The lord of hell sat with his fingertips pressed together, scowling through the television as if he could really see Clint there. And for a moment, Clint believed that he somehow could. Death’s suit was sky blue, his tie a sheeny grey. His cuff links gleamed, little silver-dipped vertebrae. He said, “While I admire your uniquely human dedication to that spirit of kill-or-be-killed, you all have missed the mark utterly. None of you are big readers, it seems.”

Beside him, Malina’s fingers tapped out a restless pattern on her arm. She chewed hard at her lip and watched Death with a look that was fear and resentment both.

“I will tell you this much: if you waste all your time murdering each other, you’ll never get to the next level.” He tugged down the sleeves of his suit and offered them a brief, hollow smile. “I have faith, but it is dwindling.” Death pulled his phone out of his pocket, regarded the screen, and muttered under his breath, “God, dammit.” Then he smirked at the screen once more. “Don’t let me down.”

The image froze there, and Death said nothing more.

Malina kicked hard at the television. The glass shattered, splitting Death’s smile underneath. She was cursing and shouting at the screen, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Clint stared hard at Death’s cracked smirk. “He means go find a bookshelf.”

“A bookshelf.”

“Is there a library or something near here?”

“We’re not going to the fucking library.”

Hope lifted in Clint’s chest. Bright buzz of an epiphany. “We have to go. Now. Before anyone else figures it out.”

“The library is right next to Florence’s base.” She extracted the map from her pocket and tapped a small square only a few inches from the base on the map. It looked as if the library was just at the edge of Florence’s compound. “She took over the school. And the library is barely two blocks away.”

“Two blocks is livable.”

Malina snorted. “Yeah, but we have to walk either right through her base or back through here.” She ran her finger along the southeastern edge of the circle. They would have to pass her house, which meant somehow evading Florence’s hounds, who were blood-hungry now and not about to give up that easily. “I think I’ve seen bookshelves in a few houses.”

“We don’t have time to go looking in every house.” Clint tilted his head; out the window, he could see smoke gathering in the perfect blue sky. The faint whine of car engines reached him, as if from somewhere far away. He tapped the center of the map, which was unmarked. “What about here?”

“That’s the field. If you go out there you’re asking to die, basically.” When Clint just stared at her, blankly, Malina sighed and explained, “It’s a square mile of flat nothing. The grass is tall enough to crawl through, you know, but anyone looking could see it move when you move. There’s a bunker hidden in the grass, I know that. But it’s been empty for ages, and Florence sends people out there every day or so to make sure no one is hiding out down there.”

Clint scratched hard at the back of his head. “And there’s no nighttime?”

“Not here.”

He inclined his elbow on his gun, letting the shoulder strap support him. Then he pointed around the long end of the circle that would bring them up around the western edge of the circle, skirting Florence’s camp, to go straight for the library. “We go this way,” he said.

“Do I need to repeat everything I just said to you?”

Clint held up a finger. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“You don’t have to finish. It’s a stupid plan. If even one person on Florence’s side figures it out, they’ll be swarming that library like a bunch of goddamn hornets. Do you think that we can walk all the way around the map before they get two blocks?”

“If we give them a distraction,” Clint clarified, “then we don’t have to worry about that. We’ll get their attention on something else, sneak in, find what we need, and get out.”

“And what is it we need, exactly?”

He opened and shut his mouth. Finally he managed, “Well I don’t know yet.”

“So we’re going to risk our lives on a guess.”

“It’s better than jumping from house to house waiting to get shot.”

For a tense, long moment they held each other’s stare. Malina’s green eyes searched his in disbelief. Finally she managed, “I hate this idea.” She turned and stomped down the hall.

Clint paused there, uncertain.

Malina poked her head back into the room. “Are we trying out your death wish or not?”

“What are we doing for a distraction?” he ventured.

“I have a plan.” When Clint walked over to her, Malina punched his shoulder, lightly. Her smile was tense and nervous. “You’re going to show me that pitch you were bragging about.”

He grinned.

Together they wound back through the maze of backyards, heading south-east again. The suburb curved gently to follow the shape of the map; Clint had not quite realized it when they were scrambling through grass and fences, just hoping to stay alive.

Now the smoke was a thick column in the sky, and the hum of engines was so loud that even from a quarter of a mile away, Clint could hear the cars and the people hollering at one another, cursing and shooting and laughing.

Clint checked his copy of the Rules. He and Malina were still alive, but the survivor count had dwindled to ninety already. He wondered how many people Florence’s gang caught out looking for them. Guilt and relief that he was not one of the dead warred in his belly.

They were close enough now to make out distinct words on the wind. The men were going down the houses one by one, kicking down doors, shattering windows, routing out every crevice and corner. As Clint stared at the rules, a gun rang out in the clear sky. Someone shrieked, and went silent. The number dropped to eighty-nine.

They were only ten houses down. Adrenaline pounded against Clint’s skull.

Malina poked her head over the fence and ducked back down again. “There’s two guarding the car. The rest went inside the house. You’re going to have to throw one at the car”—she fished her grenade out of her backpack pocket to show him—“and wait for them to start running out. Then I’ll throw the second from over there.” She pointed across the street. “And your job is to shoot any fucker that’s still standing.”

“How the hell are you going to get over there?”

“I’m smaller and faster than you. I’ll manage.”

Clint wanted to argue with the faster bit, but he shut his mouth. He said only, “I thought we weren’t doing the two-against-ten thing.”

“We’re not. It’s really just two-against-eight.” She winked and gave him a friendly nudge with her elbow. “Come on. Let’s make Florence mad as hell.”