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Cooper turned, looked at the chipped-tooth smile. He pointed down at Jeff.

“What is that stuff all over him?”

The man shrugged. “I dunno. That’s how it’s done, I guess. I’m just supposed to watch and make sure they’re safe.”

“Safe from what?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. He sniffed again. Twice, like a dog checking something out. “Safe from people who are not our friends.”

Friends. Out of the bald man’s mouth, the word sounded heavy, important. It sounded … religious.

Cooper squatted in front of Jeff, forced himself to reach for his friend — then he pulled his hand back. What if that brown s.h.i.+t was some kind of disease? What if it was contagious? Could it be part of what Blackmon had been babbling about on TV? He had to call an ambulance. But if he did, would one come? The world outside had melted down. Cooper couldn’t count on help from anyone; Jeff needed him, and needed him right now.

Cooper reached out with his index finger, pointed it, poked the tip into the brown material. It felt like a crunchy sponge.

“Hey,” said the man behind him. “You’re not supposed to touch that. Never supposed to touch that!”

Cooper stood and turned. “You said you didn’t know what this c.r.a.p is.”

The man’s smile faded. “Maybe I was wrong.”

The hair stood up on Cooper’s neck. To his left, the bulky, hot boiler. To his right, heavy shadows that hid the rest of the bas.e.m.e.nt. This crazy f.u.c.k blocked his path to the door.

“Uh, wrong about what?”

“About you being my friend.”

The man’s hands shot out, reaching for Cooper’s neck. Cooper flinched away — his heels. .h.i.t Jeff. Cooper fell backward against the cinder-block wall, slid down it until his a.s.s landed on the pile of bodies. He tried to scramble up, but the bald man’s hands slammed into his throat, wrapped around his neck.

Strong thumbs pushed hard into Cooper’s windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. The man leaned in hard, his weight keeping Cooper pressed down on Jeff, the other bodies and the crunchy material that covered them.

“Just give us a smooch,” the man said. “It’ll be okay.”

He opened his mouth and bent closer.

The overhead lights cast the man’s face in shadow, but not so much that Cooper couldn’t see the wide eyes, pupils so big they looked like dimes, the strand of spit stringing from the upper lip to the lower, and the man’s tongue — pink, dotted with tiny, blue triangles.