VII
“Barricade it!”
The image is burned into my eyes. The falling object was humanoid with sun-bleached hair and dark, tanned skin. I couldn’t tell if he was one of them or one of us and it doesn’t really matter; we have to block that door.
Topi and I pull shelving units across the floor, hoping to keep them out for longer. Miro isn’t helping. We shout at him, but he doesn’t move from Emilia’s side. We move another shelf. That’s three. That’s all we can manage before the door is pulled open; it hinges on the other side.
“There’s only one way out of that room,” comes the voice from the outside, gruff and deep. Every word sounds like a curse; he’s infected.
“Come on. We have to go.” I pull Miro’s shoulder just as Emilia is sick at my feet. “Leave her!”
Miro shakes his head. “She’s not one of them. She’s not ill.”
“We’re not alone here. We have to go.”
Topi and I hurry to the far end. There are two doors. I push my ear to the one on the right and Topi takes the one on the left.
“This one is silent,” I say.
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A Writer's Life for Me 