Dean thoughtfully considered his options. “I want the bad news first.”

“Everything you took today from us…we’re taking it back. And we’re taking your generator. And we’re taking your truck and trailer to transport. Unless you’ve got a stash of weapons too and a small army hidden in your house, I’m pretty sure you’re screwed. But I’ll make a deal with you…you walk back for the truck and we’ll hand over the keys. I don’t need your truck.”

Dean coughed. “Look…”

“You don’t get to negotiate,” Spencer snapped. “Keep your mouth shut.”

“Fine,” Dean answered, lowering his head. “What’s the good news?”

Darla smiled, “We aren’t going to shoot you.”

Ainsley leaned forward a few inches and cocked her head. “And your son may be alive and on his way to Nebraska?” she added. “I never met the dude, I was just saying…in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” Dean replied. “Who else would’ve loaded up my brother’s balloon without my permission?” He scanned the faces of his captors and ran his hand through his hair, then he flashed them a sheepish grin, all teeth, and tossed his hands up. “Well, I’m sorry about the stuff, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. Right?”

“You can, actually,” replied Darla.

“You stole from a child,” Spencer added. “That didn’t cross your mind?”

Dean scrambled to his feet, still raising his hands. “Hey now. It wasn’t like that. I didn’t think…I thought you had more. Who puts all their food outside?”

“People who think they’re the only ones left in Oregon,” Ainsley replied. “But point taken.”

Darla shot her a look. Ainsley pursed her lips and shrugged.

“Well,” Dean continued. “Look, no hard feelings. Really…I’m just a dude trying to hunker down for the duration, you know? I’d been watching the houses… I didn’t want trouble. Just…I didn’t think you could follow me. My stash was dwindling…you run out of places to go. I want to start over. Can I start over?” He waited for their reply. Then he shot out his hand.

The group exchanged wearied glanced.

“I have weapons back at the house,” Dean added quickly. “And a large stockpile. I’ve hit up East County in my spare time…got the trailer up past 182nd one day. I’ll let you take a look. Maybe we can work out some trades. Your meals would make life easier.”

Darla shook her head with disbelief and Joey watched wide-eyed. Then he was the first to chuckle; a slow bubbling laugh that he tried to suppress and then, understanding its inappropriateness, it only seemed to grow. When he looked at Dean, he stood there with a half-smile on his face, watching Joey like he was a simpleton.

“I’m sorry,” Joey said after a long second. He covered his mouth his hand. “I’m sorry. Just…” he laughed again, “I think we just made a friend.”

Spencer muttered under his breath, but then was the first to lower his gun. “You’re a real piece of work, Dean,” Spencer said and he put his hand on Darla’s arm, encouraging her to follow suit. She resisted at first, shaking Spencer off, but then he gave her a solitary look—a moment just between them, and Darla dropped her weapon. Then he turned back to Grant’s dad and sighed, “I can’t decide if you’re a genius or an idiot.”

“Don’t think I haven’t heard that before,” Dean said with a smile. “Anyone up for a beer?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Scott moved Grant back into the lab, keeping a firm hand on the boy’s elbow as he directed him into the bright, sterile room. He bypassed securing Grant to the table, but Lucy’s father still seemed hesitant and on-edge, as if Grant might bolt. Which was a ridiculous worry, since Grant knew he was trapped. He’d been in the supply closet at least a few days, but maybe even longer, and Scott ventured down during strange and unpredictable hours to help Grant eat, go to the bathroom, and then he’d run his tests. Bruises formed along his arm from the poking and prodding after blood draws and other needle pricks. While Grant had never been squeamish about medical procedures, and he didn’t intend on starting now, he’d certainly taken a beating under Scott’s careful watch.

Whatever those tests were telling Scott King, Grant had not been privy to the details—but while he still tried to engage Grant in shallow conversations about books and movies, his entire demeanor suggested that he was a world away. Detached and distant, Scott treated Grant like a talking monkey: A fascinating specimen with intriguing ideas, worthy of basic conversation, but perhaps not human decency.

At the end of the day, here in the System, Grant was only a lab rat.

A lab rat with acute self-awareness.

His video collection pile was dwindling and during the hours of solitary confinement ennui was Grant’s most overwhelming emotion.

“I brought you some new books,” Scott said as Grant hopped up and walked out toward the lab, the schedule of events rooted firmly into place.

“You have a library in this place?” Grant asked.

Scott nodded. “Very well stocked, too,” he added.

Grant shrugged. “Did you have to decide what to bring? Was it like some committee of the best minds in literature sitting around some table all arguing with each other?” He sat up a little straighter and assumed a deep-announcer voice, “If you’re about to annihilate the world and live underground, what five books would you take with you?”

“Something like that,” Scott replied. “The difference is that over the course of time, we will have access to everything again. The books left above ground are not lost forever…just for a time,” he explained.

“Can I make requests then?” Grant asked. He thought maybe he’d try to read through all those books his high school teachers said were important, but he hadn’t ever tried to read. It was a start. The idea had come to him while he thought of Lucy—he remembered her trying to read through Fahrenheit 451 while they had been trapped together. He thought maybe she’d be proud of him.

“Certainly,” Scott replied. He organized his tools and counted vials. He wasn’t too chatty and it made Grant feel awkward and more inclined to start a conversation. They had endured long silences in the lab before, but only when Grant was feeling woozy from the experiments. Scott was the only person Grant had left to talk to.

“Whatcha got for me today?” Grant asked, glancing at Scott’s usual assortment of medical equipment.

Scott walked over and put Grant’s arm flat against his own. He inserted a small needle into the flesh of his upper arm. Then he pulled the needle out and inspected the injection site. The shots rarely hurt, but this one ached instantaneously. Grant felt a little lightheaded and he looked at Scott askew, rubbing his arm.

“That’s a new one,” Grant said.

“A direct injection of the virus.”

Grant shot up and opened his mouth to protest. The word took a bit to form as he felt himself starting to panic. “I told you,” he said, his voice rising. “I want to know. You don’t get to do it without warning. I need a chance to prepare. It’s all I’ve asked for.” He felt close to tears. Passing away on the table in the middle of talking about books was not how he needed it to happen. He’d asked Scott numerous times to let him know if the end was near; besides incidentals, it was the only legitimate thing he had asked of Lucy’s father, even though he could think of a million more things he truly wanted instead.