And what do you think will happen to Patrick, if it turns out Bellows really can hurt you two? What do you think will happen to him, inside?
Michael sat back down.
And his mind whispered: three Atipax left.
The Game Master won’t come until you’re quiet.
Michael stood up again, trying to lighten himself up, deciding to keep himself busy. Well, maybe he should hurry, ’cause some of us have class in the morning, ha-ha-ha.
Michael rooted through the business desk, finding an ancient cell phone in the top drawer. Too bad reception ain’t happening in the backwoods mountains of good ol’ West “By God” Virginia. Anyhow, he doubted that he’d be able to reach anything except the constant Safe Zone advisory recordings that you got on the landlines, no matter what number you dialed. When Michael pressed the ON button, though, he was sort of amazed to watch the screen light up and show a blinking half-bar of charge left. The 9 button had an image of a little cassette tape on it. Voice recorder. Could be useful. He turned it off to save the battery.
Newspapers in the trash can in the corner, but they were all pre-Halloween.
Headlines about the war in Iran; a guy in Pittsburgh who won the Powerball; that awful, doesn’t-help-West-Virginia’s-public-image story about the little boy, Cady Gibson, who had snuck into a mine and been killed when he accidentally fell and hit his head—in Coalmount, actually. MOUNTAIN STATE IN MOURNING the headline said. Photos showed the entrance to the mine, and the kid himself: a blond boy, maybe a third grader, with crookedly cut bangs that might have been cute if they hadn’t made Michael realize that Cady’s family probably just couldn’t afford a real haircut.
Sounds kinda familiar.
In another drawer, alongside a can of nuts, was a plastic, bright-orange pistol. Michael laughed, picking up the surprisingly heavy toy from the otherwise I-am-a-serious-businessman desk. Man, Bub would love this.
Michael went back over to check on Patrick again, the Bellows moaning outside in the shapeless night.
But he hardly heard. Because Patrick—legs twisted, blond hair shagging his brow—looked so small, so sweet, that Michael thought, not for the first or final time, that he would shoot all the monsters in the world he had to, he would do anything to reach the Safe Zone in the capital city of Charleston, to win The Game for Patrick. And when breath came like cotton through Patrick’s tiny, chapped lips and he snorted, kind of hilariously, Michael felt he could decorate the floors of the world with Bellow brains. He felt it in his breath and blood. Yes, he could. Yes-yes, he would.
’Cause you, Bub, are the best half brother I’ve got—
—and right then, Michael thought he heard something speak, and looked up.
Through the gaps in the boarded window on this western side of the building, the snowstorm had momentarily cleared, allowing a view of the steeple of the church next door.
It had been small and paint-chipped in the daylight. But at night the spire had become a great arrow arcing for the stars. For some reason, it gave Michael a breath of joy. Things have worked out so far. It’s like . . . sometimes it’s like there’s someone helping us. Besides the Game Master. Michael smiled a little, gazing at the eerily moving building—
The moon sailed out from behind the clouds.
Michael’s heart leapt to his throat, and he forced himself not to gasp.
Eyes had flashed in the shattered windows across the alleyway: eyes, in the black of the church.
People, Michael thought.
He took a shaky step away from Patrick. For a second, his blood whamming, he stood unmoving in the streams of new moonlight. Then he moved to his window, peeking out through the gap between the boards.
No. You don’t know it was people, he cautioned himself. Could just be Bellows.
But Bellows’ eyes are black! Those were bright!
The snow was falling, and the moon had retreated—but he thought he saw silhouettes in the church. Big silhouettes.
People! He almost shouted it.
But, no. Don’t wake Patrick and get him excited, not if this was a false alarm. And if the Bellows heard him and realized there were humans inside . . .
But he felt a frighteningly powerful burst of longing.
Michael went to the door and loosened the chain; it tumbled quietly. Snow spurled inside. Down the alley between the office and the church, Bellows roared and staggered.
Wait a second before you go, he thought, looking back at