The mechanical whine grows louder. Heat begins to shimmer off the hull.

I’m sprinting toward her, yelling, “Go, go, go! Run!” but she remains frozen, transfixed by the thing that’s about to kill her.

Part of me understands that if I reach her as the thing fires, we’ll both be obliterated, but I can’t stop my feet from pounding against the pavement, my arms from waving her aside.

A hole opens up in the flying thing’s hull, a maw of black emptiness. Its edges turn white with heat as something rumbles in the cavity of my chest.

I’m not going to reach her in time.

A huge shape blurs past me. It’s Trey at a full sprint. He grabs the girl’s shoulders and dives toward a nearby lawn, taking her with him.

Light flashes, blinding and hot. I instinctively put up a hand to shield my eyes, as heat singes the skin of my cheeks. All the hair on my head lifts for a brief moment, as if full of static.

I stumble toward the space I last saw Trey and the girl, knowing I need to get under cover, but spots dance in my hazy vision, like I’ve been staring at the sun.

“Over here, Paige!” Trey calls. “Run!”

My ankle turns on a dislodged brick, and I almost go down, but I keep my feet and hobble as fast as I can in the direction of Trey’s voice.

There. Huddled in the doorway of someone’s walkout basement, protected by concrete and brick.

I half run, half trip down the few steps and crouch beside them. The three of us are thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder as we hug up against the brick wall that defines the stairwell. If we can’t see the flying thing, it can’t see us, right?

Then again, as Trey and I learned in the hospital, these alien creatures might not rely on sight at all. Maybe the flying thing is sniffing us out, or listening for movement.

I don’t know how long we stay here. Minutes? An hour? None of us dares move, or even speak. Not when the steady mechanical whine starts up again and gradually fades into the distance. Not even when a crow flaps down and perches on the brick wall above our heads, less than an arm’s reach away. It studies us, occasionally shaking its tail feathers, walk-hopping along the wall as if waiting impatiently for us to die.

Finally the girl, who is smooshed between the two of us, gives a great shudder. And it’s like a dam breaks because she begins to cry softly, her shoulder heaving against mine.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “We were going to leave you alone, but we saw that thing following you.”

“If you want us to let you be, we will,” Trey adds. “We promise.”