—and see three dragonflies bearing down on us, flying in formation, flashing silver against an angry gray sky.

“We have to run!” I scream, and I sprint with all my might toward Barb’s.

Wyatt’s and Trey’s footsteps pound beside me. We pass cars, trample through bird droppings, duck under the awning, and launch ourselves through the broken window.

Tanq is already hiding behind a sales counter, and she peeks over the top, gesturing us over. “Hurry!” she says.

We dive behind the counter. There’s barely room for all four of us and Emmaline.

A series of booms rock the world, concussive blasts so intense they crash my teeth together and rattle my very bones.

The ensuing silence is eerie and sudden, like the world has died. I dare to peek over the countertop.

The manhole we just exited is gone. In its place is a massive sinkhole. The buildings forming the alley where we hid the day Wyatt found us are also gone, the places they occupied now part of the sinkhole. I watch, my stomach churning, as a chunk of asphalt the size of a car breaks free from the crater’s edge and crashes down into the abyss. I don’t hear it land.

Of the dragonflies, there is no sign. If Manny’s theory is right, they can sense us, maybe even under cover. I feel as lost as ever when it comes to how to avoid them, how we can keep ourselves safe. I should make myself ponder it, reason it through.

But I can’t think past this stabbing agony in my chest because our bunker—our one safe place—is gone. And our friend Manny with it.

April showers bring May flowers, or so I’ve always been told

WE’RE IN A FURNITURE STORE, SITTING ON A HUGE LEATHER sectional with multiple reclining seats and drink holders. Furniture spreads out all around us in this huge warehouse, grouped in cozy displays.

None of us wanted to be near the demolished bunker while we figure out what to do next. We chose this place because the giant store windows all have closing blinds, and because the entire rear section of the store is devoted to brand-new mattresses. At least we’ll have comfy places to sleep tonight.

Tanq sits in a tight ball in one corner, knees held to her chest, her eyes wide and staring but seeing nothing. Emmaline is curled up beside her.

Wyatt is stretched out on a section all to himself, head against the armrest, eyes closed. The scab on his scalp has cracked and is now oozing blood mixed with clear fluid. He blots it occasionally with a paper towel he found in the men’s room.

Wyatt had to take an extra puff on his inhaler after our flight from the bunker.