“’Course it is, Bub!” Jopek shouted, apparently hearing just fine now. “C’mon, now, buddy—let’s get The Game started!”
The blood pulled out of Michael’s face. He felt his windpipe close to the size of a pinhole.
How the hell does Jopek know about The Game?
Hearing the captain speak the term Michael had created to protect Patrick—created to protect Patrick from monsters, and from people just like Jopek—felt like a violation.
“Okay!” Patrick called brightly, relief in his brother’s voice. Relief, Michael thought, because someone else told him that he was safe.
As Patrick practically skipped to the Hummer, Michael glanced to Holly. She had bluish circles under her eyes—as if she’d stayed up late last night, talking to someone after she and Michael had parted.
“Holly,” he whispered, “did you tell Jopek about—”
She walked away, down the steps, got into the rear of the Hummer.
Michael, seeing no choice now that Patrick was excited, followed. But when he boarded the Hummer, he saw Patrick crawling through the sliding slot, to the front seat.
“Hey, Bubbo, what’re you—”
Jopek loaded into the driver’s seat and looked back at Michael. “Thought it might be neat for him to ride up front. I’ll make him buckle up—standard Game procedure, right, ha-ha?”
Patrick grinned at Michael.
Jopek snapped the sliding plate closed before Michael could say anything.
Outside, the sunlight pulled free through the storm for one split second. Bellows moaned, as if in approval.
What. The hell. Is going on?
“Holly, why did you tell Jopek about The Game?” Michael whispered as he strapped himself into the harness across from her. He felt as if Holly had somehow handed Jopek a weapon. Maybe that was just paranoia. But that was only part of the reason that he felt so stung. Holly, I trusted you, he thought.
“Just to be careful,” Holly replied. “I didn’t want Jopek to say anything that would make Patrick realize this isn’t a game.”
“Taking care of Patrick is my job, Holly.”
“But why would you even risk someone saying anything that could confuse Patrick, since we all live together in the Capitol?”
“We’re going to leave the Capitol.”
Holly turned away from him, looking out the window of the rear door, stripes of shadow and light flowing over her face as the Hummer moved forward. She murmured, “Yeah . . .”
Oh man, Michael thought, afraid suddenly. You didn’t change your mind about leaving, did you?
As Jopek drove them across the bridge, Michael’s chest tightened once again: Bellows on the ledges were throwing themselves over the guardrail, down into the Kanawha River chopping far below.
“What’s going on?” Michael whispered.
Holly didn’t look.
The city mutated, Michael. Everything did.
“Holly, we should not be in this city anymore.”
The panel to the front slid open; the captain called, “Comfortable back there, lovebirds?”
Patrick chuckled.
The panel sliced shut.
Michael began to bite the nail of his thumb, stopped it at his lips, put his hands to his thighs, realized his hands were blotting sweat.
He had outsmarted a thousand living dead with a station wagon and rusting gun, but he hadn’t felt this choking-terror feeling for weeks.
Captain Jopek took the main roads into the downtown grid. Perhaps as a result of the Rapture’s infiltration of the city’s defenses last night, Bellows now roamed freely even on these previously secured streets. Jopek sped every few seconds, rammed into the Bellows, laughed. But bizarrely, as the Hummer progressed farther into the city, the number of Bellows in the streets actually decreased, until there were practically none at all. What are the Bellows doing? Are they all going to the Capitol? Or the river? Why?
It doesn’t matter. I’m still going to get us out of here.
You don’t know what’s going on. You didn’t think of any of this.
Through muscling will, Michael pretended he wasn’t here in the Hummer. He was an avatar in a video game, waiting for the next screen to load. Because that’s what’s true: this is like a game, and you’re in control of it. You are. Do you freaking hear me? This is just a game and you are the Game Mas—
The car stopped.
The sliding panel between the rear and front compartments was still closed, save a thin slit. Michael peered through. Jopek was speaking to Patrick, gesturing with his hands. His head looked so enormous next to Patrick’s.
Michael leaned closer, trying to hear what they were saying over the loud engine—hoping, in fact, that Patrick might look back and smile, and Michael could draw just a bit of confidence and strength from his little brother’s image of him.