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this? Who’s going to tell Patrick?”
    “I will,” Justin replied, staring at the roving beam of Patrick’s flashlight in the distance. “We’ll leave in the morning and let Patrick have the mansion, including most of the food boxes. The clinic is secluded and free of Runners, so he should be all right for a while.”
    “And later? When the food runs out?”
    Justin shook his head. “That’s up to him. If he wants to live, he’ll have to go out and start fending for himself.” When Amy didn’t reply, he tugged at the edge of her shirt. “C’mon. We should have an early night, too.”
    He was right. There was no point standing by the window, hoping for a better solution; Patrick’s fate was sealed now, and there was nothing more she could do about that. With a weary sigh, she lay down beside Justin and pulled a blanket over her body, pillowing her head on a folded arm. It seemed like hours passed before sleep finally came.
    ***
    Amy bolted up, hugging herself as she sat on the ground, shivering. She’d had a nightmare about Ms. Wentworth, and the echoes of her anguished screams still rang in her ears. Spooked, Amy pulled the blanket over her hunched shoulders and glanced at the rest of her friends sleeping soundly before her. Even Walter remained asleep, comfortably burrowed inside a blanket nest he’d made for himself.
    She continued to sit there, staring at the window. It was dark outside; the moon was partially hidden behind cirrus clouds. Unwilling to go back to sleep, she rose to her feet and padded toward the foyer, quietly opening the door. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders as the cool night air hit her on the way out. Slowly, she made her way to The Peak, hoping the walk would clear the graphic images still lingering in her mind. The dream had rattled her far more than she’d realized.
    As Amy stood on top of the hill, she briefly wondered if she should go and check up on Patrick, maybe even give him a spare blanket. The night air was chilly enough to keep a person wide awake. Glad that there was something to do, she hurried back down the hill and entered the foyer, feeling her way around. Patrick’s blanket would be on the floor somewhere. Amy fumbled around for a bit, searching here and there, when it dawned on her that Walter had already claimed it as his own, and was comfortably ensconced in it. She paused, cursing under her breath. The spoiled mutt would surely fight to keep it, and she wasn’t in the mood for an unfriendly tug-of-war. There was no help for it, then – she’d have to rummage through the boxes and pull out a new one.
    She reached over for the nearest candle and lit it. Tilting it at an angle to avoid the wax from sliding onto her fingers, she carried the waxy stub toward the window and peered through the glass, wondering if Patrick was still messing around with his flashlight. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was deliberately draining the batteries out of spite.
    The darkness was so thick that Amy couldn’t even see the faint outlines of the trees. Odd, considering the moon was no longer obscured by passing clouds. With a frown, she pressed her face against the glass, squinting to see better.
    It took her about a whole minute to realize that something was blocking her view. A great shudder ran down her body, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. With a trembling hand, she raised the small candle closer to her face, even though some deep, primordial sense warned her not to.
    A pair of wide, bloodshot eyes stared back at her just inches away, separated only by a thin pane of glass. Amy opened her mouth to scream, but it became stuck in her throat. Instead, a strange, hitching noise ( huh, huh, huh ) erupted from her chest as she quickly stepped backward. In her haste to get away, she tripped over someone’s leg and landed painfully on her backside, causing the candle stub to roll across the hard floor. The small flame nearly singed Walter’s exposed tail.