“Aw, what a load of horseshit,” Bean muttered, but the others could tell from his expression that it was his last stab at rationality, and even that was half-hearted. Begrudgingly, he believed. After last night, he couldn’t afford not to. He finally threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. So how do you kill them stone-dead? Or can you?”

“There are ways,” the older boy told him. “You’ve seen them on the late show—wooden stake, sunlight, fire, decapitation, a silver bullet—”

“No,” Delbert corrected. “Not silver. That’s werewolves.”

“Vampires too, you little goof. I saw it in a movie a while back—I think it was House of Dark Shadows—where the police were given silver bullets to hunt down Barnabas Collins—”

“Nuh uh, they got it wrong then—”

“How would you like a good rap in the mouth—”

“Boys,” Billie said in a stern tone. “Settle down.” The two frowned at each other but nodded and went back to bullet-making.

Bean leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands, thinking. “Silver, huh?” was all he said.

Billie wandered to the one unbroken window in the living room and looked out over the lifeless street. She thought the morning light would have made it less foreboding, but instead it seemed even more so: the total lack of movement out there was unnerving, like being the last people on earth. She hugged herself, thinking aloud, “I wish Chris would get back.”

“I don’t want to rain on your parade, Billie,” Bean said from behind her, “but what if he doesn’t come back?” She turned with a knitted brow and glared at him. “Hey,” he said, “it’s not his town. If I were him, all busted up and such, I’d hit the highway and keep going.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, “and neither will Chris.” Her tone was adamant, but the seed of doubt had been planted. She realized that the boys were both looking at her and even Del had an expression of uncertainty. But not Bart. He winked at her and reached down to pat the Heckler & Koch. “That’s right,” she said, relieved, and rushed to pick up the rifle and hug it to her. “He wouldn’t leave this behind, would he? Or his bullet machine? Or his pack?” She went across the room and tried to pick up the frayed old Alice pack but found it too heavy. “He wouldn’t leave us behind, Charlie. He’s coming back. Don’t you worry.”