The clerk sighed, pointing toward the back corner. “Sci-fi is in the back. If it’s not there, it’s checked out.”

Dustin hit the counter with a stack of crumpled notebook sketches. “We need something with a hive mind,” he demanded, his voice cracking with the urgency of a boy who had seen a demogdog in his own storm cellar. “Something where the brain controls the limbs from a distance.”

“He likes it cold,” she whispered, her voice echoing as if underwater.