"Panic is highly contagious, especially in situations when nothing is known and everything is in flux."
-Stephen King

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I glance at Oliver, who tries to smile at me reassuringly.

"Dinner's probably ready," he says, but he sounds uncertain. Rapid footsteps pound down the stairs leading into the basement, and Anne appears soon after. Oliver drops the black animal, who lands on her feet and scampers away. I want to do the same.

"They're here," Anne tells us, face panicked, voice grim.

Oliver and I share a quick glance before he jumps into action. I'm frozen in place as my frazzled brain runs through all the possible scenarios. Interrupting my inner sense of doom, Anne tosses me two beat-up backpacks from a nearby closet. Oliver is already racing upstairs as he shouts, "Get the gear, I'll get the rest!"

"Over here, sweetie," Anne urges as I slowly move to follow her, still processing the icy anxiety I feel. I hold the bag open as she throws wadded-up jackets, blankets, and miscellaneous clothing items in. Helping me zip it closed, she quickly shows me how to slide my arms through the straps and buckle it in the front. My heart is pounding, blood rushes in my ears. I can hardly breathe as she jerks the straps tight against my torso and shoulders.

"How did they know?" I hear myself ask. Anne just shakes her head, looking as helpless as I feel.

When I hear the Sentry Corps' thunderous footfalls, my heart leaps into my throat. I feel my knees go weak and I start to sink to the floor.

What have I done?

There is barely any time to feel guilty, though. Anne roughly squeezes my arm, half dragging me up the creaky stairs to find Oliver raiding the kitchen. We all ignore the thuds of the Sentries pounding on the front door.

Without even glancing at us, Oliver tosses me two water bottles, which I thankfully catch and fit into the pouches on the sides of my pack. I toss the second empty bag over to him and he rakes provisions into it. As he jerks the zipper shut, he looks over. But he's not looking at me.

His bag falls from his grasp as Anne steps forward, arms held out. Oliver sinks into her embrace, burying his head in her shoulder. I look away, feeling even more guilty as longing to see my own mother threatens to overcome me.

"Be safe, my boy," Anne whispers.

"I'll be back with Zeke," Oliver responds, just as softly. Anne holds him at an arm's length, her eyes swimming in tears.

"Of course you will. I love you."

"I love you too, Ma."

Then we hear the door bursts open from the front room. Anne gives Oliver a nod. Pain swims across his face as he turns his head away from the tall woman.

Suddenly, he shoves her, throwing her off balance. She cries out in pain as her head connects with the cracked linoleum, and she is still.

That's just another thing to add to our rapidly-growing list of crimes.

Oliver's eyes find mine, so deep and full of anguish, but determined, too. Retrieving his pack, he leaps over his mother's still form and grabs my hand, pulling me with him into the basement as the sharp crackling noise of a pacifer stick sounds behind us.

Tears streak down my cheeks as I run, but I don't bother brushing them away. Hopefully, when the Corp finds Anne, they'll leave her alone, assuming she tried to stop us. I'm glad Oliver pushed her away, even though it hurt him. By doing so, he made himself look like the bad guy, for the sake of his mother.

Protecting his family, even as his own life is in danger. I push away the fear in my mind for my own family as we leap over the stairs.

The footsteps drum on the floor upstairs, in hot pursuit of their prey: us. I hear a shout as they find Anne's unconscious body on the kitchen floor.

Oliver leads me, quietly, to a space in the back of his basement. High on the wall, a small window, maybe two feet high and twice as long, looks out onto the backyard at ground level. He picks up an old bat—probably belonging to one of his siblings—and swings it as hard as he can against the glass. On his third swing, the window shatters, leaving us with a way out but also revealing our location with the cacophony it makes. Muffled shouts call to the others from above and we hear the door to the basement come crashing down.

Oliver quickly laces his hands together. I put my foot in the little stirrup he made, and he boosts me up. I hook my elbows over the edge of the sill, gritting my teeth as shards of glass pierce my sides and stomach, then wriggle myself forward. It's a tight fit, and more broken glass rains down on me and Oliver as my backpack squeezes against the top sill.

As soon as I'm free I turn around to help Oliver up, but he's already out, swearing and brushing glass off his shirt. I sigh, relieved to be out, until I hear Sentries shouting from the room we had just escaped. Oliver and I run as fast as we can, not looking back. Never knowing if we'll be able to again.