Stumbling, shaking, whimpering, covered in filth from the dirty hands, she staggered forward, dragging Basil behind her by the belt. She tried to slap the forest of hands out of the way, but they snatched at her fingers and cracked her knuckles as they tore at her face. And then they were gone.

Amy and Basil stumbled out like swimmers reaching the beach, and both of them stood at the end of the hall gasping and panting. Basil’s eyes were wide and glassy, fixed on the floor, his shredded lips moving soundlessly. The hands had reopened his wounds and he was bleeding freely. Amy let go of his belt and bent over, feeling dirty.

“Your hair?” Basil said. “They ripped it out.”

Amy raised her arms and felt her scalp. It was sticky with blood. Something cold touched her feet and she jumped. The water was soaking into her Chuck Taylors. “Just keep moving,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

They went left and right and right again, always following the flow of the water. Amy knew that more water meant they were moving in the right direction; water always followed the path of least resistance. Her flashlight could barely cut through the shadows anymore, it was just a glow that dimly reflected off the surface of the surging black current. Despite his injuries, Basil kept up with her; when he fell behind, she grabbed his good arm and pulled, and the pair kept scurrying forward. Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, Amy thought.

Finally they rounded yet another corner, and there, twenty feet ahead, was the back of a cheap white wooden door. It was the way out to the Showroom. Water was pooling in front of it and Amy sloshed forward, turned the cold knob, and pushed. The door swung open and the water cascaded out, spreading across Bedrooms, disappearing beneath Pykonnes and Finnimbruns.

“A flooded Showroom,” Basil muttered, collapsing onto a display bed. “Corporate is going to love it.”

“That’s the least of our worries,” Amy said, taking the flashlight from him. Then she saw what Basil was sitting on. “Bedrooms,” she said. “We’re in Bedrooms. Come on.”

She raced off, taking the light with her. Basil followed. Her feeble flashlight flickered and guttered like a candle. Amy raised it high then swung it low, crawling over beds.

“What are you looking for?” Basil asked.

“The bags,” she said. “Matt’s gear bag had flashlights.”

“This place is huge, Amy,” Basil said. “There’s no way you’re going to find them.”

Amy stopped darting around and zeroed in on her target. She flung herself over the Müskk, reached down behind it, and hauled up a dripping black duffle bag.

“You were saying?” she said.

Jamming her arms into the zippered mouth, she rummaged around and then turned it upside down and shook it over the bed. Out fell a long black Maglite.