It looked like a hybrid of a dirt bike and a motorcycle. Apparently I wasn’t that far off, because Liam explained, talking fast, “It’s a dual-sport motorcycle. It has the capabilities of a dirt bike for off-roading, but see? It has mirrors and a speedometer for streets. It looks like it’s a...yeah, a Suzuki. Wow. I’m kinda freaking out—”

“I know.” I laughed. “I can tell. Do you think it’ll actually run?”

Liam was inspecting it with reverent hands, stroking its every inch. “It looks like it’s in decent shape. They beat the hell out of it, didn’t treat her nice. Might be an easy fix.” He looked up and saw my expression. “What?”

“Do you actually know how to ride?”

“Do I know how to ride?” Liam scoffed, leaning over the bike’s seat so his face was inches from mine. His pale blue eyes were electric with his excitement; they sent a charge through me, dissolving the rest of the world into peaceful, quiet static. That last bit of distance must have been as unbearable to him as it was to me, because his fingers came down over where my hands rested on the busted leather seat. I felt his touch spread over my skin like late-afternoon sunshine. His lips skimmed my cheek, his breath warm against my ear as he said in low, honeyed tones, “Not only can I ride, darlin’, but I can give you a few pointers—”

“Hey, Hell’s Angels!” Cole barked. “I didn’t bring you in here to shop around for yourselves! Get your asses over here!”

Liam’s expression clouded over as he pulled back, the fluttering excitement vanishing like a candle blown out with a single breath. I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, letting out a small sound of irritation, because just like that he was smiling again as he tucked a loose strand of hair back over my ear. A softer, smaller smile than before, but one meant for me. It warmed me down to my bones.

After a moment of making sure the kickstand would hold the dirtbike up, he used his shirt to wipe the grime from his hands. I took the hand he offered, giving it a squeeze. With one last glance over his shoulder at his find, we made our way to where Cole stood in front of a towering stack of pallets. We were right behind him when I finally made the connection and realized what we were looking at.

I’d seen cardboard boxes like this before, and recognized the phrasing printed along the outside: 10 X 24 HOURS RATIONS GP NATO/OTAN APPROVED.

“What are we looking at, exactly?” Liam asked.

“Humanitarian rations,” I said, cutting Cole off. I felt hollow at the sight. “Do you know what country they’re from?”

“You’ve seen these before?” Cole asked, brows raised. “The government has this stuff under lock and key. They didn’t take any of this crap to HQ, either.”

“It was in...” I released Liam’s hand, stepping closer to the boxes so I wouldn’t have to see his face as I said, “It was when we were in Nashville. The military was housing food and medical supplies in an old airport hangar.”

The raid was like a night tide in my memory. It constantly seeped up from the darkest corners of my mind to catch me off guard, lay me low. Liam, so pale as he struggled to breathe. The knife in my back. Jude’s quiet bravery as he stepped out in front of all of us and sent electricity shooting toward the soldiers. Losing sight of the others. Rob. The muzzle. Blood on a broken windshield.

I turned my back on the boxes and pallets, but forced myself to stand still until the crushing weight lifted off my chest and I could breathe again. It was getting harder to outrun its reach.

“Okay,” Liam said finally, “but where did this stuff come from? And how old is it?”

“A few years, but most of this stuff is nonperishable. Meant to last. I just forgot it was here until I saw an inventory list in the office.” Cole pulled a small knife out of his back pocket and flicked the blade out. He gutted the box, letting the red, individually wrapped packages of food spill out at our feet. There was a simple image of a man bringing food to his mouth and a Chinese flag. “We heard rumors that the government was trying to hide humanitarian aid other countries were air-dropping—that whole ‘we’re America, we can do it ourselves, everyone else has abandoned us’ bullshit. This load was left somewhere in Nevada.”

“You never used them?” I asked.

“Never had to,” Cole said. “We had food suppliers. Alban wanted it as evidence of how Gray was working against the public, but nothing ever came from it. This building is filled with half-baked ideas, lost trains of thought.”

He shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. I saw the way his grim expression seemed to twist with pain in the second before he turned to Liam. “If you get this place in order, then, fine, consider yourself quartermaster. You can figure out a way to bring in supplies.”

“Supplies meaning food, cleaning supplies, sundries,” Liam said. “If you’re thinking that I have a way of getting you guns—”

“No shit, kid,” Cole interrupted. “We’re going to have to work Senator Cruz’s connections for gas, weapons, and the mountain of ammunition we’ll need.”

“Exactly how much do you think that’ll be?” Liam asked, alarmed. “We’re fighting, what? One or two key battles? Not a whole damn war.”

“You worry your pretty little head about breakfast, lunch, and dinner,” Cole fired back. “Let the big kids do the hard thinking.”

I sent him a withering look he ignored, and he stooped to pick up one of the daily ration packs from the ground. He tossed it from hand to hand, his forehead creased in thought. “But it doesn’t solve the bigger issue we have now. Based on the plans that are coming out of that room, we’re going to need a lot more bodies working with us. Another two dozen kids at least for a camp hit. If you have any bright ideas on how to find ’em, I’m all ears.”

A tired kind of resignation wove in and out of my thoughts, overriding the worst of my reservations. I must have sighed, because both of the Stewarts turned to me, mirror images of interest.

“Actually,” I said, my voice betraying the unsettling certainty working its way through me, “I think I do.”

9

WITH THE KIDS OCCUPIED WITH their planning, it wasn’t difficult to slip downstairs unnoticed. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder again and again to ensure that no one was watching as I unlocked the door of the old file storage room and stepped inside.

It was how quickly my hand shot up to find the light fixture’s cord dangling overhead, the way the darkness seemed to settle over my skin, that made me stop myself. My breathing sounded harsh to my ears, and it was the strangest sensation—feeling my body slip into panic while my mind sat far back, at a cool, reserved distance. My heart galloped, pounding out a beat that was too fast, too hard. Sounds that weren’t there filled my ears, the world rolled up under me. Wasn’t it just the way of the dark that with one sense gone, the others were amplified? The dark made small prickles of anxiety stretch and reshape to suit its needs, to trap you there, paralyzed. No wonder Jude had been so terrified of shadows.

In a space this small, it was easy to imagine there was no escape. The rational part of me knew that there was nothing to be afraid of. There were two doors, two outs, but the only way through the darkness was to lean into it and just move. I could tell myself a thousand times, but each time my whole self would feel the shock of it all over again—because the dark was where things were lost. It devoured everything good.

This is not Los Angeles. I pressed back against the memory of dust and smoke.

This is not the tunnel. I pressed back against Jude’s face, his pleading voice.

This is now. I pressed and pressed and pressed.

I stayed there as long as I could physically stand it before tugging on the cord. The pale yellow light flooded the air around me, revealing the clouds of loose dust kicked up from the barren shelves. Rising, falling, spinning. I focused on that, until my breathing evened back out, and there was nothing to be afraid of besides the monster on the other side of the door.