It makes me wonder how many Thought Thieves are still sitting in power. The President himself only signed the law after the panic had gotten out of control. I like the idea of the Commander in Chief being one of us. It would explain his second term, how frequently he fires top officials. I imagine the White House is filled with people looking to take him down, but he’d know every move before they could make a grab at his job.

  Even Carl Pepper, the man who supposedly saved the President’s life, never seemed to be fully responsible for stopping the assassination. When they played the scene on the news, the President definitely ducked before Carl clobbered the gunman.

  Carl was one of the first sent to Brightside, but no one has seen or heard from him since. He’s either dead or locked up so tight he’s wishing he were. I can’t imagine what Carl must be going through. He was a hero for a week, then a villain for life. I’m sure there’s not a second of the day he doesn’t wish he would’ve let the gunman fire the shot. The President he saved banished him for being a traitor and I can’t fathom how that must feel. Even though my own father turned me in, at least he tried to offer me a way out. Carl is just fucked, same as all the other Brightsiders we’ll leave behind.

  I need to stop thinking about pointless crap. Who cares what Carl is thinking or if the President is a Thought Thief? Neither is going to help me one bit. I have a job to do, and I need to shut off my head. I know I’m doing it to distract myself, to keep from thinking about the chopper’s gun spinning and firing fifty rounds into my chest before I even take aim, but if I can’t control my thoughts, I’ll for sure end up dead.

  Sara’s wearing a stocking cap, parka, and these huge sunglasses Rachel left at my place on Day 39. I’m wearing my puffy jacket wishing I had a trench coat. The shotgun is practically sticking out the bottom of my pants, and it’s making me walk like someone who’s trying to hide a gun. There’s an elastic drawstring at the bottom of the jacket, and I pull it tight to keep the Mossberg in place. But I just keep picturing it sliding down and blowing off my leg. Sara asks if I have a duffle bag or something, says this just looks stupid. I run to the closet and have to pull Rachel forward to slide out the bag. It’s covered in blood, which is only going to draw more attention.

  I rummage through the closet, through all of Dad’s boxes, when I find a backpack. It’s too small to hide the Mossberg, but it’s better than keeping it in my pants, so I fieldstrip the gun. Not all of it, just break it down so it’ll fit. Assembling it is going to take more time, time I don’t know if I’ll have, but it’s the best option I’ve got.

  * * *

  The walk to the office is freezing because the sun is about to set. I’m wearing headphones, but my iPod is turned off. I’m just silently talking to Sara as we move down the street. Most people are at work or locked away in their apartments. Wayne has set everyone on edge.

  The building where I work has a small crowd out front, but I don’t see any Boots. Neither Sara nor I know how many people heard she’s being sent to The Cabin, but we can’t take any chances. I have to go in alone. We keep our distance and switch up the plan. It’s better this way, because Sara needs to draw the helicopter to me.

  She slips off through the Square. I watch her and have the fear this might be the last time I ever see her. I want to chase her down, tell her how sorry I am she got pulled into this, but again, it’s not going to help me do what I have to do. I flick on my iPod, crank it as loud as it can go before entering the building. There are a few people getting into the elevator so I take the east stairs. The shotgun pieces clang around in my backpack as I climb. Luckily, no one is in the stairwell, though, I sort of wish there were. I want someone to catch me, to make me go back to my apartment. The Cabin doesn’t seem like such an awful outcome right now.

  My hand goes to the door handle, but I can’t open it. It’s not locked, I’m just freaking out. I keep thinking about how I almost plummeted off the side. Sara had to pull me up to save my life.

  I’m leaning against the wall and I can feel the sweat soaking through my clothes, which doesn’t feel all that bad because it’s so fucking hot here in the stairwell. I decide to put the shotgun together. If the helicopter flies over while I’m assembling it, they’ll kill me.

  Sara also needs time to get to the Boots. She’s supposed to say Wayne is in this building. I told her to keep her distance to let others spread the word, but I know she’s not going to risk Danny to save herself. I just hope they don’t recognize her before they head this way.

  The barrel clicks, and I pull out the shells. Slide two in. I have another dozen in the backpack, but I’ll never get the chance to reload. It’s one shot.

  The Mossberg is in my hands, and I keep thinking about Rachel. If someone were to see me, I don’t know what I’d do. I guess I’d have to shoot, but that’s only going to alert the Boots, the helicopter, and the gunner.

  I suddenly realize this plan’s already fucked. Sara’s going to tell them Wayne’s here, meaning they’ll already be looking to kill him, meaning as soon as they see I’m armed, I’m dead.

  I’m starting to think this really is all a setup. Melvin could get a hell of a lot closer to the helicopter than me. But Sharon said I was the only one for the job.

  They’re probably already at the cave escaping, while I’m up here like an idiot holding a shotgun that will draw all the attention.

  I’m hating my father right now for trusting that lying bitch, for giving me a shotgun instead of a rifle, which I could fire from cover, instead of standing right out in the open, making it so easy to take me out.

  Plus, I don’t even have an escape plan. The helicopter will definitely beat the Boots here, but it won’t be long before they secure the building.

  At least Sara’s not with me. Danny either. They might still have a chance. This is what I’m telling myself as I hear the distant thwump of the chopper getting louder and louder. I don’t even have to put my ear to the door to know it’s almost here.

  Sara’s supposed to meet me at the pond. I know she won’t wait forever. I told her she can’t be late to the cave. It’s Danny who’s important. I just hope she doesn’t hold out too long. Sharon won’t hesitate to leave her and Danny behind.

  I wonder what’s going to happen with Wayne. When Sharon sees him, she’s going to shit herself. I wish I could be there to see her face. I just hope Wayne doesn’t get Danny killed.

  My hand is on the door handle and my heart feels like it’s the size of my head. The Mossberg’s at my side, my finger just above the trigger.

  Everything’s tunneling. I can’t breathe.

  It sounds like the helicopter is circling. I need to time this right, wait until it’s on the other side of the building before coming out.

  Voices fill the stairwell, but they’re not coming up. Everyone’s fleeing, meaning the Boots are probably already here. They’ll sweep every floor. I’ve run out of time.

  The chopper is as loud as ever. I wait for a couple of seconds until it’s a little quieter, hoping I can make it to the wall next to the air conditioners before the gunner sees me.

  My hand presses down. The click of the door. At least this will be quick.

  I throw open the door and I’m practically blind from the sun. I stayed too long in the stairwell and my eyes can’t adjust. The chopper’s coming around and my finger goes to the trigger. It’s so loud and bright. I press my back against the wall, hold the shotgun to my chest. I’m closing my eyes picturing Lily and Rachel and my parents. Dad’s telling me I can’t be afraid to pull the trigger.

  But I suddenly realize that fear might be the only way out of this. The chopper is less than two seconds from seeing me with this shotgun. There’s no way I can pull this off, not like this.

  So I drop the gun, kick it so it’s under the metal folding chair. The one I used to salute the flag and sing like a goddamn lunatic.

  That’s exactly what I have to look like. A man who has lost his mind.

  I take off running, waving my arms, screaming at the top of my lungs. “HE’S IN THE STAIRWELL! WAYNE KING IS COMING DOWN!” The gunner’s hands are wrapped around steel, ready to open fire, and I have no idea if he can understand a word I’m saying. But I just keep screaming that Wayne’s heading down the stairs and start pointing over the edge. I’m right up against it, looking over, seeing the ground, but somehow with all the adrenaline, I’m not afraid. I’m just screaming, “DOWN! DOWN!”

  The gunner must understand enough, because he’s saying something to the pilot, who starts to circle around to the front of the building. He’s descending, the rotor now even with the ledge. They’re looking in the windows, looking for Wayne.

  I turn back to the wall, where the shotgun is and take off running. I try to pick it up, but my hand smacks against the folding chair. The chopper sounds like it’s starting to pull away to get a better view. I flip over the chair, grab the gun, and run back to the ledge. The crowd down below is staring up at the chopper. I see them through the spinning blades, moving so fast it’s just this translucent swirl.

  I tell them to fucking move even though they can’t hear me. I raise the barrel and aim it right at the center of the blades. One shot. That’s all I get.

  I hold my breath, just like Dad taught me. One eye closed. Shoulder’s relaxed. Arm steady.

  Someone down below sees what I’m about to do and screams something. The crowd looks up and I’m waving my hand to tell them to get the fuck away from there.

  The pilot must see them, because the chopper begins to rise. I don’t have a choice. The gunner is going to have me in his sights any second.

  My finger curls around the trigger, just like Rachel’s and Grandpa’s before everything went dark.

  The blast is louder than the rotor and the kickback practically separates my shoulder, searing pain shooting down my arm. But I don’t move. Just watch the buckshot spark off the blades, which slow down to the point I can see all four. Then the chopper begins to tilt. The pilot’s trying to pull up or set it down. I can’t tell. I just see the crowd running and the blades grinding and carving into the street. Sparks and metal spray into the air and sidewalk. The fire isn’t instantaneous, but it doesn’t take long before the entire helicopter explodes.

  Two women are thrown back. A guy is holding his face, obviously burned and ripped up by the shards of metal.

  The gun is still in my hands as I back up, nearly trip. I stare into the sun as the crackling sounds mingle with screams.

  What the hell have I done?

  The door closes behind me as I enter the stairwell. I’m against the wall and shaking. The backpack is on the floor and I just stare at it, knowing I need to break down the shotgun, but I hear voices coming up from the first floor.

  The Boots are here, and I have nowhere to run. They’re going to open fire. My fingers fumble for the shells, but I can’t keep a grip. It’s like they’re covered in oil. I look over the side. Someone is definitely coming. A seven-floor climb and it’s all over.

  I see the next level down, the door that leads to my office. I grab the pack and race down the stairs. The voices are getting closer. I stay against the wall. My foot misses a step and I nearly fall, my ass almost hitting the stairs, but I keep moving, flinging myself towards the door. My hand finds the handle and I quickly slip in, expecting to see Carlos and Alex and all my coworkers ready to tackle me, but the floor’s empty, everyone evacuated.

  My office is right there and I think about hiding, crawling under my desk, curling into a ball, curling so tight that I wake up and find myself back on the couch with Michelle and Lily. The TV still on Letterman and my ears fine. No flashbang. No gunshots into Lily’s ribs. All of it just a terrible dream.

  But hiding in my office isn’t going to keep me alive. I need to get to the cave, find Danny and Sara. If Wayne’s holding Danny and Sharon refuses to let them join her, Sharon won’t hesitate. She’ll tell Melvin to take them both out. I’m sure by now they have guns. I have to keep moving.

  When I get to the elevators I see the red numbers rising. If the doors open, I might get off a shot, but it stops one floor down.

  My lungs start working again. I lean against the wall, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of here. I can see Carlos’s office, think about just climbing out the window. It’s one less floor than Paul fell. Maybe I’d just break an ankle.

  Then I hear the stairwell door open. Whispers. They’re checking offices. Looking for Wayne, for me.

  My finger goes to the trigger, but I remember I didn’t load it. I’m digging around in the backpack. An office door opens. A voice says, “Clear.”

  I’m picturing the floor plan. There are only three offices between the stairwell and the elevators.

  A different voice, another, “Clear.”

  I finally get a shell in my hand. I’m sliding it in. Trying to click the barrel closed as quietly as possible.

  Then a voice whispers, “Joe.”

  I turn, ready to fire, when I see Wendell peering out from the bathroom. He’s waving me in with that big, meaty paw. He seems friendly, more friendly than whoever is searching our offices, so I step towards him. I’m ten feet from the bathroom. I hear bootsteps. I turn around and back in to the bathroom so I can still take a shot if they come around the corner.

  Wendell shuts the door without making a sound, holding the handle so there isn’t a click. Then his fat finger presses to his lips as if I need to be reminded to stay quiet.

  The whispers are at the elevator. I can hear them through the door. I push Wendell back and put my ear against the wood and listen. They must be giving hand signals. It’s quiet, but I know they’re coming.

  I look around the bathroom. The stalls aren’t going to keep me hidden for more than a few seconds. They’ll just kick in the door.

  A walkie-talkie goes off. A voice tells them someone is on the roof.

  Bootsteps running, fading until I hear the faint sound of the stairwell door slamming shut.

  Wendell exhales, thinks we’re safe, but I know we’re not. I only heard one set of boots running. There were definitely two whispers. I silently tell Wendell to get back against the wall. I press myself against the sink, the small puddle of water on the counter seeps into my pants. The gun’s aimed at the door. I see the handle slowly turn. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I’m trying not to blink. The door begins to open. I see the barrel of the revolver, the eyes of the newbie, the Boot that was guarding Robert’s door so no one would see him swinging from the ceiling, his dick still hard.

  The newbie enters. He’s shaking, staring down the Mossberg. He’s telling me to drop it, but I’m not moving. Wendell’s against the wall. The newbie doesn’t see him. He just keeps telling me to put it down. His voice trembles. His finger tight against the trigger.

  I know he’s going to fire, whether he wants to or not. I stay real still, knowing even a twitch will get him to take the shot.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “I’m putting down the gun.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s good.”

  I bend forward, gently placing the shotgun on the wet floor. He tells me to kick it towards him. I do it.

  “I just want to get out of here,” I say.

  He looks confused, as if I’m telling him I’m from another planet. He stretches out his leg and puts his foot on the Mossberg, slides it back. The revolver still aimed at my chest. He takes one hand off the gun and goes for the walkie-talkie, his eyes never leaving mine. He fumbles the walkie, nearly drops it.

  Wendell’s inching forward, and I can hear his fucking breath from here. The newbie starts to turn, but Wendell drives his shoulder into his stomach and plows him into the paper towel dispenser. I grab the newbie’s arm, pry the revolver from his hand. Wendell’s got him against the sink now, and the newbie’s flailing, his hand finding Wendell’s face, trying to force the big fellow off.

  Wendell lifts and the newbie is off the ground for a second before Wendell slams him down. The newbie’s head cracks against the sink. His body slumps to the wet floor. I can’t tell if he’s dead or just knocked out. Wendell’s breathing in clumps, like he’s about to have a heart attack. He drags his sleeve across his lips, just stares at the newbie.

  I want to tell him thanks, but the whole thing is just too crazy. I keep my eyes on Wendell until he finally turns. He’s more shocked than me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  Wendell nods.

  “Okay, okay,” I repeat, trying to think. The newbie’s body is still splayed on the floor and there’s no way we’ll be able to explain it to the Boots.

  “You, uh…” Wendell takes a second to catch his breath. “You have to get my sister.”

  “What?”

  “You have to help her escape. She’s working in the deli.”

  I didn’t even know Wendell had family here. For a second, I think Wendell might be a part of Sharon’s club, but he tells me he just learned about it, overheard someone’s thoughts. He says Sharon would never let him in. He says, “I’m too fat.”

  A voice comes through newbie’s walkie-talkie. The voice says there’s no one on the roof, says he’s coming down.

  “Her name’s Becky,” Wendell says. “She’s at the deli. You have to get her. You have to.” Wendell’s eyes are as wide and pleading as I’ve ever seen.

  “Okay,” I tell him. “We’ll go get her.”

  “No,” he says, “just you.”

  The ding of the elevator.

  One set of boots.

  I grab the shotgun. Wendell picks up the revolver.

  You know how to use that?

  Wendell shakes his head no.

  Just squeeze and don’t close your eyes.

  Wendell nods, but he’s so out of breath he can’t hold the gun still. If someone walks in, I’m going to get shot from both directions.