodywasshakingbutmyhands,miraculously,hadbecomerocksteady.Iforcedmyrighthand
intohermouthbypushingagainsttheinsideofhercheek,maneuveringthetipsofthescissorsinto
position.Wasthatit?DidIactuallyhaveit?Thewire,ifthatwasthewireshininginmylight,wasasthin
asastrandofhumanhair.
“Slowly,Cassie.”
“Shut.Up.”
“Ifsheswallowsit—”
“Iamgoingtokillyou,Evan.Seriously.”Ihadthewirenow,pinchedbetweenthetinesofthetweezers.I
couldseethetinyhookembeddedinherenflamedfleshasItugged.Slow,slow,slow.Makesureyoucut
ontherightendofthewire.Theclawend.
“You’retooclose,”hewarnedme.“Stoptalkinganddon’tbreathedirectlyintohermouth...”
Right.Soinstead,IthinkI’mgoingtopunchyoudirectlyinyours.
Ahundredwaysitcouldgowrong,hesaid.Butthere’swrongways,reallywrongways,andreallyreally
wrongways.WhenMegan’seyesflippedopenandherbodybuckedbeneathmine,wewentdownareally
reallyone.
“She’sawake!”Iyelledunnecessarily.
“Don’tletgoofthewire!”heshoutedback,necessarily.
Herteethclampeddownhardonmyhand.Herheadwhippedfromsidetoside.Myfingersweretrapped
insidehermouth.Itriedtoholdthetweezersstill,butonehardtugandthecapsulewouldpullfree...
“Evan,dosomething!”
Hefumbledfortheragsoakedinairfreshener.
Ishouted,“No,holdherheadstill,moron!Don’tlether—”
“Letgoofthewire,”hegasped.
“What?Youjustsaiddon’tletgoofthe...”
Hepinchedhernoseshut.Letgo?Don’tletgo?IfIletgo,thewiremighttwistaroundthetweezersand
pullfree.IfIdon’tletgo,alltheturningandtwistingandwhippingaroundmightyankitfree.
Megan’seyesrolledinherhead.Painandterrorandconfusion,theconstantmixtheOthersneverfailedto
deliver.HermouthflewopenandIjammedthescissorsdownherthroat.
“Ihateyourightnow,”Ibreathedathim.“IhateyoumorethanIhateanyoneelseintheworld.”Ifeltlike
heneededtoknowthatbeforeIsnappedthescissorsclosed.Incasewewerevaporized.
“Doyouhaveit?”heasked.
“IhavenofreakingclueifIhaveit!”
“Doit.”Thenhesmiled.Smiled!“Cutthewire,Mayfly,”hesaid.
Icutthewire.
41
“IT’SATEST,”Evansaid.
Thegreenliquid-gelcap-lookingthinglayonthedesk,safely—wehoped—sealedinsideaclearplastic
baggie,thekindyourmomusedinthelong-gonegoodolddaystokeepyoursandwichandchipsfreshfor
lunchperiod.
“What,likehumanIEDsarestillintheR-and-Dphase?”Benasked.Hewasleaningonthesillofthe
busted-outwindow,shivering,butsomeonehadtowatchtheparkinglot,andhewasn’tlettinganyoneelse
taketherisk.Atleasthehadchangedoutoftheblood-soaked,hideous(itwashideousbeforeitwas
blood-soaked)yellowhoodieandintoablacksweatshirtthatalmostbroughthimbacktohispre-Arrival,
buffed-outperiod.
Fromthebed,Samgiggledhesitantly,unsureifhisbelovedZombieleaderwasmakingajoke.I’mno
shrink,butIguessedSamshadundergonesometransferenceduetoseriouslyunresolveddaddyissues.
“Notthebomb,”Evananswered.“Us.”
“Great,”Bengrowled.“FirsttestI’vepassedinthreeyears.”
“Cutitout,Parish,”Isaid.Whopassedthelawthatsaidjockshadtoactstupidtobecool?“Iknowfora
factyouwereaNationalMeritFinalistlastyear.”
“Really?”Dumbo’searsperkedup.Okay,Ishouldn’tmakeremarksabouthisears,buthedidappearto
bedumbfounded.
“Yes,really,”BensaidwithapatentedParishsmile.“Butitwasaveryweakyear.Aliensinvaded.”
HelookedatEvan.Hissmiledied,whichhissmileusuallydidwhenhelookedatEvan.“Whatarethey
testingusfor?”
“Knowledge.”
“Yeah,thatwouldbethepurposeofatest.Youknowwhatwouldbereallyhelpfulrightnow?Ifyou’d
knockofftheenigmaticalienroutineandgetthefuckreal.Becauseeverysecondthatgoesbyandthat
thingdoesn’tgooff”—noddingtothebaggie—“isasecondthatdoublesourrisk.Soonerorlater,andI’m
leaningtowardsooner,they’recomingbackandblowingourassestoDubuque.”
“Dubuque?”Dumbosqueaked.Hedidn’tgetthereferenceandthatfrightenedhim.Whatwaswrongin
Dubuque?
“Justatown,Dumbo,”Bensaid.“Arandomtown.”
Evanwasnodding.IglancedoveratPoundcakefillingthedoorway,hismouthhangingopenslightlyas
hisbigheadping-pongedtofollowtheconversation.
“Theywillcomeback,”Evansaid.“Unlesswefailthetestsotheydon’thaveto.”
“Failit?Wepassed,didn’twe?”Benturnedtome.“Ifeelasifwepassed.Howaboutyou?”
“Failingmeanswetookherin,allfat,dumb,andhappy,”Iexplained,“andthengotourassesblownback
toDubuque.”
“Dubuque,”Dumboechoed,mystified.
“Theabsenceofdetonationcanmeanonlyoneofthreethings,”Evansaid.“One,thedevice
malfunctioned.Two,thedevicewasincorrectlycalibrated.Orthree...”
Benhelduphishand.“Orthree,someoneinthehotelknowsaboutthebomb-childrenandwasable
toremoveit,putitinaplasticbaggie,andconductaseminaronhowtoinstillpanicandparanoiaamong
thedopeyhumans.ThetestistoseeifwehaveaSilenceramongus.”
“Wedo!”Samyelled.HejabbedhisfingeratEvan.“You’reaSilencer!”
“Somethingyouabsolutelycan’tknowforsureifyouvaporizethejointwithacoupleofwell-placed
Hellfiremissiles,”Benfinished.
“Whichraisesthequestion,”Evansaidquietly.“Whywouldtheysuspectsuchathing?”
Asilencesettledovertheroom.Bendrummedhisfingersonhisforearm.Poundcake’smouthsnapped
closed.Dumbotuggedonanearlobe.Irockedbackandforthinthechair,pluckingatBear’spaw.Ididn’t
knowhowIcameintopossessionofBear.MaybeIgrabbedhimwhilePoundcakewasmovingMegan
intotheadjacentroom.Irememberedhisgettingknockedtothefloorbutdidn’trememberpickinghimup.
“Well,it’sobvious,”Bensaid.“Theymusthaveawayofknowingyou’rehere.Right?Otherwise,yourun
theriskoftakingoutyourownplayers.”
“IftheyknewIwashere,therewouldbenoneedforatest.TheysuspectI’mhere.”
ThenIgotit.Andgettingitdidnotbringmeanycomfort.
“Ringer.”
Ben’sheadwhippedtowardme.Theslightestbreathofwindwouldhavetoppledhimfromhisperch.
“She’sbeencaptured,”Isaid.“OrTeacup.Orboth.”IturnedtoEvan,becausethelookonBen’sfacewas
toomuchtobear.
“Thatmakesthemostsense,”Evanagreed.
“Bullshit!Ringerwouldnevergiveusup,”Benbarkedathim.
“Notwillingly,”Evansaid.
“Wonderland,”Ibreathed.“They’vedownloadedhermemories...”
Bencameoffthesillthen,losthisbalance,staggeredforward,knockedagainsttheedgeofSammy’sbed.
Hewasshaking,andnotfromthecold.“Ohno.No,no,no.Ringerhasnotbeencaptured.She’ssafeand
Teacup’ssafeandwearenotgoingthere...”
“No,”Evansaid.“We’realreadythere.”
IslidoutofthechairandwenttoBen.Oneofthosemomentswhenyouknowyouhavetodosomething
butyouhavenoideawhat.“Ben,he’sright.Thereasonwe’realiverightnowisthesamereasontheysent
Megan.”
“Whatisitwithyou?”Bendemanded.“Youbuyintoeverythinghesayslikehe’sMosescomedownfrom
themountaintop.Iftheythinkhe’shere,forwhateverreason,thentheyknowhe’satraitorandwouldstill
senduspackingtoDubuque.”
EverybodylookedatDumbo,waitingforit.
“Theydon’twanttokillme,”Evansaidfinally.Hehadasad,sicklookonhisface.
“That’sright,Iforgot,”Bensaid.“Thatwouldbeme.”Hepulledawayfrommeandshuffledbacktothe
window,leanedhishandsonthesillandstudiedthenightsky.“Stayhere,we’redone.Bugout,we’re
done.We’relikefive-year-oldsplayingchesswithBobbyFischer.”HeswungbackaroundtoEvan.“You
couldhavebeenspottedbyapatrol,followedhere.”Hepointedatthebaggie.“Thatdoesn’tmeanthey
haveRingerorCup.Allitmeansiswe’reoutoftime.Can’thide,can’trun,sothequestioncirclesback
tosamequestionit’salwaysbeen:notifwe’regonnadie,buthow.Howarewegoingtodie?Dumbo,
howdoyouwanttodie?”
Dumbostiffened.Hisshoulderssquared,hischincameup.“Standingup,sir.”
BenlookedatPoundcake.“Cake,doyouwanttodiestandingup?”
Poundcakehadcometoattention,too.Henoddedsmartly.
Bendidn’thavetoaskSam.Mylittlebrothersimplystoodupandveryslowlyanddeliberatelygavehis
commandingofficerasalute.
42
OH,BROTHER.Guys.
ItossedBearonthedesk.“I’vebeenherebefore,”ItoldtheMachoBrigade.“Runequalsdie.Stay
equalsdie.SobeforewegoallO.K.Corralonthis,let’sconsiderthethirdoption:Weblowitup.”
Thatsuggestionsuckedalltheairfromtheroom.Evangotitfirst,noddingslowly,butclearlynothappy
withtheidea.Lotsofvariables.Athousandwaysitcangowrong,onlyonewayright.
Bencutrighttothegooeygutsoftheproblem:“How?Whohasthedutyofbreathingonitandgetting
vaporized?”
“I’lldoit,Sarge,”Dumbosaid.Hisearshadturnedred,likehewasembarrassedbyhisowncourage.
Hesmiledshyly.He’dfinallygottenit:“I’vealwayswantedtoseeDubuque.”
“Humanbreathisn’ttheonlysourceofCO,”IpointedouttotheNationalMeritFinalist.
2
“Coke!”Dumbofairlyshouted.
“Goodluckfindingoneofthose,”Bensaid.Itwastrue.Alongwithanythingalcoholic,softdrinkswere
oneofthefirstcasualtiesoftheinvasion.
“Acanorabottle,yes,”Evansaid.“Cassie,didn’tyoutellmetherewasadinernextdoor?”
“TheCOcanistersforthefountaindrinks,”Istarted.
2
“Areprobablystillthere,”hefinished.
“Attachthebombtothecanister...”
“RigthecanistertodispensetheCO...”
2
“Aslowleak...”
“Inaconfinedspace...”
“Theelevator!”wesaidinunison.
“Wow,”Benbreathed.“Brilliant.ButI’malittleunclearonhowthissolvestheproblem.”
“They’llthinkwe’redead,Zombie,”Samsaid.Thefive-year-oldunderstood,buthelackedBen’sburden
ofexperienceinoutwittingVoschandcompany.
“Thentheycheckitout,theyfindnobodies,theyknow,”Bensaid.
“Butitwillbuyustime,”Evanpointedout.“Andmyguessisbythetimetheyrealizethetruth,it’llbetoo
late.”
“Becauseobviouslywe’rejusttoodarncleverforthem?”Benasked.
Evansmiledgrimly.“Becausewe’regoingtothelastplacethey’dthinktolook.”
43
THEREWASNOTIMEformoredebate;wehadtopullthetriggeronOperationEarlyCheckoutbefore
the5thWavepulledthetriggeronus.BenandPoundcakelefttofetchaCOcanisterfromthediner.
2
Dumbotookhallpatrol.ItoldSamhehadtowatchMegan,herbeingapalfromtheolddaysonthe
schoolbus.Heaskedforthegunback.Iremindedhimthathavingthegundidn’thelpsomuchthelast
time:He’demptiedthemagazinewithoutevennickingthetarget.ItriedtogivehimBear.Herolledhis
eyes.Bearwassosixmonthsago.
ThenEvanandIwerealone.Justhim,me,andalittlegreenbombmadethree.
“Spillit,”Iorderedhim.
“Spillwhat?”EyesallbigandinnocentasBear’s.
“Yourguts,Walker.You’reholdingback.”
“Whydoyou—?”
“Becausethat’syourstyle.Yourmodusoperandi.Likeaniceberg,three-quartersunderthesurface,but
there’snowayI’mlettingyouturnthishotelintotheTitanic.”
Hesighed,avoidingmyglare.“Penandpaper?”
“What?Timeforatenderlovepoem?”Thatwashisstyle,too:EverytimeIedgedtooclosetosomething,
hedeflectedbytellingmehowmuchhelovedmeorhowIsavedhimorsomeotherswoony,pseudoprofoundobservationaboutthenatureofmymagnificence.ButIgrabbedthepadandpenfromthedesk
andhandedthemoverbecause,attheendoftheday,whomindsgettingatenderlovepoem?
Insteadhedrewamap.
“Single-story,white—orusedtobewhite—woodframe,Idon’tremembertheaddress,butit’srighton
Highway68.Nexttoaservicestation.Hasoneofthoseoldmetalsignshangingoutfront,HavolineOilor
somethinglikethat.”
Hetoreoffthesheetandpresseditintomyhand.
“Andwhyisthisthelastplacethey’dlookforus?”Iwasfallingforthedeflectingtechniqueagain,not
thatHavolineOilhadanythingcloyinglypoeticalaboutit.“Andwhyareyoudrawingmeamapwhen
you’recomingwithus?”
“Incasesomethinghappens.”
“Toyou.Whatifsomethinghappenstobothofus?”
“You’reright.I’llmakefivemore.”
Hestartedonthenextone.Iwatchedfortwoseconds,thengrabbedthepadoutofhishandandthrewitat
hishead.
“Yousonofabitch.Iknowwhatyou’redoing.”
“Iwasdrawingamap,Cassie.”
“RiggingadetonatorfromasodafountainMission:Impossiblestyle,really?Whileweallrunlikehell
fortheHavolinesignwithyouintheleadonyourbrokenankleandstabbedleg,sportingahundred-andsix-degreetemperature...”
“IfIhadahundred-and-six-degreetemperature,I’dbedead,”hepointedout.
“No,andyouwanttoknowwhy?Becausedeadpeoplehavenotemperature!”
Hewasnoddingthoughtfully.“God,I’vemissedyou.”
“There!Thereitis,rightthere!JustliketheWalkerhomestead,justlikeCampAshpit,justlikeVosch’s
deathcamp.WheneverI’vegotyoucornered...”
“YouhadmecorneredtheminuteIlaid—”
“Stopit.”
Hestopped.Isatonthebednexttohim.MaybeIwasgoingaboutthisallwrong.Youcatchmoreflies
withhoney,mygrandmotheralwayssaid.Theproblemwasthatwomanlywilesweren’tsomethingI
carriedinmywheelhouse.Itookhishand.Ilookeddeeplyintohiseyes.Iconsideredunbuttoningmyshirt
abit,butdecidedhemightseethroughthatlittleploy.Notthatmyployswerethatlittle.
“I’mnotlettingyoupullanotherCampHavenonme,”Isaid,addingwhatIhopedtobeanalluringpurrto
thetimbre.“Thatisn’tgoingtohappen.You’recomingwithus.PoundcakeandDumbocancarryyou.”
Hereachedupwithhisotherhandandtouchedmycheek.Iknewthattouch.I’dmissedit.“Iknow,”
hesaid.Theexpressioninhischocolatey(gah)eyeswasinfinitelysad.Iknewthatlook,too.I’dseenit
before,inthewoodswhenheconfessedwhohereallywas.“Butyoudon’tknoweverything.Youdon’t
knowaboutGrace.”
“Grace,”Iechoed,pushinghishandfrommycheek,forgettingallaboutthehoney.Ilikedhistouchtoo
much,Idecided.Ineededtoworkonnotlikingitsomuch.Andalsoworkonnotlikingthewayhelooked
atmeasifIwerethelastpersononEarth,whichIactuallythoughtIwasbeforehefoundme.
That’saterriblething,anawfulburdentoputonsomeone.Youmakeyourwholeexistencedependenton
anotherhumanbeingandyou’reaskingforaworldoftrouble.Thinkofeverytragiclovestoryever
written.AndIdidn’twanttoplayJuliettoanybody’sRomeo,notifIcouldhelpit.Eveniftheonly
candidateavailablewaswillingtodieformeandsittingrightbesidemeholdingmyhandandlooking
deeplyintomyeyeswiththenot-so-gah-noweyesthecolorofmeltedchocolate.Plusbeingpractically
nakedunderthosecoversandpossessingthebodyofaHollisterdude...butI’mnotgettingintoallthat.
“Graceagain.YoukeptmentioninggraceafterIshotyou,”Itoldhim.
“Youdon’tknowGrace.”
Well,thatstung.Ineverknewhewassoreligious—orjudgmental.Thetwousuallygohandinhand,still.
..
“Cassie,Ihavetotellyousomething.”
“You’reaBaptist?”
“ThatdayonthehighwayafterI—letyougetaway,Iwasveryafraid.Ididn’tunderstandwhathappened,
whyIcouldn’t...dowhatIcametodo.DowhatIwasborntodo.Itdidn’tmakesensetome.Andina
lotofways,itstilldoesn’tmakesense.Youthinkyouknowyourself.Youthinkyouknowthepersonyou
seeinthemirror.Ifoundyou,butinfindingyou,Ilostmyself.Nothingwasclearanymore.Nothingwas
simple.”
Inodded.“Irememberthat.Iremembersimple.”
“Inthebeginning,afterIbroughtyouback,Ireallydidn’tknowifyouweregoingtomakeit.AndIwould
sittherewithyouandI’dthink,Maybesheshouldn’t.”
“Gee,Evan.That’ssoromantic.”
“Iknewwhatwascoming,”hesaid,andthatsurewassomethingclearandsimple.Hegrabbedbothmy
handsandpulledmeclose,andIfellathousandmilesintothosedamneyes,whichiswhythehoney
techniquedoesn’tfitme:I’mmoretheflywhenI’maroundhim.“Iknowwhat’scoming,Cassie,anduntil
nowIthoughtthedeadweretheluckyones.ButIseeitnow.Iseeit.”
“What?Whatdoyousee,Evan?”Myvoicequivering.Hewasscaringme.Maybeitwasthefever
talking,butEvanwasactingveryun-Evanish.
“Thewayout.Thewaytofinishit.TheproblemisGrace.Graceistoomuchforyou—foranyofyou.
GraceisthedoorwayandI’mtheonlyonewhocanwalkthroughit.Icangiveyouthat.Andtime.
Thosetwothings,Graceandtime,andthenyoucanfinishit.”
44
THENDUMBO,withperfecttiming,poppedhisheadintotheroom.“They’reback,Sullivan.Zombie
said
—”Hestopped.Obviouslyhe’dinterruptedanintimatemoment.ThankGodIhadn’tunbuttonedmyshirt.
IpulledmyhandsfromEvan’sandstoodup.
“Didtheyfindacanister?”
Dumbonodded.“They’reputtingitintheelevatornow.”HelookedatEvan.“Zombiesaidanytimeyou’re
ready.”
Evannoddedslowly.“Okay.”Buthedidn’tmove.Ididn’tmove.Dumbostoodthereforafewseconds.
“Okay,”hesaid.Evandidn’tsayanything.Ididn’tsayanything.ThenDumbosaid,“Seeyouguyslater—
inDubuque!Heh-heh.”Hebackedoutoftheroom.
IwhirledonEvan.“Allright.RememberwhatBensaidabouttheenigmaticalienthing?”
ThenEvanWalkerdidsomethingI’dneverseenhimdo—orheardhimsay,tobeaccurate.
“Shit,”hesaid.
Dumbowasbackinthedoorway,slack-jawed,red-eared,andinthegraspofatallgirlwithacascadeof
honey-blondhairandstrikingNorwegian-model-typefeatures,piercingblueeyes,full,pouty,collagenpackedlips,andthewillowyfigureofarunwayfashionprincess.
“Hello,Evan,”CosmoGirlsaid.Andofcoursehervoicewasdeepandslightlyscratchylikeevery
seductivevillainesseverconceivedbyHollywood.
“Hello,Grace,”Evansaid.
45
GRACE:APERSON,notaprayeroranythingclosetobeingconnectedtoGod.Andarmedtotheteeth:
ShehadDumbo’sM16inadditiontotheheftysniperriflehangingfromherback.Sheshovedthekidinto
theroomandthenblewoutmyeyesightwithhermegawattsmile.
“AndyoumustbeCassiopeia,queenofthenightsky.I’msurprised,Evan.She’snothinglikeIpictured.
Kindofaginger.Didn’tknowthatwasyourtype.”
IlookedatEvan.“Whothehellisthisperson?”
“Graceislikeme,”Evansaid.
“Wegowayback.Tencenturies,giveortake.Speakingoftaking...”Gracemotionedformyrifle.I
tosseditatherfeet.“Sidearm,too.Andthatknifestrappedtoyourankle,underthefatigues.”
“Letthemgo,Grace,”Evansaid.“Wedon’tneedthem.”
Graceignoredhim.ShegavemyriflealittlekickandtoldmetotossitoutthewindowwiththeLugerand
theknife.Evannoddedatmeasiftosay,Betterdoit.SoIdid.Myheadwasspinning.Icouldn’tgrab
holdofasinglecoherentthought.GracewasaSilencerlikeEvan—thatoneIcouldhugtight.Buthowdid
sheknowmynameandwhywasshehereandhowdidEvanknowshewascomingandwhatdidhemean
byGraceisthedoorway?Thedoorwaytowhat?
“Iknewshewashuman.”GracewasbackonEvan’sfavoritesubject.“ButIneverimaginedhow
completelyhumanshewas.”
Evanknewitwascoming,buthetriedtostopitanyway.“Cassie...”
“Fuckyouandthehorseyourodeinon,youfuckingalienmotherfucker.”
“Colorful.Imaginative.Nice.”GracemotionedwithDumbo’srifleformetosit.
Again,Evanshotmealook:Doit,Cassie.SoIsatonthebednexttohis,besideDumbo,whowas
breathingthroughhismouthlikeanasthmatic.Graceremainedinthedoorwaysoshecouldkeepaneyeon
thehall.Maybeshedidn’tknowaboutSamandMeganinthenextroomorBenandPoundcakewaitingfor
Evanintheelevatordownstairs.IunderstoodEvan’sstrategythen:Stall.Buytime.WhenBenand
Poundcakecameuptoseewhatthehellwasgoingon,thatwouldbeourchance.IrememberedEvan
takingoutanentiresquadof5thWavers,outgunnedandoutnumbered,inpitchdarkness,andthought,No,
whentheyshowup,thatwillbeherchance.
Istudiedher,thewaysheleanedagainstthejambwithoneanklethrowncasuallyovertheother,golden
tressesflowingoveroneshoulder,herheadturnedslightlytodisplayforouradmirationherstunning
Nordicprofile,andIthought,Sure,makessense.Ifyoucandownloadyourselfintoanysortofhuman
body,whynotpickanimpeccableone?Evan,too.Inthatsense,hewasnothingbutabigphony.
Andthat’sweirdtothinkabout.Deepdown,thedudewhogavemetheJell-Okneeswasaneffigy,amask
overafacelessfacethatprobablytenthousandyearsagolookedlikeasquidorsomething.
“Well,theydidtellustherewasrisk,livingsolongashumansamonghumans,”Gracesaid.“Tellme
something,Cassiopeia:Don’tyouthinkhe’sperfectlyperfectinbed?”
“Whydon’tyoutellme,”Ishotback.“Youextraterrestrialslut.”
“Feisty,”GracesaidtoEvanwithasmile.“Likehernamesake.”
“Theyhavenothingtodowiththis,”Evansaid.“Letthemgo,Grace.”
“Evan,I’mnotevensureIunderstandwhatthisis.”Sheleftherpostandfloated—there’snootherword
forit—tohisbedside.“AndnobodyisgoinganywhereuntilIdo.”Sheleanedoverandtookhisfacein
herhandsandkissedhimlongandlingeringonthelips.Hefoughther—Icouldseethat—butshe
immobilizedhimwithherotherworldlyüberwiles,whichshecarriedinspadesinherwheelhouse.
“Didyoutellher,Evan?”shemurmuredagainsthischeek,thoughshemadesureIcouldhear.“Doesshe
knowhowallofthisends?”
“Likethis,”Isaid,andlaunchedmyselfather,leading,asIusuallydid,withmyhead,aimingthehard
crownpartofitatthesofttemplepartofhers.Theimpactknockedhersidewaysintotheclosetdoors.I
endedupsprawledacrossEvan’slap.Perfectlyperfect,Ithought,alittleincoherently.
IpushedmyselfupandEvanwrappedhisarmsaroundmywaistandyankedmebackdown.“No,Cassie.
”
ButhewasweakandIwasstrongandIrippedfreeeasilyandjumpedfromthebedontoherback.
Thatwasabigmistake:Shegrabbedmyarmandhurledmeacrosstheroom.Ismashedagainstthewall
besidethewindowandploppedstraightdownonmyass,sendingahotjoltofpainupmyback.Fromthe
hallway,Iheardadoorflyopen,andIshouted,“Getout,Sam!GetZombie!Get—”
ShewasgonebeforeIgotthesecondgetout.ThelasttimeIsawsomeonemovethatfastwasatCamp
Ashpit,whenthephonysoldiersfromWright-Pattersonspottedmehidinginthewoods.Like,cartoonfast,
whichmightbehumorousifnotforthereasonshebolted.
Ohnoyoudon’t,bitch.Notmylittlebrother.
IracedpastDumbo,pastEvan,whohadthrownoffthecoversandwasstrugglingtoswinghisbadly
woundedselfoutofbed,intothehall,whichwasempty,notagoodthing,notgoodatall,thentwosteps
toSam’sroom,andwhenmyfingerstouchedthehandle,awreckingballsmashedintothebackofmy
headandmynosesmackedintothewood.Somethingwentcrunch,anditwasn’tthewood.Istepped
backward,bloodpouringdownmyface.Icouldtastemybloodandsomehowitwasthetastethatkeptme
upright—Ididn’tknowtillthenthatragehadatasteandittastedlikeyourownblood.
ColdfingerslockedaroundmyneckandIwatchedmyfeetleavethegroundthroughashowerofredrain.
ThenIwassoaringdownthelengthofthehallway,comingdownhardonmyshoulder,androllingtoa
stopafootfromthewindowatthefarend.
Grace:“Staythere.”
ShewasstandingbySammy’sdoor,alitheshadowdownadimlylittunnel,shimmeringontheotherside
ofthetearsthatwelleduncontrollablyandspilleddownmycheekstomixwithblood.
“Leave.My.Brother.Alone.”
“Thatadorablelittleboy?He’syourbrother?I’msorry,Cassiopeia,Ididn’tknow.”Shakingherheadin
mocksadness.Liketheymockedeverydecenthumanthing.
“He’salreadydead.”
46
THREETHINGSHAPPENEDthen,allatthesametime.Four,ifyoucountedmyheartblowingapart.
Iran—notawaybuttoward.Iwasgoingtoriphercover-modelfaceoff.Iwasgoingtotearherpseudohumanheartfrombetweenherperfectlyshapedhumanboobs.Iwasgoingtoopenherupwithmy
fingernails.
Thatwasthefirstthing.
ThesecondwasthestairwaydoorflyingopenandPoundcakeenteringthehallinanythingbutEeyore
fashion,shovingmebackwithonearmastheotherbroughthisrifletobearonGrace.Notaneasyshotby
anymeans,butPoundcakewasthesquad’sbestmarksmanafterRinger,accordingtoBen.
Thethirdthingwasashirtless,boxer-shorts-wearingEvanWalker,crawlingoutoftheroombehind
Grace.Expertmarksmanornot,ifPoundcakemissed...orifGracedivedoutofthewayatthelast
second...
SoIdidthediving,wrappingmyarmsaroundthekid’sankles.Hetoppledforward,hisrifledischarged,
andthenIheardthestairwaydooragainandBenshouting,“Freeze!”justliketheyusedtointhemovies,
butnobodyfroze,notme,notPoundcake,andnotEvan—andcertainlynotGrace,whowasgone.Shewas
thereandthenshewasn’t.BenhoppedovermeandPoundcakeandlimpeddownthehalltotheroom
oppositeSam’s.
Sam.
Ijumpedupandraceddownthehall.BenwasmotioningtoPoundcake,saying,“She’sinthere.”
Iyankedonthehandle.Locked.Thankyou,God!Ipoundedonthedoor.“Sam!Sam,openup!It’sme!”
Andfromtheotherside,avoicenolouderthanamouse’ssqueak:“It’satrick!You’retrickingme!”
Ilostit.Pressedmybloodycheekagainstthedoorandhadagood,solid,andverysatisfyingminibreakdown.I’dletmyguarddown.I’dforgottenhowcrueltheOtherscouldbe.Notenoughtopuncha
holethroughmyheartwithabullet.No,firstyouhavetopummelitandstomponitandcrushitinyour
handsuntilthetissueoozesfrombetweenyourfingerslikePlay-Doh.
“Okay,okay,okay,”Iwhimpered.“Stayinthere,okay?Nomatterwhat,Sam.Don’tcomeouttillIcome
back.”
Poundcakewasstandingtoonesideofthedooracrossthehall.BenwashelpingEvantohisfeet—or
tryingto.Everytimeheloosenedhisgrip,Evan’skneesbuckled.Benfinallydecidedtoleanhimagainst
thewall,whereEvanrocked,gaspingforair,hisskinthecoloroftheashesatthecampwheremyfather
died.
Evanlookedoveratmeandhehardlyhadthebreathforthewords:“Getoutofthishallway.Now.”
ThedrywallinfrontofPoundcakeblewapartinarainoffinewhitedustandchunksofmoldywallpaper.
Hestaggeredbackward.Hisriflefellfromhislimpfingers.HeknockedintoBen,whograbbedhimby
theshoulderandthrewhimintotheroomwithDumbo.Benreachedformenext,butIslappedhishand
awayandtoldhimtograbEvanbeforepickingupPoundcake’srifleandopeninguponGrace’sdoor.The
soundwasdeafeninginthenarrowhall.IemptiedthemagazinebeforeBengotholdofmeandpulledme
back.
“Don’tbeanidiot!”heshouted.Heslappedafullmagazineintomyhandandtoldmetowatchthedoor
butstaydown.
ThesceneplayedoutlikeaTVshowgoingoninanotherroom:justvoices.Iwasflatonmystomach,
restingmyupperbodyonmyelbows,therifletrainedonthedoordirectlyacrossfromme.
Comeon,icemaiden.Ihavealittlesomethingforyou.Runningmytongueovermybloodylips,hating
thetaste,lovingthetaste.Comeon,youcreepySwede.
Ben:Dumbo,howisit?Dumbo!
Dumbo:It’sbad,Sarge.
Ben:Howbad?
Dumbo:Prettybad...
Ben:Oh,Christ.Icanfreakingseethatit’sbad,Dumbo!
Evan:Ben—listentome—youhavetolistentome—wehavetogetoutofhere.Now.
Ben:Why?Wegothercontained—
Evan:Notforlong.
Ben:Sullivancanhandleher.Whothehellisshe,anyway?
Evan:(unintelligible)
Ben:Well,sure.Themorethemerrier.Guesswe’rewellintoPlanB.I’vegotyou,Walker.Dumbo,you
havePoundcake.Sullivanwilltakethekids.
Beneaseddownbesideme,placinghishandonthesmallofmyback.Henoddedtowardthedoor.
“Wecan’tbugoutuntilthethreat’sneutralized,”hewhispered.“Hey,whathappenedtoyournose?”
Ishrugged.Swipe,swipewentthetongue.“How?”IsoundedlikeIhadabadheadcold.
“Prettysimple.Somebodytakesthedoor,onelow,onehigh,onetotheright,onetotheleft.Worstpartthe
firsttwoandahalfseconds.”
“What’sthebestpart?”
“Thelasttwoandahalfseconds.Ready?”
“Cassie,wait.”Evan,onhiskneesbehinduslikeapilgrimatthealtar.“Bendoesn’tknowwhathe’s
dealingwith—butyoudo.Tellhim.Tellhimwhatshe’scapa—”
“Shutup,loverboy,”Bengrowled.Hetuggedonmyshirt.“Let’sroll.”
“She’snoteveninthereanymore—Iguaranteeyou,”Evansaid,raisinghisvoice.
“What?Shejumpedtwostories?”Benlaughed.“That’sgreat.I’llpopherbroken-leggedasswhenIget
downthere.”
“Sheprobablyhasjumped—butshedidn’tbreakanything.Graceislikeme.”Evanwastalkingtobothof
usbutlookingdesperatelyatme.“Likeme,Cassie.”
“Butyou’rehuman—Imean,yourbodyis,”Bensaid.“Andnohumanbodycould—”
“Herbodycould.Notmineanymore.Minehas...crashed.”
“Yougettingallthis?”Benaskedme.“Becausetome,thissoundslikemoreofMr.E.T.’sbullshit.”
“Whatdoyousuggestwedo,Evan?”Iasked.Despitethemightytastybloodinmymouth,theragewas
drainingoutofme,replacedbytheveryuncomfortableand,bynow,veryfamiliarfeelingofbeinginfive
thousandfathomsovermyhead.
“Getout.Now.Itisn’tyoushewants.”
“Sacrificialgoat,”Bensaidwithanastysmile.“Ilikeit.”
“She’lljustletuswalkaway,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.Mysenseofdrowningwasgrowingmoreacute.
CouldBenberight?WhatwasIthinking,trustingEvanWalkerwithmylifeandthelifeofmybrother?
Somethingwasoffhere.Somethingwaswrong.“Justlikethat.”
“Idon’tknow,”Evananswered,whichwasapointinhisfavor.Hecouldhavesaid,Sure,she’sanokay
persononceyougetpastheritsy-bitsysadismproblem.“ButIdoknowwhatwillhappenifyoustay.”
“Goodenoughforme,”Benannounced.Hebackedintotheroom.“Changeofplans,boys.I’llhandle
Poundcake.Dumbo,youtakeMegan.Sullivan’sgotherbrother.Dropyourtrunkandgrabyourjunk,
we’regoin’toaparty!”
“Cassie.”Evanscootedbesideme.Heturnedmyfacetowardhis,ranhisthumbovermybloodycheek.
“It’stheonlyway.”
“I’mnotleavingyou,Evan.AndI’mnotlettingyouleaveme.Notagain.”
“AndSam?Youmadeapromisetohim,too.Youcan’tkeepboth.Graceismyproblem.She...she
belongstome.NotthewaythatSambelongstoyou;Idon’tmeanthat...”
“Really?I’msurprised,Evan.You’reusuallysoclearabouteverything.”
Isatup,tookadeepbreath,andslappedhisbeautifulface.Icouldhaveshothimbutdecidedtolethim
offeasy.
Andthat’swhenweheardit,liketheslapwasthesignalithadbeenwaitingfor:thesoundofanattack
helicopter,cominginfast.
47
THESPOTLIGHTHITNEXT:Brilliantbrightlightfloodedthehall,pouredintotheroom,flunghardedgedshadowsagainstthewallsandfloor.Benracedoverandyankedmetomyfeet;IgrabbedEvan’s
armandtugged.Hepulledfree,shakinghishead.
“Justleaveagunwithme.”
“Yougotit,pal,”Bensaid,handingoverhissidearm.“Sullivan,getyourbrother.”
“What’sthematterwithyouguys?”Isaid.Icouldn’tbelieveit.“Wecan’trunnow.”
“What’syourplan?”Benshouted.Hehadtoshout.Theroarofthechoppersmasheddownanythingsofter
—bytheangleoflightandthesound,directlyoverthehotelnow.
Evanwrappedhisfingersaroundthesplintereddoorjambandheavedhimselftohisfeet—ortohisfoot;
hecouldn’tputanyweightontheotherone.Ishoutedinhisear,“Justtellmeonething,andforoncein
yourten-thousand-year-oldlifebehonest.Youneverintendedtorigabombandescapewithus.
YouknewGracewascomingandyouwereplanningtoblowbothof—”
Atthatmoment,Sammybangedoutofhisroom,onehandlockedaroundMegan’swrist.Atsomepoint,
thelittlegirlhadacquiredBear.Samsprobablygaveittoher—hewasalwayspassingthatbearto
someoneinneed.“Cassie!”Hebarreledintome,hittingmehardinthegutwithhishead.Ihauledhim
ontomyhip,swayed,Jesus,he’sgettingheavy,andgrabbedMegan’shand.
Amaelstromoficywindroaredthroughthebrokenwindow,andIheardDumboscream,“They’re
landingontheroof!”
Iheardhimbecausehewaspracticallyclimbingintomybackpockettryingtogetintothehall.Benwas
rightbehindhim,Poundcakeleaningagainsthisside,thebigkid’sarmdrapedaroundhisshoulder.
“Sullivan!”Benshouted.“Moveit!”
Evanlockedhisfingersaroundmyelbow.“Wait.”Helookedupattheceiling.Hislipsmoved
soundlessly,ormaybetherewassoundandIjustcouldn’thearit.
“Wait?”Ihollered.Thegeneralsenseofpanichadbecomequitespecific.“Waitforwhat?”
Eyesstillheavenward:“Grace.”
Abansheehowlroseoverthethrummingoftherotors,increasinginvolumeandpitchuntilitbecamean
ear-piercing,unearthlyscream.Thewholebuildingshook.Acrackraceddowntheceiling.Thehorrible
hotelprintsintheircheapframestoppledfromthewalls.Thespotlightwinkedout,andasecondlater,the
explosion,andasuperheatedblastofairrumbledintotheroom.
“Shegotthepilot,”Evansaidwithanod.Hepulledme,Sams,andMeganintothehallandsaidoverhis
shouldertoBen,“Nowyougo.”Thentome:“Thehouseonthemap.It’sGrace’snow,butitwon’tbe
aftertonight.Don’tleaveit.There’sfoodandwaterandplentyofsuppliestolastthroughthewinter.”
Speakingveryquicklynow,almostoutoftime—the5thWavemightnotbecoming,butGracewas.
“You’llbesafethere,Cassie.Attheequinox...”
Ben,Dumbo,andPoundcakehadreachedthestairs.Benwasfranticallywavingatus,Comeon!
“Cassie!Areyoulistening?Attheequinox,themothershipwillsendapodtoextractGracefromthesafe
house...”
“Sullivan!Now!”Benbellowed.
“Ifyoucanfigureoutawaytorigit...”Hewaspressingsomethingintomystomach,butmyhandswere
full.Iwatchedwide-eyedasmylittlebrothersnatchedtheplasticbaggieholdingthebombfromEvan’s
hand.
ThenEvanWalkercuppedmyfaceinhishandsandkissedmehardonthemouth.
“Youcanendit,Cassie.You.Andthat’sthewayitshouldbe.Itshouldbeyou.You.”
Kissingmeagain,andmybloodmarkinghisface,histearsmarkingmine.
“Ican’tmakeanypromisesthistime,”hehurriedon.“Butyoucan.Promiseme,Cassie.Promiseme
you’llendit.”
Inodded.“I’llendit.”Andthepromiseasentencehandeddown,acelldoorslammingshut,astone
aroundmynecktocarrymedowntothebottomofaninfinitesea.
48
IPAUSEDFORahalfsecondatthestairwaydoor,knowingImightbeseeinghimforthelasttimeor,
moreaccurately,forthesecondlasttime.Thentheplungeintopitchdark,notunlikethefirstlasttime,and
whisperingtoMegantowatchoutforratguts,andthenintothelobby,wheretheboyswhobroughtmeto
thispartyhungbythefrontdoors,theirbodiessilhouettedintheduskyorangeglowoftheburning
chopper.Fleeingthroughthemainentrancewasabrilliantlycounterintuitivemove,Ithought.Grace
probablyassumedwewerebarricadedinaroomupstairsandwouldMatrix-hopherwayupawallto
thebusted-outwindowontheothersideofthebuilding.
“Cassie,”Samsaidinmyear.“Yournoseisreallybig.”
“That’sbecauseit’sbroken.”Likemyheart,kid.It’saset.
PoundcakewasnolongerleaningagainstBenwithhisarmaroundhisneck.Hiswholebigbodywas
drapedoverBen’sinafireman’scarry.AndBendidnotlooklikehewasenjoyingit.
“Thatisn’tgoingtowork,youknow,”Iinformedhim.“Youwon’tgetahundredyards.”
Benignoredme.“Bo,you’vegotMeganduty.Sam,you’regonnahavetoclimbdown;yoursister’staking
thepoint.I’vegottherear.”
“Ineedagun!”Sammysaid.
Benignoredhim,too.“Stages.StageOne:theoverpass.StageTwo:thetreesontheothersideofthe
overpass.StageThree—”
“East,”Isaid.IsetSammyonthegroundandpulledthecrumpledmapfrommypocket.Benwaslooking
atmelikeI’dlostmymind.“We’regoinghere.”PointingatthetinysquarerepresentingGrace’ssafe
house.
“Noooo,Sullivan.We’regoingtothecavernstomeetupwithRingerandTeacup.”
“Idon’tcarewherewego,aslongasit’snotDubuque!”Dumbocried.
Benshookhishead.“You’rekillingit,Dumbo.Justkillingit.Okay,herewego.”
Wewent.Alightsnowwasfalling,thetinycrystalsignitedintheorangelightspinning,andyoucould
smelltheoilystenchofthefuelburningandfeeltheheatpressingdownonyourhead,andItookthelead
asBensuggested—well,ordered—SammyhangingontoabeltloopandDumborightbehindwithMegan,
whohadn’tspokenaword,andwhocouldblameher?Shewasinshock,probably.
Halfwayacrosstheparkinglot,nearingthestripofdirtthatseparateditfromtheinterstateon-ramp,I
glancedbehindmeintimetoseeBengodownundertheweightofhisburden.IslungSammytoward
DumboandskiddedacrosstheslickpavementtoBen.Ontheroofofthehotel,Icouldseethemangled
metalremainsoftheBlackHawk.
“Itoldyouthiswouldn’twork!”Iwhisper-yelledathim.
“I’mnotleavinghim...”Benwasonallfours,gasping,retching.Hislipsshonecrimsoninthefirelight;
hewascoughingupblood.
ThenDumbowasstandingbesideme.“Sarge.Hey,Sarge...?”
SomethinginDumbo’svoicegrabbedhisattention.HelookedupatDumbo,whoshookhisheadslowly:
He’snotgoingtomakeit.
AndBenParishslammedhisopenhandontothefrozenground,archinghisbackandyelling
incoherently,andI’mthinking,OhGod,ohGod,notthetimeforanexistentialcrisis.We’redoneifhe
losesit.Wearesodone.
IkneltbesideBen.Hisfacewascontortedbypainandfearandrage,theangerrootedinthe
unchangeable,ever-presentpast,wherehissistercriedforhimandhestillabandonedhertodeath.He
abandonedherbutshewouldnotabandonhim.Shewouldalwaysbewithhim.Shewouldbewithhim
untilhetookhislastbreath.Shewaswithhimnow,bleedingoutafootaway,andtherewasnothinghe
coulddotosaveher.
“Ben,”Isaid,runningmyfingersoverthebackofhishead.Hishairshimmered,dottedincrystalline
snow.“It’sover.”
Ashadowflittedpastus,racingtowardthehotel.Ijumpedupandtookoffafterit,becausetheshadow
wasattachedtomybabybrotherandhewashaulingasstowardthefrontdoors.Icaughthimandyanked
himofftheground,andhecommencedkickingandsquirmingandgenerallygoingberserk,andIwassure
Dumbowasgoingtopopnext,andthreelunaticsweretoomanyforanypersontomanage.
Iwasworriedfornothing,though.DumbohadBenonhisfeetandMeganbythehand,urgingbothtoward
theroad,havinganeasiertimeofitthanIwaswithSammyhookedundermyarmfacedown,armsand
legsflailing,yelling,“Wegottagoback,Cassie!Wegottagoback!”
Acrosstheon-ramp,downthesteephilltotheoverpass,StageOnecomplete,andthenIdepositedSammy
onthegroundandwhackedhimhardonthebuttandtoldhimtoknockitofforhe’dgetusallkilled.
“What’sthematterwithyou,anyway?”Iasked.
“Iwastryingtotellyou!”hesobbed.“Butyouwouldn’tlisten.Youneverlisten!Idroppedit!”
“Youdropped—?”
“Thebag,Cassie.Runningout,I...Idroppedit!”
IlookedoveratBen.Hunchedover,headdown,forearmsrestingonhisupraisedknees.Ilookedat
Dumbo.Slump-shouldered,wide-eyed,handholdingMegan’s.
“Ihaveabadfeelingaboutthis,”hewhispered.
Theworldwentbreathless.Eventhesnowseemedtohangsuspendedintheair.
Thehotelblewapartinablindingfireballofneongreen.Thegroundshuddered.Airrushedintothe
vacuum,knockingthefourofusoffourfeet.Thenthedebrisroaringtowardus,andIthrewmyselfover
Sammy.Awaveofconcrete,glass,wood,andmetalparticles(and—yes—bitsofBen’seffingrats)no
largerthangrainsofsandbarreleddownthehill,agrayboilingmassthatengulfedus.
WelcometoDubuque.
49
HEDIDN’TLIKEbeingaroundthesmallestkidsatthecamp.Theyremindedhimofhisbabybrother,the
onehelost.Theonethatwastherethemorninghewentoutlookingforfoodandwasn’ttherewhenhe
returned.Theoneheneverfound.Atcamp,whenhewasn’ttrainingoreatingorsleepingorwashing
downthebarracksorshininghisbootsorcleaninghisrifleorpullingKPdutyorworkingintheP&D
hangar,hewasvolunteeringinthechildren’shousingorworkingthebusesastheycamein.Hedidn’tlike
beingaroundthelittlekids,buthediditanyway.Heneverlosthopethatonedayhe’dfindhisbaby
brother.Thatonedayhewouldwalkintothereceivinghangarandfindhimsittinginoneofthebigred
circlespaintedonthefloor,orseehimswingingfromtheoldtirehungfromthetreeinthemakeshift
playgroundnexttotheparadegrounds.
Butheneverfoundhim.
Atthehotel,whenhediscoveredtheenemywasplantingbombsinchildren,hewonderedifthat’swhat
happenedtohisbrother.Iftheyfoundhimandtookhimandmadehimswallowthegreencapsuleandsent
himoutagaintobefoundbysomeoneelse.Probablynot.Mostchildrenweredead.Onlyahandfulwere
savedandbroughttothecamp.Hisbrotherprobablydidn’tlivemanydayspastthedayhedisappeared.
Buthecouldhavebeentaken.Hecouldhavebeenforcedtoswallowthegreencapsule.Hecouldhave
beenthrownbackoutintotheworldandlefttowanderuntilhestumbledontoagroupofsurvivorswho
wouldtakehiminandfeedhimandfilltheroomwiththeirbreath.Itcouldhavehappenedthatway.
What’sbotheringyou?Zombiewantedtoknow.TheyhadgoneacrosstheparkinglottofindaCO2
canisterintheolddiner.Zombiehadgivenuptalkingtohimunlesshewasgivinganorder,andhe’d
givenuptryingtogethimtotalk.Whenheaskedthequestion,Zombiereallydidn’texpectananswer.
Icanalwaystellwhensomething’sbotheringyou.Yougetlikethisconstipatedlook.Likeyou’retryingto
crapabrick.
Thecanisterwasn’tthatheavy,butZombiewashurtandtookthepointonthewayback.Zombiewas
nervous,jumpingateveryshadow.Hekeptsayingtherewassomethingwrong.Somethingwrongabout
thisEvanWalkerandsomethingwrongaboutthesituationingeneral.Zombiethoughttheywerebeing
tricked.
Backinthehotel,ZombiesentDumboupstairstogetEvan.ThentheywaitedinsidetheelevatorforEvan
tocomedown.
See,Cake,thisgoesbacktomypoint,rightbacktoit.EMPsandtsunamisandplaguesandaliensin
disguiseandbrainwashedkidsandnowkidswithbombsinsidethem.Whyaretheymakingthissodamn
complicated?It’sliketheywantafight.Orwantthefighttobeinteresting.Hey.Maybethat’sit.
Maybeyoureachacertainpointinevolutionwhereboredomisthegreatestthreattoyoursurvival.
Maybethisisn’taplanetarytakeoveratall,butagame.Likeakidpullingwingsoffflies.
Astheminutespassed,Zombiegotmorenervous.
Whatnow?Wherethehellishe?OhChrist,youdon’tthink...?Bettergetupthere,Poundcake.
Throwhisassoveryourshoulderandcarryhimdownhereifyouhaveto.
Halfwayupthestairs,heheardaheavythumpoverhishead,thenasecond,softerthump,andthenhe
heardsomeonescream.HegottothedoorintimetoseeCassie’sbodyflypastandhitthefloor.He
followedhertrajectorybackwardandsawthetallgirlstandingbesidetheroomwiththebusteddoor.
Andhedidn’thesitate,heburstintothehallandheknewthetallgirlwouldnotsurvive.Hewasagood
shot,thebestinhissquaduntilRingercame,andheknewthathewouldnotmiss.
ExceptCassietackledhimandthetallgirlslippedfromhissights.HewouldhavekilledherifCassie
hadn’tdonethat.Hewassureofit.
Thenthetallgirlshothimthroughthewall.
Dumbotoreopenhisshirtandpressedawadded-upsheetintothewound.Hetoldhimthatitwasn’tbad,
thathewasgoingtomakeit,butheknewhewasn’t.He’dbeenaroundtoomuchdeath.Heknewwhatit
smelledlike,tastedlike,feltlike.Hecarrieddeathinsidehiminthememoriesofhismotherandthetenfootpyresandthebonesalongtheroadandtheconveyorbeltcarryinghundredsintothefurnaceofthe
powerplantatcamp,thedeadburnedtolighttheirbarracksandheattheirwaterandkeepthemwarm.
Dyingdidn’tbotherhim.Dyingwithoutknowingwhathappenedtohisbrotherbotheredhim.
Dying,hewastakendownstairs.Dying,hewasthrownoverZombie’sshoulders.Andthenintheparking
lotZombiefellandtheothersgatheredaroundandZombiepoundedthefrozenpavementuntiltheskinon
hispalmsburstopen.
Theylefthimafterthat.Hewasn’tangry.Heunderstood.Hewasdying.
Andthenhegotup.
Notatfirst.Atfirst,hecrawled.
Thetallgirlwasstandinginthelobbywhenhedraggedhimselfinside.Shewasbesidethedoorthat
openedtothestairs,holdingapistolinbothhands,bowingherheadasifshewerelisteningfor
something.
That’swhenhestoodup.
Thetallgirlstiffened.Sheturned.Sheraisedthegunandthenshelowereditwhenshesawhewasdying.
Shesmiledandsaidhello.Shewaswatchinghimbesidethefrontdoorsandcouldn’tseetheelevatoror
Evandroppingdownintoitfromtheescapehatch.Evansawhimandfroze,likehedidn’tknowwhatto
do.
Iknowyou.Thetallgirlwaswalkingtowardhim.Ifsheturnednow,ifsheglancedbehindher,shewould
seeEvan,sohedrewhissidearmtodistracther,butthegunslippedfromhishandandlandedonthe
floor.Hehadlostalotofblood.Hisbloodpressurewasdropping.Hisheartcouldn’tpumphardenough
andhewaslosingfeelinginhishandsandfeet.
Hedroppedtohiskneesandreachedforthegun.Sheshothiminthehand.Hefellontohisbutt,jamming
thewoundedhandintohispocketasifthatmightprotectit.
Gosh,you’reabig,strongboy,aren’tyou?Howoldareyou?
Shewaitedforhimtoanswer.
What’sthematter?Catgotyourtongue?
Sheshothimintheleg.Thenshewaitedforhimtoscreamorcryorsaysomething.Whenhedidn’t,she
shothimintheotherleg.
Behindher,Evandroppedtohisstomachandstartedtocrawltowardthem.HeshookhisheadatEvan,
gulpingair.Hefeltnumballover.Therewasnopain,butagraycurtainhaddrawndownoverhiseyes.
Thetallgirlcamecloser.ShewasnowhalfwaybetweenhimandEvan.Sheaimedthegunatthemiddle
ofhisforehead.
SaysomethingorIwillblowyourbrainsout.Where’sEvan?
Shestartedtoturn.ShemighthaveheardEvancrawlingtowardher.Sohestoodupforthenexttolast
timetodistracther.Hedidn’tstandupfast.Ittookoveraminute,bootsslippingonthetilewet
frommeltedsnow,risingup,floppingbackdown,thefactthathekepthishandinhispocketmakingit
twiceashard.Thetallgirlsmiledandchuckled,smirkingthewaythekidsdidatschool.Hewasfat.He
wasclumsy.Hewasstupid.Hewaspiglard.Whenhefinallygottohisfeet,sheshothimagain.
Pleasehurryup.I’mwastingammo.
Theplasticofthecakewrapperhadbeenstiffandcrinklyandalwaysmadeanoisewhenheplayedwith
itinhispocket.That’showhismomknewhehaditthedayhisbrotherdisappeared.That’showthe
soldiersonthebusknew,too.AndthedrillsergeantcalledhimPoundcakebecausehelovedthestoryof
thefatkidcomingintocampwithjusttheclothesonhisbackandawrapperfullofstalecakecrumbsin
hispocket.
Theplasticsandwichbagthathefoundjustoutsidethehoteldoorsdidn’tcrinkle.Itwasmuchsofter.
Therewasnonoisewhenhepulleditfromhispocket.Thebagslidoutsilently,assilentashehadbeen
afterhewastoldtoshutup,shutup,shutUP.
Thetallgirl’ssmilewentaway.
AndPoundcakestartedmovingagain.Nottowardherandnottowardtheelevator,buttowardtheside
doorattheendofthehall.
Hey,whathaveyougotthere,bigfella?Huh?Whatisthat?I’mguessingitisn’taTylenol.
Thetallgirl’ssmilecameback.Adifferentkindofsmile,though.Anicesmile.Shewasveryprettywhen
shesmiledlikethat.Shewasprobablytheprettiestgirlhehadeverseen.
You’vegottobeverycarefulwiththat.Doyouunderstand?Hey.Hey,youknowwhat?I’llmakeadeal
withyou.I’llputmygundownifyouputthatdown,okay?How’sthatsound?
Andthenshedid.Shelaidhergunonthefloor.Shetooktherifleoffhershoulderandlaidthatdown,too.
Thensheheldupherhands.
Icanhelpyou.PutthatdownandI’llhelpyou.Youdon’thavetodie.Iknowhowtofixyou.I’m—
I’mnotlikeyou.I’mdefinitelynotasbraveandstrongasyou,that’sforsure.Ican’tbelieveyou’restill
standinglikethat.
Shewasgoingtowait.Shewouldwaituntilhepassedoutorfelloverdead.Allshehadtodowaskeep
talkingandsmilingandpretendingshelikedhim.
Heunzippedthebag.
Thetallgirlwasn’tsmilingnow.Shewasrunningtowardhim,fasterthanhe’dseenanyoneruninhislife.
Thegrayveilshimmeredasshecameon.Whenshewasclose,herfeetleftthegroundandshejavelined
intothespotwherethefirstbullethithim,hurlinghimbackwardandsmashinghimintothemetaldoor
frame.Thebaggieflewfromhisnumbfingersandslidlikeahockeypuckacrossthetile.
Thegrayveilturnedblackforasecond.Thetallgirlpivotedasgracefullyasaballerinatowardthebag.
Hehookedheranklewithhislegandsenthersprawling.
Shewastooquickandhewastoohurt.She’dgettherebeforehim.Sohepickedupthegunthathehad
droppedandshotherintheback.
Thenhegotupforthelasttime.Hetossedthegunaway.Hesteppedoverherwrithingbody,andthat’sas
farashegotbeforefallingforthelasttime.
Hecrawledtowardthebag.Shecrawledafterhim.Shecouldn’tstandup.Thebullethadshatteredher
spinalcord.Shewasparalyzedfromthewaistdown.Butshewasstrongerthanhimandhadn’tlostas
muchblood.
Hescoopedtheplasticbagfromthefloor.Herhandfellonhisarmandyankedhimtowardherasifhe
weighednothingatall.Shewouldfinishhimwithasinglepunchtohisdyingheart.
Butallhehadtodowasbreathe.
Heslappedtheopeningofthebagoverhismouth.
Andbreathed.
BOOKTWO
50
I’MSITTINGALONEinawindowlessclassroom.Bluecarpet,whitewalls,longwhitetables.White
computermonitorswithwhitekeyboards.I’mwearingthewhitejumpsuitofnewrecruits.Differentcamp,
samedrill,downtotheimplantinmyneckandatriptoWonderland.I’mstillpayingforthattrip.
Youdon’tfeelemptyaftertheydrainyourmemories.You’resoreashellallover.Musclesretainmemory,
too.That’swhytheyhavetostrapyoudownfortheride.
ThedooropensandCommanderAlexanderVoschstepsintotheroom.Hecarriesawoodenboxthathe
setsdownonthetableinfrontofme.
“You’relookingwell,Marika,”hesays.“MuchbetterthanIexpected.”
“MynameisRinger.”
Henods.HeunderstandsexactlywhatImean.MorethanonceI’vewonderediftheinformationgathered
byWonderlandflowsbothways.Ifyoucandownloadhumanexperience,whycouldn’tyouuploadit?It’s
possiblethepersonwhoissmilingatmenowcontainsthememoriesofeverysinglehumanbeingwho’s
beenthroughtheprogram.Hemaynotbehuman—andIhavemydoubtsaboutthat
—buthemayalsobethesumofallhumanswhohavepassedthroughWonderland’sgates.
“Yes.Marikaisdead.”Hesitsdownacrossfromme.“Andnowhereyouare,risingphoenixlikefromher
ashes.”
HeknowswhatI’mgoingtosay.Icantellbythetwinklinginhisbaby-blueeyes.Whycan’thejusttell
me?WhydoIhavetoask?
“IsTeacupalive?”
“Whichanswerareyoumorelikelytotrust?Yesorno?”
Thinkbeforeyourespond.Chessteachesthat.“No.”
“Why?”
“Yescouldbealietomanipulateme.”
He’snoddingappreciatively.“Togiveyoufalsehope.”
“Togainleverage.”
Hecockedhisheadandlookeddownhisnarrownoseatme.“Whywouldsomeonelikemeneedleverage
oversomeonelikeyou?”
“Idon’tknow.Theremustbesomethingyouwant.”
“Otherwise...?”
“OtherwiseI’dbedead.”
Hedoesn’tsayanythingforalongmoment.Hisstarepiercesdowntomybones.Hegesturesatthe
woodenbox.
“Ibroughtyousomething.Openit.”
Ilookatthebox.Lookbackathim.“I’mnotgoingtodoit.”
“It’sjustabox.”
“Whateveryouwantmetodo,Iwon’t.You’rewastingyourtime.”
“Andtimeistheonlycurrencywehaveleft,isn’tit?Time—andpromises.”Tappingthelidofthebox.“I
spentagreatdealofthatfirstpreciouscommoditytofindoneofthese.”Henudgesthebox
towardme.“Openit.”
Iopenit.Hegoeson.“Benwouldn’tplaywithyou.OrlittleAllison—ImeanTeacup;Allisonisdead,
too.Youhaven’tplayedagameofchesssinceyourfatherdied.”
Ishakemyhead.Notinanswertohisquestion.IshakemyheadbecauseIdon’tgetit.Thechiefarchitect
ofthegenocidewantstoplaychesswithme?
I’mshiveringinthepaper-thinjumpsuit.Theroomisverycold.Smiling,Voschiswatchingme.No.
Notjustwatching.Thisisn’tlikeWonderland.Itisn’tjustyourmemoriesheknows.Heknowswhat
you’rethinking,too.Wonderlandisadevice.Itrecords,butVoschreads.
“They’regone,”Iblurtout.“They’renotatthehotel.Andyoudon’tknowwheretheyare.”Thathastobe
it.Icanthinkofnootherreasonwhyhehasn’tkilledme.
Acrappyreason,though.Inthisweatherandwithhisresources,howhardcoulditbetofindthem?I
clampmycoldhandsbetweenmykneesandforcemyselftobreatheslowlyanddeeply.
Heopensthelid,removestheboard,andtakesoutthewhitequeen.“White?Youpreferwhite.”
Long,nimblefingerssetuptheboard.Thefingersofamusician,asculptor,apainter.Herestshiselbows
onthetableandlacesthosefingerstomakeashelfforhischin,likemyfatherdideverytimeheplayed.
“Whatdoyouwant?”Iask.
Heraisesaneyebrow.“Iwanttoplayagameofchess.”
Staringatmesilently.Fivesecondsbecomesten.Tenbecomestwenty.Afterthirtyseconds,aneternity
haspassed.IthinkIknowwhathe’sdoing:playingagamewithinagame.Ijustdon’tunderstandwhy.
IopenwiththeRuyLopez.Notthemostoriginalopeninginthehistoryofthegame;I’malittlestressed.
Asweplay,hehumssoftly,tunelessly,andnowIknowhe’sdeliberatelymockingmyfather.
Mystomachrollswithrevulsion.TosurviveIbuiltwalls,anemotionalfortressthatprotectedmeand
keptmesaneinaworldgonedangerouslyinsane,buteventhemostopenpersonhasaprivate,sacred
placewherenooneelsemaygo.
Iunderstandthegamewithinthegamenow:Thereisnothingprivate,nothingsacred.Thereisnopartof
mehiddenfromhim.Mystomachchurnswithrevulsion.He’sviolatedmorethanmymemories.He’s
molestingmysoul.
Themouseandkeyboardtomyrightarewireless.Butthemonitorbesidehimisn’t.Alungeacrossthe
table,awallopupsidehishead,andawrapofthecordaroundhisneck.Executedinfourseconds,overin
fourminutes.Unlesswe’rebeingwatched,andweprobablyare.Voschwilllive,TeacupandIwilldie.
AndevenifImanagetotakehimoutfirst,thevictorywillbePyrrhic,assumingEvanWalker’sclaimis
true.Atthehotel,IpointedthisouttoSullivanwhenshesaidEvanhadsacrificedhimselftoblowupthe
base:Iftheycandownloadthemselvesintohumanbodies,theycanalsomakecopiesofthemselves.The
setof“Evans”and“Voschs”wouldbeinfinite.Evancouldkillhimself.IcouldkillVosch.Wouldn’t
matter.Bydefinition,theentitiesinsidethemareimmortal.
YouneedtopaycloseattentiontowhatI’mtellingyou,Sullivansaidwithexaggeratedpatience.
There’sahumanEvanwhomergedwiththealienconsciousness.He’snotoneortheother;he’sboth.
Sohecandie.
Nottheimportantpart.
Right,shesnapped.Justtheinsignificanthumanpart.
Voschisleaningovertheboard.Hisbreathsmellslikeapples.Ipressmyhandsintomylap.Heraisesan
eyebrow.Problem?
“I’mgoingtolose,”Itellhim.
Hefeignssurprise.“Whatmakesyouthinkso?”
“YouknowmymovesbeforeImakethem.”
“You’rereferringtotheWonderlandprogram.Butyou’reforgettingthatwearemorethanthesumofour
experiences.Humanbeingscanbemarvelouslyunpredictable.YourrescueofBenParishduringthefall
ofCampHaven,forexample,defiedlogicandignoredthefirstprerogativeofalllivingthings:to
continueliving.Oryourdecisionyesterdaytogiveyourselfupwhenyourealizedcapturewasthelittle
girl’sonlychancetosurvive.”
“Didshe?”
“Youalreadyknowtheanswertothatquestion.”Impatiently,likeaharshteachertoapromisingstudent.
Hegesturesattheboard:Play.
IwrapahandaroundmyfistandsqueezeashardasIcan.Imaginingmyfistishisneck.Fourminutesto
chokethelifeoutofhim.Justfourminutes.
“Teacup’salive,”Itellhim.“Youknowthethreattofrymybrainwon’tmakemedowhatyouwantmeto
do.ButyouknowI’lldoitforher.”
“Youbelongtoeachothernow,yes?Connectedasifbyasilvercord?”Smiling.“Anyway,besidesthe
seriousinjuriesfromwhichshemaynotrecover,you’vegivenherthepricelessgiftoftime.Thereisa
sayinginLatin.Vincitquipatitur.Doyouknowwhatitmeans?”
I’mbeyondcold.I’vereachedabsolutezero.“YouknowIdon’t.”
“‘Heconquerswhoendures.’RememberpoorTeacup’srats.Whatcantheyteachus?Itoldyouwhenyou
firstcametome;itisn’tsomuchaboutcrushingyourcapacitytofightasitisyourwilltofight.”
Theratsagain.“Ahopelessratisadeadrat.”
“Ratsdonotknowhope.Orfaith.Orlove.Youwererightaboutthosethings,PrivateRinger.Theywill
notdeliverhumanitythroughthestorm.Youwerewrong,however,aboutrage.Rageisn’ttheanswer,
either.”
“What’stheanswer?”Idon’twanttoask,don’twanttogivehimthesatisfaction,butIcan’thelpit.
“You’reclosetoit,”hesays.“Ithinkyoumightbesurprisedhowcloseyouare.”
“Closetowhat?”Myvoicesoundsassmallasarat’s.
Heshakeshishead,impatientagain.“Play.”
“It’spointless.”
“AworldinwhichchessdoesnotmatterisnotaworldinwhichIwishtolive.”
“Stopdoingthat.Stopmockingmyfather.”
“Yourfatherwasagoodmaninthralltoaterribledisease.Youshouldn’tjudgehimharshly.Noryourself
forabandoninghim.”
Pleasedon’tgo.Don’tleaveme,Marika.
Long,nimblefingersclawingatmyshirt,thefingersofanartist.Facesculptedbythemercilessknifeof
hunger,theinfuriatedartistwiththehelplessclay,andredeyesrimmedinblack.
I’llcomeback.Ipromise.You’regoingtodiewithoutit.Ipromise.I’llcomeback.
Voschissmilingsoullessly,ashark’ssmileoraskull’ssneer,andifrageisnottheanswer,whatis?
I’msqueezingmyfisthardenoughtoforcemynailsintomypalm.Here’showEvandescribedit,Sullivan
said,wrappingherfistinherhand.ThisisEvan.Thisisthebeinginside.Myhandistherage,butwhat
ismyfist?Whatisthethingwrappedupinrage?
“Onemovefrommate,”Voschsayssoftly.“Whywon’tyoumakeit?”
Mylipsbarelymove.“Idon’tliketolose.”
Hepullsasilverdevicethesizeofacellphonefromhisbreastpocket.I’veseenonebefore.Iknowwhat
itdoes.Theskinaroundthetinypatchofadhesivesealingtheinsertionpointonmyneckbeginstoitch.
“We’realittlebeyondthatstage,”hesays.
Bloodinsidethefistthat’swithinthehandclenchingthefist.“Pushthebutton.Idon’tgiveashit.”
Henodsapprovingly.“Nowyou’reveryclosetotheanswer.Butitisnotyourimplantlinkedtothis
transmitter.Doyoustillwantmetopushit?”
Teacup.Ilookdownattheboard.Onemovefrommate.Thematchwasoverbeforeitbegan.Whenthe
gameisfixed,howdoyouavoidlosing?
Aseven-year-oldknewtheanswertothatquestion.Islidemyhandbeneaththeboardandhurlittoward
hishead.Iguessthat’scheckmate,bitch!
Heseesitcomingandduckseasilyoutoftheway.Piecesclatteronthetable,rolllazilyonthetabletop
beforefallingofftheedge.Heshouldn’thavetoldmethatthedeviceislinkedtoTeacup:Ifhepushesthe
button,heloseshisleverageoverme.
Voschpushesthebutton.
51
MYREACTIONISmonthsinthemaking.Andinstantaneous.
Ileapacrossthetable,drivemykneehardintohischest,andknockhimstraightbackontothefloor.Iland
ontopofhimandsmashtheheelofmybloodyhandintohisaristocraticnose,rotatingmyshouldersinto
theblowtomaximizetheimpact,textbookperfect,justlikemytrainersatCampHaventaughtme.Drill
afterdrillafterdrilluntilthere’snoneedtothink:Musclesretainmemory,too.Hisnosebreakswitha
satisfyingcrunch.Thisisthepoint,theinstructorstoldme,whenawisesoldierwithdraws.Hand-to-hand
isunpredictableandeverysecondyouremainengagedincreasestherisk.
GettingofftheXwastheexpression.Vincitquipatitur.
Butthere’snogettingoffthisparticularX.Theclock’sdowntothefinaltick;I’moutoftime.Thedoor
fliesopenandsoldierspourintotheroom.I’mtakendownquickandhard,yankedoffVoschandthrown
face-firstontothefloor,ashinpressedagainstmyneck.Ismellblood.Notmine,his.
“Youdisappointme,”hewhispersinmyear.“Itoldyouragewasn’ttheanswer.”
Theypullmetomyfeet.ThelowerhalfofVosch’sfaceiscoveredinblood.Itsmearshischeekslikewar
paint.Hiseyesarealreadyswelling,givinghimaweird,piglikeappearance.
Heturnstothesquadleaderstandingbesidehim,aslender,fair-skinnedrecruitwithblondhairand
soulfuldarkeyes.
“Prepher.”
52
HALLWAY:LOWCEILINGS,flickeringfluorescents,cinder-blockwalls.Thepressofbodiesaround
me,oneinfront,onebehind,twooneithersideholdingmyarms.Thesqueakofrubber-soledshoes
againstthegrayconcretefloorandthefaintodorofsweatandthebittersweetsmellofrecycledair.
Stairwell:metalrailspaintedgraylikethefloors,cobwebsflutteringincorners,dustyyellowlightbulbs
inwirecages,descendingintowarmer,mustierair.Anotherhall:unmarkeddoorsandlargeredstripes
runningdowneachgraywallandsignsthatreadNOACCESSandAUTHORIZEDPERSONNELONLY.
Room:small,windowless.Cabinetsononewall,ahospitalbedinthemiddle,vitalsignsmonitorbeside
it,screendark.Oneithersideofthebed,twopeoplewearingwhitecoats.Amiddle-agedman,ayounger
woman,forcingsmiles.
Thedoorclangsshut.I’malonewiththeWhiteCoats,exceptfortheblondrecruitstandingatthedoor
behindme.
“Easyorhard,”themaninthewhitecoatsays.“Yourchoice.”
“Hard,”Isay.Iwhiparoundanddroptherecruitwithapunchtothethroat.Hissidearmclattersontothe
tile.IscoopitupandturnbacktotheWhiteCoats.
“There’snoescape,”themansayscalmly.“Youknowthat.”
Idoknowthat.Butescapingisn’tthereasonIneedthegun.Notescapinginthesensehemeansit.
I’mnottakinghostagesandI’mnotkillinganyone.Killinghumanbeingsistheenemy’sgoal.Behindme,
thekidwrithesonthefloor,makinghiccupping,gurglingsounds.Imayhavefracturedhislarynx.
Iglanceupatthecameramountedinthefarcorneroftheroom.Ishewatching?ThankstoWonderland,he
knowsmebetterthananyoneonEarth.HemustknowwhyItookthegun:
I’mmated.Andit’stoolatetoresignthegame.
Ipressthecoldmuzzleagainstmytemple.Thewoman’smouthcomesopen.Shetakesasteptowardme.
“Marika.”Kindeyes.Softvoice.“She’salivebecauseyouare.Ifyouaren’t,shewon’tbe.”
Itclicksthen.Hetoldmerageisn’ttheanswer,andrageistheonlyexplanationforhimhittingthekill
switchwhenIupendedtheboard.That’swhatIthoughtwhenithappened.Itneveroccurredtomethathe
mightbebluffing.
Anditshouldhave.There’snowayhe’dgiveuphisleverage.Whydidn’tIseethat?I’mtheoneblinded
byrage,nothim.
I’mdizzy;theroomwon’tstaystill.Bluffsinsidebluffs,feintswithincounterfeints.I’minagamein
whichIdon’tknowtherulesoreventheobject.TeacupisalivebecauseIam.I’malivebecausesheis.
“Takemetoher,”Isaytothewoman.Iwantproofthatthatonefundamentalassumptionistrue.
“Notgoingtohappen,”themansays.“Sonowwhat?”
Goodquestion.Buttheissuehastobepressedandpressedhard,ashardasIpressthegunagainstmy
temple.“TakemetoherorIsweartoGodI’lldoit.”
“Youcan’t,”theyoungwomansays.Softvoice.Kindeyes.Handoutstretched.
She’sright.Ican’t.Itcouldbealie;Teacupcouldbedead.Butachanceremainsthatshe’salive,andif
I’mgone,there’snoreasontokeepherthatway.Theriskisunacceptable.
Thisisthebind.Thisisthetrap.Thisiswheretheroadofimpossiblepromisesdead-ends.Thisisthe
onlypossibleoutcomeoftheantiquatedbeliefthattheinsignificantlifeofaseven-year-oldkidstill
matters.
I’msorry,Teacup.Ishouldhavefinishedthisbackinthewoods.
Ilowerthegun.
53
THEMONITORFLICKERSon.Pulse,bloodpressure,breathing,temperature.ThekidItookdownis
backup,leaningagainstthedoor,onehandmassaginghisthroat,theotherholdingthegun.Heglowersat
melyingonthebed.
“Somethingtohelpyourelax,”thewomanwiththesoftvoiceandkindeyesmurmurs.“Alittlestick.”
Thebiteoftheneedle.Thewallsdisappearintocolorlessnothing.Athousandyearspass.Iamgroundto
dustbeneaththeheeloftime.Theirvoiceslumber,theirfacesexpand.Thethinfoambeneathme
dissolves.Iamfloatingonanunboundedoceanofwhite.
Adisembodiedvoiceemergesfromthefog.“Andnowlet’sreturntotheproblemofrats,shallwe?”
Vosch.Idon’tseehim.Hisvoicehasnosource.Itoriginatesfromeverywhereandnowhere,asifhe’s
insideme.
“You’velostyourhome.Andthelovelyone—theonlyone—thatyou’vefoundtoreplaceitisinfested
withvermin.Whatcanyoudo?Whatareyourchoices?Resignyourselftolivepeaceablywiththe
destructivepestsorexterminatethembeforetheycandestroyyournewhome?Doyousaytoyourself,
‘Ratsaredisgustingcreatures,butneverthelesstheyarelivingthingswiththesamerightsasme’?Ordo
yousay,‘Weareincompatible,theseratsandI.IfIamtolivehere,theseverminmustdie’?”
Fromathousandmilesaway,Ihearthemonitorbeeping,markingthebeatofmyheart.Theseaundulates.
Iriseandfallwitheachrollofthesurface.
“Butitisn’treallyabouttherats.”Hisvoicepounds,dense,thickasthunder.“Itneverwas.Thenecessity
ofexterminatingthemisagiven.It’sthemethodthattroublesyou.Therealissue,thefundamental
problem,isrocks.”
Thewhitecurtainpeelsaway.I’mstillfloating,butnowI’mfarabovetheEarthinablackvoidawash
withstars,andthesunkissingthehorizonpaintstheplanet’ssurfacebeneathmeashimmeringgold.The
monitorbeepsfrantically,andavoicesays,“Oh,crap,”andthenVosch’s:“Breathe,Marika.
You’reperfectlysafe.”
Perfectlysafe.Sothat’swhytheysedatedme.Iftheyhadn’t,myheartprobablywouldhavestoppedfrom
shock.Theeffectisthree-dimensional,indistinguishablefromreality,exceptIwouldnotbebreathingin
space.OrhearingVosch’svoiceinaplacewheresounddoesnotexist.
“ThisistheEarthasitwassixty-sixmillionyearsago.Beautiful,isn’tit?Edenic.Unspoiled.The
atmospherebeforeyoupoisonedit.Thewaterbeforeyoufouledit.Thelandlushwithlifebeforeyou,
rodentsthatyouare,shreddedittopiecestofeedyourvoraciousappetitesandbuildyourfilthynests.It
mayhaveremainedpristineforanothersixty-sixmillionyears,unsulliedbyyourmammaliangluttony,if
notforachanceencounterwithanalienvisitorone-quarterthesizeofManhattan.”
Itwhizzespastme,pockmarkedandcraggy,blottingoutthestarsasitbarrelstowardtheplanet.
Whenitbreaksthroughtheatmosphere,thelowerhalfoftheasteroidbeginstoglow.Brightyellow,then
white.
“Andthusthefateoftheworldisdecided.Byarock.”
NowI’mstandingontheshoresofavast,shallowsea,watchingtheasteroidfall,atinydot,apebble,
insignificant.
“Whenthedustfromtheimpacthassettled,three-quartersofalllifeonEarthwillbegone.Theworld
ends.Theworldbeginsagain.Humanityowesitsexistencetoabitofcosmicwhimsy.Toarock.Itreally
isremarkablewhenyouthinkaboutit.”
Thegroundshudders.Adistantboom,thenaneeriesilence.
“Andthereinliestheconundrum,theriddleyou’vebeenavoiding,becauseconfrontingtheproblem
shakesaparttheveryfoundation,doesn’tit?Itdefiesexplanation.Itrendersallthat’shappened
impossiblydiscordant,absurd,nonsensical.”
Thesearoils;steamwhipsandswirls.Thewaterisboilingaway.Amassivewallofdustandpulverized
stoneroarstowardme,blottingoutthesky.Theairisfilledwithhigh-pitchedscreeching,likethescreams
ofadyinganimal.
“Idon’thavetostatetheobvious,doI?Thequestionhasbeenbotheringyouforaverylongtime.”
Ican’tmove.Iknowitisn’treal,butmypanicisasthethunderingwallofsteamanddustbearsdown.A
millionyearsofevolutionhastaughtmetotrustmysenses,andtheprimitivepartofmybrainisdeafto
therationalpartthatscreamsinahighpitchlikeadyinganimal,Notrealnotrealnotrealnotreal.
“Electromagneticpulses.Giantmetalrodsrainingfromthesky.Viralplague...”Hisvoiceriseswith
eachwordandthewordsarelikethunderclapsortheheelofabootslammingdown.“Sleeperagents
implantedinhumanbodies.Armiesofbrainwashedchildren.Whatisthis?That’sthecentralquestion.
Theonlyonethatreallymatters:Whybotherwithanyofitwhenallyouneedisavery,verybigrock?”
Thewaverollsoverme,andIdrown.
54
I’MBURIEDFORMILLENNIA.
Milesaboveme,theworldwakes.Inthecoolshadowspoolingontherainforestfloor,aratlikecreature
digsfortenderroots.Itsdescendantswilltamefire,inventthewheel,discovermathematics,create
poetry,rerouterivers,levelforests,buildcities,exploredeepspace.Fornow,theonlyimportant
businessisfindingfoodandstayingalivelongenoughtomakemoreratlikecreatures.
Annihilatedinfireanddust,theworldisreborninahungryrodentdigginginthedirt.
Theclockticks.Nervously,thecreaturesniffsthewarm,moistair.Themetronomicbeatoftheclock
speedsup,andIrisetowardthesurface.WhenIemergefromthedust,thecreaturehastransformed:It’s
sittinginachairbesidemybed,wearingapairofjeansstiffwithdirtandatornT-shirt.Stoopshouldered,unshaven,hollow-eyedinventorofthewheel,inheritor,caretaker,prodigal.
Myfather.
Thebeep-beepofthemonitor.ThedrippingIVandthestiffsheetsandthehardpillowandthelines
snakingfrommyarms.Andthemansittingbesidethebed,sallowandsweaty,coveredwithgrime,
restless,nervouslypluckingathisshirt,bloodshoteyesandwet,swollenlips.
“Marika.”
Iclosemyeyes.It’snothim.It’sthedrugVoschpumpedintoyou.
Again:“Marika.”
“Shutup.You’renotreal.”
“Marika,there’ssomethingIwanttotellyou.Somethingyoushouldknow.”
“Idon’tunderstandwhyyou’redoingthistome,”IsaytoVosch.Iknowhe’swatching.
“Iforgiveyou,”myfathersays.
Ican’tcatchmybreath.There’sasharppaininmychest,likeaknifedrivinghome.
“Please,”IbegVosch.“Pleasedon’tdothis.”
“Youhadtoleave,”myfathersays.“Youdidn’thaveachoice,andanyway,whathappenedismyown
damnfault.Youdidn’tmakemeadrunk.”
Instinctively,Ipressmyhandsagainstmyears.Buthisvoiceisn’tintheroom;it’sinme.
“Ididn’tlastlongafteryouleft,”myfathertriestoreassureme.“Onlyacouplehours.”
WemadeitasfarasCincinnati.Alittleoverahundredmiles.Thenhisstashranout.Hebeggedmenotto
leavehim,butIknewifIdidn’tfindsomealcoholfast,he’ddie.Ifoundsome—abottleofvodkatucked
underneathamattress—afterbreakingintosixteenhouses,ifyoucancallitbreakingin,sinceeveryhouse
wasabandonedandallIhadtodowasstepthroughabrokenwindow.Iwassohappytofindthatbottle,I
actuallykissedit.
ButIwastoolate.HewasdeadbythetimeImadeitbacktoourcamp.
“Iknowyoubeatyourselfupoverthat,butIwould’vediedeitherway,Marika.Eitherway.Youdidwhat
youthoughtyouhadtodo.”
There’snohidingfromhisvoice.Norunningfromit,either.Iopenmyeyesandlookstraightintohis.“I
knowthisisalie.Youaren’treal.”
Hesmiles.ThesamesmileaswhenImadeaparticularlygoodmoveinamatch.Thedelighted
teacher.
“That’swhatI’vecometotellyou!”Herubshislongfingersagainsthisthighs,andIcanseethedirt
encrustedbeneaththenails.“That’sthelesson,Marika.That’swhattheywantyoutounderstand.”
Warmhandagainstcoolskin:He’stouchingmyarm.ThelasttimeIfelthishandwasagainstmycheek,in
hard,stingingslapswhiletheotherhandheldmestill.Bitch!Don’tleaveme.Don’tyoueverleaveme,
bitch!Eachbitch!punctuatedbyaslap.Hismindwasgone.Seeingthingsthatweren’tthereinthe
profounddarknessthatslammeddowneverynight.Hearingthingsintheawfulsilencethatthreatenedto
crushyoueveryday.Onthenighthedied,hewokeupscreaming,clawingathiseyes.Hecouldfeelbugs
insidethem,crawling.
Thosesameswolleneyesstaringatmenow.Andtheclawmarksbeneaththemstillfresh.Anothercircle,
anothersilvercord:NowIamtheoneseeingthings,hearingthings,feelingthingsthataren’ttherein
awfulsilence.
“Firsttheytaughtusnottotrustthem,”hewhispers.“Thentheytaughtusnottotrusteachother.
Nowthey’reteachinguswecan’teventrustourselves.”
AndIwhisperback,“Idon’tunderstand.”
He’sfadingaway.AsIdropdeeperintolightlessdepths,myfatherfadesintodepthlesslight.Hekisses
meontheforehead.Abenediction.Acurse.
“Youbelongtothemnow.”
55
THECHAIRISEMPTYAGAIN.I’malone.ThenIremindmyselfIwasalonewhenthechairwasn’t
empty.Iwaitforthepoundingofmyhearttosubside.Iwillmyselftostaycalm,tocontrolmybreathing.
ThedrugwillworkitswaythroughmysystemandI’llbefine.You’resafe,Itellmyself.Perfectlysafe.
TheblondrecruitIpunchedinthethroatcomesin.He’scarryingatrayoffood:aslabofgraymystery
meat,potatoes,amushypileofbeans,andatallglassoforangejuice.Hesetsthetraybythebed,pushes
thebuttontoraisemetoasittingposition,rotatesthetrayinfrontofme,thenstandsthere,armscrossed,
asifhe’swaitingforsomething.
“Letmeknowhowittastes,”hewhispershoarsely.“Ican’teatsolidfoodforthreemoreweeks.”
Hisskinisfair,whichmakeshisbrown,deep-seteyesseemevendarker.Heisn’tbig,notbufflike
ZombieorblockylikePoundcake.He’stallandlean,aswimmer’sbody.There’saquietintensityabout
him,inthewayhecarrieshimselfbutespeciallyintheeyes,acarefullycontainedforcecoiledjust
beneaththesurface.
I’mnotsurewhatheexpectsmetosay.“Sorry.”
“Suckerpunch.”Drumminghisfingersonhisforearm.“You’renotgoingtoeat?”
Ishakemyhead.“Nothungry.”
Isthefoodreal?Isthekidwhobringsthefoodreal?Theuncertaintyofmyownexperienceiscrushing.I
amdrowninginaninfinitesea.Sinkingslowly,theweightofthelightlessdepthsforcingmedown,forcing
theairfrommylungs,squeezingthebloodfrommyheart.
“Drinkthejuice,”hescolds.“Theysaidyoushouldatleastdrinkthejuice.”
“Why?”Imanagetochokeout.“What’sinthejuice?”
“Alittleparanoid?”
“Alittle.”
“Theyjustdrainedaboutapintofbloodfromyou.Sotheysaidmakesureyoudrinkthejuice.”
Ihavenomemoryoftheirtakingmyblood.DidthathappenwhileIwas“talking”tomyfather?
“Whyaretheydrainingmyblood?”
Dead-eyedstare.“Let’sseeifIcanremember.Theytellmeeverything.”
“Whatdidtheytellyou?WhyamIhere?”
“I’mnotsupposedtotalktoyou,”hesays.Then:“Theytoldusyou’reaVIP.Veryimportantprisoner.”
Shakinghishead.“Idon’tgetit.Inthegoodolddays,Dorothysjust...disappeared.”
“I’mnotaDorothy.”
Heshrugs.“Idon’taskquestions.”
ButIneedhimtoanswersome.“DoyouknowwhathappenedtoTeacup?”
“Ranawaywiththespoon,whatIheard.”
“Thatwasthedish.”
“Iwasmakingajoke.”
“Idon’tgetit.”
“Well.Fuckyou.”
“Thelittlegirlwhochopperedinwithme.Badlywounded.Ineedtoknowifshe’salive.”
Noddingseriously.“I’llgetrightonthat.”
I’mgoingaboutthiswrong.Iwasnevergoodwithpeople.MynicknameinmiddleschoolwasHer
MajestyMarikaandadozenvariationsofthesame.MaybeIshouldestablisharapportbeyondeff-you.
“Myname’sRinger.”
“That’swonderful.Youmustbeverysatisfiedwiththat.”
“Youlookfamiliar.WereyouatCampHaven?”
Hestartstosaysomething.Stopshimself.“Ihaveordersnottotalktoyou.”
IalmostsayThenwhyareyou?ButIcatchmyself.“It’sprobablyagoodidea.Theydon’twantyouto
knowwhatIknow.”
“Oh,Iknowwhatyouknow:It’sallalie,we’vebeentrickedbytheenemy,they’reusingustowipeout
survivors,blah,blah,blah.TypicalDorothycrap.”
“Iusedtothinkallthat,”Iadmit.“NowI’mnotsosure.”
“You’llfigureitout.”
“Iwill.”Rocksandratsandlife-formsevolvedbeyondtheneedforphysicalbodies.I’llfigureitout,but
probablytoolate,thoughit’sprobablyalreadytoolate.Whydidtheytakemyblood?WhyisVosch
keepingmealive?WhatcouldIhavethathecouldpossiblyneed?Whydotheyneedme,thisblondkid,
oranyhuman?Iftheycouldgeneticallyengineeravirusthatkillsnineoutoftenpeople,whynottenoutof
ten?Or,asVoschsaid,whybotherwithanyofit,whenallyouneedisaverybigrock?
Myheadhurts.I’mdizzy.Nauseated.Imissbeingabletothinkclearly.Itusedtobemynumberone
favoritething.
“DrinkyourdamnjuicesoIcango,”hesays.
“TellmeyournameandI’lldrinkit.”
Hehesitates,then:“Razor.”
Idrinkthejuice.Hepicksupthetrayandleaves.Igothisnameatleast.Aminorvictory.
56
THEWOMANINthewhitelabcoatshowsup.ShesayshernameisDr.Claire.Dark,wavyhairpulled
backfromherface.Eyesthecolorofanautumnsky.Shesmellslikebitteralmonds,whichisalsothe
odorofcyanide.
“Whydidyoutakemyblood?”
Shesmiles.“BecauseRingerissosweet,wedecidedtocloneahundredofher.”Thereisnotahintof
sarcasminhervoice.ShedisconnectstheIVandstepsbackquickly,asifshe’safraidI’llleapfromthe
bedandstrangleher.Stranglingherdidoccurtome,briefly,butI’dratherstabhertodeathwitha
pocketknife.Idon’tknowhowmanystabsthatwouldtake.Alot,probably.
“That’sanotherthingthatdoesn’tmakesense,”Itellher.“Whydownloadyourconsciousnessintoa
humanbodywhenyoucancloneasmanyasyoulikeinyourmothership?Zerorisk.”Especiallysinceone
ofyourdownloadscangoallEvanWalkeronyouandfallinlovewithahumangirl.
“That’sagoodpoint.”Noddingseriously.“I’llbringthatupatthenextplanningmeeting.Maybeweneed
torethinkthiswholehostile-takeoverthingy.”Shemotionstowardthedoor.“March.”
“Where?”
“You’llfindout.Don’tworry.”Claireadds,“You’regoingtoenjoyit.”
Wedon’tgofar.Twodoorsdown.Theroomisspare.Asinkandacabinet,atoiletandashowerstall.
“Howlonghasitbeensinceyou’vehadadecentshower?”sheasks.
“CampHaven.ThenightbeforeIshotmydrillsergeantintheheart.”
“Didyou?”sheaskscasually,asifI’dtoldherIusedtoliveinSanFrancisco.“Towelrightthere.
Toothbrush,comb,deodorantinthecabinet.I’llberightontheothersideofthedoor.Knockifyouneed
anything.”
Alone,Iopenthecabinet.Roll-onantiperspirant.Acomb.Atravel-sizedtubeoftoothpaste.Atoothbrush
inaplasticwrapper.Nofloss.I’dhopedthere’dbefloss.Iwasteacoupleofminuteswonderinghow
longitwouldtaketosharpentheendofthetoothbrushintoapropercuttinginstrument.
ThenIslipoutofthejumpsuitandstepintotheshower,andIthinkofZombie,notbecauseI’mnakedina
shower,butrememberinghimtalkingaboutFacebookanddrive-thrusandtardybellsandtheendlesslist
ofallthingslost,likegreasyfriesandmustybookstoresandhotshowers.Iturnthetemperatureashighas
Icanstanditandletthewaterrainovermeuntilmyfingertipspucker.Lavendersoap.Fruityshampoo.
Thehardlumpofthetinytransmitterrollsbeneathmyfingers.Youbelongtothemnow.
Ihurltheshampoobottleagainsttheshowerwall.Slammyfistintothetileagainandagainuntiltheskin
onmyknucklessplitsopen.Myangerisgreaterthanthesumofalllostthings.
•••
Voschiswaitingformebackintheroomtwodoorsdown.HesaysnothingasClairebandagesmyhand,
silentuntilwe’realone.
“Whatdidyouaccomplish?”heasks.
“Ineededtoprovesomethingtomyself.”
“Painbeingtheonlytrueproofoflife?”
Ishakemyhead.“IknowI’malive.”
Henodsthoughtfully.“Wouldyouliketoseeher?”
“Teacupisdead.”
“Whydoyouthinkthat?”
“There’snoreasontoletherlive.”
“That’scorrect,ifweproceedfromtheassumptionthattheonlyreasontokeepheraliveistomanipulate
you.Really,thenarcissismoftoday’syouth!”
Hepressesabuttononthewall.Ascreenlowersfromtheceiling.
“Youcan’tforcemetohelpyou.”Fightingdownarisingsenseofpanic,oflosingcontrolofsomethingI
neverhadcontrolover.
Voschholdsouthishand.Inhispalmisashinygreenobjectthesizeandshapeofalargegelcapsule.
Ahair-thinwireprotrudesfromoneend.“Thisisthemessage.”
Thelightsdim.Thescreenflickerstolife.Thecamerasoarsoverawinter-killedfieldofwheat.Inthe
distance,afarmhouseandacoupleofoutbuildings,arustysilo.Atinyfigurestumblesfromastandof
treesborderingthefieldandlurchesthroughthedryandbrokenstalkstowardtheclusterofbuildings.
“Thatisthemessenger.”
Fromthisheight,Ican’ttellifit’saboyorgirl,onlythatit’sasmallchild.Nugget’sage?Younger?
“CentralKansas,”Voschgoeson.“Yesterdayatapproximatelythirteenhundredhours.”
Anotherfigurecomesintoviewontheporchsteps.Afteraminute,someoneelsecomesout.Thechild
beginstoruntowardthem.
“Thatisn’tTeacup,”Iwhisper.
“No.”
Crashingthroughthebrittlechafftowardtheadultswhowatchmotionlessly,andoneofthemholdsagun,
andthereisnosound,whichsomehowmakesitmoreterrible.
“It’stheancientinstinct:Intimesofgreatdanger,bewaryofstrangers.Trustnooneoutsideyourcircle.”
Mybodytenses.Iknowhowthisends;Ilivedit.Themanwiththegun:me.Thechildcrashingtoward
him:Teacup.
Thechildfalls.Getsup.Runs.Fallsagain.
“Butthere’sanotherinstinct,farolder,asoldaslifeitself,nearlyimpossibleforthehumanmindto
override:Protecttheyoungatallcosts.Preservethefuture.”
Thechildbreaksthroughthewheatintotheyardandfallsforthelasttime.Theonewiththegundoesn’t
lowerit,buthiscompanionracestothefallenchildandscoopsitoffthefrozenground.Thegunman
blockstheirwaybackintothehouse.Thetableauholdsforseveralseconds.
“It’sallaboutrisk,”Voschobserves.“Yourealizedthatlongago.Soofcourseyouknowwhowillwin
theargument.Afterall,howmuchriskdoesalittlechildpose?Protecttheyoung.Preservethefuture.”
Thepersoncarryingthechildsidestepstheonewiththegunandrushesupthestepsintothehouse.
Thegunmandropshisheadasifinprayer,thenliftshisheadasifinsupplication.Thenheturnsandgoes
inside.Theminutesspinout.
Besideme,Voschmurmurs,“Theworldisaclock.”
Thefarmhouse,theoutbuildings,thesilo,thebrownfields,andtheblurofnumbersasthetimedisplayat
thebottomofthescreenticksoffthesecondsbythehundredths.Iknowwhat’scomingbutstillIflinch
whenthesilentflashwhitesoutthescene.Thenroilingdustanddebrisandbillowingsmoke:Thewheat
isburning,consumedinamatterofseconds,tenderfodderforthefire,andwherethe
buildingsusedtobe,acrater,ablackholeboredintotheEarth.Thefeedgoesblack.Thescreenretracts.
Thelightsstaydim.
“Iwantyoutounderstand,”Voschsaysgently.“You’vewonderedwhywekeptthelittleones,theonestoo
youngtofight.”
“Idon’tunderstand.”Tinyfigureinacresofbrown,dressedindenimoveralls,barefoot,runningthrough
thewheat.
Hemisreadsmyconfusion.“Thedeviceinsidethechild’sbodyiscalibratedtodetectminutefluctuations
incarbondioxide,thechiefcomponentofhumanbreath.WhentheCOreachesacertain2
threshold,indicatingthepresenceofmultipletargets,thedevicedetonates.”
“No,”Iwhisper.Theybroughthiminside,wrappedhiminawarmblanket,broughthimwater,washedhis
face.Thegroupgatheredaroundhim,bathinghimintheirbreath.“They’dbejustasdeadifyoudroppeda
bomb.”
“Itisn’taboutthedead,”hesnapsimpatiently.“Itneverwas.”
Thelightscomeup,thedoorcomesopen,andClairecomesinwheelingametalcart,followedbyher
white-coatedbuddyandRazor,wholooksatmeandthenlooksaway.Thatgottomemorethanthecart
withitsarrayofsyringes:Hecouldn’tbringhimselftolookatme.
“Itdoesn’tchangeanything.”Myvoicerising.“Idon’tcarewhatyoudo.Idon’tevencareaboutTeacup
anymore.I’llkillmyselfbeforeIhelpyou.”
Heshakeshishead.“You’renothelpingme.”
57
CLAIRETIESarubberstraparoundmyarmandtapstheinsideofmyelbowtobringupavein.Razor
standsontheothersideofthebed.Themaninthewhitecoat—Inevergothisname—isbythemonitor,
holdingastopwatch.Voschleansagainstthesink,watchingmewithbright,flintyeyesglittering,likethe
crows’inthewoodsonthedayIshotTeacup,curiousbutcuriouslyindifferent,andthenIunderstandthat
Voschisright:Theanswertotheirarrivalisnotrage.Theanswerisrage’sopposite.Theonlypossible
answeristheoppositeofallthings,likethepitwherethefarmhouseoncestood:simplynothing.Nothate,
notanger,notfear,notanythingatall.Emptyspace.Thesoullessindifferenceoftheshark’seye.
“Toohigh,”murmuredMr.WhiteCoat,lookingatthemonitor.
“Firstsomethingtorelaxyou.”Claireslidestheneedleintomyarm.IlookatRazor.Helooksaway.
“Better,”WhiteCoatsays.
“Idon’tcarewhatyoudotome,”ItellVosch.Mytonguefeelsbloated,clumsy.
“Itdoesn’tmatter.”HenodsatClaire,whopicksupthesecondsyringe.
“Insertingthehubonmymark,”shesays.
Thehub?
“Uh-oh,”WhiteCoatsays.“Careful.”Eyeingthemonitorasmyheartratekicksupanotch.
“Don’tbeafraid,”Voschsays.“Itwon’tharmyou.”Clairegiveshimastartledlook.Heshrugs.
“Well.Werantests.”Heflickshisfingerather:Getonwithit.
Iweightenmilliontons.Mybonesareiron;therestisstone.Idon’tfeeltheneedleslideintomyarm.
Clairesays,“Mark,”andWhiteCoatclicksthestopwatch.Theworldisaclock.
“Thedeadhavetheirreward,”Voschsays.“Itistheliving—youandI—whostillhaveworktodo.
Callitwhatyoulike,fate,luck,providence.Youhavebeendeliveredintomyhandstobemyinstrument.”
“Appendingtothecerebralcortex.”FromClaire.Hervoicesoundsmuffled,asifmyearshavebeen
stuffedwithcotton.Irollmyheadtowardher.Athousandyearsgoby.
“You’veseenonebefore,”Voschsays,athousandmilesaway.“Inthetestingroom,onthedayyouarrived
atCampHaven.Wetoldyouitwasaninfestationofanalienlife-formattachedtothehumanbrain.That
wasalie.”
IcanhearRazorbreathing,loud,likeadiver’sbreaththrougharegulator.
“Itisactuallyamicroscopiccommandhubaffixedtotheprefrontallobeofyourbrain,”Voschsays.
“ACPU,ifyouwill.”
“Bootingup,”Clairesays.“Lookinggood.”
“Nottocontrolyou...,”Voschsays.
“Introducingfirstarray.”Needleglintinginfluorescentlight.Blackspeckssuspendedinamberfluid.
Ifeelnothingassheinjectsitintomyvein.
“Buttocoordinatethefortythousandorsomechanizedgueststowhichyouwillplayhost.”
“Tempninety-ninepointsix,”WhiteCoatsays.
Razorbesidemebreathing.
“Ittooktheprehistoricratsmillionsofyearsandathousandgenerationstoreachthecurrentstagein
humanevolution,”Voschsays.“Itwilltakeyoudaystoachievethenext.”
“Linkwiththefirstarraycomplete,”Clairesays,bendingovermeagain.Bitteralmondbreath.
“Introducingsecondarray.”
Theroomisfurnace-hot.I’mdrenchedinsweat.WhiteCoatannouncesthatmytemperatureisone
hundredandtwo.
“It’samessybusiness,evolution,”Voschsays.“Manyfalsestartsandblindalleys.Somecandidates
aren’tsuitablehosts.Theirimmunesystemscrashortheysufferfrompermanentcognitivedissonance.
Inlayman’sterms,theygomad.”
I’mburning.Myveinsarefilledwithfire.Waterflowsfrommyeyes,tricklesdownmytemples,poolsin
myears.IseeVosch’sfaceleaningoverthesurfaceoftheundulatingseaofmytears.
“ButIhavefaithinyou,Marika.Youdidnotcomethroughfireandbloodonlytofallnow.Youwillbe
thebridgethatconnectswhat-wastowhat-will-be.”
“We’relosingher,”WhiteCoatcallsout,tremble-voiced.
“No,”Voschmurmurs,coolhandonmywetcheek.“Wehavesavedher.”
58
THEREISNODAYornightanymore,onlythesterileglowofthefluorescentlights,andthoselights
nevergoout.ImeasurethehoursbyRazor’svisits,threetimesadaytodelivermealsIcan’tkeepdown.
Theycan’tcontrolmyfever.Can’tstabilizemybloodpressure.Can’tsubduemynausea.Mybodyis
rejectingtheelevenarraysdesignedtoaugmenteachofmybiologicalsystems,eacharrayconsistingof
fourthousandunits,whichmakesatotalofforty-fourthousandmicroscopicroboticinvaderscoursing
throughmybloodstream.
Ifeellikeshit.
Aftereverybreakfast,Clairecomesintoexamineme,tinkerwithmymeds,andmakecrypticremarks
like,Youbetterstartfeelingbetter.Thewindowofopportunityisclosing.Orsnideoneslike,I’m
startingtothinkthewholevery-big-rockideawastherightwaytogo.SheseemstoresentthatI’ve
reactedbadlytoherpumpingmefulloffortythousandalienmechanisms.
“It’snotlikethere’sanythingyoucandoaboutit,”shetoldmeonce.“Theprocedureisirreversible.”
“Thereisonething.”
“What?Oh.Sure.Ringertheirreplaceable.”Shepulledthekillswitchdevicefromherlabcoatpocket
andhelditup.“Gotyoukeyedin.I’llpushthebutton.Goahead.Tellmetopushthebutton.”
Smirking.
“Pushthebutton.”
Shelaughedsoftly.“It’samazing.WheneverIstartwonderingwhatheseesinyou,yousaysomethinglike
that.”
“Who?Vosch?”
Hersmilefaded.Hereyeswentshark-eyedblank.“Wewillterminatetheupgradeifyoucan’tadjust.”
Terminatetheupgrade.
Shepeeledthebandagesawayfrommyknuckles.Noscabs,nobruises,noscars.Asifithadn’thappened.
AsifI’dneverpoundedmyfistintothewalluntiltheskinsplitdowntothebone.IthoughtofVosch
appearinginmyroomcompletelyhealed,daysafterIsmashedhisnoseandgavehimtwoblackeyes.And
Sullivan,whotoldthestoryofEvanWalkertornapartbyshrapnelandyet,somehow,hourslater,ableto
infiltrateandtakeoutanentiremilitaryinstallationbyhimself.
FirsttheytookMarikaandmadeherRinger.Nowthey’vetakenRingerand“upgraded”herintosomeone
completelydifferent.Someonelikethem.
Orsomething.
Thereisnodayornightanymore,onlyaconstantsterileglow.
59
“WHATHAVETHEYdonetome?”IaskRazoronedaywhenhecartsinanotherinediblemeal.Idon’t
expectananswer,buthe’sexpectingmetoaskthequestion.ItmuststrikehimasweirdthatIhaven’t.
Heshrugs,avoidingmygaze.“Let’sseewhat’sonthemenutoday.Oooh.Meatloaf!Luckyduck.”
“I’mgoingtovomit.”
Hiseyeswiden.“Really?”Helooksaroundfortheplasticupchuckcontainer,desperate.
“Please,takethetrayaway.Ican’t.”
Hefrowns.“They’llpulltheplugonyouifyoudon’tgetyourshittogether.”
“Theycouldhavedonethistoanyone,”Isay.“Whydidtheydoittome?”
“Maybeyou’respecial.”
Ishakemyheadandanswerasifhewereserious.“No.Ithinkit’sbecausesomeoneelseis.Doyouplay
chess?”
Startled:“Playwhat?”
“Maybewecouldplay.WhenI’mfeelingbetter.”
“I’mmoreofabaseballguy.”
“Really?Iwouldhaveguessedswimming.Ortennis.”
Hecockshishead.Hiseyebrowscometogether.“Youmustbefeelingbad.Makingconversationlike
you’rehalfwayhuman.”
“Iamhalfwayhuman.Literally.Theotherhalf...”Ishrug.Itcoaxesoutagrin.
“Oh,the12thSystemisdefinitelytheirs,”hesays.
The12thSystem?Whatdidthatmeanexactly?I’mnotsure,butIsuspectit’sinreferencetotheeleven
normalsystemsofthehumanbody.
“WefoundawaytoyankthemoutofTeds’bodiesand...”Razortrailsoff,givesthecameraanabashed
look.“Anyway,youhavetoeat.Ioverheardthemtalkingaboutafeedingtube.”
“Sothat’stheofficialstory?LikeWonderland:We’reusingtheirtechnologyagainstthem.Andyou
believethat.”
Heleansagainstthewall,crosseshisarmsoverhischest,andhums“FollowtheYellowBrickRoad.”
Ishakemyhead.Amazing.Itisn’tthattheliesaretoobeautifultoresist.It’sthatthetruthistoohideousto
face.
“CommanderVoschisimplantingbombsinsidechildren.He’sturningkidsintoIEDs,”Itellhim.Hehums
louder.“Littlekids.Toddlers.They’reseparatedwhentheycomein,aren’tthey?TheywereatCamp
Haven.Anyoneyoungerthanfiveiscartedoffandyouneverseethemagain.Haveyouseenany?Where
arethechildren,Razor?Wherearethey?”
Hestopshumminglongenoughtosay,“Shutup,Dorothy.”
“Anddoesthatmakesense:loadingupaDorothywithsuperioralientechnology?Ifcommanddecidedto
‘enhance’peopleforthewar,doyoureallythinkitwouldpickthecrazyones?”
“Idon’tknow.Theypickedyou,didn’tthey?”Hegrabsthetrayofuntouchedfoodandheadsforthedoor.
“Don’tgo.”
Heturns,surprised.Myfaceishot.Thefevermustbespiking.Thathastobeit.
“Why?”heasks.
“You’retheonlyhonestpersonIhavelefttotalkto.”
Helaughs.It’sagoodlaugh,authentic,unforced;Ilikeit,butIamfeverish.“WhosaysI’mhonest?”
heasks.“We’reallenemiesindisguise,right?”
“Myfatherusedtotellthisstoryaboutsixblindmenandanelephant.Onemanfelttheelephant’slegand
saidanelephantmustlooklikeapillar.Anotherfeltthetrunkandsaidanelephantmustlooklikeatree
branch.Blindguynumberthreefeltthetailandsaidanelephantislikearope.Fourthguyfeelsthebelly:
Theelephantislikeawall.Fifthguy,ear:Theelephantisshapedlikeafan.Sixthguy,atusk,soan
elephantmustbelikeapipe.”
Razorstaresatmestone-facedforalongmoment,thensmiles.It’sagoodsmile;Ilikeit,too.
“That’sabeautifulstory.Youshouldtellitatparties.”
“Thepointis,”Itellhim,“fromthemomenttheirshipappeared,we’veallbeenblindmenpattingan
elephant.”
60
INTHECONSTANTsterileglow,Imeasurethedaysbytheuneatenmealshebrings.Threemeals,one
day.
Six,twodays.Onthetenthday,afterhesetsthetrayinfrontofme,Iaskhim,“Whydoyoubother?”
Myvoicelikehisnow,athroatycroak.I’msoakedinsweat,feverspiking,headpounding,heartracing.
Hedoesn’tanswer.Razorhasn’tspokentomeinseventeenmeals.Heseemsjittery,distracted,even
angry.Claire’sgonesilent,too.ShecomestwiceadaytochangemyIVbag,lookintomyeyeswithan
otoscope,testmyreflexes,changeoutthecatheterbag,andemptythebedpan.Everysixthmeal,Igeta
spongebath.Oneday,shebringsatapemeasureandwrapsitaroundmybiceps,Iguesstoseehowmuch
muscleI’velost.Idon’tseeanyoneelse.NoMr.WhiteCoat.NoVoschordeadfatherspumpedintomy
headbyVosch.I’mnotsooutofitthatIdon’tknowwhatthey’redoing:holdingvigil,waitingtoseeifthe
“enhancement”killsme.
She’srinsingoutthebedpanonemorningwhenRazorcomesinwithmybreakfast,andhewaitssilently
untilshe’sfinished,andthenIhearhimwhisper,“Isshedying?”
Claireshakesherhead.Ambivalent:couldbeno,couldbeyourguessisasgoodasmine.Iwaittill
she’sgonetosay,“You’rewastingyourtime.”
Heglancesatthecameramountedintheceiling.“Ijustdowhattheytellme.”
Ipickupthetrayandhurlitontothefloor.Hislipstighten,buthedoesn’tsayanything.Silently,hecleans
upthemesswhileIliepanting,exhaustedfromtheeffort,sweatpouringoffme.
“Yeah,pickthatup.Makeyourselfuseful.”
Whenmyfevershootsup,somethinginmymindloosens,andIimagineIcanfeeltheforty-fourthousand
microbotsswarminginmybloodstreamandthehubwithitsdelicatelaceoftendrilsburrowedintoevery
lobe,andIunderstandwhatmyfatherfeltinhisdyinghoursasheclawedathimselftosubduethe
imaginaryinsectscrawlingbeneathhisskin.
“Bitch,”Igasp.Fromthefloor,Razorlooksupatme,startled.“Leaveme,bitch.”
“Noproblem,”hemutters.Onhishandsandknees,usingawetragtomopupthemess,andthetartsmell
ofdisinfectant.“FastasIcan.”
Hestandsup.Hisivorycheeksareflushed.Deliriously,Ithinkthecolorbringsouttheauburnhighlights
inhisblondhair.“Itwon’twork,”hetellsme.“Starvingyourself.Soyoubetterthinkofsomethingelse.”
I’vetried.Butthere’snoalternative.Icanbarelyliftmyhead.Youbelongtothemnow.Voschthe
sculptor,mybodytheclay,butnotmyspirit,nevermysoul.Unconquered.Uncrushed.Uncontained.
Iamnotbound;theyare.Languish,die,orrecover,thegame’sover,thegrandmasterVoschmated.
“Myfatherhadafavoritesaying,”ItellRazor.“Wecallchessthegameofkingsbecause,throughchess,
welearnhowtorulekings.”
“Againwiththechess.”
Hedropsthedirtyragintothesinkandslamsoutthedoor.Whenhereturnswiththenextmeal,there’sa
familiarwoodenboxbesidethetray.Withoutaword,Razorpicksupthefoodanddumpsitintothetrash,
tossesthemetaltrayintothesink,whereitlandswithaloudclang.Thebedhums,maneuveringmybody
intoasittingposition,andheslidestheboxinfrontofme.
“Yousaidyoudidn’tplay,”Iwhisper.
“Soteachme.”
Ishakemyheadandsaytothecamerabehindhim,“Nicetry.Butstuffitupyourass.”
Razorlaughs.“Nottheiridea.Butspeakingofasses,youcanbetyoursIgotpermissionfirst.”
Heopensthebox,pullsouttheboard,fumbleswiththepieces.“Yougotyourqueensandkingsandthe
prawnsandtheseguard-tower-lookingthings.Howcomeeverypieceislikeapersonexceptthose?”
“Pawns,notprawns.Aprawnisabigshrimp.”
Henods.“That’sthenameofaguyinmyunit.”
“Shrimp?”
“Prawn.Neverknewwhatthehellitmeant.”
“You’resettingitupwrong.”
“ThatcouldbebecauseIdon’tknowhowtofreakingplay.Youdoit.”
“Idon’twanttodoit.”
“Thenyou’reconcedingdefeat?”
“Resigning.It’scalledresigning.”
“That’sgoodtoknow.Ihaveafeelingthat’llcomeinhandy.”Smiling.NottheZombiehigh-voltagetype.
Smaller,subtler,moreironic.HesitsbesidethebedandIcatchawhiffofbubblegum.“Whiteorblack?”
“Razor,I’mtooweaktoevenlift—”
“ThenyoupointwhereyouwanttogoandI’llmoveyou.”
He’snotgivingup.Ididn’treallyexpecthimto.Bythispoint,wafflersandwusseshavebeenwinnowed
out.Therearenopussiesleft.Itellhimwheretoplacethepiecesandhoweachonemoves.
Describethebasicrules.Lotsofnoddinganduh-huhs,butIgetthefeelingthere’salotofagreeingand
notmuchgrasping.ThenweplayandIslaughterhiminfourmoves.Thenextgame,hefallsintoarguing
anddenying:Youcan’tdothat!Tellmethatisn’tthestupidestdamnruleever.GamethreeandI’msure
he’sregrettingthewholeidea.Myspiritsaren’tbeingliftedandhisarebeingtotallycrushed.
“Thisisthedumbest-assedgameeverinvented,”hepouts.
“Chesswasn’tinvented.Itwasdiscovered.”
“LikeAmerica?”
“Likemathematics.”
“Iknewgirlsjustlikeyouinschool.”Heleavesthepointthereandstartstosetuptheboardagain.
“That’sallright,Razor.I’mtired.”
“TomorrowI’mbringingsomecheckers.”Spokenlikeathreat.
Hedoesn’t,though.Tray,box,board.Thistimehesetsupthepiecesinastrangeconfiguration:theblack
kinginthecenterfacinghim,thequeenontheedgefacingtheking,threepawnsbehindthekingatten,
twelve,andtwoo’clock,oneknightontheking’sright,anotheronhisleft,abishopdirectlybehindhim
and,nexttothebishop,anotherpawn.ThenRazorlooksatme,wearingthatseraphicgrin.
“Okay.”I’mnodding,notsurewhy.
“I’veinventedagame.Areyouready?It’scalled...”Hetapsonthebedrailtoproduceadrumroll.
“Chaseball!”
“Chaseball?”
“Chess-baseball.Chaseball.Getit?”Heplopsacoinbesidetheboard.
“What’sthat?”Iask.
“It’saquarter.”
“Iknowit’saquarter.”
“Forthepurposesofthegame,it’stheball.Well,notreallytheball,butitrepresentstheball.Orwhat
happenswiththeball.Ifyou’dbequietasecond,Icouldexplainalltherules.”
“Iwasn’ttalking.”
“Good.Yougivemeaheadachewhenyoutalk.Name-callingandYodaquotesaboutchessandcryptic
elephantstories.Youwanttoplayornot?”
Hedoesn’twaitforananswer.Heplacesawhitepawnjustinfrontoftheblackqueen,sayingthat’shim,
thebatter.
“Youshouldleadoffwithyourqueen.She’sthemostpowerful.”
“That’swhyshebatscleanup.”Heshakeshishead.Myignoranceisastounding.“Realsimple:Defense,
that’syou,flipsfirst.Heads,it’sastrike.Tails,aball.”
“Acoinwon’twork,”Ipointout.“Therearethreepossibilities:strike,ball,orahit.”
“Actually,therearefour,countingfouls.Yousticktochess;I’llhandlebaseball.”
“Chaseball,”Icorrecthim.
“Anyway.Ifyouflipaball,that’saball,andyouflipagain.Comesupheads,though,andthenIgetthe
coin.See,thatgivesmeachancetogetahit.HeadsIconnect,tailsImiss.IfImiss,strikeone.Andso
on.”
“Igetit.Andifyouflipheads,IgetthecoinbacktoseeifIcanfieldit.HeadsIthrowyouout...”
“Wrong!Sowrong!No.FirstIflip,threetimes.FourtimesifIgetaTT.”
“TT?”
“Twotails.That’satriple.WithaTTyougetonemoreflip:headsisahomerun;tails,justatriple.
Heads-headsisasingle;heads-tailsisadouble.”
“Maybeweshouldjuststartplayingandyoucan—”
“Thenyougetthecoinbacktoseeifyoucanfieldmypotentialsingle,double,triple,orhomer.
Heads,I’mout.Tails,I’monbase.”Hetakesadeepbreath.“Unlessit’sahomerun,ofcourse.”
“Ofcourse.”
“Areyoumakingfunofme?BecauseIdon’tknow—”
“I’mjusttryingtoabsorb—”
“Itkindofsoundslikeyouare.Youhavenoideahowlongittookmetocomeupwiththis.It’spretty
complicated.Imean,notlikethegameofkings,butyouknowwhattheycallbaseball,don’tyou?The
nationalpastime.Baseballiscalledthenationalpastimebecause,byplayingit,welearnhowtomaster
time.Orthepast.Oneof’em.”
“Nowyou’retheonemakingfunofme.”
“Actually,I’mtheonlyonemakingfunofyourightnow.”Hewaits.Iknowwhathe’swaitingfor.
“Youneversmile.”
“Doesitmatter?”
“Once,whenIwasakid,Ilaughedsohard,Ipeedmypants.WewereatSixFlags.TheFerriswheel.”
“Whatmadeyoulaugh?”
“Ican’tremembernow.”Heslideshishandbeneathmywristandliftsmyarmtopressthequarterintomy
upturnedpalm.“Flipthedamncoinsowecanplay.”
Idon’twanttohurthisfeelings,butthegameisn’tthatcomplicated.Hegetsveryexcitedonhisfirsthit,
triumphantlyfistpumping,thenproceedingtomovetheblackpiecesaroundtheboardwhilehecallsthe
playinahoarse,high-pitchedimitationofanannouncer’svoice,likeakidplayingwithactionfigures.
“It’sadeepdriveintocenterfield!”Thecenter-fieldpawnslidestowardsecondbase,thebishopsecond
basemanandthepawnshortstopdropback,andtheleft-fieldpawnrunsup,thencutstowardcenter.
That’swithonehandwhiletheothermanipulatesthequarter,turningitinhisfingerslikeaballspinning
inflight,loweringitasifinslowmotiontolandincenter-leftfield.It’ssoridiculousandchildishthatI
wouldhavesmiledifIstillsmiled.
“He’ssafe!”Razorbellows.
No.Notchildish.Childlike.Eyesfeverbright,voicerisinginexcitement,he’stenagain.Notallthingsare
lost,nottheimportantthings.
Hisnexthitisablooperthatdropsbetweenfirstbaseandrightfield.Hecreatesadramaticcollision
betweenmyfielderandbaseman,firstbaseslidingback,rightfieldslidingup,thensmack!Razorcackles
attheimpact.
“Wouldn’tthatbeanerror?”Iask.“It’sacatchableball.”
“Catchableball?Ringer,it’sjustadorkygameImadeupinfiveminuteswithabunchofchesspiecesand
aquarter.”
Twomorehits;he’sthreerunsupatthetopofthefirst.I’vealwayssuckedatgamesofchance.
Alwayshatedthemforthatreason.Razormustsensemyenthusiasmwaning.Heampsupthecommentary
whileslidingthepiecesaround(despitemypointingoutthey’remypieces,sinceI’mondefense).
Anotherdrivedeepcenter-left.Anotherfloaterbehindfirstbase.Anotherimpactoffirstbasemanand
outfielder.Idon’tknowifhe’srepeatinghimselfbecausehethinksit’sfunnyorbecausehehasaserious
deficitinimagination.There’sapartofmethatfeelsasifIshouldbedeeplyaffrontedonbehalfofchess
playerseverywhere.
Bythethirdinning,I’mexhausted.
“Let’spickitupagaintonight,”Isuggest.“Ortomorrow.Tomorrowwouldbebetter.”
“What?Youdon’tlikeit?”
“No.It’sfun.I’mjusttired.Reallytired.”
Heshrugslikeitdoesn’tmatter,whichitdoes,orhewouldn’tshrug.Heslipsthequarterbackintohis
pocketandpacksupthebox,mutteringunderhisbreath.Icatchthewordchess.
“Whatdidyousay?”
“Nothing.”Cuttinghiseyesaway.
“Somethingaboutchess.”
“Chess,chess,chess.Chessonthebrain.Sorrychaseballhasnothingonchessinthesheerthrill
category.”
Heshovestheboxunderhisarmandstompstothedoor.Onelastpartingshotbeforehegoes:“Ithought
maybeI’dcheeryouupalittle,that’sall.Thanks.Wedon’thavetoplayanymore.”
“Areyouangryatme?”
“Igavechessachance,didn’tI?Youdidn’tseemebitching.”
“Youdidn’t.Andyoudid.Alot.”
“Justthinkaboutit.”
“Thinkaboutwhat?”
Heshoutsacrosstheroom:“Justthinkaboutit!”
Heslamsoutthedoor.I’moutofbreath,shaky,andcan’tfigureoutwhy.
61
I’MREADYWITHanapologywhenthedooropensthatnight.ThemoreIthinkaboutitwithmyfeverish
mind,themoreIfeellikethebullyatthebeachwhokicksoversomelittlekid’ssandcastle.
“Hey,Razor,I’m—”
Mymouthdropsopen.There’sastrangerholdingthetray,akidaroundtwelveorthirteen.
“Where’sRazor?”Iask.Well,morelikedemand.
“Idon’tknow,”thekidsqueaks.“Theyhandedmethetrayandsaidtakeit.”
“Takeit,”Iechostupidly.
“Yeah.Takeit.Takethetray.”
TheypulledRazoroffRingerduty.Maybechaseball’sagainstregs.MaybeVoschgotticked,twokids
actinglikekidsforacoupleofhours.Despairisaddictive,fortheonewatchingitandtheone
experiencingit.
OrmaybeRazor’sthetickedpartyhere.Maybeheaskedtobereassigned,tookhischaseballandwent
home.
Idon’tsleepwellthatnight,ifyoucancallitnightundertheconstantsterileglow.Myfevershootsupto
ahundredandthreeasmyimmunesystemlaunchesitsfinal,desperateassaultonthearrays.Icanseethe
blurrygreennumbersonthemonitorinchingupward.Islipintoasemi-deliriousdoze.
Bitch!Leaveme.Youknowwhytheycallitbaseball,don’tyou?It’sadeepdriveintocenterfield!I’m
done.Takecareofyourself.
ThegrungysilverturninginRazor’sfingers.It’sadeepdrive.Adeepdrive.Loweringtowardtheboard
inslowmotion,wherethefielderscomeup,secondbaseandshortstopgoback,leftgoesright.
Blooperonthefirst-baseline!Fielderracesup,basemanback,boom.Fieldersup,infieldback,cutto
theright.Firstbasemanback,rightfielderup,boom.Up,back,cut.Back,up.Boom.
Overandover,let’sgototheinstantreplay,up,back,cut.Back,up.
Boom.
NowI’mwide-awake,staringattheceiling.No.Can’tseeitaswell.Betterwithmyeyesclosed.
Centerandleftslashdown.Leftcutsacross:
H
Rightstepsup.Firstbaserunsback:
I
Oh,comeon.Ridiculous.You’redelusional.
WhenIgotbacktoourcampthatnightwiththevodka,Ifoundmydeadfathercurledintoafetalposition,
hisfacecoveredinbloodwherehehadclawedatthebugsborninsidehismind.Bitch,hecalledme
beforeIlefttofindthepoisonthatwouldsavehim.Hecalledmeanothername,too,thenameofthe
womanwholeftuswhenIwasthree.HethoughtIwasmymother,whichwasironic.FromthetimeIwas
fourteen,Iwasmorelikehismother,feedinghim,washinghisclothes,takingcareofthehouse,making
surehedidn’tdosomethingcatastrophicallystupidtohimself.AndeverydayIwenttoschoolinmy
perfectlypresseduniformandtheycalledmeHerMajestyMarikaandsaidIthoughtIwasbetterthan
everybodyelsebecausemyfatherwasasemi-famousartist,thereclusivegeniustype,when
thetruthwasthatmostdaysmyfatherdidn’tknowwhatplanethewason.BythetimeIgothomefrom
school,he’dbefull-ondelusional.AndIletpeopleontheoutsideholdtheirdelusions,too.Iletthem
thinkIthoughtIwasbetter,thewayIletSullivanthinkshewasrightaboutme.Ididn’tjustfosterthe
delusions.Ilivedthem.Evenaftertheworldcrashedaroundus,Iclungtothem.Butafterhedied,Itold
myselfnomore.Nomorebravefrontsorfalsehopesorpretendingeverything’sokaywhennothingis.I
thoughtIwasbeingtoughbypretending,callingitbeingoptimistic,brave,keepingmyheadupor
whateverbullshitseemedtofitthemoment.That’snottough.That’stheverydefinitionofsoft.Iwas
ashamedofhisdiseaseandangryathim,butIwasjustasguilty.Iplayedrightintotheliesrightuptothe
end:Whenhecalledmemymother’sname,Ididn’tcorrecthim.
Delusional.
Inthecorner,thecamera’sblank,soullesseyestaring.
WhatdidRazorsay?Justthinkaboutit!
That’snotallyousaid,isit?Iaskhim,lookingblanklybackattheblank,blackeye.Thatisn’t
everything.
62
IHOLDMYBREATHwhenthedooropensthenextmorning.
AllnightIseesawedbetweenbeliefanddoubt.Iwallowedineveryaspectofthenewreality.
Firstoption:Razordidn’tinventchaseballanymorethanIinventedchess.ThegameisVosch’screation
forreasonstoomurkytoseeclearly.
Secondoption:Razor,forreasonsonlycleartoRazor,hasdecidedtoseriouslymesswithmyhead.It
wasn’tjustthehardheartedandresilientwhosurvivedthewinnowingofthehumanrace.Alotofsadistic
assholespersisted,too.That’sthewayofeveryhumancatastrophe.Thedouchebagisnearly
indestructible.
Thirdoption:Allofitisentirelyinmyhead.Chaseballisasillygamemadeupbyakidtotakemymind
offthefactthatImaybedying.There’snootherpoint,nosecretmessagestracedonachessboard.
Myseeingletterswheretherearenolettersisthehumanbrain’stendencytofindpatterns,evenwhere
therearenopatterns.
AndIholdmybreathforanotherreason:Whatifit’sthesqueaky-voicedkidagain?WhatifRazordoesn’t
comeback,evercomeback?There’sarealpossibilitythatRazorisdead.Ifhewastryingtosecretly
communicatewithmeandVoschfigureditout,I’msureVosch’sresponsewouldbeonethingandonlyone
thing.
Iletoutmybreathslowandsteadywhenhestepsintotheroom.Thebeepingofthemonitorkicksupa
notch.
“What?”Razorasks,narrowinghiseyesatme.Hesensessomething’suprightaway.
Isayit.“Hi.”
Hiseyescutright,cutleft.“Hi.”Drawingthetinywordoutslowly,asifhe’snotsureifhe’switha
lunatic.“Hungry?”
Ishakemyhead.“Notreally.”
“Youshouldtrytoeatthis.YoulooklikemycousinStacey.Shewasamethaddict.Idon’tmeanyou
literallylooklikeamethaddict.Just...”Faceturningred.“Youknow,likesomethingiseatingyoufrom
theinside.”
Hepushesthebuttonbesidethebed.Irise.Hesays,“YouknowwhatI’maddictedto?SourPatchKids.
Raspberry.Notsocrazyaboutthelemon.Ihaveastash.I’llbringyousomeifyouwant.”
Hesetsthetrayinfrontofme.Coldscrambledeggs,friedpotatoes,ablackened,crustythingthatmayor
maynotbebacon.Mystomachclenches.Ilookupathim.
“Trytheeggs,”hesuggests.“They’refresh.Freerange,organic,chemicalfree.Weraisethemrighthere
incamp.Thechickens,nottheeggs.”
Dark,soulfuleyesandthatsmall,mysterious,beatificsmile.WhatdidhisreactionmeanwhenIsaidhi?
WashestartledIofferedhimahalfwayhumangreetingorwashestartledbecauseIhadfiguredoutthe
realpointofchaseball?OrwashenotstartledatallandI’mpickingupcuesthataren’tthere?
“Idon’tseethebox.”
“Whatbox?Oh.Itwaskindofastupidgame.”Helooksawayandsayssoftlytohimself,“Imiss
baseball.”
He’squietforthenextcoupleofminuteswhileImovethecoldeggsaroundtheplate.Imissbaseball.A
universeoflossinfoursyllables.
“No,Ilikedit,”Itellhim.“Itwasfun.”
“Really?”Alook:Areyouserious?Hedoesn’tknowthatIam99.99999percentofthetime.“Youdidn’t
seemtoodownwithitatthetime.”
“IguessI’mjustnotfeelingwelllately.”
Helaughsandthenseemssurprisedathisownreaction.“Okay.Well,Ileftitinmyquarters.I’llbringit
somedayifnobodyswipesit.”
Theconversationmeandersoffthegame.IdiscoverRazorwastheyoungestoffivekids,grewupinAnn
Arbor,wherehisdadworkedasanelectricianandhismomasamiddleschoollibrarian,playedbaseball
andsoccerandlovedMichiganfootball.Untilhewastwelve,hisgreatambitionwastobethestarting
quarterbackfortheWolverines.Buthegrewtall,notbig,andbaseballbecamehispassion.
“Momwantedmetobeadoctororalawyer,buttheoldmandidn’tthinkIwassmartenough...”
“Wait.Yourdaddidn’tthinkyouweresmart?”
“Smartenough.There’sadifference.”Defendinghisfatherevenindeath.Peopledie;loveendures.
“Hewantedmetobeanelectricianlikehim.Dadwasabigunionguy,presidentofhislocal,stufflike
that.Thatwastherealreasonhedidn’twantmetobealawyer.Suits,hecalledthem.”
“Hehadaproblemwithauthority.”
Razorshrugs.“‘Beyourownman,’healwayssaid.‘Don’tbetheMan’sman.’”Heshuffleshisfeet,
embarrassed,likehe’stalkingtoomuch.“Whataboutyouroldman?”
“Hewasanartist.”
“That’scool.”
“Hewasalsoadrunk.Didmoredrinkingthanpainting.”Thoughnotalways.Yellowedphotographsof
showingshangingcrookedindustyframesandthestudentsbuzzinginhisstudionervouslycleaning
brushesandthecathedralhushthatfellwhenhewalkedintoacrowdedroom.
“Whatkindofshitdidhepaint?”Razorasks.
“Mostlythat.Shit.”Notalways,though.NotwhenhewasyoungerandIwassmallandthehandthatheld
minewasstainedwithrainbowcolors.
Helaughs.“Thewayyoujoke.Likeyoudon’tevenknowit’sajoke,andit’syourownjoke.”
Ishakemyhead.“Iwasn’tjoking.”
Henods.“Maybethat’swhyyoudon’tknowit.”
63
AFTERTHEEVENINGmealIdon’teatandtheforcedbanterandtheminusculeawkwardsilencesthat
dropbetweenoursentences,andaftertheboardcomesoutofthewoodenboxandhe’ssetupthepieces
andwefliptoseewho’sthehometeamandhewins,ItellhimIthinkIcanhandlemyownfielding,and
hesmirks,Yeah,right,let’sgo,girl,afterhe’ssittingbesidemeontheedgeofthebedandafterweeksof
learningtoletgoofmyrageandembracethehowlingemptinessandafteryearsoferectingfortresswalls
aroundpainandlossandthefeelingthatIwillneverfeelagain,afterlosingmyfatherandlosingTeacup
andlosingZombieandlosingeverythingbutthehowlingemptinessandthatisnothing,nothingatall,I
silentlysaytheword:HI
Razornods.“Yeah.”Hetapshisfingerontheblanket.Ifeelthetapagainstmythigh.“Yeah.”Tap.
“Notbad,thoughit’scoolerwhenyoudoitinslo-mo.”Hedemonstrates.“Getitnow?”
“Ifyouinsist.”Isigh.“Yeah.”Itapmyfingeronthebedrail.“Well,tobehonestIdon’treallyseethe
point.”
“No?”Tap-tapontheblanket.
“No.”Tap-tapontherail.
Thenextwordtakesovertwentyminutestotrace:
HLP
Tap.“DidIevertellyouaboutmysummerjobbeforetherewerenomoresummerjobs?”heasks.
“Doggrooming.Worstpartofthejob?Expressingtheanalglands...”
He’sonaroll.Fourrunsandnotasingleout.
HOW
Iwon’tgetananswerforanotherfortyminutes.I’malittletiredandmorethanalittlefrustrated.
Thisisliketextingwithsomeoneathousandmilesawayusingone-leggedrunners.Timeslowsdown;
eventsspeedup.
PLN
Ihavenoideawhatthatmeans.Ilookathimbuthe’slookingattheboard,movingthepiecesbackinto
position,talking,fillinginthetinysilencesthatdrop,stuffingtheemptyspacewithchatter.
“That’swhattheyactuallycalledit:expressing,”hesays,stillonthedogs.“Rinse,wash,rinse,express,
repeat.Sofreakingboring.”
Andtheblack,soulless,unblinkingeyeofthecamera,staringdown.
“Ididn’tunderstandthatlastplay,”Itellhim.
“Chaseballisn’tsomelame-assgamelikechess,”hesayspatiently.“Thereareintricacies.Intricacies.
Towin,yougottahaveaplan.”
“Andthat’syou,Iguess.Themanwiththeplan.”
“Yes,that’sme.”
Tap.
64
IHADN’TSEENVoschindays.Thatchangesthenextmorning.
“Let’shearit,”hetellsClaire,who’sstandingbesideMr.WhiteCoatlookinglikeamiddle-schooler
draggedintotheprincipal’sofficeforbullyingthescrawnykid.
“She’slosteightpoundsandtwentypercentofhermusclemass.She’sonDiovanforthehighblood
pressure,Phenerganforthenausea,amoxicillinandstreptomycintokeepherlymphaticsystemtamped
down,butwe’restillstrugglingwiththefever,”Clairereports.
“‘Strugglingwiththefever’?”
Claire’seyescutaway.“Ontheupside,herliverandkidneysarestillfunctioningnormally.Abitoffluid
inherlungs,butwe’re—”
Voschwavesheroffandstepsuptomybedside.Brightbirdeyesglittering.
“Doyouwanttolive?”
Ianswerwithouthesitating.“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thequestiontakesmeoffguardforsomereason.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Youcannotovercomeus.Noonecan.Notifyounumberedseventimessevenbillionwhenitbegan.
Theworldisaclockandtheclockhaswoundtoitsfinalsecond—whywouldyouwanttolive?”
“Idon’twanttosavetheworld,”Itellhim.“I’mjusthopingImightgettheopportunitytokillyou.”
Hisexpressiondoesn’tchange,buthiseyesglitteranddance.Iknowyou,hiseyessay.Iknowyou.
“Hope,”hewhispers.“Yes.”Nodding:He’spleasedwithme.“Hope,Marika.Clingtoyourhope.”
HeturnstoClaireandMr.WhiteCoat.“Pullheroffthemeds.”
Mr.WhiteCoat’sfaceturnsthecolorofhissmock.Clairestartstosaysomething,thenlooksaway.
Voschturnsbacktome.
“Whatistheanswer?”hedemands.“Itisn’trage.Whatisit?”
“Indifference.”
“Tryagain.”
“Detachment.”
“Again.”
“Hope.Despair.Love.Hate.Anger.Sorrow.”I’mshaking;myfevermustbespiking.“Idon’tknow.I
don’tknow.Idon’tknow.”
“Better,”hesays.
65
ITGETSSOBADthatnight,Icanbarelymakeitthroughfourinningsofchaseball.
XMEDS
“Heardarumorgoingaroundtheytookyouoffyourmeds,”Razorsays,shakingthequarterinhisclosed
fist.“True?”
“TheonlythingleftinmyIVbagissalinetokeepmykidneysfromshuttingdown.”
Heglancesatmyvitalsonthemonitor.Frowning.WhenRazorfrowns,heremindsmeofalittleboy
who’sstubbedhistoeandthinkshe’stoobigtocry.
“Soyoumustbegettingbetter.”
“Guessso.”Tap-taponthebedrail.
“Okay,”hebreathes.“Myqueenisup.Lookout.”
Mybackstiffens.Myvisionblurs.Ileantothesideandemptymystomach,whatlittleisinsidemy
stomach,ontothewhitetile.Razorleapsupwithadisgustedcry,topplingtheboard.
“Hey!”heshouts.Notatme.Attheblackeyeaboveus.“Hey,alittlehelphere!”
Nohelpcomes.Helooksatthemonitor,looksatme,andsays,“Idon’tknowwhattodo.”
“I’mokay.”
“Sure.You’refine,justfine!”Hegoestothesink,wetsacleantowel,andlaysitacrossmyforehead.
“Fine,myass!Whythehelldidtheytakeyouoffthemeds?”
“Whynot?”I’mfightingtheurgetohurlagain.
“Oh,Idon’tknow.Maybebecauseyou’lldiewithoutthem.”Heglaresatthecamera.
“Maybeyoushouldhandmethatcontaineroverthere.”
Hedabsatthecrudstickingonmychin,refoldsthecloth,grabsthecontainer,andplacesitonmylap.
“Razor.”
“Yeah?”
“Pleasedon’tputthatbackonmyface.”
“Huh?Oh.Shit.Yeah.Hangon.”Hegrabsacleantowelandrunsitunderthewater.Hishandsare
shaking.“Youknowwhatitis?Iknowwhatitis.Whydidn’tIthinkofit?Whydidn’tyouthinkofit?
Themedsmustbeinterferingwiththesystem.”
“Whatsystem?”
“The12thSystem.Theonetheyinjectedintoyou,Sherlock.Thehubandhisfortythousandlittlefriends
tosuperchargetheothereleven.”Heputsthecooltowelonmyforehead.“You’recold.Youwantmeto
findanotherblanket?”
“No,I’mburningup.”
“It’sawar,”hesays.Hetapshischest.“Inhere.Yougottadeclareatruce,Ringer.”
Ishakemyhead.“Nopeace.”
Henods,squeezingmywristbeneaththethinblanket.Squatsonthefloortogatherthefallenchesspieces.
Curseswhenhecan’tfindthequarter.Decideshecan’tleavethevomitjustlyingthere.Grabsthedirty
towelheusedtowipemychinandswabsthedeckonhishandsandknees.He’sstillcursingwhenthe
dooropensandClairecomesintotheroom.
“Goodtiming!”Razorbarksather.“Hey,can’tyouatleastgivehertheanti-pukeserum?”
Clairejerksherheadtowardthedoor.“Getout.”Shepointsatthebox.“Andtakethatwithyou.”
Razorglowersather,buthedoesit.Iseeagainthetightlycontainedforcebehindhisangelicfeatures.
Careful,Razor.That’snottheanswer.
Thenwe’realone,andClairestudiesthemonitorforalong,silentmoment.
“Wereyoutellingthetruthearlier?”sheasks.“YouwanttolivesoyoucankillCommanderVosch?
You’resmarterthanthat.”Inthetoneofamotherscoldingaveryyoungchild.
“You’reright,”Ianswer.“I’llnevergetthatchance.ButI’mgoingtohavetheopportunitytokillyou.”
Shelooksstartled.“Killme?Whywouldyouwanttokillme?”WhenIdon’tanswer,shesays,“Idon’t
thinkyou’regoingtolivethroughthenight.”
Inod.“Andyou’renotgoingtoliveoutthemonth.”
Shelaughs.Thesoundofherlaughtercausesbiletoriseintomythroat.Burning.Burning.
“Whatareyougoingtodo?”shesayssoftly.Sheyanksthetowelfrommyforehead.“Smothermewith
this?”
“No.I’mgoingtoovercometheguardbysmashinghisheadinwithaheavyobject,andthenI’mgoingto
takehisgunandshootyouintheface.”
Shelaughsthroughthewholething.“Well,goodluckwiththat.”
“Itwon’tbeluck.”
66
CLAIRETURNSOUTtobewrongaboutmebeingdeadbymorning.
Nearlyamonthlater,bymyreckoningofthreemealsperday,andI’mstillhere.
Idon’tremembermuch.AtsomepointtheydisconnectedmefromtheIVandthemonitor,andthesilence
thatslammeddownaftertheconstantbeepingwasloudenoughtocrackmountains.TheonlypersonIsaw
duringthattimewasRazor.He’smyfull-timecaretakernow.Feedsme,emptiesmybedpan,washesmy
faceandhands,turnsmesoIdon’tdevelopbedsores,playschaseballinthehourswhenI’mnotdelirious,
andtalksnonstop.Hetalksabouteverything,whichisanotherwayofsayinghetalksaboutnothing.His
deadfamily,hisdeadfriends,hissquadmates,thedrudgeryofwintercamp,thefightsborneofboredom
andfatigueandfear(butmostlyfear),therumorsthatwhenspringcomestheTedsarelaunchingamajor
offensive,alast-ditchefforttopurgetheworldofthehumannoise,ofwhichRazorisverymuchanactive
part.Hetalksandtalksandtalks.Hehadagirlfriend,hernamewasOliviaandherskinwasdarklikea
muddyriverandsheplayedclarinetintheschoolbandandwasgoingtobeadoctorandhatedRazor’s
dadbecausehedidn’tthinkRazorcouldbeadoctor.HeletsitslipthathisgivennameisAlexlikeARodandhisdrillsergeantnamedhimRazornotbecausehewasslenderbutbecausehecuthimself
shavingonemorning.Ihaveverysensitiveskin.Hissentencesarewithoutperiods,withoutcommas,
withoutparagraphs,or,tobeaccurate,it’sallonelongparagraphwithnomargins.
Heshutsupjustonetimeafternearlyamonthoftheverbaldiarrhea.He’sgoingonabouthowhewon
firstplaceinthefifth-gradesciencefairwithhisprojectabouthowtoturnapotatointoabatterywhenhe
stopsinmidsentence.Hissilenceisjarring,likethestillnessafterabuildingimplodes.
“Whatisthat?”heasks,staringintentlyintomyface,andnobodystaresmoreintentlythanRazor,noteven
Vosch.
“Nothing.”Iturnmyheadawayfromhim.
“Areyoucrying,Ringer?”
“Myeyesarewatering.”
“No.”
“Don’ttellmeno,Razor.Idon’tcry.”
“Bullshit.”Atapontheblanket.
Tap-tapontherailing.“Diditwork?”Iask,turningbacktohim.Whatdoesitmatterifheseesmecry?
“Thepotatobattery.”
“Sureitworked.It’sscience.Neveradoubtaboutitworking.Youplanitallout,followthesteps,andit
can’tgowrong.”Squeezingmyhandthroughtheblanket:Don’tbescared.Everything’sset.Iwon’tlet
youdown.
It’stoolatetogobacknowanyway:Hiseyeswandertothefoodtraybesidethebed.“Youateallthe
puddingtonight.Youknowhowtheymakechocolatepuddingwithoutchocolate?Youdon’twantto
know.”
“Letmeguess.Ex-Lax.”
“What’sEx-Lax?”
“Seriously?Youdon’tknow?”
“Oh,sosorryIdon’tknowwhatEx-Lax-who-gives-a-shitis.”
“It’sachocolate-flavoredlaxative.”
Hemakesaface.“That’ssick.”
“That’sthepoint.”
Hegrins.“Thepoint?OhGod,didyoujustmakeajoke?”
“HowwouldIknow?JustpromisemenobodyslippedEx-Laxintomypudding.”
“Promise.”Tap.
Ilastforafewhoursafterheleaves,longafterlights-outineveryotherpartofthecamp,deepintothe
bellyofthewinternight,beforethepressurebecomesunbearable,andthen,whenIcan’ttakeitanymore,
Istartshoutingforhelp,wavingatthecameraandthenrollingovertopressmychestagainstthecold
metalrailings,poundingmyfistintothepillowinfrustrationandfury,untilthedoorburstsopenand
Clairechargesin,followedcloselybyabigbearofarecruit,whosehandimmediatelyfliestocoverhis
nose.
“Whathappened?”Clairesays,thoughthesmellshouldtellherallsheneedstoknow.
“Oh,crap!”therecruitburblesbehindhishand.
“Exactly,”Igasp.
“Great.Justgreat,”Clairesays,throwingtheblanketandsheetontothefloorandmotioningfortherecruit
tohelpher.“Finejob,missy.Ihopeyou’reproudofyourself.”
“Notyet,”Iwhimper.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Claireshoutsattherecruit.Goneisthesoftvoice.Vanishedarethekindeyes.
“Helpmewiththis.”
“Helpyouwithwhat,ma’am?”Hehasaflattenednoseandverysmalleyesandaforeheadthatbulgesin
themiddle.Hisbellyhangsoverhisbeltandhispantsareaninchtooshort.He’shuge;he’sgotabouta
hundredpoundsormoreonme.
Itwon’tmatter.
“Getup,”Clairesnapsatme.“Comeon.Getyourlegsunderyou.”ShetakesonearmandJumboRecruit
takestheotherandtogethertheyhaulmeoutofthebed.BigRecruit’ssmushed-infaceistwistedwith
revulsion.
“Ah,God.It’severywhere!”hesoftlywails.
“Idon’tthinkIcanwalk,”ItellClaire.
“ThenI’llmakeyoucrawl,”shesnarls.“Ishouldjustleaveyoulikethis.It’ssoperfectlymetaphorical.”
Theyhaulmetwodoorsdownandintotheshowerroom.BigRecruitiscoughingandgaggingandClaire
isbitchingandI’mapologizingwhileshestripsoffthejumpsuitandthrowsitatJumboRecruit,telling
himtowaitoutside.“Don’tleanonme.Leanonthewall,”sheordersharshly.Mykneesarebuckling.I
hangontotheshowercurtaintokeepupright;Ihaven’tusedmylegsinamonth.
Withonehandlockedaroundmyleftarm,Clairepushesmeunderthewater,bendingatthewaisttostay
dry.Thesprayisicy.Shedidn’tbothertoadjustthetemperature.Theslapofcoldwateragainstmybody
islikeanalarmgoingoff,snappingmefromalongwinter’shibernation,andIreachupandgrabthe
showerheadpipecomingfromthewallandtellClaireIthinkI’vegotit;IthinkIcanstand;shecanletgo.
“Areyousure?”sheasks,holdingon.
“Prettysure.”
IwrenchthepipedownwardwithalltheforceIhave.Thepipebreaksoffatthejointwithametallic
squealandthecoldwatergushesoutinaropeysnarl.Leftarmup,slippingthroughClaire’sfingers,then
I’vegotherbythewristandIswingmybodytowardher,rotatingmyhipstomaximizetheblow,andslam
thejaggededgeofthebrokenpipeintoherneck.
Iwasn’tsureIcouldbreakasteelpipewithmybarehands,butIwasprettysure.
Ihavebeenenhanced.
67
CLAIRESTAGGERSAWAY,bloodpouringfromthetwo-inchpuncturewoundinherneck.ThefactthatI
didn’tdropherdoesn’tsurpriseme;I’dassumedshewouldbeenhanced,too,butI’dhopedtogetlucky
andseverhercarotidartery.Shefumblesinthepocketofherlabcoatforthekillswitch.Ianticipated
that.Itossthebrokenpipeaway,grabthebolted-inshowerrod,breakitfromitsbracketsandsmashone
endintothesideofherhead.
Theimpactbarelyrocksher.Inamillisecond,fasterthanmyeyescanfollowthemotion,shehastheend
oftherodinhergrip.Iletgoinhalfamillisecond,sowhensheyanksthere’snothingholdingtheother
end,andshestumblesbackintothewall,hittingwithenoughforcetocrackthetiles.Ibarreltowardher.
Sheswingstherodtowardmyhead,butIanticipatedthat,too—countedonit,whenIrehearsedthisinthe
thousandsilenthoursbeneaththeconstantglow.
Igrabtheotherendoftherodasitarcstowardme,firstwithmyrighthand,thenwiththeleft,hands
shoulder-widthapart,andpowertherodintoherneck,spreadingmylegsforthebalanceandleverage
necessarytocrushherwindpipe.
Ourfacesareinchesapart.I’mcloseenoughtosmellthecyanidebreathtricklingoutofherpartedlips.
Herhandsareoneithersideofmine,pushingbackwhileIpushforward.Thefloorisslick;I’mbarefoot,
sheisn’t;I’mgoingtolosetheadvantagebeforesheblacksout.Ihavetodropher—fast.
Islidemyfoottotheinsideofherankleandkickout.Perfect:ShefallstothefloorandIfollowher
down.
Shelandsonherback.Ilandonherstomach.Iclampmykneestightlyagainsthersidesandshovetherod
downhardintoherneck.
ThenthedoorbehindusfliesopenandJumboRecruitlumbersin,gundrawn,shoutingincoherently.
ThreeminutesinandthelightinClaire’seyesisfading,butit’snotallthewayout,andIknowIhaveto
takearisk.Idon’tlikerisk,neverdid;Ijustlearnedtoacceptit.Somethingsyoucanchooseandsome
youcan’t,likeSullivan’sCrucifixSoldier,likeTeacup,likegoingbackforZombieandNuggetbecause
notgoingbackmeantthere’snovaluetoanythinganymore,notlife,nottime,notpromises.
AndIhaveapromisetokeep.
Jumbo’sgun:The12thSystemlocksinonitandthousandsofmicroscopicdroidsgotoworkaugmenting
themuscles,tendons,andnervesinmyhands,eyes,andbraintoneutralizethethreat.Inamicrosecond,
objectiveidentified,informationprocessed,methoddetermined.
Jumbodoesn’thaveaprayer.
Theattackhappensfasterthanhisunenhancedbraincanprocessit.Idoubtheevenseesthecurtainrod
whizzingtowardhishand.Thegunfliesacrosstheroom.Hegoesoneway—forthegun—whileIgothe
other—forthetoilet.
Thetanklidissolidceramic.Andheavy.Icouldkillhim;Idon’t.ButIsmackhimhardenoughinthe
backofheadtoputhimoutforalongtime.
Jumbofallsdown.Clairerisesup.Islingthelidtowardherhead.Herarmrisestoblocktheprojectile.
Myenrichedhearingpicksupthesoundofabonesnappingfromthecollision.Thesilverdeviceinher
handclatterstothefloor.ShedivesforitasIstepforward.Islamonefootonheroutstretchedhandand
withtheotherkickthedevicetotheothersideoftheroom.
Done.
Andsheknowsit.Shelookspastthebarrelofthegunleveledatherface—beyondthetinyholefilled
withimmensenothingness—intomyeyes,andhersarekindagainandhervoiceissoftagain,thebitch.
“Marika...”
No.Marikawasslow,weak,sentimental,dimwitted.Marikawasalittlegirlclingingtorainbowfingers,
helplesslywatchingthetimewinddown,teeteringontherazor’sedgeofthebottomlessabyss,exposed
behindherfortresswallsbypromisesshecouldneverkeep.ButIwillkeepherfinalpromisetoClaire,
thebeastwhostrippedhernakedandbaptizedherinthecoldwaterthatstillroarsinthebrokenshower.I
willkeepMarika’spromise.Marikaisdead,andIwillkeepherpromise.
“MynameisRinger.”
Ipullthetrigger.
68
JUMBOSHOULDHAVEaknifeonhim.Standardissueforallrecruits.Ikneelbesidehisunconscious
body,sliptheknifefromitssheath,andcarefullycutoutthepelletembeddednearthespinalcordatthe
baseofhisskull.Islipitbetweenmycheekandgums.
Nowmine.NopainwhenIcutitout,andonlyasmallamountofbloodtricklesfromtheincision.
Botstodeadensensation.Botstorepairdamage.That’swhyClairedidn’tdiewhenIrammedabroken
pipeintoherneckandwhy,aftertheinitialgush,thebleedingquicklystopped.
Alsowhy,aftersixweeksflatonmybackwithverylittlefoodandaburstofintensephysicalactivity,I’m
notevenoutofbreath.
IinsertthetinypelletfrommyneckintoJumbo’s.Trackmenow,CommanderAsshole.
Freshjumpsuitfromthestackunderthesink.Shoes:Claire’sfeetaretoosmall;Jumbo’smuchtoolarge.
I’llworkonshoeslater.Thebigkid’sleatherjacketmightcomeinhandy,though.Thejackethangsonme
likeablanket,butIliketheextraroominthesleeves.
There’ssomethingI’mforgetting.Iglancearoundthesmallroom.Thekillswitch,that’sit.Thescreengot
crackedinthemelee,butthedevicestillworks.Anumberglowsabovetheflashinggreenbutton.My
number.Iswipemythumboverthedisplayandthescreenfillswithnumbers,hundredsofsequences
representingeveryrecruitonthebase.Iswipeagaintoreturntomynumber,taponit,andamappopsup
showingmyimplant’spreciselocation.Izoomoutandthescreenfillswithtiny,glowinggreendots:the
locationofeveryimplantedsoldierintheentirebase.Jackpot.
Andcheckmate.Withaswipeofmythumbandatapofmyfinger,Icanhighlightallthenumbers.
Thebuttononthebottomofthedevicewilllightup.Afinaltapandeveryrecruitneutralized,gone.Ican
practicallystrollout.
Ican—ifI’mwillingtostepoverseveralhundredcorpsesofinnocenthumanbeings,kidswhoarenoless
victimsthanIam,whosesolecrimeisthesinofhope.Ifthewageofsinisdeath,thenvirtueisavice
now:Adefenseless,starvingchildlostinawheatfieldisgivenshelter.Awoundedsoldiercriesoutfor
helpbehindarowofbeercoolers.Alittlegirlshotbymistakeisdeliveredtoherenemiesinorderto
saveher.
AndIdon’tknowwhichismoreinhuman:thealienbeingsthatcreatedthisnewworldorthehumanbeing
whoconsiders,ifonlyforaninstant,pressingthegreenbutton.
Threelargeclumpsofstationarydotshoverontherightsideofthescreen:thesleeping.Adozenisolated
individualsontheperiphery:sentries.Twointhemiddle:mineinJumbo’sneck,hisinmymouth.Another
threeorfourveryclose,onthesamefloor:thesickandinjured.Onefloordown,theICU,whereonlyone
greensphereglows.So:barracks,observationposts,hospital.Acoupleofthesentrydotsaremanningthe
magazinebuilding.Iwon’thavetoguesswhichtwo.I’llknowinafewminutes.
Comeon,Razor,let’sgo.I’vegotonelastpromisetokeep.
Watchingthegusherpourfromthebrokenpipe.
69
“DOYOUPRAY?”Razoraskedmeafteranexhaustingnightofchaseball,whilehepackedupthegame
boardandpieces.
Ishookmyhead.“Doyou?”
“DamnrightIdo.”Noddinghisheademphatically.“Noatheistsinfoxholes.”
“Myfatherwasone.”
“Afoxhole?”
“Anatheist.”
“Iknowthat,Ringer.”
“Howdidyouknowmyfatherwasanatheist?”
“Ididn’t.”
“Thenwhydidyouaskifhewasafoxhole?”
“Ididn’t.Itwasafreaking—”Hesmiled.“Oh,Igetit.Iknowwhatyou’redoing.Thedisturbingthingto
meiswhy.Likeyou’renottryingtobefunnybuttryingtoprovehowsuperioryouare.Orthinkyouare.
You’renoteither.Funnyorsuperior.Whydon’tyoupray?”
“Idon’tlikeputtingGodonthespot.”
Hepickedupthequeenandexaminedherface.“Youevercheckedherout?Sheisonescary-lookingshebitch.”
“Ithinkshelooksregal.”
“Shelookslikemythird-gradeteacher,alotofmanandverylittlewo.”
“What?”
“Youknow:heavyonthemale,lightonthefe.”
“She’sjustfierce.Awarriorqueen.”
“Mythird-gradeteacher?”Hestudiedmyface.Waiting.Waiting.“Sorry,triedthatjokeonce.Epicfail.”
Heplacedthepieceinthebox.“Mygrandmabelongedtoaprayercircle.Youknowwhataprayercircle
is?”
“Yes.”
“Really?Ithoughtyouwereanatheist.”
“Myfatherwasanatheist.Andwhycouldn’tanatheistknowwhataprayercircleis?Religiouspeople
knowaboutevolution.”
“Iknowwhatitis.I’vegotit,”hesaidthoughtfully,dark,intenseeyesstillonmyface.“Youwere,like,
fiveorsixandsomerelativeremarkedinaverypositivewaywhataseriouslittlegirlyouwere,and
fromthenon,youthoughtseriousnesswasattractive.”
“Whathappenedintheprayercircle?”Attemptingtogethimbackontrack.
“Ha!Soyoudon’tknowwhatitis!”Hesettheboxdownandscoochedfartherontothebed.Hisbuttnow
touchingmythigh.Ieasedmylegaway.Subtly,Ihoped.“I’lltellyouwhathappened.Mygrandma’sdog
gotsick.Oneofthosepursedogsthatbiteseverybodyandlivesabouttwenty-fiveyears,bitingpeople.So
herpetitionhadtodowithGodsavingthatmeanlittledogsoitcouldbitemorepeople.Andhalftheold
ladiesinhergroupagreedandhalfdidn’t,I’mnotsurewhy,ImeanaGodwhodoesn’tlikedogs
wouldn’tbeGod,butanyway,therewasthisbigdebateaboutwastedprayer,whichbecameanargument
aboutiftherecouldbesuchathingaswastedprayer,whichturnedintoafightabouttheHolocaust.Soin
fiveminutesitwentfromanippyoldpursedogtotheHolocaust.”
“Sowhathappened?Didtheyprayforthedog?”
“No,theyprayedforthesoulsoftheHolocaust.Thenthenextdaythedogdied.”Andnowhewas
noddingthoughtfully.“Grandmaprayedforhim.Prayedeverynight.Toldallusgrandkidstopray,too.
SoIprayedforadogthatterrorizedandhatedmeandgavemethis.”Heswunghislegontothebedand
pulleduphispantstoexposehiscalf.“Seethescar?”
Ishookmyhead.“No.”
“Well,it’sthere.”Hepusheddownthepantslegbutkepthisfootonthebed.“Soafteritdied,Isaidto
Grandma,‘IprayedreallyhardandFlubbystilldied.DoesGodhateme?’”
“Whatdidshesay?”
“SomeBSaboutGodwantingFlubbyinheaven,whichwasimpossibleformysix-year-oldbrainto
process.Therearenippyoldpursedogsinheaven?Isn’theavensupposedtobeaniceplace?Itbothered
meforalongtime.Like,everynight,whileIsaidmyprayers,Icouldn’thelpbutwonderifIevenwanted
togotoheavenandspendeternitywithFlubby.SoIdecidedhemustbeinhell.Otherwise,theologyfalls
apart.”
Hewrappedhislongarmsaroundhisupraisedknee,whereherestedhischinandstaredintospace.
Hewasbackinatimewhenalittleboy’squestionsaboutprayerandGodandheavenstillmattered.
“Ibrokeacuponce,”hewenton.“PlayingaroundinMom’schinacabinet,partofherweddingset,this
daintylittlecupfromateaset.Didn’ttotallybreakit.Droppeditontheflooranditcracked.”
“Thefloor?”
“No,notthefloor.Thecu—”Hiseyeswidenedinshock.“Didyoujustmakethesame...?”
Ishookmyhead.Hepointedhisfingeratme.“Naw,Icaughtyou!Amomentoflightheartedlevityfrom
Ringerthewarriorqueen!”
“Ijokeallthetime.”
“Right.Butthey’resosubtlethatonlysmartpeoplegetthem.”
“Thecup,”Iproddedhim.
“SoI’vecrackedMom’spreciouschina.Iputitbackinthecabinet,turningitscrackedsidetowardthe
backsomaybeshewon’tnotice,eventhoughIknowit’sonlyamatteroftimebeforeshedoesandI’m
deadmeat.KnowwhereIturnforhelp?”
Ididn’thavetothinkhard.Iknewwherethestorywasgoing.“God.”
“God.IprayedforGodtokeepMomawayfromthatcup.Like,fortherestofherlife.OratleastuntilI
movedawaytocollege.ThenIprayedthathecouldhealthecup.He’sGod,right?Hecanhealpeople—
what’satinyfreakingmade-in-Chinacup?Thatwastheoptimalsolutionandthat’swhathe’sallabout,
optimalsolutions.”
“Shefoundthecup.”
“Youbetyourassshefoundthecup.”
“I’msurprisedyoustillpray.AfterFlubbyandthecup.”
Heshookhishead.“Notthepoint.”
“There’sapoint?”
“Ifyou’dletmefinishthestory—yes,thereisapoint.Hereitis:AftershefoundthecupandbeforeI
knewshe’dfoundit,shereplacedit.Sheorderedanewcupandthrewawaytheoldone.OneSaturday
morning—IguessI’dbeenprayingforaboutamonth—Iwenttothecabinettoprovetheprayercircle
wrongaboutwastedprayer,andIsawit.”
“Thenewcup,”Isaid.Razornodded.“Butyoudidn’tknowyourmomreplacedit.”
Hethrewhishandsintotheair.“It’safuckingmiracle!What’scrackedhasbeenuncracked!Thebroken
madewhole!Godexists!Inearlycrappedmypants.”
“Thecupwashealed,”Isaidslowly.
Hisdarkeyesdugdeepintomine.Hishandfelltomyknee.Asqueeze.Thenatap.
Yes.
70
INTHEBATHROOM,thegushbecomesastream,thestreambecomesatrickle,thetricklebecomesan
anemicdribble.Thewaterslowsandmyheartquickens.Myparanoiawasgettingthebetterofme.A
decadepassedwhileIwaitedforthewatertobecutoff:thegosignalfromRazor.
Thehalloutsideisdeserted.IalreadyknowthatthankstoClaire’strackingdevice.Ialsoknowexactly
whereI’mgoing.
Stairs.Oneflightdown.Onelastpromise.IpauselongenoughonthelandingtoslipJumbo’ssidearminto
thejacketpocket.
ThenIslamthroughthedoorandhitthehallrunning.Straightaheadisthenurses’station.Isprintstraight
towardit.Thenursepopsoutofherchair.
“Takecover!”Ishout.“It’sgoingtoblow!”
Iswervepastthecounterandracetowardtheswingingdoorsthatleadtotheward.
“Hey!”sheshouts.“Youcan’tgobackthere!”
Anydaynow,Razor.
Shehitsthelockdownbuttononherdesk.Itdoesn’tmatter.Ihurtleintothedoorsatfullspeedandsmash
bothofftheirhinges.
“Freeze!”shescreams.
Theentirelengthofthehallwayremains;Iwon’tmakeit.I’vebeenenhanced,butIcan’toutrunabullet.I
skittertoahalt.
Razor,I’mserious.Nowwouldbeaverygoodtime.
“Handsonyourhead!Now.”Strugglingtocatchherbreath.“Goodjob.Nowwalktowardme,backward.
Slow.Veryslow,orIsweartoGodI’llshootyou.”
Iobey,shufflingtowardthesoundofhervoice.Sheordersmetostop.Istop.I’mstill,butthemechanisms
insidemearen’t.Herpositionisfixed:Idon’thavetoseehertoknowexactlywhereshe’sstanding.The
hub’sdispatchedthemanagersofmymuscularandnervoussystemstoexecutethedirectivewhencalled
upon.Iwon’thavetothinkwhenthetimecomes.Thehubwilltakeover.
ButIwon’towemylifeentirelytothe12thSystem:ItwasmyideatograbJumbo’sjacket.
Andthatremindsme:
“Shoes,”Imurmur.
“Whatdidyousay?”Hervoiceisquivering.
“Ineedshoes.Whatsizeareyou?”
“Huh?”
Atthespeedoflightthehub’ssignalfires.Mybodydoesn’tmovequitethatfast,butdoublethespeedthat
isprobablynecessary.
RighthandjamsintoJumbo’sbaggysleeve,whereIslippedtheten-inchknife,pivottotheleft,then
throw.
Anddownshegoes.
Ipulltheknifefromherneck,slidethebloodybladebackintotheleftsleeveofthejacket,andcheckout
hershoes.Apairofthosewhite,thick-solednurse’sshoes.Ahalfsizetoobig,butthey’llwork.
Attheendofthehallway,Istepintothelastroomontheright.It’sdark,butmyeyeshavebeenenhanced:
Icanseeherclearlyinthebed,fastasleep.Ordoped.I’llhavetodeterminewhich.
“Teacup?It’sme.Ringer.”
Thethick,darklashesflutter.I’msojackedupbythispoint,IswearIcanhearthetinyhairsthrumming
theair.
Shewhisperssomethingwithoutopeninghereyes.Toosoftfortheunenhancedtohear,buttheauditory
botstransmittheinformationtothehub,whichrelaysittotheinferiorcolliculus,thehearingcenterofmy
brain.
“You’redead.”
“Notanymore.Andneitherareyou.”
71
THEWINDOWBESIDEthebedjigglesinitsframe.Thefloorquivers.Brightorangelightfloodsthe
room,winksout,thenanearsplittingroarandafinemistofplasterfloatingdownfromtheceiling.The
sequencerepeats.Thenagain.Thenagain.
Razor’shitthemagazinebuilding.
“Teacup,wehavetogo.”Islideonehandbehindherheadandliftgently.
“Gowhere?”
“Asfaraswecan.”
Bracingthebackofherheadwithonehand,Ihitherintheforeheadwiththeheeloftheother.Theprecise
amountofforce,nomore,noless.Herbodygoeslimp.Iheaveheroutofthebed.Anotherblastasthe
ordnanceinthemagazinecontinuestodetonate.Ikickoutthewindow.Bittercoldaircrashesintothe
room.Isitonthesillfacingthebed,cradlingTeacupagainstmychest.Myintentalertsthehub:I’mtwo
storiesabovetheground.Reinforcementsracetothebonesandtendonsinmyfeet,ankles,shins,knees,
andpelvis.
Wedeploy.
Iflipaswedrop,likeacatfallingoffacountertop.Welandsafely,likeacat,exceptTeacup’shead
bouncesuponimpactandsmacksmehardunderthechin.Infrontofusthehospital.Behindustheblazing
ammunitionstorehouse.Andtoourright,exactlywhereRazorsaiditwouldbe,theblackDodgeM882.
Ithrowopenthedoor,shoveTeacupintothepassengerseat,jumpbehindthewheel,andtakeoffacross
theparkinglot,cuttinghardtothelefttomaketheturnnorthtowardtheairfield.Asirenscreams.
Floodlightsblare.Intherearviewmirrors,emergencyvehiclesracetowardtheburningmagazine.The
firebrigadewillhaveahardtimeofitsincesomeonehasshutdownthepumpingstation.
Anotherhardleft,andnowstraightaheadarethehulkingbodiesoftheBlackHawks,glisteninglikethe
bodiesofblackbeetlesintheharshlightofthefloods.Igripthewheelhardandtakeadeepbreath.
Thisisthetrickiestpart.IfRazorcouldn’tkidnapapilot,we’reallscrewed.
Ahundredyardsaway,Iseesomeonejumpfromoneofthechoppers’holds.He’swearingaheavyparka
andtotinganassaultrifle.Hisfaceispartiallyobscuredbythehood,butI’dknowthatsmileanywhere.
IhopfromtheM882.
AndRazorsays,“Hi.”
“Where’sthepilot?”Iask.
Hejerkshisheadtowardthecockpit.“Igotmine.Where’syours?”
IpullTeacupfromthetruckandjumpinsidethechopper.AguywearingnothingbutadrabgreenTshirt
andamatchingpairofboxershortssitsbehindthecontrols.Razorslidesintothecopilotseatbesidehim.
“Fireherup,LieutenantBob.”Razorgrinsatthepilot.“Oh.Manners.Ringer,LieutenantBob.
LieutenantBob,Ringer.”
“There’snowaythisisgoingtowork,”LieutenantBobsays.“They’llcomeafterushard.”
“Yeah?What’sthis?”Razorholdsupamassoftangledelectricalwire.
Thepilotshakeshishead.Socold,hislipsareturningblue.“Idon’tknow.”
“NeitherdoI,butI’mguessingthey’reveryimportantfortheproperoperationofahelicopter.”
“Youdon’tunderstand...”
Razorleanstowardhimandallhisplayfulnessisgone.Hisdeep-seteyesburnasifbacklitandthecoiled
forceIsensedfromthebeginningspringsfreewithsuchferocity,Iactuallyflinch.
“Listentome,youaliensonofabitch,youfirethismother-effingstickbuddyupASAPorI’m—”
Thepilotshoveshishandsintohislapandstaresstraightahead.Aftergettingoneintothechopper
undetected,mybiggestconcernwasgettingapilottocooperate.Ileanforward,grabBobbythewrist,
andbendhispinkyfingerbackward.
“I’llbreakit,”Ipromisehim.
“Goahead!”
Ibreakit.Histeethclampdownonhisbottomlip.Hislegsjerk.Hiseyesswimwithtears.Thatshouldn’t
happen.Ipressmyfingersagainstthebackofhisneck,thenturntoRazor.
“He’simplanted.Heisn’toneofthem.”
“Yeah,well,whothehellareyou?”thepilotsqueals.
Ipullthetrackingdevicefrommypocket.There’sthehospitalandthemagazinesurroundedbyaswarm
ofgreendots.Andtherearethreedotsglowingontheairstrip.
“Youcutyoursout,”IsaytoRazor.
He’snodding.“Andleftitundermypillow.Thatwastheplan.Orwasthattheplan?Shit,Ringer,wasn’t
thattheplan?”Alittlepanicky.
Idroptheknifeintomyhand.“Holdhim.”
Razorunderstandsimmediately.HegrabsLieutenantBobandputshiminaheadlock.Bobdoesn’tputup
muchresistance.Iworrynowthathemightgointoshock.Ifhedoes,it’sover.
Thereisn’tmuchlightandRazorcan’tholdhimperfectlystill,soItellBobtochillorImightseverhis
spinalcord,addingparalysistotheproblemofabrokenfinger.Ipulloutthepellet,tossitontothe
tarmac,yankBob’sheadback,andwhisperinhisear,“I’mnottheenemyandIhaven’tgoneDorothy.
I’mjustlikeyou—”
“Onlybetter,”Razorfinishes.Heglancesthroughthewindowandsays,“Uh,Ringer...”
Iseethem:Theglowofheadlightsexpandinglikeapairofstarsgoingsupernova.“They’recoming,and
whentheygethere,theywillkillus,”ItellBob.“Youtoo.Theywon’tbelieveyouandtheywillkill
you.”
Bobstaresintomyface,tearsofpainstreamingdownhis.
“Youhavetotrustme,”Isay.
“Orshe’llbreakanotherfinger,”Razoradds.
Adeep,shudderingbreath,shakinguncontrollably,cradlinghiswoundedhand,bloodtricklingdownhis
neckandsoakingintothecollarofhisT-shirt.“It’shopeless,”hewhispers.“They’lljustshootusdown.”
Onimpulse,Ireachforwardandpressmyhandagainsthischeek.Hedoesn’trecoil.Hebecomesvery
still.Idon’tunderstandwhyItouchedhimorwhat’shappeningnowthatIam,butIfeelsomething
openinginsideme,likeabudspreadingitsdelicatepetalstowardthesun.I’mfreezingcold.Myneckis
onfire.Andthelittlefingeronmyrighthandthrobstothebeatofmyheart.Thepainbringstearstomy
eyes.Hispain.
“Ringer!”Razorbarks.“Whatthehellareyoudoing?”
IpourmywarmthintothemanItouch.Idousethefire.Icaressthepain.Isoothehisfear.Hisbreath
evensout.Hisbodyrelaxes.
“Bob,wereallyhavetogo,”Itellhim.
Andtwominuteslater,wedo.
72
ASWEASCEND,thetruckscreechestoastopandatallmanstepsout,andhisfaceisastudyindeep
shadowsthrownbythefloods,butIseehiseyeswitheyesenhanced,brightandhardlikethecrows’in
thewoods,polishedbluewhilethecrows’wereblack,anditmustbeatrickoflightorshadow,the
small,tightsmileheseemstowear.
“Keepuslow,”IorderBob.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“South.”
Thechopperbanks;thegroundrushestowardus.Iseethemagazineburningandthespinninglightsofthe
firetrucksandrecruitsswarmingaroundlikeants.Wepassoverariver,blackwatersparkinginthe
spilloverlightfromthefloods.Behindusnow,thecampisanoasisoflightinadesertofwinterdark.We
plungeintothatdark,skimmingsixfeetabovethetreetops.
IslideintotheseatnexttoTeacup,leanherintomychest,andpullherhairtooneside.Ihopethisisthe
lasttimeIhavetodothis.WhenI’mdone,Icrushtheimplantwiththeheeloftheknife.
Razor’svoicesquawksinmyheadset:“How’sshedoing?”
“Okay,Ithink.”
“How’reyoudoing?”
“Good.”
“Glitches?”
“Minor.You?”
“Smoothasanewbornbaby’sass.”
IeaseTeacupbackintotheseat,standup,andopencompartmentsuntilIfindthechutes.Razorrattleson
asIchecktheassemblies.
“Anythingyouwanttosaytome?Like,Idon’tknow,Thankyou,Razor,forsavingmyassfroma
lifetimeofalienservitudeafterIpunchedyouinthethroatandgenerallyactedlikeadouchebag?
Somethingalongthoselines?Youknow,itwasn’texactlyliketakingawalkinbaseball,secretcodes
embeddedinbogusgamesandslippinglaxativeinpuddingandriggingexplosivesandstealingtrucksand
kidnappingpilotswithfingersforyoutobreak.MaybeHey,Razor,Icouldn’thavedoneitwithoutyou.
Yourock.Somethinglikethat.Doesn’thavetobeword-for-word,justsomethingtocapturethegeneral
spirit.”
“Whydidyou?”Iask.“Whatmadeyoudecidetotrustme?”
“Whatyousaidthatdayaboutthekids—turningkidsintobombs.Ididsomeaskingaround.NextthingI
know,I’mintheWonderlandchairandthentheytakemetothecommanderandhe’salldownonmyass
aboutsomethingyousaid,andheordersmetostoptalkingtoyoubecausehecan’tordermetostop
listening,andthemoreIthinkaboutit,thestinkieritgets.TheytrainustoterminateTedsandthenload
downtoddlerswithalienordnance?Who’rethegoodguyshere?AndthenI’mlike,whoamIhere?Itgot
reallyangsty,arealexistentialcrisis.Whattippeditforme,though,wasthemath.”
“Math?”
“Yeah,math.Aren’tallyouAsiansreallygoodatmath?”
“Don’tberacist.AndI’mthree-quartersAsian.”
“‘Three-quarters.’See?Math.Itcomesdowntosimpleaddition.Asinitdoesn’taddup.Okay,somaybe
wegetluckyandseizetheWonderlandprogramfromthem.Evensuper-superioralienscanscrewup,
nobody’sperfect.Butwedon’tjustsnatchWonderland.Wehavetheirbombs,wehavetheirtrack-and-kill
implants,theirsuper-sophisticatednanobotsystem—shit,weevenhavethetechnologycapableof
detectingthem.Whaduhfuh?We’vegotmoreoftheirweaponsthantheydo!Buttherealkickercame
thatdaytheyjackedyouup,whenVoschsaidtheyliedtousabouttheorganismattachedtohumanbrains.
Unbelievable!”
“Becauseifthat’salie...”
“Theneverything’salie.”
Belowusthelandiscoveredinablanketofwhite.Thehorizonisindiscernibleinthedark,lost.
Everythingisalie.IthoughtofmydeadfathertellingmethatIbelongedtothemnow.Instinctively,I
gatherTeacup’slittlehandintomine:truth.
IhearBobsayintheheadset,“I’mconfused.”
“Relax,Bob,”Razorsays.“Hey,Bob.Wasn’tthatthemajor’snameatCampHaven?What’sitwith
officersandthenameBob?”
Analarmsounds.IreturnTeacup’shandtoherlapandshuffleforward.“Whatisit?”
“Company,”Bobsays.“Sixo’clock.”
“Choppers?”
“Negative.F-15s.Threeofthem.”
“Howmuchtimebeforethey’reinrange?”
Heshakeshishead.Despitethecold,hisshirtissoakedinsweat.Hisfaceshineswithit.“Fiveto
seven.”
“Bringusup,”Itellhim.“Maximumaltitude.”
IgrabacoupleparachuterigsanddroponeintoRazor’slap.
“We’rebailing?”heasks.
“Wecan’tengageandwecan’toutrun.You’rewithTeacup.Tandemjump.”
“I’mwithTeacup?Whoareyouwith?”
Bobglancesattheotherriginmyhand.“I’mnotbailing,”hesays.Andthen,justincaseIdidn’thearor
don’tunderstand:“I’m.Not.Bailing.”
Noplanisperfect.I’dplannedforaSilencerBob,whichmeantmyplanentailedkillinghimbeforewe
bailedfromthechopper.Nowit’scomplicated.Ididn’tkillJumboforthesamereasonIdon’twanttokill
Bob.KillenoughJumbos,murderenoughBobs,andyou’veplungedtothesamedepthsastheoneswho
shoveabombdownatoddler’sthroat.
Ishrugtohidemyuncertainty.Tosstherigintohislap.“ThenIguessyougetincinerated.”
We’reatfivethousandfeet.Darksky,darkground,nohorizon,alldark.Thebottomofthelightlesssea.
Razorislookingattheradarscreen,buthesaystome,“Where’syourchute,Ringer?”
Iignorethequestion.“Canyougivemeasixty-secondETAontheirrange?”IaskBob.Henods.
Razorasksthequestionagain.“It’smath,”Itellhim.“WhichI’mthree-quartersreallygoodat.Ifthereare
fourofusandtheymarktwochutes,thatleavesatleastoneofusonboard.One,maybetwoofthemwill
staywiththechopper,atleastuntiltheycantakeitdown.It’llbuytime.”
“Whatmakesyouthinkthey’llstaywiththechopper?”
Ishrug.“It’swhatI’ddo.”
“Stilldoesn’tanswermyquestionaboutyourchute.”
“They’rehailingus,”Bobannounces.“Orderingustosetitdown.”
“Tellthemtosuckit,”Razorsays.Hestuffsapieceofbubblegumintohismouth.Tapshisear.
“Popping’sbad.”Jamsthegumwrapperintohispocket.NoticesI’mwatchingandsmiles.“Nevernoticed
allthecrapintheworlduntiltherewasnobodylefttopickitup,”heexplains.“TheEarthismycharge.”
ThenBobcallsout,“Sixtyseconds!”
ItugonRazor’sparka.Now.
Helooksupatmeandsaysslowlyanddistinctly,“Where’syourfreakingchute?”
Ihaulhimoutoftheseatone-handed.Hechirpsinsurprise,stumblingtowardtheback.Ifollowhim,
squatinfrontofTeacuptoremoveherharness.
“Fortyseconds!”
“Howarewegoingtofindyou?”Razoryells,standingrightnexttome.
“Headforthefire.”
“Whatfire?”
“Thirtyseconds!”
Ihaulopenthehatchdoor.TheblastofairthatpunchesintotheholdblowsRazor’shoodoffhishead.I
scoopupTeacupandpressherintohischest.
“Don’tletherdie.”
Henods.
“Promise.”
Nodsagain:“Ipromise.”
“Thankyou,Razor,”Isay.“Foreverything.”
Heleansforwardandkissesmehardonthemouth.
“Don’teverdothatagain,”Itellhim.
“Why?Becauseyoulikeditorbecauseyoudidn’t?”
“Both.”
“Fifteenseconds!”
RazormaneuversTeacupoverhisshoulder,grabsthesafetycable,andshufflesbackuntilhisheelstouch
thejumppad.Silhouettedintheopening,theboyandthechildovertheboy’sshoulder,andfivethousand
feetbeneaththem,thelimitlessdark.TheEarthismycharge.
Razorreleasesthecable.Hedoesn’tseemtofall.Heissuckedoutintotheravenousvoid.
73
IHEADBACKtothecockpit,whereIfindthepilot’sdoorunlatched,theseatempty,andnoBob.
Iwonderedwhythecountdownstopped;nowIknow:Hechangedhismindaboutthewholebailingissue.
Wemustbeinrange,whichmeanstheydon’tintendtoshootusdown.They’vemarkedthelocationof
Razor’sdrop,andthey’llstaywiththechopperuntilIbailoritrunsoutoffuelandI’mforcedtobail.
Bythispoint,VoschhasfiguredoutwhyJumbo’simplantisonthisaircraftwhileitsownerisinthe
infirmarybeingtreatedforaverybadheadache.
Withthetipofmytongue,Ipushthepelletfrommymouthandlickitontomypalm.
Doyouwanttolive?
Yes,andyouwantthat,too,ItellVosch.Idon’tknowwhyand,hopefully,Ineverwill.
Iflickthepelletfrommyhand.
Thehub’sresponseisinstantaneous.Myintentalertedthecentralprocessor,whichcalculatedthe
overwhelmingprobabilityofterminalfailureandshutdownallbuttheessentialfunctionsofmymuscular
system.The12thSystemhasthesameorderIgaveRazor:Don’tletherdie.Likeaparasite’s,the
system’slifedependsonthecontinuationofmine.
Theinstantmyintentchanges—Okay,fine.I’llparachuteout—thehubwillreleaseme.Thenandonly
then.Ican’tlietoitorbargainwithit.Can’tpersuadeit.Can’tforceit.UnlessIchangemymind,itcan’t
letmego.Unlessitletsmego,Ican’tchangemymind.
Heartonfire.Bodyofstone.
There’snothingthatthehubcandoaboutmysnowballingpanic.Itcanrespondtoemotions;itcan’t
controlthem.Endorphinsrelease.Neuronsandmastocytesdumpserotoninintomybloodstream.Other
thanthesephysiologicaladjustments,it’sasparalyzedasIam.
Theremustbeananswer.Theremustbeananswer.Theremustbeananswer.Whatistheanswer?
AndIseeVosch’spolished,birdlikebrighteyesboringintomine.Whatistheanswer?Notrage,not
hope,notfaith,notlove,notdetachment,notholdingon,notlettinggo,notfighting,notrunning,not
hiding,notgivingup,notgivingin,notnotnot,knot,knot,knot,naughtnaughtnaught.
Naught.
Whatistheanswer?heasked.
AndIanswered,Nothing.
74
ISTILLCAN’TMOVE—notevenmyeyes—butI’vegotaprettygoodangleontheinstruments,including
thealtimeterandfuelgauge.We’refivethousandfeetupandthefuelwon’tlastforever.Inducing
paralysismightstopmefromjumping,butitwon’tkeepmefromfalling.Theprobabilityofterminal
failureinthatscenarioisabsolute.
Ithasnootheroption:Thehubreleasesme,andthesensationislikebeinghurledthelengthofafootball
field.I’mshovedbackintomybody,hard.
Okay,Ringer2.0.Let’sseehowgoodyouare.
Igrabthehandleofthepilot’sdoorandkilltheengines.
Analarmsounds.Ikillthat,too.Thereisthewindnowandonlythewind.
Forafewseconds,momentumkeepsthechopperlevel,thenfreefall.
I’mthrowntotheceiling;myheadsmacksagainstthewindshield.Whitestarsexplodeinmyvision.
Thechopperbeginstospinasitdrops,andIlosemygriponthedoor.I’mtossedaroundlikeadieina
Yahtzeecup,graspingatemptyspace,searchingforahandhold.Thechopperflips,noseup,andI’mflung
twelvefeetintotherearoftheaircraft,thenslungbackasitflipsagain,smashingchest-firstintotheback
ofthepilot’sseat.Ahotkniferipsacrossmyside:I’vebrokenarib.Theloosenylonstrapofthepilot’s
harnesssmacksmeinthefaceandIsnatchitbeforeI’mthrownagain.Anotherflip,andthecentrifugal
forcewhipsmebackintothecockpit,whereIsmashintothedoor.ItfliesopenandIjammywhite-soled
nurse’sshoeagainsttheseatforleverageandheavemyselfhalfwayout.Releasethestrap,lockmyfingers
aroundthehandle,andpushhard.
Roll,pitch,flip,somersault,flashesofgrayandblackandsparklingwhite.I’mhangingontothehandleas
thechopperrollspilotsideupandthedoorslamsclosedonmywrist,snappingtheboneandtearingmy
fingersfromthehandle.MybodybouncesandtwistsalongthelengthoftheBlackHawkuntilitwhacks
intotherearwheel,rocketingstraightup,andwhenthetailrotatesskyward,I’mshottowardthehorizon
likearockfromaslingshot.
Ihavenosensationoffalling.I’msuspendedontheupdraftofwarmerairpressingagainstthecolder,a
hawksailinginthenightskyonoutstretchedwings,behindandbelowmethetumblinghelicopterprisoner
tothegravitythatIdeny.Idon’theartheexplosionwhenitcrashes.Justthewindandthebloodroaringin
myears,andthereisnopainfromthebeatinginsidethechopper.Iamdeliriously,exhilaratinglyempty.I
amnothing.Thewindismoresubstantialthanmybones.
TheEarthrushestowardme.Iamnotafraid.I’vekeptmypromises.I’veredeemedthetime.
Istretchoutmyarms.Ispreadmyfingerswide.Iliftmyfacetowardthelinewheretheskymeetsthe
Earth.
Myhome.Mycharge.
75
IAMFALLINGatterminalvelocitytowardafeaturelesslandscapeofwhite,avastnothingnessthat
gobblesupeverythinginitspath,explodingtowardthehorizoninalldirections.
It’salake.Averybiglake.
Afrozen-oververybiglake.
Goinginfeet-firstismyonlyoption.Iftheiceismorethanafootthick,I’mdone.Noamountofalien
enhancementwillprotectme.Thebonesinmylegswillshatter.Myspleenwillrupture.Mylungswill
collapse.
Ihavefaithinyou,Marika.Youdidnotcomethroughfireandbloodonlytofallnow.
Actually,Commander,Idid.
Thewhiteworldbeneathmeshineslikepearls,ablankcanvas,analabasterabyss.Ascreamingwallof
windpushesagainstmylegsasIdrawmykneestomychesttoexecutetherotation.Ihavetogoinat
ninetydegrees.Straightentoosoonandthewindwillknockmeoff-kilter.ToolateandI’llhitwithmyass
ormychest.
Iclosemyeyes;Idon’tneedthem.Thehub’sperformedperfectlysofar;timeformetogiveitallmy
trust.
Mymindempties:blankcanvas,alabasterabyss.Iamthevessel,thehubthepilot.
Whatistheanswer?
AndIsaid,Nothing.Nothingistheanswer.
Bothlegskickouthard.Mybodyswivelsupright.Myarmscomeup,foldthemselvesovermychest.
Myheadfallsback,myfacetothesky.Mymouthopens.Deepbreath,exhale.Deepbreath,exhale.
Deepbreath,hold.
Verticalnow,releasedbythewind,Ifallfaster.Ihittheicestraighton,feet-first,atahundredmilesan
hour.
Idon’tfeeltheimpact.
Orthecoldwaterclosingoverme.
OrthepressureofthatwaterasIplummetintoinkydarkness.
Ifeelnothing.Mynerveshavebeenshutdownorthepainreceptorsinmybrainturnedoff.
Hundredsoffeetaboveme,atinypointoflight,apinprick,faintasthefartheststar:theentrypoint.
Alsotheexitpoint.Ikicktowardthestar.Mybodyisnumb.Mymindisempty.I’vecompletely
surrenderedtothe12thSystem.Itisn’tpartofmeanymore.The12thSystemisme.Weareone.
Iamhuman.AndIamnot.Risingtowardthestarthatshinesintheice-encrustedvault,aprotogod
ascendingfromtheprimordialdeep,fullyhuman,whollyalien,andIunderstandnow;Iknowtheanswer
totheimpossibleriddleofEvanWalker.
Ishootintotheheartofthestarandhurlmyselfovertheedgeontotheicecap.Acoupleofbrokenribs,a
fracturedwrist,adeepgashinmyforeheadfromthepilot’sharness,totallynumb,completelyoutof
breath,empty,whole,aware.
Alive.
76
IREACHTHESMOLDERINGwreckageofthechopperbydawn.Thecrashsitewasn’thardtofind:
TheBlackHawkwentdowninthemiddleofanopenfieldcoveredinafreshfallofsnow.Youcouldsee
thefire’sglowformiles.
Iapproachslowlyfromthesouth.Tomyright,thesunbreaksthehorizonandlightshootsacrossthe
winterscape,settingablazeacrystallineinferno,asifabilliondiamondshadfallenfromthesky.
Mywater-soakedclothesarefrozen,cracklinglikekindlingwhenImove,andsensationhasbeenreturned
tome.The12thSystemperpetuatesmyexistencetoperpetuateitsown.It’scallingforrest,food,help
withthehealingprocess;that’sthepurposeofgivingmebackmypain.
No.NorestuntilIfindthem.
Theskyisempty.Thereisnowind.Smokecurlsfromthemangledremainsofthechopper,blackandgray,
likethesmokethatroseoverCampHavencarryingtheincineratedremainsoftheslaughtered.
Whereareyou,Razor?
Thesunclimbsandtheglarecomingoffthesnowbecomesblinding.Thevisualarrayadjustsmyeyes:A
darkfilterwithnodiscernabledifferencefromsunglassesdropsovermyvision,andthenIseeablotin
theperfectionofwhiteaboutamiletothewest.Ilieflatonmystomach,usingabreaststrokemotionto
digmyselfasmalltrench.Atitdrawscloser,thedarkimperfectiontakesonahumanshape.
Tallandthin,wearingaheavyparkaandcarryingarifle,movingslowlyagainsttheankle-grippingsnow.
Thirtyminutescrawlby.Whenhe’sahundredyardsaway,Irise.Hedropsasifshot.Icallhisname,not
loudly,though;soundcarriesfartherinwinterair.
Hisvoicefloatsbacktome,highpitchedwithanxiety.“Holyshit!”
Heslogsforafewsteps,thentakesoffrunning,liftinghiskneeshighandpumpinghisarmslikea
determinedcardiofiendonatreadmill.Hestopsanarm’slengthfromme,warmbreathexplodingfrom
hisopenmouth.
“You’realive,”hewhispers.Iseeitinhiseyes:Impossible.
“Where’sTeacup?”
Hejerkshisheadbehindhim.“She’sokay.Well,Ithinkherlegmightbebroken...”
Isteparoundhimandstartwalkingthewayhecame.Hetrudgesafterme,fussingformetoslowdown.
“Iwasabouttogiveuponyou,”hepuffs.“Nochute!What,youcanflynow?Whathappenedtoyour
head?”
“Ihitit.”
“Oh.Well,youlooklikeanApache.Youknow,warpaint.”
“That’stheotherquarter:Apache.”
“Seriously?”
“Whatdoyoumean,youthinkshebrokeherleg?”
“Well,whatImeanisIthinkherlegmightbebroken.Withthehelpofyourx-rayvision,maybeyoucan
definitivelydiagnose—”
“Thisisstrange.”I’mstudyingtheskyaswewalk.“Where’sthepursuit?Theywouldhavemarked
thelocation.”
“I’veseennothing.Liketheyjustgaveup.”
Ishakemyhead.“Theydon’tgiveup.Howmuchfarther,Razor?”
“Anothermile?Don’tworry,Igothertuckedawayniceandsafe.”
“Why’dyouleaveher?”
Helooksatmesharply,dumbstruckforasecond.Butonlyforasecond.Razordoesn’tstayspeechlessfor
long.“Tolookforyou.Youtoldmetomeetyoubythefire.Sortofgenericdirections.
Youcouldhavesaid,‘MeetmeatthecrashsitewhereIputthischopperdown.Thatfire.’”
Wewalkforafewminutesinsilence.Razorisoutofbreath.I’mnot.ThearrayswillsustainmeuntilI
reachher,butIhaveafeelingthatwhenIcrash,I’llcrashhard.
“Sowhatnow?”heasks.
“Restupafewdays—oraslongaswecan.”
“Then?”
“South.”
“South.That’stheplan?South.Alittleelaborate,isn’tit?”
“WehavetogetbacktoOhio.”
Hestopsasifhe’drunintoaninvisiblewall.Itrudgeonforafewsteps,thenturn.Razorisshakinghis
headatme.
“Ringer,doyouhaveanyideawhereyouare?”
Inod.“AbouttwentymilesnorthofoneoftheGreatLakes.I’mguessingErie.”
“Whatareyou—Howarewe—YoudorealizeOhioisoverahundredmilesfromhere,”hesputters.
“Wherewe’regoing,moreliketwohundred.Asthecrowflies.”
“‘Asthe...’Well,toofuckingbad,wearen’tcrows!What’sinOhio?”
“Myfriends.”
Icontinuewalking,followingtheimprintofhisbootsinthesnow.
“Ringer,Idon’twanttoburstyourbubble,but—”
“Youdon’twanttoburstmybubblebutt?”
“Thatsoundedsuspiciouslylikeajoke.”
“Iknowthey’reprobablydead.AndIknowI’llprobablydielongbeforeIreachthem,evenifthey’renot.
ButImadeapromise,Razor.Ididn’tthinkitwasapromiseatthetime.Itoldmyselfitwasn’t.
Toldhimitwasn’t.Butthere’rethethingswetellourselvesaboutthetruth,andthere’rethethingsthe
truthtellsaboutus.”
“Whatyoujustsaidmakesnosense.Youknowthat,right?Mustbetheheadinjury.Youusuallymakea
lot.”
“Headinjuries?”
“Now,thatdefinitelywasajoke!”Hefrowns.“Madeapromisetowho?”
“Anaïve,thick-headed,stereotypicaljockwhothinkshe’sGod’sgifttotheworldwhenheisn’tthinking
theworldisGod’sgifttohim.”
“Oh.Okay.”Hedoesn’tsayanythingforafewshufflingsteps,then:“SohowlonghasMr.NaïveThick-
headedStereotypicalJockbeenyourboyfriend?”
Istop.Iturn.Igrabhisfacewithbothhandsandkisshimhardonthemouth.Hiseyesarewideandfilled
withsomethingthatcloselyresemblesfear.
“Whatwasthatfor?”
Ikisshimagain.Ourbodiespressedclose.Hiscoldfacecradledinmycolderhands.Icansmellthe
bubblegumonhisbreath.TheEarthismycharge.Wearetwopillarsrisingfromanundulatingseaof
dazzlingwhite.Limitless.Withoutborders,withoutboundaries.
Hebroughtmefromthetomb.Heraisedmefromthedead.HeriskedhislifesoImighthavemine.
Easiertoturnaside.Easiertoletmego.Easiertobelievethebeautifulliethanthehideoustruth.Aftermy
fatherdied,Ibuiltafortresssafeandstrongtolastathousandyears.Amightystrongholdthatcrumbles
withakiss.
“Nowwe’reeven,”Iwhisper.
“Notexactly,”hesayshoarsely.“Ionlykissedyouonce.”
77
ASWEAPPROACH,thecomplexseemstorisefromthesnowlikealeviathanfromthedeep.Silos,
conveyors,bins,mixers,storageandofficebuildings,anenormouswarehousetwicethesizeofan
airplanehangar,allsurroundedbyarustychain-linkfence.Itseemscreepilysymbolic,fittingsomehow,
forthistoendataconcreteplant.Concreteistheomnipresenthumansignature,ourprincipalartistic
mediumontheworld’sblankcanvas:Whereverwewent,theEarthslowlydisappearedbeneathit.
Razorpullsasideasectionoftherottingfenceformetoduckthrough.Colorhighinhischeeks,nose
brightredfromthecold,soft,soulfuleyesdartingabout.MaybehefeelsasexposedasIdointheopen,
dwarfedbythetoweringsilosandmassiveequipment,beneaththebright,cloudlesssky.
Maybe,thoughIdoubtit.
“Givemeyourrifle,”Itellhim.
“Huh?”He’sclutchingtheweaponagainsthischest,triggerfingernervouslytapping.
“I’mabettershot.”
“Ringer,I’vecheckeditallout.There’snobodyhere.It’sperfectly—”
“Safe,”Ifinishforhim.“Right.”Iholdoutmyhand.
“Comeon,she’srightoverthereinthewarehouse...”
Idon’tmove.Herollshiseyes,tipshisheadbacktoconsidertheemptysky,looksbackatme.
“Iftheywerehere,youknowwe’dalreadybedead.”
“Therifle.”
“Fine.”Heshovesitatme.Ipulltheriflefromhishandsandsmashthestockagainstthesideofhishead.
Hedropstohisknees,eyesonmyface,butthere’snothinginthoseeyes,nothingatall.
“Fall,”Itellhim.Hepitchesforwardandliesstill.
Idon’tthinkshe’sinthewarehouse.There’sareasonhewantedmetogointhere,butIdon’tbelievethat
reasonhadanythingtodowithTeacup.Idoubtshe’swithinahundredmilesofthisplace.Ihaveno
choice,though.AslightadvantagewiththerifleandRazorneutralized,andthat’sall.
HeopeneduptomewhenIkissedhim.Idon’tknowhowtheenhancementopensanempatheticpathway
intoanotherhumanbeing.Maybeitturnsthecarrierintoakindofhumanliedetector,gatheringand
collatingdatafromamyriadofsensoryinputsandfunnelingitthroughthehubforinterpretationand
analysis.Howeveritworks,IfelttheblankspotinsideRazor,anullity,ahiddenroom,andIknew
somethingwasterriblywrong.
Lieswithinlieswithinlies.Feintsandcounterfeints.Likeadesertmirage,nomatterhowhardyouran
towardit,itstayedforeverinthedistance.Findingthetruthwaslikechasingthehorizon.
AsIentertheshadowofthebuilding,somethingloosensinside.Mykneesbegintoshake.Mychestaches
likeI’vebeenhitwithabatteringram.Ican’tcatchmybreath.The12thSystemcansustainandstrengthen
me,superchargemyreflexes,enhancemysensestenfold,healme,andprotectmeagainsteveryphysical
hazard,butthere’snothingmyfortythousanduninvitedguestscandoaboutabrokenheart.
Can’t,can’t.Can’tgosoftnow.Whathappenswhenwegosoft?Whathappens?
Ican’tgoinside.Imustgoinside.
Ileanagainstthecoldmetalwallofthewarehouse,besidetheopendoor,wheredarknessdwells,
profoundasthegrave.
78
ROTTENMILK.
ThestenchoftheplagueissointensewhenIstepinsidethatIgag.Theolfactoryarrayimmediately
suppressesmysenseofsmell.Mystomachsettles.Myeyesclear.Thewarehouseistwicethesizeofa
footballfieldandsectionedintothreeascendingtiers.Thebottomsection,inwhichI’mstanding,had
beenconvertedintoafieldhospital.Hundredsofcots,wadsofbedding,andtipped-overcartsofmedical
supplies.Bloodeverywhere.Glisteninginthelightstreamingthroughtheholesinthepartiallycollapsed
ceilingthreestoriesovermyhead.Frozensheetsofbloodonthefloor.Bloodsmearedonthewalls.
Blood-soakedsheetsandpillows.Blood,blood,bloodeverywhere,butnobodies.
Iclimbthefirstsetofstairstothesecondtier.Supplylevel:bagsofflourandotherdrygoods,ripped
open,contentsstrewnbyratsandotherscavengers,stacksofcannedgoods,jugsofwater,barrelsof
kerosene.Stockpiledinanticipationofwinter,buttheRedTsunamicaughtthemfirstanddrownedthemin
theirownblood.
Iclimbthesecondsetofstairstothethirdtier.Acolumnofsunlightcutsthroughthedustyairlikea
spotlight.I’vereachedtheend.Thefinallevel.Theplatformislitteredwithcorpses,stackedsixhighin
someplaces,theonesonthebottomwrappedcarefullyinsheets,theonesclosertothetophastilytossed
there,adiscordantjumbleofarmsandlegs,atwistedmassofboneanddesiccatedskinandskeletal
fingersgraspinguselesslyattheemptyair.
Themiddleofthefloorhasbeencleared.Awoodentablesitsinthecenterofthecolumnoflight.
Andonthetable,awoodenboxand,besidethewoodenbox,achessboard,setupinanendgamethatI
instantlyrecognize.
Andthenhisvoice,comingfromeverywhereandnowhere,likethewhisperofdistantthunder,impossible
toplace.
“Weneverfinishedourgame.”
Ireachforwardandtopplethewhiteking.Ihearasighlikeahighwindinthetrees.
“Whyareyouhere,Marika?”
“Itwasatest,”Iwhisper.Thewhitekingonhisback,blankstare,theeyesanalabasterabysslooking
backatme.“Youneededtotestthe12thSystemwithoutmeknowingitwasatest.Ihadtobelieveitwas
real.ItwastheonlywayI’dcooperate.”
“Anddidyoupass?”
“Yes.Ipassed.”
Iturnmybacktothelight.He’sstandingatthetopofthestairs,alone,faceinshadow,thoughIswearI
canseehisbrightblue,birdlikeeyesglitteringinthecharneldark.
“Notquiteyet,”hesays.
Iaimtherifleatthespacebetweenthoseglitteringeyesandpullthetrigger.Theclicksechofromthe
emptychamber:Click,click,click,click,click,click.
“You’vecomesofar,Marika.Don’tdisappointmenow,”Voschsays.“Youmusthaveknownitwouldn’t
beloaded.”
IdroptherifleandshufflebackwarduntilIknockagainstthetable.Ipressmyhandsonthetopto
steadymyself.
“Askthequestion,”heordersme.
“Whatdidyoumean,‘Notquiteyet’?”
“Youknowtheanswertothat.”
Ipickupthetableandhurlitathim.Heslapsitawaywithonearm,andbythattimeI’vereachedhim,
launchingmyselffromsixfeetaway,hittinghimsquareinthechestwithmyshoulderandwrappingmy
armsaroundhiminabearhug.Weflyoffthethirdlevelandsmashontothesecond.Theboardsbeneath
usgiveathunderouscrack.Theimpactloosensmygrip.Hewrapsthelongfingersofonehandaroundmy
neckandslingsmetwentyfeetintoatowerofcannedgoods.I’monmyfeetinlessthanasecond,buthe
stillbeatsme,movingsofast,hisrisingtracesanafterimageinmyvision.
“Thepoorrecruitinthewashroom,”hesays.“ThenurseoutsidetheICU,thepilot,Razor—evenClaire,
poorClaire,whowasatadistinctdisadvantagefromthebeginning.Notenough,notenough.Totruly
pass,youmustovercomewhatcannotbeovercome.”
Hespreadshisarmswide.Aninvitation.“Youwantedtheopportunity,Marika.Well.Hereitis.”
79
THERE’SLITTLEDIFFERENCEbetweenwhathappensnextandourchessgame.HeknowshowI
think.Heknowsmystrengths,myweaknesses.KnowseverymovebeforeImakeit.Hepaysparticular
attentiontomyinjuries:mywrist,myribs,myface.Bloodstreamsfromthereopenedwoundonmy
forehead,steaminginthesubzeroair,runningintomymouth,myeyes;theworldturnscrimsonbehinda
bloodycurtain.AfterIfallathirdtime,hesays,“Enough.Staydown,Marika.”
Igetup.Heputsmedownafourthtime.
“You’lloverloadthesystem,”hecautionsme.I’monmyhandsandknees,watchingdumblyasblood
spattersfrommyfacetothefloor,arainofblood.“Itcouldcrash.Ifthathappens,yourinjuriesmightkill
you.”
I’mscreaming.Pouringfromtheverybottomofmysoul:thedeathhowlsofsevenbillionslaughtered
humanbeings.Thesoundricochetsaroundthecavernousspace.
ThenI’mupagainforthelasttime.Evenenhanced,myeyescan’tfollowhisfists.Likequantumparticles,
they’reneitherherenorthere,impossibletoplace,impossibletopredict.Heflingsmylimpbodyfromthe
platformtotheconcretefloorbelow,throughwhichIseemtofallforever,intodarknessthickerthanthat
whichengulfedtheuniversebeforethebeginningoftime.Irollontomystomachandpushmyselfup.His
bootslamsintomyneckandstampsdown.
“Whatistheanswer,Marika?”
Hedoesn’thavetoexplain.Finally,Iunderstandthequestion.Finally,Igettheriddle:Heisn’tasking
aboutouranswertotheproblemofthem.Heneverwas.He’saskingabouttheiranswertotheproblemof
us.
SoIsay,“Nothing.Nothingistheanswer.They’renothere.Theyneverwere.”
“Who?Who’snothere?”
Mymouthisfullofblood.Iswallow.“Therisk...”
“Yes.Verygood.Theriskisthekey.”
“They’renothere.Therearenoentitiesdownloadedintohumanbodies.Noalienconsciousnessinside
anyone.Becauseoftherisk.Therisk.Theriskisunacceptable.It’sa...aprogram,adelusional
construct.Insertedintotheirmindsbeforetheywereborn,switchedonwhentheyreachedpuberty—alie,
it’salie.They’rehuman.Enhancedlikeme,buthuman...humanlikeme.”
“Andme?Ifyouarehuman,whatamI?”
“Idon’tknow...”
Thebootpressesdown,crushingmycheekagainsttheconcrete.
“WhatamI?”
“Idon’tknow.Thecontroller.Thedirector.Idon’tknow.Theonechosento...Idon’tknow,Idon’t
know.”
“AmIhuman?”
“Idon’tknow!”AndIdidn’t.We’dcometotheplaceIcouldnotgo.TheplacefromwhichIcouldnot
return.Above:theboot.Below:theabyss.“Butifyouarehuman...”
“Yes.Finishit.IfIamhuman...what?”
Iamdrowninginblood.Notmine.Thebloodofthebillionswhodiedbeforeme,aninfiniteseaofblood
thatenvelopsmeandbearsmedowntothelightlessbottom.
“Ifyouarehuman,thereisnohope.”
80
HELIFTSMEfromthefloor.Hecarriesmetooneofthecotsandgentlylaysdownmybody.“Youare
bent,butnotbroken.Thesteelmustbemeltedbeforetheswordcanbeforged.Youarethesword,
Marika.Iamtheblacksmithandyouarethesword.”
Hecupsmyface.Hiseyesshinewiththefervorofareligiouszealot,thelookofastreet-cornercrazy
preacher,exceptthiscrazyholdsthefateoftheworldinhishands.
Herunshisthumbovermybloodycheek.“Restnow,Marika.You’resafehere.Perfectlysafe.I’m
leavinghimtotakecareofyou.”
Razor.Ican’ttakethat.Ishakemyhead.“Please.No.Please.”
“Andinaweekortwo,you’llbeready.”
Hewaitsforthequestion.He’sverypleasedwithhimself.Orwithme.Orwhathehasachievedinme.I
don’task,though.
Andthenhe’sgone.
Later,Ihearthechoppercometotakehimaway.Afterthat,Razorappears,lookingasifsomeoneshoved
anappleundertheskinthatcoveredhischeek.Hedoesn’tsayanything.Idon’tsayanything.
Hewashesmyfacewithwarm,soapywater.Hebandagesmywounds.Hebindsmyfracturedribs.He
splintsmybrokenwrist.Hedoesn’tbothertooffermewater,thoughhemustknowI’mthirsty.Hejabsan
IVintomyarmandhooksupasalinedrip.Thenheleavesmeandsitsinafoldingchairbytheopendoor,
cocoonedintheheavyparka,rifleacrosshislap.Whenthesunsets,helightsakerosenelampandplaces
itonthefloorbesidehim.Lightflowsupandbatheshisface,buthiseyesarehiddenfromme.
“Where’sTeacup?”Myvoiceechoesinthevastspace.
Hedoesn’tanswer.
“Ihaveatheory,”Itellhim.“It’saboutrats.Doyouwanttohearit?”
Silence.
“Tokilloneratiseasy.Allyouneedisapieceofoldcheeseandaspring-loadedtrap.Buttokilla
thousandrats,amillionrats,abillion—orsevenbillion—that’salittlebitharder.Forthatyouneedbait.
Poison.Youdon’thavetopoisonallsevenbillionofthem,justacertainpercentagethatwillcarrythe
poisonbacktothecolony.”
Hedoesn’tmove.Ihavenoideaifhe’slisteningorevenawake.
“We’retherats.Theprogramdownloadedintohumanfetuses—that’sthebait.What’sthedifference
betweenahumanwhocarriesanalienconsciousnessandahumanwhobelievesthathedoes?Thereisno
differenceexceptone.Risk.Riskisthedifference.Notourrisk.Theirs.Whywouldtheyriskthemselves
likethat?Theansweristheydidn’t.Theyaren’there,Razor.Theyneverwere.It’sjustus.
It’salwaysbeenjustus.”
Hebendsforwardveryslowlyanddeliberatelyandextinguishesthelight.
Isigh.“Butlikealltheories,thereareholes.Youcan’treconcileitwiththebigrockquestion.Whybother
withanyofitwhenalltheyhadtodowasthrowaverybigrock?”
Veryquietlynow,soquietlyIwouldn’thearhimwithouttheenhancementarray:“Shutup.”
“Whydidyoudoit,Alex?”IfAlexisreallyhisname.Hisentirehistorycouldbealiedesignedby
Voschtomanipulateme.Theoddsareitis.
“I’masoldier.”
“Youwerejustfollowingorders.”
“I’masoldier.”
“It’snotyourstoreasonwhy.”
“I.Am.A.SOLDIER!”
Iclosemyeyes.“Chaseball.WasthatVosch’s,too?Sorry.Stupidquestion.”
Silence.
“It’sWalker,”Isay,myeyessnappingopen.“Ithastobe.It’stheonlythingthatmakessense.It’sEvan,
isn’tit,Razor?HewantsEvanandI’mtheonlypathtohim.”
Silence.
TheimplosionofCampHavenandthedisableddronesrainingfromthesky:Whydidtheyneeddrones?
Thequestionalwaysbotheredme.Howhardcoulditbetofindpocketsofsurvivorswhentherewereso
fewsurvivorsleftandyouhadplentyofhumantechnologyinyourpossessiontofindthem?
Survivorsclustered.Theycrowdedtogetherlikebeesinahive.Thedronesweren’tbeingusedtokeep
trackofus.Theywerebeingusedtokeeptrackofthem,thehumanslikeEvanWalker,solitaryand
dangerouslyenhanced,scatteredovereverycontinent,armedwithknowledgethatcouldbringthewhole
edificecrashingdowniftheprogramdownloadedintothemmalfunctioned—asitclearlydidinhiscase.
Evanisoffthegrid.Voschdoesn’tknowwhereheisorifhe’saliveordead.ButifEvanisalive,Vosch
needssomeoneontheinside,someoneEvanwouldtrust.
Iamtheblacksmith.
Youarethesword.
81
FORAWEEK,heismysolecompanion.Guard,nursemaid,watchman.WhenI’mhungry,hebringsme
food.WhenIhurt,heeasesmypain.WhenI’mdirty,hebathesme.Heisconstant.Heisfaithful.Heis
therewhenIwakeandtherewhenIfallasleep.Inevercatchhimsleeping:Heisconstant,butmysleep
neveris;Iwakeseveraltimesanight,andhe’salwayswatchingfromhisspotbythedoor.Heissilent
andsullenandstrangelynervous,thisguywhoeffortlesslyconnedmeintobelievinghimandinhim.
AsifImighttrytoescape,whenheknowsIcanbutwon’t,whenheknowsIamimprisonedbyapromise
morebindingthanathousandchains.
Ontheafternoonofthesixthday,Razortiesaragoverhisnoseandmouth,clumpsupthestairstothe
thirdlevel,andcomesbackcartingabody.Hecarriesitoutside.Thenbackupthestairs,histreadas
heavyempty-handedasitisburdenedwithacorpse,andanotherbodydescendstothebottom.Ilose
countatonehundredtwenty-three.Heemptiesthewarehouseofthedead,pilingthemintheyard,andat
dusk,hesetsthepileonfire.Thebodieshavemummifiedandthefirecatchesquicklyandburnsveryhot
andbright.Thepyrecanbeseenformiles,ifthereareanyeyestoseeit.Itslightglowsinthedoorway,
lapsacrossthefloor,turnstheconcreteintoagolden,undulatingseabed.Razorloungesinthedoorway
watchingthefire,aleanshadowhaloedlikealunareclipse.Heshrugsoutofhisjacket,removeshis
shirt,rollsupthesleeveofhisundershirttoexposehisshoulder.Thebladeofhisknifeglimmersinthe
yellowglowasheetchessomethingintohisskinwiththetip.
Thenightwearson;thefiredwindles;thewindshiftsandmyheartacheswithnostalgia—summercamps
andcatchinglightningbugsandAugustskiesaflamewithstars.Thewaythedesertsmellsandthelong,
wistfulsighofwindrushingdownfromthemountainsasthesundipsbeneaththehorizon.
Razorlightsthekerosenelampandwalksovertome.Hesmellslikethesmokeand,faintly,likethedead.
“Whydidyoudothat?”Iask.
Abovetherag,hiseyesswimwithtears.Idon’tknowifhe’stearyfromthesmokeorsomethingelse.
“Orders,”hesays.
HepullstheIVfrommyarmandwrapsthetubingoverthehookonthestand.
“Idon’tbelieveyou,”Isay.
“Well,I’mshocked.”
It’sthemosthe’sspokensinceVoschleft.I’msurprisedthatI’mrelievedtohearhisvoiceagain.He’s
examiningthewoundonmyforehead,faceveryclosebecausethelightisdim.
“Teacup,”Iwhisper.
“Whatdoyouthink?”hesayscrossly.
“She’salive.She’stheonlyleveragehehas.”
“Okay,then.She’salive.”
Hespreadsantibacterialointmentoverthecut.Anunenhancedhumanbeingwouldhaveneededseveral
stitches,butinafewdaysnoonewillbeabletotellthatIwasinjured.
“Icouldcallhisbluff,”Isay.“Howcanhekillhernow?”
Razorshrugs.“Becausehedoesn’tgiveashitaboutonelittlekidwhenthefateofthewholeworldis
atstake?Justaguess.”
“Afterallthat’shappened,aftereverythingyouheardandeverythingyousaw,youstillbelievehim.”
Helooksdownatmewithsomethingthatcloselyresemblespity.“Ihavetobelievehim,Ringer.Iletgo
ofthatandI’mdone.I’mthem.”Henodstowardtheyardwheretheblackenedbonessmolder.
Hesitsonthecotnexttomineandpullsdownthemakeshiftmask.Thelanternbetweenhisfeetandthe
lightthatflowsoverhisfaceandtheshadowsthatpoolinhisdeep-seteyes.
“Toolateforthat,”Itellhim.
“Right.We’realldeadalready.Sothereisnoleverage,right?Killme,Ringer.Killmerightnowandrun.
Run.”
I’dbeoffthecotbeforehecouldblinkagain.Asinglepunchtohischestandtheaugmentedblowwould
shoveashatteredribintohisheart.AndthenIcouldwalkout,walkaway,walkintothewilderness
whereIcanhideforyears,decades,untilIamoldandbeyondthecapabilityofthe12thSystemtosustain
me.Imightoutliveeveryone.ImightwakeonedaythelastpersononEarth.
Andthen.Andthen.
Hemustbefreezing,sittingtherewithnothingbutaT-shirton.Icanseealineofdriedbloodacrosshis
biceps.
“Whatdidyoudotoyourarm?”Iask.
Hepullsuphissleeve.Thelettersarecrudelydrawn,bigandblockyandshaky,thewayalittlekidmakes
themwhenhe’sfirstlearning:VQP
“Latin,”hewhispers.“Vincitquipatitur.Itmeans—”
“Iknowwhatitmeans,”Iwhisperback.
Heshakeshishead.“Ireallydon’tthinkthatyoudo.”Hedoesn’tsoundangry.Hesoundssad.
Alexturnshisheadtowardthedoorway,beyondwhichthedeadarebornetowardtheindifferentsky.
Alex.
“IsAlexreallyyourname?”Iask.
HelooksatmeagainandIseetheplayfullyironicsmile.Likehearinghisvoiceagain,I’msurprisedat
myselfformissingit.“Ididn’tlieaboutanyofthat.Onlytheimportantstuff.”
“DidyourgrandmotherhaveadognamedFlubby?”
Helaughssoftly.“Yes.”
“That’sgood.”
“Whyisthatgood?”
“Iwantedthatparttobetrue.”
“Becauseyoulovemeanlittlenippypursedogs?”
“BecauseIlikethatonceuponatimethereweremeanlittlenippypursedogsnamedFlubby.That’sgood.
That’sworthremembering.”
He’soffthecotbeforeIcanblinkagain,andhe’skissingme,andIplungeinsidehimwherenothingis
hidden.He’sopentomenow,theonewhosustainedmeandtheonewhobetrayedme,theonewho
broughtmebacktolifeandtheonewhodeliveredmebacktodeath.Rageisnottheanswer,no,andnot
hate.Layerbylayer,thatwhichseparatesusfallsaway,untilIreachthecenter,thenamelessregion,the
defenselessstronghold,anageless,bottomlessache,thelonelysingularityofhissoul,unspoiledbytime
orexperience,beyondthought,infinite.
AndIamtherewithhim—Iamalreadythere.Withinthesingularity,Iamalreadythere.
“Thatcan’tbetrue,”Iwhisper.Withinthecenterofeverything,wherenothingis,Ifoundhimholdingme.
“Idon’tbelieveallofyourbullshit,”hemurmurs.“Butyou’rerightaboutthis:Somethings,downtothe
smallestofthings,areworththesumofallthings.”
Outside,thebitterharvestburns.Inside,heslipsthesheetsdown,andthesearethehandsthatheldme,the
handsthatbathedandfedandliftedmewhenIcouldnotliftmyself.Hebroughtmetodeath;hebringsme
tolife.That’swhyheremovedthedeadfromtheuppertier.Hebanishedthem,consignedthemtothefire,
nottodesecratethembuttosanctifyus.
Theshadowthatwrestleswithlight.Thecoldthatcontendswithfire.It’sawar,hetoldmeonce,andwe
aretheconquerorsoftheundiscoveredcountry,anislandoflifecenteredinaboundlessseaofblood.
Thepiercingcold.Thesearingheat.Hislipsslidingovermyneckandmyfingersfeelinghisshattered
cheek,thewoundIgavehim,andthewoundsonhisarm—VQP—thathegavehimself,thenmyhands
slidingdownhisback.Don’tleaveme.Pleasedon’tleaveme.Thesmellofbubblegumandthesmellof
smokeandthesmellofhisblood,andthewayhisbodyslidesovermineandthewayhissoulslicesinto
mine:Razor.Thebeatofourheartsandtherhythmofourbreathandthespinningstarswecouldnotsee,
markingthetime,measuringtheshrinkingintervalsuntiltheendofus,himandmeandeverythingelse.
Theworldisaclockandtheclockwindsdown,andtheircominghadnothingtodowiththat.Theworld
hasalwaysbeenaclock.Eventhestarswillwinkoutonebyoneandtherewillbenolightorheat,and
thisisthewar,theendless,futilewaragainstthelightless,heatlessvoidrushingtowardus.
Heentwineshisfingersbehindmybackandpullsmetightlyagainsthim.Nospacebetweenusanymore.
NospotwhereheendsandIbegin.Theemptinessfilled.Thevoiddefied.
82
HELINGERSBESIDEMEuntilourbreathevensandourheartsslow,runninghisfingersthroughmy
hair,staringatmyfaceintentlyasifhecannotleaveuntilhe’smemorizedeveryaspect.Hetouchesmy
lips,mycheeks,myeyelids.Runsthetipofhisfingeralongthelengthofmynose,aroundthecurveofmy
ear.Hisfacemoreinshadow,minemoreinlight.
“Run,”hewhispers.
Ishakemyhead.“Ican’t.”
Herisesfromthecot,butIhavethesensationoffallingasheremainsstill.Hepullsonhisclothes
quickly.Ican’treadhisexpression.Razorhasclosedhimselfofftome.Iamboundinsidetheemptiness
again.Ican’tbearit.Itwillcrushme,theabsenceIlivedwithforsolongthatIhardlynoticed.
Unnoticeduntilthismoment:Heshowedmehowenormoustheemptinesswasbyfillingit.
“Theywon’tcatchyou,”hepresses.“Howcouldtheyevercatchyou?”
“HeknowsIwon’trunaslongashehasher.”
“OhChrist.Whatisshetoyou,anyway?Issheworthyourlife?Howcanonepersonbeworthyourwhole
life?”It’saquestionhealreadyknowstheanswerto.“Fine.Dowhatyouwant.LikeIcare.Likeit
matters.”
“That’sthelessontheytaughtus,Razor.Whatmattersandwhatdoesn’t.Theonetruthatthecenterofall
thelies.”
Hepicksuphisrifleandslingsitoverhisshoulder.Hekissesmeontheforehead.Ablessing.A
benediction.Thenhepicksupthelampandwalksunsteadilytothedoorway,thewatchman,thecaretaker,
theonewhodoesnotrestorgrowwearyorfalter.Heleansagainsttheopendoor,facingthenight,andthe
skyabovehimburnswiththecoldlightoftenthousandpyresmarkingthetimetickingdown.
“Run,”Ihearhimsay.Idon’tthinkhe’sspeakingtome.“Run.”
83
ONTHEEIGHTHDAY,thechopperreturnsforus.IletRazorhelpwithmyclothes,butbesidesacouple
ofsoreribsandapairofweaklegs,thetwelvearrayscollectivelyknownasRingerarefullyoperational.
Myfacehascompletelyhealed;notevenascarremains.Ontheridebacktothebase,Razorsitsacross
fromme,studyingthefloor,lookingupatmeonlyonce.Run,hemouths.Run.
Whiteland,darkriver,thehelicopterbankshard,swoopingaroundthecontroltowerattheairfield,close
enoughformetoseeatall,solitaryfigurebehindthetintedwindows.Wesetdowninthesamespotfrom
whichwetookoff,anothercirclecomplete,andRazorputshishandonmyelbowtoguidemeintothe
tower.Ontheridetothetop,hishandwrapsbrieflyaroundmine.
“Iknowwhatmatters,”hesays.
Voschstandsattheotherendoftheroomwithhisbacktowardus,butIcanseehisfacereflecteddimlyin
theglass.Besidehimstandsaburlyrecruitgrippingarifletohischestwiththedesperationofsomeone
hangingoveraten-mile-deepgorgebyashoestring.Sittingnexttotherecruit,wearingthestandard-issue
whitejumpsuit,isthereasonI’mhere,myvictim,mycross,mycharge.
Teacupstartstogetupwhensheseesme.Thebigrecruitputshishandonhershoulderandpushesher
backdown.Ishakemyheadandmouthtoher,No.
Theroomisquiet.Razorisonmyrightside,standingslightlybehindme.Ican’tseehim,buthe’sclose
enoughthatIcanhearhimbreathing.
“So.”Voschdrawsouttheword,aprelude.“Haveyousolvedtheriddleoftherocks?”
“Yes.”
Iseehimsmiletightlyinthedarkglass.“And?”
“Throwingaverybigrockwoulddefeatthepurpose.”
“Andwhatisthepurpose?”
“Forsometolive.”
“Thatbegsthequestion.You’rebetterthanthat.”
“Youcouldhavekilledallofus.Butyoudidn’t.You’reburningthevillageinordertosaveit.”
“Asavior.IsthatwhatIam?”Heturnstofaceme.“Refineyouranswer.Mustitbeallornothing?Ifthe
goalistosavethevillagefromthevillagers,asmallerrockwouldhaveachievedthesameresult.
Whyaseriesofattacks?Whytherusesanddeceit?Whyengineer-enhanced,delusionalpuppetslikeEvan
Walker?Arockissomuchmoresimpleanddirect.”
“I’mnotsure,”Iconfess.“ButIthinkithassomethingtodowithluck.”
Hestaresatmeforalongmoment.Thenhenods.Heseemspleased.“Whathappensnow,Marika?”
“You’retakingmetohislastknownlocation,”Ianswer.“You’redroppingmeintotrackhimdown.
Heisananomaly,aflawinthesystemthatcan’tbetolerated.”
“Really?Andhowcouldonepoorhumanpawnposeanydangerwhatsoever?”
“Hefellinlove,andloveistheonlyweakness.”
“Why?”
Besideme,Razor’sbreath.Beforeme,Teacup’supliftedface.
“Becauseloveisirrational,”ItellVosch.“Itdoesn’tfollowrules.Notevenitsownrules.Loveisthe
onethingintheuniversethat’sunpredictable.”
“Iwouldhavetorespectfullydisagreewithyouonthatpoint,”Voschsays.HelooksatTeacup.
“Love’strajectoryisentirelypredictable.”
Hestepsclose,loomingoverme,acolossuscutfromfleshandbonewitheyesclearasamountainlake
boringallthewaydowntothebottomofmysoul.
“WhywouldIneedyoutotrackhimoranyonedown?”
“Youlostthedronesthatmonitorhimandalltheotherslikehim.He’soffthegrid.Hedoesn’tknowthe
truth,butheknowsenoughtocauseseriousdamageifheisn’tstopped.”
Voschraiseshishand.Iflinch,buthishandcomesdownonmyshoulder,whichhesqueezeshard,hisface
glowingwithsatisfaction.“Verygood,Marika.Very,verygood.”
Andbesideme,Razorwhispers,“Run.”
Hissidearmexplodesbesidemyear.Voschbackpedalstowardthewindow,butheisn’thit.Thebig
recruitgoesdowntohisknees,rammingtherecoilpadofhisrifleagainsthisshoulder,butheisn’thit,
either.
Razor’stargetwasthesmallestthingthatisthesumofallthings,hisbullettheswordthatseversthechain
thatboundme.
TheimpacthurlsTeacupbackward.Herheadsmacksintothecounterbehindher;herstick-thinarmsfly
intotheair.Iwhiptomyright,towardRazor,intimetoseehischestblownapartbythekneelingrecruit’s
round.
Hepitchesforwardandmyarmscomeupinstinctively,buthefallstoofast.Ican’tcatchhim.
Andhissoft,soulfuleyesliftuptomine,attheendofatrajectorythatevenVoschfailedtopredict.
“You’refree,”Alexwhispers.“Run.”
Therecruitswingstherifletowardme.Voschstepsbetweenuswithanenraged,gutturalcry.
ThehublightsupthemusculararrayasIsprintstraightforthewindowsoverlookingthelandingfield,
leapingfromsixfeetawayandrotatingmyrightshouldertowardtheglass.
AndthenI’mintheopenair,falling,falling,falling.
You’refree.
Falling.
84
COVEREDINASHanddust,fivegrayghostsoccupyingthewoodsatdawn.
MeganandSamfinallydriftingofftosleep,thoughmoreofapassingoutthanadriftingoff.Shewas
clutchingBeartoherchest.Whereverthereissomeoneinneed,Bearsaidtome,Iwillgo.
Benwatchingthesunrisewithhisrifleacrosshislap,silent,wrappedtightwithangerandgrief,but
mostlygrief.Dumbo,thepracticalone,digginginhisrucksackforsomethingtoeat.Andme,wrapped
tight,too,withangerandgrief,butmostlyanger.Hello,good-bye.Hello,good-bye.HowmanytimesdoI
havetorelivethiscycle?Whathappenedwasn’thardtofigureout;itwasjustimpossibletounderstand.
EvanfoundthebaggiethatSamdroppedandblew(literally)bothGraceandhimselftolime-green
oblivion.WhichhadbeenEvan’splanfromthebeginning,theself-sacrificing,idealistic,alien-human
hybridasshole.
DumbocameoverandaskedifIwantedhimtotakealookatmynose.Iaskedhimhowhecouldmissit.
Helaughed.“TakecareofBen,”Itoldhim.
“Hewon’tletme,”hesaid.
“Well,”Isaid,“therealwoundyourmedicalmojocan’ttouch,Dumbo.”
Hehearditfirst(thebigearsmaybe?),headcomingup,lookingovermyshoulderintothetrees:thesnap
andcrackleofthefrozengroundbreakinganddeadleavescrunching.Istoodupandswungmyrifle
towardthesound.Inthedeepshadows,alightershadowmoved.Asurvivorofthecrashwhofollowedus
here?AnotherEvanorGrace,aSilencerfindingusinhisterritory?No.Couldn’tbe.NoSilencerwould
becaughtdeadtrampingthroughthewoodswithallthestealthofabullinachinashop—ortheywould
becaughtdeaddoingit.
TheshadowraiseditsarmshighintheairandIknew—knewbeforeIheardmyname—thathe’dfound
meagain,keeperofthepromisehecouldn’tmake,theoneIhadmarkedwithmybloodandwhohad
markedmewithhistears,aSilencerallright,mySilencer,stumblingtowardmeintheimpossiblypure
lightofalatewinter’ssunrisepromisingspring.
IhandedmyrifletoDumbo.Ilefthim.Thegoldenlightandthedarktreesglisteningwithiceandtheway
theairsmellsoncoldmornings.Thethingsweleavebehindandthethingsthatneverleaveus.Theworld
endedonce.Itwillendagain.Theworldends,thentheworldcomesback.Theworldalwayscomes
back.
Istoppedafewstepsfromhim.Hestopped,too,andweregardedeachotheracrossanexpansewider
thantheuniverse,withinaspacethinnerthanarazor’sedge.
“Mynoseisbroken,”Isaid.DamnthatDumbo.Mademeself-conscious.
“Myankle’sbroken,”hesaid.
“ThenI’llcometoyou.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Goingin,Ididn’tfullyappreciatethetollthisprojectmighttake.Oneofmyflawsasawriter(oneof
many,Godknows)isthatItendtodivetoodeeplyintotheinnerlivesofmycharacters.Iignorethesage
advicetoremainabovethefray,tobeasindifferentasthegodstothesufferingwithinmycreation.
Whenyou’rewritingalongstoryspanningthreevolumesabouttheendoftheworldasweknowit,you’re
probablybetteroffnottakingittooseriously.Otherwise,you’reinforsomedarknightsofthesoul,as
wellasfatigue,malaise,untowardmoodswings,hypochondria,cryingjags,andpuerilehissyfits.You
tellyourself(andthepeoplearoundyou)thatactinglikeafour-year-oldwhocriesbecausehedidn’tget
whathewantedforChristmasisaperfectlynormalwaytobehave,butdeepdownyouknowyou’rebeing
disingenuous.Deepdownyouknowthat,whentheclockhaswounddownandthetimeisup,therewill
bemorethanacknowledgmentsowed;therewillbeapologies,too.
TothegoodpeopleatPutnam,particularlyDonWeisberg,JenniferBesser,andAriLewin:Forgiveme
forgettinglostinthethickets,fortakingmyselfandmybookstooseriously,forblamingothersformy
ownshortcomings,forgettingboggeddowninthemuddytrenchesoftheimpossibledilemmasofmyown
making.Youhavebeengenerousandpatientandincrediblysupportive.
Tomyagent,BrianDeFiore:Tenyearsago,youhadnoideawhatyouweregettinginto.Tobefair,
neitherdidI,butthanksforhanginginthere.It’snicetoknowthatthere’ssomeoneIcancallanytimeand
yellatfornoreasonatall.
Tomyson,Jake:ThankyouforalwaysansweringmytextsandnotfreakingoutwhenIwas.Thanksfor
readingmymoodsandforgivingthemevenwhenyoudidn’tunderstandthem.Thanksforinspiringmeand
pushingmeandalwaysdefendingmeagainstmeanpeople.Andthanksfornotmindingtoomuchyour
father’sannoyinghabitofpepperinghisspeechwithobscurequotesfrombooksyouhaven’treadand
moviesyouhaven’tseen.
Finally,toSandy,mywifeofnearlytwentyyears,whorecognizedinherhusbandadreamunfulfilledand
whounderstoodbetterthanhedidhowtomakethatdreamreal:Mydarling,youtaughtmecourageinthe
faceofoverwhelmingoddsandincalculableloss.Youshowedmefaithinthefaceofdespair,couragein
thehoursoflightlessconfusion,patienceintheshadowofloomingpanicoverlosttimeandwastedeffort.
Forgivemeforthehoursofsilenceyouendured,theinarticulateangerandhopelessness,theinexplicable
swingsfromeuphoria(“I’magenius!”)toangst(“Isuck!”).TheonlyfoolI’veeverseenyousuffergladly
isme.Ruinedholidays,forgottenobligations,unheardquestions.Nothingismorepainfulthanthe
lonelinessofbeingwithsomeonewhoisnevercompletelythere.I’veincurredadebtthatishopelessfor
metorepay,thoughIpromisetotry.Because,intheend,withoutlovealloureffortiswasted,allwedo
isinvain.
Vincitquipatitur.
DocumentOutline
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
THEWHEAT
BOOKONE
I:THEPROBLEMOFRATS
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
II:THERIPPING
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
III:THELASTSTAR
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
IV:MILLIONS
Chapter30
V:THEPRICE
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Chapter40
Chapter41
Chapter42
Chapter43
Chapter44
Chapter45
Chapter46
Chapter47
Chapter48
VI:THETRIGGER
Chapter49
BOOKTWO
VII:THESUMOFALLTHINGS
Chapter50
Chapter51
Chapter52
Chapter53
Chapter54
Chapter55
Chapter56
Chapter57
Chapter58
Chapter59
Chapter60
Chapter61
Chapter62
Chapter63
Chapter64
Chapter65
Chapter66
Chapter67
Chapter68
Chapter69
Chapter70
Chapter71
Chapter72
Chapter73
Chapter74
Chapter75
Chapter76
Chapter77
Chapter78
Chapter79
Chapter80
Chapter81
Chapter82
Chapter83
VIII:DUBUQUE
Chapter84
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS