In total darkness, she couldn’t move, paralyzed with fear. Her shoulder bled profusely but she couldn’t feel a thing, her body gone numb, mechanical, as the fight-or-flight response kicked in.

They were near her now, standing over her, their alien respirations fast and shallow, like panting dogs.

She put her head between her knees in the brace position.

Two weeks before they’d come on their fateful trip to Wayward Pines, she and Teddy had spent a Saturday at Riverfront Park in Spokane. Thrown a picnic blanket down in the grass and stayed until dusk, reading their books and watching the white water spill over the falls.

And for a second, she captured his face. Not straight on, but from the side. Late sunlight fringing what hair he had left, glinting off the wire-rimmed glasses. He was watching the sun go down over the falls. Content. In the moment. And she had been too.

Teddy.

He turned to look at her.

Smiling.

As the end came.

ETHAN

ETHAN

Brad was shoving the ammo-laden rucksack through the busted back window as Ethan jumped in behind the wheel.

He checked his watch.

They’d burned eleven minutes.

“Let’s go!” Ethan said.

Brad yanked the door open and climbed onto the broken seat.

Headlights blazed through the glass doors into the lobby of the sheriff’s station.

Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror. Through the reddish glow of the taillights, a pale form streaked past.

He shifted into reverse.

They backed down the sidewalk and Ethan’s head hit the ceiling as the tires launched off the curb.

Ethan braked hard, brought it to a dead stop in the middle of the road, and shifted into drive.

Something struck the passenger-side door, Brad screamed, and by the time Ethan looked over, Brad’s legs were already sliding through the empty window frame.

Ethan couldn’t see the blood in the dark, but he could smell it—a strong, sudden waft of rust in the air.

He pulled his pistol.

The screams had gone silent.

All he could hear was the fading scrape of Brad’s shoes dragging across the pavement.

Ethan grabbed the flashlight, which Brad had dropped between the seats.

Shined it out into the street.

Oh my God.

The beam struck an abby.

It was crouched on its hind legs over Brad, its face buried in his throat.

It looked up, mouth blood-dark, and hissed at the light with the venomous warning of a wolf protecting its kill.

Behind it, the light showed more pale figures coming down the middle of the street.

Ethan punched the gas.

In the rearview mirror, a dozen abbies chased the car on all fours. The one out in front came up alongside his door. It leapt at Ethan’s window, just missed, hit the side of the car instead, and bounced off.

Ethan watched it tumble across the street as he forced the pedal to the floor.