The door opens.
The two women return, and the taller one nods. “Cars are ready. But the gate’s still blocked.”
The leader scans the room, considering. “We need someone to help clear the gate.” His gaze lands on Amelia. “Take her.”
“No!” My mother lunges forward.
“I’ll go,” Julien says. “I’m?—”
“Shut up.” The leader gestures toward the guy holding Amelia. “Lenny.”
“We’re gonna have so much fun.” Lenny grins, a flash of yellow teeth. Then he drags his tongue up the side of Amelia’s neck.
She whimpers, eyes squeezed shut, the tears leaking from the corners.
“Stop!” My mother half-rises before being shoved back down.
I step out from behind Julien. “Take me.”
Julien glares at me. “Dakota?—”
“I’ll do it,” I say. “I can move the car and open the gate.”
“Me too.” Sienna steps forward, shoulders squared.
Cameron grips her arm. “Don’t do this.”
“They need help,” she says. “It’s the only way we all get out of this.”
“So many volunteers. How can I say no to that?” The leader eyes me, calculating. “I take you and her—” he points at Sienna, “—and the holy man. He can pray for our safe passage.” He laughs at his own joke. “Everyone else stays here. Lenny keeps his knife on the girl’s throat. You try anything, she dies and the others, too.”
“The gate key.” Cameron digs into his pocket and places it into Sienna’s palm, his fingers curling around hers. “Be careful.”
Sienna nods.
“Touching.” The leader motions with his gun. “Now move. I don’t have all day.”
I turn to Amelia, whose face has gone slack with either relief or terror. I want to promise her that everything will be okay, but I can’t form the words.
My father stares at the floor, shoulders hunched. My mother’s face is blank, unreadable. She doesn’t look at me. But Rosa does, catching my eye and giving me the barest nod.
And Julien, after this, I think we’re back at him hating me.
“Outside.” The barrel of a gun presses between my shoulder blades. “Now.”
We walk toward the entrance—the reverend, Sienna, and me—a small, doomed procession. I don’t look back. I can’t. Because if I do, I might lose what little courage I’ve scraped together.
The bright afternoon sun feels like a slap, and I squint against the light, the gun barrel nudging me forward. Beside me, the reverend mumbles prayers, his words slurring together. On my other side, Sienna walks with her head high, eyes forward.
“Faster,” growls the man behind me. Patchy beard, missing front tooth. “Before those things notice us.”
In the distance, shambling figures drift along the road beyond the gate. Lenny walks at a distance from us, the knife loose on my sister’s neck.
“There.” The woman with a shotgun—Melissa, I think they called her—nods toward the gate where the sedan sits. “Move it. And don’t try anything stupid.”
The reverend’s prayers grow louder, more frantic.
“Open the gate first,” Beard-guy orders, shoving me forward. “You—with the keys.”
