I remembered the unspoken promise I’d made to Patrick. Had I come all this way just to get Alex killed in a pointless charge to the death?

I tried to drown out the chorus of cries from the cannery. Alex was looking at me, doing her best to keep her feet, waiting on an answer.

I shook my head.

No point in killing ourselves today.

We broke for the woods. A bunch of the Hosts were north of us, crawling all over the trail of wreckage from the bulldozer.

Alex moved weakly, though from fear or exhaustion, I couldn’t tell. She seemed to be favoring her left leg. We reached the massive hollow tree where I’d stashed the backpack. The inside was deep and dark, stretching back several yards. We fell to our knees before it.

That’s when I heard the crunch of a pinecone behind me.

I barely had time to turn before Sheriff Blanton lifted me off my feet.

Entry 37

ENTRY 37

Sheriff Blanton had me by the shoulders in a vise lock. It felt as though he might pulverize my bones, turn them to dust. I kicked and twisted uselessly. Then I slammed my head back into his face. I heard his nose break, but his grip didn’t falter.

I’d lost sight of Alex, and for an instant I thought she’d deserted me.

Then I heard a click.

Sheriff Blanton must have heard it, too, because he turned, still holding me up before him.

Alex stood in a shooting stance just outside the tree hollow. She’d crawled in and fished her dad’s revolver from the backpack. One hip was cocked, her bangs sweeping down across an eye. From my perspective it looked like she was aiming the gun right between my eyes. I could find no air to breathe. She flicked her hair from her face and steadied her aim.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

I felt the heat of the bullet—it couldn’t have passed more than an inch from my cheek—and then there was a wet smack. Sheriff Blanton’s head snapped back. The lock on my shoulders released, and I tumbled to the earth.

He toppled back and lay still.

Smoke drifted up from the revolver. Alex hadn’t moved, not since pulling the trigger.

I shot a quick glance down the hill. Through the branches the compound was visible below—the tilelike slabs hovering above the foundation, the Hosts repairing the damage, the Queen waiting in position at the assembly line’s end for her duties to resume. A few Drone helmets were raised, scanning the hillside.

“Alex,” I said. “Alex. We have to go. The noise of the gunshot. Alex.”