I turn back to the group and see Pander walking toward the spin handle. “I think I could open the door and make it through before it closes.”

“You can’t,” Igby says, turning away from her. “It doesn’t matter,” he continues. “We have hours to figure this out; there’s no way they’re getting in here.”

I watch Pander as she grips the spin handle and begins to turn.

“Wait!” I say—but it’s too late, the circular door starts to open. Before she can get it open more than a few inches, a flood of water bursts into the panic room.

Pander releases the handle, and the door slams shut with a deafening boom.

The corridor beyond the panic room door is no longer filled with soldiers—it is filled with water, gallons of which have now poured into this room with us. The shut door has slowed the flow but not stopped it completely.

My head is spinning.

Attack drones, soldiers, Tyco Roth, rainwater flooding us out like rats, and one person might have to stay behind if we want to get out of here.

The droplets of water in the joins of the room have already turned into steady streams, and yet more water is spraying in through microscopic gaps in the door.

“Is it raining?” I hear Wren ask Malachai. His reply is lost in Sam’s screams and the general hum of fear emanating through us.

“You picked a great day to make an appearance!” Sam screams at her unborn baby between her parted knees. “Idiot!”

The water is already up to our ankles.

Think, think, think, I tell myself.

“Igby, figure out how to get that door to stay open,” Pander orders, and then turns back to Sam. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing but you need to get this child out of your body before it’s born underwater. So, push!”

Kina ushers everyone as far back from the spin handle as possible while Pod and Igby try to figure something out.

“The problem is,” Pod says, his voice surprisingly calm, “we can’t test anything out without opening the door and letting more water in.”

Kina and Pander lift Sam onto one of the molded steel benches. The water continues to spill in and is already up to our knees.

How do we get out of this? I ask myself, looking around at the chaos that is unfolding.

I think about the threats that await us outside the panic room: drones, soldiers, Tyco.

Tyco, I think. His eyes weren’t lit up; he’s here under his own free will.

And then I think about the soldiers who chased us down here—they didn’t shoot us. And I think about the attack drones hovering in the domed window; their cannons were aimed at us, but they didn’t fire.

Luka, you can make all of this go away. Tyco said that.