“Go out there yourself—”

“I’m not leaving Grace,” Trace says. “This is your fault, so you do it.”

“I am not dying for you,” Cary says through his teeth. “And fuck you for asking me—that guy out there? Whoever he is? He’s dead.”

Cary storms down the hall. It must be awful to find out your life is worth nothing to someone else. I want to tell Cary he’s not worthless. Harrison probably needs him. Rhys stares at Trace, disgusted, but Trace doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against Grace’s head. He has no other options.

“Grace, I have to do it.”

“No. No.”

He breathes in and tightens his grip on her.

“It’s him. I know it is.”

I get that feeling again. That ache to have what Trace and Grace have, along with the sharp reminder that I don’t. The parking lot is still empty save for the man on the ground. Trace’s words echo in my head we have to bring him back in and I don’t know why they do until it hits me and I finally understand them for what they really are: an out.

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself saying. “I’ll go.”

I stop at my locker for my letter to Lily and tuck it carefully in my pocket. I have this insane fantasy where my sister comes across my body on the ground or walking around and she finds the note on me and reads the note and it kills her.

When I get to the library, Cary is actually helping Trace with the door, which is unreal to me. Blood is crusted under Cary’s nose. Trace is shaky, vibrating with the possibility of his father being out there, dead or alive. I watch him closely, looking for some indication he knows it can’t really be Mr. Casper. There are none. His heart will hold on to it until he knows for sure.

Grace and Harrison sit on one of the tables together. Harrison keeps the flashlight trained on the boys and says he’s afraid of the door being open for the brief second it will take me to walk out of it but no one comforts him. Grace is zoned out, like she can’t really understand how this happened or why but I can tell she wants me to go out there. I know she does.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rhys says.

“Shut up.” Trace grunts as he pushes a desk aside. “She wants to.”

I nod. “I want to.”

Rhys sighs, resigned, and then he says something terrible.

“I’ll go with you.” No. No. No. I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off. “I mean, let’s just say if by some miracle the guy out there isn’t dead—”

“My father is not dead,” Trace says loudly.

Rhys ignores him. “That means you have to get him back inside and there’s no way you’re going to be able to do it alone. It’s a two-person job. Unless you want to die.”

Ha ha. My stomach turns. This went from good to bad, just like that, but I can’t let it stop me. I work quickly to rationalize it. It’s better this way. It makes it easier. Instead of leaving Trace and Grace high and dry, Rhys can go back and tell them if it’s Mr. Casper or not. If it’s Mr. Casper, Rhys can get him back into the school. And me—when I go, I won’t have that on my conscience. That would be good. It’s a good thing that Rhys is coming with me. It’s good.

“Fine,” I say. “Okay.”

Trace and Cary move the last shelf aside, leaving the door naked before us. Rhys bends down and tightens his shoelaces. I do the same.

“Why are you doing this?” He doesn’t ask me quietly enough.

“I was wondering too,” Grace says. “Is it because of…”

She stops but I know what she’s going to say. Is it because of what I said to you? I don’t know how to tell her I’m sorry I hurt her but it’s nothing to do with her. I don’t think I can. I knot my shoelaces twice and get to my feet. She waits on my answer.

“I like your family.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

Her face softens. I wonder if she’s thinking of the sleepover. Something inside me just wants to see her remember it like Trace wants it to be his father outside because—I don’t know.

I guess it’s the last thing I have.

“Okay,” Cary says.

Trace gives me a hug and I lose myself in the sensation. It’s so dizzyingly nice, like someone wants me and I almost think it would be worth hanging around for if it was an all-the-time thing. He lets me go, gives Rhys a curt nod, and then hands us each a baseball bat. I hold mine limply at my side. Rhys clutches his so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Stay by the door,” he tells Cary. “Don’t move and open it when you hear us.”

“I’m not moving,” Cary says. “Good luck.”

Rhys looks at me. His eyes ask if I’m ready. I nod. I’m more ready than there are words for. Cary pushes the door open. It’s still dark. A cool April breeze drifts in and curls around us, making me realize how stale the air is in here. I take a gulp of it and hold it in my lungs.

Rhys and I step outside.

The door closes quietly and firmly behind us.

The fence is in front of us. We back into each other automatically, checking both sides. Nothing. There’s nothing. I feel Rhys breathing against me, scared out of his mind.

“Do you really think it’s Mr. Casper?” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“I don’t want to die today, Sloane.”

We stare down the path that leads to the athletic field. It’s a blind spot, totally wide open. We don’t know what’s out there. The path to the front of the school is gated, slightly closer to the parking lot but it’s still a walk around the building. And if the gate is locked, we’ll have to climb it. We won’t be soundless doing it.

I wouldn’t care if Rhys wasn’t here but now I have to care. When there’s more distance between us, that’s when I’ll leave, but for now I have to be careful for his sake. I’m not selfish like Lily. I nod in the direction of the front of the school. Rhys swallows and nods back. I make my way forward but he grabs my arm.

“Let me—” his voice cracks. “Let me go first.”

I shake my head but he trudges ahead of me anyway. I follow him, glancing over my shoulder repeatedly. We reach the gate. He ducks and I duck beside him.

We press our faces against the chain link and look around.

The street ahead seems empty, looks almost normal, like the world has yet to wake up, but as our eyes adjust to the dark, things that are wrong slowly begin to assert themselves. The windows in the house across the street are all broken and the front door is wide open. I can see a shape that looks like a body on the lawn. There’s a car wrapped around a telephone pole and I imagine a man or woman slumped over the steering wheel, killed on impact. That must have been a good way to go. But there’s nothing else that we can see.

No dead.

Maybe they’re still at Russo’s.

Rhys tests the gate. Locked.

“We should go over together,” he says.

We stick the toes of our running shoes through the links. The gate rattles under our weight and the baseball bats clang against the metal. Rhys holds his breath. As soon as he clears the top, he jumps. I do the same, landing easily. He grabs my arm again and pulls me behind a pair of decorative hedges at the corner of the front of the school.

“Didn’t see anything. Did you?”

I shake my head. We make our way alongside the building, tiptoeing over flowerbeds until we’re interrupted by the concrete walk close to the main entrance.

We cling to shadows every time we make a noise we shouldn’t and then move on more quickly than before. We finally get to the opposite corner of the school, past the bike rack, and stand just before the parking lot. Rhys stops suddenly.

“What if he’s been bitten?” he asks, and I swear we both have the same thought right after he asks it. Why didn’t anyone think of that before now?

“He didn’t get back up,” I say. “He’s not bitten.”

And then I step into the lot, feeling the bravest and most indestructible I’ve ever felt in my life which is strange, I guess, because I’m readying myself to die. The morning air is so welcome against my skin.