The Rains (Untitled #1)(67)

Patrick exhaled hard through the one-way valve, then panted to catch his breath, his chest jerking.

“Hell, I was doing him a favor,” Ben said. “Showing him what it’ll be like out there. If one of me could do that to him in here, how do you think it’ll go down with hundreds of Hosts in the open?”

It took Patrick a few seconds to push himself onto one knee, then find his feet. I wanted to help him up, but I knew if I went over to help, it’d make him angry right now. He picked up his cowboy hat and put it on. Then he adjusted the mask straps and the tube and walked back over to his cot. Every head in the gym turned to watch his retreat. He slumped onto the mattress, still breathing heavily, one hand resting gently on the mask as if making sure it was still there.

Seeing him defeated like that made something inside me break into little pieces and blow away. I swallowed hard. I wanted to pummel Ben’s face until those scar lines cracked open again. But as he took up his chair by the double doors, I detected a note of remorse in his face. That’s the only thing that stopped me from attacking him and probably getting myself killed.

I walked over to Patrick, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. I was about to ask my brother if he was okay when he tilted his head, looking up at me from under the brim of his trademark black cowboy hat.

What I saw in his eyes chilled me through and through.

“You have to go, Chance,” he said through his mask. “Go get her. Get her and bring her back to me.”

I had a hard time drawing breath. It felt as though I had a rock lodged in my throat. Everyone was still staring at us—from the cots, the bleachers, all around the basketball court. It was like getting tossed in the middle of a rodeo arena, expected to perform some feat I’d never trained for.

I shook my head.

“Ben’s right,” Patrick said. “I can’t go after her. Not with this.” He grabbed the tube from the mask. “And this.” He tugged up his stretched shirtsleeve to show the line embedded in the pit of his elbow. His eyes glimmered, and for one terrible instant I thought he might cry.

I pressed my lips together to firm them. “I can’t do it, Patrick,” I said.

“You can.”

“I can’t do it without you.”

“You can. You always could.” He lifted his fist. Dangling from the bottom, Alex’s jigsaw pendant.

I stared at it. Then I held out my hand.

He dropped it into my palm.

“Please don’t ask this of him, Patrick,” Chatterjee said. He’d approached, standing a few cots away. “If you do, you know he’ll try, and then we’ll lose him, too. He’s just a kid.”

Patrick’s eyes never left mine. “Not anymore he’s not.”

“No one could pull that off,” Ben called over. “How’s he supposed to do it? Battle all the Hosts and bring her back?”

Patrick and I still didn’t break our eye contact. Though there were nearly a hundred bodies in the gym, this was between brother and brother. My heart thumped in my chest, strong and true. What he’d said and how he’d said it had shown me a strength I hadn’t known I had.

I said, “I’ll think of something.”

Patrick’s lips pressed together behind the mask. “He always does,” he said, his eyes still locked on mine.

I swept a gaze across all those faces. They’d stay here together, sleeping on cots behind the safety of the perimeter fence. For a moment I envied them.

But something in their gazes caught me by surprise.

They envied me.

“Bring her back, Chance,” Patrick said.

He gestured for me to lean close. Condensation from his breath fogged the mask, and I could see that he was struggling not to cry. He took off his black cowboy hat.

And put it on my head.

I stepped away. Taking Alex’s hockey stick, I shoved it into her gear bag and slung the straps over my shoulders so the end stuck up like a sword handle, just how she used to wear it. The gym remained dead silent, all focus turned to me. I did my best to ignore it. Wearing the Stetson low over my eyes helped block everyone and everything out. I heard nothing but the steady rush of my breath. In, out. In, out. To keep the fear from catching me, I just had to breathe and force my body to do whatever was next.

As I headed across the court to the supply station, Eve rose from her cot and walked at my side. When we got there, she went around the little desk, sat, and looked up with a mock-official expression.

“So,” she said, “what can I help you with?”

She was trying for a light tone, but I could see how worried she was. I loaded up with water bottles, stale sandwiches, energy bars, and batteries for the flashlight, preserving the perishables in Ziplocs in case it rained. I also encased my notebook in a plastic bag to protect it. Darkness was gathering at the windows. A few minutes more and it would be night.

“You want your brother’s shotgun?” she asked.

“Too big for me,” I said.

“Just these, then?” she said, sliding my baling hooks across the desk.

I slipped the loops onto my wrists, then leaned over and pointed to one of the shelves. “And that.”

Sheriff Blanton’s revolver. The one I’d taken from his bedroom back on that endless first night.

“What good is it without bullets?” she asked as she reached for it.