Into the Fire by Peter Liney Page A

his face.
    “Oh, Jeez!” he whined. “Not cool!”
    Without saying another word, he put his head down and began to peg it away from us as fast as he could. For some reason Gordie found the whole thing highly amusing; he just stood there laughing and pointing after him.
    “Jimmy!” I called out.
    He stopped and turned around and hurriedly retraced his footsteps. “Big Guy!” he hissed, “are you crazy ? Don’t call out my name like that!”
    I apologized—then had something of a brainwave. I dug into my backpack and tugged out one of the parkas we took from the camping store. “Put it on.”
    He looked at it for a moment as if I’d lost my mind, then realized what I was getting at: as long as he kept the hood up, there was every chance he’d go unrecognized.
    “I’m not scared,” he kept saying as he was zipping it up. “Just aware I’m an irreplaceable part of the team.”
    Nevertheless, all the way back to the church, he kept a real watchful eye out. Withdrawing his head as far back into his hood as he could whenever anyone approached, then extending it out again to check all around once they’d gone. In and out, in and out, like some turtle on speed.
    When we finally descended the steps into the crypt, the others were so relieved by our return, and what we laid out before them, our meal turned out to be a bit more of an impromptu party. We’d found a couple of wind-up emergency lanterns that, at first lit the crypt just fine, but as they began to run down, they created some disturbing shadows that kept little Arturo looking around as if he expected to see a ghost appear at any moment.
    Gordie, surprisingly generously for him, handed out some of the candy bars he’d brought back, not only to Arturo but to Hanna as well; while Delilah started modeling her new parka as if it was an expensive fur, parading up and down, looking about as pleased as she could be. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since she’d had any new clothes. Or maybe she’d never had anything but hand-me-downs.
    Jimmy’d asked Gordie and me not to say anything about him being on the screen, that it would only cause ructions with Lile. As long as he lay low, it’d be fine, and once the fires died down, we’d be out of this city and it wouldn’t be an issue anyway.
    For his sake, I hoped he was right, though I gotta say, those Infinity people really worry me. They’re not like the Wastelords: a disorganized rabble united only by a love of cruelty and violence, they go deep into everyone’s lives, with a power and position they’re utterly ruthless about enforcing. They might not know Jimmy’s name, but the fact that they were already broadcasting his image just two days after our escape was a real cause for concern.
    Lena gave me a big hug when I first got back. I thought it was ’cuz she was so pleased to see me, but she hung on for so long I realized there might be more to it. The rest of the evening she never once left my side. It wasn’t like her at all. I mean, we’re talking about someone who spent four years alone underground, who had self-sufficiency down to an art form. But over here, on the Mainland, she doesn’t look so comfortable. I mean, it’s only natural it’d take time to get used to it, but I gotta admit, she was starting to worry me.
    Later, warmly ensconced in our new sleeping bag, whispering to each other so the others couldn’t hear, I asked her if she was okay.
    “Of course,” she replied, a little surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    For a while I left it at that, not wanting to make matters worse, but in the end I couldn’t stop myself. “Sure?”
    “What do you mean?”
    She waited, as if she wanted me to clarify what I was saying, but she knew what I was talking about.
    “Clancy . . .” she sighed.
    “I’m worried about you.”
    “Well, don’t! It’s my problem.”
    “So there is a problem?”
    “No!” she said, turning over, repositioning herself