Chapter 14

chapter fourteen Later, back at the tree house, Dirk settles into his usual gloomy state—headphones on, music blaring, eyes shut. I want to fix Dirk. I want to help him. But I don't know how. Something's wrong with him— and he's getting worse, not better. I'm thinking of striking up another convo to get more out of Dirk, when I hear giggling upstairs. It's Quint and June—they're up there, laughing about something! What could be more important than our buddy's well-being? Some hot new inside joke...? Moments later, I'm banging on June's door.

So help me if you're playing two-person, Spin the bottle. No friend. We made a discovery. June's idea. The radio Wifi video games. It's working Look I glance at the TV. On it is a scrolling list of names. Bertie Farn. Henry Fenklemeier. Suzie Fenklemeier. "It's names," I say, confused. "It kinda looks like a—" "A snow day!" June says. "Or a storm day! How they list all the schools that have the day off—y'know? And now—look..." Quint says, "The Statue of Liberty broadcast —it's not on the radio anymore, but it's here.

It's a list of names. Repeating. Each name is a person who has checked in as 'SAFE' during the Monster Apocalypse." This is big. Bigger than big. So big that, for a moment, I also forget about Dirk. Softly, I say: "It's on the letter F." Quint nods. "It's slow. By my calculations, it'll be weeks until it comes back around to the beginning of the alphabet. To B—for Baker. And D—for Del Toro. But, Jack—it works! June's idea worked!" "We're going to record it," June says. "So there's no chance we miss any names." I turn and leave. From the hall, I hear June leaping to her feet. "Jack, don't freak out," she says. "We just want to find our families. Don't be mad!" I poke my head back in the room and grin. "I'm not mad. I'm getting popcorn! Can we make fun of people's weird names together?" June looks at me. "Yes," she says. "Yes, we can."

"Good. Be right back!" As I go to the kitchen, I'm thinking: there's no name on that TV for me. And there never will be. But that's OK—I already have my names. Quint Baker. June Del Toro. Dirk Savage. Rover. Bardle. Even that loony tune Skaelka. And I have something else. It sounds a little crazy, even as I say it in my head—but I have the Slicer. And no, I'm not getting all Gollum-y. My blade is not family. It is not my precious. But it is a purpose. I'm happy now—in our makeshift tree house kitchen—putting together a big bowl of movie- watching mix. It's got all the best stuff: Goobers, Cookie Dough Bites, Sour Patch Kids. "Put extra Whoppers in!" June shouts, and I think, Obviously! As soon as I return, she's rushing over to shove her hand into the bowl.

Ha Gurdy Fundlebean. I bet Gertie is a kick-butt lady. I once knew an Edna FondledBean. I wonder if they're related? We watch the names until our eyes glaze over. It's past midnight when Quint and June pass out in their beanbag chairs, matching streams of drool dripping from their mouths. I head out onto the tree house deck. Even out here, I can hear Dirk snoring. His sleep isn't peaceful. He kicks. Tosses. Turns so hard he nearly flips... All that happiness I felt for Quint and June?

It's gone. Because unless all four of us are good—then none of us are good. And Dirk is far from good. I grab an armful of soda cans and line them up on the railing. And, for the first time in a long time, I use the Slicer for its intended purpose: whacking the crud out of stuff. We tried to cheer up Dirk. But instead we discovered he's worse off than we ever realized. He's not bummed, he's not moping—he is suffering.