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"It's a test," Evan says.
Him and Cassie successfully removed the bomb from Megan's throat and placed it inside one of those sandwich bags from before the Arrival-- you know, the ones that Mom used to pile chips that weren't good for your health into because even though the chips had 180mg of salt alone, they were still healthier than the tater tots served in the cafeteria.
The strange green liquid-tylenol-looking thing was left on the desk, perfectly safe. Or, we assumed it was, because we hadn't blown up yet.
"What, like human IEDs are still in the R-and-D phase?" Zombie asked. He's leaning against the sill of the window he knocked the glass out of, shivering. Someone had to watch the parking lot and he wasn't letting anyone else take the risk.
He'd changed out of the hideous yellow hoodie and into a black sweatshirt that makes his already broad shoulders broader and his biceps thicker. I lick my lips appreciatively at the thought. Hot.
Sam giggled at Zombie. I glanced between them and sighed. Zombie's pet dog all right.
"Not the bomb," Evan answered. "Us."
"Great," Zombie growled. "First test I've passed in three years."
"Cut it out, Parish," Cassie snaps. "I know for a fact you were a National Merit Finalist last year."
"Really?" Dumbo's eyebrows shot into the sky.
"Yes, really," Zombie says, smiling. "But it was a very weak year. Aliens invaded." He looked at Evan. His smile broke in two. "What are they testing us for?"
"Knowledge," Evan said, very unhelpfully.
"Yeah, that would be the purpose of a test. You know what would be really helpful right now? If you'd knock off the enigmatic alien routine and get the fuck real. Because every second that goes by and that thing doesn't go off"-nodding to the baggie-"is a second that doubles our risk. Sooner or later, and I'm leaning toward sooner, they're coming back and blowing our asses to Dubuque."
"Dubuque?" Dumbo squeaked. He didn't get the reference.
"Just a town, Dumbo," Zombie assures him. "A random town."
Evan nodded. "They will come back," he says, "Unless we fail the test so they don't have to."
"Fail it? We passed, didn't we?" Zombie looked at me a Cassie. "I feel as if we passed. What about you guys?"
"Failing means we took her in, all fat, dumb, and happy," Cassie explains, "and then got our asses blown back to Dubuque."
"Dubuque," Dumbo echoed, mystified. I put a hand on his shoulder and shake my head in amusement.
"The absence of detonation can mean only one of three things," Evan says. "One, the device malfunctioned. Two, the device was incorrectly calibrated. Or three . . ."
Zombie holds up his hand. "Or three, someone in the hotel knows about the bomb-children and was able to remove it, put it in a plastic baggie, and conduct a seminar on how to instill panic and paranoia among the dopey humans. The test is to see if we have a Silencer among us."
"We do!" Sam yells. He jabs his finger at Evan. "You're a Silencer!"
"Good job, kid," I say, ruffling his hair. He sends me a toothy grin. "You're the smartest out of the whole lot of us."
Zombie ignores us. "Something you absolutely can't know for sure if you vaporize the joint with a couple of well-placed Hellfire missiles."
"Which raises the question," Evan says quietly. "Why would they suspect such a thing?"
Silence. Dumbo, surprisingly, looks at me for the answer. I shrug halfheartedly. I'm not the idea man, Bo. Ask Zombie.
Zombie drums his fingers against his forearm. Poundcake's mouth snaps closed. Dumbo tugs on his earlobe. Cassie rocks back and forth in her chair, plucking at that stupid teddy bears paw. Private Bear, I think that's what Zombie called him.
"Well, it's obvious," Zombie said after a long moment of nothing. "They must have a way of knowing you're here. Right? Otherwise, you run the risk of taking out your own players."
"If they knew I was here, there would be no need for a test. They suspect I'm here."
Cassie's head snapped toward him. "Ringer." Zombie and I's head whipped toward her. "She's been captured," Cassie said, which was definitely not the best choice of words right now. "Or Teacup. Or both."
"That makes the most sense," Evan agrees with his girlfriend. I tighten my hands into fists.
"Bullshit! Ringer would never give us up," Zombie barked at him.
"Not willingly," Evan replies.
"Wonderland," Cassie breathes. "They've downloaded her memories . . ."
Zombie came off the sill then, lost his balance, staggered forward, knocked against the edge of Sam's bed. He was shaking, and not from the cold. "Oh no. No, no, no. Ringer has not been captured. She's safe and Teacup's safe and we are not going there . . ."
"No," Evan says. "We're already there."
I sit on the corner of Evan's bed and stare at the floor. If Ringer and Teacup were captured then they were probably still alive and being used for information, but I think I would have rathered them dead than in the clutches of Vosche.
Cassie slid out of her chair and went to Zombie. "Ben, he's right. The reason we're alive right now is the same reason they sent Megan."
"What is it with you?" Zombie demanded. "You buy into everything he says like he's Moses come down from the mountaintop. If they think he's here, for whatever reason, then they know he's a traitor and would still send us packing to Dubuque."
Everybody looked at Dumbo, waiting for it.
"They don't want to kill me," Evan said finally. I couldn't look at him, eyes locked on Zombie's rigid form.
"That's right, I forgot," Zombie said. "That would be me." He pulled away from Cassie and shuffled back to the window, leaned his hands on the sill and studied the night sky. "Stay here, we're done. Bug out, we're done. We're like five-year-olds playing chess with Bobby Fischer." He swung back around to Evan. "You could have been spotted by a patrol, followed here." He pointed at the baggie. "That doesn't mean they have Ringer or Cup. All it means is we're out of time. Can't hide, can't run, so the question circles back to same question it's always been: not if we're gonna die, but how. How are we going to die? Dumbo, how do you want to die?"
Dumbo stiffened. His shoulders squared, his chin came up. "Standing up, sir."
Zombie looked at Poundcake. "Cake, do you want to die standing up?"
Poundcake had come to attention, too. He nodded smartly. I was already standing up, forcing a lopsided smile, a dazed expression. He didn't have to ask Sam or me. We simply gave our commanding officer a salute.
