I will. I will.

He wiped his eyes, then removed his hand from his mouth, but only when he was sure he wouldn’t sob or gag again. He’d almost given himself away last time, and he couldn’t afford the mistake twice. He massaged his tingling thighs; the alcove behind the furnace and water heater was small and he’d had to scrunch himself into an uncomfortable fetal position to remain unseen. And every minute he stayed there, his muscles cramped a little worse. It took him forever just to inch himself around to where he could peek out through the crack between the heater tank and the wall. He couldn’t make out much. The shadeless bulbs hung widely apart, and they were of low wattage. Their light barely reached to the floor, and that’s where all the bodies were. From his low angle they were indistinct mounds of shadow, entwined in twos and threes to where he couldn’t tell one body from another, the living from the dead from the undead. And with all the oohing and ahhing that reached his ears, the groaning and lip-smacking . . .

What if the plan doesn’t work? What then?

Then everyone you love dies.

The answer was that obvious, and that sobering. He set his jaw and started to prepare himself.