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“Of course, now we’re trapped,” Bob noted. “And that wall is going to run out of juice soon. You can keep chopping them up for a while. Then they’ll eat you.” “Nah,” I said, panting. “We’re in this together. We’ll both get eaten.” “Ah,” Bob said. “You’d better open a Way back to Chicago, then.” “Back to my apartment?” I demanded. “The FBI is there just waiting to slap cuffs onto me.” “Then I guess you shouldn’t have become a terrorist, Harry!” “Hey! I never—” Bob raised his voice and shouted toward the centipedes, “I’m not with him!”
