With a foul look at Hope, Maverick snaps, “Why? Do you think the plague will catch up with us if we wait?”

“Mav…” Hunter comes up behind the twins. His voice holds a warning. He uses his sleeve to wipe at the blood on his face.

“What are we going back for, anyway?” Maverick demands.

Hunter stares him down. “Supplies. If we’re taking the long way around, I want to be prepared. We’ll take whoever wants to come with.”

“Like anyone will want to stay in that hellhole.” Maverick snorts, but he falls in line, stomping through the dried leaves as he follows Hunter.

His words nag at me, as I’m sure they’re intended to.

I don’t want to stay. But I definitely don’t want to leave and try to survive the middle of nowhere.

Next to me, Leah plucks at her hand. “I don’t think the plague will catch up with us,” she says softly, “but I’d like to clean this.” Her fingers are bloody from where she scratched the guard, and she has a few scratches herself too. They’re bright red and angry against her pale skin.

Oh. I shudder. “Yeah, good plan. There must be first aid kits somewhere inside.” And painkillers too, hopefully.

Leah shivers, and on her other side, Logan narrows her eyes. She signs something, and Leah shakes her head. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s a—a scratch. And it’s cold out.”

Logan scrunches up her face. She signs again, and Leah shrugs. “Yeah, well, we didn’t know that when we got out, did we?”

I have an inkling what they’re talking about, but I don’t want to get mixed up in it. Everyone at Hope knows that the twins exist in their own little world, and they’re protected by Hunter and his friends. I’m sure they’ll leave with them too.

While the two of them argue, I glance at Leah. I wonder about the soldiers who shied away from her—from all of us. Should we be more worried? Does this disease spread through scratches? Could any of our guards have infected us before they left?

I’m not sure I want to know.

We stick closely together, all the way back into the building. The lights at the entrance are dark, and so is the registration desk. We pass through the first set of doors, breathing in the same stale air we left behind. If we’d never left, the world could have ceased to exist around us, and we would never have known.

“Home, sweet home,” Hunter drawls. He holds the second door open for me, and I swing at him.

He sidesteps my weak attempt with ease, and pain laces through me. I hate him. I hate all of them. I hate the unconscious relief I feel when I slip through these doors, like something inside me recognizes this as the place where I belong.

“Nice try,” Hunter says. He reaches out and taps my bruised cheek. “Let’s wake the others. We need an action plan. I won’t stay here a minute more than is necessary.”