i keep talking , the fluorescent-lit beige corridor striking me as the wrong place to celebrate such a victory . that 's what he called us , the herd . one of them pointed a thumb , ordering them to the surface . more than half a decade later he was still searching . he shrugged and sat back in his seat , looking away from me , away from her , out the window at the city 's smog-filled sky . but , of course , pop had been sick for a long time . 