Kneeling beside him, Lish checked the load on her rifle and pulled the bolt. Four hallways met the atrium: the attack, if it came, would come from the west.

“Do you think the sun got them?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know, Peter. They seemed pretty mad. Maybe some but not all.” She wrapped the rifle’s sling tightly around her forearm. “I need you to promise me something,” she said. “I won’t be one of them. If it comes to that, I need you to take care of it.”

“Flyers, Lish. It won’t. Don’t even say it.”

“I’m saying if it does.” Her voice was firm. “Don’t hesitate.”

There was no more time for words; they heard footsteps racing toward them. Caleb careened into the atrium, clutching an object to his chest. As he dove behind the tables, Peter saw what he was holding. A black shoe box.

“I don’t believe it,” Alicia said. “You went scavenging?”

Caleb lifted the lid and tossed it aside. A pair of bright yellow sneakers, still wrapped in paper. He kicked off Zander’s boots and shoved his feet into them.

“Shit,” he said, wearing a crestfallen frown, “they’re way too big. They’re not even close.”

And then the first viral fell, a blur of movement first above and then behind them, dropping through the atrium roof; Peter rolled in time to see Theo being lifted up, tossed toward the ceiling, his rifle dangling where the sling had tangled in his arm, his hands and feet scrabbling at space. A second viral, hanging upside down from one of the ceiling struts, snatched Peter’s brother by the ankle as if he weighed nothing at all. Theo’s body was fully inverted now; Peter saw the look on his brother’s face, an expression of pure astonishment. He’d made no sound at all. His rifle fell away, spinning to the floor below. Then the viral flung Peter’s brother through the open roof and he was gone.

Peter scrambled to his feet, his finger finding the trigger. He heard a voice, his voice, calling his brother’s name, and the sound of Alicia firing. Three virals were on the ceiling now, launching from strut to strut. Peter detected, at the periphery of his vision, Alicia shoving Caleb up and over the counter of a restaurant on the far side of the atrium. Peter fired at last, fired again. But the virals were too fast; always the spot where he aimed was empty. It seemed to Peter as if they were playing a kind of game, trying to trick them into expending their ammunition. Since when do they do that? he thought, and wondered when he’d heard these words before.

As the first one let go, Peter saw, in his mind’s eye, the fatal dimension of its arc. Alicia was standing with her back to the counter now. The viral descended straight for her, arms outstretched, legs bent to absorb the impact, a being of teeth and claws and smoothly muscled power. In the instant before it landed, Alicia stepped forward, positioning herself directly under it, holding the rifle away from her body, like a blade.