“We’ve got to hide.” Julian pulls me toward the wardrobe. Inside it smells like mouse droppings and mold.
I swing the wardrobe doors closed behind me. The space inside is so small, Julian and I practically have to sit on top of each other. I ease my backpack onto my lap. My back is pressed up against his chest, and I can feel its rise and fall. Despite everything, I’m glad he’s with me. I’m not sure I would have made it even this far on my own.
The keypad gives another buzz; the door of the stockroom bursts open, slamming against the wall. I flinch involuntarily, and Julian’s hands find my shoulders. He squeezes once, a quick pulse of reassurance.
“Goddammit!” That’s Albino; the raspy voice, the anger running through his words, like a live wire. “How the hell did this happen? How did they—”
“They can’t have gone very far. They don’t have the code.”
“Well, then, where the hell are they? Two goddamn kids, for shit’s sake.”
“They might be hiding in one of the rooms,” the other one, the not-Albino, says.
Another voice—female, this time, probably Piercing—chimes in. “Briggs is checking on it. The girl jumped Matt, tied him up. She has a knife.”
“Damn it.”
“They’re in the tunnels by now,” the girl says. “Have to be. Matt must have given up the code.”
“Does he say he did?”
“Well, he wouldn’t say it, would he?”
“All right, look.” Albino again; he’s obviously the one in charge. “Ring, you search the containment rooms with Briggs. We’ll clear out to the tunnels. Nick, take east; I’ll get west with Don. Tell Kurt and Forest they’re on north, and I’ll find someone to cover south.”
I’m tabulating names, numbers: So, we’re dealing with at least seven Scavengers. More than I expected.
Albino is saying: “I want those pieces of shit back here in the next hour. No way I’m losing payday over this, okay? Not because of some eleventh-hour screwup.”
Payday. An idea squirms at the edges of my consciousness; but when I try to fixate on it, it blurs into fog. If it’s not about ransom, what kind of pay can the Scavengers be expecting? Maybe they’re assuming Julian will roll, give up the security info they’ll need to get into his house. But it’s an elaborate—and dangerous—procedure for a run-of-the-mill break-in, and it’s not standard Scavenger operating procedure, either. They don’t plan. They burn, and terrorize, and take.
And I still don’t see how I fit in.
Now there’s the sound of shuffling, of guns being loaded and straps being snapped into place. That’s when the fear comes gunning back: On the other side of a one-inch plywood door are three Scavengers with an army-style arsenal. For a second I think I might faint. It’s so hot and close. My shirt is soaked with sweat. We’ll never make it out of here alive. There’s no way. It’s not possible.
I close my eyes and think of Alex, of pressing close to him on the motorcycle and having the same certainty.
Albino says, “We’ll meet back here in an hour. Now go find those little shits and skewer them for me.” Footsteps move toward the opposite corner. So—the red door must lead to the tunnels. The door opens and closes. Then there’s quiet.
Julian and I stay frozen. At one point I start to move, and he draws me back. “Wait,” he whispers. “Just to be sure.”
Now that there are no voices and no distractions, I’m uncomfortably aware of the heat from his skin, and the tickle of his breath on the back of my neck.
Finally I can’t take it anymore. “It’s fine,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We push out of the wardrobe, still moving cautiously, just in case there are any other Scavengers sniffing around.
“What now?” Julian asks me, keeping his voice low. “They’re looking for us in the tunnels.”
“We have to risk it,” I say. “It’s the only way out of here.” Julian looks away, relenting.
“Let’s load up,” I say.
Julian moves to one of the shelves and starts pawing through a heap of clothing. He tosses a T-shirt back to me. “Here,” he says. “Looks like it should fit.”
I find a pair of clean jeans, too, a sports bra, and white socks, stripping down quickly behind the wardrobe. Even though I’m still dirty and sweaty, it feels amazing to put on clean clothes. Julian finds a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. They’re a little too big, so he holds them up with an electrical wire he uses as a belt. We stuff my backpack with granola bars and water, two flashlights, some packages of nuts, and jerky. I come across a shelf filled with medical supplies, and pack my bag with ointment and bandages and antibacterial wipes. Julian watches me wordlessly. When our eyes meet, I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
Underneath the medical supplies is a shelf empty but for a single wooden box. Curious, I squat down and swing open its lid. My breath catches in my throat.
ID cards. The box is filled with hundreds and hundreds of ID cards, rubber-banded together. There is a pile of DFA badges too, gleaming brightly under the lights.