“It’ll take hours longer,” I said. We leaned back behind the building, and I pounded it with my fist. “Fucking assholes,” I gritted. “We’re almost out of water. It was going to be just enough to get us out of the city and to a water source.” I swiped my hand through my unruly hair. “Let me think for a minute.” I started going over other routes we might take, but I was worried all of them might have similar roadblocks. The city was being taken over quickly, neighborhood by neighborhood, and now block by block.

We stood there, and I looked around, orienting myself, considering other places we might find some water. Where though, when the whole damn city must be hunting for the same thing? Emily suddenly grabbed my forearm. “I know a place where we might find some food and bottled water.”

“Where?” I asked skeptically.

“It’s a recording studio. It’s this nondescript building in the middle of a nondescript block. Artists who use it like it for its privacy and the fact that paparazzi don’t follow them there. Many of them record at night.”

I gestured for her to hurry and get to the point. Each moment now was crucial if we were going to get out of here.

“Anyway, there’s an entire room next to the booths that has snacks and cases of water.”

“How far?”

“About an hour’s walk from here.”

It was a risk. We might encounter other blockades. But there weren’t a lot of options and water was essential. I wanted to kick myself. I’d calculated and planned and determined we’d have enough to get in and out. I’d also hoped we might restock at my uncle’s when we picked him up. But I hadn’t anticipated having to take such long routes due to turf wars.

“Shit,” I murmured when we heard another vehicle approaching on the street with the men and the bonfire. I put my arm across her and pushed lightly, and we both plastered ourselves against the building, our eyes meeting in the gray light of dawn.

And then suddenly there was yelling and noise and the sharp pops of gunfire. “Run, go that way,” I hissed, and we both ducked and ran back down the block. I pulled Emily into a doorway when we’d gotten halfway and again, we pressed ourselves as close to the building as possible as the screech of tires came from the street beyond, the car turning onto the block where we were now hiding, tucked into shadow.

I held my breath as the car went tearing by, two bloody bodies crumpled onto the rear hood of a gold convertible, the driver—thankfully—focused straight ahead.

I blew out the breath I’d been holding and took her trembling hand. “Lead the way,” I said.