The cars began to inch together, eliminating the gaps between them. Archie felt his legs getting squeezed.

“Shit shit shit shit.”

He decided that touching the cars now presented no greater risk. In fact, if he was to save his legs from being crushed, he was going to have to hop up onto the cars. He put one hand on the roof of the car to his right, and his other on the car to his left, and hoisted himself up just as the two cars melded together with a resounding crunch. He rolled onto the roof of one car and sat there, trying to figure out what his next move would be.

Running for the fence was no longer an option.

The question now was, could he make it back to the loading dock? It was only a few feet to the concrete steps.

I can do it. I won’t end up like Nick.

Archie sat, motionless, atop the car. Let them drop their guard, he thought. Let them think he was going to sit there, wait things out.

And then he moved.

Onto his feet. Onto the hood.

He leapt off it like it was one of those springboards they had in the school gym. He went airborne off the front of the car in the first row, landing six feet from the bottom of the steps to the loading dock.

He reached out, grabbed the iron railing that ran down the side of the steps, and used it to propel himself up to the third step, a millisecond before an Arrival rammed the bottom of the short stairway and ripped the railing from its moorings.

But by then, Archie was on the loading dock level, and out of reach. The Arrivals sat there, evidently accepting they were all back to square one. The one that had crashed into the stairs returned to the formation.

Archie, catching his breath, tore off the butcher’s coat and tossed it onto the ground.

“Come on, guys. Can’t you cut me some slack?”

He heard something. A growling sound. Oh man, are the cars actually starting to sound like wolves, too? It took a moment for him to realize the noise was not coming from the cars.

It was coming from his stomach.

Archie wondered if any of that meat back there was cooked.

Thirty-Five

Bruce put the Caddy into reverse, threw his right arm over the seat, and turned around to see out the back window. He locked eyes, for a second, with the man in the back seat.

“Where are we going?” Brandon Kyle asked. He touched his hand to his jacket, a signal that he was ready to take out the gun again if he needed it.

“The mall,” Bruce said.

“No, wait,” Kyle said. “Hang on.”