Their phones had probably been confiscated.

The house was silent. My parents' bedroom and Danielle's bedroom, where she was sleeping with both her kids, were both in the back of the house. They'd slept through everything.

I didn't wake them. Before anything else I had to figure out what to do with Morgan. I'd barely glanced at her before racing out of the bedroom, but it was clear enough that she hadn't gotten any better during the night.

And I was pretty sure, now, that Morgan wasn't safe here at the house anymore. If someone was trying to find her—and Ian seemed to think that someone probably was—it wouldn't be long before they came looking for her here.

And I had to keep her safe.

Touching Morgan's forehead was like touching a hot water bottle freshly filled with boiling water. Her breathing was so fast now that it seemed almost like a dog's panting. She was taking in short little breaths and releasing them maybe two times a second. She was sweating. Beads of perspiration had collected on her upper lip and across her cheeks. I was too afraid to take her temperature and find out how high it actually was.

I had to figure out where to move her, and how. But before anything else I had to get her some water. Considering how much she'd been sweating, I figured she was probably nearly dehydrated. There was a glass at the bedside table, which I took into the bathroom to fill.

On my way back through the hallway, I could hear my mom stirring downstairs. She was in the kitchen, cooking. Bacon and eggs, it smelled like. She was probably trying to create some small, homey comfort to lift everyone's spirits after everything that had been going on.

But she didn't know the half of it. She didn't know that Ian and Shawn had been taken away, not yet. I was pretty sure she had no idea that Mr. Hershel was dead. I didn't think she even realized that Morgan was still in the house, not at the hospital, and maybe dying in my childhood bed.

Briefly I envied my mom. I didn't think that I'd ever be able to just get up one morning and do something as simple and pleasant as cooking eggs, not ever again.

I slipped back into my room, eased the door shut, and tipped the water into Morgan's mouth. She was breathing so quickly that most of the water just spilled down her cheeks. I didn't know if she'd even swallowed any at all. I tried tipping a few drops at a time between her lips while I figured out how to hide her in a safer place.

Suddenly, for the second time this morning, I heard someone knocking at the front door. . .

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