The End Games (28 page)

The neighboring roof on the other side of the alley was clear. There was no one in
the alley.
Go now,
Michael thought.
Game time, final round, you bet it is.

“Michael, ohhh, I’m quitting, I want to time out. . . .” His brother’s eyes were going
glassy and he shivered, like a freezing puppy in a towel.
He’s going to throw up. He’s going to start screaming. And then the fun really begins.

“I know you do,” Michael reassured calmly. He stroked Patrick’s hair, and had an image
of a ticking bomb inside the soft case of his brother’s skull. “But there’s no reason
to cry, dude. We just got tricked.
He
knew this was going to happen.”

“Wh-what?” said Patrick. “Who knew?”

Michael listened to his heart thuds. “The Betrayer knew,” he said.

Patrick’s eyes went wide.

Just his eyes going wide, that was all . . . 
but they weren’t glassy
. They were interested. Michael, for the moment, had stopped the bomb.

“The
what
?” said Holly.

Several motorbikes sped past the mouth of the alley, perhaps fifty feet away. Rapture
people. Firing with the army’s guns, entering Walgreens through the front doors, boot
steps on the shattered windows, shouts of confusion, coordination—

—and then Michael’s play at redirecting Patrick’s anxiety and remaking his world didn’t
matter.

Patrick struck himself on the ear with a tiny, terribly mean fist. It sounded like
it hurt a lot. He whimpered and scrunched his face and began to sob, powerful and
hoarse. Patrick was through trying to hide it: he was five years old, and exhausted,
and Freaking.

Michael felt fury at everything.

This isn’t supposed to happen.

Use the rage,
thought Michael.
Just use it!

Something inside him told him to look back at the corpses the captain had killed in
the stockroom. On the edge of the light, Michael saw the one with dark-blue trousers.
He went back and felt for the cop’s waist. Found something metallic and cold. A silver
revolver, six-chamber, pebble grip, blue in the twilight.

“Oh please, let’s go,” Patrick said urgently. His brow was feverishly popped with
sweat. “Pleeeease.”

“Holly, hold my brother for me.”

“What? Where are you going?” she replied fearfully.

“To get the Hummer.”

The shopping center was being raided, yes, but the raiders hadn’t set up a perimeter,
hadn’t even blocked the exit at the traffic lights.
Haven’t you assholes ever played
Halo
?
If he could just sneak through the lines of tanks, he could bring the Hummer back
here and drive away. He began to jog. “And then you’ll get all the time-outs you want,
Bub, I promise—”

“Don’t lie to him anymore, Michael.”

Michael stopped, turned back to her, feeling a hideous wonder that the girl he’d ever
come closest to having a date with was now a second away from imploding his brother.

“We cannot leave. Michael, they will k-i-l-l the captain.” She looked at Patrick,
then back to Michael and hissed, “
They will kill him in real li—”

“Holly, shut the hell UP!”

He might have given away their position to the Rapture.

“Look at Patrick,”
he spat, leaning to her. “I don’t understand it, I don’t, but stay here if you want.
I just want you to know something: Jopek will keep doing pointless ‘missions.’ Jopek
knew someone was coming. He’s doing it for a couple reasons, maybe, take your freaking
pick. One: he’s an idiot and a bad soldier, which is probably true. Two: he hates
me, which is ridiculously true.

“Either of those is enough to make me want to haul a-s-s, but there’s also the biggie:

“I think Jopek is insane.”

For a second, he thought he’d convinced her. He truly did.

“But—” she began.

“Then I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” said Michael. He picked up the quivering collection
of nerves that was his brother.
I didn’t even get Atipax in there
.
Stupid, so stupid
.

And Michael was almost to the end of the alley when a thought, a simple thought, stopped
his boots in their snowy tracks:
Mom wouldn’t get in the car.

I . . . I can’t do this,
he thought.
I can’t leave her. Oh God, I just
can’t.

What Michael did next did not come from
yes-yes
: it came from the desperate roar of his mind that was telling him,
hurry, leave, now
. Something inside seemed to slap back,
No!
, but the gun rose in slow motion.

Holly went stone faced, the desperate venom in her eyes snuffing out: a jack-o’-lantern,
smothered by a gust.

“Come on,” he said.

“You’re
kidnapping
me?”

“Holly, it’s—it’s for your own good, okay?” Out loud, that sounded so grossly
Father Knows Best
. He began to say,
Trust me
, but stopped. That was what he’d said to Bobbie.

“I’ll get you someplace safe, Holly. I can do it, I swear.”

But he never got to the Hummer and escaped, not right then.

Because there were explosions.

And though Michael didn’t know it yet, what he would find out soon was that Jopek
had just killed the Bellows in the store and the attacking members of the Rapture
with several (perfectly thrown) hand grenades. Panic told Michael to run, but he stood
there, with Patrick coldly mute against him—which was so much worse than screaming.

Michael walked around to the front of Walgreens, where smoke coiled out the shattered
windows. He heard someone cough inside.

“You know not to say anything about the gun, right?” he said to Holly as he jammed
the pistol into his pocket.

“Or you’ll bust a cap?” she replied, hurt.

The door swung open, glass tinkling from it. Captain Jopek came out grinning a boy-on-Christmas-morning
smile.

“Well, thank God for little favors, there ya are! What a hoot, huh? You see that?
Huh? Hoo! Was that a rodeo, or
was
it?”

Make yourself look upset,
some part of Michael instructed.
How?
A thought came easily: Patrick, lying speechless and far-eyed in his hospital bed.
“Th—that was scary as crap,” Michael said.

And, as Holly looked at him like he had lasers flying from his nose, Michael improvised.
He told Jopek how scared they had been, and how this attack made no sense, did it,
Patrick? Michael told him how relieved they all were to see Jopek’s living face, how
lucky they were to have such a good soldier as Jopek drove them to the Capitol.
But I’m the one who’s really taking us somewhere,
Michael thought from the passenger seat, holding his brother, inches from a grown
soldier who could fight off an ambush but couldn’t see who was really sitting right
beside him.
Yes-yes
, a new plan accumulated in the bottom back of Michael’s brain.
Load ’em up, Captain,
he had to fight not to say, and he touched the gun hidden in his pocket.
Load ’em on up: we’re headin’ for a new game.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Abraham Lincoln watched them.

There was something eerie about the way the marble president stood, unchanging, even
as snow slashed his face.

The storm had built: the sky above the golden dome boiled with storm heads. Michael
lifted his face toward the clouds, willing his eyes wide open to the cold, bringing
fresh tears as Jopek threw open the double doors to the Capitol and exclaimed, sounding
both angry and happy,
“Gaawwwd DAMN!”

Michael brought up the rear of the group, and he set his brother down as they entered
the Capitol. Patrick stood in the marble entryway, sniffling. He hooked an arm around
Michael’s leg, but loosely. The ride had calmed him a little; Michael knew that his
own agreement that things
didn’t
make sense, that they
did
need a break, had helped, too. But Michael also wondered how much his own new certainty—his
total
yes-yes
—had made a direct, comforting transmission from his own heart to his brother’s. This
weird Charleston nightmare was going to end soon, Michael knew; Michael felt that
as absolutely as he felt his tears and his blood and the gun in his pocket. Yes, he
was almost sure that Patrick could sense that.
Oh, I ya-ya, Bub. Just a few minutes, and I’ll get you out of the Capitol, and we
can finally, really win.

Hank was in the rotunda, which was lit by the tripod light-banks and by the very last
of the twilight that showed through the windows. Hank whirled at the sound of Jopek’s
shout, pulling a bottle from his lips, a little liquid spilling down his front.

Hank blurted, “Captain, I think I saw enemy movement.”

“Holy shit, Eagle Eye, you want a medal?” Jopek threw his head back, laughing.

Hank blushed. Beside Michael, Holly breathed out hard, like she was trying to force
out inner tension. Hank took this for silent laughter and shot her a look of burning
sibling contempt.

“Ambush out there, Henry. Damn near Charleston’s own little Alamo.”

Jopek marched to Hank and swiped the squat brown bottle from his hands. “Thankee,”
he said, and sucked several noisy gulps. Hank’s empty hands hesitated, then went to
the pockets of his striped track pants, from which he drew a lighter and cigarette
from a pack. He fumbled with the wheel of the lighter; it spun out of his hands.

Drunk,
Michael realized.
Hank is drunk.
Was that going to hurt his plan?

“Rapture, Henry,” Jopek said, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “Looks like they got
the main road into the city pretty well locked up. I will get on my knees this night,
I tell you. I will get down and thank the Lord that I found out when I did, folks.
Yes I will.”

“What do you mean?” said Hank.

Jopek stood there in the dusk, his chest huge inside his shirt, his pointer finger
emphasizing each word like a teacher giving a lesson. And it was fascinating, the
way Hank took the bottle that Jopek gave back to him: grateful and respectful, and
a bit afraid. It was fascinating, the way Hank watched Jopek speak:
I’m the good guy
.
Here are your Instructions on What Is Next in Jopek Land
. And it was fascinating, because Michael knew exactly what Jopek was going to say.

“We’re safe for now, thanks to your captain,” Jopek said. “But folks, we’re a platoon,
so I’ll be honest: that’s the last piece of good news I got. You-all can believe that
the Rapture bein’ near the only road into town is powerful bad for the unit coming
into town.” He put his hands to his hips, shaking his head regretfully.

Holly sniggered bitterly at this, so softly that only Michael heard it.

Hank nodded, comforted with the routine.

Jopek locked eyes with Michael.

“Until we know what we’re dealing with, I’m sad to say it’s my duty to advise all
units that enterin’ Charleston is currently too dangerous—”

“The Rapture told you to meet them there,” said Michael.

He felt Holly stiffen beside him; he sensed Hank’s mild confusion. But he didn’t feel
Freaking from his brother: he only heard Patrick’s humming, a light anxiety being
lessened by a development in The Game.

“What, now?” replied Jopek. He had the mildly annoyed expression of a teacher who
has been interrupted.

“You knew exactly what was going to happen.”

Now Jopek dropped his hands from his hips, his head cocking. He half smiled.

Hank laughed at Michael, but its dismissiveness sounded a little uncertain.

“They were saying the captain was supposed to bring the boy. And you know what’s funny
is, you didn’t seem too upset that they were shooting at us.”

Should he go on? Should he say the last of it?
Yes-yes
.

“’Cause Jopek, you’re the Betra—”

But Jopek interrupted: “And you know what’s funny is, how you’re pig shit retarded.”

“Wait. Uh, sorry. Captain, so you
did
know they were going to be there?” Hank asked cautiously.

“Henry. Hell yes, I did. And I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Hank protested, surprised and confused.

Jopek turned to Michael.

“That priest, Rulon, he left me a letter last night, Mikey. He said he wanted to negotiate
some kinda agreement, said we could have our weapons back, and yeah, he mentioned
I should bring ‘the boy.’”

“Bull,” Michael said, nearly laughing at the audacity of Jopek’s lie. “If Rulon wanted
to trade me for weapons, or if he wanted to trade”—he silently indicated Patrick with
his eyes—“then why would his people start by
shooting
at us?”

“Their community is not a shinin’ goddamn example of sanity, genius. His
letter
didn’t even make sense, just rambling shit about coal and ‘the Son.’ I think Father
Asshole up in Almost Heaven, West Virginia, is going a little extra batty lately since
Jesus hasn’t invited him to dinner yet. I think he’s gettin’ desperate and ‘sacrificing’
more of his followers. Judging from the tiny number of folks he sent to Walgreens,
it don’t seem like he’s got all that many followers left alive, neither. So I think
Rulon’s runnin’ low on options about how he can ‘atone.’ My guess? Since you killed
‘their First Chosen,’ Rulon wants to sacrifice
you
, Mikey. He thinks that offing you would make everything just dandy again.”

Now slowly Jopek marched toward Michael. “But you might’a noticed something, big boy:
even though the Rapture broke the bargain and attacked us out there—
you’re still alive and safe
. So I guess that ol’ Captain Jopek knew what he was doing.”

“Yeah, except you know what I think, though?” Michael replied. “I don’t think you
just wanted to get the weapons back; I think you wanted to
get back at Rulon
for stealing them. I think you ‘wanted to have two words with Rulon, and they weren’t
happy birthday
.’” Michael imitated Jopek’s voice: “‘Broke into my city, didn’t they? I better show
them I was born for some special greatness.’”