“There’s only one way to find out.” He straightened, drawing me to the west side of the building.

We came to a garage door secured by a big metal lock. A careful study proved no one on the street was looking our way. I dug through the purse draped over my torso, grabbing a small bolt cutter to snap the lock in two. The metal fell, clanking on the dirty concrete.

“Nice,” Cole said.

“B and E is just one of my many new skills. Thank Frosty.”

I exchanged the cutter for the axes and nodded to let Cole know I was ready. He gripped his minicrossbow in one hand and lifted the door with the other; cogs rolled and squeaked, announcing our presence. My heart pounded against my ribs in a fast, unsteady rhythm. But as light from the outside spilled into the building, illuminating a small, dusty entryway, no one demanded to know what we were doing. There was only an eerie, terrible silence.

I stepped deeper inside, the smell of old pennies making me cringe.

Blood.

“There’s no one here.” Cole reached out and flipped a switch on the wall. Light flooded the entire building, highlighting...nothing. There was no equipment. No car. No people. No...anything. Not even blood. The only thing out of place was the thick pile of sand on the floor.

It was disappointing. And creepy.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Frosty dropped in from a window, a dagger in hand, and Veronica came in behind him, clutching two short swords. Bronx and Jaclyn bolted through the front door. He had a police baton, and she had a SIG Sauer.

“No,” Jaclyn said, violently shaking her head. She spun, taking everything in. “This isn’t right. They couldn’t have cleared out so quickly. There were cars and shelves and boxes.”

“Maybe you misremembered the address,” Frosty suggested.

“No!” She stomped her foot, and the floor made a strange clank. “No.”

“You were out of it,” Veronica reminded her. “Maybe—”

“No, I—”

“Be quiet,” I demanded, marching forward. I stopped in front of Jaclyn and gently pushed her out of the way. Once, twice, I stomped my foot and heard the same clank, clank. Even felt a slight vibration.

It was a hatch. Had to be.

I dropped to my knees, frantically brushing the sand from the ground, searching for a handle.

“What’cha doing?” Frosty asked, crouching beside me—to watch.

“Cole,” I said. A little help, please.

“Uh, I happen to know you’re not doing him,” Frosty replied.

Cole settled beside me and dusted wide sweeps with the long length of his arms. “Go wider.”

I did. The others joined me. More and more sand flung out of the way...and then I saw it. A small, finger-sized hole. A mix of excitement, dread and hope filled me.

Everyone gathered around.

“Reason fifteen. Intrepid,” Cole said, and I grinned at him. “Open it and step back.”

Five different weapons were suddenly trained on me. Well, trained on the door. I just happened to be in the line of fire.

What were we going to find? For the second time this week, I felt like Alice in Wonderland, about to fall down a pit, a new adventure forced upon me. I gulped. My hand shook as I hooked a finger in the hole and tried to lift. Nearly pulled a muscle, but the door remained firmly in place.

“Slide it,” Bronx suggested, his tone strained, as if he was fighting a laugh.

I glared at him. Then I pushed, and sure enough, the lid slid out of the way. I performed a backward somersault, but nothing jumped out and tried to snag me.

“I see stairs,” Bronx said.

The scent of old pennies grew stronger. A lot stronger. And I heard several distinct sounds. The rattle of chains. The shuffle of feet. Moans of unending hunger.

I shared a wide-eyed look with Cole. Zombies.

He raised the crossbow, the faint scent of string wax blending with the rising stink of rot. Taking the lead, he eased down the stairs. I claimed the spot behind him, the others staying close to me. Small lamps hung from the wall, but they were few and far between; they weren’t very bright anyway, so our path never had anything more than a dim illumination.

Then Cole stopped abruptly. Tension radiated from him.

I peered around his shoulder and found—

Collins.

I cut off a sorrowful cry. No one needed to hear me lose control. Collins had always kept his hair shaved, and I could see a large gash on his crown. His back was propped against the wall, his eyes open but blank. Blood streaked his face and chest—a chest that wasn’t rising, wasn’t falling; it was still, so very still. Bones stuck out in his arms and legs, and I wondered if he’d been tossed down the hull alive and suffering, abandoned and forgotten.

I couldn’t stop my next cry in time.

A chorus of “What’s wrong?” erupted behind us.

I shouldered my way past Cole and crouched in front of Collins. I patted his face. He didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. Desperate, I slapped him.

“No,” someone croaked. “No!”

“Not Collins, too.”

“I can’t...can’t deal...”

“Tell me he’s all right!”

I pressed my forehead against Collins’s and blindly felt for a pulse in his neck. A minute passed as I waited, hoping, praying; it was the longest minute of my life. Of all our lives. But...no. I never felt a beat.

“He’s...he’s dead.” There. I’d said it. Made it real. Stinging tears brimmed in my eyes. “But maybe all he needs is a little fire to get him going.” We didn’t know everything the fire could do. “Let’s put our hands on him.”