The hand squeezes gently. It’s large and warm, comfortably spanning my shoulder and part of my biceps. Probably not an enemy, given the affection behind the caress. My older self’s husband, maybe? Or someone else?

I’d give anything to know the older Alice’s thoughts, to feel her emotions. But she seems to be shielding from me, erecting a barrier between her past and present selves.

The stranger’s breath rustles against our ear. There’s something familiar about it, but I can’t figure out what. Or maybe I’m not acquainted with the breathing at all. Maybe it’s older Alice who recognizes the sound, and I’m just confused about where she ends and I begin.

The hand lifts off our shoulder and footsteps retreat. A wave of disappointment floods me, one I don’t fully understand. Older Alice waits ten whole beats before lifting our head, allowing me a view of the cavern once again.

Steadier now, I soak up the details with a vengeance. Who knows when she’ll deprive me of my vision again? Only a few sets of footprints mar the dirt, suggesting that traffic in this area is light. Glow-in-the-dark strips line the top and bottom of the cave walls, and three tunnels branch off from the clearing.

“Let’s go,” my older self says brusquely, as if I’m the one dawdling.

We set off down the left-most tunnel. A hundred feet later, we come upon a glassed-in room. Older me steps right up to the glass, so close our nose brushes against the cold, hard surface. She’s not trying to obscure my vision this time. In fact, she wants me to see. All of it.

I look—and wish I hadn’t.

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Cots are crammed together inside the room, in lines so twisty they can hardly be considered rows. Each narrow mattress holds a writhing mass of protrusions and limbs. Bodies, naked—but unlike any I’ve ever seen. Red splotches cover the skin like a rash. The center of each splotch is an open, gaping wound surrounded by pustules, some exploded and some intact.

That’s why they’re not wearing clothes, I think faintly. The wounds must hurt too much to come into contact with any material.

Horror and sadness rise inside me. The patients behind the wall are in tremendous pain. That much is obvious. Although no sound leaks through the glass, their mouths are open in varying degrees, caught between a moan and a scream. I could count the number of teeth in each mouth—but I don’t. I’m too busy mourning their loss. These people may still be alive…but not for long.

“What’s wrong with them?” I ask, even though I don’t want to hear. Even though, on some level, I already know.