“Leave her. She’s slowing us down, Lucan.”Sabine said it gently, the way she said everything she meant to hurt me with.I lay on the pharmacy floor with a steel shelf crushing my leg. Outside the shutters, the dead were pounding. Two weeks had passed since the first bodies got up in Harrowgate, and I knew their sounds by heart: dragging feet, wet breathing, hands that never tired. One bite and the fever started. Within the hour, the person you loved stopped being a person.I had watched the dead take my neighbors, my coworkers, a man I once shared an elevator with every morning. They didn’t scream or plead. They just kept coming, and the only things that ever stopped them were a destroyed brain or a long enough head start. I had been fast once. Then I started carrying other people’s bags.“Lucan, please. I got insulin. I got antibiotics. Lift the shelf.”My husband looked at the bag in my fist. Then he took it. Not my hand. The bag.“Thanks, Ione.”“Lucan!”“There’s no time.” He slun
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