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Poundcake was standing to one side of the door across the hall. Ben was helping Evan to his feet—or trying to. Every time he loosened his grip, Evan’s knees buckled. Ben finally decided to lean him against the wall, where Evan rocked, gasping for air, his skin the color of the ashes at the camp where my father died.
Evan looked over at me and he hardly had the breath for the words: “Get out of this hallway. Now.”
The drywall in front of Poundcake blew apart in a rain of fine white dust and chunks of moldy wallpaper. He staggered backward. His rifle fell from his limp fingers. He knocked into Ben, who grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him into the room with Dumbo. Ben reached for me next, but I slapped his hand away and told him to grab Evan before picking up Poundcake’s rifle and opening up on Grace’s door. The sound was deafening in the narrow hall. I emptied the magazine before Ben got hold of me and pulled me back.
“Don’t be an idiot!” he shouted. He slapped a full magazine into my hand and told me to watch the door but stay down.
The scene played out like a TV show going on in another room: just voices. I was flat on my stomach, resting my upper body on my elbows, the rifle trained on the door directly across from me. Come on, ice maiden. I have a little something for you. Running my tongue over my bloody lips, hating the taste, loving the taste. Come on, you creepy Swede.
Ben: Dumbo, how is it? Dumbo!
Dumbo: It’s bad, Sarge.
Ben: How bad?
Dumbo: Pretty bad . . .
Ben: Oh, Christ. I can freaking see that it’s bad, Dumbo!
Evan: Ben—listen to me—you have to listen to me—we have to get out of here. Now.
Ben: Why? We got her contained—
Evan: Not for long.
Ben: Sullivan can handle her. Who the hell is she, anyway?
Evan: (unintelligible)
Ben: Well, sure. The more the merrier. Guess we’re well into Plan B. I’ve got you, Walker. Dumbo, you have Poundcake. Sullivan will take the kids.
Ben eased down beside me, placing his hand on the small of my back. He nodded toward the door.
“We can’t bug out until the threat’s neutralized,” he whispered. “Hey, what happened to your nose?”
I shrugged. Swipe, swipe went the tongue. “How?” I sounded like I had a bad head cold.
“Pretty simple. Somebody takes the door, one low, one high, one to the right, one to the left. Worst part the first two and a half seconds.”
“What’s the best part?”
“The last two and a half seconds. Ready?”
“Cassie, wait.” Evan, on his knees behind us like a pilgrim at the altar. “Ben doesn’t know what he’s dealing with—but you do. Tell him. Tell him what she’s capa—”
“Shut up, lover boy,” Ben growled. He tugged on my shirt. “Let’s roll.”
“She’s not even in there anymore—I guarantee you,” Evan said, raising his voice.
“What? She jumped two stories?” Ben laughed. “That’s great. I’ll pop her broken-legged ass when I get down there.”
“She probably has jumped—but she didn’t break anything. Grace is like me.” Evan was talking to both of us but looking desperately at me. “Like me, Cassie.”
“But you’re human—I mean, your body is,” Ben said. “And no human body could—”
“Her body could. Not mine anymore. Mine has . . . crashed.”
“You getting all this?” Ben asked me. “Because to me, this sounds like more of Mr. E.T.’s bullshit.”
