The stairwell door opens and shuts.

  The bootsteps are moving, but not towards us. There’s a muffled conversation.

  I decide to peek out, figuring they’re going to come here eventually. The elevator doors are still open.

  Follow me.

  No.

  Goddamnit, just do it.

  I’m staying, Wendell thinks. Just go.

  There’s no time to argue. I take off, angle my body to slip in just before the doors close. My fingers mash the button. I hear the Boots, the bathroom door click shut.

  “He’s in there!” one of them says.

  Their yelling is muffled. I can’t tell if one of the voices is Wendell. The lower the elevator goes, the harder it is to hear. But the next six quick sounds are unmistakable.

  The elevator slows, it’s about to hit the first floor. I shove the shotgun up under my jacket, angle it so it’s not poking me in the chin. Then the doors start to open and I immediately regret it. I should’ve kept it out. Who knows what’s waiting? Luckily, there are people everywhere, everyone jostling towards the front doors. I keep my head down and sink into the crowd.

  Two of the Boots are on walkie-talkies. I stay hidden behind a few Brightsiders. We’re almost out the door when the voice over the walkie-talkie says they got the guy.

  Wendell’s dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The smell of burning metal, leather, and flesh. Everyone is circled around the wreckage so I can’t see the pilot or the gunner, just the one single blade rising towards the purpling sky. The sun is starting to creep under the horizon. I move through the crowd. Some people weep; others just stare in shock. Harry, my hermit neighbor with his little toupee, is barking out instructions in his thick Boston accent, telling Brightsiders to take off their coats and carry them across the street. They lay them flat on the ground and start scooping handfuls of snow, piling it right on the coats. Two people, one on each end, lift each coat like a hammock and shuffle back, flinging the mounds of snow onto the flames.

  I don’t know what I expected, but definitely not this. They’re trying to put out the fire because of the pilot, who’s still moving. His charred, blistered hand reaching out through the broken glass and twisted metal.

  The prisoners desperately trying to save their captor.

  Stockholm Syndrome is the first thought in my head. But these people genuinely want to help. They’re praying they’ll get him out before it’s too late. They’re good and decent. They don’t want the man to die. They just see a crisis and want to do what’s right. The government calls them Thought Thieves, but these people are definitely not terrorists.

  Unlike me.

  My stomach’s climbing up my throat and I try to escape the smoke, but can’t. The wind swirls it, covering me no matter which way I move. I bump into a woman and feel the shotgun almost slip out of my jacket. I tell her I’m sorry and keep my hand on the butt of the gun.

  More Boots are arriving, but no one notices me. The pilot is all that matters, the pilot I shot down.

  Everything is telling me to run, but I keep it slow and steady. I can’t draw attention, that I know. I’m not even watching where I’m going. I’m just moving down the street and I can’t stop picturing the pilot’s hand, the desperate, pathetic reach, each black finger pleading for help.

  I’ve never actively taken a life. Rachel died because of what I couldn’t say. Lily, because I stayed in one place too long, let the Boots close in. I stopped being Steven’s friend, but I didn’t give him cancer. And Robert just heard my thoughts, but Wayne was the man who strung him up.

  The gunner, the pilot…this is completely on me. I aimed the gun. I pulled the trigger.

  Sharon’s voice is echoing my father’s. You’re going to do great things, Joe.

  So fucking great. I actually thought I was doing the right thing. The Boots were evil; they needed to be put down.

  But if that’s the case, then why do I feel like shit?

  I don’t even realize I’m near the pond, but Sara’s calling my name. She comes running out from behind some trees.

  “Oh, thank God. I didn’t think you were going to show. I didn’t know if something…”

  “Sorry.”

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Holy shit, I can’t believe you did it.” Sara keeps looking past me, staring at something in the distance.

  I can’t look back.

  Sara smiles. “Well, we both made it.”

  “How’d you get away from the Boots?”

  “They were searching a building near the Square. Questioning people, seeing if anyone knew anything. I just ran up and told them someone spotted Wayne in the office. There were only a few of them and they took off running, called it in, I guess. I just walked away.” Sara laughs, still freaked out.

  “So you saw it? The helicopter?”

  She nods. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I picture the crash, the explosion. “I only had one shot and… They’re still trying to get him out from…he’s trapped…”

  I see the pilot’s hand reaching.

  “Joe, you didn’t have a choice.”

  I finally look back and see the huge cloud of black smoke. It’s still rising. I hear the sirens. The ambulance must have arrived. They’re going to have to cut through the metal.

  “Joe, come on, we have to hurry.”

  But I’m moving back towards the wreckage. Sara yanks my arm. “What are you doing?” She spins me a little. “Joe? Hey, listen to me.” She grabs my face. “We have to get to Danny.”

  Even with her holding my face, I can’t stop looking at the black smoke rising up from the carnage, the flesh.

  “Joe! Come on!” She’s pulling me, but I’m fighting it. She says, “Danny needs us. He needs you, Joe. He’s your friend, remember?”

  It’s like I’ve just been slapped awake. “Right. Yeah... Sorry.”

  I start for the woods, holding tight to the image of Danny, of Wayne. I tell myself not to look back, just get to the cave.

  The sun’s halfway under the horizon. Streaks of red splash across the sky and dissolve into the darkness of night.

  I can hardly see and am unsure which way to go.

  “Joe, what are you doing? Why are you stopping?”

  “I can’t remember.” I look left and it seems kind of familiar, but so does the right. But it’s all just trees and snow and I have no fucking clue.

  “Joe!” Sara shakes me. “Relax, okay?”

  I’m trying, but she’s still shaking me. Finally she stops.

  “Just clear your head and think. Which way is the mine?”

  I close my eyes, try to remember the first time I found it, the huge tree crashing down and uncovering the entrance. I picture the rusted metal tracks.

  “Hey, come on, focus. Where were you before the mine?” Sara asks. She’s pissed and needs me to get this.

  I remember I just got off the phone with Mom. She’d said my father had turned me in and I just started running, lost one of my shoes in the snow.

  “What else?”

  It takes me a second then suddenly it’s clear. “I went to the tree!” The one where I’d carved Michelle and Rachel’s names, which later I scratched out because I can’t stop hurting every woman I meet.

  Sara doesn’t have time for my bullshit, but it reminds me it’s not too far from their names.

  I take off running, and the shotgun starts to slide out of my jacket. I pull it out, carry it in one hand. The snow is halfway up our shins, but we keep plodding. Even when Sara gets stuck, I grab her hand and pull. Twenty more yards, the carving just visible. We just need to angle right, then head up the hill. The fallen tree is at the bottom, wedged against a few towering pines.

  “It’s up here,” I say and help Sara keep her balance up the rocky, snow-covered slope.

  The cave is still covered by rocks. Completely untouched. But there’s no one here. Sharon and the others should be waiting, that was the plan. I walk around the cave, looking into the woods. The gunmetal is freezing on my bare hand, so I set it against the rocks and keep looking around. Sharon and the others must have seen the helicopter crash, or at least heard it. I start to wonder if they’ve already escaped, but they couldn’t have put back the rocks. They’re covered with too much snow.

  I tell Sara it doesn’t make any sense.

  Sara’s not paying attention. She’s looking at the trees, turning around in circles, anxious and panicked. I know she’s not talking about Sharon when she asks, “Where are they?”

  I tell her to be quiet. There’s something coming from far away. It sounds like gunshots, but it’s too faint to be sure.

  A voice rings out. “Sara.”

  ”Danny?” Sara turns around and calls his name again, but there’s no answer. Seconds tick by and I start thinking I’m going insane.

  Then Wayne, with a knife to Danny’s throat, comes walking out of the trees. Wayne’s eyes dart around the forest. He sees we’re alone.

  Danny’s pencil is gone, fist empty, his thumb rubbing up and down on his knuckle. His eyes are filled with tears ready to burst and stream.

  “Let him go!” Sara says.

  Wayne just brings the knife closer to Danny’s neck. They’re in the shadows so it’s too dark to see, but Danny’s gasp says the blade’s piercing skin.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”

  Wayne’s jaw clenches under that nasty beard, his eyes gleaming at me. “Shut her fucking mouth or I take the retard’s head.”

  Sara starts for Wayne, but I pull her back, tell her to stay calm.

  “Wayne,” I say, “now, we had a deal.”

  “Oh, I’m aware.”

  “And I did my part so let Danny go.”

  Wayne sticks out his neck, swivels it left then right. “I don’t see the rest of the party?”

  “I don’t know where they’re at.”

  “Then you broke the deal.”

  “You said I had to take out the helicopter.”

  “No, that Zen cunt told you to do that. I said you had to convince her to let me tag along.”

  “I don’t know where she is!”

  “Then you didn’t live up to your part of the bargain.” Wayne takes a fistful of Danny’s hair and snaps back his head, the knife pressing hard against Danny’s throat.

  “Please,” Sara says. “Please don’t.”

  “Wayne, you don’t need to do this.” I’m trying to keep my voice steady. “We don’t even need Sharon. We can go on our own.”

  Wayne clicks his tongue. “Yeah, I don’t like that idea. Unless you got a car waiting?”

  There’s no point in lying, not with Wayne, so I tell him I don’t. But I remind him we’re out of options. The helicopter’s down, but another one could be here any minute. So unless he wants to head back and turn himself in, we need to go now.

  Wayne mulls it over. I know he’s going to slit Danny’s throat no matter what, so I keep my eyes locked on his. I don’t even blink.

  “You kill him,” I say, “and I’m not lifting a fucking stone. And there’s no way you’ll get down by yourself.”

  Wayne laughs. “Momma’s Boy wants to be a man.” Wayne turns towards Sara, the tip of his tongue sliding over his lips. “Maybe I’ll just stick here, enjoy your lady.”

  I blow out Wayne’s sick fantasy. “We’re running out of time. We can do this quicker with Danny.”

  Wayne seems disappointed. He lets Danny go with a shove. Danny runs into Sara’s arms. She squeezes him with everything she’s got, pats his hair, asks if he’s alright. Danny gulps and nods. She checks his neck. It’s bleeding, but not bad.

  “Well, let’s get to work,” Wayne says.

  I look to Sara and tell her to go on, let her know this is our only play. Danny moves to the cave and starts pulling away rocks. Sara and I help while Wayne wipes the bloody knife on his shirt. I drop a rock and look at Wayne, ask him if he’s going to just stand there.

  Wayne slides the knife in his belt and lifts a huge stone. I can tell it’s hurting his back, but he turns and chucks it to the ground.

  Sara tries to lift a big one, too, but can’t. She starts to move to a smaller rock, but I tell Danny to help his sister. He’s got a small stick in his fist but works around it, grabs one end of the rock and they pry it out, both of them stepping sideways a few feet.

  Wayne’s staring at me. I just lift another huge rock, focus my thoughts on the weight. I drop it as Sara and Danny drop theirs. Then I see my opportunity. Sara and Danny are out of the way. I run and grab the shotgun, but before I can even take aim, Wayne says, “Now, Joe, why do you have to complicate things.”

  Still, I point the hollow end right at his face and wedge myself in between Wayne and Danny.

  Wayne’s cocking his head, sizing me up. He says, “Momma didn’t raise a killer.”

  “Fuck you, Wayne. I already broke my cherry.” I’m trying to sound tough, but Wayne’s inside my head.

  He rubs his beard. “But you didn’t like the taste, did you?” Wayne narrows his eyes. He’s burrowing around inside me. “How’d you do it, Joe? How’d you take down that chopper?”

  I’m trying to hum, to block it all out.

  “You look those men in the eye, like your daddy told you? Huh?” A grin spreads over Wayne’s face. “Or did you wait until they were down below and shoot them in the back?”

  I can’t get the pilot out of my head fast enough. I’m humming as loud as I can, and Wayne’s still grinning. I tell him to back up, but he just keeps coming, not even moving his hands, just presses his chest against the barrel.

  Wayne’s breath pours over my face and I jab him with the gun to push him back, but Wayne leans in so I’m practically holding him up, the hollow end digging into his ribs.

  “I’m right here, Joe. What’s it going to be? You a coward or man?”

  I hear my father’s voice telling me to stop being such a goddamn baby, and Wayne’s laughing. My finger’s on the trigger. I can feel it fine against my skin. But Wayne keeps leaning, his eyes wide and psychotic. I just can’t squeeze.

  Wayne grabs the barrel, swipes it away from his chest. I’m holding onto the butt of the gun, both of us yanking, pulling, grunting. Then Wayne gets his other hand on the gun and slams me into the rocks, knocking everything out of me. He’s using both hands, one on each end of the shotgun, forcing it against my throat. I push back on the barrel, and Wayne pulls me away from the rocks then crushes me back against them, my head smacking, nearly splitting. My legs give out, but he’s holding me up with the Mossberg on my neck, cutting off air. I close my eyes and try to kick, but Wayne throws out his knee and blocks it.

  “Look at me, Joe. This is how you do it. You look them right in the eye—”

  Danny’s roar only lasts a second, but it’s enough to get Wayne to turn, just in time to see Danny’s hands coming at him. The stick punches through Wayne’s cheek, Danny’s fingers digging into Wayne’s eyes. They spin.

  The Mossberg flies out of Wayne’s grasp and cracks against a rock. I’m on all fours sucking air. Wayne and Danny are pulling and pushing and punching, a snarling violence that collapses to the ground, probably close enough to touch, but I can’t lift my head to know for sure.

  Wayne’s laugh almost covers the sliding of metal on leather. Sara screams. I look up and see Wayne holding the knife high above his head, ready to drive it through Danny’s chest. I look for the gun, but can’t find it. It’s somewhere buried in the snow. So I dive into Wayne. We start tumbling, rolling down the hill. This sharp pain carves into my side, but I can’t tell if it’s the knife or just a rock. Finally, we stop rolling and Wayne crawls on top of me, a ragged hole in his cheek. Spit falls from his lips and onto mine. He wipes the snow from his hair and sniffs, sucking up blood and snot. He flips the knife around in his hand so he can get a better grip.

  “Please,” I hear my voice squeak.

  Wayne’s thinking how good it’s going to feel to slice through me. The cartilage and fibers shredding and spraying blood like warm rain.

  Then comes the crack! And I see the hole in Wayne’s head, all dark and hollow. It’s about the size of a dime. Wayne’s eyes are focused on something behind me until there’s no focus at all. He falls to his side, his face half-swallowed by the snow, which dissolves and turns crimson.

  I force off his legs and expect to see Danny or Sara with the shotgun. Instead, I see Sheriff Melvin, Sharon and about forty other people.

  Melvin is holding a revolver. His uniform is covered in blood. Same goes for a half dozen of the Brightsiders. They look like they’ve just been through a war, bruised and broken, their bodies still carrying fragments of lead.

  Melvin stands over me and asks, “Can you get up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, ‘cause I ain’t carrying your ass.”

  I get to my knees and feel the pain shooting down my side. My jacket is torn and I unzip it, peer in and see the blood. My fingers feel the wound and it’s not very deep. The jacket took most of the damage.

  Danny and Sara run over and help me to my feet. Sara asks if I’m okay and I tell her I’m fine. Danny keeps apologizing for not stopping Wayne.

  “It’s okay, Danny,” I say. “You saved my life.”

  That simple joy returns to Danny’s eyes. “I did good?”

  “Yeah, real good.”

  We walk back to the cave where the Brightsiders are ripping down the rest of the rocks.

  Sharon gets in my face. “Who knows about this place?”

  “No one, just Sara and Danny.”

  Sharon looks at Wayne’s lifeless body.

  I say, “And him, too.”

  Sharon doesn’t find it funny. Apparently, her little club has a leak. The Boots found out about the escape. There was gunfire in the Square. A few people died.

  “Joe, I need you to think about this real hard,” Sharon says. “Is there anyone else that’s not here who knows about the cave?”

  Rachel knew, but she’s dead. Same went for Robert.

  I didn’t tell another soul.