The Infinite Sea (The Fifth Wave #2)(45)

“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.”

“What do you suggest we do, Evan?” I asked. Despite the mighty tasty blood in my mouth, the rage was draining out of me, replaced by the very uncomfortable and, by now, very familiar feeling of being in five thousand fathoms over my head.

“Get out. Now. It isn’t you she wants.”

“Sacrificial goat,” Ben said with a nasty smile. “I like it.”

“She’ll just let us walk away,” I said, shaking my head. My sense of drowning was growing more acute. Could Ben be right? What was I thinking, trusting Evan Walker with my life and the life of my brother? Something was off here. Something was wrong. “Just like that.”

“I don’t know,” Evan answered, which was a point in his favor. He could have said, Sure, she’s an okay person once you get past her itsy-bitsy sadism problem. “But I do know what will happen if you stay.”

“Good enough for me,” Ben announced. He backed into the room. “Change of plans, boys. I’ll handle Poundcake. Dumbo, you take Megan. Sullivan’s got her brother. Drop your trunk and grab your junk, we’re goin’ to a party!”

“Cassie.” Evan scooted beside me. He turned my face toward his, ran his thumb over my bloody cheek. “It’s the only way.”

“I’m not leaving you, Evan. And I’m not letting you leave me. Not again.”

“And Sam? You made a promise to him, too. You can’t keep both. Grace is my problem. She . . . she belongs to me. Not the way that Sam belongs to you; I don’t mean that . . .”

“Really? I’m surprised, Evan. You’re usually so clear about everything.”

I sat up, took a deep breath, and slapped his beautiful face. I could have shot him but decided to let him off easy.

And that’s when we heard it, like the slap was the signal it had been waiting for: the sound of an attack helicopter, coming in fast.

47

THE SPOTLIGHT HIT NEXT: Brilliant bright light flooded the hall, poured into the room, flung hard-edged shadows against the walls and floor. Ben raced over and yanked me to my feet; I grabbed Evan’s arm and tugged. He pulled free, shaking his head.

“Just leave a gun with me.”

“You got it, pal,” Ben said, handing over his sidearm. “Sullivan, get your brother.”

“What’s the matter with you guys?” I said. I couldn’t believe it. “We can’t run now.”

“What’s your plan?” Ben shouted. He had to shout. The roar of the chopper smashed down anything softer—by the angle of light and the sound, directly over the hotel now.

Evan wrapped his fingers around the splintered doorjamb and heaved himself to his feet—or to his foot; he couldn’t put any weight on the other one. I shouted in his ear, “Just tell me one thing, and for once in your ten-thousand-year-old life be honest. You never intended to rig a bomb and escape with us. You knew Grace was coming and you were planning to blow both of—”

At that moment, Sammy banged out of his room, one hand locked around Megan’s wrist. At some point, the little girl had acquired Bear. Sams probably gave it to her—he was always passing that bear to someone in need. “Cassie!” He barreled into me, hitting me hard in the gut with his head. I hauled him onto my hip, swayed, Jesus, he’s getting heavy, and grabbed Megan’s hand.

A maelstrom of icy wind roared through the broken window, and I heard Dumbo scream, “They’re landing on the roof!”

I heard him because he was practically climbing into my back pocket trying to get into the hall. Ben was right behind him, Poundcake leaning against his side, the big kid’s arm draped around his shoulder.

“Sullivan!” Ben shouted. “Move it!”

Evan locked his fingers around my elbow. “Wait.” He looked up at the ceiling. His lips moved soundlessly, or maybe there was sound and I just couldn’t hear it.

“Wait?” I hollered. The general sense of panic had become quite specific. “Wait for what?”

Eyes still heavenward: “Grace.”

A banshee howl rose over the thrumming of the rotors, increasing in volume and pitch until it became an ear-piercing, unearthly scream. The whole building shook. A crack raced down the ceiling. The horrible hotel prints in their cheap frames toppled from the walls. The spotlight winked out, and a second later, the explosion, and a superheated blast of air rumbled into the room.