Her dark unblinking eyes, her mouth firmly set, her whole body leaning toward me, and her hand waiting for the weapon that quivers in mine. I risked everything to rescue her and damn if she isn’t risking it to save me.
The Others have loosed more than one kind of Silencer on the world, more than one kind of infested. I feel him inside me, the one who would rip my soul in two. And they didn’t need to come a gazillion light-years to bring him here. He’s always been there, inside, the Silencer Within.
“What’s happening to us, Ringer?”
She nods: She knows exactly where I’m coming from. Always has.
“We still have a choice,” she answers. “They want us to believe we don’t, but it’s a lie, Zombie. Their biggest one.”
Behind her, Constance whimpers, “I am human.”
That’s how it’ll go down. Those will be the last words of the last one left. I am human.
“I don’t even know what that means anymore,” I say to Ringer, to myself, to nobody at all.
But I drop the gun into Ringer’s open hand.
37
SAM
THE FRONT DOOR flew open and Cassie lunged in from the porch, holding her rifle.
“Sam! Quick, go wake up Evan. Someone’s—”
He didn’t wait for the rest. He raced down the hall to Evan’s room. Zombie had come back; Sam was sure of it.
Evan wasn’t asleep. He was sitting up in bed, staring at the ceiling.
“What is it, Sam?”
“Zombie’s back.”
Evan shook his head. How could that be? Then he slid from the bed, grabbed his rifle, and followed Sam down the hall and into the living room.
And Cassie was saying, “What do you mean, Dumbo’s gone?”
There was Zombie and Ringer and a stranger in the room with Cassie. Dumbo wasn’t there. Teacup wasn’t there.
“He’s dead,” Ringer answered, and Sam asked, “Teacup, too?” And Ringer nodded. Teacup, too.
Behind him, Evan Walker asked, “Who is this?” He was talking about the stranger, a blond older lady with a nice face, about the age of Sam’s mother when she died.
“She’s with me,” Ringer said. “She’s okay.”
The lady was looking at Sam. She was smiling. “My name is Constance. And you must be Sam. Private Nugget. It’s very nice to meet you.”
She held out her hand. His daddy taught him to always shake hands firmly. A good, strong grip, Sam my man, but don’t squeeze too hard.
The smiling lady did, though—very hard. She yanked Sam into her chest, wrapping an arm around his neck, and then he felt the end of a gun pressing against his temple.
38
“THIS IS GOING to go smooth and easy,” the lady yelled over the jumbled-up shouts of Zombie and Cassie. “Smooth and easy.”
Zombie was looking at Ringer, who was looking at Evan Walker, and Cassie was looking at Ringer, too, and then his sister said, “You bitch.”
“Weapons, over there,” the lady said. Her voice still had a smile in it. “Stack ’em by the fireplace. Now.”
They disarmed, one by one. Cassie said, “Don’t hurt him.”
“Nobody’s getting hurt, sweetheart,” the lady said, smiley-voiced. “Where’s the other one?”
“The other what?” Cassie asked.
“Human. There’s one more. Where is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Cassie,” Evan Walker said. But he was looking over Sam’s head at the lady’s face. “Go get Megan.”
He saw his sister mouth to Evan Walker, Do something.
Evan Walker shook his head no.
“She won’t come out of her room,” Cassie said.
“Maybe she’ll change her mind if you tell her I’m going to blow your little brother’s brains out.”
Zombie’s face was pale and caked in dried blood, so he looked like a real zombie. “That’s not going to happen,” Zombie said. “So what now?”
“Then she shoots Nugget and keeps shooting people until Megan comes out,” Ringer said. “Zombie, trust me on this.”
“Oh, sure,” Cassie said. “Terrific idea. Let’s all trust Ringer.”
“She’s not here to hurt anyone,” Ringer said. “But she will if she has to. Tell them, Constance.”
“Me,” Evan Walker said. “You’ve come for me, haven’t you?”
“The girl first,” Constance said. “Then we talk.”
Cassie said, “That’s fine. Talking’s one of my favorite things. But first maybe you could let my little brother go . . . take me instead?” Cassie’s hands were up and she was putting on her fake smile. It wasn’t a good fake smile. You could always tell when she was faking, because she didn’t look friendly; she looked like she was going to throw up.
The lady’s arm like an iron bar pressing against his windpipe, hard to breathe now, and something else pressing against the small of his back, his special secret, nobody knew, not Zombie or even Cassie, and not this lady, either.