Gretchen McNeil - 3:59

Josie shivered. The idea of standing on a cold concrete porch, back plastered against the wall of the house while those things flapped and shrieked around her all night, was enough incentive to make even a hardened juvenile delinquent turn angelic.

“The truth,” Nick continued emphatically, “is even more disturbing. The Nox didn’t exist until about sixty years ago. At least not in our world. The government doesn’t like to advertise this fact, but the truth is that the Nox were the by-product of Cold War government experiments attempting travel through space-time.”

“Wait a minute,” Josie said, straightening up in her seat. “Someone made those things?”

Nick eased off the main highway onto a bumpy, uneven road. “More like accidentally found. Awesome, right? Man-eating monsters that live in the dark and that no one can see.”

Josie cocked her head to the side. “No one can see them?”

Nick shook his head. “Nope. They’re completely invisible. Can’t catch them either. It’s like they can disappear at will. One minute they’re there, the next, gone.”

“Oh.” Josie thought about the gray wings sweeping past her in the darkness. Had she imagined she saw them?

They drove through an old warehouse district, completely abandoned from what Josie could tell. The broken pavement made her teeth clatter as the SUV slowly traversed what once had been a wide, asphalt surface. The buildings were in varying states of disrepair, from basic wear and tear like broken windows and missing roof tiles, to out-and-out vandalism where entire walls had been removed.

Nick pulled up in front of one of the more intact warehouses and stopped the car. It was a single-story edifice of corrugated metal, smaller than most of the others, with a storage shed built off one side, and tucked between two enormous, hulking structures that looked as if they were about to collapse in on themselves. Not that this one was much better. Every single window had been broken, leaving gaping, jagged holes in their panes, and the walls looked as if they were about to be utterly consumed by a heavy layer of rust. Beyond the broken windows, Josie saw nothing but the blackness of the unlit interior, which at least indicated that the roof was still intact since it kept the sunlight out. The walls seemed whole and unmarred as well—strong, and without the cutaway sections that were missing from most of the other structures in the area—and the large roll-up door that would have accommodated a big rig truck in its glory days looked structurally sound. It appeared to be padlocked to the ground with new, unrusted chains, as if to make sure no unwanted visitors prowled around. A lack of power wires in the warehouse district seemed to imply that human presence was uncommon, and Josie wondered why the shiny new padlock would be necessary. Once the sun went down, that area would be a bloodbath for anyone left lurking about.

Josie glanced at the sun, now much lower on the horizon than she was entirely comfortable with. “Where are we?”

Nick looked at her sidelong as he opened the door and slid out of the car, leaving the engine at an idle. “Nowhere. Literally.”

Josie watched as Nick stepped up to the padlocked door. He seemed calm, almost buoyant, and displayed no signs of apprehension or concern for their current location. He pulled something from his pocket, then crouched to the ground. Josie could hear the jangling of metal, and in a few seconds, Nick had unchained and rolled up the old access door.

Silently.

The door had been oiled, so the runners made barely any noise as it opened. She’d expected the heavy screeching of rusted metal as the old door protested against use, but nope. Someone kept the inner workings of this warehouse in decent shape.

Nick was smiling as he climbed back into the car. He released the brake and rolled through the open door.

“Where are we?” Josie asked again.

There were three other cars in a little parking area. Nick pulled alongside and cut the engine. “The Fortress of Solitude.”

“Huh?”

“Superman’s lair,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Kinda the same thing, actually,” Nick said in all seriousness. “We’re off the Grid. Completely self-contained. They have no idea we’re here.” Nick opened his car door. “Speaking of, switch your cell phone off. No cells in here. Ever.”

“Um, okay.” She switched off Jo’s cell, and following Nick’s lead, climbed out of the car.

Josie gazed wide-eyed at the interior of the warehouse. From the outside, it had looked like another abandoned, dilapidated building, but inside was quite different. First off, it was well lit. The exterior had presented a mess of broken windows and absolutely no sign of life, but a warm orange glow permeated the interior space, strong and safe and inviting.

Huh. That was weird. She should have been able to see the light from outside. Josie craned her head to peer up at the windows that lined the top of the warehouse. Blackout curtains were duct-taped over each window so none of the interior light bled into the abandoned area. Wow.

Nick closed the gate, then motioned for Josie to stay put. “Wait here.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice.

Nick jogged to the far end of the warehouse, where a lounge area had been set up. Sofas, easy chairs, even a coffee table. A large dry-erase board on a wheeled stand took up the space near the sofas, and behind it, there was a makeshift kitchen with a fridge, a watercooler, and a long table that was covered in books, maps, and scattered papers. A large guy bent over the open fridge, peering into its interior. Two more guys lounged on the sofas—identical shocks of bleached blond hair on identical tall, lean bodies—while at the large table, a girl sat hunched over the books and papers, studying.

“What’s up, Nick?” said a familiar voice.

“Where you been?” said another. The identical bleached blond heads sat up on the sofas and Josie immediately recognized Zeke and Zeb, the Kaufman twins.

The other guy slammed the fridge door. “Dammit,” he said, turning around. “Who keeps drinking my Muscle Milk?” Josie knew that face. Jackson Wells, captain of the Bowie Prep football team.

“Dude,” Nick said. “No one but you drinks that crap.”

“Well, someone’s taking it,” Jackson said. He wandered to the edge of the table and leaned against it. “I just put two in yesterday.”

“Guys,” Nick said. “Listen up. Something’s happened.” Nick turned to Josie and waved, beckoning her over. “You aren’t going to believe this.”

Oh boy. That was an understatement.

Josie slid out from behind the car and walked toward the group. They all stared at her and as she got closer, Josie could see the faces even more clearly. Her eyes lingered on the girl sitting at the table, a brunette with a scowl on her face that could only be described as hatred.

Madison.

5:12 P.M.

“WHAT THE HELL, NICK?” MADISON SAID. “ARE you out of your mind?”

Jackson reached into the back of his pants, and when his hand reappeared at his side, Josie realized he was holding a gun. She suddenly regretted her boneheaded decision to leave Nick’s gun in the car.

“Dude,” Jackson said. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. I thought we’d agreed on that.”

“I know what she looks like,” Nick said. “But she’s not Jo.”

“I’m not Jo,” Josie echoed. Her voice sounded small and weak.

“Bullshit,” Zeke said. At least she thought it was Zeke. Didn’t matter which universe, she couldn’t tell them apart.

“You can’t trust her,” said his brother.

Madison looked like she was ready to pounce on Josie and gouge her eyes out. “Her dad practically works for the Grid, Nick. He’s one of them.”