Moving on, Theresa crawled through a grove of scrub oak, the dead leaves crunching too loudly under her knees.

Where the oaks ended, she peered through the branches.

They had reached the outskirts of Wayward Pines but had somehow traversed the entire forest to the north side of town. The streets that Theresa could see appeared empty. The houses dark. And not a murmur to be heard.

She glanced back at Ben, waved him over.

He crawled noisily through the leaves and squatted down beside her.

Putting her mouth to his ear, she whispered, “We need to travel ten blocks.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sheriff’s station.”

“Walk or run?”

“Run,” Theresa whispered. “But take a few breaths first, fills those lungs up with air.”

She and Ben both drew in deep pulls of oxygen.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Ready.”

Theresa scrambled out of the thicket and climbed to her feet, then turned and helped Ben up off the ground. They stood in the backyard of a Victorian she recognized—she’d sold this house to a young, expecting couple three months ago after their good behavior in town had been rewarded with an upgrade to a larger, nicer home.

What had been their fate these last twenty-four hours of hell?

Most front yards in Wayward Pines were enclosed by white picket fences, so she and Ben jogged up the sidewalk.

The valley was going dark.

Night always seemed to set in a little too quickly once the sun had gone behind the mountains, and considering there was no power in the entire valley, this would be a black evening.

They were coming up on the first dead body in the street.

Theresa looked back at Ben, and said, “Don’t look, honey.”

But she didn’t take her own advice.

The good news was that it had been eviscerated so completely it looked less like a human being than a pile of guts and bones. A buzzard roosted on the ribcage, glutting itself.

They reached the intersection of First Avenue and Eleventh Street.

Theresa could see the tall pine trees in the distance that soared out of the front lawn of the sheriff’s office.

“Almost there,” she said. “Block and a half to go.”

“I’m tired.”

“I am too, but let’s finish strong.”

At the intersection of First and Thirteenth, Ben whispered, “Mom!”

“What?”

“Look!”

Theresa glanced back.

Three blocks down Thirteenth Street, two pale forms were running on all fours in their direction.

“Sprint!” Theresa screamed.

They accelerated, a surge of adrenaline-boosting power and speed. She leapt over the curb and raced up through the trimmed grass toward the entrance to the sheriff’s office.

Once inside, Theresa stopped and looked back through the glass doors toward the street.

“Did they see us come in here?” Ben asked.

The first abby hit the intersection at full speed, and without missing a beat, altered its course, now heading straight for the sheriff’s office.