I sit next to Camille on the black leather sofa, my eyes glued to the TV. It's on the news station again. Since that first day, all the new station channels have been black screens. Now one of the popular cable news networks is back on, and a brunette is talking from behind a desk. Below her image is the headline: Unexplained Teen Deaths and Disappearances.

"What's going on?" Carson asks, walking up behind us.

"Shut up and turn up the volume," Marcus says.

". . . all seven teenagers were discovered in their beds between Monday and Wednesday morning last week. Officials say the similarities between the cases are too significant to ignore. They're also trying to determine if these deaths are connected to the disappearances of at least fifty teenagers across several states along the East Coast."

The camera switches to a reporter standing on a street corner. "This widespread case has shocked many people nationwide, including the Bridgeport Police Department here in Connecticut. Emily Hawkins was found dead early Wednesday morning by her own mother. As of this moment, our sources believe asphyxiation to be the cause of death. Emily leaves behind a mother and two younger siblings, all of whom are understandably distraught."

"I don't understand why anyone would do such a thing," says the mother in another shot. Unkempt hair hangs around a face twisted with grief. "Emily was such a sweet girl. She loved everyone. Why would anyone want to hurt her?"

They show three more families as a voice names other dead kids. Eric Toschi. Amanda Rodriguez. Randy Horace. All of them beloved and wholly good.

The female newscaster eventually returns. "Thank you, Ray. Steven. It is a heart-wrenching story, but there might be hope yet for those teenagers believed to be alive—"

The screen goes black. It happens so suddenly that my heart lurches. I get up from the sofa, expecting something to happen.

Nothing but dead silence.

"Who are these dead kids they're talking about?" Marcus asks.

I can't speak through the rock lodged in my throat. "There were supposed to be ninety-six of us," Carson says, his voice strained. "Because of the seven empty beds. We talked about why they didn't show up, but I guess . . ."

"They killed them." Camille draws her legs up on the sofa and wraps her arms around her knees. "Our kidnappers killed them."

Carson bolts past me and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Seconds later we hear him retching. The others start to talk at once, trying to make sense of what they just saw. I can't hear them. I stare at the dark screen and think of Rae and how she and her friends thought they would be safe if they just gave up.

If the Takers were willing to kill a bunch of kids in their beds, kids who'd done nothing wrong, would they spare a group of quitters?

"Please tell me that girl changed her mind," Carson says to me when he comes out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth.

I shake my head. "She didn't."

Marcus stops arguing with Alec and levels a glare at Carson and me. "What girl?"

I tell him everything, my voice faltering when I remember Rae's anguish. Her uncertain hope. Why didn't I stop her? I knew something was wrong. I knew it, but I didn't try hard enough. I was too caught up in thinking about Marcus and Rudolph.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marcus asks.

"I didn't think it would matter to you," I admit. "Why would you care if they got themselves killed? Survival of the fittest, right?"

He gives me a look that conveys how pissed off he is. "We had a deal. What did you think would happen when you asked me to take care of Rudolph for you? You'd get me to handle your dirty work and do whatever you wanted without talking to me first?"

Alec steps in between us and lifts his hands like he's trying to stop us from throwing punches. "Hold up, guys. We should be angry at them, not at each other. Marcus, why don't you explain to April why you're really upset?"

"Go to hell."

The cold fear in my chest heats to anger. "He's upset because I'm not constantly asking him for permission to eat or breathe or do anything else I should be able to on my own."

"Yeah, you did a great job saving those kids on your own."

"Can y'all please tell me why they cut off the news feed?" Carson cuts in.

"Isn't it obvious?" Camille scoffs, still huddled up on the sofa. Her arms are trembling, but there's anger on her face. A juxtaposition of bravery and abject terror. "They want to screw with us. Make us wonder what the outside world thinks happened to us."

"Well, now we know for sure they're not running some kind of joke here," Alec says, sinking onto the cushion beside her.

I squeeze my hands into my pockets. Camille isn't the only one quaking, but I don't want to show my fear. I want to be able to freak out in the privacy of my bedroom.

"I'm going to bed."

I make it halfway down the hallway when I hear footsteps behind me. I keep going. It's probably Marcus again and I'll be forced to explain myself to him when the last thing I want to do right now is to bicker. I glance back, relieved to see Alec instead.

"Don't let Marcus get to you," he says, lingering at my doorway. "You did the right thing trying to convince those kids to stay. It's not your fault they didn't listen."

I release my hair from its ponytail to ease the tension around my skull. He's right and he's wrong, and I don't know how to explain it. "I just hope they're still alive. I know it sounds stupid, but I want to believe they're okay and on their way home by now."

Alec sits on Camille's bed. "It's not stupid. We all want to believe things will work out even when it seems unlikely. Otherwise we'll kill ourselves worrying before they get to us."

Gratitude flows through me, washing away the sludge of despair sitting in my chest. I find myself smiling at Alec. "For such a light-hearted guy, you sure can be profound."

He laughs and then studies me intently. "What you did earlier—when you kissed Marcus—I wish you hadn't."

"That makes two of us."

"I'm sorry I didn't try to help you. I should have—"

"I understand," I cut in. "You don't owe me anything, Alec. You're looking out for yourself, and coming to my rescue isn't going to help your situation."

He makes a face. "When you put it like that, I sound like an asshole."

"I don't think you're an asshole." But I don't know if he's reliable. Not because he's a bad guy or anything remotely close to that, but because he's caught between wanting to do the right thing and what's best for him. Just like me.

"It's easy to go along with what everyone else is doing," Alec says. "Something I've always been good at. That's why I admire you. You don't do something because it's the easy way out but because it's right."

I laugh. "Teaming up with Marcus definitely qualifies as taking the easy way out."

"No, that has to be the bravest thing I've ever seen. Not many people would have the guts to approach him like that." The dimple in his cheek deepens when he grins. "I think my safest bet here is to stick by your side."

I look away, uneasy. This again. He sounds like he's flirting, and it ruins the simplicity of this moment. It complicates things in ways I can't understand or deal with. Especially now. "You're better off with Camille. You two were practically joined at the hip all day."

He chuckles. "Coming from any other girl, I'd take it as jealousy, but it sounds too much like you're trying to get rid of me."

"Alec . . ."

"I'm going, I'm going." He stops at the doorway and turns back with a serious face. "Be careful around Marcus. He might seem like he's all talk, but I have a feeling he's capable of doing a lot worse than you think."

With that, he leaves. I crawl into bed and lie on my side, listening to the noises coming from the lounge room. When Camille turns in and flips off the light, I'm still awake. I last late into the night, unable to turn off the projector in my head, flashing snapshots of scenes I've already dissected a thousand times.



Marcus marches out of the door when it slides open the following morning and goes straight to the gym with a couple of his new buddies. I'm glad to see him off; not having to face him gives me an excuse to stay with the two people I feel remotely comfortable with.

By ten o'clock, news about Rae and the others has morphed into tales of men dressed in camouflage and carrying machetes they used to butcher the teenagers while we were hiding out in our blocks. The tension, which died down after yesterday's basketball game, feels like it's been amped up ten times, and the air is almost electric with it.

The clock on the TVs continues to tick down to zero. By the time there's one hour left, the usual bustle has quieted to a hush of anticipation. Carson and I grab breakfast early while Willow chats with a block mate and another girl. She breaks away from the pair, smiling, and darts toward the kitchen. I caught a look at her face when she said hi earlier. The shadows under her eyes look like bruises now; I'd worry she's sick except she yawns a lot. I wonder if she's having a hard time sleeping at night, too.

"Do you know what's going on with Willow?" I ask Carson.

"No." He licks strawberry jelly from the corner of his mouth, holding his PB&J sandwich between both hands. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I say before taking a bite of my sandwich. I don't normally like peanut butter or jelly, but after half a week of tasteless rice and beans and undercooked spaghetti, the sweetness is incredible. I wouldn't mind a taste of the French toast being passed around over at Marcus's table, but I don't dare ask for some. Given a choice between good food and doing whatever I want without Marcus's input, I'll take freedom any day.

After breakfast, Carson breaks out a deck of cards he found in the lounge room and we while the time away playing Go Fish. I keep one eye trained on my cards and another on the countdown. Twenty-five minutes before the clock runs out, Willow returns from the food line. She doesn't notice that someone has stepped into her path until she collides with him.

It's Eli. She stops moving. Even across the cafeteria, I feel her dread. She grips her paper plate tighter, almost bending the edges. She starts to talk and freezes up when he leans down to invade the little space she has.

I can't see his face, but I can tell he's saying something to her. The other teenagers pass through the hallway and carve a path around their stationary bodies. No one else sees the strain on her face, the way she shrinks back when his hand settles on her shoulder. No one knows he's been stalking her, waiting for a chance to make his move. No one except me.

I'm halfway out of my seat when I catch a flash of white-and-gray speeding toward them. Alec slides between them and gives Eli a firm shove.

"Don't, Eli."

Surprised, I sit back down. Eli laughs. "What are you talking about, bro? I was just saying hi. I'm not bothering her. Right, Willow?"

Both guys turn to her. The plate is nearly bent in half in her hands, but she puts on a brave face and meets Alec's gaze. "He's right. There's no need for you to create a scene."

She sidesteps them and races over to us. As she slides into her seat and sets her plate down on the table, Alec walks away, shaking his head like he can't believe what just happened.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She picks up her sandwich and holds it like it's a weapon. "Yes."

"Will—"

"I have a theory," she cuts in, "about why those seven kids were killed before they made it here."

Carson and I trade a look. I feel like I should address what just happened, but I don't want to push this on her if she doesn't want to talk about it. I wouldn't want someone to badger me in her place. "What's your theory?" I ask.

Some of the tightness leaves her face. "We've established that we have two key characteristics in common. One is that we're all from the eastern states—same as the dead kids. The other is that we're unnaturally healthy. I think that's what different between us and the ones who were killed. They weren't super healthy like us."

"There are tons of people around the country who aren't," I say. I frown as a thought pops into my head. "Unless those seven were supposed to be like us, but they weren't. Something went wrong and the Takers killed them to tie up loose ends."

"Exactly."

I stare at the strawberry stain on Carson's side of the table, thinking of Sam, my suspicions about his involvement. If he's part of this, this goes back longer than any of us realize. "Maybe the Takers are the reason we're super healthy in the first place. If we've been like this our whole lives . . ."

Carson's dark eyes turn big and round, reflecting my shock.

"They must have done something to us when we were kids," Willow finishes.