The undernet was on fire tonight with sightings of three men outside one of the holding pens. They are not dressed like the others who push the people in and bring out the bodies to burn, one informant reported. Saw one pick lock to break in, another poster added. Me, I thought. This was followed by a flurry of speculation as to who the people were and what they were up to. Someone was curious enough to investigate. An hour later, another post: they were in there for a while. taller guy came out and i got a glimpse inside when he held the door open. looks like they are injecting people with something.

The discussion erupted into more frenzied hypothesizing and conspiracy theories. Most agreed that we were there to kill the sick, to try and curtail the virus. I didn’t know what this meant for our operation, but the answer came soon enough. Victor shouted one word of warning from outside. I peered from behind the old wooden door just as three men stepped from a black sedan that had pulled up behind our van. They were dressed in black suits, hiding multiple weapons, I was certain.

Crap.

I was only carrying one knife on me tonight.

“We’re not looking for any help,” Arun said. Even behind his respirator, I could tell his chin was jutted out.

Without listening for more, I sprinted to the small emergency exit door on the opposite end of the floor, praying it wasn’t jammed or would somehow set off the alarm in the derelict building. It resisted, but finally creaked open with a low whine. The men were facing Arun and Victor, stances tense, their necks thrust forward. A red taser glowed brightly in the hand of one of the thugs, and he waved it aggressively, ready to fire.

I crept out, easing the emergency door shut noiselessly behind me. The street was dark, lending cover as I circled around to the back of the men and ran toward the group, their loud arguing drowning my quick footsteps. I palmed my knife into my right hand, but it was too risky to cast it—the man with the taser might fire anyway; I’d also lose my sole weapon.

So I did the only thing I could and hurled myself into him at full speed, slamming him to the ground, away from my friends. He grunted, arm flung outward, and the taser crackled. He could kill me in an instant.

Cursing, he thrust the taser upward. Instinctively, I stabbed his arm, the sharp blade hitting bone. Crying out, he buckled under me and dropped the taser. I pinned his arm to the ground with one hand and wrapped my other around his throat. “Who do you work for?”