Another shot rang out, but it wasn’t from our assailants. Thursday had his gun out. He’d fired at the ground by their feet. They bolted, taking cover behind cars. They’d be returning fire any second.
We sprinted for the library, Thursday covering us, firing shots to keep our attackers behind cover. Doomsday met us with the door open, and I dove through. Bangs everywhere. Loud ones and tinny ones and ones that went poof more than bang and just way too much gunfire everywhere.
Thursday was pinned down behind the Dumpster. Vasilis drew his pistol aloft, but Doomsday snatched it out of his hand and stepped outside, firing calmly. I don’t think she was aiming to keep those guys pinned down. I think she was aiming for the guys themselves.
They ducked. Thursday ran, zigzag. A shot shattered the glass of a window not a meter in front of him, but he got in through the door and Doomsday slammed it shut. The firing stopped.
I fucking hate gunfights.
SEVEN
Nothing says well-established squat like barricades and other defenses ready to deploy. I went through the building with Isola and dropped thick wooden panels over every window. Upstairs, an argument raged.
“How’re you feeling?” I asked Isola.
“I’d rather be watching TV,” Isola said, as she helped me get a steel bar in place over the front door.
“Yeah.”
“I used to think I wanted a life of adventure. Now I just want to be left alone.”
Yeah.
I felt that to my core sometimes. I’d gambled everything on a life less ordinary. I had no savings. No long-term partner. No home. No roots in any given community. All I had were stories and scars and vivid memories of moments too beautiful or horrid to comprehend.
Sometimes I wish I just had a little bit of peace, instead.
I didn’t say any of that to Isola, though. Because . . . me even pretending to understand where she was coming from? That was bullshit. I didn’t know shit about shit. I’d never been kidnapped and murdered. Everything bad in my life—truly bad—I’d stabbed and fought and kicked my way out of, to varying degrees of success.
“Maybe we’ll get through this,” I said. I didn’t sound optimistic though.
“Maybe,” she said. “I hope so. It’d be cool to find out what happens in Voyager. Find out if they ever get home.”
I looked out through the peephole. Half the town must have been gathered outside. No pitchforks or torches, just handguns and cars. The modern pitchforks and torches, I guess. Which made us . . . what? Frankenstein’s monster? Dracula?
If we were the monster, Frankenstein himself was out there, somewhere, in that crowd. He was out there and he was lying, to everyone, and everyone was going to believe him.
“You can hide in there!” Sebastian shouted, his voice muffled through the thick door. “But we’re patient, we can wait!”
I didn’t want to watch TV and live a simple life. I wanted to kick open that door and walk out into that crowd and stab Sebastian Miller to death. That’s what I’d do in a dream world, a world in which I could do anything. Bucket list be damned.
There wasn’t shit I could do.
“You want to go upstairs and join the argument?” I asked.
“No,” Isola said. “I’ll stay down here, keep an eye on the door. If I’m going to die again, I’d rather be first, and I’d rather be surrounded by books.”
I nodded, then plodded up the stairs into the angry chaos.
* * *
The argument was split into two camps. Thursday and Vasilis wanted to get out onto the roof and try to shoot Sebastian. Brynn, Gertrude, and Vulture wouldn’t let them. Doomsday was sitting cross-legged on the floor, poring through The Book of Barrow. She refused to acknowledge the conversation.
“I don’t see any other option!” Thursday yelled.
“Dying in a standoff with innocent people isn’t an option either,” Vulture said. “Come on. You know that.”
“This is bullshit,” I said, once I got the gist of what was going on. “Quit arguing. It’s just making everything worse.”
“Well, what the hell else am I going to do when these idiots won’t let me at least try something?” Thursday asked.
“Thursday,” I said. I approached him. Adrenaline kicked into my system, almost the same as when I’d approached Sebastian. Angry, armed men. And this was one I usually trusted. “Listen to me. We’re a team, right?”
“Maybe,” he said.
“We’ve made it this far, right? You saved my life in Freedom, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Save it again. By calming down. By not doing something stupid.”
“Fuck,” he grumbled. “The longer we wait, the worse the situation is going to get.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. But if there’s one thing I learned while traveling . . . if you’ve got a losing hand, it’s better to shuffle the cards and draw all new ones, even if the new ones might be worse.”
“That’s not how poker works,” he said.
“Yeah, I know but it’s kind of how life works. Everything is shit right now. But in here, for the moment, we’re comparatively safe. We don’t have to act this second. We can just get ready for when things change.”
“When is that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe everyone will get bored. Maybe Sebastian will say something damning and they’ll figure him out. Maybe they’ll all go home tonight. Maybe Doomsday will figure out something good in that book, or maybe one of us will think of something.”
“Or maybe those rednecks will set this place on fire,” Thursday said. “Or maybe the magic feds will show up and kill all of us.”
“Maybe,” I said.
Thursday sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you all. I don’t know what to do.”
Doomsday, without standing up from where she was, reached out a comforting hand and held onto his calf.
“If we’re going to hunker down,” she said, “anyone want to
