Who does Jopek think he is? He think he can just jab me around and never be jabbed back? Who does he think he freaking is?
Michael, turning from the drink cases, touched the Hummer keys in his pocket like a talisman, and shouted, “Whoa, I bet you could live for a week on all this food!”
And that’s enough, right, Holly? Okay, maybe you had second thoughts, but once I show you all this—that I do what I say, that I can do what I want—that’ll be enough, right? You’ll let me save you, right?
“Liiiiivvveee . . .” called the Bellows in the parking lot. They had begun winding closer through the field of Hummers outside.
Doesn’t matter. Move.
He rattled back down the snack aisle, by the book racks, celebrity magazines flapping in his wake.
At the checkout counter, Michael grabbed Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups with jack-o’-lantern wrapping, some Peppermint “Batties,” and a display’s worth of 5-Hour Energy. He grabbed a pair of new aviator sunglasses for Patrick off a spinner rack, put them in his pocket.
The cart was now packed half a foot high.
Andbutso, now what? He drummed his palms on the handlebar, his eyes going closed, trying to find his pulse. So get it out into the car.
He thrust the cart toward the front exit. It powered its own way and stopped between the anti-theft sensors. Now . . . now get Patrick and go out to the car—
Except one thing—
—kinda a biggie—
How are you gonna get Patrick out without Jopek being suspicious?
He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t.
A triple-burst of gunshot leapt from the rear of the pharmacy, silencing a Bellow. A double burst followed, a single shot, another triple. How long before there were no more Bellows back there to occupy the captain?
Outside, a scud of phantom-colored cloud loomed over the sun, casting a pallor over the aisles like early twilight.
3:27. Jopek was going to come out front and announce their departure. 3:28.
“Holly?” Michael said. No reply.
Feel your blood.
He did.
And it told him the logical, pure truth: there was nothing he could do.
Standing there, his heart a fierce coil in his throat, a sudden bloom of despair nearly overtook Michael. Why had he thought he could take control of this? Why had he thought he could escape a captain in the army? Good one, Mike. Tell us the one again about the tank tops. It was just like what Holly said about the virus, his life had returned to where it had come from: his and Patrick’s lives, commanded by a man who did not play by any sane rules.
No! Michael thought. I am going to get us out of here! But that voice rang hollow.
“Holly?” he tried again.
Not even a Bellow responded.
Do you pray? No, I don’t. But maybe I should, because those maniacs in the woods do, and even they can control their lives more than I can. So, yeah: God, if you’re not too busy figuring out where to put all the people who showed up recently, HELP M—
And he became aware that he was being watched.
The lot outside was grim with shrouded sunlight. He turned and turned. There were no monsters near the storefront yet; but goose bumps nonetheless lit across his arms and neck. A few deer were cantering peacefully just outside. They were arranged, the three of them, in a triangle. And they seemed, instantly, a family. The spotted fawn sniffed the cement with a kid’s curiosity; the mother doe’s eyes warily flicked over the bodies on the ground. The buck led them. It had power, you could see that; its muscled shoulders and thighs looked thick and fast and beautiful. The sharp spread of its antlers gestured, somehow kingly, with each stride.
I saw you two nights ago, Michael thought. Or something like you. At the cliff. Right before I almost fell off, I did.
That sensation: like clockwork behind a curtain. Filling Michael now. Like yes-yes, but not. Stronger than yes-yes. Beyond it.
Michael realized that the sight of the deer was making him hold his breath.
He tried to let it out softly, but dust hitched his throat. He coughed.
The doe’s and the fawn’s heads sprang up. They eyed Walgreens. He felt certain that they couldn’t see him because of glare on the glass, but he froze, for some reason. The clouds, however, did not: they gusted, spilling sun, so the fringe of the deers’ coats looked momentarily lit on fire, like cave paintings of majestic creatures of a higher world. Their own sudden shadows