“What’s your daddy’s name?” Sophie replied.

“Chuck, but some people call him Chet,” the boy responded, raising his voice. “He works here.”

Sophie relaxed slightly. It all made sense now. The boy had been there before. His father must have been a NTC guard or scientist. Sophie sighed audibly, a wave of relief flooding over her.

“Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll try and find him,” she suggested.

The boy regarded her with large, blue eyes as if he was trying to gauge her trustworthiness. “My name’s Owen,” he said finally, taking a step forward.

Sophie smiled. “Hi, Owen, it’s nice to meet you. I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

The child nodded and looked down at his shoeless foot. One more step and he would be inside the hangar, and Alexia could shut the door. Sophie had to act fast; time was running out.

“Do you like macaroni and cheese?”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “It’s my favorite.”

“Well, if you come with me, I promise I will make you a big, warm plate of it,” she said, smiling even wider.

The boy looked at her, hesitated, and then walked several paces toward the train. “Close the doors, Alexia,” Sophie whispered into her com. She watched Sergeant Overton sneak up behind the boy as the pistons of the doors hissed and moaned. Startled, the boy turned to run, but instead he collided with the Marine’s thick waist.

“Let me go!” the child screamed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid,” Overton said, gripping the boy’s collar in one hand. He dragged Owen toward the train, kicking and screaming, Sophie trying to comfort the child the entire way.

“It’s okay, Owen; you’re safe here,” she said, knowing very well she could be feeding him a lie.

The kid snorted out a gob of snot on Overton’s wrist. The Marine scowled. There weren’t many things in the world he disliked more than a whiny little kid.

The burning stench of plastic overwhelmed the aroma of cheese drifting through the mess hall. Timothy’s stomach growled nonetheless. He hadn’t had a real meal in over twenty-four hours, and the fact they were wasting one of the only mac and cheese packets on some stupid kid was pissing him off. The boy wasn’t the only one whose favorite meal was delicious cheese-covered shells.

Timothy gritted his teeth. “We need to think about rationing,” he said, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be cooped up in here.”

“There are bigger things to worry about right now,” Bouma said, tearing into a freeze-dried meal with a jagged tooth.

“Yeah, like figuring out how widespread this thing is,” Finley replied.

The squeaking of rubber tires echoed through the small room. Timothy cocked his head to see Emanuel wheeling himself toward the automatic coffee machine.