Deadman's Switch & Sunder the Hollow Ones by Saul Tanpepper

muddy, but the new one is white and not very practical. Not around here, anyway. It’s already got red streaks on it just from walking through the hallway.
    â€œWill do,” he says.
    â€œAnd see if they’ve got any better shoes than these, too,” I add, showing him the rubber clogs he’d also gotten in the airport shop. They’re so dry-rotted that they’re already falling apart. “Size eights, this time.”
    He whistles. “Wow. Bigfoot. I just figured since Ash is a size six an all.”
    â€œYeah, because all girls have the same size feet, Reg. I’m surprised you even know a detail like Ashley’s shoe size. Most normal guys don’t have a clue about that kind of stuff.”
    â€œI’m not normal.”
    â€œTell me about it.”
    â€œYeah, well, I actually didn’t know Ashley’s shoes size until we broke into the ‘Hello Kitty’ shop this morning and Ash found a bunch of those obnoxious sneakers to replace her Nikes. But wouldn’t you know it? Not a size six in the house.”
    â€œYou hid them?”
    â€œNot saying that, sister.”
    â€œWell, I wouldn’t blame you,” I tell him. “Zombies won’t give you no respect if they see you wearing ‘Hello Kitty’ shoes.”
    â€œFor that matter, neither will Arc’s people,” he adds, soberly. “Which is why I need to find myself a nine-inch gutting knife.”
    â€œNot even then, Reg.”
    He shrugs. “I’ll see what I can find. No promises, though. Not unless they’ve got a monster-feet shoe store.”
    â€œHey!”
    He scurries out the doorway, but then leans back in. “We’re going to get out of this, Jess.”
    I give him a strained smile. My chest tightens and I want to cry. But I can’t. Not even when I think about my family—my stupid, psychotic brother Eric and my stupid, alcoholic mother and my stupid, overbearing grandfather. I want nothing more right now than to be with them. “I know, Reg.”
    He hesitates, then nods. “Okay.”
    I watch the empty doorway, wondering again for the millionth time how I was chosen to lead this group. I never asked for it. I didn’t want it. It’s either me or Jake, and he’s likely to get us killed.
    Who’s to say you won’t?
    I go and sit down in the chair next to Micah’s bed. There’s a pile of paperback books on the floor next it, rescued from the bookstore upstairs. Real paper with printed words, not the kind where the pages flip on their own and the words zip by and are hot-linked to word definitions or videos on the Government Stream, or Arc ads like the ones on Media.
    I reach down and pull the book off the top of the stack. It’s an Emma Pattingsley thriller, Cutting Ties . Seems strangely appropriate.
    I open it and read the first line:
    Nothing stoked Chicago Special Crimes Detective Norma Galveston’s fire more than a good old fashioned murder. Nothing, that is, save a man with slow hands.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding me.”
    Before I know it, I’m asleep.
    Â 

Chapter 16

    Â 
    Sensing movement next to me , I jolt awake. I’m on my feet before I even realize what I’m doing, hands warding away the imaginary threats that tormented me in my dreams.
    â€œHey,” Micah says, his voice sounding dry and fragile. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, tucking his pillow behind his head and wincing. “It’s just me, Jess. Relax.” He chuckles drily. “Did you know you smack your lips when you sleep? And drool.”
    My heart’s racing, ponging around inside my chest, which feels too small, a tiny cage for a raging beast. I take in a deep breath and let out a shuddering sigh. “I—I was…”
    â€œHaving a nightmare?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    Already the dream is fading. I remember being strapped to the table in INTERVIEW 1