He pulls me toward him and I curl around his body as I weep. I fall into darkness with his fingers trailing through my hair, my cheeks still wet and my body heaving.

In my dreams I feel hands pulling at me from every direction, tearing at the flesh that falls from my bones, and everywhere I look it's my mother clawing for me.

“Mary.” Someone is tugging at my arm and I jerk awake, my dream still vivid deep in my mind.

“Mary, we don't have time now for sleep.”

I dredge open my eyes to find Travis crouched by my side. I feel heavy and achy and then a memory sparks and I'm wide awake, tearing my skirt away from my legs.

They are wrapped in delicate fabrics, a few with spots of crimson betraying the wounds underneath. “Were there bite marks?” The words tumble from my mouth.

He stands and walks away from me to where the trunks are cast open, their contents spread across the floor. All the beautiful clothes I had tried on are now tossed aside, some of them ripped for my bandages.

“I couldn't tell,” he says, one hand in his hair as if he's searching for something.

I watch his back, watch the way the muscles along his jaw contract when I see his face in profile. I wonder if I would know if I'd been bitten. I run my tongue over my teeth, wondering what death tastes like. Wondering what eternal hunger is like.

With trembling fingers I fiddle with the bandages, peeling their edges up. They stick to my skin for a moment before giving way with a sharp sting. Travis is right—it's impossible to tell if the wounds are bites.

But as I come fully awake I know. I know that every heartbeat isn't pushing the infection deeper into my body, killing me with every breath. I know that these wounds come from fingernails and broken bones, not teeth.

I know that I'm okay. That I have survived being tossed in a sea of Unconsecrated.

Travis kneels and digs through the clothes spread out near the trunks, inspecting each garment and then pitching some over his shoulder and others into a dark corner. Every now and then Argos will take an interest and chase the discarded fabrics as they flutter to the ground, growling and tearing at them with his powerful jaws.

Underneath me I can feel the vibrations of the Unconsecrated piling down the hallway, almost thrumming like a heartbeat. They will keep coming until there are so many they can reach the ceiling, reach the trapdoor by standing on the bodies of each other. I rub my hands over my legs at the thought.

I hear a thump as the book with the photographs skids across the ground. Travis is tearing through the trunks and tossing anything that isn't useful.

“What's happening, Travis? What are you doing?” I ask. I crawl to the books. Photos are scattered everywhere, the little girl's progression through life now a jumbled mass. He tosses another book, one I hadn't seen before, and paper explodes from it as it careens across the floor, yellowed pages fluttering down around us. I reach for one with the words USA Today written in large block letters across the top. Travis interrupts me before I have a chance to read more.