“Sorry, Ringer,” Zombie says. Incredibly, he’s decided to whip out the slayer smile. “Not going to happen.” He raises his arms as if to offer a better target.
“Zombie, you don’t know . . .”
“Well, that’s a given. I don’t know shit.”
If it were anyone else.
Sullivan, even Nugget.
What is the cost, Marika? What is the price? “Zombie, there’s no time.”
“No time for what?”
He heard it then; they all heard it; it had come within range of normal human hearing. The chopper.
“Holy shit,” Sullivan gasped. “What have you done? What the hell have you done?”
I ignore her. Only Zombie matters. “They don’t want us,” I tell him. “They want him. We can’t let them have him, Zombie.”
If Zombie would just dip his head a half inch. That’s all I need, half an inch. The 12th System will do the rest.
I’m sorry, Zombie. There’s no time.
The hub locks in. I let loose the round. The bullet smashes into Zombie’s thigh.
He’s supposed to go down to clear the way for the next round—the kill shot to Evan Walker’s head. He doesn’t.
Instead, he falls back into Walker’s chest and Walker wraps his arms around him, holding him up or using him as a human shield. Beneath the faint sound of the rotors outside, an even fainter sound, the thu-wapp of a parachute deploying. Then another. Then another. Thu-wapp, thu-wapp, thu-wapp, thu-wapp, thu-wapp. Five in all.
It hits me I’ve been appealing to the wrong person.
“Drop him,” I say to Evan Walker. “If you care at all about what happens to Cassie, drop him.”
But he doesn’t and now I’m out of time. Drawn out any further, this stalemate will cost all our lives.
The 5th Wave is coming.
40
EVAN WALKER
THERE CAN BE only one explanation.
Her leap across the room. The speed of her hands, the acuity of her vision and hearing. Only one possibility.
She had been enhanced. A human had received the gift.
Why?
She propelled herself toward the front window, covering the length of the room in three strides, rolling her body in midair to strike the glass with her shoulder, then disappearing into a halo of pulverized glass and wood.
Cassie immediately started toward him—or toward Ben, whom he still held upright. “Megan,” Evan said. “Get her down to the basement.”
Cassie nodded. She understood. She grabbed her little brother’s wrist and yanked him toward the hallway.
“No! I’m staying with Zombie!”
“Jesus Christ, Sam, come on . . .”
They fled down the hall. The chopper was getting closer; the sound of its engines flowed through the broken window like waves crashing on the beach. First things first, though. He heaved Ben over his shoulder and carried him toward the sofa, stepping over the body that lay amid the shattered remnants of the coffee table. He laid Ben on the sofa and glanced about for something to tie off the leg. The dead woman’s hoodie. Evan knelt beside her and ripped the hoodie open. He tore off a strip, from collar to hem, and swung back around. Ben was eyeing him from a colorless face, breath high in his chest, going into shock.
The bullet had entered Ben’s leg just above the kneecap. Any lower and he’d never walk again. Ben wasn’t lucky. Ringer had placed the shot carefully.
Ben opened his mouth and said, “My bad. I shouldn’t have brought them here.”
“You couldn’t know,” Evan assured him.
Ben shook his head violently. “No excuse.” He slammed his open palm against the cushions and dust exploded into the air. He coughed.
Evan lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and listened. How much time did they have? Hard to tell. Two minutes? Less? He looked back down at Ben, who said, “Basement.”
Evan nodded. “Basement.”
He pulled Ben from the sofa and slung him over his shoulder. Where was Cassie? He trotted down the stairs, Ben’s cheek bouncing against his back. He carried him to the far corner of the room and eased him onto the concrete floor.
“Don’t wait, Walker.” Ben jerked his head toward the weapons cache. “If you don’t take out that bird fast, it won’t matter if they’re down here.”
Evan lifted the missile launcher from the hook on the wall. The chopper must be in range by now. He raced back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, the launcher heavy as a steel girder in his hands. His bad ankle sang with pain. He pushed through it.
The hallway was empty. The air thrummed against his skin. The Black Hawk was circling directly above the house. Leave them up here and risk the shot? Or get them downstairs and risk the missile?
He dropped the launcher onto the floor.
41
CASSIE WAS POUNDING on the closet door and screaming Megan’s name. She whirled around when Evan burst into the room.
“She’s barricaded herself inside, the little bitch!”
He shoved Cassie out of the way and slammed his shoulder into the door. It jerked on its hinges but did not give way.