I did it. I actually did it. It worked.

It hurts.

I fall and hit the cabinet. Pain burns down like I swallowed hellfire, and my black liquefied guts come out of my mouth, and they’re dripping onto my lips. I press my hands to my mouth because those are my insides, those are my insides coming out, and maybe if I hold them in, they’ll go back to normal, if I just—

There’s a noise. My vision is a narrow blurry point, or maybe my eyes are just squeezed shut. Something’s touching me, and I want it to stop. Another noise. I think it’s a voice. The Flood rot is bitter and way too sweet, the way a corpse smells sweet in the summer sun, and someone is saying my name. Lord, I kneel before You a sinner, have mercy, have mercy.

“Up here,” Nick says. “Benji. Up here. Focus on me.”

Benji. That’s my name, the name I picked. Nick catches me by the shoulders and presses napkins against my face the way you’d clean a fussy baby.

“Look at me.” When he’s done, he pulls my mask up over my nose. “Keep that there, no matter what. Am I clear?”

The pain has settled into a throbbing ache like a bad period cramp. Bad, really bad, but nothing I haven’t felt before. Nothing I haven’t survived before.

“Clear,” I say.

A shout: “Nick!”

“No matter what,” Nick repeats and stands. “Aisha! Here!”

For a moment, the world is quiet. No gunfire. No screaming. Just footsteps on concrete. The cautious tweeting of birds.

A Black girl with tear streaks down her face steps into the café. I see her through the pastry case. Her black outfit is dirty at the knees, and her knuckles are raw. She sees Nick, stops, and jabs a trembling finger at him.

“You,” she whimpers, “were supposed to stay with us.”

It’s been so long since I’ve seen somebody cry. Her voice hitches, and tears hesitate at the corner of her eyes before finally falling, soaking the edge of her mask.

“You said you’d be right behind us,” she says. “You said.”

“I’m okay,” Nick says, impossibly calm. “You and Faith made it without me.”

“Fuck you!” The girl—Aisha—stamps her foot. “We thought you were dead too!”

Nick says nothing. Aisha’s lashes flutter pitifully as the tears come faster.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. She can’t be any older than me. Her fingers still have a little bit of baby fat below the knuckle. “I’m sorry, I just…I need to find the others.”

“They can handle themselves.”

“No, I need to.”

“Okay. When you find Faith, bring her back here.”

Aisha’s bloodshot eyes go wide. “What’s wrong? I can’t handle anything else being wrong, I can’t.”

“Nothing else is wrong. Just bring her back.”

Aisha hiccups and leaves. As soon as she’s gone, Nick is back on the floor with me, his hands keeping me upright.

“Listen to me closely,” he says. “Do not call them Graces. Do not call it Judgment Day. And do not take this mask off. Okay?”