The captain’s brow darkened. He nodded, like a man in contemplation.
“Taking Patrick for a walk,” Jopek repeated. “Takin’ P,” he said, grinned blazingly, “for a . . .”
The captain paused.
And growled:
“WAAALK?!”
The sound rumbled and cracked the winter air between them. In that moment, the captain exploded toward Michael, stopping inches short of Michael’s nose.
“What the,” Patrick breathed.
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but the captain shook his head with such authority that he silenced himself. Michael became aware of Hank smirking in the background, though Bobbie and Holly were nowhere in sight. Michael suddenly felt like a kid who had struck out at Little League tryouts.
“Maybe you’re too dumbass to recollect this, but I told you to start listenin’ to my orders, Mikey,” the captain whispered, close, so close, his hot breath like a small invasion.
Jopek’s just trying to . . . to . . . He hoped the sentence would finish itself. But, no.
Jopek put his right hand, shaped like a pistol, to Michael’s temple. The crescent of his nail pressed inward. Before Michael knew what was happening, tears pushed on his eyes. He took an awkward step backward, but his butt struck the wheel bay of the Hummer.
“I—I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
The captain smiled ugly humor. “Aw, I think you proved you didn’t think.”
Hank guffawed. Michael did not understand the malice: He’d thought he and Hank had formed some degree of rapport yesterday.
The captain cocked his thumb back, like the hammer of a gun . . . and, finally, with a light push, drew it away from Michael’s skull.
“You just gotta be careful, boyo,” he whispered, and clapped Michael happily on the shoulder, without at all changing those dark eyes. “You just want to make sure you follow my rules.”
Hank chuckled. The keys on the captain’s hip sang like a ring of knives as he left.
The captain is like Ron, Michael.
Jopek is just like Ron.
Welcome home.
Patrick’s expression was an honest blank, as if someone had taken an enormous pink eraser and wiped away everything that made sense to him. “Michael?” he said uncertainly, and reached out to take his hand.
“Bub,” Michael hissed, snapping his hand away. “Not now.”
What the hell is the matter with you? he thought. What is wrong with you? Why, when he’d looked down the barrel of Rulon’s rifle, should Captain Jopek’s gun hand seem so horrible?
“’Kay but, why you fighting with—”
“I said not now. What part of that is confusing?”
Patrick’s face crumpled. The expression should have broken Michael’s heart. And he realized, resentfully, that Patrick seemed to think it should, too.
Michael did what he knew would hurt most: He rolled his eyes and shook his head, like he was trying to hide annoyance at a little kid who wants to play but is too small to do it right.
Patrick made a face of raw pain and walked away, around the Hummer, toward the maze.
Okay, so the captain’s being an asshole, Michael told himself. So what? So freaking what?
By the corn, everyone else stood in a circle that looked sealed to him.
“Just had to fetch Mikey, is all,” the captain was saying lightly to Holly and Bobbie. “And I tell you what: y’all come in with me this time.” He looked at Michael; a subtle sneer. “Yeah, I think the man in charge is gonna keep a real close eye on you from now on.”
“Captain? Pardon me, Captain?”
“Bobbie.”
“Since it’s still daylight, I’d like to do the lookin’ out,” Bobbie said. “If Henry doesn’t mind letting me use his gun, of course.” She elbowed Hank’s arm, looking nervous but also a little giddy. Like there was nothing wrong in all the world.
The captain tipped his helmet to her. “Bobbie Lou, I think you just got Henry’s job.”
Hank didn’t look super pleased.
Bobbie looked at Michael, offering him her smile: that bright revelation of wrinkles and white teeth and eyes. She winked, and silently mouthed, “Maybe they’ll recruit me”—but Michael still felt so sick with shame that he looked away.
He followed everyone else around the maze. Holly kept trying to catch his eye, asking with her expression: you okay? Michael felt a swell of embarrassment, again cast his gaze elsewhere, saw Bobbie on the Hummer out of the corner of his eye.
Hay tugged and danced across the ground between them. Bobbie’s silhouette stood crisp against the orange sky. She lay a hand on the roof-mounted machine gun, as if it were a possibly warm stovetop. Her small shape looked so fragile, as if a