In the ruins of McKinnen’s, no more than thirty yards away, two men were backing up toward the hole in the former roof. Each man held a rectangular metal shield that looked as though it had been pounded out of tin. With these shields, the men pushed, knocked, and otherwise pressed four staggering, unsteady men away from themselves and the hole.

“Rotters!” Zeke said in a voice too high pitched to call a whisper, and not loud enough to call an exclamation.

“Fresh ones!” Houjin said back. His eyebrows crowded close together behind the visor. “Real fresh.”

“What are those two guys doing?” Rector asked. “The ones with those … shields, or whatever they are.”

Houjin breathed, “I don’t know…” as if it were something he didn’t often say. “It’s like they’re … they’re herding those rotters away from that hole. You know what, I bet you it goes down to the underground. They’re just trying to get away from the rotters. I think that’s all.”

Rector adjusted his position so he could scratch at his hands some more. “Why don’t they shoot them?”

It was a good question. Neither of the boys had an answer.

Zeke smacked Rector’s fingers away from one another in a vain attempt to keep him from scratching, then said, “The fellows with the metal plates have masks on. The other guys don’t, but they haven’t been rotters more than an hour. Look at ’em—their clothes ain’t even torn yet. Maybe they had some kind of accident.”

With worry dripping from every word, Houjin said, “The cave-in. It must’ve been worse than we thought. They were poisoned by the air downstairs.”

Rector said, “That don’t explain what they’re doing in the middle of that old shop.”

One rotter fell out of the ruins and into the street, and another was kicked away by the shield bearers. One at a time, the two masked men backed down into the hole—using their metal plates to hold the new rotters at bay—and disappeared. With a loud, fumbling clank and crash, a door was slammed into place from somewhere below.

The hole vanished, and the rotters were left to mill about, groaning and griping.

They wandered away in a small, sad pack, and were gone.

Rector, Houjin, and Zeke stared after them until the shambling men could no longer be seen through the fog, then they waited a little longer, until they could no longer hear the things, either. When the coast was clear, Zeke let out a nervous laugh and pulled himself to his feet. “That’s just about the damnedest thing I ever seen!”

Houjin shook his head in disbelief, not disagreement, but Rector didn’t get it. “What was weird about it? Rotters are weird, sure. But I thought people down here … got used to them. Those two fellows in masks, they were used to them.”