Alex’s hand pressed over her mouth, holding in a scream. She was still shaking her head—no, no, no.

Britney’s shoulders drew back, her spine straightening. Then her head pulled back, too, twitching. Her body tensed to lunge.

Still Patrick hadn’t fired. Was he afraid the shotgun boom would alert the Hosts?

A loud smack of metal on metal reverberated through the gym. Britney corkscrewed up onto her toes, her spine twisting. She fell away and revealed Ben Braaten standing behind her, stun gun raised, sleek metal rod dripping fresh blood.

Britney crumpled onto the floor.

Only when I heard her limbs hit the shiny floorboards did I realize that the gym had gone completely quiet.

Alex doubled over, clutching her stomach. Her cries came soft and low, as if something had broken open inside her. Patrick held her tighter as she sank to the floor.

A puddle spread beneath Britney’s head.

Ben finally lowered the stun gun, wiped it back and forth on his thigh, and shoved it into the front of his jeans. Remorse flickered across his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But someone had to.”

“Chance,” Dr. Chatterjee said in a voice strained with stress. “Go see if any Hosts are heading toward us.”

I darted up the bleacher steps as quietly as possible and put my face to the window. In the neighborhood across the parking lot, a bunch of male Hosts had stopped, frozen, their heads oriented toward the gym.

I jerked away, my heart pounding. The other kids stared up at me. I put my finger to my lips, and they got even quieter. Cassius put his front paws on the bottom bench of the bleachers, trying to figure out if he could climb up to me. I snapped my fingers, and he hopped down and gave me a hangdog pout.

We all stayed like that for a minute or two. A sneaker chirped on the floor. Someone stifled a cough. It felt weird to be staring down at all those scared faces. From up here that dark puddle beneath Britney’s head looked like a shiny halo.

I turned again and eased my eyes up over the sill. The men were still looking this way, wolves on alert. All at once, they lowered their heads and continued along, walking their patterns. A breath hissed out through my teeth.

“We’re okay,” I said as I made my way back down.

“I have to clean up Britney,” Alex said. “I have to take her somewhere.”

A clatter of falling objects sounded from the storage room. Ben emerged, carrying an empty duffel bag. I recognized it as the bag that stored the soccer goal nets and spikes during the winter. With his other hand, Ben steered a mop in a yellow bucket on wheels.