"Let's go," Alec growls, tugging on my arm again.

People pound up the stairs and race down the hallways on either end of the cafeteria. Some are still inside the cafeteria, including Marcus, who breaks through the crowd near the kitchen hallway and takes in the scene. I'm relieved when, upon seeing the cause of the violence, he backs away slowly.

"Come on!" Alec says.

I let him drag me toward the gym, but I don't see the point. Where would we go? We're trapped in this place with a killer. Even if we hide in the remotest of corners, it's a matter of time before he comes for us. A matter of time before he kills everyone.

The only way to survive is to stop him.

Through the shouts around me, I hear a scream and then a clatter. I look back to see a boy lying next to a chair that's been ripped out of the floor. Several feet away from him is the first victim, her throat slashed.

The killer turns to his next victim, and my blood goes cold. "Alec." I stop running and try to pull my arm free. "Alec, stop."

"No! No, we're not stopping. We can't be anywhere near that thing."

"It's Camille!" I scream.

The boy has her by the throat, holding her off the ground. His blank eyes watch her. Her legs pinwheel in the air as she struggles to free herself, but he doesn't budge. He pulls back his arm, his fingers curled around the metal pipe.

Swearing, Alec races past me and shoves through the crowd. He stumbles to a stop when the boy drives his weapon into Camille's gut, stabbing through skin and flesh. Vivid red blood splashes on the concrete floor as the pipe comes out.

"Oh, God," I exhale, knees buckled.

She falls to the ground. Her hands go to her stomach, but she can't stop the blood pumping out of her. She's wheezing for breath, choking on her pain and her fear, and through the insanity all around me, I hear the sound. In my ears, in my heart, everywhere.

Alec charges the boy and uses momentum to deliver a kick to his chest, knocking him to the floor. He rushes over to Camille's side and grabs her under the arms, pulling her down an aisle between the tables and away from the center of the cafeteria.

It's not enough. The boy is already on his feet and stalking toward them with calculated steps. The fuzzy-white emptiness in his gaze gets to me. Run away, the terrified part of me screams at me. Being in the same room with this teenage boy is suicide. It goes against every self-preserving instinct I have. But I can't run and hide while he continues to kill people. There has to be a limit to my cowardice.

I race over to Alec. "Let me help!" I say, grabbing one of Camille's arms. Together, we pull her farther away, leaving a trail of wet blood along the stone. It's a futile move; if no one else intervenes, no amount of space will save us.

Marcus rushes forward. My stomach dives when the boy spins around, but he ducks low and tackles him around the waist. They both fall to the ground. Marcus scrambles on top of him and hits him in the face, one hard punch after the other.

There's no superhuman strength behind the blows. The boy grabs ahold of Marcus's arm and twists it, throwing him to the floor. He rolls to his feet and circles Marcus's prone body with his unnatural measured movements.

Buzzcut materializes between them. He crouches defensively and holds out his hands like he's pushing an invisible wall. The boy takes a swipe at him with his pipe—but the attack doesn't reach him. It glances off what might actually be an invisible wall.

The boy swings out again. And again. Each time the pipe makes a harsh sound like it's slamming into a concrete wall. On the fourth strike, the barrier between them fails, and the boy catches Buzzcut across the temple.

"Adam!" Marcus calls as his friend falls to the floor.

He brandishes a butter knife and slashes it at the attacker. The move is desperate, and my chest seizes with fear. The boy sidesteps so fast I almost miss his movement. Another slash of Marcus's weapon. This one cuts deep through the kid's stomach, and blood gushes from his flesh, splashing onto the floor.

Without missing a beat, he swings his pipe into Marcus's ribs. Marcus doubles over, groaning as he drops to his knees. The injury has taken a toll on the kid: he hobbles toward Marcus, his body teetering to one side before he rights himself.

His eyes are focused on Marcus despite their blankness. I search for someone to help Marcus, but no one steps up. His buddies, the same group of people I've seen strutting around with confidence and entitlement—not one of them is brave enough to act now.

My hand goes to my pocket, feeling the slim case inside it. I squeeze my fingers around it, and the sharp corner digs into my clammy palm. It's not big or heavy enough to do damage, but it's the only chance Marcus has right now.

I heave it at the boy. It smacks him in the back of the head, and he immediately wheels around to face me. Marcus has fallen off his radar. Unfortunately, I'm dead-center in it. I freeze when he closes the gap between us with two quick strides. His white-eyed gaze paralyzes me; I couldn't run away at this point even if I wanted to.

He lifts his pipe and pulls his arm back. The emotions inside me have built to a fever pitch. My muscles tense in anticipation of broken bones and searing pain, but it never comes. His arm stops midair. It feels like five quick heartbeats pass.

He's not attacking me. Why isn't he attacking me?

Then he stiffens. He gives a strangled moan and drops dead at my feet.

Marcus's knife is protruding from the side of his neck. Marcus stands over his body, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth as he stares down at the killer. Only, he doesn't look like a killer anymore. All I see is a kid. A dead kid.

Buzzcut moans as he comes awake. Marcus gives me a look I can't read and goes over to his buddy. Across the cafeteria, Alec is kneeling beside Camille's body. I pick up my silver case and approach them with shaky steps. She's not moving—that scares me for a quick moment—but her eyes are wide and full of life when I stop next to them.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" she chokes out, one hand clutching her bloody stomach and the other wrapped around Alec's arm.

Alec brushes a lock of golden hair from her forehead. His smile is steady. "No, you're not. You're not going to die."

"Why don't I feel pain? I should be hurting, but I'm just . . . I'm numb. I'm so numb and tired . . ." Her drooping eyes open wide, and she grabs his forearm. "Don't let me fall asleep, Alec. I can't fight it anymore. I can't—"

"Shh." He bends over and gathers her against his chest, resting his chin on top of her head. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. You just need to rest a bit. That's all."

Tears slip down her face. Not tears of pain, but of defeat and inevitability.

"I'll go find a first aid kit," I say.

Alec grabs my arm to stop me. He lifts his head just slightly and shakes it, his eyes burdened with sorrow. It's too late to help her. I knew this even before I saw his look. Bandages won't repair the damage she's sustained or give her back the blood she's lost.

My chest aches while he continues to hold her. Every passing moment brings her closer to death, and there isn't a thing we can do to change her fate. I'm not surprised when he finally raises his head and his arms go slack. I see his throat convulse as he swallows several times, but he doesn't let himself break down.

Camille's eyes are closed and her face is relaxed in death. If not for her pale skin and the blood soaking through her t-shirt, I'd think she were sleeping. But I know she's not. We've lost her, and even though she wasn't my friend or anything close to that, I feel terrible inside.

More people file back into the cafeteria and the noise picks up again. Four dead, including the boy who blanked—I don't know where the word comes from, but it feels appropriate to describe that white stuff clouding his eyes.

Willow and Carson have appeared behind us. He has one hand pressed to his mouth. She's staring at the killer's corpse with a grim look that underlines what's at stake. Between Harper and now this boy, what the Takers are doing to us is dangerous. This won't be an isolated incident. And if more of us blank, the rest won't live to see the outside world.

"Take their bodies to the white room," Marcus orders a couple of guys closest to him. He jabs a finger at the Blank. "Get him out of here first."

I watch them grab him by his ankles and under his arms. Blood stains the floor where his head lay and continues to drip from his neck wound. I frown and squint to get a closer look. The blood isn't just coming from the wound. It's coming from somewhere higher.

It's seeping from his ears.

My stomach twists so painfully I almost double over.

Carson.