I woke up at exactly 4:37 p.m. from the longest nap of my life. A half dozen people dressed in scrubs and lab coats rushed into my room to examine me. Some poked and prodded; others watched monitors or tubes. Someone stuck a needle in my arm. When I pulled away, a Velcro strap clamped my wrist to a metal bar. There was a similar strap on my other wrist and both my ankles.

They finished drawing blood and wiped a cotton ball across the punctured vein. It felt like sandpaper. I tried to focus on breathing so I wouldn’t pass out. I tried not to panic, but the walls were so close I could reach out and touch them. Could, if I weren’t strapped down.

My hands shook, and I realized they were balled tightly into fists. A worried-looking woman leaned over me. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She stood up and pointed, yelling something. My breath was shallow. The edges of my vision turned black. The fingers of darkness reached toward the center of my sight.

People hurried out of the room. I closed my eyes and con- centrated on each breath. In and out. In and out. I felt oxygen rush into the vacuum of my lungs and then back out as my body relaxed. In and out. One breath at a time.

Slowly, my senses returned. When I opened my eyes, the darkness was gone; so were the people. Only the woman who had leaned over me remained. Pretty, petite, she moved with the grace of someone comfortable in her own skin. Her blonde hair fell just over the collar of her white lab coat.

My eyes darted around the large room. Empty beds lined one wall. I did a quick count. Ten. There were monitors attached to each one. My nose itched, but when I tried to raise my arm to scratch, the strap bit into my wrist. It made me angry. I licked my lips, but my tongue felt like dry leather. My mouth tasted moldy.

I looked back at the doctor. She smiled at me. I didn’t smile back. She reached out and snagged a chair, walked it to my bedside, and sat down. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses before she spoke. Her eyes were green.

“How do you feel?”

I wanted to scream that I was tied down, but I didn’t. I didn’t say anything.

“Can you speak?”

I nodded.

“What do you remember?”

I tried to remember something from before I fell asleep, but my brain still wasn’t functioning to full capacity. It was like a computer trying to reboot. “Who are you?” I asked. My mouth was dry and the words came out jumbled. I tried again. “Who are you?”

She looked down at a clipboard and marked something. “Interesting that you would ask who I am first and not why you are tied to a hospital bed.”

“OK,” I said. “Why am I tied to this bed? And who are you?”

“Do you know your own name?” She made another note. “Yes.”

“How about we share information? I’ll tell you who I am after you tell me who you are.”

“Nick.”

“Do you have a last name, Nick?”

“Reece.”

“OK, Nick Reece. My name is Dr. Faith Richards. I’m a hematologist.” She flipped a couple pages on her clipboard.

I licked my dry lips. “How do you know that’s my real name? I could have lied.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

I smiled back. “Now, can you tell me why I’m tied to this bed?” I barely croaked out my question. She picked up a Styro- foam cup and lifted my head, and I drank the lukewarm water. It felt good dribbling down my chin.

“What do you remember?”

My brain seemed to have rebooted. “Lots of things. What do you remember?”

“I remember asking you first.”

This girl was quick. I liked her. “I remember a crash.”

She nodded. “Good. And . . .”

“I remember asking you why I’m tied to this bed.” Two could play this game.

“How about this? You answer my questions, and I’ll tell you why you woke up strapped to a bed.”

“Why should I have to answer first?”

“Because you’re the one strapped to the bed,” she said without missing a beat.

She had a point.

“I remember being in a plane crash. I was flying to LAX. We were about thirty minutes out, somewhere over the desert, when the plane started to shake. The pilot came on and told us we had hit some turbulence but that we’d be through it soon. I was in the bathroom, so I went back to my seat and buckled up. I remember buckling up and then . . .” I paused, trying to piece it all together in the right order. She waited patiently. “And then I heard a loud noise. Similar to a gunshot, except louder. And the plane jerked and started to drop.” I paused again, trying to recall. “And that’s all I can remember.”

“That’s OK. How does your head feel now?”

“Fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Do you remember everything before the plane crash?”

I searched my memory. Everything seemed to check out. I nodded.

“That’s good. That’s very good,” she said. “May I take your pulse?”

She leaned across me and placed her first two fingers on my neck. They felt warm and soft. She was taking my pulse by hand even though I was hooked to a heart monitor. I could see my heart rate on the screen—sixty-two beats per minute.

She left her fingers on my neck for an eternity. Beneath the lab coat she was wearing a plaid, button-up shirt that matched her eyes. I stared at her neckline. A small, silver cross swung from her perfect skin.

She glanced down and saw me looking. Another smile. “That’s a beautiful necklace.” She removed her fingers and made another note on the clipboard. “Thanks.” She reached up and held it between her thumb and index finger.

“So, Doc. Am I going to make it?”

She started to say something but was interrupted by a guy in scrubs opening the door. “It looks like he’s still clean.”

She nodded.

“Do you need me to stay and help?”

“No, thank you, Devin. I’ll be fine. I can handle it.” Devin looked unsure, but closed the door as he left.

“Can I get out of this bed now?”

“Yes, but I need to tell you a few things first.”

My patience was wearing thin, and I could feel another attack of claustrophobia coming on. I took a deep breath and willed it away.

“Your memory is correct. You were in a plane crash in the desert outside of Los Angeles.” She consulted her notes. “The plane was carrying 137 passengers and six crew members. Of those, only you and three other passengers survived. The rest of the passengers and all the crew died in the crash. The surviving passengers rescued were found comatose. You were brought to Mercy General Hospital, and that’s where you are now.”

“I’ve been in a coma?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.”

“I’ve been in a coma for three years?” I yelled, bucking at the restraints.

“Calm down, Nick.” She laid her hand on my arm.

I thrashed on the bed, yanking the straps. “No! Why am I tied down? Let me go.”

“I will, as soon as you calm down. I need to tell you one more thing.”

Devin appeared at the door again. “Are you OK, Dr. Rich- ards? Do you need me to sedate him?”

“No, Devin. Thank you. We’re fine. Thanks for checking.”

Devin looked even more unsure this time, but he backed out and closed the door.

I glared at the door as he left. Breathe in and out. In and out. Dr. Richards—Faith—stroked my arm. I focused on how soft her skin felt. How warm her touch. Slowly, my breath slowed and I relaxed as much as anyone could while tied down to a hospital bed.

“There’s one more thing you need to know,” she said. “But I need you to promise me you will remain calm.”

I nodded.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “The world is quite a bit different than what you remember. It will be a big shock.”

“What do you mean, ‘different’? A new version of the smartphone?”

She didn’t smile. “Quite a bit different than that, I’m afraid.”

“How much could have changed in the last three years?”

“Too much.” Her hand moved toward the strap around my wrist. “I’m going to show you, but remember your promise to remain calm.”

“OK.”

She removed the restraints one by one. I slowly sat up and tried to massage the feeling back into my legs, but they felt foreign to me.

“Be careful,” she said. “You haven’t used your limbs for a long time. You won’t be able to walk. It could take weeks for your body to remember how to work.”

I nodded and slowly slid my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet touched the cool linoleum, but they were still wooden—limp. I tried to stand, but my legs gave out and I fell back onto the bed. Faith watched, interested. I tried again, but I still couldn’t make my legs work. I fell again. I took a moment to catch my breath before I tried again. Same result.

“Like I said, it could take weeks or even months of rehab before you can walk again. I’ll get a wheelchair.” She started to turn away.

“No!” I responded by trying to stand again. This time I used the bed to pull myself up. I was able to stay on my feet for all of five seconds before I fell back. But it was five seconds longer than I had stood in a long time. Sweat moistened my forehead. The doctor said nothing. She also made no move to get that wheelchair. Instead, she seemed extremely interested in my effort to walk. She continued to take notes on her clipboard.

For the next half hour, the doc intently watched as I relent- lessly tried to stand on legs that felt like they had never been used before. Every single time I wobbled and fell back on the bed, but every time I stood back up a little faster and stayed on my feet a little longer. Slowly, I felt strength and feeling return- ing. Eventually, I took a timid step. My knees buckled, and I collapsed in a pile on the floor.

Dr. Richards quickly helped me back to the bed and once more offered to get a wheelchair. I refused and resumed trying to walk, this time staying beside the bed so I could use it for support. Thirty minutes later, I was able to stumble my way across the room with substantial help from the doctor.

“This is unbelievable,” she said.

I grunted and fell heavily onto the bed. “What is?”

“That you can move at all. After three years you should have severe muscular atrophy. Most people can’t even hold a spoon for weeks, but you walked across the room. It’s amazing.”

“It doesn’t feel that amazing.”

“It is. This could be very good.” She thought for a second. “Or very bad.”

“How so?” I asked.

“That’s what I’m going to show you.”

Thirty minutes later we exited the room, but at least I wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. I still had trouble walking, but the pretty doctor kept her arm around my waist. I leaned on her for help, maybe even a little more than I had to.

We shuffled our way to the roof of the hospital. Outside my room there had been a handful of men and women dressed in hospital garb. They stopped and stared as we slowly made our way to the elevator, but a look from Dr. Richards sent them back to their tasks. Devin obviously wanted to follow us, but he stayed put. One younger girl in pink scrubs also offered me a wheelchair, but I turned her down. I needed to get my body back in working order and a wheelchair wouldn’t help. Plus leaning on the doc for balance made the effort worth it.

As we hobbled toward the edge of the roof, she cautioned me. “Be very quiet.”

Odd. But the sun on my face felt so good I stayed silent. The day was still bright and warm. Spring, maybe? The light seemed to revive me a little more. On the corner of the roof I noticed a man with what looked like a rifle, or possibly just a long telescope. He was looking out from the hospital. I followed his gaze.

The hospital sat in the middle of a large open area. All the trees and bushes had been cleared from around the building for at least two hundred yards in all directions. At the outskirts of the bare ground, a tall, chain-link fence surrounded the property. It made the place look more like a compound than a hospital. Three more black-clad men stood at each corner of the building, all peering out at the fence. I looked at Dr. Rich- ards, raising my brows in question, but she motioned me with a finger to her lips to be quiet. She handed me a pair of binoculars she had picked up on the way out.

I put the lenses to my eyes and scanned the property again. There wasn’t a single person inside the fence around the hospital building. Not one. But it did look like there was a group of people on the outside. I readjusted the binoculars and looked again. Hundreds of people wandered around on the other side of the fence. They all moved slowly, like they were tired. But no one seemed to be trying to get inside the fence. I brought the glasses down and looked at the doctor. What was going on?

She motioned for us to go back inside and opened the heavy, metal door. When it closed behind us, she said, “There is one more thing I should show you. It will help you understand.”

We hobbled back to the elevator.

“Why are all those people out there?”

“Do you have any family, Nick Reece?” She used my full name.

“You can call me Nick.”

“Thank you, and you can feel free to call me Doctor.” She smiled.

I chuckled. It felt good. “OK, Doc.”

“I’m kidding. Call me Faith.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” She laughed.

“Do you have any family, Nick?”

“No. Not that I know of. I was given up for adoption when I was a kid. No one took me so I bounced around in the system. As soon as I was legal age, they turned me out and I made a go of it on my own. Been that way ever since.”

“Does that make you feel unwanted?”

“What are you, Doc, my shrink? I thought you were a hematologist.”

She smiled as we stepped into the elevator. She scanned a security card from her pocket and pushed the button for the basement.

The elevator moved downward slowly. I took the opportunity to try again. “What’s going on? Why are all those people out there on the other side of the fence?”

“They’re . . . ” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “. . . sick.”

“Then why aren’t they in here? This is a hospital, isn’t it?” “It used to be.”

“Used to be? What does that mean? And what do you mean by sick?”

“It will be easier if I show you.” As if on cue, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. We were in the basement.

We made our way into the room, and I only had to lean against the wall to catch my breath once. Faith led me to a glass lab that stood in the center. But when I got closer, I saw that it wasn’t a lab at all; it was more like a glass cage. Steel bars ran along all four corners to reinforce the thick glass. There was someone inside.

“What is this place? Why do you have a person locked inside a glass box?” The words come out sharper and louder than I intended.

Faith straightened and let go of me. “You don’t understand. We didn’t have a choice. So shut up until you know what you’re talking about!”

I shut up.

“Just watch.”

I did. The man inside appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He could have been good looking at some point in his life, but now he didn’t look right. His skin was too pale. His green eyes had a vacant, glazed-over look. He wandered back and forth very slowly and aimlessly inside the cage, similar to how the people outside the fence had moved.

“He can’t see or hear us. The glass is one-way and it’s sound- proof. The oxygen is pumped in from the outside, so he can’t smell us either.”

I wondered why she was telling me about the box instead of the human being inside.

She walked over to a microphone built into the glass. I could see a speaker built into the wall on the other side. She clicked the button. “Hello, Steven, how . . . ?” Her voice broke, and she released the button.

Inside the box, Steven came alive. It was as if he turned into another person. His eyes went from pale green and lifeless to a burning orange color. He threw himself at the speaker and clawed at it with his fingers, trying to tear it from the wall. His fingers started bleeding, but the blood didn’t slow him. He con- tinued clawing with all his might. Scratching. Digging. Trying to bite the glass like a rabid animal.

Faith pressed another button and the space inside the box slowly filled with fog. Steven kept biting and clawing at the speaker until the haze enveloped him. Still, his bloody fingers parted the fog and dug at the speaker. Finally, he stopped.

“You see?” Faith’s voice broke the silence. Tears streamed down her face.

I said nothing. I still had no idea what was going on.

She took a breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “All of those people you saw outside the fence are also sick.”

“Why aren’t they in here? With him?”

“We can’t let them inside the hospital with us. They don’t understand that we—that I—want to help them.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re infected. They’ve been exposed to a blood-borne virus.”

“You mean like . . .” I didn’t want to say it. “Like zombies?”

“No.” She sighed. “Zombies are fictional characters in hor- ror movies. They are undead. These people are very much alive. They eat, they breathe. They’re just sick. The disease makes them even more alive. It makes them superhuman.”

“How so?”

“How much do you know about blood?”

“Not much.”

“Then I’ll keep it simple. The virus binds to their red blood cells, much like the O2 molecule does. The circulatory system goes to every part of the body; the blood feeds every organ. The virus gives them almost superhuman muscular strength and speed. The only area that seems to be adversely affected is the brain. Infected people show a severe decline in intelligence and mental acuity. We’re still not sure why that is, but we think blood flow to the brain has been stunted. It’s the only reason we have since we’ve been unable to communicate with an infected person.” She looked back at Steven. “He can’t understand that I want to help him.”

I said nothing as I tried to process the information.

“The five senses are heightened slightly, with the possible exception of taste. We still don’t know how their taste is affected.”

“What do they eat?”

“Except each other, they’ll eat anything living. Including us.”

“Us?”

“They’re especially drawn to the sound of humans, any human-like noise. And smell—they can smell uninfected blood. They are drawn to it. It drives them crazy, like sharks in the ocean.”

That explained the box. “That’s insane.”

“It’s a lot to take in all at once. Do you need to sit?”

I shook my head. “Continue.”

“They also have a recovery rate much higher than the normal human. The average adult human has about five liters of blood in his body. That blood is made up of roughly 54 percent plasma, which is mostly water; 45 percent red blood cells; and only about 1 percent white blood cells, which are a major part of the body’s immune system. The white blood cells are how our bodies fight disease and injuries.”

I was trying to follow along. “So, the virus in the infected people kills the white blood cells, and their bodies can’t fight the disease?”

“You would think so, but no. Actually, it’s the opposite. Infected people have more white blood cells. About 55 percent of their blood is made up of white blood cells.”

“Over half?”

“Yes. They have virtually no blood plasma. This would kill a normal human because the blood would be too thick for the heart to pump it through the body, but somehow the virus in the red blood cells makes the heart strong enough to handle the pressure.”

“Then how can they be killed?”

“We don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Can they die?” I asked.

“Not that anyone has recorded.”

“Wait. They can’t be killed?”

“No.”

I was speechless.

“They have more blood than a normal human. We think this helps account for their increased strength and speed. Like I said, the average adult has close to five liters. We think the infected have somewhere between eight and ten liters. Each red blood cell can carry up to four oxygen molecules to the muscles to help them perform and then recover. As soon as your body can’t deliver any more oxygen, you tire out. But if your body had twice as many red blood cells—”

“You’d be twice as fast and strong,” I finished for her. “And you would recover twice as fast.”

I thought about it. “Is that why you said it could be very bad that I’m up and moving so quickly after my coma? Are you worried I’m going to turn into that?” I pointed to the glass cage.

“He’s not a ‘that.’ His name is Steven!”

I had touched a nerve.

She took a breath. “Your blood shows no infection, but it is very unusual that you recovered so quickly. Most people would be in rehab for months, and some never recover the movement you have only hours after you woke up.”

I didn’t want to think about what that might mean. “Is there a cure?”

She turned back toward the box. “Not yet.”

We stood silently for a while. This all sounded implausible . . . impossible. Unless I had seen Steven with my own eyes, I never would have believed her. Never in a million years. Yet here I was, standing in front of a glass box with an infected human inside. A human who could no longer speak or think clearly and had just tried to tear a speaker out of the wall because he heard a voice coming from it.

The fog in the box started to clear. I could just make out the shape of Steven lying on the ground. His bloody fingers had already healed. His eyes were closed, and the steady rise and fall of his chest gave him a peaceful look. It was hard to believe he was the same orange-eyed rabid animal from a few minutes ago.

“How long will he sleep?”

“Not much longer. We have to pump massive amounts of anesthesia in there to put him to sleep, enough to kill a regular human several times over. But it still only lasts a few minutes on him. It takes a higher dosage each time, and each time he wakes up a little bit faster. His body is building up immunity.”

“How many of them are there? How many people have been infected?”

She wiped away a tear at the edge of her eye and straight- ened her glasses before turning back toward me. “Are you sure you’re ready for that answer?”

“How many could it be?”

“A lot.”

“How many?”

“Two hundred million.”

The number was staggering.

“In the world?”

“In the United States.”

“Impossible.”

“I wish. Why do you think we’re in here?”

“But that’s two-thirds of the population.”

“Yes. And more every day.”

“Is anyone immune?”

“Not so far. Not that we know of.”

“What about the rest of the world? How many people are infected? Is there anywhere untouched by the virus?”

“It’s hard to tell. As far as we know, there is nowhere that hasn’t been exposed to the virus. Most estimates say the rest of the world’s percentage is at least as high as ours, and it’s possible that in some countries the entire population is infected. But that’s really just a guess.”

My legs felt weak. “I think I need some air.”

We made our way back to the roof, and Faith once again motioned for silence as we made our way outside. It was unnecessary. There was no way I’d make a sound after what I’d just seen.

I sat down on a lawn chair and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon. The men in black on the corners of the roof remained in their positions. Faith left me alone, but soon came back carrying two plates of food. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. The food was basic hospital fare, but it tasted great to me.

It started to grow cool in my hospital gown as I finished the mushy peas, but I didn’t mind. Goose bumps rose on my arms, but I refused to go back inside. Shivering in the cold reminded me I was alive. And I planned on staying that way.

I woke up at 9:37 a.m. on the second day of my life. My new life. I dressed in the scrubs someone had left at the foot of the bed. I left the room they had given me to sleep in—this one had only one bed and thankfully no restraints—and found Faith in the cafeteria. She was sitting with three men in black security garb. I felt surprisingly strong today. My body was recovering quickly after lying in bed for three years.

I grabbed some scrambled eggs and toast that sat under a warming light on the cafeteria line and took an apple from a small basket before sitting down next to the doctor—Faith. Ever since our trip to the basement, I had thought of her as Faith. I got the feeling I had stepped into the middle of an uncomfortable conversation. Faith introduced me.

“Gentlemen, this is Nick Reece, the guy who woke up from the coma yesterday. Nick, this is Commander Al Harris. Everyone here calls him Commander.” She pointed at a square-jawed guy with black hair who looked like an older version of GI Joe.

“This is Darius VanDyke, but everyone calls him Van.” She motioned toward a black guy. Around my age. Friendly face.

“And this is Bo Bryce.” Bo looked like a football player. Blond, solid build, arm tattoo.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Like a baby.”

Faith filled me in as I bit into the apple. “We need to make a supply run into town today. We were just discussing logistics.”

I swallowed my bite. “I’d like to go.”

Faith and the Commander shared a look.

“I thought you might,” she said. I could see Bo shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

“It’s always very dangerous,” the Commander said. “Dr. Richards told us she introduced you to Steven, so you know how serious the situation is out there.”

“Yes.” I set my apple on the plate and ignored the rest of my food.

“How are you feeling, Nick?” Faith asked. “You’ve been in a coma for three years and your body hasn’t been used at all during that time. Your muscles have been atrophying for a while. And like the Commander said, it’s very dangerous out there.”

“I’m feeling great.” A half lie. “Never better. My body is like a car, built to be in motion. I need to see what’s out there.”

“We don’t need you getting all of us killed just because you want to see the sights.” This from Bo. The Commander shot him a look.

I ignored him. The Commander and Faith were calling the shots, so I only needed to convince them.

I turned to the Commander. “I won’t endanger anyone. I’ll follow your lead and listen to everything you say. I won’t be a problem. I can help.” Then to Faith: “I swear I’m feeling fine. You are one incredible doctor. I feel strong, and my body is already back to a 100 percent. Like I was never in a coma.”

The Commander looked me up and down, evaluating. I took another bite of the apple and tried to look confident.

“Your call, Doc,” the Commander said.

We all looked at her. “I’ll give him a physical capacity test, and if he passes then he can go.”

“OK,” the leader of the group said. “If you pass with the doc- tor, meet us on the loading dock at ten till noon. Wear black.”

I hoped one of these guys was my size because I had no clothes.

The three men stood to go.

“Shouldn’t we wait until it’s dark out?” I asked.

“See?” Bo said.

“No,” the Commander said. “They see well in the dark.

No reason to give them any more advantage. See you at 11:50. Don’t be late.”

They left.

Faith finished my examination at a quarter till noon, after scrib- bling endless notes on her clipboard. I wondered why she didn’t use a computer to keep track of everything.

“So, Doc, how does everything look?”

“Good. Remarkably good. From the results, it’s hard to believe you were in a coma less than twenty-four hours ago. Your GCS rating was three for multiple years; that’s the worst score you can get. After four months at that level, the rate for even partial recov- ery is below 15 percent. But you showed very little dysarthria and have less muscle atrophy than you should after a three-year coma. Totally remarkable. Your body has recovered very quickly.”

“I told you, I’m resilient.” I gave her my best smile. Her knees didn’t seem to go weak.

“Apparently so. It’s a good sign.”

“Of what?”

“I’m not sure yet,” she said.

“Are you going to show me the way to the loading dock?” “It’ll be better if you go down alone. I’ll tell you how to get there. But be careful, Nick.”

“You worried about me, Doc?” I grinned, wanting to see her smile again.

The corners of her mouth twitched up. “Yes, I worry about all my patients.”

“Speaking of patients, where are all your other patients? There were ten beds in my room—all empty. This doesn’t seem like much of a hospital.”

She looked at her watch. “You better get down there. They won’t wait on you.”

After she gave me directions, I headed down to the loading dock on the service elevator. For curiosity’s sake, I punched a couple random buttons and peeked out on the floors. Nothing seemed unusual. Certainly nothing on the level of the thing in the basement. It struck me that hospitals were like little cities and had everything a group of people might need to survive a holocaust. Including medications and plenty of beds.

When I arrived at the loading dock, Bo observed me with the same disdain as he had at breakfast. “Passed your physical with Dr. Richards, Kemosabe?”

I smiled more than was appropriate. “Flying colors. Best shape of any man she’s seen in a while.”

“Cut it out,” the Commander said. “Here, wipe yourself down with this.” He tossed me a bottle of motor oil and a rag.

I gave him a questioning look but obeyed.

“It helps mask our scent,” Van said.

“How well does it work?”

“Well enough, unless the Nak is within a foot or two.”

“If one gets that close, it’ll be too late for you anyway,” Bo said.

“Nak?” I asked.

“The Anakim. The infected. We call ’em Naks,” Van said.

I poured more oil on the rag and wiped my arms. “Why motor oil?”

“You’re as dumb as a Nak, aren’t you, Kemosabe? They don’t attack machines. Motor oil makes you smell like a machine. Try to keep up, huh? And don’t get us killed.”

I bit my tongue. Every group had one just like Bo.

The four of us piled into a blacked-out SUV. Van driving. Me and Bo in the back. Right at noon the Commander keyed a walkie. “We’re ready down here.”

“Roger,” the voice crackled. “Start the countdown now.”

The Commander punched his watch and waited. A scream rang out from somewhere outside the building. None of the men moved. It turned into a painful wail. We still didn’t move.

It was a female voice. I wanted to hop out and help, but there was nothing I could do. It was painful to listen to. I waited while her scream echoed in my head.

The delivery door slowly rolled open. The Commander clicked his watch again and said, “Go.”

We pulled through a maintenance exit in the outer fence and peeled out the opposite way the scream was coming from. The automatic gate closed behind us.

I couldn’t take it any longer. “Aren’t we going to help her?”

“Who?” the Commander asked.

“The woman screaming.”

Bo laughed.

“There is no woman,” Van said. “It’s a speaker hidden in the woods. We use it to draw the Naks away from the gate so we can leave unmolested.”

“Oh.” I felt stupid. Time to stop talking and start watching and learning.

“Some Neph is gonna get you quick,” Bo said.

I didn’t ask what a Neph was.

We drove north for a while, and the world outside the window looked about the same as I remembered it, with one exception. It was quiet. Too quiet. There were no people anywhere. We stayed on a two-lane highway for about fifteen uneventful minutes.

We pulled off the highway into an industrial park and did a slow drive around several buildings. Not a soul to be seen. We stopped next to the loading door of a large warehouse, our truck tucked between two semis. Bo jumped out and punched a code into the keypad beside the loading bay. The door rolled open just enough for Van to pull inside. I exited the truck only after the Commander nodded his OK.

The warehouse was stacked floor to ceiling as far as I could see with pallet after pallet of canned food. It must have been a busy distribution hub at one point. Now there wasn’t a worker to be seen.

The Commander surveyed the area. “Find Hector,” he said. “Reece, you’re with me.”

Van and Bo nodded and headed off in separate directions. “You know how to drive a forklift?” the Commander asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then I’ll drive, you load.” We found a forklift and he loaded a pallet into the back of the SUV. The Commander had me remove a box to make room. Once we were finished, he led me to a smaller room, maybe an office, where we gathered a few other items—batteries, a box of fruit, a bag marked “clothes,” and a crate of paper. We loaded these into the truck and waited. Bo and Van still weren’t back. The Commander looked at his watch. Breathed deeply through his nose. We waited.

A voice spoke from behind us. I jumped; the Commander didn’t. “Careful,” the voice said.

I turned. It was a lean Hispanic man dressed like a black ops commando. He and the Commander shook hands heartily. “I was wondering when you guys were coming back. We’ve had some unwelcome visitors lately,” he said.

“Trouble?” the Commander asked.

“Two. Just looking around, but they may be getting suspicious. Not sure how much longer we’ll have this place.”

“You be careful.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.” He smiled. “They’ll never see me.”

“I know.” The Commander nodded. “This is Reece.” He motioned toward me. “A coma patient.”

Black Ops raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Van and Bo walked up. “Hector!” Van said and hugged him. Bo nodded his greeting. Van continued. “I don’t know why the Commander always sends us out to find you since you move like a ghost in here.”

“I have a feeling he doesn’t expect you to find me,” Hector said, “but sends you out for me to find you.” He grinned and Van laughed.

“We brought you a box,” the Commander said.

“I see.” Hector opened it. It was full of medical supplies. He pulled out a syringe. “Thanks.”

“If this place gets compromised, you set the signal and get out of here.”

“I will. The trucks are wired to burn. But I hate to lose all this if we don’t have to.”

“I know. Me too,” the Commander said. “You come back in anytime you want.”

“Thanks, but you know I don’t like being cooped up. I’m better out here.”

The Commander nodded. “Let’s load up.”

I turned toward the truck. Hector was beside me. He did move like a ghost. “You can trust the Commander,” he whispered. “But be careful back there at the hospital. Don’t believe everything they tell you.”

The men were loading up. When I turned to ask Hector what he meant, he was gone.

We left the warehouse a different way than we had arrived. Van kept the SUV on side streets and back roads. Several times we saw groups of people standing on the road. They turned their heads as one at the sound of our truck but we gave them a wide berth and never came within a hundred yards of them. They left us alone.

“We spent too long in there.” The Commander glanced at his watch. “Everyone keep your eyes open. This could get rough.”

We kept driving. Everyone on edge.

Several minutes later we were passing through a neighborhood when Bo called out, “Nephs! Nine o’clock!”

The fear in the SUV was palpable. Van spun the wheel around a corner. He punched the gas and took another corner much too fast. We hit a curb and took out a mailbox. Van didn’t flinch. We took one more corner and pulled into an empty driveway.

“Everybody out!” the Commander barked. He had his door open before the truck stopped. I ripped my door open and followed. We sprinted across the street and the three of them split up. I followed the Commander. He tried the first door we came to. Locked. The next one. Also locked.

“Here!” Bo hissed.

We vaulted a fence and all piled in the open door together. Bo closed the door behind us just as the sound of two motorcycles split the silence. Bo left the door unlocked.

I followed the men up the stairs. The house was deserted. We made our way to a front room and cautiously peeked out a window. Two men without helmets dismounted their bikes and surveyed the street. No one moved.

They left their bikes parked in the middle of the street and moved to opposite sides of the road. I lost sight of the one on our side of the street. He was somewhere below us. I waited for the sound of the front door opening.

The one on the far side of the street tried a doorknob. It was unlocked. He paused as if considering. He closed the door and moved on to the next house. That door was locked. He kicked it open with very little effort and disappeared inside. We waited in silence. I could hear the Commander’s even breathing beside me.

I still couldn’t see the man who was searching our side of the street. A bead of sweat ran down my cheek and dripped off my chin. It took a drop of motor oil with it. We waited.

The other man reappeared and continued down the street. He stopped beside our SUV. He walked around it with his nose forward, not unlike a dog searching for a scent. He removed a black glove and placed his hand on the hood. We waited.

I was so involved watching that I almost didn’t hear the noise. It took a second to register. It was the sound of our front door opening.

No one breathed. Seconds ticked by. No other noise. No foot- steps on the stairs. We waited. My heart pounded in my ears.

Finally, the front door closed. The man appeared on the lawn below us. He continued down the street. The man across the street moved on to the next house as well. We waited as they finished checking each house then got on their bikes and pulled away. The Commander cracked the window open and listened.

“They’ve stopped on the next street over,” he whispered.

We continued waiting. My legs started to cramp, but I still didn’t dare move.

“Good call on leaving the door unlocked,” Van whispered to Bo.

“They think they’re so smart.” Bo grinned. His eyes looked crazy underneath the motor oil.

The Commander nodded his approval. “They’re looking for us street by street. We’ll have to wait them out.” He let us get comfortable and told us we’d be taking shifts by the window. He went first. I would go last. I figured he didn’t think we would have to wait that long, but wanted to involve me. I appreciated the gesture. Van found some canned beets in the kitchen, and we all shared it. It tasted awful.

I couldn’t relax, but Bo had no problem. After he finished his shift, he sprawled out on the floor and went to sleep. Midway through Van’s shift, there was a noise outside and Van furtively motioned the Commander over. We all gathered at the window.

An armored truck rolled to a stop in the middle of the street and two men hopped out. Not the bikers. They opened the rear doors and two Naks stumbled out. I saw at least eight more inside. The two men slammed the doors closed and got back in the cab. The sound of grinding gears and the truck pulled away.

The Commander motioned me to be silent. I didn’t need the reminder. I could still see Steven coming alive at the sound of Faith’s voice. No one spoke.

Bo mouthed the words, “What now?” and the Commander motioned us to wait. None of us left the window. The Naks wandered around the street and yards for a while. They looked bored. Like the one in the basement at the hospital had before Faith woke him. One smelled our SUV but didn’t pause. They were ambivalent to everything. For the most part, they even ignored each other. We continued to do what we had done for most of the day: we waited.

At one point the Naks heard a noise. They both turned their heads to listen, and we all froze. But soon they went back to wandering the neighborhood aimlessly. Sometimes one or both disappeared from our sight for a while. But they always came back. The day started to turn to evening, and I could tell the three men were getting antsy about the approaching darkness. Our nerves were frayed from the silent tension. The air turned chilly as we waited.

After a while we couldn’t see any Naks. They didn’t reappear. The Commander quietly slid the window closed and turned toward us.

“We have to make a move.” He whispered so quietly we all had to lean forward to hear.

“What’s the play?” Van whispered at the same level.

“One of us will go down first—to be our spotter and see if they’re still out there.”

No one spoke. We all knew if they were still there, it was a suicide mission. And they probably were.

“I’ll go,” I said. Not because I was brave, but because I needed to volunteer.

The Commander shook his head. “Not you, Reece.”

“I’ll go,” Van said.

“No, you’re our driver. You know the streets. We need you more than me,” Bo hissed. “I’ll do it.”

“Anybody can drive,” Van hissed back. “Besides, they’ll have a harder time spotting me.” He flashed his white teeth in a smile. “Your call, Commander,” Bo whispered.

“You’re up, Bo,” he said.

Bo winked at Van. “Better luck next time.” And he was gone.

We returned to the window and watched in silence as Bo exited the front door and closed it behind him without a sound. He crept across the street, moving painfully slow. He stayed so low to the ground, I almost couldn’t see him in the dusk. No sign of the Naks. He made it to the truck and ducked behind it. He surveyed the street and then gave us a thumbs up.

We moved down the stairs in single file. The Commander first, then me, then Van. That’s when I finally realized none of the men were carrying guns. We paused at the front door and waited for Bo to wave us forward. He did. The three of us sprinted forward as one. We were almost to the truck when I knew something was wrong. I heard it before I saw it. Something was behind us.

I saw Bo jump in the driver’s door and heard the engine fire. The truck backed toward us. I took one look over my shoulder. I wished I hadn’t. One of the Naks was less than twenty feet away. His orange eyes glowed. I had never seen anything move that fast before.

The truck door flew open from the inside. I dove for the opening. The SUV moved forward before my body was fully inside. I smelled rubber burning. Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me all the way in. I grabbed for the open door as the truck lurched forward over a curb. The door slammed shut as the Nak slammed into the outside of it. The door caved inward but held. He grabbed for the handle but we shot forward, and he missed. Broken glass covered me.

The other Nak appeared in the middle of the street in front of us. Bo jammed the accelerator down. The truck screamed forward. The Nak ran toward us. A game of chicken. I looked back and saw the first one chasing us. He was only a couple steps behind. Three other Naks materialized from a side street to join him at a full sprint.

Bo let out a battle cry, and I looked forward. The Nak was three steps away.

Two.

One.

He slammed into the front of our SUV. I saw him fly up and crash into the top of the windshield. He thumped over the roof. It sounded like he was trying to find a handhold. He didn’t. I realized why they had taken the roof racks off the top of the truck. Smart. The Nak flew off and crashed into the one behind us. They both tumbled on the asphalt. Blood spewed everywhere. But they didn’t stay down for long. Both jumped up and ran after the escaping truck. Now there were six of them.

They kept pace for a while, but when we hit the open road, they couldn’t keep up with the SUV. Wind whistled through the broken windshield as we powered back to the hospital. We didn’t see anyone else until we neared the maintenance entrance. The Commander keyed his radio and asked for the decoy.

A woman’s scream broke the night, and the Naks who were gathered around the fence took off for the woods. The gate opened, and Bo didn’t slow down. He finally slammed on the brakes inside the hospital garage, the door closed, and we all piled out.

“See? I told you anyone could drive,” Van said.

Bo took in a huge lungful of air and yelled his pent-up emotions at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed off the walls. Van did what looked like a touchdown dance and even the Commander had to laugh. All I could do was smile. I was worn out. Several people came down to see if we were OK and help unload. Even Faith. The truck was trashed and covered in blood. They asked endless questions, but we were all too excited and exhausted to answer them. The doc swabbed some blood from the SUV and dropped it into a plastic bag.

As I was unloading our cargo, she appeared next to me. “I’m glad you made it back. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

“Maybe tomorrow, Doc. I’m exhausted.” I couldn’t stop grinning. I was still alive.

She nodded and made her way upstairs, presumably to test her find.

After we unloaded, I headed for the roof. The stars were out in bunches. The air was still cool but not cold. I smelled trees. Pine and oak. And maybe even a hint of ocean air. I guess I was even more exhausted than I thought because the next thing I knew it was morning.

I was still alive.

I woke up at 10:37 a.m. on the third day of my life.