Peyton put her hands out, found the glass wall, and shuffled over to the side where it had begun opening. It hadn’t moved far before the power went out. She slid her left arm and leg through, but her body caught at her chest. She placed her palm against the outer glass and pushed, trying to squeeze through. The exertion only made her breathe harder. Her chest heaved, expanding. Pain radiated from where the thick glass divider met her bones. It was no use. She’d never make it through.

A sound: metal creaking, then the loud boom of a hatch opening. Two white lights beamed into the corridor, moving back and forth like dueling lighthouses searching the darkness. The lights stopped moving, fixing on her.

Fear drove her then. She wiggled back into her cell. But there was nowhere to hide. Even the bathroom was too open. She would die in seconds, she was sure of it.

Two guards ran the length of the corridor. Bright LED lights shone from their helmets. She held a hand up, blotting out the beams so she could see the attackers. The first guard was a white woman with straight blond hair that spilled out of the helmet. Her face was slender, striking, her eyes intense. Night vision goggles sat atop the helmet. The second guard—

Peyton stopped cold at the man’s face. Desmond Hughes. Seeing him in person brought on a conflicting mix of emotions that paralyzed her.

He moved to the opening.

“Peyton, my name is Desmond Hughes. I called to warn you.”

He stared at her, not a hint of recognition on his face. What’s going on here? Why’s he acting like he doesn’t know me? He had acted the same during the call before she learned of the outbreak—an outbreak he seemed to be connected to, according to Lucas Turner. His name had been scrawled on the barn wall in the cell. And now he was dressed as a guard, pretending he didn’t know her. Why? Was it all part of some plan? Her instincts urged her to go along with him, to behave as though she didn’t know him. She sensed that revealing any information to her captors would be bad for her.

“I remember. What do you want?”

“We’re getting out of here. Thought you might want to come.”

Peyton nodded toward the opening. “I tried. I won’t fit.”

The blonde leaned her head back, throwing the beam from her helmet at the ceiling. “We don’t have time for this, Des.”

He turned his head, bathing her in white light. She squinted, stared back at him a moment, then glanced away, signaling defeat.

Desmond moved the beam of light out of her eyes. “Can we shoot it, Avery?” he asked.

The woman shook her head.

He held his hand out to Peyton. “Then I’ll pull you through.”