The Infinite Sea(71)

            As the minutes passed, Zombie got more nervous.

            What now? Where the hell is he? Oh Christ, you don’t think . . . ? Better get up there, Poundcake. Throw his ass over your shoulder and carry him down here if you have to.

            Halfway up the stairs, he heard a heavy thump over his head, then a second, softer thump, and then he heard someone scream. He got to the door in time to see Cassie’s body fly past and hit the floor. He followed her trajectory backward and saw the tall girl standing beside the room with the busted door. And he didn’t hesitate, he burst into the hall and he knew the tall girl would not survive. He was a good shot, the best in his squad until Ringer came, and he knew that he would not miss.

            Except Cassie tackled him and the tall girl slipped from his sights. He would have killed her if Cassie hadn’t done that. He was sure of it.

            Then the tall girl shot him through the wall.

            Dumbo tore open his shirt and pressed a wadded-up sheet into the wound. He told him that it wasn’t bad, that he was going to make it, but he knew he wasn’t. He’d been around too much death. He knew what it smelled like, tasted like, felt like. He carried death inside him in the memories of his mother and the ten-foot pyres and the bones along the road and the conveyor belt carrying hundreds into the furnace of the power plant at camp, the dead burned to light their barracks and heat their water and keep them warm. Dying didn’t bother him. Dying without knowing what happened to his brother bothered him.

            Dying, he was taken downstairs. Dying, he was thrown over Zombie’s shoulders. And then in the parking lot Zombie fell and the others gathered around and Zombie pounded the frozen pavement until the skin on his palms burst open.

            They left him after that. He wasn’t angry. He understood. He was dying.

            And then he got up.

            Not at first. At first, he crawled.

            The tall girl was standing in the lobby when he dragged himself inside. She was beside the door that opened to the stairs, holding a pistol in both hands, bowing her head as if she were listening for something.

            That’s when he stood up.

            The tall girl stiffened. She turned. She raised the gun and then she lowered it when she saw he was dying. She smiled and said hello. She was watching him beside the front doors and couldn’t see the elevator or Evan dropping down into it from the escape hatch. Evan saw him and froze, like he didn’t know what to do.

            I know you. The tall girl was walking toward him. If she turned now, if she glanced behind her, she would see Evan, so he drew his sidearm to distract her, but the gun slipped from his hand and landed on the floor. He had lost a lot of blood. His blood pressure was dropping. His heart couldn’t pump hard enough and he was losing feeling in his hands and feet.

            He dropped to his knees and reached for the gun. She shot him in the hand. He fell onto his butt, jamming the wounded hand into his pocket as if that might protect it.

            Gosh, you’re a big, strong boy, aren’t you? How old are you?

            She waited for him to answer.

            What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?

            She shot him in the leg. Then she waited for him to scream or cry or say something. When he didn’t, she shot him in the other leg.

            Behind her, Evan dropped to his stomach and started to crawl toward them. He shook his head at Evan, gulping air. He felt numb all over. There was no pain, but a gray curtain had drawn down over his eyes.

            The tall girl came closer. She was now halfway between him and Evan. She aimed the gun at the middle of his forehead.

            Say something or I will blow your brains out. Where’s Evan?