When her hearing came back, there was static blurting from McPhee’s walkie-talkie, a panicked voice scratching from its speaker.

“…into the room…some kind of explosion, he…”

McPhee unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt, twisting the squelch button, trying to make the message clearer. Still the voices came in fits and starts, transmissions from another planet.

“…God,” another voice muttered, “what’s—”

More static, heavier. Then:

“He’s out! He got out!”

Sarah squatted down, setting Eli on his feet but holding his hand. Through the radio she could hear a different voice, horribly frightened, screaming, “Don’t go in there! Don’t go in there!”

“Dammit,” McPhee muttered, shaking the walkie-talkie now as if he could somehow jar its circuitry back in order. But the only thing coming out of the speaker now was irregular wafts of white noise.

“What’s going on?”

“Mommy?” Eli asked. “What happened? Did something happen to Daddy?”

Sarah kept looking at McPhee, deflecting the question to him, but the cop wasn’t playing. He was still holding the walkie-talkie up, but his right hand had fallen to his holster, unsnapping the strap across the pistol at his hip. He seemed to be processing many thoughts at once and verbalizing none of them.

“Officer?” Sarah stared at the cop’s hand resting on his open holster. “What do they mean, ‘he got out’? Who got out?”

McPhee’s lips were moving silently, as if rehearsing lines. When he’d put them in the order that he wanted them, he met her stare. “I want you to leave.”

“Where?”

“Back out to your car.”

“I don’t have my keys,” she said. “That’s why I—”

“Just go out to your car and wait there. Lock the doors. Stay there till backup arrives.”

“You don’t get it.” Sarah shook her head. “My car’s already locked, I always lock it. It’s a habit. I can’t get into it without my keys.” She was clenching Eli’s hand so tightly that he’d begun trying to pull away from her, and she made herself loosen her grip. “Now can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Mommy, what’s—”

“We’ll take care of it,” McPhee cut in, pointing back at the ER entrance. “You just need to get out of here.”

“Not until you—”

“We brought a prisoner in. If he’s escaped, I can’t let you stay here.”

“Escaped?” It came out parched. “If he’s already escaped, how do you know he’s not outside the hospital? I’m not taking my son out there alone.”

“Escaped?” Eli asked. “What’s escaped?”

Sarah hadn’t looked away from McPhee. “Who was he?”

“That’s not important.”

“Who was the prisoner?”

“Snow. Frank Snow.”

“Snow?” Eli frowned. “In summertime?”

Sarah went weightless, felt a trapdoor swing open underneath her, click, and for a moment the only thing she was aware of was the stupid glugging thump of her heart in her chest, a gallon jug pouring out its contents.

“You’re kidding.”

McPhee gave her a bleak look.

“Frank Snow.” The name moved slick and lethal through her insides, its innate wrongness triggering all sorts of chemical reactions, as if she’d inadvertently swallowed some kind of fast-acting poison. “That man is loose in this hospital and you want me to take my son out there alone?”