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van. A guard stands beside it with a semi-automatic rifle in his massive arms. One of his nostrils is crusted and oozing yellow pus down his cheek. These people are sick. Are we breathing in their disease right now? I feel every breath expand in my chest as I taste the air.
    The van slides to a stop and the leader leans out. “New recruits,” he says, thumbing behind him.
    I can’t see his face, but I can hear the smile in his voice. My skin prickles. Ethan leans his shoulder into mine. I grab his bound hands.
    The guard leans in and looks at us. His face quirks up in a knowing smile. “Nice haul, Andrew. Haven’t had fresh blood in a while.” He pats the top of the van with a thunk, thunk to indicate we’re good to go.
    Fresh blood. I hope he's kidding.
    We trundle past the white van and pull up to one of the mall’s loading docks. The van backs up to an elevated opening covered by flaps of black plastic. Andrew jumps out of the driver's seat, comes around, and opens the van's back doors. He climbs inside, his sombrero brushing the ceiling. “Don’t go thinking you’re gonna run.” He nods toward the guard at the front. “That gun he’s got. Real bullets.”
    I snort. He draws his knife out and points it at me again. “You’re looking for trouble and you’re gonna find it. Mark my Gods’ loving words.”
    I narrow my eyes, but Clay's foot slides out and taps my knee. He wants me to shut up. I bite my tongue and taste the bitterness of self-control.
    The back door swings open and the heat from the blacktop rolls in. A smell too, something… dead. Andrew and Kemuel shove us forward toward the doors. Rayburn stumbles, banging into the door with a loud thunk , and falls out onto the pavement. Andrew laughs.
    I whirl around, anger pulsing at the back of my throat. “Hey!” I shout. “Leave him alone!”
    Andrew tromps through the interior of the van, shaking it. He holds the knife edge an inch from my face. “You want I should pick on you instead?”
    “Go right ahead.” My heart pumps with anger, pushing the fear down. Mama shoots me a terrified look, but I don't care if he hits me. Anything to keep the fear at bay.
    “Andrew,” Stephen calls nasally through his broken nose. “No time to dally.”
    Andrew frowns, puts the knife in his belt, and shoves me forward. When I jump out of the van, I help Rayburn collect his glasses. “Keep your head down,” I whisper. “He already doesn't like me. He doesn't have to hate you, too.”
    Rayburn nods, tears in his eyes. He slips on the scratched glasses, making his wet eyes shine. The rest of my family piles out of the van.
    We walk toward the mall. Around the loading dock symbols are painted on the walls in a rusty brown. I recognize a few crosses, a Star of David, and then some other religious symbols I can't recognize. The symbols closest to the door aren't brown. They're blood red. As we walk toward the stairs leading up, I see a pile of what looks like charred sticks. That's when the smell hits me—that burnt animal smell. Not sticks, bones. A white rib bone curves from a four-foot-high pile. I lurch back and press my bound hands to my nose. My heart slams into my chest. Ethan looks into my face for reassurance, so I bite down on my tongue and give him a nod.
    Bloodied symbols and animal sacrifices. Dear God.
    The four men push us up a chipped concrete staircase and through the long black flaps hanging over the entrance. Through the loading dock is a big warehouse, scattered with metal shelves holding old tools, grinders, pieces of machinery, car parts.
    “Move,” Stephen says behind me. Andrew pushes my skeletal mother forward and rage bubbles in my brain. Clay shoots me a look and I try to bottle my anger. For now.
    We wind through the warehouse and push through a set of double doors. A rancid stink smacks me in the face as grunts and squeals echo down the hallway. In another large room, a horde of pigs runs toward the metal sheeting fence and