bitch. A goddamned school bus, like a class trip to the end of the world.
Kittridge watched as the bus came to a stop. Three people emerged: a girl with a streak of pink in her hair, a knobby-kneed boy in a T-shirt and shorts, and a man in a funny-looking hat, whom Kittridge guessed was the driver. Hello! the girl called out. Is anybody here? A moment of conferral, then they advanced into the tangle of vehicles, the girl leading the way.
Probably it was time to say something, Kittridge thought. But alerting them to his presence could incur a host of obligations he’d vowed to avoid from the start. Other people weren’t part of the plan; the plan was to get gone. Travel light, stay alive as long as possible, take as many virals with him as he could when the end came. Last Stand in Denver making his bright, meteoric descent into the void.
But then Kittridge realized what was about to happen. The three of them were headed straight for the stadium. Of course that’s where they’d go; Kittridge had done the same. These were kids, for God’s sake; plan or no plan, no way could he let them go in there.
Kittridge grabbed his rifle and hustled to head them off.
At the sound of Kittridge’s voice, the driver reacted so violently that Kittridge was momentarily frozen into inaction. Erupting with a yelp, the man lurched forward, stumbling over his feet while simultaneously burying his face in the crook of his elbow. The other two scurried away, the girl yanking the little boy protectively to her waist, swiveling toward Kittridge with a hammer held before her.
“Whoa, steady there,” Kittridge said. Pointing the rifle skyward, he raised his hands. “I’m one of the good guys.”
Kittridge saw that the girl was older than he’d first guessed, seventeen or so. The pink hair was ridiculous, and both her ears had so many studs in them they looked like they’d been riveted to her head, but the way she regarded him, coolly and without a hint of panic, told him she was more than she appeared. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d use the hammer on him, or try to, if he went another step. She had on a tight black T-shirt, jeans worn to threads at the knees, a pair of Chuck Taylors, and bracelets of leather and silver up and down both arms; a backpack, crime-scene yellow, hung from her shoulders. The boy was obviously her brother, their familial connection evident not only in the unmistakable arrangement of their features—the slightly too-small nose with its buttony tip, the high, sudden planes of the cheekbones, eyes of the same aquatic blue—but also in the way she had reacted, shielding him with a fierce protectiveness that struck Kittridge as distinctly parental.
The third member of their group, the driver, was harder to quantify. Something was definitely off about the guy. He was dressed in khakis and a white oxford shirt buttoned to the collar; his hair, a reddish-blond mop peeking from the sides of his peculiar cap, looked like it had been cut by pinking shears. But the real difference wasn’t any of these things. It was the way he held himself.
The boy was the first to speak. He had just about the worst cowlick Kittridge had ever laid eyes on. “Is that a real AK?” he said, pointing.
“Quiet, Tim.” Drawing him closer, the girl lifted the hammer, ready to swing. “Who the hell are you?”
Kittridge’s hands were still raised. For the moment, the notion that the hammer presented an actual threat was something he was willing to indulge. “My name’s Kittridge. And yes,” he said, speaking to the boy, “it’s a real AK. Just don’t go thinking I’ll let you touch it, young man.”
The boy’s face lit with excitement. “That’s cool.”
Kittridge lifted his chin toward the driver, who was now gazing intently at his shoes. “Is he okay?”
“He doesn’t like to be touched is all.” The girl was still studying Kittridge warily. “The Army said to come here. We heard it on the radio.”
“I expect they did. But it looks like they’ve flown the coop on us. Now, I don’t believe I caught your names.”
The girl hesitated. “I’m April. This is my brother, Tim. The other one is Danny.”
“Pleased to meet you, April.” He offered his most reassuring smile. “So do you think it would be all right with you if I put my hands down now? Seeing as we’ve all