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Just one wavering hand, moving toward his shoulder as though touching him would magically turn him back. No words, no words, because words could never turn him back. Never.
    She’d said enough of them, to know.
    When he turned, suddenly—it was fair to say. She almost stabbed anyway. It went beyond an instinct and into something raw and primal, as though some ancient God had the reins of her and jerked them whenever he felt like it.
    He jerked them even when Blake turned and was still himself. Completely himself. Nobody on earth could have mistaken those eyes—electric blue and glorious to behold. She almost fainted on seeing them and even when she didn’t, the rest of her attempted something like it. Her arm and legs turned to noodles. The noodles wanted to stagger toward him.
    Even when he said something nightmarish and awful like, “We made a mistake. They’re here.” All her mind wanted to do was translate his words into, it’s okay, I’m alive. Look at how alive I still am! I’m going to grab your hand so you can feel my total and utter humanity.
    Which he did, just before they ran. They had to, because he was right. She could see zombies sprinting over the field toward them like bloody streamers, hungry for their blood and their bodies and their sanity.
    But that was okay, because she still had all three and so did Blake. He was all right. As long as he was all right and as long as Jamie was too, so was she. She could fly on winged feet, as long as he had hold of her hand.
    And when he glanced at her, she knew he felt the same way. He held on so tight, so tight, and he didn’t even let go when they finally got back to the cabin. Not even to get them through the door without wedging. Not even when Jamie saw them both and glanced down at the two hands and she thought, wildly— it’s okay. I want to hold your hand, too .
    Which was even weirder than all of the winged feet thoughts. But then, that’s what fear did to a person. It made them crazy and it meant she didn’t want to let go, in spite of the need to close the door.
    Jamie did it, however. He didn’t even say anything—she could tell he just knew. He bolted it and dropped the shutters on the windows, and said something to Blake—something muddled. Something about the safe room she hadn’t known existed, but that was okay. She hadn’t known the shutters existed, either.
    Not to mention how easily she was being led. The urge to tell them that they couldn’t just hide—they had to fight and defend their home—welled up inside her, but something tamped it down just as quickly.
    Though she couldn’t say what was doing the tamping, exactly. Something…something…what was it?
    “You okay to go in the safe room, June?” Blake said, just as the shutters began rattling. They always banged, when they knew someone was caught inside. Always, always, just incessant banging and banging.
    “Yeah. That’s okay. Yeah—let’s go.”
    “And you’re not afraid to be in that small space with us, right?”
    That was Jamie. Though he didn’t exactly sound like himself.
    “No,” she said, and meant it. Why on earth would she be afraid when they were so kind and good and made her have wings in her feet?
    “This way, then,” he said, before leading her to some door under the stairs that she couldn’t remember being there.
    Though that was okay. It made sense. That was okay. And it was okay that the lighting in the little secret room was kind of pink, and that there was a big red love heart sofa in there, too, and the whole place was small—much smaller than giant pieces of furniture would seem to allow.
    “Are you…” she began, but Jamie just closed the door behind them. Shut them all in together in this warm room with the pink light and the big, big love heart.
    The banging outside stopped. She thought, idly, that the room must have been soundproofed, but then couldn’t figure out why. So that when you were locked inside, they couldn’t drive