Trey launches to his feet, pulling me with him. He yanks me across the hallway, and it’s all I can do to hold on to Emmaline as my right shoulder starts to go numb, but not so numb that I can’t feel hot blood dripping down my arm and pooling in the crook of my elbow.

He pulls me down beside the gurney and its resident corpse.

What the hell is he thinking? We need to run for our lives. We need—

“Wheeeere?” the creature moans. “Wheeere you?” Its black maw of a mouth widens, and once again it breathes at us.

Emmaline growls, and her body quivers with the desire to defend, but I hold tight. The smell from the corpse is unbearable. Something drops from the gurney and splats onto the floor.

The creature’s mouth snaps closed. It turns away. Resumes its slow, gliding journey. It disappears down the connecting hallway. The glow gradually fades.

Relief threatens to overwhelm me, but I won’t let it. By silent, mutual agreement, Trey and I remain frozen in our hiding place. We wait and wait and wait.

When I’m certain the creature has had enough time to get far, far away, I release my grip on Emmy and whisper, “There’s another way out of the hospital.” I stand, yanking Trey up with my good hand.

“There could be more,” he whispers back as we retreat deeper into the corridor.

I glance down at Emmaline, who is little more than a lump in the dark, but it’s not so dark that I can’t see her relaxed ears and gently waving tail. “Em says the coast is clear. She’ll let us know if something’s coming.”

“Can you get us there without flashlights?”

“I think so. Once we cross over into the heart hospital, there’ll be plenty of light. Lots of windows.”

He gestures with a lift of the rifle. “Lead the way.”

“Did it get you? With its nails, I mean?”

“Took one in the thigh. Can hardly feel a thing now. You?”

“Shoulder.”

“Let’s get out of here quick. Before . . .”

I’m not sure what he was going to say. Before the poison in the creature’s nails kills us? “Can you walk?”

“Well enough.”

The corridor is narrow, the ceiling low, the cold air clammy with wetness. Trey’s gait is lopsided as we travel in silence, skirting corpses—mostly human, but also a few birds, and one large furred creature with a white, pointed snout and a frozen, toothy grin. Opossum, maybe.

“What happened to the animals?” I whisper.

“Who knows?” Trey says. “Animals die by the billions every year. It’s just that humans are usually too disconnected from nature to bother noticing.”