Before I can finish, Dr. Price has aimed the USW pistol at me and fired. The round hits my shoulder, and once again I feel the pulse enter my body and distort the muscle and bone within. I hear Kina cry out—in the corner of my eye I watch Dr. Ortega hold her back, pulling her into the shadow of the doorway with Pander and Igby.

I fall back and slump down into the tube. Before Dr. Price can fire again, Molly fires three shots from her own weapon into him.

The sound of the chaos fades away and all that’s left is the strangely calming sound of the bubbles in each of the active cryochambers rushing forever upward.

Molly walks over to the slumped figure of Dr. Price and looks down at him.

“Why did you shoot my brother?” she asks, aiming her gun at his chest.

“Molly,” he gasps, his left arm and both legs in tatters, “my favorite survivor.”

“Why did you shoot my brother?” she asks, more venom in her voice this time.

“This hurts so much, Molly, I’m in so much pain. Get me back into Purgatory—we can talk about it inside, where I won’t have to feel this agony.”

“Answer the question,” she replies, lowering the barrel of the USW rifle until it’s resting against the center of his rib cage.

“It was a misunderstanding.”

I can feel the pain in my shoulder begin to subside, hear sounds of clicking bone and fusing skin. I sit up.

“It was no misunderstanding,” I say. “He’s been drugging all the inhabitants of Purgatory for a long time. That’s why no one wants to leave.”

“Why would you do something like that?” Molly asks.

“Don’t listen to him, Molly, listen to me,” Price says. “Don’t you want to go back inside? Back to where your friends are? Back to sanctuary?”

“I … I …” she stammers, a look of uncertainty in her eyes. “No, not if Luka says it’s not safe.”

“But, Molly, think about how dangerous it is to be out here in the real world. Think about the refuge of—”

“Shut up,” Molly snaps. “Stop trying to manipulate me and tell me what’s going on.”

Dr. Price’s eyes begin darting around the room, his facade of composure slipping. “Fine, just go, just leave. You don’t have to come back into Purgatory with me, just let me live out the rest of my days in peace.”

“No,” I say, stepping out of the chamber, “not until you let everyone else inside decide if they want to stay of their own free will.”

“Don’t you realize,” the doctor asks, “these people don’t know what’s good for them. I’m saving them!”

“You don’t get to decide,” I tell him, my shoulder slipping back into its newly re-formed socket.

“So, hold up,” Pander says, “this guy is full-blown crazy, right?”