“No,” she said, grabbing an arm and hauling him to his feet. “This is how the store wins. When we stop trying, when we’re lazy. Come on, Basil. Move it.”

She felt like a gym teacher, clapping and cajoling, pulling and threatening, but she finally got Basil to his feet.

“Whoa,” he said thickly through smashed lips, staggering to the right.

Amy caught him under his ribs and held him up while blood surged back into his legs, sending pins and needles cascading down his calves and into his feet. Basil hunched in pain and Amy helped him stand until it passed.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Follow me,” she said with great confidence, even though she was completely lost. She remembered someone telling her that the way out of every maze was to follow the wall on the right. It wasn’t much of a plan but it was something to focus on, a goal that would keep the store out of her head.

She helped Basil hobble out of the cell, but at the door his legs gave out and he went down.

“It’s cold,” he moaned.

In the dim glow, Amy saw that his bare feet were wet. A thin scrim of water was rushing across the floor, flowing down the hall. Small cataracts were forming around his heels.

“Something spilled,” she said.

“Broken pipe,” Basil corrected as she helped him to his feet.

He was right. More water was coming, surging along the floor. It was only an inch deep at most, but it showed no sign of letting up. They began to walk quicker, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

“How do we get out of here?” Basil asked.

Amy was about to explain her labyrinth proposal when she had a better idea: “We’ll follow the water,” she said. “Water always finds a way out.”

Freezing air rose up from the water as they splashed down the hall and rounded a corner, returning to one of the corridors lined with grates. A sea of hands reached through the bars, agitated by their arrival, grasping at their scent.

“What the hell?” Basil asked.

Amy handed him the dying flashlight. “Keep it pointed forward and stay close.”

“There’s too many of them,” he said.

“I don’t see a lot of options,” Amy said. “You going to quit on me?”

Basil shook his head. Before he could change his mind, Amy grabbed his belt and entered the gauntlet. The hands came at her fast, albino bats flapping out of the dark, snapping at her face. Snatching hands, grabbing hands, pinching hands. Amy put her head down and forged through the whirlwind. Hands grabbed her hair and tore out chunks; they wormed their way into her mouth, hooked her cheeks, snatched at her clothes, slapped her eyes, sending white light strobing inside her skull, trying to knock her off balance, trying to pull her to them.