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Bobby says everything’s going to be all right, but he doesn’t look like he believes that himself.

“They’re out there, man,” the captain says, gazing through the barn door at the darkness. “The Nogo Gatu is in the woods. They’re surrounding us.”

“But the sculptures,” Bobby says. “They’ll get rid of them, won’t they?”

“Not tonight.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask Padgett. “What’s he talking about?”

“It’s like this sometimes,” Padgett says. “He’s held it off this time longer than usual.”

The captain wrings his hands. The twinkly happiness that usually plays in his eyes when he works on something disappears, replaced by this god-awful worry that borders on terror.

“We need to get out of town,” he mutters. “We need to get out of town. We need to get out of this whole decade, this century, this millennium. Do you have my keys? Who has my keys?”

“Your keys are in the house,” Bobby says. “You don’t need them. We don’t need to go anywhere.” He tries to put his arm around the captain’s shoulder, but the captain shrugs it away and goes, “I’ve got to go in and get my keys. We have to make a run for it, man. We have to make a run for it.”

He takes off for the house, but it’s not so much running as a herky-jerky race walk. “Stay away from me,” he yells at the darkness. “I told you, man, I don’t have anything to do with you. I don’t have what you want.”

On his front porch, he struggles for a moment with the doorknob, then bursts inside, the three of us right behind him. He paces around the living room, checking out one window, then the next.

“Settle down,” Bobby says. “Have some wine.”

The captain looks at him. “Are you infected? Are any of you infected? I have to know. I can’t let infections in here.”

“You know us,” Padgett says. “You know we’re not infected. We’re on your side.”

But the captain’s like, “I don’t know about that, man. You may not be who you say you are.”

There’s a scratching sound at the door, and the captain’s eyes flare wilder. “That’s them. They’re going to get in through the cracks.”

The scratches are followed by a bark. It’s Dobie, the captain’s dog.

Padgett explains this but the captain’s like, “How do you know? It could be a trick.”

“No, look,” says Padgett, “I’m going to open the door and let him in. It’ll be fine.”

“I smell carbon monoxide,” the captain says, cowering in the corner. “That’s what they smell like.”

The door opens and Dobie comes trotting in all happy and ready for company, but when he sees the captain, it’s like he knows something’s wrong. His tail stops wagging and his ears lie back. Cautiously, he approaches the captain, stopping a couple of feet away. It’s amazing—there’s so much concern in his brown eyes. He’s been through this before.

“Dobie,” the captain says. “Oh God, it’s you. It’s you, boy.” He kneels down and the dog licks his beard sympathetically.

I’m like, “Wow, the dog knows what’s going on.”

“Dogs are good at that kind of thing,” says Padgett.

Bobby walks over, squats next to Dobie, and pets his neck. “Why don’t you take Dobie in the bedroom with you and try to get some rest? We’ll stand guard out here.”

The captain searches Bobby’s eyes, I guess to see if he’s really who he’s supposed to be. “Okay, man,” he says, satisfied for the moment that Bobby’s really Bobby. “Right. I can trust you. You know what’s what. It’s the Nogo Gatu, isn’t it? They’re out there.”

Bobby nods. “It’s them, all right.”

“Maybe we can hold them off.” A little speck of hope cracks through the thick fear in the captain’s eyes.

“We’ll try our hardest.”

Bobby helps the captain into the bedroom, Dobie following close behind. It takes some persuading, but finally the captain lies down on top of his bedcovers, fully dressed. Dobie hops up and lies down too, the captain’s arm wrapped around him. For about ten minutes, we all stand guard around the bed as the captain mutters softly to himself. I can’t make out the words, but it sounds like a prayer or a spell.

He doesn’t go to sleep, but he seems calm enough now that we leave him there and walk out to sit on the front porch.
Bobby stares toward the woods. From the drained look in his eyes, you’d think he halfway believes the Nogo Gatu might really be gathering out there, planning their attack.

I’m like, “That was weird. I’ve never seen him freak out like that. And all because a couple of parts on the aero-velocipede wouldn’t fit together.”

“That’s not all it is,” Bobby says. “It’s more than that.”

“It’s been coming on for a while,” Padgett says. “I could tell. He goes through cycles. They’re not completely regular, but I’ve seen it before. He goes through these periods where he gets higher and higher, and then you know pretty soon it’s going to bottom out. He held it off this time longer than usual, probably because of Bobby. I mean, it’s just a theory, but I think it’s because Bobby reminds him of his little brother.”

“You mean the one who died in Vietnam?” I ask.

Padgett nods and Bobby goes, “His brother was lucky. He didn’t have to drag that war back here with him.”

“I don’t know,” Padgett says. “The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche said that whatever doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger.”

“Yeah, well.” Bobby stares into the distance. “Some things just take a longer time to kill you.”

The way he says it gives me a chill.

“But look at the captain,” Padgett says. “He didn’t let what happened to his brother kill him. He doesn’t let the Nogo Gatu kill him either.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Bobby says. “What do you think he’s building Angelica for? All she needs to do is get up in the air, and after that it doesn’t matter if she keeps flying or not. If she flies, she flies. If she crashes, she crashes. Like a Russian roulette machine. The only thing the captain doesn’t
know is I’m taking her up first, and I don’t care if she crashes either.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This can’t be Bobby. I would say he’s just drunk or stoned on OxyContin, but I know he’s not. Maybe he’s bummed about the captain and thinking about the war again. I don’t know. But I can’t believe he’d really crash that stupid flying machine on purpose.

“You’re not going to get the chance to see if it’ll crash,” I tell him. “I won’t let you go anywhere in that thing. I’ll take a sledge hammer and bust it to pieces first.”

He looks down at his hands. “You might as well bust me to pieces instead.”

“Screw you, Bobby.” I’m on my feet and looking down on him now. “You can’t say that crap to someone who loves you. You just can’t say it.”

“Listen to you. You think you love me, huh? I told you—you don’t even know me anymore. How could you. Small-town Ceejay, living amongst the green fields and the rolling hills. What could you know about how it is to be stuck in some desert where it’s a million degrees outside? You suspect every hajji you see and wish you had an extra set of eyes because everywhere you go it feels like there’s a rifle trained on the back of your skull. Cars are burning on the side of the road, and you don’t want to look in them because you might see a fried kid in there. No, you don’t know me, Ceejay.”

I lean in and stare into his eyes. “But you aren’t there anymore. You’re here with me. Right here. And I do know you. I know you one hundred percent. And I’m not going to let you start talking about giving up. That isn’t you, Bobby. I know it’s not.”

He stares back at me for a long time without saying
anything. His brown eyes—they used to be so deep, but now they’re as thin as pennies. Then a sad smile edges across his face. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Have it your way. That was just stupid talk on my part anyway. I mean, who would crash an aero-velocipede they helped make with their own hands? Nobody. I’m just an idiot blathering about nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It better not.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” He grabs my hand and I sit next to him. He puts his arm around me and squeezes me tighter than any time since he’s been back. “You’re my girl,” he says. “You know that, right? You’re the guardian angel of my messed-up soul.”

The next evening, Bobby’s slated to take Dani and little Ian to a movie, so he won’t be at the captain’s. Which is good as far as I’m concerned. It’s one thing to hang out with the happy-Yimmies captain, but obviously the seriously weird Nogo Gatu–infected captain is no good for Bobby at all. Still, even though the captain calmed down by the time I left last night, I can see why Padgett thinks it’s important to go out and check on him.

I’m on lunch break with Uncle Jimmy when Padgett calls. Besides wanting to go to the captain’s tonight—the first time that it would be just me and him without Bobby—he also wants me to stop by the bowling alley before he gets off. Says he has something important he wants to talk to me about. For the rest of the afternoon, as I’m slathering paint back and
forth on the job, I keep rolling that over in my mind. Just what is this important something he needs to talk to me about?

Of course, I still haven’t found out what he was about to say right before Richard barged in on us last night, so maybe he’s figuring to finally get that off his chest. And from the way he was going on, I suspect I might just know what it is—he’s going to ask me if I want to be more than just friends. Maybe he’s even got it in his mind that I should move to the city with him. Either one would be crazy, but somehow I can’t help being a little excited about the notion. Not that I’d say yes, but it would sure be nice to have someone ask for once.

After work, I head to Gillis’s to see if he’ll give me a ride to the bowling alley. Padgett doesn’t get off till nine, so I figure I’ll hang around with him there and then we’ll drive out to the captain’s. Should be easy, right? Gillis, he’s been the same guy my whole life. He may be obnoxious sometimes, but you can count on him. Or so I thought.

He steps out on his front porch in just his jeans, no T-shirt or shoes. It’s not the most attractive sight in the world, but I’m used to it. I ask him about giving me a ride to the bowling alley, and he starts quizzing me about why I want to go. I explain everything except the part about what I think Padgett might have on his mind about me and him.

Gillis stands there with a little sneer on his face like I just asked him to drop me off at the sewage treatment plant. “What do you see in that dude?”

“Padgett? He’s a good guy once you get to know him.” I even suggest that if Gillis talked to him a few times, they might become buddies, though actually I doubt that.

“Is that all he is to you?” Gillis says. “A buddy?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen the way that dude looks at you. He doesn’t think he’s just your buddy.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I’m a dude. I can tell.”

“Well, so what if he does have a crush on me. What does that matter?”

“I knew it—he does have a thing for you. A wimp like that.”

“He’s not a wimp,” I say. “He’s just smart, which is more than I can say for most of the guys around here.”

“Jesus, you’ve got a thing for him too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Well, don’t expect me to drive you over there. According to you, I’d probably be too stupid to find the way.”

“So you’re not going to drive me?”

“No.”

“I don’t get it. What’s it to you if he likes me anyway?”

He waves his hand as if he could flick the question out of the air. “It’s nothing to me. Nothing at all. Get Brianna to drive you. I’m busy.”

He walks back into the house, slamming the door behind him, and I’m left standing on the porch thinking,
What the hell
?

Twenty minutes later, Brianna’s driving me to the bowling alley and I tell her the story. “Can you believe that?” I say.

“Of course I can believe it,” she says. “Don’t you know what it means?”

“That he’s been snorting crank?”

“No, stupid, it means Gillis has a thing for you.”

“No way.”

She looks at me like I’m a child. “Why else would he get mad because he thinks somebody else is interested in you? He’s in love with you. He’s always been in love with you.”

I’m like, “That’s stupid. He’s never said anything close to romantic to me. Most of the time he treats me like a guy, except when he gets drunk. Then he treats me like I’m a slut he picked up at the truck stop.”

“Come on, Ceejay. What do you expect? Guys don’t know how to act around you. You’re like this badass chick. What do you think they’re going to do, buy you a box of chocolates? Talk French to you? Make you a mix CD of love songs? No, they’re not going to do any of that. Gillis is probably just being the kind of guy he thinks you want.”

“Well, he’s wrong about that.”

“Yeah, but how’s he supposed to know any better when you’re always going around with your armor on?”

“If a guy wants to look hard enough, he’ll see past that.”

“Really? Like who are you talking about—Mr. White?”

“His name’s Padgett. And if you really want to know—yeah. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he asked me to be his girlfriend tonight.”

She studies me for a moment, her mouth hanging open. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, I mean, you and him are pretty different. And that’s an understatement.”

“So what? Do you think a couple have to be exactly the same?”

“Wait a minute. Are you telling me you’re going to say yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She throws back her head and laughs. “Oh my God, you
do
—you have a thing for Mr. White. That’s hilarious.”

“Don’t be stupid. He’s the one who has a crush on me.”

“And you’re loving it!”

“Shut up. God, you can be such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t have any interest in him at all?”

“Not that way.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Well, that’s what I say. And if you tell anyone else any different, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

We ride in silence for a while. I’m still a little infuriated with her, but finally I have to ask the question—“So, Gillis, huh? He really has a thing for me? Why didn’t you tell me?”