” I hurl her knife into the deep shadows across the room and get up. She whips the blade around to the back of her neck, bowing her head low. You may not be happy about it, but I am your C. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ringer! Do you know how cra-stupid that sounds? The enemy rescuing us, training us, giving us weapons? Come on, let’s cut the crap we’ve got a job to do. “Damn it, Zombie, haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve said? What if they aren’t us? What if they’re them? What if this whole thing has been a lie?” ” I scramble for a second for the best argument, but all I can come up with is, “If we can’t make it back to the rendezvous point, how’re they going to find us?” ” She flips the knife around and shoves the handle toward me. Up to now, I’ve been playing blind man’s bluff. Trust me, Zombie I’m an expert on what matters. “It’s a possibility, equally valid, and possibilities matter. Remember? After we took back the base, we found it hidden-” ” Stay with her, but gently try to lead her back. Eyes cutting from my face to the snowy street outside and back again. She flips back her bangs and snaps, “How does the commander know what they think?” They think we’re no longer a threat to them. “I don’t know what this guy’s story is and I don’t know about the EMP, but the commander told me why they’re leaving us alone. I squat down beside her and look her dead in the eye.
I’m nodding again, but this time I do follow her, and that path ends in a very dark place. Tell me what possibility I should bet my life on. Tell me the odds are insignificant that they aren’t really them. “Does it matter that they got everything up and running after the EMP attack? That they’re operating right underneath the mothership, gathering up survivors, killing infesteds and burning their bodies by the hundreds, arming and training us and sending us out to kill the rest? Tell me that those things don’t matter. “That he shot at us and not the three Teds right in front of him? Or that when he shot at us he missed every time?” Turning the knife slowly, the tip denting her finger. “Does it matter, Zombie?” She cranes her neck to look up at me, turning the knife slowly in her hands. Best way is by touch, but I’m afraid if I touch her she’ll gut me with that ten-inch blade. I need to bring her back into the present. I have no idea where she’s going with this, but if Ringer goes Dorothy on me now, I’m screwed. This is bad, halfway down the road to being really bad. What else do you need? What else matters?” And there wasn’t much that mattered when it came to me. Then I lost them, and what mattered was I still had me. That was bad-but what really mattered was I still had my dad, my brother, and baby sister. Got a lot better at it after the attacks. “What matters, Zombie? I was always pretty good at figuring that out. There’s a terrible stillness to her now, a thunderhead about to crack, a steaming volcano about to blow. I flinch, remembering her Dorothy remark. She pulls her combat knife from its sheath. “I’m saying the safe bet is to proceed as if he is. “You’re saying he still could be infested,” I guess. I’m nodding at her, but not following her at all. Does it matter that he doesn’t light up through our eyepieces? That he missed us when he could have taken us down? If two possibilities are equally probable but mutually exclusive, which one matters the most? Which one do you bet your life on?” “Chess, Zombie: defending yourself from the move that hasn’t happened yet. She looks at me out of the side of her uncovered eye. I thought our mission was to save humanity. “Then this should be easy,” Ringer says, her mouth set in a grim line. Pop-pop-pop, a heavy quiet, then pop-pop-pop. Outside, Poundcake continues to occupy the sniper. A loner defending his turf, maybe hiding from the same guys we came after. Multiple tries at the targets, and the only true hit a superficial wound to Teacup’s leg. “Not to be judgmental, but as a sniper, this guy sucks. I shake my head and ease down on the floor beside her.
I find a scarf lying on a display table and she wads it up and presses it against her neck. It’s superficial, between a cut and a gouge. I’m like, “Don’t be stupid, I have to look. A hand on her neck, and that hand is gloved in blood.
#The 5th wave ringer windows
Ringer’s scrunched into a corner of the room with good angles on the windows and the door coming in from the lobby.
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