The Infinite Sea(50)

            I smiled. “You’re pretty smart, you know that, Dumbo?”

            He blushed. “That’s a nickname based on my ears.”

            He left. I had the eerie feeling of being watched. Because I was being watched: Poundcake stared at me from his post by the window.

            “And you,” I said. “What’s your story? Why don’t you talk?”

            He turned away, and his breath fogged the window.





35

            “CASSIE! CASSIE, wake up!”

            I bolted upright. I’d been curled up next to Evan, my head pressed against his, my hand in his, and how the hell did that happen? Sam was standing beside the bed, pulling on my arm.

            “Get up, Sullivan!”

            “Don’t call me that, Sams,” I mumbled. The light was bleeding from the room; it was late afternoon. I’d slept through the day. “What . . . ?”

            He put one finger to his lips and pointed at the ceiling with another. Listen.

            I heard it: the unmistakable sound of a chopper’s rotors—faint but growing louder. I jumped from the bed, grabbed my rifle, and followed Sam into the hall, where Poundcake and Dumbo huddled around Ben, the former quarterback squatting on his haunches, calling the play.

            “Might be just a patrol,” he was whispering. “Not even after us. There were two squads out there when the camp blew. Might be a rescue mission.”

            “They’ll pick up our signatures,” Dumbo said, panicking. “We’re done, Sarge.”

            “Maybe not,” Ben said hopefully. He’d gotten back some of his mojo. “Hear it? Fading already . . .”

            Not his imagination: The sound was fainter. You had to hold your breath to hear it. We hung there in the hall for another ten minutes until the sound disappeared. Waited another ten and it didn’t come back. Ben blew out his cheeks.

            “Think we’re good . . .”

            “For how long?” Dumbo wanted to know. “We shouldn’t stay here tonight, Sarge. I say we head for the caverns now.”

            “And chance missing Ringer on her way back?” Ben shook his head. “Or risk that chopper coming back while we’re exposed? No, Dumbo. We stick to the plan.”

            He pushed himself to his feet. His eyes fell on my face. “What’s up with Buzz Lightyear? No change?”

            “His name is Evan and no. No change.”

            Ben smiled. I don’t know, maybe imminent peril made him feel more alive somehow, for the same reason zombies are carnivores with only one item on the menu. You never heard of undead vegetarians. Where’s the challenge in attacking a plate of asparagus?

            Sams giggled. “Zombie called your boyfriend a space ranger.”

            “He isn’t a space ranger—and why is everyone calling him my boyfriend?”

            Ben’s smile broadened. “He’s not your boyfriend? But he kissed you . . .”

            “Full on?” Dumbo asked.

            “Oh, yeah. Twice. That’s what I saw.”

            “With tongue?”

            “Ewww.” Sammy mouth’s formed a sour lemon pout.

            “I have a gun,” I announced, only half joking.

            “I didn’t see any tongue,” Ben said.