His mouth hangs open but his eyes flicker in a way that tells me he gets it. If he gets it all he has to do is go back inside.

But he doesn’t.

Before he can say or do anything, the man’s eyes open.

Rhys pales. “Shit!”

I drop my bat. It clatters against the ground, startling the man into awareness. He makes a noise, something halfway between a groan and a wail. He sits up, scrambles to his feet, and pushes me back—I fight to keep my balance—and then he’s babbling.

“No, no, no, no—get away from me!”

“It’s okay,” I say stupidly. I turn back to Rhys and he shakes his head. What do we do now. I don’t know what to do now. This wasn’t my plan. “It’s—”

“No!” The man sinks to his knees and then gets up again. “Where’s Nick? Nick?”

I step after him. “Just—”

“Get away from me!”

“It’s okay,” I repeat. I walk over to him and before I can do anything, he charges at me, shoves me back hard. I land on my elbows and wince. I get to my feet slowly, feeling blood trickle down my arms, and look to Rhys, who is totally paralyzed by this turn of events.

“We can help,” I say. “We have shelter—”

“Stay away. Where’s Nick? Nick? Nick!”

The man wanders away from me, farther down the parking lot, and his voice gets louder and louder and louder as he calls for Nick, whoever Nick is. I turn to Rhys.

“Go back, Rhys. Go back inside—”

And then—breathing.

But it’s not breathing like the way I breathe or the way Rhys breathes. It’s something that is a sick imitation of life.

It’s how they give themselves away.

That house on Rushmore Avenue. We heard them first before they broke in. This awful choked, ragged sound that told us to leave as fast as we could. We have trained ourselves to run from it, to fear it.

I look around but I can’t source it. I want to know where it’s coming from so I can move toward it. It echoes around us, brings Rhys back to himself.

“Forget him—forget about him—we have to go back.” Rhys walks backward as he says it, heading toward the gate. “Sloane, we have to go back now—”

“I’m not going with you,” I say.

“Nick? Nick…”

I have to get this man to shut up. I have to get this man to shut up for a minute so Rhys can get back. I hurry over to him, my brain slowly registering other things as I do, like his shirt is half open. There are holes in the legs of his pants. There are red splotches all over him. He’s twitching and he whirls around when I’m within reach. He raises his fist. I flash to my father, stop in my tracks.

“Don’t you come closer—don’t—”

I call back to Rhys, my eyes on the man. “Get inside while you can. I’m staying—”