Your plan sucks, Zombie. You know that.
Okay. Let’s hear yours.
We stay together. Take our chances with whoever’s holed up in the courthouse.
And Nugget?
They won’t hurt him. Why are you so worried about Nugget? God, Zombie, there are hundreds of kids—
Yeah, there are. But I made a promise to one.
“This is a very grave development, Ben. Very grave. Ringer’s delusion will drive her to seek shelter with the very things she was tasked to destroy. She will share with them everything she knows about our operations. We’ve dispatched three more squads to preempt her, but I’m afraid it may be too late. If it is too late, we’ll have no choice but to execute the option of last resort.”
His eyes burn with their own pale blue fire. I actually shiver when he turns away, cold all of a sudden, and very, very scared.
What is the option of last resort?
He may not have bought it, but he did rent it. I’m still alive. And as long as I’m alive, Nugget has a chance.
He turns back as if he’s just remembered something.
Crap. Here it comes.
“Oh, one more thing. Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but we’re pulling you off the pain meds so we can run a full debriefing on you.”
“Debriefing, sir?”
“Combat is a funny thing, Ben. It plays tricks on your memory. And we’ve found that the meds interfere with the program. It should take about six hours for your system to be clear.”
I still don’t get it, Zombie. Why do I have to shoot you? Why can’t the story be you gave us the slip? It’s a little over-the-top, if you ask me.
I have to be injured, Ringer.
Why?
So they’ll put me on meds.
Why?
To buy me time. So they don’t take me straight there from the chopper.
Take you where?
So I don’t have to ask what Vosch is talking about, but I ask anyway: “You’re plugging me in to Wonderland?”
He crooks his finger at an orderly, who comes forward holding a tray. A tray with a syringe and a tiny silver pellet.
“We’re plugging you in to Wonderland.”
WE FELL ASLEEP last night in front of the fireplace, and this morning I woke up in our bed—no, not our bed. My bed. Val’s bed? The bed, and I don’t remember climbing the stairs, so he must have carried me up and tucked me in, only he isn’t in bed with me now. I’m a little panicky when I realize he’s not here. It’s a lot easier to push down my doubt when he’s with me. When I can see those eyes the color of melted chocolate and hear his deep voice that falls over me like a warm blanket on a cold night. Oh, you’re such a hopeless case, Cassie. Such a train wreck.
I dress quickly in the weak light of dawn and go downstairs. He’s not there, either, but my M16 is, cleaned and loaded and leaning against the mantel. I call out his name. Silence answers.
I pick up the gun. The last time I fired it was on Crucifix Soldier Day.
Not your fault, Cassie. And not his fault.
I close my eyes and see my father lying gut-shot in the dirt, telling me, No, Cassie, right before Vosch walked over and silenced him.
His fault. Not yours. Not the Crucifix Soldier’s. His.
I have a very vivid image of ramming the end of the rifle against Vosch’s temple and blowing his head off his shoulders.
First I have to find him. And then politely ask him to stand still so I can ram the end of my rifle against his temple and blow his head off his shoulders.
I find myself on the sofa next to Bear, and I cradle them both, Bear in one arm, my rifle in the other, like I’m back in the woods in my tent under the trees that were under the sky that was under the baleful eye of the mothership that was beneath the explosion of stars of which ours is just one—and what are the freaking odds that the Others would pick our star out of the 100 sextillion in the universe to set up shop?
It’s too much for me to handle. I can’t defeat the Others. I’m a cockroach. Okay, I’ll go with Evan’s mayfly metaphor; mayflies are prettier, and at least they can fly. But I can take out a few of the bastards before my single day on Earth is over. And I plan to start with Vosch.
A hand falls on my shoulder. “Cassie, why are you crying?”
“I’m not. It’s my allergies. This damn bear is full of dust.”
He sits down next to me, on the bear side, not the gun side.
“Where were you?” I ask to change the subject.
“Checking out the weather.”
“And?” Full sentences, please. I’m cold and I need your warm-blanky voice to keep me safe. I draw my knees up to my chest, resting my heels on the edge of the sofa cushion.
“I think we’re good for tonight.” The morning light sneaks through a crack in the sheets hung over the window and paints his face golden. The light shimmers in his dark hair, sparkles in his eyes.
“Good.” I snuffle loudly.
“Cassie.” He touches my knee. His hand is warm; I feel its heat through my jeans. “I had this weird idea.”
“All of this is just a really bad dream?”
He shakes his head, laughs nervously. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, so hear me out before you say anything, okay? I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I wouldn’t even mention it if I didn’t think—”
“Tell me, Evan. Just—tell—me.” Oh God, what’s he going to tell me? My body tightens up. Never mind, Evan. Don’t tell me.
“Let me go.”
I shake my head, confused. Is this a joke? I look down at his hand on my knee, fingers gently squeezing. “I thought you were going.”
“I mean, let me go.” Giving my knee a tiny shake to get me to look at him.
Then I get it. “Let you go by yourself. I stay here, and you go find my brother.”
“Okay, now, you promised to hear me out—”
“I didn’t promise you anything.” I push his hand off my knee. The thought of his leaving me behind isn’t just offensive—it’s terrifying. “My promise was to Sammy, so drop it.”
He doesn’t. “But you don’t know what’s out there.”
“And you do?”
“Better than you.”
He reaches for me; I put my hand against his chest. Oh no, buddy. “Then tell me what’s out there.”
He throws up his hands. “Think about who has a better chance of living long enough to keep your promise. I’m not saying it’s because you’re a girl or because I’m stronger or tougher or whatever. I’m saying if just one of us goes, then the other one would still have a chance of finding him in case the worst happens.”
“Well, you’re probably right about that last part. But it shouldn’t be you who tries first. He’s my brother. Like hell I’m going to wait around here for a Silencer to knock on the door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar. I’ll just go by myself.”
I push myself off the sofa like I’m heading out at that very second. He grabs my arm; I yank it back.
“Stop it, Evan. You keep forgetting that I’m letting you go with me, not the other way around.”
He drops his head. “I know. I know that.” Then a rueful laugh. “I also knew what your answer would be, but I had to ask.”
“Because you think I can’t take care of myself?”
“Because I don’t want you to die.”
WE’VE BEEN PREPARING for weeks. On this last day, there wasn’t much left to do except wait for nightfall. We’re traveling light; Evan thought we could reach Wright-Patterson in two or three nights, barring an unexpected delay like another blizzard or one of us getting killed—or both of us getting killed, which would delay the operation indefinitely.