Between Ian, myself, and Lindsay, we were able to lift Bryce into my dad's wheelbarrow.

Bryce looked hopelessly uncomfortable splayed out inside. His legs dangled over the edge and his neck was bent to one side like a dead pig. But there was no other way to move him.

"We have to leave, right now," Ian said. "Jason's squad could be here any minute. Shawn's probably already called them. None of us are safe here anymore."

We scrambled down to the river and started making our way along the bank toward the granary. Ian pushed the wheelbarrow as carefully as he could, but Bryce's head kept bouncing around inside. He was still conscious, but he'd lost so much blood he'd grown gruesomely pale. Lindsay had grabbed her son, and she struggled to carry the toddler as she hurried to keep up with us. She was covered in Bryce's blood. The kid wouldn't stop wailing.

I was terrified that the crying was going to give up where we were. If Jason's squad showed up right now, they'd hear the kid and come straight to us.

I grabbed him from Lindsay's arms. She must have been in a state of shock, because she just let me take him. I put my hand over his mouth, careful not to cover his nostrils. And I just kept running.

All I could think about was getting inside the granary where we couldn't be seen.

We left the bank and rounded the row of silos. But instead of an empty, weed-strewn grain yard like I'd expected to see, there was a whole group of people.

Maybe seven or eight of them. They looked like they were waiting for something.

We all stopped, breathless. I realized the kid had stopped crying and I let go of his mouth. Ian put the wheelbarrow handles down and tried to catch his breath while he took in the scene.

I recognized the Botteroffs, who lived on the other side of the Hershels. And my third grade teacher, Nancy Thomas, was sitting against the rusted tin wall. I didn't recognize anyone else; they all must have been from out of town.

What were they doing here, at the granary? I didn't understand.

"Is this the Underground?" one man asked Ian. He was dressed in a mechanic's jump suit, covered in grease.

"The what?" Ian lifted the wheelbarrow and started making his way warily through the small crowd toward the granary door.

"The Underground," an elderly woman said. "You do shelter positives, don't you? From the Home Guard?"

"Crap," Ian said under his breath. "Well . . . I guess we do now."

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