“It really is incredible.”
“What are the odds?”
“No, not that. My pants.”
“Don’t be a moron.”
“I’m not a moron. Do you know how easy it is to find a good linen suit these days? Of all the things in the world that we need right now, food, medicine, shelter, weapons—we can barely find any of it. But this,” he opened his jacket. “This is a Bianco Brioni. I have no idea what the thread count is. Probably two thousand. Torn to shreds. Found it in a closet. Easy as that.”
The sound of the battle outside escalated: gunfire, screaming and grunting and yelling, all the details of a nasty fight.
“We have to get out of here,” Zorn said. “We have to help.” He looked up. There was, at the peak of the pocket, light coming through a crack. “Could we crawl through there?”
“I suppose,” Topher said.
