Pook had an AK that he held above his head as he swam, and it slowed him, but then he made it, too. They climbed into the building through a shattered window, swimming through the interior of a swamped floor plan, hunting for a stairwell that would lead them up out of the water. Slime and heat hung heavy and the roof was only a few feet above their heads, but it was enough.

“Here!” Pook whispered. They squelched up a stairway, dripping and trying to be silent as they stepped around garbage and dead animals from who knew how long ago.

Raccoons dashed away from them, running up the stairs. Pook pulled Mouse close as they reached the first dry story of the building.

“They got to be on the south side of the building,” he said. “Looking down on us. Thought I saw some reflections, up five more stories. Stay stealthy, right?”

Mouse nodded, gripping his bottle of acid in his left hand and his machete in his right.

They stole up the stairs. Outside, another shell whistled down. Mouse was briefly glad that he was inside and not out in that nightmare, but then they hit the floor they’d been looking for and all hell broke loose.

They would have surprised the godboys completely, except that he and Pook had scared up that pack of raccoons. The animals dashed out of the stairwell, scattering like cockroaches, and the Army of God were right there in front of them—three of the bastards, leaning out the window and laying down artillery.

Another shell came booming down and the godboys all whooped when it hit, and then the raccoons came piling through.

The boys turned and grabbed their rifles. Pook dashed forward, screaming and firing. He hit one of the boys. Mouse glimpsed surprised brown eyes wide, long hair spraying, as the boy’s head whipped back, and then he went right out the window.

Another godboy took a bullet in the leg but was swinging his rifle around. Mouse ran toward him with his bottle and sprayed him like he’d been trained, right in the face, follow the stream up and down and all over, and suddenly steam was rising and burning and bubbling, the kid’s face burning off. But the boy was still shooting.

Mouse dropped to the ground as bullets flew wild. Pook slammed down beside him, blood and shattered face and surprised eyes.

Mouse tried to get his bearings. The godboy with the acid face was on the floor, flopping around and screaming, the other one was dead and gone, out the window like he’d learned to fly. Pook lay beside him with his jawbone blown off.

And then there was the radio boy. Just standing there. Staring.