And that’s all the talking I can handle because the smell of death is so thick it seems to tingle on my tongue. I clamp my mouth closed. Trey pulls his scarf up to cover his nose.

As we turn a corner and head down a sloped hallway, the air brightens. A few paces more and it’s bright enough to see easily. The corridor breaks into a wide reception area several stories high and lit by a massive wall of windows.

I glance around to make sure the coast is clear. No aliens as far as I can tell, but corpses are everywhere. Instead of on gurneys, they’re laid out on the floor in neat rows, covered in blankets. More are stretched out on the leather seats in the waiting area. There must be hundreds. Maybe a thousand.

“Storage,” Trey murmurs.

The exit lies ahead. Outside are more cars, parked bumper to bumper haphazardly. I can’t see the SUV from here, but it shouldn’t be far away. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Watch your step; the floor’s slippery.”

The bodies are so close together that they’re hard to avoid. We’re almost to the door when my foot squishes down on something lumpy, almost tripping me. It’s a bloated hand, snaked out from beneath a striped hospital blanket. Something wet oozes from cracks in the skin.

I jerk away, practically leaping for the door. I step on something else, but this time I refuse to look down, just reach for the door handle and push with all my might.

The door is locked.

“Oh, god.” I rattle the door, then bang, then kick. My insides feel like they’re crawling out of me. “Oh, god, oh, god.”

Trey settles a hand on mine. “Paige, you’re panicking.” He gently peels my hand off the door, reaches for a deadbolt, and flicks it. He pushes open the door and fresher air pours in as I stumble outside, choking and gasping.

“We’ll have to climb over the cars again,” Trey says. “Can you make it?”

It’s all too much: the glowing creature, the bodies everywhere, my exhaustion. My legs tremble, and my breaths are shallow and weak. You’re not invincible, Paige. “Honestly, I’m not sure. You? Your leg—”

“That thing might still be around, so we’ll take it slow and quiet. Grab on to me if you need to, okay?”

“Sure, okay,” I say, relieved that he’s taking charge.

We clamber over cars, alert for danger. My neck prickles with the expectation that I’ll be impaled by more fingernail projectiles at any moment.

The air has warmed, and I’m slick with sweat by the time we find the SUV. I think about what Trey said earlier, about warmer weather making the bodies decompose faster.

“You want me to drive?” he says.

“Can you?”

“I only need my right leg.”