Panicky and trapped, Lucy began to breathe rapidly. She felt light-headed and her body felt heavy. She swayed and felt a man to her left and a man to her right; her knees buckled and the man holding her, yanked her upright and leaned her against his own body.

“Easy now,” the man’s voice said to her.

“She panicking?” another one asked.

“Yeah,” the man holding Lucy replied.

“Keep her calm, dude. Blair said the interrogation will have to be quick.”

One of the other men chuckled. It was such an out-of-place reaction—his laugh, amidst their terror. “I don’t mind doing favors for that girl, but she knew she was going to be seen someday. It was only a matter of time.”

“I don’t want to be around when the old man finds out.”

“He finds out, then we all get the tank. Remember that.”

“Then she better be quick. I don’t plan on falling on my sword for her. It’d be best for everyone if she just makes the problem disappear.”

“When was the last time those tanks were used, anyway?” asked the man next to Lucy.

“The old man used ‘em quite a bit trying to clean up his messes. Some girl came back to Brixton looking for her parents after they stopped calling her back. Brought the State Sheriff. She was the last one that I know of.

The elevator noises calmed; someone cleared his throat.

“What’d he do with the Sheriff?” another voice asked.

“He lives in Pod 8 now, with his wife and four daughters.”

The men chuckled, privy to some inside joke that Lucy couldn’t understand.

They went quiet for a second, and then one groaned.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “We forgot the damn dog.”

They pulled the bag off Lucy’s head and tossed her into a small room. The front wall was pure glass from floor to ceiling. Lucy walked up and put her hands on the glass and started pounding, but the attempt was futile—the guards had dumped her and left; they separated her from Grant, shoved her into this room, and left her alone.

The walls of the cell were solid cement and the ground was tile; a mish-mash of colors and shapes—like a mosaic of samples from a home improvement store. Lucy noticed that the ground was wet, as if someone had recently hosed down the whole room, and she shivered at the thought. With her imagination running wild, Lucy began to call for help more fervently.

“Please! Help me!” she screamed, until her throat felt raw.

She stopped mid-scream as a metal door swung open in the opposite room and the blonde woman appeared. In the time between seeing her on the road in Brixton and now, the girl they called Blair had changed out of her jogging outfit and into something simpler: tan pants and a white shirt. Her hair had been let loose from its ponytail, and she had even applied a fresh layer of mascara. She was twenty-something, petite, and strikingly beautiful—but even from her position inside her glass cage, Lucy could see the dark circles under her eyes.

Lucy let her hands fall to her side and she watched as the young woman marched across the bare room and straight up to the glass. A guard followed behind her—maybe even one of the men from the elevator—but Lucy wasn’t sure, and he hit a button near the door, activating a speaker system.

“Do you know where you are?” Blair asked, her voice pouring into the cement room from the ceiling.

Lucy shook her head. Then she answered the only thing she knew for certain, “I’m in Brixton, Nebraska.”

Blair fanned her hand out in front of herself. “Do you know what this is?” and then she crossed her arms and waited, tapping her index fingers against her elbows, her mouth drawn into a tight frown.

“An underground jail?” Lucy guessed. She looked around the cement walls again and the wet floor. When she looked up, Blair was looking straight at her—assessing her with a pained expression.

“Not exactly,” she replied. She uncrossed her arms and ran a hand across her hair, smoothing it neatly into place. “Look. I know this is all confusing, but I need you to think. I need to know. It’s imperative that I know.”

“Know what?” Lucy asked.

“Tell me why you came to Brixton. How did you and the boy know to come here?”

Grant. Lucy took a step forward, “I won’t answer anything until you let me be with him. Where is my friend? Where did you take him?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Tell me where you took him!”

“How did you know this place existed?” the young woman yelled and she tore forward and pounded her hands against the glass, her mouth contorted into a sneer, her eyes narrowed in fury.

Scared by the sudden outburst, Lucy walked backward until she felt the cool cement against her back. Then she closed her eyes and willed the girl away; she felt so exposed and raw. There was nowhere to hide in the room, and the glass displayed her every move. She didn’t know how to play this game—should she tell her about her father? Keep his name to herself? Which option would grant her grace? Lucy didn’t know and she was terrified to misstep. She wished for counsel, but knew she’d find none.

“Please,” Blair said, her tone shifting from anger to pleading. “Are any more of you coming?”

“More what? More people?” Lucy opened her eyes and she opened her mouth in surprise. “Because there are so many more people alive? Have you been living in this hole in the ground for years? Don’t you know what’s gone on out there?” Her voice began to rise, there was a tremor in it, and she felt her face go crimson.

Her angry retort caused Blair to bristle. Blair leaned closer to the glass, crossing and uncrossing her arms. “I am more than aware. It’s just—” she stopped, drew in a breath, then let it out with a single sigh. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears, she looked at Lucy and shook her head. “You don’t understand. This has nothing to do with you. I’m so sorry. I never wanted it to be like this. But…you don’t understand.”

Blair’s tears seemed genuine, and she was right: Lucy didn’t understand. As interrogations went, her captor seemed particularly bad at it.

“Just let me go,” Lucy tried. “My friend and I can go quietly.” It was a lie. And one that was wholly see-through. She would not leave without news of her family. Had they met a similar fate?

This time Blair didn’t even reply. Instead she simply dropped her head, closed her eyes, and mumbled something incoherent under her breath. Then without a word she walked over to a keypad by the door. With swift keystrokes, she entered a code. And then flipped open a plastic case next to the keypad. She turned and took one more look at Lucy and then closed her eyes, inhaled slowly, and then pushed the button.

At first nothing happened.

But after a long delay, Lucy could hear the rumble on the other side of the walls. Then several round holes opened up at the top of the wall—Lucy hadn’t noticed them before, circles the size of coffee can lids—and water began to pour out of them, like a waterfall, cascading to the floor below. One metal cover slid open and then another, until six or eight spouts appeared, all dumping lukewarm water into the room.

It wasn’t until the water began to collect and rise, covering Lucy’s sneakers and climbing up her leg, that she realized what was happening and what would happen next. Sloshing forward, the water splashing around her, Lucy pushed herself to the glass. She pounded with wild abandon and called out.

“Please!” Lucy begged. “Please!”

The young woman lowered her head. Regret, guilt, it flashed across her face, but she didn’t move to stop the water.

“No. You can’t do this. I’m here for my father! My name is Lucy King. I came because of my dad! My father is Scott—” Lucy stopped; the water had reached her mid-thigh, it was creeping upward toward her waist. She regarded the rising liquid and forced herself to remain calm. “My dad is Scott King. He sent me here. He wrote the coordinates in the back of a book and told me that if anything happened that I should come here. I’m here! Please! Stop the water! Please!”