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“They’re
your
rags and shit,” said Dan.
 

“I don’t mind.”
 

“There’s also some wood we want to use. Happens to be a broken stretcher from a painting. I rolled the painting up and left it in the storage room. I assume that’s okay too?”
 

“What was the painting of?”
 

“Landscape.”
 

Lila shrugged. She didn’t care. Why her father had stocked his bunker with paintings in the first place was a mystery. But that was Daddy again: form always married to function. If he was going to have a place to spend the end times, it would have to be posh.
 

“But the frame thing is already broken.”
 

“Yeah.”
 

“So you’re asking me if I care about a pile of wood shards.”
 

“Yeah.”
 

Lila waited to see if Dan was kidding. He kept watching her.
 

“I don’t care.”
 

“Thanks,” he said, heading for the vent.
 

Christopher rose. He did a fair job of making the motion look casual, but Lila could tell he’d grown uncomfortable.
 

“I should go help.”

“Sure,” Lila said.
 

Watching him go, Lila realized she still had no idea if she wanted to be with him or break it off. Regardless, she couldn’t stifle concern.
 

Christopher was going up with the others while she stayed down here, and for some strange reason, Lila couldn’t shake the feeling that after he went through the door into the house above, she’d never see him again.
 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Christopher snugged his backpack straps and nodded up to Vincent standing at the top of the spiral staircase, his hand on the manual latch Terrence had installed after they’d drilled through the door’s original defenses.
 

After getting the fire going with a splash of generator gas (stored away from the room they’d burned coming in; Meyer Dempsey thought of everything), Dan had laid a few of the dampened rags in the flames, being careful not to smother it. That had smoked like crazy. It smelled like old laundry … because, Christopher supposed, that’s exactly what it was.
 

The fire had been going for fifteen minutes. It had only taken ten for the smoke to build to epic proportions on the surveillance screens — enough to catch the eye of the first weirdo up top and get him shouting to the others. Terrence had been right that some people had set their wacky shanties around the shed, but they all seemed to gather on the lawn with the others during the days. What they all did to pass the time while waiting for the second coming of E.T. Jesus, Christopher couldn’t imagine. Sing “Kumbaya,” probably. Shake maracas. Bang tambourines. Wear tie-dye headbands. Shit like that.

Once the hippies had seen the smoke, the crowds had moved off the lawn and toward the rising column.
 

At that point, Terrence had removed the metal flap covering the hole Vincent had cut in the vent’s ceiling, allowing a line of smoke to plume inside the home. They’d watched that happen onscreen, too. Watching on the monitors had felt to Christopher like watching a practical joke in process: knowing the hammer was on its way before the victim fell into the trap.
 

Alarms screamed. People in the house looked up, saw the smoke, and ran. In the bunker, they’d laughed at the topsiders’ comic flight. Now that the house was empty and the commune had moved out to watch the shed fake-burn (and what they’d think of the lack of flame, Christopher could only wonder), phase one was green-light-go. Time for phase two.
 

He caught Lila’s eye. She gave him a little smile. Then Christopher caught Raj’s eye, and got a flash of stink-eye. Raj hadn’t trusted any of them from the start. Or rather, he just hadn’t liked them. Maybe because Raj had once fancied himself the man of the house — although really,
that
was hard to believe. Piper had been the man of the house. In her absence, Heather was probably the leader, or maybe Trevor. Not Raj. Christopher knew his type. He was the kind of guy with lots of opinions and no action.
 

Raj sure hadn’t “acted” when Christopher fondled his girlfriend’s tits.
 

That wasn’t
exactly
fair. Raj didn’t know he was a cuckold. Nor was he to blame. The kid was who he was, just as Christopher was who he was. Just like Lila was who
she
was. It was hard to fault Raj for falling apart in a crisis or for having his doubts.
 

At the same time, it was hard to fault Lila for the conflict she seemed to feel about their budding relationship. Because really, Christopher thought, if Lila
didn
’
t
have doubts and conflict, he wouldn’t want to be with her. She wasn’t a skank. Lila was trying to do the right thing, especially considering the jilted party was her baby’s father. Christopher couldn’t blame Lila — or resent the way she’d seemed to lean on the issue a moment ago, hurtful as the moment had felt.

She’d come around in time.
 

“Let’s go,” Vincent said. Then, without waiting, he pushed the door open.
 

Feeling the home’s open air after their time underground was strange. It made Christopher feel sort of buoyant despite the phase two task at hand. He could only imagine what it would be like for Lila, Trevor, Heather, and Raj, who’d been in that hole for nearly four months. Probably feel damned near euphoric. Trevor, for one, had practically begged for a mission. He couldn’t come up just yet, but that was why they were here — to pave the way for Trevor and the others
later
— after phase two was finished.

Christopher slipped the pistol from behind his back and held it at his side. Not pointed but ready.
 

“No gunfire.” Vincent didn’t whisper because the smoke alarm was too loud.
 

“I’m just keeping it ready,” Christopher said.

Vincent looked at Terrence then nodded. The two of them didn’t have to go over any of this. They’d worked together for years and had a quasi-psychic thing going on. Maybe a bit of a
gay
thing going on, Christopher sometimes thought. Regardless, they both seemed to feel the need to tell Christopher things that the others took for granted. Same with Dan, and Cameron when he’d been around. Only Christopher got extra instructions, extra warnings, extra reminders of things everyone else was assumed to get without being told. It was a little annoying. But again: They’d been together when he’d met them, so it made sense even if it was obnoxious. They knew he hadn’t really been a full-on member of Morgan’s gang, but that didn’t change the fact that they’d
found
him with Morgan. Their interpersonal cues simply weren’t as developed yet.
 

“Okay,” Vincent said. “But remember, the idea is to stay invisible. Reconnaissance and setting up, that’s all. Any of us discharges a weapon, we’ll draw attention, and that changes everything. It makes it harder to get back inside. People who hear it will be on edge — not just now, but from here on out. And we all know that would be a problem. Cool?”
 

Again:
Cool?
on the end. Without the “cool,” it was merely a mission reminder. The reminder would have been for Terrence as well — but the little “cool?” addendum had been Vincent checking in one more time. Making sure Christopher wouldn’t screw up.
 

But had he screwed up yet? No, of course not. Not once.
 

“Cool,” Christopher agreed.

Vincent left the kitchen, moving onto the porch, staying low. It was a calculated risk to surface in daylight, but one Christopher had agreed with from the moment the four of them had started planning, and something about which he’d toed the company line in the public version recited to the family. Without daylight, it would be easier to hide … but without daylight, the smoke would be invisible. No distraction, no mission. So daylight it was.

There were a few idiot looky-loos from inside the house who’d gone out to watch the house “burn” instead of moving to the shed. Christopher and the others moved around to the home’s rear, then sneaked away and were at the tree line seconds later.
 

Things got easier from here. No one would know they’d come out of the house even if they got caught. That was half the battle. Heading back in through the shed should be easy, especially if they waited for nightfall. Even if they were spotted, they could pretend to be anyone — newcomers even. Or maybe they could don gray suits and pretend to be aliens. These stupid people would believe anything.
 

But they were also moving away from the human clot, and that made things easier, too.
 

They skirted the lake to the off-screen alcove where they’d seen everyone gather after that initial THUMP. The way they’d all run down here that day, it was as if Jesus (again, E.T. Jesus) had jumped down here and demanded worship. That hadn’t lasted long. Shortly afterward, the hippies had moved from interest in whatever was here to active avoidance. Just like they would with the fire: they’d run to it, knowing it could hurt them, like lemmings. Then they’d leave, and steer clear of the reeking smoke.
 

The alcove was like that: first interesting, now deserted.
 

“Start recording,” Vincent said as they neared it, still unable to see what waited behind the trees.

Terrence touched the device mounted above his sunglasses, finally useful out here in the sun. “Recording.”

“You give a verbal time index?”
 

“There’s a time index on the file sixty times each second, Vincent.”
 

“Manually.”
 

“Why would I do it manually?”
 

“To index it, asshole.”
 

“The
file
indexes it, Vincent.”
 

“Jesus, Terrence. Just say the time, and make me happy.”
 

“Okay. ‘Fourteen twenty-seven p.m.’”
 

“What day?”
 

“Tuesday, I think.”
 

“Day of the
year.
”
 

Terrence was rolling his eyes, so Christopher stepped in front of his face, front and center on the camera above his sunglasses. “Hi, everyone, thanks for tuning in today. I’m Christopher Green, and I’ll be your host for the reveal of whatever the fuck the frightened villagers saw. It’s Tuesday at two twenty-seven PM, and — ”

“Fourteen twenty-eight now,” Terrence corrected.
 

“ — fourteen twenty-
eight
, and —”
 

“Shut up, Christopher. Terrence, start a new file. Delete that one.”
 

“That’s not how it works,” Terrence said.
 

“You can’t delete and start again?”
 

“It’s repurposed surplus. I figured I’d just cut it up when we got back inside.”
 

“Well, shit.”

“Who exactly are you trying to impress with this dramatic footage, Vince?”
 

Vincent looked at Christopher. Possibly because he didn’t like being called ‘Vince’ and possibly because the question was valid. This footage wasn’t for posterity. It was for the people in the bunker since the trio hadn’t allowed them to come topside in person. Posturing as if they were doing the moon landing was stupid and self-important — two things Vincent was usually bigger than.
 

“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”
 

They moved forward through the trees. When they reached the clearing, Christopher felt his breath stop. He couldn’t say why, but it caught in his throat nonetheless.
 

He fell back a step, staring at the titanic stone finger pointing straight into the sky.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“What is this?” Christopher said.
 

“It’s a rock.” Vincent shrugged, unimpressed. “I figured we’d find a weapon or something.
This
is what they were so worked up about?”
 

But Terrence, at least, seemed to respect the thing. He moved forward and touched its surface. With, Christopher thought, something like reverence.
 

“Quartz. Feldspar,” he said.

“Bless you.”
 

“It’s granite.”
 

“So what?” Vincent shrugged.
 

“What’s it doing here? It has to weigh hundreds of tons.”
 

“That’s fantastic. Let’s make countertops.”
 

Terrence had made a half circle around the stone, looking up, letting his mounted camera take it all in. He reached the stone’s side and jumped as if goosed.
 

“What?” Vincent’s hand flinched toward his gun.
 

Terrence turned and pointed. “Check it out.”

Behind him, partially concealed by the trees, was a second massive stone, and he’d jumped when moving between them, as if shocked.