"Do you think I would hand my people to somebody who has never once cared whether they lived?"
"No," I said.
"I'm telekinetic." He was looking down at the concrete now, not at either of us. "I can do a great many things without ever using my hands. So when Bagins called me tonight, I was already in the middle of something."
He let that sit. The wind at the edge of the roof moved across the open slab and did nothing to the ten infected still holding their sectors. Ingrid still faced the street.
"And what he offered me was the chance to be a follower. To stand still and wait while another man made decisions about my people—"
"You're not a follower." Bagins stepped in with both hands out. The radio unit shifted under his arm. "You're a partner. Exactly as Abram is a partner. That's the whole arrangement."
Max turned to him.
And I started calculating.
Ingrid. She's still facing the wrong way. Eight metres, maybe nine.
