The captain led Hank and Holly around the maze, first clearing the route ahead with three grenades, lob-shot from the undercarriage of his gun. Michael picked up Patrick and rubbed his back, dashing through the avenue the grenades had cleared.
At last, they came around the end of the maze . . . and Michael realized one of the screams did not belong to the Bellows.
“Bobbie.”
The creatures had surrounded the Hummer. Bobbie was on top of the vehicle, at the gun. It should have been fine; should have. But the gun was clicking drily. It was a thing he would hear in dreams for the rest of his life: despite the Bellows and the distance, that heartbreaking and toylike click!
“Here! HERE! Captain, I am here!” Bobbie called. “The roof-hatch won’t OPEN!”
“God, no,” Holly moaned miserably.
Michael raised the handgun, but his finger froze on the trigger. His hands were still quivering: what if the bullet flew wild?
Patrick, in his arms, moaned, “What’s happenin’? What happens if they get Bobbie?”
And yet here now came the most awesome thing Michael had ever seen.
It was a great enormous sweeping majesty, a sight that should have been projected widescreen, HD, two hundred feet tall and twice that wide to tower in glorious slow-motion. The captain’s gun flying up to his shoulder as he sprinted. His eyes were single glowing firing pins. His face was a tuned searchlight. Like some tremendous flame exploding through the glass and rafters of a structure that can no longer contain it, Jopek was force. He was unleashed.
The Bellows fell like a sacrificial ring around the vehicle, with the Hummer never even dented by a single imperfect bullet.
Dumb gratitude overpowered Michael. The captain plucked the pistol out of Michael’s hands.
Do what you want, Jopek, he thought. Whatever it is; just get us back. The Bellows were beginning to clog the street and the way back home would be rough, but who cared; now everyone was rushing to Bobbie, and she was shaking but beginning to smile. Holly and Hank piled into the back of the Hummer; Michael put Patrick in there, too, and the captain was getting in the front. Michael said that he’d help Bobbie down from the roof, went to the passenger side, which was the area most cleared of corpses.
“Come on! Hurry hurry quick, we’ve got you!”
Bobbie put a shaky hand on her chest and sat, scooting her legs over the edge. Her coat ballooned at her waist. And she slid off.
It was Bobbie who first spotted the monster’s arms shooting out from beneath the Hummer.
She was beginning to fall toward Michael’s awaiting arms when her face went shock pale in the last of the dusk. She tried to turn back, to grab out, to regain the roof.
She landed between Michael and the Hummer, one ankle bowing in.
The Bellow’s rottening hands grasped Bobbie’s jean-clad calves.
Not happening.
The monster’s face emerged from the darkness beneath the Hummer. In life it had been a girl, no more than eight years old. The Bellow opened its mouth and an insect slithered out, went up its eaten nostril.
Yellow teeth met Bobbie’s pants just below the ankle: riiiiiipp!
NOT HAPPENI—
Bobbie’s head tossed back; her spine rattled. Michael grabbed her, kicking the Bellow’s head until its neck snapped and its head lolled.
He didn’t look at Bobbie’s face. He looked straight at her leg. No blood. It’s fine. She didn’t get bit. The denim had stopped the teeth. A miracle.
Then, blood.
A thin single streak of red leaked out of the hole in her jeans and began to fill her sock.
Bobbie locked her horror-white eyes with Michael’s.
And as she began to scream, he clapped his hand over her mouth.
Though panicked, he felt his breath, his quaking chest.
No one was watching.
“Don’t,” he whispered to her. “Don’t—don’t tell anyone.”
What are you doing, Michael?!
Bobbie’s eyes shouted: But—
I can’t let her die, Michael thought. I should have seen that Bellow—she is not just going to die!
“Listen to me,” he said. “We’ll—we’ll figure something out.”
Bobbie’s gaze trailed down to her ankle. Total terror, that’s what was in her eyes. But was there also a faintest hope?
Lie to her, Michael. Lie, hurry, she’s going to die, this is a lady who’s actually going to die so lie, LIE.
His stomach hurt, and yeah he felt sick, but he said the thing that activated the only chance he had:
“I have an idea. T-trust me.”
Was it enough?
Michael watched her nod.
She didn’t scream when he lifted his palm from her dry lips. But her